At that moment Colonel Seely’s car came up, and Colonel Seely himself got out and went forward with me to see if the road had been damaged.  For three minutes the road should have been safe, but the German machine became human, and in a couple of minutes Colonel Seely and I returned covered with rich red plough and with a singing in our ears.  I gave the Colonel a couple of hundred yards start, and we sprinted across into the safe hands of Venizel.

Beyond Missy, which we intermittently occupied, our line extended along the foot of the hills and crossed the Aisne about three-quarters of a mile short of Conde bridge—­and that brings me to a tale.

One night we were healthily asleep after a full day.  I had been “next for duty” since ten o’clock, but at two I began to doze, because between two and five there is not often work for the despatch rider.  At three I awoke to much shouting and anxious hullabaloo.  The intelligence officer was rousing us hurriedly—­“All motor-cyclists turn out.  Pack up kit.  Seven wanted at once in the Signal Office.”

This meant, firstly, that Divisional Headquarters were to move at once, in a hurry, and by night; secondly, that the same despatch was to be sent simultaneously to every unit in the Division.  I asked somebody to get my kit together, and rushed upstairs to the Signal Office.  There on the table I saw the fateful wire.

“Germans entrenched south side of Conde bridge and are believed to be crossing in large numbers.”  I was given a copy of this message to take to the 15th Brigade, then at St Marguerite.  Away on the road at full speed I thought out what this meant.  The enemy had broken through our line—­opposite Conde there were no reserves—­advance parties of the Germans might even now be approaching headquarters—­large numbers would cut us off from the Division on our right and would isolate the brigade to which I was going; it would mean another Le Cateau.

I tore along to Venizel, and slowing down at the bridge shouted the news to the officer in charge—­full speed across the plain to Bucy, and caring nothing for the sentries’ shouts, on to St Marguerite.  I dashed into the general’s bedroom and aroused him.  Almost before I had arrived the general and his brigade-major—­both in pyjamas—­were issuing commands and writing messages.  Sleepy and amazed orderlies were sent out at the double.  Battalion commanders and the C.R.E. were summoned.

I started back for D.H.Q. with an acknowledgment, and rattling through the village came out upon the plain.

Over Conde bridge an ochreous, heavy dawn broke sullenly.  There was no noise of firing to tell me that the men of our right brigade were making a desperate resistance to a fierce advance.  A mile from Serches I passed a field-ambulance loaded up for instant flight; the men were standing about in little groups talking together, as if without orders.  At Headquarters I found that a despatch rider had been sent hot-foot to summon two despatch riders, who that night were with the corps, and others to every unit.  Everybody carried the same command—­load up and be ready to move at a moment’s notice.