The array of carts, the patches of tents, the coming and going of men
increases. But here are three women harvesting, and presently in a
cornfield are German prisoners working under one old Frenchman. Then
the fields become trampled again. Here is a village, not so very much
knocked about, and passing through it we go slowly beside a long column
of men going up to the front. We scan their collars for signs of some
familiar regiment. These are new men going up for the first time; there
is a sort of solemn elation in many of their faces.

The men coming down are usually smothered in mud or dust, and unless
there has been a fight they look pretty well done up. They stoop under
their equipment, and some of the youngsters drag. One pleasant thing
about this coming down is the welcome of the regimental band, which is
usually at work as soon as the men turn off from the high road. I hear
several bands on the British front; they do much to enhance the general
cheerfulness. On one of these days of my tour I had the pleasure of
seeing the ---th Blankshires coming down after a fight. As we drew
near I saw that they combined an extreme muddiness with an unusual
elasticity. They all seemed to be looking us in the face instead of
being too fagged to bother. Then I noticed a nice grey helmet dangling
from one youngster's bayonet, in fact his eye directed me to it. A man
behind him had a black German helmet of the type best known in English
illustrations; then two more grey appeared. The catch of helmets was
indeed quite considerable. Then I perceived on the road bank above
and marching parallel with this column, a double file of still muddier
Germans. Either they wore caps or went bare-headed. There were no
helmets among them. We do not rob our prisoners but--a helmet is a
weapon. Anyhow, it is an irresistible souvenir.

Now and then one sees afar off an ammunition dump, many hundreds of