CHAPTER XXVII
On the Part Dennis Played in the Recapture of Biaches
It was growing dark now, and the rolling country through which they passed became rapidly blurred. The white excavations that here and there marked the presence of a trench were like a child's scribbling on a slate, if the occasional glow of a brazier had not told Dennis that those trenches were full of men, all waiting to repulse the great Allied push.
He was happier now that the night was at hand, for it lessened his chances of being recognised; but most of all was he pleased that no one seemed to bother his head about him—no one entered into conversation.
For all that his condition was one of cramped discomfort, apart from its peril. The tightly packed mass of human beings smelt offensively, for the German, even in peace time, is a dirty animal, not fond of washing himself.
The train moved so slowly—it was one of half a dozen similar trains all using a single line—that he seriously contemplated trying to escape when it should become quite dark, only the obvious presence of large bodies of troops in every direction made him abandon the idea.
He was conscious that a feeling of sullen discontent was present in the battalion.
"'Tis a blessing we're not going to Verdun, or to Hindenburg's command," said one of his neighbours in a low voice. "I myself have been spirited three times to Poland and back, until the very sight of a troop train gives me a feeling of sickness."