us, we push on, wondering where we halt, who is set­ ting such a fast pace, and why we didn't roll our packs differently. Tronville and a halt at last! With sighs of gratification we sink down onto the low curbstone (yes, Tronville has sidewalks) and produce cigarettes from invisible sources. The whistle blows (an unbelievably short ten minutes), and with much grunting and shifting of packs, we fall in and march off. Ligny lies ahead of us, framed by the poplars bordering the straight white road which flows like a broad ribbon into the heart of the town. On, on we go, shifting our packs this way and that, wondering if there ever was such a long four kilometers, while Ligny seems to recede at each step, unattainable as a "Y" hut in the Zone of Advance.

                At last the buildings close in on either side of us and, at a rapid pace, we surge up a side street and in a few moments emerge on the loading platform of the Ligny station. The trains are waiting for us, and without undue delay we scramble on board. Get­ ting settled in a "40 Hommes, 8 Chevaux" box-car is an art. We are, however, well acclimated to this method of travel and in a twinkling, equipment is slung from nails and hooks in the sides and roof of the car, and the happy travellers are in an inextricable tangle of legs and arms in the straw below. After gloomily speculating on the probability of the car having a flat wheel, we lose no time in getting to sleep. A rattle, a rumble, an effeminate shriek from the engine and we are off, the equipment swinging precariously over the heads of the unconscious sleepers.

CONTENTS
INDEX