I went to visit the outposts by myself; and my wretched pony, Gay, refused to cross a little stream about two feet broad and two inches deep. Nothing would induce her to cross it, so I had to send her back and do it all on foot, beyond a village called Chevalrue and back. By the time I got back, late, hot, and hungry, I must have done four miles on foot.

Sept. 4th.

Having been told we should be here for at least a day to rest, we received orders, I need hardly say, at 7 next morning, to be ready to move immediately. However, it was rather a false alarm, as, except for a Divisional "pow-wow" on general subjects, at 10 A.M. at Bouleurs, we had little to do all day, and did not move till 11.50 P.M. There had been an alarm in the afternoon, by the way, of German cavalry advancing, and I reinforced the Bedfords with another company, and got two howitzers ready to support, but the "Uhlans" did not materialize.

I might here mention, by the way, that all German cavalry, whether Lancers or not, went by the generic name of Uhlans. But it was perhaps not surprising, as all the hostile cavalry, even Hussars, had lances. They were, however, extraordinarily unhandy with them, and our own cavalry had a very poor opinion of their prowess and dash.

Sept. 5th.

The Divisional Orders for the march were complicated, and comprised marching in two columns from different points and meeting about ten miles off. Also, the collecting of my outposts and moving to a left flank was complicated. But it went off all right, and we marched gaily along in the cool night and effected the junction at Villeneuve. Thence on through a big wood with a network of rides, where the two officers who were acting as guides in front went hopelessly astray and took the wrong turning. The leading battalion was, however, very shortly extricated and put on the right road, and after passing Tournans we halted, after a sixteen-mile march, at a magnificent chateau near Gagny (Chateau de la Monture) at 7.30 A.M.

Here we made ourselves extremely comfortable in the best bedrooms of M. Boquet, of the Assurance Maritime, Havre, and sent him a letter expressing our best thanks. Up to 6 P.M. we slept peacefully, with no orders to disturb us, but then they arrived and gave us great joy, for we were to march at 5 A.M., not southwards, but northwards again.

Sept. 6th.

What had happened, or why we were suddenly to turn against the enemy after ten days of retreat, we could not conceive; but the fact was there, and the difference in the spirits of the men was enormous. They marched twice as well, whistling and singing, back through Tournans and on to Villeneuve. Here we had orders to halt and feed, but the halt did not last long, for a summons to the 5th Division Headquarters (in a hot and stuffy little pothouse) arrived at 1 P.M., and by 2 we were marching on through the Foret de Crecy to Mortcerf. It was frightfully hot and dusty, and the track through the forest was not easy to find. Although I had issued stringent orders about the rear of one unit always dropping a guide for the next unit (if not in sight) at any cross-roads we came to, something went astray this time, and half the Brigade turned up at one end of the village of Mortcerf, whilst the other half came in at the other. We were on advanced guard at the time, and so increasing the frontage like this did no harm; but it caused rather a complication in the billets we proceeded to allot.

A delightful little village it was, and the Maire, in whose house we put up, was extremely kind; but by the time I had covered the front with outposts and ridden back, very hot and tired, General Smith Dorrien turned up, and announced that we were to push on in an hour. He was, by the way, very complimentary about the way in which the 15th Brigade had behaved all through, and cast dewdrops upon us with both hands. It was very pleasant, but I was rather taken aback, for I genuinely did not think that we had done anything particularly glorious in the retreat. However, it appeared that the authorities considered that the Brigade was extremely well disciplined and well in hand—for which the praise was due to the C.O.'s and not to me—and were accordingly well pleased.

So we made a hurried little meal at the Maire's house, and Madame threw us delicious pears from a first-floor window as we rode away.

We had not far to go in the dusk, only two or three miles on to the turning which led to La Celle. The Dorsets were pushed on into and beyond La Celle, in rather complicated country—for there was a deep valley and a twisting road beyond; but the few Uhlans in the village bolted as they entered it, and no further disturbances occurred in our front. On our right, however, there was heavy firing, for the 3rd Division had come across a good many of the enemy at Faremoutiers, and at 9.30, and again at 11.30, general actions seemed to be developing. But they died away, and we slept more or less peacefully on a stubble field with a few sheaves of straw to keep us warm. Perpetual messengers, however, kept on arriving with orders and queries all night long, and our sleep was a broken one.

Sept. 7th.

We awoke with the sun, feeling—I speak for myself—rather touzled and chippy, and waited a long time for the orders to proceed. The cooks' waggon turned up with the Quartermaster-Sergeant and breakfast—and still we didn't move. Eventually we fell in and moved off at noon—a hot day again—very hot, in fact, as we strung along on a narrow road in the deep and wooded valley. Very pretty country it was; but what impressed itself still more on me was the gift of some most super-excellent "William" pears by a farmer's wife in a tiny village nestling in the depths—real joy on that thirsty day.

There were still some Uhlans left in the woods, and I turned a couple of Norfolk companies off the road to drive them out. Some of our artillery had also heard of them, and a Horse battery dropped a few shells into the wood to expedite matters; but I regret to say the only bag, as far as we could tell, was one of our own men killed and another wounded by them.

At Mouroux we halted for a time, and then pushed on, rather late, to Boissy le Chatel—the delay being caused by the motor-bikist carrying orders to us missing, by some mischance, our Headquarters altogether—though we were within a few hundred yards of Divisional Headquarters, and had reported our whereabouts—and going on several miles to look for us.

We were now again the advanced guard of the Division, and had to find outposts for it a mile beyond. It is always rather a grind having to ride round the outposts after a long day, but one can't sleep in peace till one is satisfied that one's front is properly protected, so it has to be done; and as the Brigade Staff is limited, the Staff Captain allotting the billets, and the Brigade Major seeing that all the troops arrive safely, one generally has to do these little excursions by oneself. On the road I came across Hubert Gough, commanding the 3rd Cavalry Brigade, in a motor, cheery as ever, with his cavalry somewhere on our right flank keeping touch with us. We put up in a little deserted chateau in Boissy le Chatel, but it was overcrowded with trees and bushes and very stuffy.

Sept. 8th.

Next morning we had, before starting, the unpleasant duty to perform of detailing a firing-party to execute a deserter. I forget what regiment he belonged to (not in our brigade), but he had had rotten luck from his point of view. He had cleared out and managed to get hold of some civilian clothes, and, having lost himself, had asked the way of a gamekeeper he met. The gamekeeper happened to be an Englishman, and what was more, an old soldier, and he promptly gave him up to the authorities as a deserter.

We left at 7.25 A.M. as the last brigade in the Division. I might mention here that, for billeting, the ground for the Division was divided into "Brigade Areas," each area to hold not only an Infantry Brigade but one or two Artillery Brigades, a Field Ambulance, and generally a company of R.E., and occasionally some other odds and ends, such as Divisional Ammunition Column, Train, Irish Horse, Cyclists, &c., and for all these we had to find billets. The troops billeted in these areas varied in composition nearly every day. It was very hard work for the Staff Captain (Moulton-Barrett), whose proper job would normally have been limited to the 15th Brigade; but he and Saint Andre, who both worked like niggers, somehow always managed to do it satisfactorily. It would have turned my hair grey, I know, to stuff away a conflicting crowd of troops of different arms into an area which was always too small for them. But M.-B. would sit calmly on his horse amid the clamour of inexperienced subalterns and grasping N.C.O.'s, and allot the farms and streets in such a way that they always managed to get in somehow—though occasionally I expect the conditions were not those of perfect comfort. We were lucky in the weather, however, and many times troops bivouacked in the open in comparative ease when a rainy night would have caused them extreme discomfort.

It was not always easy to find billets even for our own Brigade Staff, for though we were a small unit, comparatively, we had a good number of horses and half a dozen vehicles; and besides this, we had to have a decent room or place for the Signal section, and rig up a wire for them to work in connection with the Divisional Headquarters or other troops. In this Cadell was excellent, and we rarely had a breakdown. Sometimes, of course, we were too far off to get a wire fixed in time, and then we had recourse to our Signal "push-bikists"—no motor cyclists being on our establishment. The Signal companies, by the way, had only been completely organized a month or two before the war, and what we should have done without them passes my imagination, for they were quite invaluable, and most excellently organized and trained.

