sed in a
transport wagon; a tired man might have a worse bed than that, and I
slept the sleep of the weary and, as I would fain hope, of the
righteous.

The following morning, as it seemed likely that we should remain at
Steene for at least another day, I cast round for something more
comfortable in the way of a billet, and had secured three rooms at the
worthy Burgomaster's for the O.C., Mr. Jaffray and myself, and was about
to enjoy a more or less comfortable tea in the open, when an orderly
rode up with orders to trek back to Bruges.

In a few minutes the camp was struck, and once more we moved on. I felt
that I could enter into the spirit of the well-known refrain--

The brave old Duke of York,
He had ten thousand men.
He marched them up to the top of a hill,
And he marched them down again.
And when they were up, they were up;
And when they were down, they were down:
And when they were half-way up the hill,
They were neither up or down.

As we retraced our steps through Ostend, we found a large and acclaiming
crowd lining the route. As I rode just behind the Gordons, who were
marching with their usual swinging step, I was amused to hear a Belgian
woman ask her friend, 'And who are those?' pointing to the Highlanders.
'Oh,' was the reply, 'those are the wives of the English soldiers.' The
gay Gordons were greatly incensed on my setting before them their new
status.

In the centre of the city I came across my friend Peel (padre of the
22nd Brigade; he has since won a military cross, and gained the
universal love of his men by his gallant conduct and splendid ministry).
He had somehow or other lost his Brigade, and being thus stranded, had
slung his batman up behind him on his horse and was proceeding with
unruffled dignity in the direction of the line of march.

It was late at night and raining as it seldom rains in dear old England,
when we splashed ankle deep in water, over the cobbled streets of
Bruges, the stones being too slippery to permit of riding. Hungry and
tired we slouched along, until we came to the Monastery of St. Xavier,
at St. Michel, some two miles out of the city. Never shall I forget the
kindness extended to us by the lay brothers; especially one, Brother
Sylvester. I hope if these lines should ever reach his eye, that he will
accept the grateful thanks of those who benefited by the charitable
goodness of the Order, and especially his own.

The me