irst breath of
autumn.

The Subaltern had lost all his underwear except his shirt, and part of
his socks. His breeches were torn at the knee, and he felt the chill of
the wind very acutely. He could feel the damp mud through the flapping
toes of his boot.

Then it began to rain--no mere light summer shower, that cooled one's
face and clothes, and delightfully wet one's hands, but a real autumnal
downpour. Hastily he undid the straps which tied his Burberry, and
shuffled into it, as he marched along. It was caked with mud, and smelt
of the earth that he had so often grovelled in, but as he fastened the
hooks beneath his chin, he felt profoundly glad of it, elated that he
had something to keep off the chill and wet. He buttoned it down to his
knees and experienced the faint sensation of comfort that one feels when
drawing one's blinds to shut out a stormy night.

* * * * *

Then the guns began to rattle by; always an ominous sign, for it meant
that battle was imminent. It was a remarkable thing that neither
infantry nor artillery took much notice of each other as they met. The
guns and carriages would thunder and bump and clatter over the pave, the
thickset horses straining at their harness, the drivers urging them on.
But the infantry would plod along just the same, regardless of the noise
and bustle. The men would not even raise their eyes from the boots of
the preceding four.

Very soon after the last gun-carriage had rattled past, sounds of a
bombardment would be heard--the bangs and whizz of shells. The Column
would probably be halted, while a reconnaissance was made to ascertain
in what force the enemy was holding his position. As a rule, deployments
were not necessary, for the artillery generally succeeded in dislodging
the enemy off their own bat. Such affairs as this happened no less than
three times before it was dark, and in each case the Germans had had to
leave their dead and wounded behind them.

One poor fellow lay with his head propped up against a heap of stones
by the wayside. His chin and mouth had been torn from his face, and the
ragged flesh hung in tatters, red and bleeding, as it had been torn.
Almost before their eyes the man was passing away. It was awful.

"Poor devil, all this 'ere wasn't 'is fault, yer know," a man muttered.

As far as the Subaltern could hear, no one answered him. Perhaps some of
them were wondering where that dying man's soul was going