Reaching the plain which is below the city we streaked westward, our destination being the field wireless station.
Nothing happened on the way except that we overtook a file of slightly wounded prisoners who, having been treated at the front, were now bound for a prison in a convent yard, where they would stay until a train carried them off to Munster or Dusseldorf for confinement until the end of the war.

I counted them .-- two English Tommies, two French officers, one lone Belgian--how he got that far down into France nobody could guess--and twenty-eight French cannoneers and infantrymen, including some North Africans.

Every man Jack of them was bandaged either about the head or about the arms, or else he favored an injured leg as he hobbled slowly on.

Eight guards were nursing them along; their bayonets were socketed in their carbine barrels.

No doubt the magazines of the carbines were packed with those neat brass capsules which carry doses of potential death; but the guards, except for the moral effect of the thing, might just as well have been bare-handed.
None of the prisoners could have run away even had he been so minded.
The poor devils were almost past walking, let alone running.