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? I couldn't believe it, but I acted as if it was a matter of course. "Granted," I growled, without turning a hair, "but arms down and hands up!"