Owing to the mud and the German barrage no supplies could be brought up,
and it was impossible to light braziers. On the fourth night relief
came, but it was daylight before the last company sucked itself out of
its mudholes and waded back in full view of the enemy. Fortunately a
blinding snowstorm swept down from the north and hid all movement just
when it seemed certain that disaster would occur. Every available
vehicle was sent up to meet the battalion, but there was a long walk
before these could be reached. The men crept along on sodden, swollen
feet--no gumboots had been obtainable. They came along in groups, now of
two or three, now of six or seven, or one by one. They were bent like
old men, and staggered as they walked, their faces set and grey. The
most terrible thing of all was the utter silence. Snow muffled the fall
of the dragging feet; it lay thick on the masses of ruins in the
shattered empty villages; and when the brigade major's greeting rang
out men shrank and looked fearful at the sudden sound. Yet when I spoke
to any, as they staggered through the snow past the point whither I had
gone to meet them, life flickered up for a moment from the depths of
that final exhaustion.
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