And sometimes when, after all this work, we had settled down into billets for the night, an order would come to move on at once. Fresh orders had then hurriedly to be written, and despatched by the orderly of each unit (who was attached to our headquarters) to his respective unit, giving the time at which the head of the unit was to pass a given point on the road so as to dovetail into its place in the column in the dark, and all with reference to what we were going to do, whether the artillery or part of it was to be in front or in rear, what rations were to be carried, arrangements for supply, position of the transport in the column, compositions of the advanced or rear-guard, &c., &c. It sounds very complicated, and still more so when you have to fit in not only your own brigade but all the miscellaneous troops of your "Brigade Area." But Weatherby had reduced this to a fine art, and, after all, we had had heaps of practice at it; so orders were short and to the point, and issued in really an extraordinarily short time.

To return. Our march that day was through pretty country, with fighting always going on just ahead of us or on both flanks, but we were never actually engaged. At Doue we halted for an hour or so, and then received orders to push out a battalion to hold the high ground in front. But when we had got there we only found a panorama stretching out all round, dotted with troops, and our guns firing from all sorts of unseen hiding-places, with the enemy well on the run in front of us. Soon the order came for us to push on, and we moved forward through Mauroy, down a steep hill into St Cyr and St Ouen, pretty little villages in a cleft in the ground, across the Petit Morin river and up a beastly steep hill on the other side.

Then came a "pow-wow" in a stiff shower of rain, and on again slowly over the plateau, in a curious position, for there was a big fight going on amid some burning villages in the plain far on our left—I don't know what Division—probably the 4th—and a smaller fight parallel to us on the right, not two miles off; and we were marching calmly along the road in column.

Then a longer halt, whilst we got closer touch with the 14th Brigade on our right. It was a tangled fight there; for when we pushed forward some cyclists in that direction they were unintentionally fired on by the East Surrey; and the latter, who had rounded up and taken about 100 of the enemy prisoners, mostly cavalry, were just resting whilst they counted them, when some of our own guns lobbed some shells right into the crowd, and five German officers and about fifty of the prisoners escaped in the confusion.

A little farther on, near Charnesseuil, we got orders to billet for the night there, and the Brigade Headquarters moved on to Montapeine cross-roads. Here there was a good deal of confusion, stray units of several divisions trying to find their friends, and the cross-roads blocked by a small body of sixty-three German prisoners. We got the place cleared at last, and the Staff occupied an untidy, dirty, unfurnished house and grounds at the corner. It had been used by the enemy the night before, and they had luckily brought great masses of straw into the house.

I stowed away the prisoners in the stables—great big, docile, sheepish-looking men of the Garde-Schuetzen-Bataillon (2nd and 4th companies) and machine-gun battery attached. I talked to several of them, and they said that the battalion had lost very heavily and there were hardly any officers left. One of the latter, Fritz Wrede by name, I found wounded and lying on the straw in a dark room in the basement. Other wounded were being brought in here, and all complained of feeling very cold, although the evening was quite warm. I made some men heap straw on them, which was an improvement—but I believe that wounded always do feel cold.

Wrede had a bullet through the shoulder, but was not bad, so I got him to sign a paper to say he would not try to escape—otherwise he might have made trouble. Our men, as usual, were more than kind to the prisoners, and insisted on giving them their own bread and jam—though the Germans had already been given a lot of biscuit. I remember being struck with the extreme mild-seemingness of all the prisoners, and wondering how such men could have been capable of such frightful brutalities as they had been in Belgium—they looked and behaved as if they wouldn't have hurt a fly.

Sept. 9th.

Next morning we moved off at 7.30 and went via Saacy across the Marne to Merz, and thence up an extremely steep and bad road through the woods. It was a very hot day, and as there was no prospect of getting the transport up I left it behind at Merz, meaning to send it round another way when the road was clear. Firing was going on to the left front, and we halted for a council of war with the Divisional Staff, which was immediately in front of us.

The 14th Brigade was apparently hung up somewhere to our left front and couldn't get on, so we were sent on to help them take the high ground towards the Montreuil road. They were, we were told, already in possession of Hill 189; but when we emerged from the woods there was a Prussian battery on the hill. There did not seem to be any men with it, as far as we could see, and it was not firing. But we made a good target, and not more than a battalion had got clear when the "deserted" battery opened fire and lobbed a shell or two into the Bedfords and Cheshires.

They only lost a man or two killed and wounded; but a Howitzer battery with us, which was already on the lookout, came into action at once and speedily silenced the German guns for the time being.

Bols, who was leading, reported that the hill was attackable—it was really only a rise in the ground,—and after a reconnaissance I gladly issued orders. So the Norfolks and Dorsets proceeded to attack in proper form, whilst I sent the Bedfords round to the right towards Bezu to try and take the rise in flank. The 14th Brigade were meanwhile somewhere on the left, and we got touch with them after a time; but they could not get forward, as a number of big guns from much further off kept up a heavy fire, and there was a body of infantry hidden somewhere as well, to judge from the number of bullets that came over and into us.

That was rather a trying afternoon. Dorsets and Norfolks were held up about half a mile from Hill 189, and I went forward to Bezu with the Bedfords to try to get them on to the flank. Thorpe and his company got forward into a wood, but lost a number of men in getting there; and the lie of the ground did not seem to justify my sending many more to help him, as the space up to the wood was swept by a heavy fire. Just about this time poor Roe of the Dorsets, who had taken some of his company into this wood, was shot through the head—as was also George, one of his subalterns.

Meanwhile those horrible big guns from somewhere near Sablonnieres were giving us a lot of trouble, and knocked out also several of the Cheshires, who had been sent by the Divisional Commander towards the left to support the 14th Brigade. The latter—(I went to see Rolt, the Brigadier, but there was little we could combine)—seemed at one moment to be a little unhappy, as they were enfiladed from Chanoust on their left; but the Dorsets had worked carefully forward on their tummies, and with the Norfolks held a low ridge well to the front, whence, though they could not get forward themselves, they could do the enemy a good deal of damage. So the 14th Brigade stuck it out, and we kept up the game till dusk, when we dug ourselves in a little further back and posted outposts.

I might add that when Weatherby and I went forward to see Bols and Ballard, Weatherby had bad luck, for his horse was shot in the body whilst he was leading him, and died that night.

Meanwhile the 9th Brigade of the 3rd Division was on our right, under Shaw, and although his Lincolns, or some of them, had got into the wood, and we tried a combined movement, they also got hung up there and we could not get on.

The Germans certainly fought this rear-guard action remarkably well. We did not know at the time that it was a rear-guard action, for we thought a whole corps might be occupying a strong position here and intending to fight next day. But no more fighting took place that night, and by next morning they had cleared out.

The Germans had evidently only just left Bezu, for on my going to see M'Cracken (commanding 7th Brigade) there, I found him in a house with the remains of an unfinished (German) meal, including many half-empty bottles, on the table. Then we managed to get some supper in another house, and were nearly turned out of it by a subaltern of General Hamilton's staff, who, seeing a light in the window, thought he would save himself the trouble of hunting for another house for his General, and announced that it was required for the 3rd Divisional Staff. I was inclined to demur at first and sit tight; but the ever-useful Saint Andre, to save trouble, hurried out and secured another house for us; as a matter of fact it was better and bigger than the first one, and would have suited the Divisional Staff much better.

After issuing orders for to-morrow's attack or march we flung ourselves down dead tired, and were awakened ten minutes afterwards by a summons from General Hamilton to come and see him at once, as he was going to hold a pow-wow on the situation. I found him in a tiny, poky little attic, and there we waited for three-quarters of an hour whilst Rolt was being sent for. Two hours did this pow-wow last, and we had to write and issue fresh orders in consequence. Just as they had been sent out and we had flung ourselves down again for a little sleep, an entirely new set of orders arrived from the 5th Division, and for the third time we had to think out and write and distribute a fresh set of orders. By that time it was 12.30 A.M., and we were to move at 3.45 A.M., which meant getting up at 2.30. Two hours broken sleep that night was all we got—and lucky to get it.

Sept. 10th.

Off at 3.45 A.M., we moved out in careful fashion towards Haloup, in the direction of Montreuil. But our scouts reported all clear, and in very truth the Germans had left. What was more, they had left that field battery on Hill 189 behind them, surrounded by about twenty or more corpses and a quantity of ammunition.

It was a damp day, and progress was slow, as it was not at all certain where the enemy was. At Denizy, a small village on the way, we were told that a German general, with his staff, had received a severe shock there the day before by an unexpected British shell dropping on his headquarters whilst he was at luncheon. He had jumped up with a yell and bolted up the hill, but was driven down again by another shell which landed close by. He was reported to have died almost at once, but whether from fright or not was not quite clear.

