"There’ll be one at 3 p.m., and if you wish to take that, get your men aboard." We might have been touring France—he was so nonchalant, and there was such an absence of "red-tape." Imagine in these hyper-martial days being told to "take the 3 p.m. train if we wished!" Nowadays it is not a matter of volition; units go where and when they are commanded, and a definite system has replaced haphazard. But the old way had its good points—it still let one believe he was in part his own master. Having a sense of duty and, moreover, being anxious to reach our destination—wherever that might be—we entrained once more and travelled all the balance of that day and night. Promptly at 3 p.m. Reggy fell asleep, and didn’t wake once, not even to eat, until the following morning at six o’clock, when with a crash he was thrown off his couch to the floor of the train. Thus rudely startled, but not quite wide awake, he ejaculated: "Torpedoed, by Gad!" We didn’t take time to wake Reggy and explain the situation, but sprang to our feet and threw open the door of the train. What had happened? We were at Boulogne; our train had collided with another in the railway yards, but fortunately only one coach was crushed and no one hurt. We descended to the tracks and found other coaches on other trains in a similar condition. It was not difficult to understand the cause. The German spy leaves nothing undone, and was very careful to attend to such details as changing the railway switches to the wrong tracks. By now the spies have been almost completely weeded out; but in those days they were very active. How thorough was their system was well illustrated when, later on, the Western Cavalry entered the trenches. A wooden horse rose instantly above the German trench, bearing this legend: "Western Cavalry, come over and get your horses!" Our boys promptly shot the offending animal full of holes. It fell; but in a moment was raised again with bandages about its neck and leg! Despite the early morning hour, in a railway car a few yards from us, several young Englishwomen were busy serving hot cocoa and rolls to the hungry soldiers. The interior of the coach had been transformed into a kitchen and travelling buffet. Every man in uniform was welcome to enter and partake free of charge. We took advantage of this practical hospitality and, much refreshed, returned to our own train. At another platform a regiment of Ghurkas were engaged loading their equipment. One came across to our engine and drawing some hot water from the boiler, washed his teeth and mouth with infinite care. The Ghurka is so like the Jap in appearance that when, later, we saw a body of these brave little chaps, with their turned-up Stetson hats, marching along the street, for a moment we actually mistook them for our Oriental allies. It was only when we observed their short broad swords (kukris) that we realised it could be none other than these famous men from India.