rance as a picnic, or anticipated a good time in the
trenches. But there was a general sense of relief that the period of
training--a long, tiresome, very dull business--was over at last over or
almost over. For the Colonel and certain remote authorities behind the
Colonel believed in working the battalion hard up to the last moment.
Therefore day after day there were "stunts" and "shows," field
exercises of every conceivable kind. The weather was hot, as hot as
weather ought to be in the first week of August Long marches became
dusty horrors to the men. Manouvres meant hours of desperate toil.
Officers thought longingly of bygone summers, of the cool shade of
trees, of tennis played in white flannels, of luscious plates of
strawberries and cream. The Colonel, an old soldier, went on inventing
new "stunts" and more of them. He had laboured at the training of his
battalion, hammering raw boys into disciplined men, inspiring subalterns
with something of his own spirit.

On the whole he had been successful. The men sweated, but grumbled very
little. The officers kept up a gallant pretence at keenness. Slackness
was regarded as bad form, and only one member of the mess made no secret
of his opinion that the Colonel was overdoing the "spit and polish"
business. This was McMahon, the medical officer; and he did not,
properly speaking, belong to the battalion at all. Men and officers
alike were drawn for the most part from the English midlands. McMahon
was an Irishman. They were born with a sense of discipline and the
Colonel worked on material responsive to his methods. McMahon, like
most Irishmen, was by temperament a rebel. Yet there was no more popular
officer than the Irish doctor. His frank good humour, his ready wit, his
unfailing kindliness, won him affection. Even the Colonel liked him, and
bore from McMahon behaviour which would have led to the sharp snubbing
of anyone else.

There came a day--the 6th of August--for which the Colonel, or some
higher authority, devised a "stunt" of the most intense and laborious
kind. A very great and remote man, the General in command of the whole
district, promised to be present and to witness the performance. Orders
were issued in minute detail, and every officer was expected to be
familiar with them. Maps were studied conscientiously. Field glasses
were polished. Rations were served out Kits were inspected. The affair
was an attack upon a hill supposed to be strongly held by an e