Next To It On The Left, Of Equal Height, Was The Hog Back Of
The Cote Barine, Hiding A Battery.
Between the Cote Barine and my
road and wall, I saw the rising ground and the familiar Barracks that
Are called (I know not why) the Barracks of Justice, but ought more
properly to be called the Barracks of petty tyrannies and good
fellowship, in order to show the philosophers that these two things
are the life of armies; for of all the virtues practised in that old
compulsory home of mine Justice came second at least if not third,
while Discipline and Comradeship went first; and the more I think of
it the more I am convinced that of all the suffering youth that was
being there annealed and forged into soldiery none can have suffered
like the lawyers. On the right the high trees that stand outside the
ramparts of the town went dwindling in perspective like a palisade,
and above them, here and there, was a roof showing the top of the
towers of the Cathedral or of St Gengoult. All this I saw looking
backwards, and, when I had noticed it and drawn it, I turned round
again and took the road.
I had, in a small bag or pocket slung over my shoulder, a large piece
of bread, half a pound of smoked ham, a sketch-book, two Nationalist
papers, and a quart of the wine of Brule - which is the most famous
wine in the neighbourhood of the garrison, yet very cheap.
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