Soon the whole line in front was blazing away into the darkness. Should
the Subaltern stop and try to lend assistance where he was, or hurry
back to his own unit? Before long a couple of men rushed along the road
crying out for Stretcher Bearers, and he learnt from one of them that in
the darkness and confusion of the retreat, British had been fighting
with British. The pitch darkness shrouded every action with a ghastly
uncertainty.

Then news came through that another bridge had been captured. A fresh
company arrived in reinforcement. There was nothing for it but to effect
a retreat before the morning light could betray their weakness to the
Germans. Apparently, however, the capture of the bridge had only been a
precautionary measure, for the enemy did not press his attack home.

The Subaltern saw that the best thing he could do would be to return to
the remainder of his Battalion at Maroilles. If he were to grope about
the countryside in the dark, looking for "that battery," he would most
likely be shot down for a spy; moreover, in a little over two hours the
morning would dawn. So he trudged back to Maroilles.

He felt that he ought to have been on the verge of exhaustion from lack
of food and from fatigue, and he vaguely wondered why he was not. The
truth was that the excitement of the attack, coupled with the chill of
the night, had restored him in mind and body, although he had marched
over twenty miles on the previous day, had had no sleep that night, and
no meal since the evening of the battle of Mons.

The Battalion was taking its rest as well as it could on the pavement of
the street, so as to be ready to move at a minute's notice. The