I also took the wounded French soldiers we had brought from Denée to an ambulance.
I will not describe the Calvary of that long march and the sufferings of my exhausted soldiers. It was eight o'clock at night when we reached Rocroi, and the men were then able to take their first meal that day.
We had to think of the horses, too, and to get some oats for them. I plead guilty to having acted in a manner that was incorrect, but I hope I may be forgiven for it under the circumstances. At that late hour, the forage stores were closed, and the man in charge did not consider himself obliged to supply me until the next day.
Necessity knows no law. In accordance with this precept, somewhat lax, but indispensable in time of war, I ordered my men to break open the door and take, manu militari, the oats necessary. I left a receipt, quite honestly, for what I had taken.
I spent the night, with my men, in the big Square of the town, but I could not close my eyes. Too many thoughts crowded to my mind, for, from what I had heard and seen on the way, I was convinced that the Germans would soon be at Rocroi and that we should have to move on southwards.
Where were we to go though? How were we to rejoin the Belgian army, when we did not know where it was? I had not even a map of the district.
As soon as it was daylight, my first idea was to try to get a map, but how was I to find it in a town that was asleep? I knocked at several doors, but there was not a map to be had. Presently, I met a young cyclist who had a road-map of Northern France. I am about to confess my second indelicate act. I said to the young cyclist:
"How much did you give for your map?"
"Three francs," he replied.
"I will give you five francs for it."