But the Germans had heard it too. That which had encouraged us warned them. They were gathering for a final rush upon us. Why they had not rushed us before was a mystery to me (for I had been expecting it) unless they thought to fight safely--and in the end were confident they would get us. “Pick them off!” I cried. “Don’t let one of them get away!” It was a foolish command, perhaps, for there was a big band of them. _Crack! Crack! Crack!_ and every rifle and machine-gun did its work, until they were dangerously near. Just then I felt a sharp blow on my left arm, which made me drop the Browning gun. We fell back a few yards to get time, but it wouldn’t do! “Stand up, men!” I cried. “Go for them with your bayonets!” In another instant, volley after volley from our rescuers sent the Boche staggering back. We were rescued. I had turned my head to see our comrades who had delivered us, when my foot caught between two stones. In trying to liberate it, I wrenched my ankle sadly. Before I could get away I was seized by two Boches and absolutely carried away as a prisoner of war. My only consolation was that I had made a good fight. And that _was_ a consolation; though being a prisoner to the Boche was not. The result of the fight, as I learned later, was that a small part of the German line was driven back from their strong position, many killed, and many prisoners taken. We had made good. Still I was far from being reconciled. A prisoner seldom is. CHAPTER XXI IN THE HANDS OF THE ENEMY The German soldiers, who were guarding me, seemed to be decent sort of men, and treated me fairly well, as soldiers who have been fighting each other usually act. All through my army experience I have found that those in safe non-combatant positions are the most fierce and relentless towards those who are disarmed and helpless. My captors allowed me to use my first aid bandages, with which I bound up my hurts as best I could. The sprain was so painful that I could not walk, and they had almost to carry me to the rear. My arm also stung. I noticed on every side the destruction wrought by war. I could not have believed such ruin possible, had I not seen it. Abandoned guns, broken gun-carriages and air craft, ammunition piled up to be abandoned or destroyed, supplies and munitions amid wrecks of ruined buildings, and trampled yellow grain. Several of these grain fields had been fired by the invaders and extinguished by the merciful rain. Among the life-sustaining grain were dead men, dead horses and in two instances I saw badly wounded Prussian soldiers that had been abandoned in the necessity for haste, or because they were of no further use. There were, also, the lesser wreckage of fragments of clothing, knapsacks, broken rifles and innumerable small fragments of war’s ruin and ravage.