That stream was made up of those
various and multifarious elements that go to constitute, equip and
maintain a modern army.
There were marching battalions, with their mounted officers, bearing
names and insignia famous in the world's wars for two hundred years, and
with them battalions who a few brief months ago were peaceful citizens,
knowing nothing of war. There were transport columns, ammunition
columns, artillery columns, with mounted escorts. There were big guns,
on huge caterpillar trucks, shouldering the lighter traffic to the
ditches, and little guns slipping meekly in their rear. There were motor
lorries, honking and thundering their insistent way through dodging,
escaping, cursing infantry, forty-six miles of them to a single army
corps. There were strings of mules and horses with weirdly shaped
burdens on their pack saddles. There were motor cars bearing "Brass
Hats," gentle looking individuals, excessively polite, yet somehow
getting men to jump when they spoke, and everywhere ambulances, silent
and swift moving, before whose approach the stream parted in recognition
of the right of way of these messengers of mercy over all the enginery
of war.
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