As we went on we encountered the Indian troops again. The weather was
better, and they thronged the roads, driving their tiny carts,
cleaning arms and accoutrements in sunny doorways, proud and haughty
in appearence even when attending to the most menial duties. From the
little ammunition carts, like toy wagons, they gazed gravely at the
car, and at the unheard of spectacle of a woman inside. Side by side
with the Indians were Scots in kilts, making up with cheerful
impudence for the Indians' lack of curiosity.
There were more Ghurkas, carrying rifles and walking lightly beside
forage carts driven by British Tommies. There were hundreds of these
carts taking hay to the cavalry divisions. The Ghurkas looked more
Japanese than ever in the clear light. Their broad-brimmed khaki hats
have a strap that goes under the chin. The strap or their black
slanting eyes or perhaps their rather flattened noses and pointed
chins give them a look of cruelty that the other Indian troops do not
have. They are hard and relentless fighters, I believe; and they look
it.
The conversation in the car turned to the feeding of the army.
"The British Army is exceedingly well fed," said the young officer.
"In the trenches also?"
"Always. The men are four days in the trenches and four out. When the
weather is too bad for anything but sniping, the inactivity of the
trench life and the abundant ration gets them out of condition.
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