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A DAY AT ECLISFONTAINE 83
trot, with their horses’ bellies caked with mire and the mud
spurting up round their hoofs, is travelling in the same direction.
We see at these cross-roads a few dismounted cavalry scouts.
They stand there in order to show the way to oncoming
detachments of the unit to which they belong or to which
they have been attached. Orderlies, usually in couples, fly
past at a gallop. They ask the way to Romagne and ride on
directly they have received the required information. They
belong to the artillery, and it seems to be their allotted duty
to conduct ammunition columns to certain points where
fresh ammunition has been ordered.
Daylight makes further inroads. We hear the thud of the
columns which we have just passed, they come nearer and
move off in different directions. The artillery fire seems less
brisk than yesterday. The fog prevents accurate fire, but now
and again a salvo is heard. On a by-road in the village stands
a row of motor-cars, evidently belonging to superior Staff
officers. We drive up and range our car behind the others.
Whilst my travelling companions go off to investigate
the situation, I remain behind a moment to observe the busy
life around me. I am now outside a house in which a
Divisional Staff has evidently taken up its quarters ; it is
distinguished by a little black, white and red flag. Opposite,
in a meadow, stands a group of orderlies and the escort of
the Staff. The horses stand in a long row with the lances
thrust into the ground ; the men are standing round in little
groups chatting, prepared to ride wherever they may be wanted
with orders and reports. Now and again one hears the hum
of a car rushing past on some errand.
A party of eight stretcher bearers hurries past towards the
fighting line. The stretchers, drenched in blood, bear witness
to the recent removal of seriously wounded cases to a dressing
station. The Red Cross is, or should be, avoided by the fire,
and its staff, therefore, carry arms for self-defence only.
A couple of French women come walking along with water
in buckets. They have been to a well outside the village,
where the water in these times cannot be any too good. It
is wonderful how calm they look, considering that the fighting
is raging round their very homes, but they are pale and have
a serious look on their faces.
The remnants of the fog hang about in wisps and patches,
now lighter, now denser, and do their best to challenge the
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