When near Germigny we espied a German column in the distance, and shelled it heavily with the 61st howitzer battery attached to us (Major Wilson), causing it to bolt in all directions. The 3rd Cavalry Brigade now turned up in our front (Hubert Gough's), and with the 5th (Chetwode's) hustled the enemy along. We were advanced guard again, and it was difficult to get on, for the Divisional Commander kept sending messages from behind asking me why the deuce I wasn't going faster, whilst Gough was sending me protests from the front that I was treading on his heels, and not giving him time to clear up the situation!

We halted for some time the other side of Germigny, and then pushed on to Gandelu, a large village in a cleft of the hills, from the heights in front of which the German artillery might have made it extremely unpleasant for us. But none were there, nor were there any at Chezy, which would have made a perfect defensive position for them, with a glacis-like slope in all directions.

On the other side of Gandelu, in the wood, we came across the first signs of the German bolt. A broken motor-car was lying in the stream, and dead horses and men were lying about, whilst every now and then we passed two or three of our troopers with a dozen German prisoners in tow.

As we moved up the steep hill towards Chezy, we came across packs, rifles, and kit of all sorts flung away, broken-down waggons, more dead Germans, and, at last, on a whole convoy of smashed waggons, their contents mostly littered over the fields and road, and groups of our horsemen beaming with joy. The 3rd Cavalry Brigade had rounded up this convoy with their Horse Artillery, scuppered or bolted most of the escort, and captured the rest. Besides this, they had attacked a whole cavalry division and scattered it to the winds. Their first lot of prisoners numbered 348, and their second 172.

We halted near the convoy for our usual ten minutes, and examined it with much satisfaction. There were all sorts of things in the waggons—food and corn, to which I allowed our men to help themselves, for our horses were short of oats and our men of rations, and some of the tinned meats, "gulasch" and "blutwurst," were quite excellent and savoury, much more so than our everlasting bully beef. Other waggons were full of all sorts of loot—cases of liqueur and wine, musical instruments, household goods, clothing, bedding, &c., trinkets, clocks, ribbons, and an infinite variety of knick-knacks, many of which one would hardly have thought worth taking. But the German is a robber at heart, and takes everything he can lay his hands on. There was also a first-rate motor-car, damaged, by the side of the road, and in it were a General's orders and decorations, and 100 rifle cartridges (Mauser) with soft-nosed bullets. To make certain of this I kept one of the cartridges and gave it to Sir C. Fergusson. I think these were about the only things (besides food) which we took from the whole convoy, though many of the other things would have been well worth taking. The men were very good, and did not attempt even to leave the ranks till allowed by me to take the corn and food.

A short way on was the dirty village of Chezy, and here we found a heap of cavalry and many of the 3rd Division. So we branched off to the left in a frightfully heavy ten minutes' shower, and marched away to St Quentin—marked as a village, but really only a farmhouse in a big wood. As we approached the wood Headlam's guns began to shell it in order to clear it of possible hostile troops, and continued until I sent back to say that the shells were preventing us from going on; then he eased off.

We halted near St Quentin for half an hour, and then came a message to say we were to billet there. It was impossible to billet a whole brigade in one farmhouse, and that none too large. So we told off different fields for the battalions to bivouac in, and occupied the farm ourselves, first sending out cyclists to clear the wood, as there were rumoured to be parties of Uhlans in it.

It was a grubby farm with not much water, but we made the best of it, and settled down for the night. A starved-looking priest was also sleeping there, and he told me his story.

He and a fellow-priest, an Aumonier from Paris, had been on their way to join the French unit to which they had been allotted for ambulance purposes, when they fell into German hands and were treated as prisoners. The priest was robbed by a sergeant of 1200 francs, his sole possessions, and both he and the Aumonier were beaten black and blue, forced to march carrying German knapsacks, and kept practically without food or drink. After three days the Aumonier succumbed to ill usage and died, and the priest only managed to escape because his captors were themselves on the run.

The priest also told us that there were some British prisoners in the column, and that the Germans behaved perfectly brutally to them, kicking them, starving them, and forcing them to carry German knapsacks.

Sept. 11th.

Next morning we did not move off till 9.25, for the supplies to the Brigades did not arrive as soon as we expected, and hence the column was late in starting. We dawdled along, forming the rear brigade, in cool weather, and nothing in particular happened beyond reports coming in from the front that the Germans were quite demoralised. It came on to pour as we left Chouy, and at Billy we parked the transport and prepared to billet there. But it was already chokeful of other troops, and more than half our brigade would have had to bivouac in the sopping fields. So we pushed on to St Remy, and, evacuating some cavalry and making them move on to some farms a bit ahead,—including Massereene and his North Irish Horse, who, I fear, were not much pleased at having to turn out of their comfortable barns,—we billeted there, headquarters being taken up in the Cure's house. Even here his poor little rooms had been ransacked, drawers and tables upset and their contents littered over the floor, and everything of the smallest value stolen by the Germans.

Sept. 12th.

Off at 5 A.M., we did only a short march as far as the Ferme de l'Epitaphe, a huge farm standing by itself in a vast and dreary plain of ploughed fields. Here we halted in pouring rain all day, expecting orders to go on. But we eventually had to billet there, with the Divisional Headquarters, and though we could only put up the Bedfords and the Cheshires there was a terrific squash. The Dorsets and Norfolks were sent back to billet at Nampteuil, a village a mile or so back, but even here there was some confusion, as the 14th Brigade had meanwhile arrived and begun to billet there. They were, however, sent back likewise to Chrisy, and the whole Division passed a most uncomfortable night. The rain never ceased from pouring, and a gale sprang up, which made matters worse. We slept in a loft with a number of Cheshire and Bedford officers, and didn't get dinner till past nine. Some gunner officers turned up, with no food at all, and we fed them; but there wasn't much at the best of times, for we had no rations and had to depend on the contents of our Mess basket, which consisted only of Harvey sauce, knives and forks, an old ham-bone, sweet biscuits, and jam.

Sept. 13th.

It was fine in the morning, but the farmyard was ankle-deep in water and slush, and the sky was leaden with lurid clouds in the east, when we started at 4.10 A.M. We pushed on slowly in column for the few miles to Serches, and there we halted at the cross-roads on the top of the plateau and parked the brigade whilst the situation was cleared up by troops in front. Shells began to drop unpleasantly near us, and a couple of field batteries which got into action just in front of us, together with a "cow-gun"[8] (60 lb.) battery, only drew the hostile fire still more. They were pretty big shells, Black Marias mostly, and the heavy battery being right out in the open suffered somewhat severely, losing eight horses and a few men killed and wounded by one shell alone.

[Footnote 8: So called because similar guns in the South African war had been drawn by oxen.]

So we prudently scattered the battalions a bit, and the field batteries limbered up and walked slowly back under cover of a slope. But the cow-guns had one gun disabled, and though they also moved back and got again into action they were evidently spotted and had rather a poor time.

Just about then, too, the transport of the 13th Brigade, which was necessarily following the infantry over the crest towards Sermoise, were noticed by the enemy, and a few shells over them killed and disabled a number of waggon-horses and men, making a very nasty mess in the road.

There we sat all day whilst the sun came out and dried us a bit. But we were not very happy at luncheon; for though hungry and with plenty to eat now, those beastly shells came nearer and nearer us, till our bully and biscuit lost their charm entirely. At last we got up, plates in hand, and moved with dignity out of range, or, rather, more under cover.

The Cheshires had meanwhile discovered a curious cave in the hillside which sheltered the whole battalion (though, in truth, the latter was not large, only 450 men or so), whilst the other battalions were well out of sight in the folds of the ground.

The shadows grew longer and longer, and we rigged up some comfortable little shelters in the coppice for the night, thinking we should bivouac where we were. But at 6 I was sent for to Divisional Headquarters at Serches, and told to reconnoitre the road towards the Aisne—only a mile or two ahead. This I did in a motor-car, and returned in time for dinner; but we had barely got through it, about 8, when marching orders came to the effect that we were to push on and cross the Aisne by rafts to-night, and the sooner the better.

So we moved off with some difficulty in the dark, for there were no connecting roads with the halting-places of the battalions, and got on to the main road, whence all was plain sailing, down to the Moulin des Roches, an imaginary mill on the river bank. Over some sloppy pasture fields in dead silence, and we found ourselves on the bank, with a darker shadow plashing backwards and forwards over the river in our front, and some R.E. officers talking in whispers.

The actual crossing of the Brigade was a long job, and had to be carefully worked out. The raft held sixty men at a time, or thirty men and three horses; but as horses on a raft in the dead of night were likely to cause a fuss, we left them behind, to follow on in the morning, and crossed without them,—four and a half hours it took; and whilst the men were crossing we tried to get a bit of sleep on the wet bank. It was not very successful, as it was horribly cold and we had no blankets. The staff crossed last of all, and we landed in a wood on the far side, in a bog but thinly covered with cut brushwood, and full of irritating, sharp, and painful tree-stumps.

