They are unsociable brutes and ought to be segregated, anyway. No
wonder every high-bred horse is terrified at the smell of a camel; the
first time you meet one it is like a blow in the face and remains a
weight on your mind until the camel is a long way to leeward. They had
a special objection to carrying fresh water, and nearly always bolted
when they discovered it was "Adam's ale" that was swishing about on the
outside of their hump. Perhaps it reminded them of their last week's
drink. The result for us was that when the transport arrived there
would be no water, and Mr. Ishmail and his camel would have to beat a
hasty retreat from the rage of the boys, for water was our chief need,
and it seems to me that there never was a time in those trenches that I
wasn't thirsty.

[Illustration: An Australian Camel Corps.]

I had some fun scouting in the desert, but on several occasions was
very nearly lost when there were no stars, and hills had been altered
in shape by the wind since I last passed them. We were expecting an
attack by the Turks, and some camel patrols we sent out reported signs
of camps but no sight of the enemy. As a consequence of these rumors
our sentries were very nervous, and we scouts ran considerable risk
returning to our lines before daylight. I was very nearly shot on
several occasions, and once was within an ace of firing on one of my
best pals. I saw a figure in the dark and, sneaking up to it, called
out: "Put up your hands!" He did so, but then foolishly dropped them
again. If he had not called out, "Who the hell are you?" at the same
moment, he would have been a dead man.

A squadron of our Light Horse discovered a Turkish well-boring party in
the desert. They were under command of an Austrian engineer, but soon