and, reading, recollected that the company commander had glanced at the prisoner with genuine commiseration.  And so he persuaded Stokes, after some parley, to call the captain to give evidence as to character.  The captain’s words were few and weighty.  The prisoner, he testified, was one of the best N.C.O.’s in his company, and, with the latitude which is characteristic of court-martial proceedings, the captain went on to tell of the testimony borne by the dead subaltern to the excellent character of John Stokes, and how the said John Stokes had been greatly affected by the death of the subaltern.  And for the first time John Stokes hung his head.  But beyond that and the quivering of his eyelashes he made no sign.

And it being a clear case the Judge-Advocate, as a Judge-Advocate may do, elected not to sum up, and the prisoner was taken to the place from whence he came.  And the Court proceeded to consider their finding and sentence, which finding and sentence, being signed by the President and the Judge-Advocate, duly went its appointed way to the Confirming Authority and there remained.  For the General in Chief command in the field was hard pressed with other and weightier matters, having reason to believe that he would have to meet an attack of three Army Corps on a front of eight miles with only one Division.  Which belief turned out to be true, and had for Sergeant John Stokes momentous consequences, as you shall hear.

II

When John Stokes found himself once more in charge of a platoon he was greatly puzzled.  He had been suddenly given back his arms and his belt, which no prisoner, whether in close or open arrest, is supposed to wear, and his guard had gone with him.  He knew nothing about Paragraph 482 of the King’s Regulations, which contemplates “emergencies”; still less did he know that an emergency had arisen—­such an emergency as will cast lustre upon British arms to the end of time.  But that strange things were happening ahead he knew full well, for his new unit was as oddly made up as Falstaff’s army:  gunners, cooks, and A.S.C. drivers were all lumped together to make a company.  Some carried their rifles at the slope and some at the trail, some had bayonets and some had not, certain details from the Rifle Brigade marched with their own quick trot, and some wore spurs.

Of one thing he was thankful:  his old battalion, wherever they were, were not there.  And the company commander coming along and perceiving the stripes on his sleeve, had, without further inquiry, put him in charge of a platoon, and thereafter he lost sight of his guard altogether.

He knew nothing of where he was.  Few soldiers at the Front ever do:  they will be billeted in a village for a week and not know so much as the name of it.  But that big business was afoot was evident to him, for they were marching in column of route almost at the double, under a faint moon and in absolute silence—­the word having gone forth that there was to be no smoking or talking in the ranks.