“As christmas is slowly drawing near, and I am sitting in a small russian house in a minor dirty street in the middle of Urga, my thoughts spontaneously starts wandering. I am not thinking about the upcoming christmas, it does not mean anything to me, as I neither have a family nor anything, that could make christmas joyful this year. If I would have it my way, I’d rather spend christmas while traveling og hunting, then I might miss it the least. As a matter of fact I do not care, nobody celebrates christmas here anyway, so it can never be joyful.

When my mind starts to wander around christmas, my thoughts almost always go to my comrades. Where are they now, those good, old fellows? Where are my faithful friends, who where there when need and danger threathened? Where are those joyful and light-hearted men, whom I have ridden next to, knee to knee, dined with around the fire at night, and endured and shared all kinds of difficulties and joys together with? 

Mamen remembers his fellows and writes: