As evening drew on, the trenches began to assume a more workmanlike aspect, although when one got down deeper than three feet the ground was like chalk and very difficult to cut.

Thus ended that memorable Sunday, when the English line, the last hope of the French, was pierced at Mons, when the appearance of a huge force, above all strong in cavalry, appeared on the left of the English line, and rendered the whole strategic position of the Allies so dangerous, that there was nothing for it but to fall back in order to avert a terrible catastrophe.

To ensure against surprise, he posted three sentry groups to his front.  They had not been out more than half-an-hour before a huge fusillade broke out along the whole line.  The groups had the greatest difficulty in crawling back to the trenches without being shot down in mistake for the enemy.  He saw that this “peace method” would have to be given up; sentries in future would have to remain in the trenches.

Intermittently throughout the whole night firing continued.  A searchlight had been played continually on the lines, and if anything, the artillery duel began before it was light.

This was his first opportunity to watch shell fire.  The shells sailed overhead so slowly that he half expected to see them in their flight.  The noise they made was very difficult to describe.  They hurtled, they whizzed, they shrieked, they sang.  He could imagine the thing spinning in its flight, creating a noise something like steam escaping jerkily from an engine.

An English battery was firing from somewhere unseen on the right, to meet an attack apparently launched on the left.  Furious messages were passed up the line that the artillery were firing on their own men, and whether this was true or not, soon afterwards the attack ceased.

At about seven o’clock the Major gave orders to withdraw his Platoon when the Company on his right should retire.  This surprised him; for, knowing nothing of the general situation, he had felt that they would hang on, and fight the battle out then and there, to the last gasp.  He gave orders to his section commanders, and then lay down to await the development of events.

At about nine o’clock a general retirement seemed to be taking place on the right.  It is a very difficult thing to pick upon exactly the right moment to retire.  If you retire too early, you allow the enemy to advance without having inflicted sufficient loss, i.e. you allow him to succeed too cheaply, to say nothing of rendering the position of units on your flanks precarious.  On the other hand, if you hang on to your position too long, you become committed to a close fight, from which it is almost impossible to withdraw without the most serious losses.

There are no hedges in Belgium; the ground was perfectly open, and the Subaltern could easily see what was happening on the right.  It seemed to him that some unit delayed too long, for the rest of the line showed signs of envelopment.  Eventually, however, the retirement to the village was effected quietly, and without loss.  He led his Platoon to a second defensive position about a mile behind the village, but already shells were beginning to drop around, and even beyond it.