our pressure on their flank. This retreat
again was to be as slow as possible, to prevent an outflanking of the
whole.

Our object was obviously to prevent them achieving theirs.

Look at the map and grasp these three things:--

1. The two rivers--the Petit Morin debouching so as to cover
the German left centre.

2. From La Ferte westwards the rivers run in deep ravines,
hemmed in by precipitous thickly-wooded hills.

3. Only two bridges across the Marne remained--one large
one at La Ferte and one small one at Saacy.

When I arrived at Doue the Germans were holding the Forest of Jouarre in
force. They were in moderate force on the south bank of the Petit Morin,
and had some guns, but not many, on the north bank.

Here is a tale of how glory may be forced upon the unwilling.

There were troops on the road running south from Jouarre. They might be
Germans retreating. They might be the 3rd Corps advancing. The Staff
wanted to know at once, and, although a despatch rider had already been
sent west to ride up the road from the south, it was thought that
another despatch rider skirting the east side of the Bois de Jouarre
might find out more quickly. So the captain called for volunteers.

[Illustration: THE MARNE
(LAGNY _TO_ CHATEAU-THIERRY)]

Now one despatch rider had no stomach for the job. He sat behind a tree
and tried to look as if he had not heard the captain's appeal. The
sergeant in charge had faith in him and, looking round, said in a loud
voice, "Here is Jones!" (it is obviously impolitic for me to give even
his nickname, if I wish to tell the truth). The despatch rider jumped
up, pretended he knew nothing of what was going forward, and asked what
was required. He was told, and with sinking heart enthusiastically
volunteered for the job.

He rode off, taking the road by La Chevrie Farm. Beyond the farm the
Germans sniped him unmercifully, but (so he told me) he got well down on
the tank and rode "all out" until he came to the firing line just
south-west of the farm to the north of Chevrie. Major Buckle came out of
his ditch to see what was wanted. The rifle fire seemed to increase. The
air was buzzing, and just in front of his bicycle multitudinous little
spurts of dust flecked the road.

It was distinctly unpleasant, and, as Major Buckle persisted in standing
in the middle of the road instead of taking the despatch rider with him
into his ditch, the despatch rider had