It was, as I have said, on the ride home—the ponies were' miserable-looking beasts by the time I rejoined them—that I experienced fear. There is a certain space of ground between the British camp and General Kamio's which is a favourite German target. There is an excellent reason why this should be the ease—though, once again, I must leave you to guess. We were riding one behind the other, the wind in our faces, saddles and clothes soaked through and through, when the cannonading, which had stopped for a little while, recommenced. One was leaving it all behind and thinking how good something hot to drink: would be when suddenly the part of one's mind which gives orders automatically telegraphed a series of messages. Coming down from behind I heard that unmistakeable shrill whirl.
It travelled, of course, much more rapidly than I can write the sentence, but slowly enough to make
Text read from the printed page and cleaned; old type leaves the occasional error.