“Damn,” said Torrington, “I thought we were going to get a little rest. The men are pretty well all in. Straker’s up at the O. Pip,^[11] but he won’t see much. One round a minute, you say.”

They were standing under the trees, just outside the command post—a vast hollow mound of chalk, shored with timber, top covered with new-cut branches.

“Come in, won’t you? We’re just going to have some tea.”

Peter crouched through the timbered doorway; sat down on a ration-box. “I’ll just get on to Straker.” Torrington buzzed on the ’phone above his untidy bunk. “Give me the O. Pip, please. What’s that? You wanted H.Q. Well, the Adjutant’s here.” He handed the receiver to Peter.

Straker’s voice came stuttering down the wire: “I thought you’d like to know that one of our Infantry Brigades is coming up the road. The 2nd, I think. They’re just marching round the Fosse now.”

“Thanks,” said Peter calmly. “Don’t go away. Torrington wants to speak to you.” ... And to Torrington, “I don’t think I’ll stay for tea, thanks. You might pass the order on to Lodden....”

Peter picked his way diagonally across the field towards the ruined house at the cross-roads. In it, a fire burned. His own men stood about, smoking, gossiping, drinking tea from enamelled mugs. A wounded man limped by, eyes on the ground.

And suddenly, riding round the battered wall at the foot of the Fosse, he saw Colonel Andrews. On either side of him rode Slattery and Simcox. Peter saluted; the Colonel acknowledged; said “Hallo, Jameson”; rode on. Behind him, came the Chalkshires!

“My God,” thought Peter, “my God!”

Were these the lusty singing men he had known at Worthing, the cheery officers he had dined with at Shoreham—these dust-stained weary fellows, plodding two by two either side of the road? Hardly a sound came from their parched throats. Packs dragged at their shoulders; rifles dragged at their hands. Their faces were lined as the faces of old men. Sweat dripped from them.... A Company straggled by. Came his old company, Arkwright at their head.

“Hallo, Arkwright.”

“Hallo, P.J.”; and Arkwright rode on. Long Longstaffe and Private Haddock, trudging at his horse’s tail, looked up at the known name.

“Gawd,” said the little man, “if it ain’t our old P.J. ’Aven’t got anyfink to eat about yer, I suppose, sir?”

Others took up the cry: “P.J.! Gawblimey, it’s our old P.J. Ask P.J. ’E’ll give us somefink to eat. Somefink to eat, sir. For the love of Gawd. Somefink to eat. We can’t fight with nuffink in our stomachs, sir....”

Peter ran forward; clutched Arkwright’s bridle. “What the Hell’s happened, Arkwright?”

The schoolmaster looked down from his horse. “I don’t know,” he said wearily, “I don’t know. We’ve been marching like this for three days. And the rations haven’t come. That’s all.”

Behind them, rose the heart-breaking voices: “P.J.! Yes, P.J., I tell yer. ’E’ll get us somefink to eat. Gawd! look at them ruddy gunners. They’ve got their rations, they have. ’Ere, mate, for the love of Gawd, just a bit of that bread.”

Some of the gunners ran out of the ruined house; proffered a crust or two. The men snatched at them; tore them with their teeth as they marched.

“I can’t do anything for them,” whispered Peter. “When did they eat last?”

“Yesterday evening. We were hustled out of BÉthune just as they were starting breakfast.... Where are we going? ... God knows, I don’t. The maps haven’t been served out. You’d better get out of this, P.J. It’s only giving the boys false hopes.”

Peter stepped back; and the company plodded by. As they passed him, sweating heads turned, dusty lips murmured. “Can’t you do nuffink for us, sir? Just a bite, sir. Anyfink’ll do, sir.” They looked like faithful dogs whose masters had betrayed them.

“Cheer up, lads,” said Peter, “cheer up!”

“We’ll do our best, sir. Bit ’ard though, our first time in action, ain’t it, sir? ...”

The files trudged past him in the dust. Behind them, came other files, thousands of them. All dust-stained. All sleepless. All hungry. “Food!” they cried as they marched. “Food!”

But not a man of them fell out!