, Robbery,
Piracy, Slavery--each and every crime is here--never has humanity
endured all these horrors together until now.

But remembering by whose will these evils have been loosed upon the
world, remembering the innocent blood, the bitter tears, the agony of
soul and heartbreak, I am persuaded that Retribution must follow as
sure as to-morrow's dawn. The evil that men do lives after them and
lives on for ever.

Should they, who have worked for and planned this misery, escape the
ephemeral justice of man, there is yet the inexorable tribunal of the
Hereafter, which no transgressor, small or great, humble or mighty,
may in any wise escape.

VIII

THE GUNS

A fine, brisk morning; a long, tree-bordered road dappled with
fugitive sun-beams, making a glory of puddles that leapt in
shimmering spray beneath our flying wheels. A long, straight road
that ran on and on unswerving, uphill and down, beneath tall,
straight trees that flitted past in never-ending procession, and
beyond these a rolling, desolate countryside of blue hills and dusky
woods; and in the air from beyond this wide horizon a sound that rose
above the wind gusts and the noise of our going, a faint whisper that
seemed in the air close about us and yet to be of the vague
distances, a whisper of sound, a stammering murmur, now rising, now
falling, but never quite lost.

In rain-sodden fields to right and left were many figures bent in
diligent labour, men in weatherworn, grey-blue uniforms and
knee-boots, while on the roadside were men who lounged, or sat
smoking cigarettes, rifle across knees and wicked-looking bayonets
agleam, wherefore these many German prisoners toiled with the
unremitting diligence aforesaid.

The road surface improving somewhat we went at speed and, as we
lurched and swayed, the long, straight road grew less deserted. Here
and there transport lorries by ones and twos, then whole convoys
drawn up beside the road, often axle deep in mud, or lumbering
heavily onwards; and ever as we went that ominous, stammering murmur
beyond the horizon grew louder and more distinct.

On we went, through scattered villages alive with khaki-clad figures
with morions cocked at every conceivable angle, past leafy lanes
bright with the wink of long bayonets; through country towns, whose
wide squares and narrow, old-world streets rang with the ordered
tramp of feet, the stamp of horses and rumble of gun wheels, where
ruddy English faces turn