About 4 p.m. the scene changed. From somewhere, like bolts from the
blue, six-inch shells began to shower down, not on us, but in front of
us. It made all the difference.
It was our own guns, firing at the Huns, and the first shots, somewhat
short, fell in the river, sending up superb water-jets which the
now oblique sun illuminated with all the colours of the rainbow. At
times, spray splashed down right upon us and, though there is nothing
particularly nice about a shower-bath when one is not in the undress
for it, we laughed at the quip the sprinkling elicited from a Parisian:
"Well spouted, Versailles waterworks!"
But our gunners soon found the exact range, and houses and enemy
trenches and their contents began to play fireworks, with stones and
pebbles and heads and limbs for stars and rockets. The Huns did not
seem to like this; we could see them reel back. After each _rafale_, my
men were so elated at the ensuing stampede that most of them popped up
in full view over the parapet, cheering like mad, and forgot to shoot.
Presently our C.O. came down to the station and decided that the town
should be entered. I had been the first to get near the bridge, and
no one disputed my right to be the first across. "Fix bayonets and
forward!" My men, highly-strung by protracted tantalization, rushed
headlong into the village. I expected the Germans to counter with
cold steel, but nothing of the sort happened. Where were the beggars?
We searched the buildings. In the mill I found only three blanched
Bavarians hidden away behind sacks of flour, and holes were promptly
driven through the lot, sacks and all.
I formed my platoon up in two small columns, with orders to advance
crouching along the dykes on both sides of the road, which was still
swept by machine-guns. Suddenly the _crécelles_ ceased rattling, and I
perceived against the enclosure wall of the castle a man signalling to
us. I did not know for a moment what to make of his gesticulations, but
I could see that he wore red trousers. It was "Come on!" that he was
signalling. On, then, and the Evil One take the hindmost!
I heard later that the fellow was a prisoner and risked everything to
give us a useful hint.
_Pardieu!_ he did. He rendered the battalion an invaluable service that
eventide.
The instant I realized the red-trousered signaller's meaning I guessed
that something out of the common must be taking place within the
castle. With my sergeant and four men, revolver in hand, I bounded at
the double ahead of the platoon and threw myself against the entrance
door. It crashed open, and I tumbled against six feet of grey-coated
"Kultur."
Blood and fury! My left hand flew at his throat, clutched it, and gave
it a violent twist, while my right tried to level the shooting-iron
between his eyes. They met mine, and something in them made me shout
in German, "Do you surrender?" He seemed to hesitate for the fraction
of a second; then he gasped in pure French, "That was my intention."
I relaxed my hold, and he added, calmly, "_La guerre est une chose
effroyable. Je me constitue prisonnier_."
Very civil, I am sure. I felt I ought to bow, for classical language
like this knocks a fellow a couple of centuries back. It knocked every
glimmer of passion out of me. I recovered self-possession in a jiffy
and--to make amends for whatever bad form there might have been in
my recent exhibition of excitement--turned round majestically and
surveyed the situation with lordly composure.
Jove!
In the huge yard were some three hundred Huns. The sight gave me a
start, but I showed no emotion. Why didn't they shoot, though? They
looked puzzled.
"I ask for the lives of my men," said the well-bred voice behind me.
The tall jackanapes, it appeared, was their _Hauptmann_ (Captain). Was
he, then, surrendering the lot as well as himself?