t, he still showed the face of initiative there while
he rested content that at the same time he could maintain his front
intact on the Somme. The succeeding attack of July 15th broke his
confidence with its suggestion that the confusion in his lines would be
too dangerous if it happened over a broader front for him to consider
anything but the defensive. Thus, the Allied offensive had broken his
offensive.

Now he began drawing away his divisions from the Verdun sector, bringing
guns to answer the British and French fire and men whose prodigal use
alone could enforce his determination to maintain _morale_ and prevent
any further bold strokes such as that of July 15th.

His sausage balloons began to reappear in the sky as the summer wore on;
he increased the number of his aeroplanes; more of his five-point-nine
howitzers were sending their compliments; he stretched out his shell
fire over communication trenches and strong points; mustered great
quantities of lachrymatory shells and for the first time used gas shells
with a generosity which spoke his faith in their efficacy. The
lachrymatory shell makes your eyes smart, and the Germans apparently
considered this a great auxiliary to high explosives and shrapnel. Was
it because of the success of the first gas attack at Ypres that they now
placed such reliance in gas shells? The shell when it lands seems a
"dud," which is a shell that has failed to explode; then it blows out a
volume of gas.

"If one hit right under your nose," said a soldier, "and you hadn't your
gas mask on, it might kill you. But when you see one fall you don't run
to get a sniff in order to accommodate the Boche by asphyxiating
yourself."

Another soldier suggested that the Germans had a big supply on hand and
were working off the stock for want of other kinds. The British who by
this time were settled in the offensive joked about the deluge of gas
shells with a gallant, amazing humor. Going up to the Ridge was going to
their regular duty. They did not shirk it or hail it with delight. They
simply went, that was all, when it was a battalion's turn to go.

July heat became August heat as the grinding proceeded. The gunners
worked in their shirts or stripped to the waist. Sweat streaks mapped
the faces of the men who came out of the trenches. Stifling clouds of
dust hung over the roads, with the trucks phantom-like as they emerged
from the gritty mist and their drivers' eyes peered out of masks of