On the morning of the 12th, under the command of Captain de Salverte
we crossed the Oise by a bridge of boats, the stone bridge having
been destroyed by dynamite some days before. We went north to billet
at Estrée-Saint Denis, which was to be the definite rallying point of
the 22nd Dragoons. We were followed by several country carts, full
of dismounted troopers, saddles, lances, cloaks and odds and ends of
equipment.
Acting on very vague information, I set out on the 13th to look for
Captain de Tarragon. I was mounted on a prehistoric motor bicycle,
requisitioned from the village barber. I scoured the country seeking
information from everyone I met. I received the most contradictory
reports, made a thousand useless detours and was exasperated when
overtaken by night without having found any trace of him.
I followed the road leading to Baron and to Nanteuil-le-Haudoin, along
which but a few days before the corps of Landwehr, asked for by von
Kluck, had marched with the object of enveloping our army, and along
which it had just been precipitately hustled back. The sky was overcast
and the day was threatening. At each step dead horses with swelled
bellies threatened heaven with their stiff legs. A score of soldiers
were lying in convulsed attitudes, their eyes wide open, with grimacing
mouths twisted into a terrifying smile, and with hands clasping their
rifles. Involuntarily I trembled at finding myself alone at nightfall
in this deserted country, where no living being was to be seen, where
not a sound was to be heard except the cawing of thousands of crows and
the purr of my motor, which panted on the hills like an asthmatic old
man, causing me the liveliest anxiety.
Fifteen hundred mètres from Baron, after a last gasp, my machine
stopped for ever, and, as I was ignorant of its mechanics, I was
compelled to leave it where it was and continue my journey on foot
through the darkness.
The proprietor of the château of Baron put me up for the night. As at
Verberie, everything had been burnt, soiled and destroyed. Nothing
remained of the elegant furniture beyond a heap of shapeless objects.
Next morning with the aid of a captain on the staff who requisitioned
a trap for me, I got back to Verberie and found Captain de Tarragon
there. He had slept at the farm of La Bonne Aventure, quite near to
where I lay.
When he saw me, after the mortal anxieties through which he had lived,
believing his squadron lost and cut up, he was overcome by such a
feeling of gratitude and joy that I saw tears rise to his eyes while
he shook me vigourously by the hand. He had already sent forward my
name for mention in the order for the day with reference to the affair
at Gilocourt and the death of poor Dangel. I was recommended for the
military medal, and my heart swelled with pride and joy, while I was
carried back to Estrée-Saint-Denis, stretched out in a country cart
with a score of dismounted comrades.
A few days afterwards I was promoted corporal and proudly sported the
red flannel chevrons bought at a country grocer's shop.