Sept. 14th.

When we were across it was difficult to discover the battalions asleep in the fields, and when we had found them and it was time to start it was difficult to wake them. However, we moved off just as it was getting light; but it was not easy to find the way, for there was no path at first. We had orders to go via Bucy-le-Long to Sainte Marguerite, and found the villages right enough, for they were close together. But as we moved into Sainte Marguerite, with a good many other troops in front of us, we became aware that there was an unnecessary number of bullets flying about, and that our fellows in front were being held up.

The village was held by the 12th Brigade (4th Division), and the 14th Brigade was somewhere on our right. The Dorsets were our leading battalion, and they were pushed on to help the 12th, and filled a gap in their line on the hill above the village front at the eastern end. But there we stuck for a long time. The enemy's artillery had meanwhile opened on us, and shells began to crash overhead and played the devil with the tiles and the houses. But they did not do us much harm.

We now received orders to move on to Missy (not a mile off to the right) and clear the Chivres ridge of the enemy and push on to Conde and take that if possible—rather a "large order." The difficulty was to get to Missy, for the road thither was spattered with bullets, and shells were bursting all along it. However, by dint of careful work we moved out bit by bit, cutting through the gardens and avoiding the road, and taking advantage of a slight slope in the ground by which we could sneak to the far side of the little railway embankment which led to Missy Station.

It took a long time, and I made what proved to be the serious mistake of staying to the end in order to see the whole Brigade clear of Sainte Marguerite. I ought really to have gone ahead with the first party to reconnoitre; for just as we were starting after the rear company I stopped to write a message to the Division in answer to one which had just arrived, and at that moment a hellish shrapnel, machine-gun, and rifle fire was opened, not only on the village but on all the exits therefrom, and this fire lasted for nearly two hours. One simply could not make the attempt; it would have been certain death. And so we had to sit in the tiny courtyard of one of the houses, with our backs against the wall, and listen to the inferno overhead, whilst the proprietor's wife plied us with most acceptable roast potatoes and milk.

I wrote a lot of messages during those two hours, but whether they all got through or not I do not know: some of the messengers never came back. Colonel Seely turned up at one moment—from General Headquarters, I think—demanding information. This I supplied, and made use of him to take some of my orders back; it really was quite a new sensation giving orders to a recent Secretary of State for War.

At one time two or three artillery waggons appeared in the little main street and remained there quietly for a bit under a heavy fire, but only losing a man or two slightly wounded. Then suddenly there was a loud crack overhead, and half a dozen horses were lying struggling and kicking on the ground, with great pools of blood forming in the road and four or five prostrate men in them. It was a horrible sight for us, for the shell had burst just opposite the gate of our courtyard. But the gunners behaved magnificently, and a farrier sergeant gave out his orders as quietly and unconcernedly as if he had been on parade. I took his name with a view to recommendation, but regret that I have forgotten it by now.

We also had some very unpleasant shaves at this time in our own courtyard. Twice did a shell burst just above the house and drive holes in the roof, bringing down showers of tiles; the second time practically all the tiles fell on me and nearly knocked me down. I do not know why they did not hurt me more—luckily the house was a low one; but they merely bruised my back.

At last, in a lull, we managed to get away, and sneaked out at a run—through a yard and back garden, behind a farm, out at the back behind a fold in the ground, then across a wide open field and on to the low railway embankment, behind which we ducked, and made our way to the little station of Missy and up behind some scattered houses to near the church.

Here, after some trouble, we got the commanding officers together, and arranged to push on and attack the wooded ridge above the town. The force was rather mixed. I had met Rolt (commanding the 14th Brigade) on the way, and we had settled that I should collect whatever of his men I could get together in Missy and join them to my attacking party. The difficulty was that it was already getting late—4.30 P.M.—and that there was insufficient time for a thorough reconnaissance, though we did what we could in that direction. However, my orders from the Divisional Commander had been to take the ridge, and I tried to do it. I had got together three companies of the Norfolks, three of the Bedfords, two Cheshires (in reserve), two East Surreys (14th Brigade), and two Cornwalls (13th Brigade, who had arrived via the broken bridge at Missy and some rafts hastily constructed there)—twelve companies altogether.

But when they pushed forward it became very difficult, for there turned out to be too many men for the space. What I had not known was that, though they could advance up a broad clearing to more than halfway up the hill, this clearing was bounded on both flanks, as it gradually drew to a point, by high 6-feet wire netting just inside the wood, so that the men could not get properly into the wood, but were gradually driven in towards the point, where the only entrance to the wood occurred.

Luckily the Germans had not noticed this either—or there would have been many more casualties than there were. As it was, a company of the East Surrey and another one (Allason's) of the Bedfords did get through to the top of the wood and on to the edge of the open plateau; but this I did not hear of till later. When the greater part of the force had got through the opening into the wood they found a few Germans there and drove them back, killing some. Then they surged on to a horse-shoe-shaped road further on in the wood, and some men lost their direction and began firing in front of them at what they thought were Germans. But they were others of our own, and these began firing back, also without knowing that they were their friends. Consequently, although casualties were few, an unpleasant situation arose, and numbers of men turned about and retired down the hill into Missy, saying that our artillery was firing into them. This may have been true, for some shells were bursting over the wood; but whether they were English or German I do not know to this day.

Anyhow, the stream of men coming back increased. They fell back into the village, and then came some certainly German shells after them. For an unpleasant quarter of an hour the little sloping village of Missy was heavily shelled by shrapnel; but the walls of the houses were thick, and though of course there were a certain number of casualties, they were not serious as long as the men kept close to the south side of the walls. Beilby (our Veterinary officer) for some reason would keep to the wrong side of the street and was very nearly killed, the fuse of a shell landing with a whump on a door not two feet in front of him, and a shrapnel bullet going through his skirt pocket; but he was not touched. The shrapnel were in bursts of four, and luckily Moulton-Barrett noticed it, for he calmly held up the stream of men till the fourth shell had burst, and then let as many as possible past the open space there till the next bunch arrived, when he stopped them behind cover,—just like a London policeman directing traffic.

I remember one man falling, as we thought dead, close to where the Staff were standing. But he groaned, and Weatherby ran to pick him up. There was, however, no wound of any sort on him, and after a minute he got up and went on. I think he must have been knocked down by the wind of a shell—for he certainly was as much astonished as we were at finding no damage on himself.

By this time I had given orders that the troops were to retire to their previous positions in and near the village, and it was getting dusk.

Luard (Norfolks) and a party of twenty-five men were well ahead in the wood, and received the order to retire, for Luard was heard shouting it to his men. But nothing has since been heard of him, and I much regret to say that he was either taken prisoner with most of his men, or, more probably, killed.

A message now came down from the plateau saying that some East Surreys and Bedfords were still up in the wood, and should they retire or hold on? As it was nearly dark and I consequently could not support them—for if the men could not get through the wire-netting in daylight they could hardly do so at night—I told them to retire. I gave this order after I had consulted Rolt, who was somewhere west of the village; but even if Rolt had not been there I should have given it, for it would have been impossible to reinforce them adequately in the circumstances.

So I issued orders for an early reconnaissance and attack next morning, to be led by the Norfolks; and the troops covered their front with sentries and bivouacked in and round the village. We were all short of food that night, for none of our supply carts, and not even a riding-horse, had come with us. But all or most of the men had an "iron ration" on them, and this they consumed, with the "unexpired" portion of their previous day's ration.

The Bedfords took up their position along the railway to the west, Cheshires on the right, Norfolks right front of village, D.C.L.I. left front.

As for the Staff, we retired to a farm called La Bizaie, three-quarters of a mile south of Missy, and close to the river, and took up our quarters there. There was not a whole pane of glass in the house, for it had been heavily bombarded—being empty, except for a few wounded—during the day, and great craters had been formed close by the walls by the Black Marias. But except at one corner of the roof of an outhouse, no damage had been done to the buildings—except the broken glass.

It was a very old farmhouse, as we found out afterwards, part of it dating back to 1200 and something. Curiously enough, there was a photograph of an English Colonel (of the R.A.M.C.) on the sideboard—a friend, so the farm servants told us, of the owner, whose name I have forgotten. The buildings were very superior to the ordinary farm type, and more like a comfortable country house than one would expect, but there were plenty of barns as well, and some pigs and chickens running about.

We bought, murdered, and ate an elderly chicken, but otherwise there was devilish little to eat except a store of jam, and we had only a very few biscuits and no bread.

Sept. 15th.



