at won't do," he interrupted; "you'll be too far north. The Boche is
coming down that main road. You'd better tell the colonel that any
further retirement must be south-west, because the Boche is pinching us
on our left. I'll show you the line as it runs at present. I've just
got it."

We bent over his large-scale map, and I copied the curved line on to my
own map. "The French are properly in now," added the brigade-major,
"and we are going to fight for that line. There's to be no more
retiring."

"Is it true, sir, that we've done well up north? Most encouraging
rumours flying round."

"I don't know," he replied with a tired smile. "I hope so."

A smile and a cheering word from the General, who said, "I've just seen
the colonel, and I've put two of your batteries farther forward.
They'll help to hold Villequier Aumont a bit longer." Then outside I
met Beadle, and gave him the time and place where battery guides had to
meet the B.A.C. ammunition waggons, and sent off my groom to convey
this information officially to all the battery waggon lines. After
which I cantered back, and discovered the colonel inspecting the two
batteries that the General had moved to more forward positions.

It was 6 P.M., and the enemy advance machine-gun parties were now
certainly closing in on Villequier Aumont, which lay in the hollow
beneath us. But I shall always remember the handling of our composite A
and C batteries on that occasion. It so exactly fulfilled drill-book
requirements, it might all have been done on parade. The noses of the
four 18-pdrs. peeped out from under a clump of beeches, close to a pond
under the brow of a hill. Dumble had climbed to the top of a tower
three-quarters of a mile from the battery, and directed the shooting
from the end of a roughly laid telephone wire. He reported only
fleeting glimpses of Huns, but could guess pretty well the spots at
which they were congregating, and issued his orders accordingly. Young
Eames, the officer passing the orders to the gunners, stood very
upright, close to the battery telephonist, and let his voice ring out
in crisp staccato tones that would have won him full marks at Larkhill
or Shoeburyness: "Aiming point top of tower. All guns ... Four 0
degrees Right.... Concentrate Two 0 minutes on Number One.... Corrector
152.... Why didn't you shout out your Fuze Number 3?... Three
Two-fifty--Two Nine-fifty.... Will you acknowledge orders, Sergeant
Kyle?..."

The colonel, wh