battalions at Le Cateau. A good many were badly footsore. These were
being crowded into lorries and cars.

There was one solitary desolate figure. He was evidently a reservist, a
feeble little man of about forty, with three days' growth on his chin.
He was very, very tired, but was struggling along with an unconquerable
spirit. I gave him a little bit of chocolate I had; but he wouldn't stop
to eat it. "I can't stop. If I does, I shall never get there." So he
chewed it, half-choking, as he stumbled along. I went a few paces after
him. Then Captain Dillon came up, stopped us, and put the poor fellow in
a staff-car and sent him along a few miles in solitary grandeur, more
nervous than comfortable.

Eventually the company came along and I joined. Two miles farther we
came to a biggish town with white houses that simply glared with
heat.[9] My water-bottle was empty, so I humbly approached a good lady
who was doling out cider and water at her cottage door. It did taste
good! A little farther on I gave up my bicycle to Spuggy, who was riding
in the cable-cart.

We jolted along at about two miles an hour. For some time two spies
under escort walked beside the limber. Unlike most spies they looked
their part. One was tall and thin and handsome. The other was short and
fat and ugly. The fear of death was on their faces, and the jeers of our
men died in their mouths. They were marched along for two days until a
Court could be convened. Then they were shot.

Just before Noyon we turned off to the left and halted for half an hour
at Landrimont, a little village full of big trees. We had omelettes and
coffee at the inn, then basked in the sun and smoked. Noyon was