In the dark night, an absolute silence reigned, only broken now and then by the brief orders of the Chief, a Major with a hoarse voice, whose name was von Oidtmann. Presently a carriage appeared on the road. It was a French Red Cross ambulance car that the Boches had captured. The Major sent it to Dixmude with the order to get to the German lines and bring back instructions to him. When the carriage reached the bridge, the French sentinel cried out: "Halt! Who goes there?" "Red Cross," answered the German driver. You can imagine that, in an instant, the carriage was surrounded and that, one after another, the Boches were taken out. In the meantime, the Major and his three Lieutenants were deliberating in the ditch. By listening to their discussions, I gathered that seventy Germans had managed to get through our lines at the junction between a French and a Belgian trench, that they had passed through Dixmude, crossed the bridge, and rushed along the Caeskerke road like a bomb, passing by the relief posts, the various Staffs, and reserves. They were now hiding in this ditch, three hundred yards away from the railway station, and were awaiting the remainder of their Battalion, which did not arrive. One or two of the Marine Fusiliers were captured as they were passing along the road, and a cyclist who refused to stop was killed. The time seemed very long and the Major was evidently getting impatient, for, whilst I was talking to one of my warders, I overheard him give the following orders: "Shoot the prisoners!" I protested and, to my great astonishment, my warder protested too. "No," he said, "we cannot behave inhumanely, not the doctor!" Knowing the severity of the German discipline, I was agreeably surprised at this instance of individuality. The young German who protested was charming. He was a Berlin law-student, and several of his university friends protested with him, so that the order was not carried out. Presently, the Germans got up, and endeavoured to advance, but the head of their column came to a trench occupied by the Marine Fusiliers. A few shots were exchanged and the troop, after crossing a field, went in the direction of the railway line. There we made another halt and, for the second time, the order was given: "Shoot the prisoners!" The order was not executed this time, probably thanks to the intervention of a German soldier, who was a doctor. He had introduced himself to me whilst we were marching and he told me that he should speak to the army doctor.