And now, hopelessly inadequate as this record has so far been, words utterly fail me in attempting to describe the events of the next twelve hours, and how the Retreat was continued. It was one long, ghastly nightmare. As regiment after regiment received its orders to retire, the survivors staggered to their feet, blinded by the ordeal of the day, and crept back until they reached a point where ranks could be formed. Then they got moving. Their destination no one knew, no one cared.... Keep moving! Men licked their blackened lips with parched tongues. "Any chance of a drink?" "Not here; perhaps we shall pass a village." Keep moving! "Got a fag on you?" "Smoked the last this morning; perhaps get some in the village." "Where the b---- 'ell is your village?" "Gawd knows." ... Keep moving! Ten minutes later. "Where the 'ell are we going? and why the ---- are we retreating? Give 'em socks, didn't we? And where the ---- are them ---- Frenchies?" "Oh, shut yer 'ed, carn't yer?" ... Keep moving! There was a tiny village called Estrées in a hollow of the downs about three miles out from St. Quentin. Here at 4 P.M. the confusion was indescribable. Lorries, stragglers, refugees, transport columns, guns--all inextricably mixed up. It was, I believe, supposed to be a bivouac point for the night, but no one knew definitely. In any case, they were all tightly wedged in that hollow, and the Germans were but a very few miles behind. Had an enemy battery come within range, as it might well have done, it would have meant certain death for every soul there. Later in the evening news got to G.H.Q. of the position, and rations were sent up to the starving troops, with definite orders about further retirement. Staff work simply went to pieces. It was not that men lost their heads or anything like that, but the various H.Q.'s found it impossible to keep pace with events. A regiment would be in a certain position, then it would be completely forgotten (or so it seemed), and no orders would arrive to move. Many C.O.'s retired entirely on their own initiative, and so got clear. Others decided to await instructions, and so got wiped out or captured. As dusk gathered into darkness the confusion grew worse, while discomfort increased (if possible) with the steady downpour of ram which followed. But there was no moment's rest for the exhausted troops, save when a regiment came up against an obstacle across the road--a broken-down motor-van or gun-wagon. Then, if there were any sappers handy, the vehicle would be blown up and the road cleared.... Anyhow, keep moving!