was no snow here, but a wind was blowing
from the east which searched the marrow. Presently we climbed up into
hills, and the road, though not badly engineered to begin with, grew as
rough as the channel of a stream. No wonder, for the traffic was like
what one saw on that awful stretch between Cassel and Ypres, and there
were no gangs of Belgian roadmakers to mend it up. We found troops by
the thousands striding along with their impassive Turkish faces, ox
convoys, mule convoys, wagons drawn by sturdy little Anatolian horses,
and, coming in the contrary direction, many shabby Red Crescent cars
and wagons of the wounded. We had to crawl for hours on end, till we
got past a block. Just before the darkening we seemed to outstrip the
first press, and had a clear run for about ten miles over a low pass in
the hills. I began to get anxious about the car, for it was a poor one
at the best, and the road was guaranteed sooner or later to knock even
a Rolls-Royce into scrap iron.

All the same it was glorious to be out in the open again. Peter's face
wore a new look, and he sniffed the bitter air like a stag. There
floated up from little wayside camps the odour of wood-smoke and
dung-fires. That, and the curious acrid winter smell of great
wind-blown spaces, will always come to my memory as I think of that
day. Every hour brought me peace of mind and resolution. I felt as I
had felt when the battalion first marched from Aire towards the
firing-line, a kind of keying-up and wild expectation. I'm not used to
cities, and lounging about Constantinople had slackened my fibre. Now,
as the sharp wind buffeted us, I felt braced to any kind of risk. We
were on the great road to the east and the border hills, and soon we
should stand upon the farthest battle-front of the war. This was no
commonplace intelligence job. That was all over, and we were going
into the firing-zone, going to take part in what might be the downfall
of our enemies. I didn't reflect that we were among those enemies, and
would probably share their downfall if we were not shot earlier. The
truth is, I had got out of the way of regarding the thing as a struggle
between armies and nations. I hardly bothered to think where my
sympathies lay. First and foremost it was a contest between the four
of us and a crazy woman, and this personal antagonism made the strife
of armies only a dimly-felt background.

We slept that night like logs on the floor of a di