I crawled through a barbed wire fence and stole two buckets of water from the pond of those ingrate French females. Luckily I was unobserved, or they might have done the Orpheus act on me. Across country the laden wagons biting deep into the soggy turf made heavy work for the poor beasts. Though the villages are all embowered with trees and orchards and hedges are beginning to bloom, the intervening country is treeless, hedgeless, fenceless, cultivated and diversified with squares and oblongs of ploughed land, young crops and meadows. The sky is now clear and star-set, gun-flashes flutter about the horizon and an odd shell whirrs overhead.
Walk March 