ur waggons had
been shifted and a French heavy battery were hauling their howitzers up
the incline that led from the road to the field. The senior French
officer was polite but firm. He was sorry to disturb us, but this was
the most suitable spot for his howitzers to fire from.

The sergeant-major asked me whether I would like to shift the horses to
such-and-such a spot in the field, but I said "No" to that. "These guns
will be firing all night, and the horses will be only thirty yards away
from them. They'll have no rest whatever, and they want every minute
they can get. No, the Brigade are coming out of action to-morrow
morning. We'll shift our waggon line right away to the other side of
the village. Saddle-up at once, and get away before it is dark. Move
well away from the village while you are about it, and camp by the
roadside."

The cook looked glum and said my rabbit was cooked to a turn. "Keep it
for me until we get settled down again," I said. I posted a cycle
orderly to wait at the spot we were leaving, so as to re-direct
messengers arriving from Division or from the colonel; the brigade
clerk asked to be allowed to stay behind until the three other
orderlies returned from the batteries--he wouldn't feel justified in
leaving before then, he assured me. It was 8.15 P.M. when our little
procession headed by the sergeant-major passed through the village.

I had sent my horses on, and it was on the point of darkness when I
strode through the village, some way behind the column. A few officers
of the Pioneer battalion that was moving out any moment stood at open
doorways, and a group of drivers waited near the bridge ready to
harness up their mules. Three aged women dressed in faded black, one of
them carrying a bird-cage, had come out of a cottage and walked with
feeble ungainly step towards the bridge. A couple of ancient men,
pushing wheel-barrows piled high with household goods, followed.

Out of the distance came the brooding whine of an approaching howitzer
shell. A mighty rush of air, a blinding flash, and an appalling crash.
An 8-inch had fallen in the middle of the street.

A running to and fro; a heartrending, whimpering cry from one of the
women; and groans and curses farther up the street. None of the poor
terror-stricken old people were hurt, thank God! but three of the
drivers had been hit and two mules killed outright. The men were
quickly lifted into the shelter of the nearest house, and the ci