ut among us like poultry; we
could'n keep sections o' fours nohow. We carried some o' the little
'uns. And girt fires a-burnin' at night loike ricks--a terrible
blissey[15] on the hills. And 'twere that dusty and hot oi did get
mortal drouthy in my drawt and a niver had a drop in my water-bottle;
I'd gied it all to the childer."

"What about rations?" said the chaplain.

"Oh I were bit leery[16] i' my innerds at toimes, but oi had my
emargency ration, and them A.S.C. chaps were pretty sprack;[17] they kep
up wi' us most times. 'Twere just loike a circus procession--lorries and
guns and we soldjers all a-mixed up. And some of the harses went cruel
lame and had to be left behind."

"That they did," said a small man in the 19th Hussars who was obviously
a Londoner. He was slightly bow-legged and moved with the deliberate
gait of the cavalryman on his feet. "Me 'orse got the blooming 'ump with
corns."

"Ah! and what do you think of the Uhlans?"

He sniffed. "Rotten, sir! They never gives us a chawnce. They ain't no
good except for lootin'. Regular 'ooligans. We charged 'em up near Mons,
our orficer goin' ahead 'bout eight yards, and when we got up to 'em 'e
drops back into our line. We charges in a single line, you know, knee to
knee, as close together as us can get, riding low so as to present as
small a target as we can."

"And you got home with the Uhlans?" I asked.

"Once. Their lances ain't much good except for lightin' street-lamps."

"Street-lamps?" said the chaplain literally.

"Yuss. They're too long. The blighters 'ave no grip on them. We just
parry and then thrust with the point; we've giv' up cutting exercises.
If the thrust misses, you uses the pommel--so!" He executed an
intimidating gesture with his stick.

"Well, ah've had ma bit o' fun," interjected a small H.L.I. man
irrelevantly, feeling, apparently, it was his turn in the symposium, as
he thrust a red head with a freckled skin and high cheek-bones into the
group. "Ah ken verra weel ah got 'im. It was at a railway stashon where
we surprised 'em. Ah came upon a Jerrman awficer--I thocht he were
drunk--and he fired three times aht me with a ree-vol-ver. But ah got
'im. Yes, ah've had ma bit o' fun," he said complacently as he cherished
an arm in a sling.

With him was a comrade belonging to the "Lilywhites," the old 82nd, now
known as the first battalion of the South Lancs, with whom the H.L.I.
have an ancient friendship. The South Lancs have