"_Will_ you men stand in line?" he cried. "How do any of you ever expect to succeed in life if you can’t learn to stand in a straight line?" With which unanswerable argument and much pleased with his midnight philosophy, he relapsed into his customary genial smile. At last the blankets were distributed, and in an hour the station platform and bridge over the tracks looked like the deck of an emigrant steamer. Wherever the eye reached, the dimly-lighted platform showed rows of sleeping men, rolled up and looking very like sacks of potatoes lying together. Five of us officers turned into the expressman’s hut, and in the dark fell into whatever corner was available. Reggy and I occupied either side of an unlighted stove, and throughout the jumpy watches of the night bruised our shins against its inhospitable legs. Dawn was breaking, and breaking darkly, too, as the dim shadow of the expressman came stumbling across the platform through rows of growling men. At last he reached his office, and, all unconscious of our presence, stepped within. He stepped upon the sleeping form of the adjutant, and the form emitted a mighty roar. The expressman staggered back in amazement, giving vent to this weird epigram: "Every bloomin’ ’ole a sleepin’ ’ole!" "You’ll ’ave to get up," he cried indignantly when he had recovered from his astonishment. "This ain’t a bloomin’ boardin’-’ouse!" "Could you return in half an hour?" Reggy queried in drowsy tones, but without opening his eyes. "No. I couldn’t return in ’alf an hour," he mocked peevishly. "Run away like a good fellow, and bring some shaving water—-have it hot!" Reggy commanded. "Oh, I’ll make it ’ot for you all right, if you don’t let me into my office," he retorted angrily. Might is not always right, so we reluctantly rose. We had had three hours of fitful sleep—not too much for our first night’s soldiering. Hot coffee, cheese and biscuits were soon served by our cooks, and we prepared for our first march on English sod. No one who made that march from Lavington to West Down North will ever forget it. Napoleon’s march to Moscow was mere child’s play compared with it. Reggy said both his corns were shrieking for Blue Jays and when Bill Barker removed his socks (skin and all) it marked an epoch in his life, for both his feet were clean. Every fifteen minutes it rained. At first we thought this mere playfulness on the part of the weather; but when it kept right on for weeks on end, we knew it to be distemper. By day it was a steady drizzle, but at night the weather did its proudest feats. Sometimes it was a cloudburst; anon an ordinary shower that splashed in angry little squirts through the canvas, and fell upon our beds. And the mud! We stood in mud. We walked in mud. We slept in mud. The sky looked muddy, too. Once, and only once, the moon peeped out—it had splashes of mud on its face!