Some of the inhabitants were still there, clinging with French tenacity to their ruined homes. They were principally old women and men and children. During the six weeks of German occupancy they had lived on vegetables dug at night from abandoned gardens, and on goat’s flesh and one cow that had been killed by our gun fire. Upon our coming they had begun to gather from the seemingly hopeless ruins, household goods with which to rebuild some of the comforts of homes. The German soldiers, they said, had used them fairly well, but took possession of their cellars for their own use and protection from our gun fire. In one place we found a machine-gun nest that had not been ousted. Our men surrounded it, and soon the German soldiers came out with uplifted hands, crying “Kamerad!” and were made prisoners of war and marched to the rear. By their expressive looks I thought that they expected to be killed rather than fed. We learned afterwards that many of the Boches called “Kamerad!” when they had no intention of surrendering--but used it as a trick. We did not tarry long in this ruined city. On our right and left we could hear the crackling of musketry and the steady roar of artillery; and at times I fancied I could faintly hear American cheers. Our force of French and Americans was commanded by a French officer who had been trained in French colonial armies and was notably brave and skillful. His soldiers loved him, for he asked no exposure or danger that he was not willing to share. The clouds had cleared away and the sun had come out as if in promise of victory, as we marched forward encountering surprisingly little opposition. “What does it mean?” queried Sutherland; “are the Boches all dead?” “No,” said Corporal Quinn, for he had won that rank, “Shure I think the divils are thrying to get away wid themsilves. Don’t ye’s hear the guns on both sides of us?” “Gee!” ejaculated Hen. Goodwin, “them chumps knows when they’s licked. And you’s can bet that they’s can run!” All reports that reached us showed that the Germans were getting out of the claws of the V as fast as circumstances would admit, and before the mouth of it “snapped shut,” as Shaw said. The sounds of battle were calling us young Americans as we marched on. We felt that we had a task before us that must speedily be performed. The battle called us, trumpet-tongued, for energy and action. We glowed and were consumed with eagerness to be in at the death; for we felt that it was a crisis in the campaign for American soldiers. “Why don’t you stop and get some hot chow?” said one of the sweaty cooks to our men. “Aw! we ain’t got time,” answered Goodwin; “hard-tack is good enough when you’s are gettin’ after the Dutchies.” “It’s a regular rabbit hunt,” said Sam Jenkins, “an’ we are out a-gunning and can’t stop, or the rabbit’ll get away.” We were in sight of the red roofs of a village, when from a wooden hill there came the _rat, tat, tat_ of machine-guns.