attalion had to retire to the east,
and not to the west. As the Subaltern marched along he reflected with
grim amusement on the ease with which the most confirmed Sybarite can
get accustomed to hardships. At home, if he did anything early on an
empty stomach, he very soon felt faint and tired. Now, this was taken as
a matter of course; one was only too glad to restore the circulation to
the limbs, cramped with the cold and damp of dawn.

An hour or so later they ran into a French Battalion, apparently
preparing to occupy an outpost position along the bank of the road. This
was a cheering sight. Tommy, who had expected to fight mixed up in some
weird way with "le petit Piou-Piou," had not yet seen a Frenchman in
action. In a vague way he fancied that "the Frenchies" had "let him
down." He knew nothing of the battles of Charleroi and Namur, nor of the
defence of Verdun, and the French were getting dreadfully unpopular with
him. Things were thrown at any one who ventured to sing the
"Marseillaise."

"Oh, '_ere_ they are; so they '_ave_ come. Well, that's somethink."

The "Marseillaise" broke out once again.

"Look 'ere, Bill, there's too much of this ruddy 'Marslasie' abaht this
'ere show."

"'Ow d'you mean, Sam?"

"Why, it's all 'March on, March on.' I'm ruddy sick of it!"

CHAPTER VII

VENEROLLES

At this point the Battalion turned in a south-westerly direction,
passing through a village in which the French and English Headquarters
were quartered in "estaminets" on either side of the road. No doubt both
were prosecuting their work equally successfully, but the Subaltern
could not help remarking the quietness of the one, and the excitement,
volubility, and apparent confusion of the other. Still, he thought,
different people have different ways of doing things.

Apparently to compensate for having no breakfast, the Battalion was
halted in an orchard. The men filled their haversacks with apples and
pears, and consumed scarcely ripe plums with an avidity that made the
Officers fear that at least half of the Battalion would be in the grip
of colic before the night.

Because it was a cloudy day, or perhaps because one reaches a second
heat in physical and mental fatigue, the Subaltern did not feel so bad
that day. The men, too, recovered their spirits. He began to think it
was good to march on an empty stomach. The sight of French cavalry with
their holland-covered helmets and curved sabres, suggested amp