inner. The auction was a great success, a real auctioneer presiding,
well over L10 being realised.

The farewell dinner was a grand affair and very convivial. To my
surprise I was presented with a handsome silver cigarette case by the
so-called staff of the "L.D. News" as a token of good will and their
appreciation of my humble efforts to relieve the monotony of camp life.

The next day, Friday, March 29th, we embarked on the transport
"Aurania," and, as the sun was setting, bade a sarcastic good-bye to
Table Mountain.

As regards the voyage home, which was accomplished in three weeks, much
might be said, but probably little of particular interest. A transport
is not a very luxurious affair for the common soldier, though the
accommodation for the officers amply atones for what may be lacking for
the ninety-and-nine, as it were. But what on earth, or sea, did it
matter, we were going home.

Good Friday was not a success, an officer committed suicide, a sergeant
in the Royal Sussex died of dysentery, the engines broke down, and we
had no buns. At St. Vincent we stopped two-and-a-half days to coal, and
flew the yellow flag at the fore, being in quarantine on account of the
Bubonic outbreak at Cape Town. In the Bay of Biscay a Yeoman comrade
died of enteric, and was buried two days from home. Friday, the 18th, on
a lovely spring morning, the sea being as smooth as glass, we sighted
the cliffs of England once again.

"England, my England."

Then we commenced passing shipping; a man at the tiller of a Cornish
fishing boat waving his cap to us made it clear that we were getting
back to our real ain folk once more. At eight in the evening we were
lying off Netley Hospital, and taking in the proffered advice of a large
board in a field by the waterside to eat Quaker Oats, and by twelve
o'clock the following night I was home once again.

The treking, the fighting, the guards and pickets, the hospitals are
done with now. My small part in the game has been played, and, with a
slight and permissible alteration, the concluding lines of a favourite
poem must end these simple records.

"But to-day I leave the Army, shall I curse its service then?
God be thanked, whate'er comes after, I have lived and toiled with men!"

BURFIELD & PENNELLS, PRINTERS, HASTINGS.

***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A YEOMAN'S LETTERS***

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