I had come through St Marguerite the night after the brigade had moved.
Of course I was riding without a light. I rounded Hell's Own Corner
carefully, very frightened of the noise my engine was making. A little
farther on I dismounted and stumbled to the postern-gate of a farm. I
opened it and went in. A sentry challenged me in a whisper and handed me
over to an orderly, who led me over the black bodies of men sleeping to
a lean-to where the General sat with a sheltered light, talking to his
staff. He was tired and anxious. I delivered my despatch, took the
receipted envelope and stumbled back to the postern-gate. Silently I
hauled my motor-cycle inside, then started on my tramp to the General
who had moved.

After Hell's Own Corner the road swings round again to the east, and
runs along the foot of the Chivres hill to Missy. A field or so away to
the left is a thick wood inhabited for the most part by German snipers.
In the preceding days N'Soon and Sadders had done fine work along this
road in broad daylight, carrying despatches to Missy.

I was walking, because no motor-cyclist goes by night to a battalion,
and the noise of a motor-cycle would have advertised the presence of
brigade headquarters somewhere on the road. It was a joyous tramp of two
miles into the village of dark, ominous houses. I found a weary
subaltern who put me on my way, a pitch-black lane between high walls.
At the bottom of it I stepped upon an officer, who lay across the path
asleep with his men. So tired was he that he did not wake. On over a
field to the farm. I delivered my despatch to the Brigade-Major, whose
eyes were glazed with want of sleep. He spoke to me in the pitiful
monotone of the unutterably weary. I fed off bully, hot potatoes, bread
and honey, then turned in.