We awoke, stiff but rested, to a fine warm morning. It was a quiet day.
We rode with the column along drying roads until noon through peaceful
rolling country--then, as there was nothing doing, Grimers and I rode to
the head of the column, and inquiring with care whether our cavalry was
comfortably ahead, came to the village of Noroy-sur-Ourcq. We
"scrounged" for food and found an inn. At first our host, a fat
well-to-do old fellow, said the Germans had taken everything, but, when
he saw we really were hungry, he produced sardines, bread, butter,
sweets, and good red wine. So we made an excellent meal--and were not
allowed to pay a penny.

He told that the Germans, who appeared to be in great distress, had
taken everything in the village, though they had not maltreated any one.
Their horses were dropping with fatigue--that we knew--and their
officers kept telling their men to hurry up and get quickly on the
march. At this point they were just nine hours in front of us.

Greatly cheered we picked up the Division again at Chouy, and sat
deliciously on a grass bank to wait for the others. Just off the road on
the opposite side was a dead German. Quite a number of men broke their
ranks to look curiously at him--anything to break the tedious, deadening
monotony of marching twenty-five miles day after day: as a major of the
Dorsets said to us as we sat there, "It is all right for us, but it's
hell for them!"

The Company came up, and we found that in Chouy the Germans had
overlooked a telephone--great news for the cable detachment. After a
glance at the church, a gorgeous bit of Gothic that we had shelled, we
pushed on in the rain to Billy-sur-Ourcq. I was just looking after a
convenient loft when I was sent back to Chouy to find the Captain's