t.

The remaining eggs for breakfast--delicious.

Huggie and I were sent off just before dawn on a message that took us to
St Remy, a fine church, and Hartennes, where we were given hot tea by
that great man, Sergeant Croucher of the Divisional Cyclists. I rode
back to Rozet St Albin, a pleasant name, along a road punctuated with
dead and very evil-smelling horses. Except for the smell it was a good
run of about ten miles. I picked up the Division again on the sandy road
above Chacrise.

Sick of column riding I turned off the main road up a steep hill into
Ambrief, a desolate black-and-white village totally deserted. It came on
to pour, but there was a shrine handy. There I stopped until I was
pulled out by an ancient captain of cuirassiers, who had never seen an
Englishman before and wanted to hear all about us.

On into Acy, where I decided to head off the Division at Ciry, instead
of crossing the Aisne and riding straight to Vailly, our proposed H.Q.
for that night. The decision saved my life, or at least my liberty. I
rode to Sermoise, a bright little village where the people were actually
making bread. At the station there was a solitary cavalry man. In Ciry
itself there was no one. Half-way up the Ciry hill, a sort of dry
watercourse, I ran into some cavalry and learnt that the Germans were
holding the Aisne in unexpected strength. I had all but ridden round and
in front of our own cavalry outposts.

Two miles farther back I found Huggie and one of our brigades. We had a
bit of bully and biscuit under cover of a haystack, then we borrowed
some glasses and watched bodies of Germans on the hills the other side
of the Aisne. It was raining very fast. There was no decent cover, so we
sat on the leeward side of a mound of sand.

When we awoke the sun was setting gorgeously. Away to the west in the
direction of Soissons there was a tremendous cannonade. On the hills
opposite little points of flame showed that the Germans were replying.
On our right some infantry were slowly advancing in extended order
through a dripping turnip-field.

The Battle of the Aisne had begun.

We were wondering what to do when we were commandeered to take a message
down that precipitous hill of Ciry to some cavalry. It was now quite
dark and still raining. We had no carbide, and my carburetter had
jibbed, so we decided to stop at Ciry for the night. At the inn we found
many drinks--particularly some wonderful cherry brandy--and a frie