Hearing that the German troops were advancing from the North-East along
the line Malines--Mons--Mezieres--Soissons--Verdun--Belfort, I
immediately made off due South-West for a reason I may not give. I
managed with the utmost difficulty to find someone to carry my kit, but
at length persuaded an old peasant whom I found weeding (probably the
last weeds he would ever dig) to act as my courier, and even then I had
to resort to the vulgar strategy of pretending to be a Uhlan.
We joined the throng boarding an old motor-bus (6-1/2 h.p.). There was
nothing to show to outward appearance that the dreaded Germans were
within 250 miles of the little townlet where I found myself (name
suppressed). After booking my room at the only decent hotel in the
place, I cast about for something to eat. Alas, the only eatables were
roast duck and apple tart (the last probably we should ever see). I then
unpacked my kit, and after folding my riding breeches I placed them
under the mattress, wondering when I should take them out again. It is
curious how even the simplest necessities of life mechanically assert
themselves in the midst of the most strenuous and adventurous
circumstances.
Troops, troops, troops, and yet again troops. And people still go on
living their daily lives. I saw two men seated in a _cafe_ playing
draughts, and they quarrelled over a move as though they had never heard
tell of the KAISER. Such is _la guerre_. I am rapidly polishing up my
French which I learnt at ----, how many years ago I may not say.
We know little of the German plans, and that much it is useless for me
to communicate as the Censor is stopping all news of any interest. But
this we do know here in our little town of ---- that the KAISER will
undoubtedly defeat the English armies if he can. To-day I saw an officer
who had been sent back to count the milk-cans on a large dairy-farm
(probably the last cans he would ever count); as he clattered down the
road, mounted on his charger, I stepped in front of him and held up my
hand, in which was a recent copy of _The Daily Cry and Echo_. The
officer with difficulty stopped, as his horse reared on seeing the paper
in my hand. I then asked him where he would advise me to go, as I wanted
to be where the fire was hottest. He at once told me to go to (name
withheld). I often think of that gay young officer and wonder what he is
doing.
To-night I sat up late (how late we used to sit up in London!) sewing a
button on my (word excised) and darning one of the legs. I am now
dashing this off to catch the morning post (probably the last post that
will ever leave for England). I could not sleep for thinking that in a
few days' time I may hear the boom-boom-boom of the German 17.44 guns,
the sound of which has been likened to a puppy yelping. Such is war.
I hope later on to send an important document dealing with the
dispositions of the various armies engaged. I have been fortunate enough
to get a glimpse of plans not more than a month old which a Colonel of
Howitzers carelessly left in the pocket of his bathing-suit.
* * * * *
Illustration: _Mabel._ "MOTHER, DEAR! I DO HOPE THIS WAR WON'T BE OVER
BEFORE I FINISH MY SOCK!"
* * * * *
"HOT PURSUIT.