" When they were through
you could have heard a pin fall. Not a soul risked a sound lest the
players should mistake it as an invitation to renew their
entertainment; so the real pipe band came on for another whirl and we
were made happy once more.
Precisely at five-thirty, the concert ended, and the cosmopolitan
crowd of French civilians and soldiers, British Tommies, Indians,
Highlanders, and Canadians, melted away. Five minutes after, save for
the presence of a few blue rock pigeons flitting about in search of
their evening meal, the square showed no sign of life.
_The Jail._
The town jail and dungeon is in the Hotel de Ville. Heavy barred doors
open into a little dimly-lit store room, with windows high up
protected by iron bars. Through this room a small doorway leads to a
dungeon without light of any sort. We always knew when this prison had
an occupant--in the morning a fatigue party under a corporal would
appear marching across the square carrying food rations. The corporal
would halt his men, step forward and give the signal on the door; it
would be opened by the sentry guarding the inner cell. The food was
then conveyed to the prisoner, the fatigue party marched away, and the
sentry with rifle on shoulder paced up and down the front of the jail
until his relief arrived. At no time was the guard off duty for a
moment until the prisoner, perhaps under sentence of death, had been
removed.
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