of the General and his staff.  At St. Benoit, five miles further on, a subordinate headquarters was encountered, again in a chateau belonging to a rich French resident.  The Continental soldier leaves tents to the American Army and quarters himself, whenever it is possible, comfortably in houses, wasting no energy in transporting and setting up tented cities for officers and men.  No matter how fast or how far a German army moves, a completely equipped telegraph office is ready for the army commander five minutes after headquarters have been established.

At St. Benoit a party of some 300 French prisoners was encountered, waiting outside headquarters.  They were all fine young fellows, in striking contrast to the elderly reservist type which predominates in the German prison camps.  They were evidently picked troops of the line, and were treated almost with deference by their guards, a detachment of bearded Landwehr men from South Germany.  They were the survivors of the garrison of Fort Camp des Romains, who had put up such a desperate and spirited defense as to win the whole-hearted admiration and respect of the German officers and men.  Their armored turrets and cemented bastions, although constructed after the best rules of fortification of a few years ago, had been battered about their ears in an unexpectedly short time by German and Austrian siege artillery.  Their guns were silenced, and trenches were pushed up by an overwhelming force of pioneers and infantry to within five yards of their works before they retreated from the advanced intrenchments to the casemates of the fort.  Here they maintained a stout resistance, and refused every summons to surrender.  Hand grenades were brought up, bound to a backing of boards, and exploded against the openings into the casemates, filling these with showers of steel splinters.  Pioneers, creeping up to the dead angle of the casemates, where the fire of the defenders could not reach them, directed smoke tubes and stinkpots against apertures in the citadel, filling the rooms with suffocating smoke and gases.

“Have you had enough?” the defenders were asked, after the first smoke treatment.

“No!” was the defiant answer.

The operation was repeated a second and third time, the response to the demand for surrender each time growing weaker, until finally the defenders were no longer able to raise their rifles, and the fort was taken.  When the survivors of the plucky garrison were able to march out, revived by the fresh air, they found their late opponents presenting arms before them in recognition of their gallant stand.  They were granted the most honorable terms of surrender, their officers were allowed to retain their swords, and on their march toward an honorable captivity they were everywhere greeted with expressions of respect and admiration.

The headquarters guard here was composed of a company of infantry.  The company’s field kitchen, the soup-boiler and oven on wheels, which the German army copied from the Russians and which the soldiers facetiously and affectionately name their “goulash cannon,” had that day, the Captain said, fed 970 men, soldiers of his own and passing companies, headquarters attaches, wounded men and the detachment of French prisoners.