you take them sadly to the public mincing machine, and imagine they
were legs when you eat the result. A rather absurd little modicum of
jam is also served out, but it serves to sweeten a biscuit. There is
rum once a week (in theory). Duff at midday the last few days. It is
difficult to say anything general about rations, because they vary
from day to day, often with startling suddenness, according to the
conditions of the campaign. I was on picket this night, a duty which
is far less irksome when in the field than when in a standing camp.
Vigilance is of course not relaxed, but many petty rules and
regulations are. There is no guard-tent, of course, in which you must
stay when not on watch; as long as it is known where you can be found
at a moment's notice, you are free in the off hours. You can be
dressed as you like as long as you carry your revolver.

By the way, I have lost my C.I.V. slouch hat long ago. It came of
wearing a very unnecessary helmet, merely because it was served out.
That involved carrying the hat in my kit, and it is wonderful how one
loses things on the march, in the hurried nocturnal packings and
unpackings, when every strap and article of kit must be to your hand
in the dark, or you will be late with your horses and cause trouble.
My great comfort is a Tam-o'-Shanter, which I wear whenever we are not
in marching order.

As for the revolver, I got into trouble with the Sergeant-Major this
night for parading for picket without it. It was not worth while to
explain that I had no ammunition for it; to take your "choking-off,"
and say nothing, is always the simplest plan. I once had one cartridge
given me, but lost this precious possession. I suppose there was some
hitch in the arrangements, for our revolvers are only cumbrous
ornaments.