h artillery fire and not enough
men," to put it with colloquial army brevity. It often happened that a
village was entered and parts of it held during a day, then evacuated at
night, leaving the British guns full play for the final "softening."
These initial efforts had the result of reconnaissances in force. They
permitted a thorough look around the enemy's machine gun positions so as
to know how to avoid their fire and "do them in," revealed the cover
that would be available for the next advance, and brought invaluable
information to the gunners for the accurate distribution of their fire.
Always some points important for future operations were held.

"We are going after Contalmaison this afternoon," said a staff officer
at headquarters, "and if you hurry you may see it."

As a result, I witnessed the most brilliant scene of battle of any on
the Somme, unless it was the taking of Combles. There was bright
sunshine, with the air luminously clear and no heat waves. From my
vantage point I could see clear to the neighborhood of Peronne. The
French also were attacking; the drumhead fire of their _soixante-quinze_
made a continuous roll, and the puffs of shrapnel smoke hung in a long,
gossamery cloud fringing the horizon and the canopy of the green ridges.

Every aeroplane of the Allies seemed to be aloft, each one distinct
against the blue with shimmering wings and the soft, burnished aureole
of the propellers. They were flying at all heights. Some seemed almost
motionless two or three miles above the earth, while others shot up from
their aerodromes.

Planes circling, planes climbing, planes slipping down aerial toboggan
slides with propellers still, planes going as straight as crows toward
the German line to be lost to sight in space while others developed out
of space as swift messengers bound for home with news of observations,
planes touring a sector of the front, swooping low over a corps
headquarters to drop a message and returning to their duty; planes of
all types, from the monsters with vast stretch of wing and crews of
three or more men, stately as swans, to those gulls, the saucy little
Nieuports, shooting up and down and turning with incredible swiftness,
their tails in the air; planes and planes in a fantastic aerial minuet,
flitting around the great sausage balloons stationary in the still air.

With ripening grain and sweet-smelling harvests of clover and hay in the
background and weeds and wild grass