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The old man got the better of him always does. But he's a good officer." "Who?" "Hullocher. Shut up." These two had reached familiarity with the swiftness characteristic of martial life. During the brief colloquy Resmith had sat very upright on his horse, the chin slightly lifted, the head quite still, even the lips scarcely moving to articulate. Colonel Hullocher seemed now to be approaching.
George, who had accompanied Captain Resmith into the background, murmured to him, as cautiously as a convict talking at exercise: "He's got his knife into me." "Who?" "The Colonel." "Don't you know why?" "No. I was specially recommended to him." "Well, that's one reason, isn't it? But there was a difficulty between him and the Major as to when you should come.
"Look at your watch," said Resmith, smiling. "Ten to, exactly." "That's right. We have ten minutes in each hour." All dismounted, examined horses for galls, and looked at their shoes, took pulls at water-bottles, lit cigarettes, expectorated, coughed, flicked at flies with handkerchiefs. The party also went past, and shortly afterwards returned with the stretcher laden.
And the surface itself of the road, exasperated by innumerable hoofs and wheels, seemed to be in a kind of crawling fermentation. The smell of humanity and horses was strong. The men were less inclined to sing. "Left!" yelled a voice. And another: "Left!" And still another, very close on the second one: "LEFT!" "Keep your distances there!" Resmith shouted violently.
Eyes right." And the same action followed. Then another officer cried: "Left section. Eyes right." So the rite proceeded. Resmith and George had now gone back to their proper places. George could see the drivers of the last gun gathering up the whip thongs into their hands preparatory to the salute. C sub-section received the command.
This piece of organization rather impressed George. "Well, my boy," said the Major, "you'd better go and report yourself. You've been a great help to me." George saluted according to the Major's own doctrine, and departed. At Battery Headquarters he met Captain Resmith. "How did you get on with Auntie?" asked Resmith in his loud, firm voice. George winked.
And then, not many yards ahead, the voice of an N.C.O.: "D sub-section. Eyes right." Heads turned; whips were raised and flung outwards; horses swerved slightly. "Get ready," muttered Resmith to George. The figure of the C.R.A., Brigadier-General Rannion, motionless on a charger, came into view. George's heart was beating high. Resmith and he saluted. The General gazed hard at him and never moved.
A horn sounded, and the next moment a motor-car, apparently full of red-hats, rushed past the Battery, overtaking it, in a blinding storm of dust. It was gone, like a ghost. "That's the Almighty himself," Resmith explained, with unconscious awe and devotion in his powerful voice. "Gramstone, Major-General." A hand went up, and the Battery stopped. It was the first halt.
Do what he would, harden himself as he might, George at thirty-three could never hope to rival the sinews of the boy of twenty-four, who incidentally could instruct him on every conceivable military subject. George, standing by his sodden horse, felt humiliated and annoyed as Resmith cantered off to speak to the officer commanding the Ammunition Column.
Heaven and earth were equally mysterious and inscrutable. He inserted himself cautiously into the aperture of the shelter, where Resmith already lay asleep, and, having pushed back his cap, arranged his right arm for a pillow. The clammy ground had been covered with dry horse-litter. As soon as he was settled the noise of the rain ceaselessly pattering on the waterproof became important.
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