After writing out orders for the attack next day we went to bed, dog-tired; and I was routed out again at 12.45 A.M. by Malise Graham, who had come with a message from the Divisional Commander that he wanted to see me at once at the broken bridge at Missy, a mile off through long wet grass in pitch darkness. It was not good "going," but we got there eventually and crossed the river, sliding down steep slippery banks into a punt, ferried across, and up the other side. Cuthbert eventually turned up from somewhere, and we had a pow-wow in the dark, resulting in fresh orders being given for the morrow's work.

This involved new orders being written, and it was 4 A.M. by the time we turned in again for an hour's sleep.

A careful reconnaissance was made by Done and some other Norfolk officers as soon as it was light; but the result was not promising. Fresh German trenches had been dug commanding the open space, and more wire had been put up during the night.

The Norfolks were told off to lead the assault, with the Bedfords in support and the Cheshires in reserve. The Dorsets were still above Sainte Marguerite, helping the 12th Brigade, and were not available.

We began by shelling that horrible Chivres Spur, but it produced little effect, as the Germans were in the wood and invisible. The Norfolks pushed on, but gradually came to a standstill in the wood, and the day wore on with little result, for the wood was desperately blind, and we were being heavily shelled at all points.

The Brigade staff sat under a hedge halfway between La Bizaie farm and Missy; but it was not a very happy place, for the big shells fell nearer and nearer till we had to make a move forward at a run for the shelter of a big manure-heap. But even here the Black Marias found us out, and two of them fell within a few yards, their explosion covering us with dirt. We were also in view of German snipers halfway up the hill, and bullets came thick whenever we showed a cap or a leg beyond the muck-heap, which, besides being distinctly unsweet, was covered with disgusting-looking flies in large numbers.

However, there we had to stay most of the day. The village of Missy was intermittently shelled by some huge howitzers, and bunches of their shells blew up several houses and nearly demolished the church, a fine old 14th century building. A few Norfolks were buried or killed by the falling houses, but otherwise extraordinarily little damage was done, and most of the shells fell in the open, where there was nobody worth mentioning.

At 3 P.M. I got a summons to go to Rolt at his farm just outside Sainte Marguerite; and a most unpleasing journey it was for Weatherby and me. We separated, going across the open plough and cabbage fields, but snipers were on us the whole time, and several times missed us by only a few inches. We must have offered very sporting targets to the Germans on the hill, for we ran all the way, and—I speak for myself—we got extremely hot.

I sprinted a good 400 yards under fire for the shelter of a thick hedge, and when I got there found to my disgust there was a young river to be got over before I could reach the cover. However, I squirmed along a fallen bough and struggled through the fence—to find myself face to face with Bols and his Dorsets, whom he was bringing along to hold the line of the fence. This gave a certain "moral relief," and from there it was easier going to Rolt's farm, all except one point where the railway cut through a hedge and crossed the stream. On this point a German machine-gun had been laid, and to cross it with a whole skin one had to hurry a bit. Our Brigade machine-gun officer, young D—— of the Bedfords, was subsequently hit here, in the back, but not very seriously.

I concerted measures with Rolt for holding the line Missy-Sainte Marguerite, and we began to dig in places. But at 7.40 P.M. came orders for the 15th Brigade to evacuate the north bank via a new bridge near the old raft one where we had crossed; so we issued fresh orders about the 14th Brigade taking over our line, and prepared for another night march,—no sleep again.

I forgot to mention that our horses had arrived at La Bizaie early that morning, having crossed by the raft bridge the day before. Silver as usual made a desperate fuss, and was eventually knocked into the river by a mule who was crossing with him. He swam up and down the river for twenty-five minutes, refusing to come out—poor Catley in desperation all the time. But he was eventually hauled out, with my saddle and bags, of course, sopping wet. His stable shed was also shelled heavily during the day, but strange to say none of the horses or grooms were touched.

It poured in buckets that night; and as the Bedfords were streaming past the farm in the dark about 11 P.M. a terrific fire broke out from the direction of Missy, accompanied by German flare-lights and searchlights. The word went round that it was a German counter-attack, and we ran out and halted the Bedfords and put them into some trenches covering the farm. But it turned out to be a false alarm; for the Germans, hearing troops moving in the dark, thought that they were going to be attacked, and opened a heavy fire on Missy, whilst the 14th Brigade and the remainder of our men still there replied to it. It eventually died down, and we resumed our march in pitch darkness and mud up to the men's knees in the water meadows by the river.

Sept. 16th.

The Cheshires came last, and we of the Brigade Staff followed them at 4 A.M. through dripping fields and criss-cross hedges, coming across the Scottish Rifles lying asleep near the pontoon bridge. They belonged to the 19th Brigade, but where the rest of the Brigade was I do not know.

On the other side of the river we found the Divisional Commander with a few of his staff. It was beastly cold and just getting light, about 5 A.M., and why Sir Charles should be standing there I could not at first make out. However, it turned out that he had come down from Serches, being somewhat anxious as to what might be happening on the other side of the river—with considerable justification, for if we had been driven back on to the one bridge which crossed the river we might have been in a parlous state.

Half an hour later we arrived in Jury, a tidy little village in and round which most of the Brigade was already billeting, and here, in a nice little house, belonging to a worthy old couple, we took our rest, thankful for a little peace and some sleep at last.

And here we stayed for a week.

Not that it was all beer and skittles even then. The 14th Brigade was still holding Missy over the river, and there were some serious alarms on one or two nights, necessitating troops being sent down to the river at Rupreux, in case they were wanted.

Shells fell near Jury for a day or two, but they gradually died away, until some heavy guns of the 4th Division were brought up close by and began banging away again at the Chivres heights and beyond. Quite unnecessary we thought them, for they not only made a hideous noise day and night, but the enemy began searching for them with Black Marias, some of which fell unpleasantly close to us.

It was a pretty little valley with wooded hills, running northwards to the Aisne, and on our right was a big plateau with huge haystacks dotted about the corn-fields, which served as excellent observing stations for our artillery, of which by this time we had a vast mass. The other (north) bank of the Aisne was clearly visible from here—in fact from the top of the biggest haystack there was a regular panorama to be seen, from the twin towers of Soissons Cathedral on the left to the enemy's trenches above Vailly and beyond—a beautiful landscape typical of La Belle France, even to the rows of poplars in the distance, marking the Routes Nationales from Soissons to other places of distinction.

Our business was to hold the line of the river by digging a line of trenches from Sermoise to near Venizel, and to cover them with a line of outposts day and night. This took about four companies, and the rest were engaged in digging another series of trenches on the plateau as a supporting line to the first, flanking the Jury Valley on one side and the ruins of Sermoise and Ciry on the other. This was really the first serious digging of trenches we had had during the campaign, and I remember, in the light of after experiences, how futile they must have been at the time, for they were nothing like as deep as we subsequently found to be necessary, nor had they any wire entanglements or obstacles worth mentioning. However, I expect that the French improved them greatly during the subsequent winter.

Sermoise had been desperately shelled; there were no inhabitants left, and practically every house was a heap of ruins; but though our outposts in front of it could not have been seen through the woods, the Germans continued to shell it most viciously.

On the right of Sermoise was the 13th Brigade, extended towards the 3rd Division, which had crossed the river at Vailly and was holding the slopes above it. I believe the 13th had a poor time of it, for they were scattered over open ground and in small woods which were perpetually being shelled, and they had, besides, to find a battalion or so to help the 14th Brigade in Missy.

On our left we joined hands with the 4th Division, most of whom were on the other bank, running from St Marguerite westwards; on their left were, I believe, the French, in and round Soissons.

It was a nice time for the Artillery; for guns were there in large numbers, and they had some good targets to shoot at, over Vregny and Chivres way, in the shape of the enemy's batteries and lines, when they could be seen.

The weather was mostly fine during that week, but there were two horridly cold days on which the rain came down in torrents, and did not help us in our entrenching tasks.

At last came the day which I had been expecting for some time; and I was ordered to send the Dorsets across, to begin relieving the 14th Brigade near Missy.

Sept. 24th.

They left on the 23rd, and on the 24th the Bedfords went over, preceded by the Brigade Staff at 2.30 P.M. The Norfolks had been sent off three days before to strengthen the 3rd Division, so I had only three battalions, and of these the Cheshires were very weak. However, the K.O.Y.L.I., and West Kents (of the 13th Brigade), already holding the eastern edge of Missy, were put under my orders, besides the 15th Brigade R.F.A. under Charles Ballard (a cousin of Colin's[9]), and a Howitzer Battery (61st) of Duffus's 8th Brigade.

