to the rear as far as Poperinghe, for the purpose of giving ourselves a
scouring, as we were filthy with dirt and lousy with lice. My particular
chum on this journey was the little telephonist, Fox, who had been
through every big battle up to that time, including the Sanctuary Woods
carnage. We got to the wagon lines, eight miles off, by stealing rides
on any passing vehicle upon which we could fasten a tooth or a finger
nail,--ammunition wagon lorries, ambulances, supply wagons,--as we were
thoroughly tired out.

At the wagon lines we persuaded the Q-M to loan us horses for the
balance of the journey, which he cheerfully consented to do. But the
horses, unfortunately, were mules, practically ready for the bone-yard;
the Quartermaster had put them to one side, as they were useless for any
further work, and they were awaiting the arrival of the veterinary
officer to receive capital punishment. Every time I dug my spurs in my
mount, in a mad endeavor to make it go, the only result was a kick in
the air with its hind feet.

There was another transportation service in vogue there,--a large
number of donkeys, and each time a donkey passed my charger, it would
stop dead and wag its ears much after the fashion of a Hebrew
gesticulating with his hands in selling a suit of clothes. This was
repeated every time we met one of the little donkeys, and each time I
had to get off and back the brute for some distance, until it again took
the notion to go forward; it was a case of one step forward and two back
before I reached my destination.

The most ridiculously funny instance connected with the meeting of the
mule and the donkey was the manner in which each indulged in its muleism
and donkeyism; the little donkey would shoot its head straight forward,