“We’re a bloody lot o’ fools ter stand it—­that’s the worst o’ this mob though, yer’ll never get ’em ter stick together an’ do anythink.”

“I bet the C.O.’s enjoyin’ ’isself....”  A stream of filthy language followed—­abuse of the Commanding Officer, abuse of the army, abuse of the war, and abuse of the Government.  The man could find no other way of expressing himself with adequate force and crudity.  At times he became incoherent.

He was not grumbling at the little hardships and discomforts of this particular morning.  He was grumbling at an entire life of discomfort.  He was rebelling against his degrading slavery and enforced misery, and it was the harrowing consciousness of his own impotence that added such bitterness to his anger.

Not one of us left the tent.  There was a second blast of the whistle, louder and more prolonged than the first, followed by an angrier “On Parade!”

We stepped out into the cold air one by one and splashed and plodded through the slush in surly reluctant fashion.  The day had just begun to dawn, and in the grey twilight I could perceive innumerable dingy figures moving slowly towards the parade ground amid the falling snow.

A long double line of men had already formed up.  The Sergeant-Major blew his whistle a third time and shouted “On Parade—­get a bloody move on!”

Masses of men came straggling up and the line grew longer and longer.  Another double line was formed behind it, and then a third and fourth.

Nearly everybody was on parade, only a few here and there were coming over from the tents.  The Sergeant-Major observed them and shouted to the Corporal of the Police:  “Corporal, take those men’s names—­have ’em up for orderly room this evening.”  Then he turned to us.  “If you can’t turn out a bit smarter, I’ll have you on parade ten minutes earlier—­this is the last warning yer’ll get.”

The Police Corporal was standing over by the tent-lines, entering the names of the stragglers in his notebook.  I could see a solitary figure issue furtively from a tent and slink round the bottom of the parade ground in order to join us from behind and escape observation.  I wished him success and followed his movements with interest.  But just as he was darting into the ranks, one of our Sergeants caught sight of him and said to the Sergeant-Major:  “There’s a man what’s just fell in over there, sir.”

The Sergeant-Major shouted “Come here!” in peremptory tones, but the man pretended he had not heard and remained in the ranks.

“Come here, damn you!”

This second order frightened him, he slunk out of the line, crossed over to the Sergeant-Major and stood to attention before him.

“What’s the matter with you, are you deaf?  Why aren’t you on parade in time?  D’you want to sleep all day?”

“I thought—­er—­parade was at—­was at half-past—­and—­and—­I couldn’t find my puttees....”