These were halted, at the edge of the field, just behind the officers.
An hour passed before another detachment of prisoners was marched down the road and halted.

Later more came.

Noon had passed before the final detachment arrived.
It was wearisome, but Dick Prescott did not feel that he had wasted his time.

Full of the hope of escaping, some day, he had watched covertly everything that he could see of German army life and movements behind the fighting line.

Also, from several incidents that he witnessed, he gained a new idea of German military brutality.
One scene that made his blood boil was when a French officer, a wounded man, and suffering also from hunger, let himself slide to a sitting posture on the ground.
"Here, you!" ordered the German corporal advancing threateningly.
"You have been told that you must stand in line." "But our comrade is weak from loss of blood," interposed another French officer who spoke German.
"Take that for your meddling," retorted the corporal, landing the back of his hand stingingly on his informant's face.