in front. Seven reached the top of the embankment, then three almost
simultaneously put their hands before their eyes and dropped across the
rails. The little man ran on until he reached us, wide-eyed, sweaty, and
breathing in short gasps. The Brigade-Major shouted to him not to come
along the road but to make across the field. Immediately the little man
heard the voice of command he halted, stood almost to attention, and
choked out, "But they're shelling us"--then, without another word he
turned off across the fields and safely reached cover.

In the ditch we were comfortable if confined, and I was frightened when
the order came down, "Pass the word for the motor-cyclist." I crawled
up to the General, received my despatch, and started walking across the
field. Then I discovered there is a great difference between
motor-cycling under rifle fire, when you can hear only the very close
ones, and walking across a heavy turnip-field when you can hear all.
Two-thirds of the way a sharp zip at the back of my neck and a
remembrance of the three men stretched across the rails decided me. I
ran.

At the farm where the other brigade headquarters were stationed I met
Sadders with a despatch for the general I had just left. When I
explained to him where and how to go he blenched a little, and the
bursting of a shell a hundred yards or so away made him jump, but he
started off at a good round pace. You must remember we were not used to
carrying despatches on foot.

I rode lazily through St Marguerite and Bucy-le-Long, and turned the
corner on to the open stretch. There I waited to allow a battery that
was making the passage to attract as many shells as it liked. The
battery reached Venizel with the loss of two horses. Then, just as I was