ons towards a village where Uhlans
had been seen. They became visible at a turn of the road, and after
firing a few shots with their carbines turned tail and fled. The French
dragoons gave chase, across some fields and round the edge of a
quiet wood. Suddenly at this point the Uhlans reined in their horses
and out of the wood came the sudden shattering fire of a German
quickfirer. Fortunately it was badly aimed, and my friend with his six
dragoons was able to gallop away from that infernal machine which
had so cleverly ambushed them.

There was no rest for the cavalry in those first days of the war. The
infantry had its bivouac every day, there was rest sometimes in the
trenches, but the cavalry had to push on always upon new
adventures to check the enemy in his advance.

A young Russian officer in the French dragoons told me that he had
been fighting since the beginning of the war with never more than
three hours sleep a night and often no sleep at all. On many nights
those brief hours of rest were in beetroot fields in which the German
shrapnel had been searching for victims, and he awakened now and
then to listen to the well-known sound of that singing death before
dozing off again.

It was "Boot and saddle" at four o'clock in the morning, before the
dawn. It was cold then--a cold which made men tremble as with an
ague. A cup of black coffee was served, and a piece of bread.

The Russian officer of French dragoons, who has lived in British
Colonies, saw a vision then--a false mirage--of a British breakfast. It
was the thought of grilled bloaters, followed by ham and eggs, which
unmanned him for a moment. Ten minutes later the cavalry was
moving away. A detachment was sent forward on a mission of peril,
to guard a bridge. There was a bridge near Bethune one night
guarded by a little patrol. It was only when the last man had been
killed that the Germans made their way across.

Through the darkness these mounted men leaned forward over their
saddles, peering for the enemy, listening for any jangle of stirrup or
clink of bit. On that night there came a whisper from the cavalry
leader.

"They are coming! ... Quiet there!"

A file of dark shadows moved forward. The dragoons swung their
carbines forward. There was a volley of shots before a cry rang out.

"Cessez feu! Cessez feu!"

The cry had been heard before from German officers speaking
excellent French, but this time there was no treachery in it. The
shado