Suddenly at a turn three German privates of a lancer regiment faced us.

They were burdened with bottles of beer, and one carried his lance, which he flung playfully in our path.

He had been drinking and was jovially exhilarated.

As soon as he saw the small silk American flag that fluttered from the rail of our dogcart he and his friends became enthusiastic in their greetings, offering us beer and wanting to know whether the Americans meant to declare for Germany now that the Japanese had sided with England.
Leaving them cheering for the Americans we negotiated another elbow in the twisting street--and there all about us was the aftermath and wreckage of a spirited fight.
Earlier in this chapter I told--or tried to tell--how La Buissiere must have looked in peaceful times.

I shall try now to tell how it actually looked that afternoon we rode into it.
In the center of the town the main street opens out to form an irregular circle, and the houses fronting it make a compact ring.