viscous mud.

VII

It was night. The heavy rain drove out of the dark void from every
direction at once, and baptized the chilled faces of men as though it
had been discharged from the hundred-holed rose of a full watering-can.
The right and the left sections of the Battery were disposed on either
side of the track. Fires were burning. Horse-lines had been laid down,
and by the light of flickering flames the dim forms of tethered animals
could be seen with their noses to the ground pessimistically pretending
to munch what green turf had survived in the mud. Lanterns moved
mysteriously to and fro. In the distance to the west more illuminations
showed that another unit had camped along the track. The quartermaster
of No. 2, had produced meagre tinned meats and biscuits from his
emergency stores, and had made a certain quantity of tea in dixies; he
had even found a half-feed of oats for the horses; so that both horses
and men were somewhat appeased. But the officers had had nothing, and
the Army Service Corps detachment was still undiscoverable.

George sat on an empty box at the edge of the track, submissive to the
rain. Resmith had sent him to overlook men cutting straight branches in
a wood on Park Downs, and then he had overlooked them as, with the said
branches and with waterproofs laced together in pairs, they had erected
sleeping shelters for the officers under the imperfect shelter of the
sole tree within the precincts of the camp. From these purely ornamental
occupations he had returned in a condition approximating to collapse,
without desire and without hope. The invincible cheerfulness of unseen
men chanting music-hall songs in the drenched night made no impression
on him, nor the terrible staccato curtness of a N.C.O. mounting guard.
Volition had gone out of him; his heart was as empty as his stomach.

Then a group of officers approached, with a mounted officer in the
middle of them, and a lantern swinging. The group was not proceeding in
any particular direction, but following the restless motions of the
uneasy horse. George, suddenly startled, recognized the voice of the
rider; it was Colonel Hullocher's voice. The Brigade-Commander had come
in person to investigate the melancholy inexcusable case of No. 2
Battery, and he was cursing all men and all things, and especially the
Divisional Staff. It appeared that the Staff was responsible for the
hitch of organization. During the day the Staff had altered