[Footnote 9: Commanding the Norfolk's.]

Weatherby and I walked across to Rolt's farm, across a series of big fields, with only an occasional bullet or shell pitching in the distance. Lord, what a poor place it was; Rolt and his staff had lived there for the last week, all lying together on straw in one or two rooms: it must have been most uncomfortable. The windows towards the north-east had been plugged up with sandbags, so that the rooms were very dark, and the floors were deep in caked mud and dirt of all sorts. The only attraction in the main room was a big open fireplace with a huge sort of witches' cauldron standing over the hot ashes, and this was most useful in providing us with hot baths later on.

Sept. 25th.

Rolt explained his position and the places which the different battalions were occupying; but beyond an occasional bombardment of Missy and losses from German snipers in trees and elsewhere, he had not suffered overmuch. However, he and his Brigade were not sorry to leave, and leave they did at 4 A.M. next morning. The awkward part of it was that one could never go out in the daytime, as the road in front of the farm leading towards Missy was under perpetual rifle-fire directly any one showed up, and several holes had been made in the farmyard gate, windows, and walls, not to mention bits of the roof taken off by shrapnel. Why they did not shell the farm more I cannot conceive. Perhaps the enemy thought it was deserted, but whilst we were there no shells fell within a couple of hundred yards of it, though some were pitched well over it, and exploded 500 yards to the rear.

I had gone to see the Dorsets and 13th Brigade in Missy on the evening before, and found them fairly well ensconced. The Dorsets were in Missy itself, with their headquarters in a really nice house with carpets and big shaded lamps, and a cellar full of excellent wine, and a nice garden all complete, and charming bedrooms—infinitely superior to our pig-sty of a farm. I seriously thought of turning them out and taking the house for the Brigade Staff, especially as our farm was not at all central but quite on the left of our line; but all our cable-lines converged on to the farm, and, in addition, the Dorset house would have been impossible to get out of for further control if Missy were shelled; so I settled to remain at the farm. The 13th Brigade—i.e., K.O.Y.L.I., and West Kents, were further on, the K.O.Y.L.I., on the eastern outskirts, and the West Kents in trenches beyond them. The K.O.S.B.'s were still further south-eastwards, and reached back to the river, but there were only one or two weak companies of them.

Before dawn, and just after Rolt had left, I went to inspect the Bedfords' position, which was close to Rolt's farm, in the wood in front of it, and a beastly position it was. The wood was very damp, and when one tried to dig trenches one struck water only a foot below ground, so most of the line had to be made of breastworks. There were German trenches within 20 yards of our advanced trench there, and ours was remarkably badly situated and liable to be rushed at a moment's notice; yet it was impossible from the lie of the ground to dig suitable ones unless we retired altogether for 200 yards, which of course was out of the question. So we chanced it and stuck it out, and luckily were never attacked there. The men suffered there from damp and cold, I'm afraid, for every morning a wet and freezing fog arose in the wood, although the weather was clear elsewhere; but it could not be helped.

We stayed in Rolt's farm and in the positions described for just a week. On one day, the 27th, we had a false alarm, for the enemy was reported as crossing the Conde bridge at 4 A.M. in large numbers, and everybody was at once on the qui vive, the Cheshires, who were in bivouac behind Rolt's farm, being sent back (by Sir C. Fergusson's orders) to Rupreux, the other side of the river. We rather doubted the news from the start, as the Conde bridge had, we knew, been blown up, and there was only one girder left, by which a few men at a time could conceivably have crossed; but the information was so circumstantial that it sounded possible. Eventually it turned out all to be owing to the heated imagination of a Hibernian patrol officer of the West Kents, and we turned in again.

Missy was shelled particularly heavily that day from 10 to 6, and it was painful to watch great bouquets of 8-in. H.E. shells exploding in the village, and whole houses coming down with a crash; it seemed as though there must be frightfully heavy casualties, and I trembled in anticipation of the casualty return that night.

But the Dorsets and K.O.Y.L.I. had dug themselves in so thoroughly in deep funk-holes and cellars that they did not have a single casualty; and literally the only men wounded were three K.O.S.B.'s and six West Kents outside the village in a trench, who were hit by about the last shell of the day; whilst a Bedford sniper, an excellent shot, one Sergeant Hunt, unfortunately got a bullet through two fingers of his right hand.

During that week it was moderately quiet, with nothing like so many casualties as we had expected. Our supply waggons rolled up after dark right into Missy village and never lost a man, whilst the village was so thoroughly barricaded and strengthened and scientifically defended—mostly Dorset work—that we could have held out against any number. The sappers too, 17th Co. R.E., worked like Trojans under young Pottinger, a most plucky and capable youth wearing the weirdest of clothes—a short and filthy mackintosh, ragged coat and breeches, and a huge revolver.[10]

[Footnote 10: I grieve very much to see that he was fatally wounded outside Ypres (15th May 1916).]

We put Rolt's farm and the mill (between that and Missy) and La Bizaie farm in a thorough state of defence, and dug hundreds of yards of trenches. In fact we should have welcomed an infantry attack, but it never came—only artillery long bowls.

In this the two howitzer batteries, especially Wilson's 61st, were splendid, and spotted and knocked out gun after gun of the enemy. He had an observing station halfway up the hill above Ste Marguerite, to which I went occasionally, with a grand view up to Vregny and Chivres; but even here, although the O.P. was beautifully concealed, one had to be careful not to show a finger or a cap, for the German snipers in the wood below were excellent shots, and there were some narrow escapes.

The worst of it was that we could take very little exercise. I used to go out nearly every morning before sunrise to visit the posts, but was often surprised by the sun before I'd finished my rounds, and had to bolt back under fire; and after sunset I'd go round to Missy, &c., and visit the troops there. Otherwise, we could not go out at all in the daytime—it was much too "unhealthy,"—and what with numerous meals and little movement we grew disgustingly fat. I put in a lot of time drawing careful maps of the position.

The farm itself was cleaned up from roof to cellar by Moulton-Barrett and his myrmidons, but it was not perfect at first. My bed was a mass of stale blood-stains from the wounded who had lain there before we came, and St Andre, whose bed was not of the cleanest and exuded an odd and unpleasing smell, routed about below it, and extracted the corpse of a hen, which must have been there for ten days at least.

We cleaned up the farmyard too—it was perfectly foul when we came—but we could not show much even there, although the gate was always kept closed, for any sign of life was generally greeted with a bullet. A man got one through the knee when just outside it, and the gate itself had several holes through it. The Bedfords used to send a company at a time there for hot tea in the mornings and evenings, for they could not light fires where they were, and shivered accordingly.

Many were the schemes for improving their wood—trenches; and at last Orlebar (killed later near Wulverghem), who had been a civil engineer, drew up an arrangement for flooding the wood and retiring to a more satisfactory line. But before it could be put into practice we got orders to retire, and for the 12th Brigade on our left to relieve us.

This meant, of course, thinning the line terribly, and we were, with the 12th Brigade, somewhat nervous about it, for we did not know what it portended. But we got away during the night in perfect safety; for although there was a full moon there was also a thick mist, and the Germans never seemed to notice the movement, which required most careful staff work on the part of both Brigades.

Cuthbert, seedy, was relieved by Hickie in command of the 13th Brigade to-day.

Oct. 2nd.

By some time in the early morning of the 2nd October—1.40 A.M. it was, to be accurate—the whole Brigade had got back to Jury, and there we were told, as usual, that we were to rest and recuperate for a week; so we were not surprised at getting orders in the afternoon to move out at 6.30 P.M., our destination being a place called Droizy. I had caught a bad cold that day, due solely, I believe, to taking a "woolly" into wear for the first time; and the cold fog in which we marched did nothing to improve it. Above us was a bright clear moon, but the fog clung heavily to the valleys, and we marched in it most of the time. Desperate secrecy and quiet was observed, for we were evidently doing secret marching at night for some great object; though what it was we could only conjecture. But orders came that for the next few days we were to march at night, and during the daytime were to lie "doggo" and not show ourselves for fear of the enemy's aeroplanes.

We reached Droizy at about 11 P.M. and there found the Norfolks, who had been taken away from us at Jury ten days before and attached to the 3rd Division on our right in the direction of Vailly. Much pleased we were to see them again. They had not suffered many casualties, though they had had a stiff time at their chateau of Chassemy, filling the gap between the 3rd and 5th Divisions, and had been attacked several times.

The Dorsets in arriving here managed to take a wrong turn in the village and went careering off into the fog in the opposite direction to where their billets had been told off for them; but they were shortly retrieved and put on the right track. A brigade of artillery, by the way—I forget which—was attached to our brigade area that night, and distinguished itself next day by taking up a position in some open fields; which led to trouble.

