Gradually, the adversaries' vigour weakened, their efforts diminished, and there were long intervals between the attacks. As soon as the heads of the assaulting columns came within reach of our firing, they were mown down. The rest disbanded and, rushing in all directions, hid in the gardens and cellars. During a lull, a few of my brave men explored the surrounding district and, a few minutes later, the soldier Lange brought me the flag of the 89th Regiment of Mecklenburg Grenadiers, which he had found just below the houses facing the Vivegnis road. The Colonel, the Adjutant-Major, the standard bearer, and a number of officers were lying there near their glorious trophy. I seized the flag and went forward to my soldiers crying: "Victory! Victory!" There was wild enthusiasm and, spontaneously, they burst out with our national anthem: the _Brabanconne_, and shouts of "Long live the King! Long live Belgium! Long live the Major!" The officers hurried to me to congratulate me and, I may as well confess it, in a state of excitement that made my soldiers forget all hierarchy, they rushed to me and grasped my hand. Ah, the brave fellows! The firing became less and less violent and, towards eight in the morning, the enemy beat a final retreat. A strange man-hunting chase then began in the little gardens of the houses. There were Boches hidden in the bushes, crouching down behind heaps of leaves. Some of them held up their hands, crying, "Comrades, do not shoot!" Others, on the contrary, fought to the last. In one garden, a dozen of them refused stubbornly to surrender, and were massacred. After confiding the flag to Engineer Hiard, who undertook to take it to General Leman, I went through the streets of the town. Stretcher-bearers were carrying away the Germans or dressing their wounds. Near the square, I witnessed a very painful scene. As one of the stretcher-bearers approached, a German officer raised his pistol. Our man snatched it from him, but, whilst he was calling one of his colleagues to help him, the Boche drew out his pocket-knife and cut his own throat. There were helmets, swords, guns, and fragments of all kinds of things strewing the ground and I could not resist the temptation of sending a little collection to the Liege Town Hall.