The Jersey youth
came with me to my doorstep.
"'Twas a grand march!" he remarked.
"Fine," I replied.
"I can't help looking at the stars!" he said as he moved off. "There
are a lot to-night. And to think--" He hesitated, with the words
trembling on his tongue, realising that he was going to repeat
himself. "Anyway, there's some stars," he said in a low voice. "Good
night!"
There is a peculiar glamour about all night work. The importance of
night manoeuvring was emphasised in the South African War, and we had
ample opportunities of becoming accustomed to the darkness. On one
occasion at about nine o'clock we swung out from the town with our
regimental pipe-band playing to pursue some night operations. So far
the men did not know what task had been assigned to them.
"We've got to do to-night's work as quiet as a growing mushroom,"
someone whispered to me, as we took our way off the road and lined up
in the field that, stretching out in front and flanks, lost itself in
formless mistiness under the loom of the encircling hedgerows. Here
and there in the distance trees stand up gaunt and bare, holding
out their leafless branches as if in supplication to the grey sky; a
slight whisper of wind moaned along the ground and died away in the
darkness.
Our officer, speaking in a low voice, gave instructions. "The enemy is
advancing to attack us in great force," he explained, "and our scouts
have located him some six miles away from here. We have now found that
it is inadvisable to march on any farther, as our reinforcements
are not very strong and have been delayed to rear.
Pages:
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55