CHAPTER XIII

HEAT AND DUST

The Subaltern did not get to sleep until twelve, and the Regiment made another start as early as half-past two.  It seemed to him that when necessity drives there is no limit to the nerve force that we have in us!  They marched some miles in a westerly direction before they rejoined the main road southwards.

To describe in detail the sufferings of that day would be to repeat almost word for word some of the preceding paragraphs.  It was just as hot as usual, just as dusty as usual.  An order had come from somewhere that there was to be no looting.  Men were to be forbidden to snatch an apple from a fruit-strewn orchard, or an egg from a deserted barn!  The owners had already fled from their homes, and here Mr. Thomas Atkins was solemnly asked to go hungry and thirsty and to relieve the enemy of one of his greatest difficulties—­feeding himself.  The Platoon having halted for the usual hourly halt outside an orchard, some of the men broke into it and began to throw apples over the hedge to the others.  Seeing the Colonel approaching, the Subaltern realised that something must be done instantly to avert disaster.  “What the deuce are you men doing?  Come out of it!” he cried.  The men came, looking very dejected.  The Colonel, pacified, passed by.  A second later, the glad work of refreshing the troops was being carried on by a fresh couple of men.

It must have been a very similar situation that gave birth to a story that has already become famous.  A Tommy was caught by a “brass hat” in the very act of strangling a chicken.  Tommy looked up.  Was he abashed?  Not a bit of it!  He did what Mr. Thomas Atkins generally does in a tight corner.  He kept his head:  he rose magnificently to the occasion.  He did not loose the chicken and endeavour to stammer an apology.  On the contrary, he continued to strangle it.  He took no notice of the “brass hat.”  As he gave a final twist to the bird’s throat he said menacingly, “So you’d try to bite me, would you, you little brute!”

Towards the end of the afternoon the men were so obviously exhausted, and the number forced to fall out was so great, that a halt had to be ordered in spite of previous plans.  The men threw themselves utterly exhausted on the ground on their backs, and lay like so many corpses until the march was continued, in the cool of the evening.

The Subaltern, consulting a fresh map—­for they had been walking across the ground covered by one map every day—­learnt to his surprise that they were within a few miles of Paris.  And so also, he thought, were the Germans!  It rather looked as if they were heading straight towards the city, and that would mean a siege.  It was no use worrying about things, but that depressing idea was in the minds of most of the Officers that evening.  Not that the Subaltern cared much at the time—­it would mean a stop to this everlasting marching, and perhaps the forts of Paris could stand it; anyhow the German Fleet had been rounded up. (That wicked rumour spread by the sensational section of the Press had not yet been denied.)