be
seen moving against the background of the charred trunks, but they, too,
are making the best of what cover there is. Smith, leaving us to clear
the wood, withdraws his men and reports to the colonel, and then moves
around to a flank, hoping to cut off the party inside the wood.

Meanwhile the main guard have reinforced the first thin lines of
skirmishers, and the enemy are already falling back through the wood. We
follow at a more leisurely pace, as the whole place is a mass of charred
tree trunks, burnt underbush and ashes. A voice from the rear bids us
"Lie down" in no uncertain tones, so, reflecting that after all the
Government knows best, we do so, and from then on the khaki begins to
blend with its surroundings in a way that the inventor of this variety
of cloth never dreamed of.

The wood turns out to be pear-shaped, and we, having by chance struck
the small end of the pear, emerge considerably before the other
battalions, who, having come up on our right, are biting into the
largest part of the pear. Sounds of heavy conflict arise, and having
still some five rounds each of blank we re-enter the wood and the
combat. From then on, as Lyte expressed it afterwards, "Things began to
occur just as they happened, like all great battles, the strategy being
worked out later."

Twice we engage friendly battalions until stopped by an irate umpire,
and once we surround and capture three sections of the enemy's horses.
These are found in a little _coulee_ running off a dried stream bed.
Altogether it is a glorious affair, and is just settling down to the
stage when personal combat begins when a bugle blares out the "Cease
fire." This is followed by the "assembly," and we straggle to the edge
of the wood to find most of our battalion there. The brigade is again
formed up and we sit down for lunch. The cavalry, our enemies of the
morning, trot back to camp, where a hot meal awaits them, and we know we
shall not see them again. As we have our blankets following we wonder
what is in the wind. We soon learn, however--the rest of the day is to
be spent in a route march to Chalk River, a stream about ten miles
further north, and bivouac will be made there. Blankets are to be worn
"en banderole."

The whole brigade busies itself in drawing the blankets from the waggons
and rolling them into long cylinders, which with a spare boot-lace are
made into an exaggerated sort of horse-collar. The luckless owner then
thrusts a head