I had sent Major Allason (of the Bedfords) out earlier in the day to scout northwards with a couple of mounted men, and he came back at eventide, having collared a German officer and his servant, but not brought them in. They had just been falling back at a walk with the information they had gathered, when they heard a clatter of hoofs behind them, and beheld a German cavalry officer and his man trying to gallop past them—not to attack them,—apparently bolting from some of our own cavalry. Allason, who was in front, stuck spurs into his horse and galloped after the officer and shot his horse, bringing the German down, the latter also being put out of action. Then they bound up the German's wound and took all his papers from him, which proved to be very useful, giving the location of the German cavalry and other troops. Meanwhile the officer's servant stood by, with his mouth open, doing nothing. As they couldn't carry the officer off, they left them both there and came on.

Amongst other stories, we heard here that a squadron of one of our cavalry brigades had stopped to water in a wood. A lot of German cavalry bungled on top of them, and then bolted as if the devil were after them. The row stampeded our horses, and they dashed off through the wood in all directions, leaving many of our men on foot. But their steeds were soon recovered.

Sept. 2nd.

Off again next morning at 4.15 A.M. We did rear-guard to the Division, but we had an easy time of it, the Dorsets being in rear. I had also the 27th Brigade R.F.A., the N.I. Horse under Massereene, and 70 cyclists to help, but the Germans never pursued us or fired a shot. It was awfully hot again, but we had not far to go—only eleven miles—into Montgé. There we arrived at 10.45 A.M., and should have been there much sooner if it had not been for some of the Divisional Train halting to water on the way.

Montgé is a nice little village on a hillside, almost within sight of Paris, which is only about twenty-five miles off; and on a clear day one can, I believe, see the Eiffel Tower and Montmartre. We could not make out why we were always thus retiring without fighting, and imagined it was some deep-laid plan of Joffre's that we perhaps were to garrison Paris whilst the French turned on the Germans. But no light was vouchsafed to us. Meanwhile the retirement was morally rather bad for our men, and the stragglers increased in numbers.

The Brigade Headquarters billeted in a tiny house marked by two big poplars on the main road. The proprietor, a stout peasant—I think he was the Maire—received us very civilly, but his questions as to our retirement were difficult to answer. However, we didn't trouble him long, and were off next morning by 5.30 acting as flank-guard again.

Sept. 3rd.

It was hotter than ever over those parched fields, and the march was complicated, for when we had reached Trilbardon down a narrow leafy path, past a bridge over the Marne which an R.E. officer was most anxious to blow up at once, we were told to act as rear-guard again. For this we had to wait till all the troops had passed through the little streets, and then we followed. We overtook a good many stragglers, and these we hustled along, insisting on their getting over the other side of the Marne before the main bridges were blown up. We were responsible for leaving no one behind, but I'm afraid that several were left, as they had fallen out and gone to sleep under hedges and were not seen; and one K.O.S.B. man was suffering so violently from pains in his tummy that he at first refused to stir, and said he didn't care if he was taken prisoner. There were a considerable number of these tummy cases on the way—hot sun and unripe apples had, I fancy, a good deal to do with them.

At Esbly we halted, gratefully, in the shade for an hour; it was a nice little town, but strangely empty, for nearly all the inhabitants had fled.

We put up for the night round Mont Pichet, a beastly little hamlet, with the Cheshires and one company Bedfords finding the outposts. The Brigade Headquarters billeted round a horrible little house, surrounded by hundreds of ducks and chickens, which ran in and out all over the place till it stank most horribly. There was only one room which wasn't absolutely foul, and that I took. The others slept in the open. I wish I had.