At length the Sergeant blew the whistle and shouted: 

“Fall in!  Yer’d better put a jerk in it—­yer won’t go till yer’ve finished.  It’s a task job.  Yer didn’t shift ’alf the sleepers this mornin’—­there’s another couple o’ thousand left, so get a bloody move on!”

The grumbling was renewed in the ranks.

“It’s no good yer bloody well grousin’.  The work’s got ter be done.  Carry on!”

Our tedious round began again.  The distance from the old stacks to the new increased steadily.  We tramped through mud and slush in wind and snow, hour by hour.

“I’m goin’ ter ’ave a rest—­I’ve ‘ad enough o’ this,” said my partner.  I felt annoyed, for although I was stiff and tired and sore, I had again relapsed into that state of dulled sensibility in which my limbs seemed to move automatically and time to have no existence at all.  Although I was aware of pain I was yet indifferent to it.  And now my partner was going to drag me back to full consciousness.  I gave way to his wish and we leaned against a stack.  We stayed there with several others until we were discovered by a Corporal who chased us out and abused us roundly.

We went on with our work.  The brief rest had only done harm, for the first sleeper that was subsequently laid on to my shoulders produced such a pang that I had to close my eyes for a moment.  Nor could I set my stiff limbs in motion without difficulty.  I silently cursed my partner.

The dreary hours dragged on.  I tried hard to fall back into my former state of blurred consciousness, but the very attempt itself frustrated the effort.  I was full of growing resentment against my partner.  My dormant anger was aroused, it had found an object and, against all reason and fairness, demanded vengeance.  I pretended to stumble and jerked the sleeper so as to hurt his bruised shoulder.

“‘Ere, what yer doin’ of?” he shouted, in great pain.  “Christ Almighty—­be a bit careful!”

In a moment I regretted what I had done and said, “Sorry, I stumbled over something—­I hope I didn’t hurt you!” I felt ashamed and all my resentment vanished.  Thereupon I became too oppressed in spirit even to look at my watch.

We had been splashing and squelching to and fro, I did not know how long, when an officer arrived.  He stood still for a moment and watched us work, and then he said: 

“The job’s got to be done this afternoon, my lads, but I’ll try to get you a day off to-morrow.  Who’s in charge of the party?”

We pointed to Sergeant Hyndman.  He was sitting in an improvised shelter in front of a fire, sipping hot tea.  He had spent the greater part of the day there and had not observed the arrival of the officer, who was walking slowly towards him.  Suddenly he jumped up and there was an exchange of words which we could not hear, although we tried hard to do so.  The Sergeant came over to us, looking rather disconcerted, so we were able to guess the nature of the conversation.