Our headquarters were at a curious old castle-farm belonging to one M. Choron, right in the middle of the village, and looked after by his father, a vice-admiral, late a director of naval construction, a nice old fellow, who had been brutally treated by the Germans in their retreat. There was a very old tower to the place, no surroundings except a farmyard, and a little old kitchen of most antique aspect, in which we had our meals.

Oct. 3rd.

For most of the next day we had a good rest, and I stayed in bed to doctor my cold; but orders soon came to move on, and the Brigade started in the evening for Long Pont, a village about twelve miles off, getting there about 11. The Divisional Commander had kindly sent a motor-car for me; and Done, of the Norfolks (who was also rather seedy), and Tandy, R.A., a person of large knowledge and always interesting, accompanied me; so we arrived at Long Pont a long time ahead of the troops.

A great big chateau was gleaming in the moonlight as we drove up, and I determined that we should spend the night there, in spite of the fact that the Divisional staff had also that intention. But when I introduced myself to the proprietor, a courteous and frail old gentleman, the Comte de Montesquiou-Fezensac, he bewailed the fact that there was no room available, and this in spite of the fact that there were dozens of big windows outside, and long corridors inside, with heaps of rooms opening off them.

A visit to the village in search of a lodging revealed its true state—i.e., that it was choke-full and dirty. But even then it required a good deal of persuasion before the old gentleman at last grasped the fact that I was not demanding twenty bedrooms, but only one or two empty rooms in which twenty men could lie for the night. Then he kindly produced mattresses and straw, and all was well. As for myself, he was good enough to lead me to the chamber of his late mother, a curious little room with a four-poster and locks and hasps and cupboards of Louis XIII. times, and bundles of magnificent old embroideries. As for washing apparatus—that also was almost of that date.

Next day, being Sunday, we had Divine Service in the ruins of a grand old fourteenth-century abbey which adjoined the chateau—wrecked in the French Revolution and again in 1830. The park also was most attractive, rather of the Trianon surroundings style; but several brigades of artillery which had to be tucked away under the trees for fear of aeroplanes rather spoilt the turf, I fear. We did, of course, as little damage as we could, and after a friendly farewell to the old couple I drove off, again in a motor, with Henvey (A.P.M. of 5th Division), and preceded the Brigade to a place called Pontdron. Here I arrived at 10 P.M.; but the Brigade, which had been heavily held up by French troops on the march, did not turn up till nearly 4 A.M.

Meanwhile I amused myself by getting the chateau ready. It had, of course, been occupied by Germans, and, equally of course, it had been ransacked and partly wrecked by them—though a good deal of furniture had been left. There were even candles and oil-lamps available, and of these we made full use, as well as of the bedrooms. I chose the lady's (Comtesse de Coupigny, with husband in the 21st Dragoons) bedroom. The counterpane was full of mud and sand, through some beastly German having slept on it without taking his boots off, but there was actually a satin coverlet left, and pillows. All the stud- and jewellery-cases had been opened and their contents stolen, and Madame de C.'s writing-table had also been forced open, and papers and the contents of the drawers scattered on the floor. Other unmentionable crimes had also been committed.

Here we stayed for nearly two days, cleaning up the chateau, picking up a lot of stores in the shape of boots and caps and clothing of all sorts—not to mention some heavy mails from home,—and actually playing lawn-tennis. At least I played with Cadell two sets, each winning one, on a sand court with an improvised net, and racquets and balls somewhat the worse for wear, with a lovely big hot bath to follow.

It was gradually borne in on us that we were going to be moved off by train to take part in a different theatre of the fighting altogether; but where we should find ourselves we had not the least idea. What caused us much joy to hear was that we had intercepted a German wireless message, two days after four out of the six Divisions had left the Aisne, to say that it was "all right, all six British Divisions were still on the Aisne!"

Oct. 6th.

On the 6th we moved off at 2.15 P.M. and pushed on to Bethisy St Pierre, where the Bedfords and Norfolks and ourselves halted, whilst the Dorsets and Cheshires pushed on to Verberies, so as to save time for the entraining on the morrow. We got our time-table that night, and found that we were to entrain at four stations—i.e., Compiegne, Le Meux, Longueil Ste Marie, and Pont Sainte Maxence—on the following day. Very careful arrangements and calculations had to be made, so that the whole thing should go without a hitch, and we sat up for some time at the Convent, a sort of educational establishment where Brigade Headquarters was quartered, making out the orders.

A "Brigade Area" command was allotted to me, including, besides my own Brigade, the 8th Brigade R.F.A. (howitzers), 59th Co. R.E., 15th Field Ambulance, and 4th Co. of 5th Div. Train.

Oct. 7th.

Then off at 5 A.M. next morning, ourselves for Pont Ste Maxence. Major Vandeleur of the Scottish Rifles had just arrived to take command of the Cheshires, who had had nothing but a captain to command them since Lt.-Col. Boger was taken prisoner on the 24th August. He seemed to me a first-rate sensible fellow, but we were not destined to keep him for long.

As the Brigade was still rather short of socks, I bought as many as I could here for the men, but not many were available. It was a nice little town with a blown-up stone bridge, but the French R.E. had already constructed another of wood.

The French entraining orders are that all troops have to be at the station four blessed hours before the train starts, so as to give time to load up properly. We thus arrived at 8, and did not start till 12; but the actual entraining of the Cheshires—the only battalion with Brigade Headquarters—took only one hour and a quarter,—not bad at all considering that there were no ramps or decent accessories, and all the vehicles had to be man-handled into the trucks.

There were two sorts of trains—one mostly for men, the other mostly for horses and vehicles; but although they were very long—thirty-four to forty cars if I remember right—they were not quite long enough for us, and several men and vehicles had to be left behind and brought on by other trains, resulting in slight incompleteness for a few days.

We rapidly reached Creil, where we were to get our final orders. What on earth would our destination be? Rumour had it that we should go to Calais, or even to Bruges; but we had no such journey after all, for we were only intended to go to Abbeville as it turned out—rather a disappointment, as we hoped it would be further afield.

Abbeville—a two hours' journey as a rule in peace time—was not reached till 8 P.M., although we were due there at 6.30 P.M. We halted by the way, for half an hour or more, at Amiens, where we made the acquaintance of a cheery crowd of "Fusiliers Marins," sturdy naval reservists from Normandy and Brittany, who covered themselves with glory later on amid the Belgian dunes.

Oct. 8th.

We were not allowed to detrain at Abbeville till 9.30 P.M., as the platforms were already occupied by other troops. It was wretchedly cold and pitch-dark by the time we had got away from the station, and we marched in dead silence through the town at 12.30 A.M. Not a soul was in the streets, not even a policeman from whom to ask the way, and we nearly lost our direction twice.

Our orders, which we received from Dunlop (5th Divisional staff), who was ensconced in a red-hot waiting-room in the goods yard, were to the effect that we were to billet near Neuilly, a village about six miles off. Done (Norfolks) had been sent ahead on the previous day to prepare the billets, but when we got near the village, after a cold march with a clear moon, Done was nowhere to be seen; and I nearly ordered the battalion to "doss down" in the road, as all the houses near were full of men of other brigades. However, Weatherby rode on, and eventually found Done in bed at the Mairie, he having been officially told that the Brigade would not be in till the following day. He had had a trying time, having been deposited by his train at a station about ten miles off, and having to make his way across country (riding) without a map and with very vague ideas of where he was to go. However, he had already told off billets for all the Brigade Area, and the troops trickled in independently by battalions and batteries, arriving by different trains and even at different stations, up to 10 A.M. in the morning. I thought it showed distinctly good work on the part of all concerned that we concentrated our "Brigade Area" so quickly and without being deficient of anything except the few vehicles which had perforce been left behind for want of trucks; but they turned up all right a day or two after. The Brigade staff billeted at the chateau (as usual!), a strangely ruined-looking little place belonging to the Comte de Belleville, now at the wars. We turned up there about 4 A.M., and were guided thither by an old gardener, who thumped at the door and shouted loudly for "Madame." A woman soon appeared, and showed us most civilly to our rooms—very plain and bare but very clean. I could not quite make her out, for though she was dressed in the plainest of print clothes she did not talk like a servant—in fact she talked like a lady; so I put her down as some relation perhaps who was helping Mme de Belleville. But later in the morning I discovered that she was Madame la Comtesse herself, who had kindly risen at that unearthly hour to let us in, and that there were no servants in the establishment at all except the old gardener and a nurse.

