crashing into them. The column was a lingering tragedy. There were teams
with only a limber and without a gun. And you must see it to know what a
twistedly pathetic thing a gun team and limber without a gun is. There
were bits of teams and teams with only a couple of drivers. The faces of
the men were awful. I smiled at one or two, but they shook their heads
and turned away. One sergeant as he passed was muttering to himself, as
if he were repeating something over and over again so as to learn it by
rote--"My gun, my gun, my gun!"

At this moment an order came from some one for the motor-cyclists to
retire to the farm where we had slept the night. The others went on with
the crowd, but I could not start my engine. After trying for five
minutes it seemed to me absurd to retreat, so I went back and found that
apparently nobody had given the order. The other motor-cyclists returned
one by one as soon as they could get clear, but most of them were
carried on right past the farm.

A few minutes later there was a great screaming crash
overhead--shrapnel. I ran to my bicycle and stood by waiting for orders.

The General suggested mildly that we might change our headquarters.
There was a second crash. We all retired about 200 yards back up the
road. There I went to the captain in the middle of the traffic and asked
him what I should do. He told us to get out of it as we could not do
anything more--"You have all done magnificently"--then he gave me some
messages for our subaltern. I shouted, "So long, sir," and left him, not
knowing whether I should ever see him again. I heard afterwards that he
went back when all the operators had fled and tried to get into
communication with our Army H.Q.