in readiness to move at short notice." "Will they?" I
asked, and leapt lightly into my bed; never a wise thing to do when your
bed consists of a stick or two and a bit of canvas ... I was collecting
myself on the floor when a corporal came in, wearing that significant,
nay sinister, look which corporals assume when they bring messages from
orderly room. Having cursed him roundly for the collapse of my bed (in
military life you may curse anybody for anything, provided he is an
inferior) I told him to proceed and let me know the worst. "We move at 8
A.M., Sir," said he. "And what is it now?" I asked. "11.5 P.M., Sir,"
said he. "Then," said I, "I have under nine hours to pack up all my
goods, dividing them into those which I shall carry myself on my
for-light-articles-only back, those which the transport will carry and
those which I shall leave here for Providence to send home; to inspect
my half-company, its feet, its rifles, its packs, its kit-bags and the
thousand-and-one other things which are its; to feed my men and myself
and gather together a day's ration for both of us and to attend to all
those little odds and ends which will inevitably crop up when one is
about to leave one's headquarters and never see them again. All this
must be done by 8 A.M. you say?" "The battalion will march to the
rendezvous at 7.15, Sir," said he. "Reveille 5.30, breakfast at 6.30,
and sick parade at 6.45," he concluded, adding, with sarcasm more
effective than any of my own, "Good night, Sir."

I went straight to sleep. What else could I do? Obviously the suggested
programme was impossible of completion in the time allotted; why then
attempt it? I decided to obey orders: to reveille at 5.30, breakfast at
6.30, and then to start getting ready and continue doing so till called
for. If the worst came to the worst, I should become a sick man and
parade accordingly. It struck me as I dozed off that in civil life the
very last thing an invalid would attempt would be to parade.

In supposing that I should at least be thorough about my sleep, I
reckoned without my old though not always welcome friend, Banner. His
view is that when a crisis arrives it is up to the people involved to be
at least busy, if not worse. To him commotion is essential, and he has
always distrusted our adjutant because the only thing he did on
receiving telegraph orders to mobilize was to send out an orderly for a
hundred cigarettes and a _Daily Mirror_. When Lieutenant