his shrift would have been short. We got back to camp at half past eight,
having covered ninety-two miles in our windings--a good day's work.

Each section had two motorcycles attached to it--jackals, as one of the
generals called them, in apt reference to the way in which jackals
accompany a lion when hunting. The cyclists rode ahead to spy out the
country and the best course to follow. When we got into action they would
drop behind, and we used them to send messages back to camp. The best
motorcyclist we had was a Swiss named Milson. He was of part English
descent, and came at once from Switzerland at the outbreak of the war to
enlist. When he joined he spoke only broken English but was an exceedingly
intelligent man and had been attending a technical college. I have never
seen a more skilful rider; he could get his cycle along through the mud
when we were forced to carry the others, and no one was more cool and
unconcerned under fire. The personnel of the battery left nothing to be
desired. One was proud to serve among such a fine set of men. Corporal
Summers drove the car in which I usually rode, and I have never met with a
better driver or one who understood his car so thoroughly, and possessed
that intangible sympathy with it which is the gift of a few, but can be
never attained.

We were still in the rainy season. We had to travel as light as possible,
and all we could bring were forty-pounder tents, which correspond to the
American dog-tent. Very low, they withstood in remarkable fashion the
periodical hurricanes of wind and rain. They kept us fairly dry, too, for
we were careful to ditch them well. There was room for two men to sleep in
the turret of a Rolls, and they could spread a tarpaulin over the top to
keep the rain from coming in through the various openings. The balance of
the men had a communal tent or slept in the tenders. The larger tents in
the near-by camps blew down frequently, but with us it happened only