said he, "is the real beginning of the show. Henceforth,
horribleness."

A hunk of bread eaten during the first stage of the march was all the
breakfast he could find. Maroilles, a suburb of Landrecies, was passed,
and an hour later a big railway junction. The march seemed to be
directed on Mauberge, but a digression was made to the north-west, and
finally a halt was called at a tiny village called Harignes. The
Subaltern's men were billeted in a large barn opening on to an orchard.

After a scrap meal, he pulled out some maps to study the country which
lay before them, and what should meet his eye but the field of Waterloo,
with all its familiar names: Charleroi, Ligny, Quatrebras, Genappes, the
names which he had studied a year ago at Sandhurst. Surely these names
of the victory of ninety-nine years ago were a good omen!

"You've only left Sandhurst a year, you ought to know all about this
country," some one told him.

A horrible rumour went about that another move was to be made at five
o'clock the same evening, but this hour was subsequently altered to two
o'clock the next morning. That night a five-franc postal order was given
to every man as part of his pay.

Even in the height of summer there is always a feeling of ghostliness
about nocturnal parades. The darkness was intense. As might be expected,
the men had not by any means recovered from the heat and exertion of the
previous day, and were not in the best of tempers. The Subaltern himself
was so tired that he had to lie down on the cold road at each hourly
halt of ten minutes, and, with his cap for a pillow, sleep soundly for
at least eight of those minutes. Then whistles were sounded ahead, the
men would rise wearily, and shuffle on their equipment with the single
effort that is the hall-mark of a well-trained soldier. The Captain,
passing along the Company, called his attention to the village they were
passing. It was Malplaquet. The grey light of dawn revealed large open
fields. "I expect this is where they fought it out," said the Captain.

Keeping a close eye upon the map, he could tell almost to a hundred
yards where the boundary of Belgium crossed the road. A few miles
further, a halt for breakfast was ordered, as it was about eight
o'clock. The Colonel called for Company Commanders, and while they were
away Sir John French, followed by Sir Archibald Murray and a few members
of the General Staff, passed by in motors.

Amongst the hundred-and-one