He knew nothing of where he was. Few soldiers at the Front ever do: they
will be billeted in a village for a week and not know so much as the
name of it. But that big business was afoot was evident to him, for they
were marching in column of route almost at the double, under a faint
moon and in absolute silence--the word having gone forth that there was
to be no smoking or talking in the ranks.

Not a sound was to be heard, except the whisper of the poplars and the
tramp of the men's feet upon the _pavé_. The road was so greasy with mud
that it might have been beeswaxed, and Stokes's boots, the nails of
which had been worn down, kept slipping as on a parquet floor. As they
passed through the mean little villages not a light was to be seen; even
the _estaminets_ were shut, but now and again a dog barked mournfully at
its chain. Once a whispered command was given at the head of the column,
which halted so suddenly that the men behind almost fell upon the men in
front, and then backed hastily; and these movements were automatically
communicated all down the column, so that the sections of fours lurched
like the trucks of a train which is suddenly pulled up. At that moment
something flashed at the head of the column, and Stokes suddenly caught
a glimpse of the faces of the captain and the subaltern in an aureole of
light lit by the needle-like rays of an electric torch as they studied a
map and compass.

But in no long time their ears told them they were nearing their
destination, even as a traveller learns that he is nearing the sea. For
they heard the crackle of musketry following upon the altercation of
guns. All this passed as in a dream, and it seemed little more than a
few minutes before Sergeant Stokes, having passed through a curtain of
shrapnel, had his platoon extended in some shallow support trenches to