Scarcely have we started in the direction of Bucy than we are greeted by a shell, then by two, followed soon by three. We are being fired upon. A command is given that the four squadrons should follow one another at intervals of fifty yards.
On reaching the first houses in Bucy we find considerable excitement. Gunners, sword and revolver in hand, exclaim—
"Don't go in that direction! The Germans are at the sugar-mill of Crouy."
A horseman gallops up, coming from the line. As he rides past we ask—
"Well, good news?"
He frowns and makes a wry face. Evidently there is hard fighting going on.
The section climbs in the direction of the trenches. Half-way up, we meet a few men and a lieutenant of another regiment. They wear a haggard look, and seem uncertain of their movements.
"Where are you going?" asks our lieutenant.
"I've not the faintest idea," says the other. "This is all that's left of my company. We have just been mined."
One man, still in a very shaky condition, explains—