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It rose in a
ragged column to the line of the roof-rafters--only, of course, there
was neither roof nor rafter now. On the face of the column, as though
done in a spirit of bitter irony, was posted a proclamation, signed by
the burgomaster and the military commandant, calling on the vanished
dwellers of this place to preserve their tranquillity.
On the side of the fort away from the city, and in the direction whence
we had come, a corporal's guard had established itself in a rent-asunder
house in order to be out of the wet. On the front of the house they had
hung a captured Belgian bugler's uniform and a French dragoon's
overcoat, which latter garment was probably a trophy brought back from
the lower lines of fighting; it made you think of an old-clothes-man's
shop. The corporal came forth to look at our passes before permitting
us to go on. He was a dumpy, good-natured-looking Hanoverian with
patchy saffron whiskers sprouting out on him.
"Ach! yes," he said in answer to my conductor's question.


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