I had been at my observation post more than an hour, when some French batteries passed by at a quick trot. There was no doubt now; it was very evident that the French were retreating. Tired though we were, it was indispensable that we should follow the movement. We, therefore, set out once more. It took us three hours to go the five miles which separate Ermeton from Rosee, as the road was blocked by waggons, trucks, refugees' carts, and vehicles of all sorts. They were advancing with the greatest difficulty, three or four abreast. Numbers of refugees on foot, men, women, and children, from the neighbouring villages, had slipped in among the horses and vehicles, adding considerably to the confusion. The night was particularly dark, and this darkness was only relieved by the distant light of the flaming houses and, from time to time, by the bright flashes of the St. Heribert Fort search-lights, which seemed to be sending us a last farewell message. We reached Philippeville at four o'clock the following morning. During the night, my column had increased in numbers. Soldiers of all arms, who had lost their regiments, had joined us, feeling instinctively that they were lost if they had not an officer in command. The first person I met, on arriving at Philippeville, was Duruy, the French Battalion Chief, whom I had known before the war as Military Attache at Brussels. Three months later, he was killed in Flanders, whilst marching bravely at the head of a Colonial Regiment. I explained my situation to him quickly and asked for news of the battle. What he told me was by no means re-assuring. The Allies had been crushed by the invading stream and they were falling back, inch by inch. I soon received instructions from the French officer in command of the district. I was to collect all the Belgian troops now in Philippeville and take them to Rocroi. We were to be in Rocroi that same day. Twenty-two miles to march with troops which had been marching already for twenty-four hours! The order was definite, though, and I felt myself that it was necessary. Once more we set out. Before leaving, I went and shook hands silently with my brave comrade, Hankar. Only the day before he was a lively Sub-Lieutenant from the Military School, and now he was lying in a motor-ambulance, with his foot smashed by a shell. I could do absolutely nothing for him. What a terrible thing war is! I also took the wounded French soldiers we had brought from Denee to an ambulance. I will not describe the Calvary of that long march and the sufferings of my exhausted soldiers. It was eight o'clock at night when we reached Rocroi, and the men were then able to take their first meal that day.