Later in the day we passed gangs of Hun prisoners--clumsy looking
fellows, with flaxen hair and blue eyes, who seemed to be thanking God
every minute with smiles that they were out of danger and on our side
of the line. Late in the afternoon the engine jumped the rails; we
were advised to wander off to a rest-camp, the direction of which was
sketchily indicated. We found some Australians with a transport-wagon
and persuaded them to help us with our baggage. It had been pouring
heavily, but the clouds had dispersed and a rainbow spanned the sky. I
took it for a sign.
After trudging about six miles, we arrived at the camp and found that
it was out of food and that all the tents were occupied. We stretched
our sleeping-bags on the ground and went to bed supperless. We had had
no food all day. Next morning we were told that we ought to jump an
ammunition-lorry, if we wanted to get any further on our
journey. Nobody seemed to want us particularly, and no one could give
us the least information as to where our division was. It was another
lesson, if that were needed, of our total unimportance. While we were
waiting on the roadside, an Australian brigade of artillery passed
by. The men's faces were dreary with fatigue; the gunners were
dismounted and marched as in a trance. The harness was muddy, the
steel rusty, the horses lean and discouraged. We understood that they
were pulling out from an offensive in which they had received a bad
cutting up.
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