of sardines in the next tent.

"Goin' ter share 'em round?" said a hungry voice.

"Nah blooming fear I ain't--wot yer tike me for--eh?"

Every one was starving. I had managed to fish a lump of bone with a
scrag of tough meat on it from the lukewarm slosh in our "dixie." But
some one who was very hungry and very big came along and snatched it
away before I could get my teeth in it.

We had continually to "fall in" in long rows and answer our names.
This was "roll-call," and roll-call went on morning, noon, and night.
Even when your own particular roll-call was not being called you could
hear some other corporal or sergeant shouting--

"Jones F.--Wiggins, T.--Simons, G.-- Harrison, I. . . ." and so on all
day long.

There were no ground-sheets to the tents. We squatted in the mud, and
we had one blanket each, which was simply crawling.

We were indeed in a far worse condition than many savages. Then came
the rain. We huddled into the tents. There were twenty-two in mine,
and, as a bell-tent is full up with eighteen, you may imagine how
thick the atmosphere became. One old man would smoke his clay-pipe
with choking twist tobacco. Most of the others smoked rank and often
damp "woodbines." The language was thick with grumbling and much
swearing. At first it was not so bad. But some one touched the side of
the tent and the rain began to dribble through. Then we found a tiny