brimmed khaki hats
have a strap that goes under the chin. The strap or their black
slanting eyes or perhaps their rather flattened noses and pointed
chins give them a look of cruelty that the other Indian troops do not
have. They are hard and relentless fighters, I believe; and they look
it.

The conversation in the car turned to the feeding of the army.

"The British Army is exceedingly well fed," said the young officer.

"In the trenches also?"

"Always. The men are four days in the trenches and four out. When the
weather is too bad for anything but sniping, the inactivity of the
trench life and the abundant ration gets them out of condition. On
their four days in reserve it is necessary to drill them hard to keep
them in condition."

This proved to be the explanation of the battalions we met everywhere,
marching briskly along the roads. I do not recall the British ration
now, but it includes, in addition to meat and vegetables, tea, cheese,
jam and bacon--probably not all at once, but giving that variety of
diet so lacking to the unfortunate Belgian Army. Food is one of the
principal munitions of war. No man fights well with an empty stomach.
Food sinks into the background only when it is assured and plentiful.
Deprived of it, its need becomes insistent, an obsession that drives
away every other thought.

So the wise British Army feeds its men well, and lets them think of
other things, such as war and fighting and love of country and brave
deeds.

But food has not always been plentiful in the British Army. There were
times last fall when, what with German artillery bombardment and
shifting lines, it was difficult to supply the men.

"My servant," said the officer, "found a hare somewhere, and in a
deserted garden a handful of carrots. Word came to the trench where I
was stationed that at dark that night he would bring out a stew. We
were very hungry and we waited eagerly. But just as it was cooked and
ready a German shell came down the chimney of the house where he was
working and blew up stove and stew and everything. It was one of the
greatest disappointments I ever remember."

We were in Bethune at last--a crowded town, larger than any I had seen
since I left Dunkirk. So congested were its narrow streets with
soldiers, mounted and on foot, and with all the ghastly machinery of
war, that a traffic squad had taken charge and was directing things.
On some streets it was possible to go only in one directio