ery retreating Division in France
seemed to be arriving and to be bringing more dust. Hundreds of
refugees from villages now in Boche possession had come, too. What a
place to be sent to! It was useless looking for billets, so I fixed
upon a vast field on the outskirts of the town where we could establish
our horse lines and pitch tents and bivouacs. This was satisfactory
enough, but the watering problem was bound to be difficult. Four small
pumps in the main street and one tiny brackish pond totalled the
facilities. It would take each battery an hour and a half to water its
horses. "Corps moves in most mysterious ways," crooned Stone. "Why did
they send us here?" We rode and walked until we were tired, but found
nothing that would improve matters. Then Fentiman, Stone, and I found
the Cafe de la Place, and entered the "Officers only" room, where we
sat down to a bottle of wine and devoured the Continental 'Daily Mail'
of March 23, the first paper we had seen since starting the retreat.
Madame informed us that some officers of Divisional Headquarters had
turned up the day before and were dining there. As we went out to go
and meet the batteries and lead them to the waggon lines, there was a
shout of recognition, and "Swiffy" and the little American doctor ran
up, grinning and rather shamefaced. "We thought of posting you as
deserters," I said with pretended seriousness, "not having seen you
since the afternoon of the 23rd." It was now the 26th. They narrated a
long and somewhat sheepish story that, boiled down, told of a barn that
promised a sound afternoon's nap, an awakening to find every one
vanished; then a worried and wearied tramp in search of us, with
nothing to eat except what they could beg or buy at ruinous prices; one
perturbing two hours when they found themselves walking into the arms
of the oncoming Hun; and finally, a confirmed resolve never to stray
far from the Brigade mess-cart again.

7 P.M.: When the batteries were settled in their waggon lines, I led
the colonel and "Swiffy" and the doctor through the crowded dusty
streets into the Cafe de la Place. The restaurant was filled with
French and British officers. "Swiffy" insisted on cracking a bottle of
champagne to celebrate the return of the doctor and himself to the
fold; then I spotted Ronny Hertford, the Divisional salvage officer,
who was full of talk and good cheer, and said he had got his news from
the new G.S.O. II., who had just come from Engl