As it neared the earth it began to sway to and fro, in ever-increasing violence, and finally disappeared from view behind a clump of trees. So far as I could observe, it did not seem in any way possible for the parachute to have delivered its human freight safely to the earth. Next day we began a three days' march to a village some thirty-eight miles back of the line. We were to be rested and fattened for the Somme. The mention of rest camps to men at the front generally raises a smile, for if there is one thing more noticeable than anything else during a rest period, it is the hard work which has to be done. The long days of training, the unlimited fatigue work, and the never-ending cleaning of tattered uniforms and trench-soiled boots are equalled only by the fastidiousness of an Aldershot parade. CHAPTER IX DEPARTURE FOR THE SOMME CORBIE. HAPPY VALLEY. PASSING THROUGH THE GUNS On Sunday, September 2, our so-called rest came to an abrupt finish, and we entrained for an unknown destination. Destinations are always a mystery until the train pulls up with a jerk, and peremptory orders are given to get out. The difference in travelling as a civilian and travelling as a soldier is that in the former case you choose your time of departure or arrival at a convenient hour; while in the latter case the most unearthly hour is selected for you. We arrived at Corbie at 2 A.M. Not that we knew it was Corbie at the time, or cared; and even if we had known, we should have been little the wiser. Still, I will say this about Corbie, that it is pronounced in the way it is spelled, and that relieves one of a sense of uneasiness. For, as a general rule, no matter how you pronounce the names of a French town, you will find some one with an air of superior knowledge, or gifted with a special twist of the tongue, who will find a new pronunciation. However, we detrained onto the line. The night was as black as pitch. Sleepy soldiers, struggling with their equipments, dropped out of the carriages; and after a great deal of shouting we got into some kind of formation, and the long column slowly moved off into the night. I dropped into position in the rear of the column, feeling very tired, and wondering where I should find a place to sleep. The long column wended its way through narrow streets and along cobbled roads, and gradually seemed to melt into mysterious doorways under the guiding influence of quartermaster sergeants. This process went on until I suddenly realised that the whole column had disappeared, and I was left alone in the streets of Corbie at 3 A.M. in a steady downpour of rain, without the faintest notion of where I was, or where my billet was. I walked a little farther down the street, and being very tired, wet, and sleepy, had almost decided to lie in the street until the morning, when I tumbled across Farman, Chislehirst, and Day following the faithful quartermaster-sergeant to an unknown billet.