mules, trudging away from Arcadia, with not much
more liberty than a mule myself.
April 8. 7 p.m. In my bivouac on a hillside near
Sufia, after ^two days' marching. (About ten miles
each day.) This morning we started from a point near
Ramallah, over 3000 feet up. The early morning sky
was clear; low grey banks of clouds like snow moun-
tains above the hills toward the sea. Up at 5.15 and
away by ^.40. Reached here 1.30. Passed General
Allenby on the way. Hot sun and a breeze from the
sea. Pink and white rock roses along the wadis. From
this hill I can see a city of tiny lights below and on
the opposite slope, where the rest of the Brigade are
camped. Stars overhead and sound of men's voices
singing and chattering: they seem contented with
their lot. Away in the twilight jackals howl, and some
night bird calls.
My bivouac is pitched in a tangle of large yellow
daisies. (My servant is a marvel; very quiet man who
never forgets anything.) A mule brays among the
murmur of men's voices (probably saying what it
thinks about the war). We are almost in the plains
again, at the foot of the grey stony hills. Horrid smell
of dead camels in places along the road this morning.
Saw a Syrian Pied Woodpecker this evening. Grey
with scarlet head and tail. Also a White Stork and a
Hoopoe. (Doc. pointed out all three; my eyes would
be useless without his help.)
Later. Reading Hardy's Woodlanders. Like going into
a cool parlour with green reflections on wall and
ceiling—after the dust and sweat of marching.
April g. jo.45 a.m. Latron. (Exactly four weeks ago
I was here on my way up.) Started 645 this morning.
Clear dawn; its cool stillness became very hot by 8.
Got here 10. Camp is on a bare sweltering slope near