Even after all these months it pains me to record the bitter disappointment of that moment. All men have their peculiarities—Some are afflicted more than others. We may forgive, but we cannot always forget. And yet he had his good points, too; he wasn’t quite all bad. Perhaps Fraser’s question was injudicious; perhaps he hadn’t been deferential enough to his senior officer. At any rate it was two days later when we first heard the news. The adjutant, who had been taken into the major’s confidence, whispered the message to us: "The colonel is at Boulogne, and orders will be sent us in a few days to join him. I have been told not to tell you, but I must relieve your anxiety. Keep it secret!" How we loved him for his thoughtfulness! The tension was broken. We were once more happy and content. Three days later the order came to move. We were to entrain at midnight, and all day long we were busy packing. By nine everything was ready. The motor lorries were loaded, and we started our march toward the train. It was a pitch-black night and rain swept the streets in chilling torrents. One of the horses of our team had a chafed back and could not be harnessed, so that my horse was selected to take his place. The wagon was piled high with the kit-bags of the men, and from this elevation one of the orderlies held the halter of the sick horse, which followed behind. We started down the steep hill from the camp, horses and men alike slipping upon the wet and greasy cobblestones. Suddenly a slight explosion startled the led horse. He reared upon his hind legs, jerked the halter from the hand of the orderly and bolted down the hill into the darkness. Who would dare follow him? To ride down that incline at any rate faster than a walk was sheer recklessness. Surely no horse or man who attempted to do so would return alive. But Huxford, putting spurs to his horse, plunged down the hill at breakneck speed, a shower of sparks flying out on either side as the horse’s steel shoes struck the stones. "Good God!" cried Barker; "he’ll never come back—he’s a dead man!" "Why didn’t he let the horse go?" cried the senior major anxiously. "Now we’ve lost two horses and a man. He doesn’t know the city or where we are going, and even if he gets through alive, he’ll never find us again." "How could he expect to overtake a run-away horse in a strange city on a night like this? It’s madness!" exclaimed the adjutant. "He was a fine lad," said the quartermaster sadly, as though Huxford were already dead. "Seems such a pity to lose him. I didn’t think he had the courage to do it." But war shatters preconceived ideas. No one can tell which men are brave until the crisis comes. Those who seem strongest fail; those who seem weakest succeed.