On Saturday afternoons we played football with the orderlies, when, in view of my advancing years and other discretions, I occasionally acted in the more retired position of full back. Pleasanter for me, however, was it to lie on my back in the forest, watching the young fir trees swaying to the wind like the masts of ships, while ever and anon they struck with a noise suggestive of the crossing of swords. One of our orderlies, by the way, had been captured at Mons, and was a typical soldier of the period. He and his mate were lying in a ditch, up to the middle in mud and water, and under heavy fire. “I says to him, ‘Put a little artificial flower on me grave--I’m fond o’ roses myself.’” His teeth were knocked out by the butt of a soldier’s rifle, and he was flung into a church. When he first saw a loaf he “charged it,” toothless gums and all. He is still in the “eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth,” attitude towards his enemies. And he has lost practically a whole set! Another orderly, who had recently been on commando, showed me his leg, which was badly scalded. “That’s the sort of thing we do, sir,” he said, “to prevent being sent down the mines!” [Illustration: “IN SINCE MONS!”] [Illustration: KIRCHESTRASSE, BEESKOW. One of many such sketches made freely in the streets after the Armistice.] XI THE REVOLUTION From scraps of conversation with the sentries and the interpreter, we knew by the middle of October that the Germans would sign an armistice whatever the terms might be. One afternoon the “Top” and “Bottom” of the house were engaged in a hockey match. As I stood on the road watching the contested field, passed me a cart driven by a French soldier prisoner of war. A German boy, burdened with a great sack of _Kartoffeln_ for Beeskow, gave hail, and the soldier pulled up and waited patiently until both boy and burden were on board. As he moved off he saluted me, and cried cheerily, “Bientôt, la paix!” I approached Lieut. Stark and asked him when the game was likely to finish. “I suppose,” said he in his slow, deliberate English, “when they have won enough.” The German civilian, who had some days before surreptitiously slipped us a copy of the _Times_, was here again to-day, and obviously anxious to unburden himself to some one. Lieut. Stark, however, succeeded in hedging him off until the return journey, when we in front overtook him on the footpath. While still two or three yards behind him, I said, “Change your umbrella to your left hand!” As we passed we were thus able to slip him a couple of packets of tea in exchange for another copy of the paper, and also to arrange that in future he place the paper behind a certain tree. These papers were about a fortnight old usually, but they were very precious to us, and were circulated in rotation to every officer in the _Lager_.