But what I write is the truth as far as I, from the
outside, have seen it. If it is not true, this book has no value
whatever.
We were warned by the soldier who guarded us not to walk in a group
and we stole now, beneath a garden-wall, white under the moon, in a
long line. I could hear Trenchard behind me stumbling over the stones
and ruts, walking as he always did with little jerks, as though his
legs were beyond his control. We came then on to the high road, which
was so white and clear in the moonlight that it seemed as though the
whole Austrian army must instantly whisper to themselves: "Ah, there
they are!" and fire. The ditch to our right, as far as I could see,
was lined with soldiers, hidden by the hedge behind them, their rifles
just pointing on to the white surface of the land. Our guide asked
them their division and was answered in a whisper. The soldiers were
ghosts: there was no one, save ourselves, alive in the whole world....
Then a little incident occurred. I was walking in the rear of our
wagons that I might see that all were there.
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