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 ample support.  This would mean at least a rest before the next fight, he told himself.

These “dragons” seemed exceedingly intelligent and superior men.  They were quite preoccupied, like men who are going to do something.  There was none of that inane shouting “A bas les Bosches.”  Later on, some transport columns were passed, and the men descended from their wagons and distributed bread to the English.

All day long the sound of guns rolled along to the right.  The sound seemed to move parallel to them, otherwise the day’s march was uneventful.  At about half-past five in the evening the Battalion suddenly struck the “route nationale,” along which they had advanced north of Etreux.  There had been a feeling, once again, that the enemy had been successfully shaken off by the rapidity of the retreat.