As I Swung Round The Bend Of The Hills
Downwards And Looked Up The Sloping Dell, I Remembered That These
Heathery hollows were called 'vallons' by the people of Lorraine, and
this set me singing the song of the hunters,
'Entends tu dans nos
vallons, le Chasseur sonner du clairon,' which I sang loudly till I
reached the river bank, and lost the exhilaration of the hills.
I had now come some twelve miles from my starting-place, and it was
midnight. The plain, the level road (which often rose a little), and
the dank air of the river began to oppress me with fatigue. I was not
disturbed by this, for I had intended to break these nights of
marching by occasional repose, and while I was in the comfort of
cities - especially in the false hopes that one got by reading books - I
had imagined that it was a light matter to sleep in the open. Indeed,
I had often so slept when I had been compelled to it in Manoeuvres,
but I had forgotten how essential was a rug of some kind, and what a
difference a fire and comradeship could make. Thinking over it all,
feeling my tiredness, and shivering a little in the chill under the
moon and the clear sky, I was very ready to capitulate and to sleep in
bed like a Christian at the next opportunity. But there is some
influence in vows or plans that escapes our power of rejudgement.
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