Our movements were still by way of being kept a dead secret, so we went off in the afternoon at 6 P.M., reinforced now by some divisional cavalry and divisional cyclists. The road, in the dark, was an extremely complicated one, as it involved about twenty turnings and movement along narrow lanes with high hedges and big trees, making it quite impossible to see for more than a few yards. So I took the guiding of the column into my own hands, and distributed the rest of my staff along it to see that the different units did not miss the way and kept well closed up. The result was good, and after 5 hours march, via Agenvilliers and Gueschard, we reached the little village of Boufflers about 11 P.M. Here, at an odd little Nouvel Art "Chateau"—or rather small country house, empty of its owners—belonging to M. Sagebien, Prefet de Niort, we of the Brigade staff put up, the rest of the command being billeted in the tiny villages lining each bank of the tiny stream near—I have forgotten its name.

Oct. 9th.

It was a nice sunny day on the morrow, and we got our orders by midday that we were to move off at 2 P.M. We wrote out Brigade orders and prepared to start, when suddenly post-haste came some orders cancelling these, and telling us that we were to drop our transport and be moved off at once in a series of motor-buses to a place called Dieval.

And then began a lovely jumble, which resulted (not our own fault) in getting to Dieval rather later than we should have done had we trusted to our own unaided powers of locomotion.

We moved off at 2 P.M., only taking blanket-waggons which were to dump blankets and supplies into the buses. These were to have turned up on the Haravesnes-Fillievres road at 7 P.M.; in any case it would have been a complicated job getting into them in the dark, but they did not arrive till midnight, owing to some mechanical breakdowns in the column. The first lot of "camions" were to have taken six battalions—i.e., the 14th Brigade, which was just ahead of us, and half of the 15th Brigade. But when they did arrive, there were only enough for three and three-quarter battalions; so we bivouacked in more or less peace by the roadside until this bunch had moved off and returned from Dieval to fetch us. Horribly cold it was too, and we only kept moderately warm by pulling down several straw stacks—which we carefully put together again next day—and covering ourselves up in the straw.

I had, by the way, an extremely narrow escape from being killed that night. I had been lying down just off the road, when it struck me that I should find out more of what was happening and going to happen if I went to the head of the camion column and interviewed the officer in charge. It was a tramp of a mile or more through the 14th Brigade, and I found out something of what I wanted; but when I returned to the bivouac I heard that, not two minutes after I had started, a motor-bus had swerved off the road and passed exactly over the place where my head had been. It very nearly went over St Andre and Moulton-Barrett, who were lying a few feet away, as it was. Of course the driver could not see any one lying down in the dark.

Oct. 10th.

Next morning we had breakfast at 7.30 in the field, and still the buses had not returned. We waited in that place till 11 o'clock before they turned up, and then clambered into them as quickly as we could—twenty-two men to a bus, sixteen buses to 300 metres being the allowance. Even then we had to leave about two battalions behind for a third trip.

I got into the first bus—a very fast one,—and reached Dieval some time before the rest of the Brigade; but there was no room in the town for another Brigade, as it was already full of the 14th.

I went to see Rolt, and got into telephone communication with Divisional Headquarters on the subject, and they gave me leave to billet at La Thieuloye, one and a half miles back and off the road. So W. and I walked back and turned the buses off there just as they were arriving.

A curious sight were the hundreds, or even thousands, of French civilians whom we met—all men of military age, whom the French Army was sending away westwards out of Lille; for it was likely that Lille would shortly be invested by the Germans, and they did not want this large batch of recruits and reservists to be interned in Germany.

The rest of the Brigade—transport, horses, and all—rolled up by 6 P.M., the horses being very tired after their long night march.

From what I could gather German cavalry was trying to get round our north-west flank, whilst a big fight was going on at Arras. Lille, with a few Territorial battalions in it, was still holding out, but was surrounded by the enemy. Hence the hurry. But we ought to have plenty of troops now to keep the Germans off. It was very puzzling to make out what was happening, for we had not even the vaguest idea where the rest of our own Army was, let alone the French or Germans. Nobody seemed to know anything, except that we should probably soon be fighting again.

Our quarters that night were a horrid little chateau—empty, damp, and desolate, in a deserted wilderness of a place, with no furniture except some straw, a mattress or two, and some packing-cases. So here we tried to make ourselves comfortable, and succeeded in lighting a fire and settling down. But it was beastly cold and damp.

Oct. 11th.

We marched at 7.20 A.M. in a thick damp mist, myself being in charge of the right column of the Division, consisting of the Brigade, the 15th Brigade R.F.A., 108th heavy battery (under Tyrrell, late Military Attache at Constantinople), 17th R.E. Fd. Co., and cyclists (who, by the way, did not turn up, having been sent ahead). On the way to Bethune we were evidently coming into touch with the enemy, for I received orders to detach two companies (Cheshires) to our right flank at Fonquieres Verquin to support the French. But they returned in the course of the afternoon, not being wanted.

Outside Bethune we halted for some time, and were regaled with soup and pears by some hospitable ladies at luncheon-time. And then we received orders to push through the town and cover it along the bend of the canal and across the arc of it (from Essars due east) with three battalions, the Norfolks being sent away to the east to help the French about Annequin.

It was perfectly flat country and difficult to defend, as it was so cut up by high hedges and suburbs; but I went round it in the afternoon, inspected it carefully, and posted the battalions. Towards evening, however, we had orders to fall back into the town—the French taking over the outposts—and billet there, our Headquarters being in the Grande Place—a large square with a curious old belfry in the middle—at a wine-shop, No. 34. Here we were well looked after, and had each of us a lovely hot bath, provided by a marvellous system of gas-jets which heated the water in about five minutes.

Oct. 12th.

Off eastwards next morning at 8.30 A.M. through a freezing thick fog—so thick that one could not see twenty yards in front of one. The big open space in the town through which we passed was occupied with masses of Spahis, Moorish troops, and Algerians of all sorts, looking miserably cold in their scarlet jackets and white burnouses. The idea was that we were to push forward to Festubert and act as a pivot, with our right near the canal at Rue de l'Epinette, to the 3rd Division and the remainder of the Corps, which were swinging slowly round to their right so as eventually to face south-east and take La Bassee.

At first my orders directed me to leave a gap between myself and the canal, the gap being filled by French troops; but shortly afterwards I was told that the Brigade was to hold from Festubert to the canal, relieving the French cavalry here, who were to hold on till we got there; and I paid a visit to the French cavalry General at Gorre to make sure that this would be done. The line was a horribly extended one—about two miles; and the prospect was not entrancing. However, I detached the Dorsets to move along the canal bank from Gorre and get in touch with the French. Very glad I was that I had done so, for they had severe fighting there that day against a strong force of the enemy, who tried to get in between us and the French.

The Bedfords I ordered to hold Givenchy. The first rumour was that the French had evacuated Givenchy before we could come up, and that the Germans had occupied it; but this turned out not to be true after all. The Cheshires held Festubert, and the Norfolks were in Divisional reserve somewhere in rear.

Meanwhile the Germans were attacking along the canal; but the Dorsets checked them most gallantly, losing poor Roper, killed in leading a charge, and a number of men. Lilly was wounded at the same time.

The Headquarters passed most of that day—and an extremely busy Staff day it was—in a little pothouse in Festubert, and we slept in a tiny house put at our disposal by one Masse, gendarme, a gallant old soldier, who was the only representative of civilian authority in the place, the Maire having bolted, and his second in command being sick unto death in his own house.

Oct. 13th.

The night went off fairly peaceably, but early next morning we had a nasty jar, for it was reported at 8 A.M. that Majors Vandeleur (commanding) and Young (2nd in command) of the Cheshires, together with a company and a half, had all been made prisoners or killed by the Germans about Rue d'Ouvert. The circumstantial story was that the early morning patrols had reported that Rue d'Ouvert (about a mile in front of Festubert) was free of Germans; that Vandeleur and Young had gone out with two platoons to make sure of it, had got into Rue d'Ouvert and found it empty at first, but had been subsequently fired at from the houses, surrounded by superior numbers, and had been taken prisoners after losing half their men. As for Shore's company, who were supporting them, they had disappeared completely and had apparently suffered the same fate.

I immediately sent out scouts to find out the truth; but a very heavy fire was by this time opened on the remainder of the Cheshires, and the scouts could not get through. No further news even came in of Shore's company, but we could not believe that it had really been scuppered, or else there would have been much more firing, and we must have had some news of the disaster, if it had occurred.

And so it was. Towards 3 o'clock we had news that the company was safely tucked away in some ditches, holding its front, and had had practically no losses, although it could not move out without attracting a heavy artillery fire.