"A Company of Infantry in the first line," he says, "and my Squadron in the second line were to prevent the Boches from passing the bridge, which had been partially destroyed, at Schoonaerde.
"In the afternoon of the 4th of October, there was violent firing from the enemy. I evacuated the horses quickly. Part of the little hamlet of Dael, to the south of Berlaere, where the horses then were, was literally shattered.
"During the bombardment, Staff Deputy Colonel Joostens, who was then Major, arrived at Berlaere on his way to the Schoonaerde bridge. I was stopped by the shells at the last houses, to the south of Dael, and had just time to fling myself into a ditch two yards to the east of the road, in front of a farm which received four or five projectiles. A little while after this, Staff Commander Adjutant Major Yperman hastened up to me.
"'Where is the Major?' he asked.
"'There,' I answered, pointing to the Escaut. Just at this moment, an artillery salvo saluted his arrival. Honour be to whom honour is due!
"'I fancy you want me to be killed,' said Commander Yperman, laughing.
"To my right, on the other side of the road, was a cultivated field, and then a little farm surrounded by hedges. I saw a firing effect there that seemed extraordinary. The shells were raining down. Suddenly, a ball of fire, which looked about three or four yards in diameter, came along quickly, parallel with the road in the direction of the little farm, but close to the ground. It cleared the hedge, scarcely touching it, just as a horse might have done at a hunt. It was a very pretty sight!
"We had no losses that day, but alas, it was a very different thing the day following. Towards evening, I received orders to fall back and occupy, with my Squadron, the south border of Berlaere.
"Lieutenant Roup was hit in the leg by shrapnel, but was not seriously wounded. At night, a fresh communication arrived. My brave Lancers were to go into the trenches that I had been to inspect near the Schoonaerde bridge. The Boches were on the other side of the river.
"The following morning, the 5th of October, we were to be four or five hundred yards to the east of the bridge, in order to let our Artillery shoot over Schoonaerde. Just at this point, the Escaut makes a slight concave bend towards the north, that is on our side. I was, therefore, afraid of two things. First, there was the danger that the Germans, covered by their own Artillery, might cross the bridge without our seeing them, as we were rather far from it ourselves. Then I feared that we might be surprised from behind, on account of the turn in the Escaut, as Boche sentinels were visible on a sort of cupola, at the top of a German manufactory near the Schoonaerde station, a manufactory which we had not been allowed to destroy by fire the week before. Towards 6.30, I went to the bridge, after telling my men to hide in the small trenches we had made during the night in the embankment of the Escaut. On arriving as far as the church, I heard the roar of cannon. I had a pang at my heart, dreading lest the target should be my poor Squadron. Two minutes later, a formidable storm burst over our wretched little trenches, and this storm continued for half an hour.
"'Not a single man will be left,' I said to myself, as the projectiles passed, one after another, twenty yards in front of me, with an infernal noise. The whizzing of the shrapnels and the roar of the shells were frightful. The air seemed to be torn by them and the commotion was terrible."
The following is an episode of what took place in the trenches, according to a letter from Lieutenant de Burlet, which I received a few days later.
"At Schoonaerde, I lost seven men of my platoon. One of them was a sub-officer and another my poor orderly, whom you saw by me in the trench. A shrapnel burst two yards away from us, taking off my poor Tuitinier's face. I took refuge under his dead body from 6.30 to 7.45 when, after escaping a thousand dangers and feeling all the revulsions of the body which was protecting me, each time it was hit by the splinters from the shells, I beat a retreat on hearing your whistle."
"At about 7.30," continues Commander Cartuyvels, "the firing ceased. I left my shelter and heard German being spoken on the other side of the water. Piff! paff!... A ball had hit me in the chest, but by a miracle had been turned aside by a pocket-knife. A second hit me in the left knee.
"I had received instructions to remain as long as I thought it possible. Considering that the position could no longer be held, I gave orders to my Squadron to beat a retreat. I tried to start as well as I could on all threes, as I could not use my fourth member. I got into a ditch, which was full of water, and then into a second one. I was up to my neck in water and I then dragged myself along on the wet grass. Another ball broke my right thigh, near the hip. I was settled now and I pretended to be dead, but, in spite of this, these 'cultivated creatures' continued firing on me. What a mental retrospection one has time for when one has to stay for twelve or thirteen hours under the enemy's balls!
"I wrote on my cuffs to my wife and to my mother, bidding them farewell, and I lay there waiting for death! The shells continued to rage over my head and the bullets to whizz through the air. A foot-soldier, crawling along a few yards away from me, was shot through the head. He uttered a hoarse cry and his soul passed away.
"In the afternoon, I either had a dum-dum ball or one that had been turned aside in my left thigh, and this caused me great suffering.
"When the darkness came on, thanks to a little whistle which I always used for giving orders, I was found by Quartermaster de Looz-Corswarem and Thibaut of my Squadron. They were helped by a civilian and by a private belonging to the Infantry, whose name I believe was Ledent, and I was put on to a wheelbarrow and taken to Dael. I was saved!