ery, and
brought his guns up in line, like F.A.T.... See that cemetery on the
top of the hill?... the Boche made it in August 1914; lot of the old
Army buried there, and it's been jolly well looked after. The colonel
walked round and looked at every grave one day; he said he'd never seen
a better cared-for cemetery.... We had an 'O.P.' there for the
Richemont River fight. The Boche shelled it like blazes some days....
And we saw great sights up that _pave_ road there, over the dip. They
held a big conference there; all sorts of Generals turned up.... Staff
cars that looked like offices, with the maps and operation orders
pinned up inside; and when our battery went by, the road was so packed
with traffic that infantry were marching along in fours on either side
of the road."

We reached the outskirts of Le Cateau, descending a steep _pave_ road.
"They shelled this place like stink yesterday," Collinge told me.
"Headquarters were in one of those little houses on the left for one
night, and their waggon line is there now, so you'll be able to get a
horse.... I heard that Major Bartlett had both his chargers killed
yesterday when C Battery came through.... Isn't that one of them, that
black horse lying under the trees?"

I looked and saw many horses lying dead on both sides of the road, and
thought little of it. That was war. Then all my senses were strung up
to attention: a small bay horse lay stretched out on the pathway, his
head near the kerb. There was a shapeliness of the legs and a fineness
of the mud-checkered coat that seemed familiar. I stepped over to look.
Yes, it was my own horse "Tommy," that old Castle, our ex-adjutant, had
given me--old Castle's "handy little horse." A gaping hole in the head
told all that needed to be told. I found "Swiffy" and the doctor in the
workman's cottage that had become Brigade waggon-line headquarters.
Yes, "Tommy" had been killed the day before. My groom, Morgan, was
riding him. The Boche were sending over shrapnel, high in the air, and
one bullet had found its billet. Poor little horse! Spirited, but easy
to handle, always in condition, always well-mannered. Ah, well! we had
had many good days together. Poor little horse!

* * * * *

I want always to remember Bousies, the village of gardens and hedgerows
and autumn tints where we saw the war out, and lay under shell fire for
the last time; whence we fought our final battle on November 4th, when