Their faces were eager, intent, earnest. They had come a long
distance and now they had arrived. And what next?
Into this scene of war unexpectedly obtruded itself a bit of peace. A
great cart came down a side road, drawn by two white oxen with heavy
wooden yokes. Piled high in the cart were sugar beets. Some thrifty
peasant was salvaging what was left of his crop. The sight of the oxen
reminded me that I had seen very few horses.
"They are farther back," said the officer, "Of course, as you know,
for the last two or three months it has been impossible to use the
cavalry at all."
Then he told me a curious thing. He said that during the long winter
wait the cavalry horses got much out of condition. The side roads were
thick with mud and the main roads were being reserved for transports.
Adequate exercises for the cavalry seemed impossible. One detachment
discovered what it considered a bright solution, and sent to England
for beagle hounds. Morning after morning the men rode after the hounds
over the flat fields of France. It was a welcome distraction and it
kept the horses in working trim.
But the French objected. They said their country was at war, was being
devastated by an alien army. They considered riding to hounds, no
matter for What purpose, an indecorous, almost an inhuman, thing to do
under the circumstances.
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