Aug. 28th.
Next morning we were off before the sun rose, with orders to proceed towards Noyon. We were well up to time as regards our place in the column, but some of the rest of the Division were very late—probably some counter-order had been given; anyway, we had to wait a good extra half-hour by the roadside. I remember that I occupied the time in shaving myself; and as there was no water handy, I moistened the brush in the dew on the grass. It did fairly well—though removing two days' growth was rather painful, I allow.
We plodded on through the heat of the day, in rear of the 14th Brigade, and kept our march discipline without trouble, though the number of apple- and pear-trees on the road was a great temptation. What had happened or where we were going to was a complete mystery; all that we knew was that we had had to leg it at Le Cateau, but that we were distinctly not downhearted; nor did the Germans seem to be pursuing. So we thought that we should probably soon get the order to turn and either take up a defensive position or advance again against the enemy—though we also knew that we must have lost a number of guns and a good many men.
Soon after we started we were asked how many waggons we required to carry damaged and footsore men, and at a certain point there were some thirty or forty waggons drawn up for that purpose. I felt rather insulted, and said so, but eventually put my pride in my pocket and said I'd have one per battalion. The officer in charge at once offered ten, but I did not accept them, and I don't think we filled even one waggon all day.
Somewhere about ten o'clock the message was passed down from the front that Sir John French was on the roadside and wanted to see battalion commanders. I cantered on, and found him under a tree with a few of his staff. I saluted and asked for orders, but he said he only wanted to see the C.O.'s. Then he took me aside and said that he wanted to compliment and congratulate the men on their magnificent work; that we had saved the left flank of the French army, and that Joffre had begged him to tell the troops that they had saved France for the time being, and more to the same effect. I hastened, of course, to tell everybody; I think the men got their tails up well in consequence. But the British are an undemonstrative lot, and Thomas never lets his feelings show on the surface. Anyway, we were all pleased that our sacrifices hadn't been for nothing, and hoped we'd soon stop and turn round.
At Guiscard we turned into the main road to Noyon. It was very hot, and we had had no rest (except the regulation ten minutes per hour) since starting. So when we got to some nice shade on the left, and big spreading trees dotted over some fields, I turned the Brigade off the road, transport and all, and we halted for an hour and a half. We went to sleep after luncheon, of course, and when it was time to start I remember that Moulton-Barrett went up to St André, who was lying fast asleep, and shouted out, "The Germans are on us!" Poor St André jumped to his feet with a yell and seized his revolver; it was a wicked joke.
The main road into Noyon was much crowded, not only with a lot of French cavalry going north, but a very large number of waggons full of our own men—of other brigades, mind you, for I don't think there were any 15th Brigade men there at all; but then the others had had a harder time.
The French cavalry were a dragoon brigade—horses looking very fit and well, and wonderfully light equipment on them; they do not go in for carrying half so much on the saddle as we do—for one thing, apparently they don't consider it necessary to carry cleaning material on the horse.
There was again a considerable squash in Noyon, and here St André was delighted to meet some spick-and-span young friends of his whom he affected to treat with great contempt, as not yet having seen a shot fired. Having to cross the railway line also delayed us still more, as a long supply-train was shunting and reshunting and keeping the gates shut.
It was a lovely evening, and though progress was slow, we eventually reached Pontoise by about 7 P.M. The country was thickly wooded and very pretty, and the quarters into which we got after our sixteen-mile march were most acceptable. Here we were told we should probably be for several days—to rest and recuperate; but we were beginning to have doubts about these perpetually-promised rests which never came off.