and the other despatch riders.

That night it was freezing hard. With our chairs drawn in close to the
fire, a glass of something to keep the cold out ready to hand, and pipes
going strong, we felt sorry for the general and his escort who, probably
with chilled lips and numbed fingers, jogged resoundingly through the
village street.

Twenty minutes later we took the road, and soon, pretending that we had
lost our way, again passed the general--and lost our way, or at least
rode well past our turning. Finally, colder than we had ever been
before, we reached the Chateau at Gueschart. There we found a charming
and hospitable son of the house and a pleasantly adoring lad. With
their aid we piled the floor of the harness-room with straw, and those
of us who were not on duty slept finely.

From the dawn of the next morning we were working at top pressure right
through the day, keeping in touch with the brigades which were billeted
in villages several miles distant.

Late in the afternoon we discovered we were very short of petrol, so I
was sent off to Crécy in our famous captured car, with a requisition. We
arrived amidst cheers. I strode into the nearest garage and demanded 100
litres of petrol. It was humbly brought and placed in the car: then I
sent boys flying round the town for jam and bread and butter, and in the
meantime we entertained the crowd by showing them a German helmet. I
explained volubly that my bandaged fingers--there was an affair of
outposts with an ambulance near Serches--were the work of shrapnel, and
they nearly embraced me. A boy came back and said there was no jam, so
the daughter of the house went to her private cupboard and brought me