The hillside was a picture I shall never forget. Everywhere men were
sleeping in the open--their guns beside them. Fires, over which they
had cooked, were smouldering; pickets everywhere. The moon shed a pale
light and made long shadows. It was really very beautiful if one could
have forgotten that to-morrow many of these men would be sleeping for
good--"Life's fitful dream" over.
XVI
September 8, 1914.
This morning everything and everybody was astir early. It was another
gloriously beautiful day. The birds were singing as if to split their
throats. There was a smell of coffee all over the place. Men were
hurrying up and down the hill, to and fro from the wash-house, bathing,
washing out their shirts and stockings and hanging them on the bushes,
rubbing down horses and douching them, cleaning saddles and
accouterments. There is a lot of work to be done by an army besides
fighting. It was all like a play, and every one was so cheerful.
The chef-major did not come down until his orderly called him, and when
he did he looked as rosy and cheerful as a child, and announced that he
had slept like one.
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