There was no one to tell me where my battalion was.

I must have gone a long distance in the many detours I made.

The country was still a place of mystery to me, and "The little owls that hoot and call" seemed to be the voice of the night itself.

The roads were winding and lonely and the air was full of the pleasant odours of the spring fields.

It was getting very late and I despaired of finding a roof under which to spend the night.