I tried to reassure him, and he then told me that, on hearing the shouts, the three officers, less prudent than we had been, rushed to the door of their house. Their outline, standing out in the framework of the door, made an excellent target and they had all three fallen, hit by the horde as it rushed forwards. We wondered what would happen next and what had become of our Staff, which had its Headquarters in one of the neighbouring houses. What had happened to our brave Colonel Jacques, to Captain Philippron, and to their comrades? I rushed to the house where they were installed, and rapped. The door was promptly opened, but several revolvers were all I saw, and they were pointed at my head. "Doctor van der Ghinst!" I shouted. At the sound of my voice, the Brownings were lowered. In spite of the darkness, I recognised Colonel Jacques. "What is the meaning of this joke, Colonel?" I asked. "Yes, yes," answered the voice of our Chief, "the African." "The Boches have got through. You cannot stay here; we must have a reinforcement." "Where is it to be found?" "There is a Battalion at Caeskerke. The question is who will go and take the information?" "I will," I answered. "The road appears to be clear." I was soon on my way. A French sailor, going in the same direction, went with me. It was perfectly dark. Stretching our heads forward, we tried to peer into the darkness. We had scarcely gone two hundred yards when we heard voices. "Halt!" cried someone. Thinking I had to deal only with French soldiers, I replied: "Belgian doctor." "Hands up!" was the command. I could now see, in the ditch, to the left, some pointed helmets and also some bayonets confronting us. There was nothing to be done, as all resistance would have been in vain. If we had moved a step, we would have been killed. We had to go down into the ditch, where we found other victims. I protested in German, declaring that I was a doctor. Thanks to this, I had to attend a great lanky Teuton officer, who had been wounded in the leg. I gradually distinguished a certain number of prisoners, among whom I recognised Leon Deliens and Gaston de Marteau, Privates of the 11th Line Regiment. Their hands were tied behind their backs, their braces cut, and their trousers unbuttoned, so that it was impossible for them to escape. The same fate awaited me and also my companion in distress. I protested energetically in German, and this produced a magical effect. An officer questioned me and asked me about the position of the troops at Dixmude. "I am a doctor," I replied, "and I know nothing about military questions. Even if I could reply, though, I should not, as such questions are contrary to the stipulations of The Hague Treaty." The officer did not insist.