About 1 A.M. some one comes in and awakens you.
“Message from Brigade, sir.”
With an uncontrite heart you read it: “Forward to this office immediately a complete nominal roll of all men of your unit who have served continuously for nine months without leave.” That takes two hours, and necessitates the awakening of all unit commanders, as the last Adjutant kept no record. In psychic waves you feel curses raining on you through the stilly night. Having made an application—in writing—to the C.O., to be returned to duty, you go to bed.
At 3.30 A.M. you are awakened again. “Movement order from Brigade, sir!”
This time you say nothing. All power of speech is lost. The entire regiment curses you, while by the light of a guttering candle you write a movement order, “operation order number”—what the deuce is the number anyhow. The Colonel is—shall we say—indisposed as to temper, and the companies get half an hour to fall in, ready to march off. One Company loses the way, and does not arrive at the starting-point.
“Did you specify the starting-point quite clearly, Mr. Jones?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Where did you say it was?”
“One hundred yards south of the ‘N’ in CANDIN, sir.”
“There are two ‘N’s’ in CANDIN, Mr. Jones; two ‘N’s’! How can you expect a company commander to know which ‘N’? Gross carelessness. Gross carelessness. Go and find the Company, please.”