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Through the streets of Bethune streamed a tide of war: the transport
of divisions, gun-teams with their limber ambulance convoys,
ammunition wagons, infantry moving up to the front, despatch riders,
staff-officers, signalers, and a great host of men and mules and
motor-cars. The rain lashed down upon the crowds; waterproofs and
burberries and the tarpaulin covers of forage-carts streamed with
water, and the bronzed faces of the soldiers were dripping wet. Mud
splashed them to the thighs. Fountains of mud spurted up from the
wheels of gun-carriages. The chill of winter made Highlanders as well
as Indians--those poor, brave, wretched Indians who had been flung
into the holding attack on the canal at La Bassee, and mown down in
the inevitable way by shrapnel and machine-gun bullets--shiver in the
wind.
Yet, in spite of rain and great death, there was a spirit of
exultation among many fighting-men. At last there was a break in the
months of stationary warfare. We were up and out of the trenches.


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