And every other man, regardless of his breed, held a cheap cigar between
his front teeth; but the wagon drivers and many of the cavalrymen smoked
pipes--the long-stemmed, china-bowled pipe, which the German loves. The
column moved beneath a smoke-wreath of its own making.
The thing, however, which struck one most forcibly was the absolute
completeness, the perfect uniformity, of the whole scheme. Any man's
equipment was identically like any other man's equipment. Every
drinking cup dangled behind its owner's spine-tip at precisely the same
angle; every strap and every buckle matched. These Germans had been run
through a mold and they had all come out soldiers. And, barring a few
general officers, they were all young men--men yet on the sunny side of
thirty. Later we were to see plenty of older men--reserves and
Landwehr--but this was the pick of the western line that passed through
Louvain, the chosen product of the active wing of the service.
Out of the narrow streets the marchers issued; and as they reached the
broader space before the town hall each company would raise a song,
beating with its heavy boots on the paving stones to mark the time.
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