h which rebelled against
digesting bully and biscuit, I unloosed my equipment buckles. The
Visiting Rounds found me imperfectly dressed, my shoulder flaps
wobbled, my haversack hung with a slant and the cartridge pouches
leant out as if trying to spring on my feet. The next evening I was up
before the C.O.

My hair was rather long, and as it was well-brushed it looked imposing.
So I thought in the morning when I looked in the platoon mirror--the
platoon mirror was an inch square glass with a jagged edge. My (p. 230)
imposing hair caught the C.O.'s eye the moment I entered the orderly
room. "Don't let me see you with hair like that again," he began and
read out the charge. I forget the words which hinted that I was a
wrong-doer in the eyes of the law military; the officers were there,
every officer in the battalion, they all looked serious and resigned.
It seemed as if their minds had been made up on something relating to
me.

The orderly officer who apprehended me in the act told how he did it,
speaking as if from a book but consulting neither notes nor papers.

"What have you to say?" asked the C.O. looking at me.

I had nothing particular to say, my thoughts were busy on an enigma
that might not interest him, namely, why a young officer near him kept
rubbing a meditative chin with a fugitive finger, and why that finger
came down so swiftly when the C.O.'s eyes were turned towards the
young man. I replied to the question by saying "Guilty."

"We know you are guilty," said the C.O. and gave me a little lecture.
I had a reputation, the young men of the regiment looked up to me, an
older man; and by setting a good example I could do a great deal (p. 231)
of good, &c., &c. The lecture was very trying, but the rest of the
proceedings were interesting. I was awarded three extra guards. I only
did one of them.

We hung on the fringe of the Richebourge _melee_, but were not called
into play.

"What was it like?" we asked the men marching back from battle in
the darkness and the rain. There was no answer, they were too weary
even to speak.

"How did you get along in the fight?" I called to one who straggled
along in the rear, his head sunk forward on his breast, his knees
bending towards the ground.

"Tsch! Tsch!" he answered, his voice barely rising above a whisper as
his boots paced out in a rhythm of despair to some village at the
rear.

There in the same place a night later, we saw soldiers' equipments