Here are extracts from my diary, starting from 8th of October:
_8th October._--All night we guarded the bridge at Estaires, after
having constructed a formidable barricade. Damp and chilly night,
which I got through lying on the pavement before the bridge; drank a
half-litre of spirits in little sips to sustain me. This is the most
trying night we have passed, but the spirits of all are wonderful.
_9th October_: _Twenty minutes to four, two kilomètres from Estaires,
scouting amongst beetroot fields._--Has the supreme moment come?
A little while ago I firmly believed it had; now I am out of my
reckoning, so incomprehensible and widespread is the struggle which
surrounds us.
We have evacuated Estaires and the bridge over the Lys, which we were
guarding, to rejoin our horses on foot. After some minutes on the road
the first shells burst. My troop received orders to fight dismounted,
and here we are, lying down as skirmishers amongst the beetroot, in
the midst of a heavy artillery and musketry fire. I am on the extreme
right, and a moment ago two shrapnel shells came over and burst six or
eight mètres above my head, peppering the ground with bullets. Never,
I imagine, have I come so near to being hit.
For the moment it is impossible to understand what is going on; the
whole of the cavalry which was on in front of us--chasseurs, dragoons
and all the cyclists--have fallen back, passing along the road on our
flank. We, however, have had no order to retire. The peasants with
their wives and children are running about the country like mad people.
It is a sorry sight. A moment ago I saw an old man and a little girl
fall in their hurry to escape from their farm, which a shell had just
knocked to pieces. They are like herds of animals maddened by a storm.
At dusk the Germans are 500 mètres off. We have orders to take up our
post in the cemetery of Estaires. I have hurt my foot and each step in
the ploughed land is a torture. I have noted a way which will lead me
to the bridge on the other side of the town.
I brought up my patrol at the double. When I got back I saw the troop
retiring.
We passed through the town, which had a sinister look by night,
reddened by the flames from many fires. The whole population is in
flight, leaving houses open to the streets, and crowding up the roads.
All the windowpanes are broken by the bombardment; somewhere, in the
middle of the town, a building is burning and the flames mount to the
sky. There are barricades in every street. We have reached the horses,
which are two kilomètres from the town, and we grope for them in the
dark. Mine is slightly wounded in the foreleg. Long retreat during the
night (the second during which we have not slept--a storm wets us to
the skin).
Arrived at Chosques at five in the morning. We get to bed at 6.30 and
we are off again at 8 o'clock. I ask myself for how many days men and
horses can hold out.
_10th October._--In the afternoon we again covered the twenty
kilomètres which separated us from Estaires. Hardly had we settled down
to guard the same bridge as yesterday when we were sent to La Gorgue.
On the way stopped in the village, as shells commenced to fall. The 1st
troop took refuge in a grocer's, where we were parked like sheep. A
large calibre shell burst just opposite with a terrible row. I thought
that the house was going to fall in. Lieutenant Niel, who had stayed
outside, was knocked over into the ditch and wounded. We are falling
back with the horses to La Gorgue, and we are passing a third night,
without sleep, on the road, Magrin and I on a heap of coal. Horses and
men have had nothing to eat, the latter are benumbed, exhausted, but
gay as ever.
_11th October._--We get to a neighbouring farm at Estrem to feed the
horses. They have scarcely touched their hay and oats before an order
comes telling us to rejoin at the very place from which we have come.
The Germans are trying to take the village from the east, thanks to
the bridge which they captured the day before yesterday, but we have
been reinforced by cyclists, and the 4th Division is coming up. We are
holding on; the position is good. The belfry of the town hall has just
fallen. We are going back to Estrem.
Three hours passed in a trench without greatcoats. Magrin and I are
so cold that we huddle up one against the other and share a woollen
handkerchief to cover our faces. We put up at Calonne-sur-la-Lys. And
so it goes on up to the 17th, the date on which we re-enter Belgium,
passing by Bailleul, Outersteene and Locre. It is not again a triumphal
entry on a fine August morning, it is a march past ruins and over
rubbish heaps.
At Outersteene, however, we were received with touching manifestations
of confidence and enthusiasm; an old tottering and broken-down teacher
had drawn up before the school a score of young lads of seven to ten
years old, who watched us passing and sang the _Marseillaise_ with all
their lungs, while the old man beat the time.
The village had been evacuated only three days ago, and it was from the
thresholds of its houses, partly fallen in and still smoking, that this
song rose, a sincere and spontaneous outburst.
(Lieut. Mallet tells "How We Crossed the German Lines"; "The Charge of
Gilocourt"; "The Escape in the Forest of Compiegne"; "The Two Glorious
Days at Staden"; "The Funeral of Lord Roberts"; "The Attack at Loos.")