d examined, the horses, who had drunk nothing since
the previous day, had to remain thirsty.

In the morning the town was systematically searched.

There were mines and bombs and infernal-machines everywhere, all obviously
made in Germany. The Turk usually limited his nefarious practices to
poisoning the wells when he retreated--a sufficiently damnable thing to do,
_bien entendu_. But the Germans despised crude methods of this kind. They
were not content with poisoning the water but must needs fix their devilish
contraptions so that a man blew himself to pieces in the act of drawing his
drink. Many of the wells were mined, but the Germans had slightly
overreached themselves either through haste or clumsiness, and all the
mines were removed without mishap.

Elsewhere we were not so fortunate. Some of our native camel-drivers saw
tins of preserved meat conspicuously lying about without owners. Following
the invariable native principle of obtaining something for nothing whenever
possible, one or two seized them. It is a melancholy fact that the act was
their last in this world, for the tins were simply--potted death. After
this men gave a wide berth even to the most innocent-looking objects,
though in truth the more innocent a thing looked the more devilish was the
contrivance hidden under it. Now observe further the workings of the German
mind. In one dug-out there was--of all books--a copy of Ruskin's _Sesame
and Lilies_, tattered and dog's-eared by constant use, and a torn piece
of--the _Sporting Times_! Also, hanging on a nail in one of the beams was
a German tunic, stretched neatly on a coat-hanger. The dug-out looked very
innocent and had quite a domesticated atmosphere; and the unwary, lulled
into security by it, might have been tempted casually to reach for the
tunic as a trophy. Providentially no one pulled it down until the engineers
had inspected the dug-out, and then only from the end of a very long rope.
There was little left of the dug-out after the explosion.

What can you make of a mind that can appreciate and enjoy the incomparable
beauty of _Sesame and Lilies_, and yet can conceive so hidden and
treacherous a means of destruction? Of course the book might have come
fortuitously into the possession of the occupant of the dug-out, might even
have been left there and forgotten by some passing British soldier when the
place was captured; but the latter at least is unlikely. When
inquisitiveness had such dir