We sent forward notifications to our Headquarters, and sent out orderlies
to get in touch with the batteries of the farther forward brigades
already in action. The story of these guns will be read elsewhere.
They had a tough time, but got away safely, and did wonderful service.
One battery fired in two opposite directions at once,
and both batteries fired at point blank, open sights, at Germans in the open.
They were at times quite without infantry on their front,
for their position was behind the French to the left of the British line.

As we sat on the road we began to see the French stragglers --
men without arms, wounded men, teams, wagons, civilians, refugees --
some by the roads, some across country, all talking, shouting --
the very picture of debacle. I must say they were the "tag enders"
of a fighting line rather than the line itself. They streamed on,
and shouted to us scraps of not too inspiriting information
while we stood and took our medicine, and picked out gun positions
in the fields in case we had to go in there and then. The men were splendid;
not a word; not a shake, and it was a terrific test. Traffic whizzed by --
ambulances, transport, ammunition, supplies, despatch riders --
and the shells thundered into the town, or burst high in the air nearer us,
and the refugees streamed. Women, old men, little children,
hopeless, tearful, quiet or excited, tired, dodging the traffic, --
and the wounded in singles or in groups. Here and there I could give
a momentary help, and the ambulances picked up as they could.
So the cold moonlight night wore on -- no change save that
the towers of Ypres showed up against the glare of the city burning;
and the shells still sailed in.

At 9.30 our ammunition column (the part that had been "in") appeared.
Major ---- had waited, like Casabianca, for orders until the Germans were