that draws
you, first to pull aside the heavy curtains of the window, and then to
rush out into the dark street both proceedings in the worst possible
form! The little street was deserted, but in Pall Mall the dark forms of
busses could be made out scurrying for shelter, one wondered where?
Above the roar of London, the pop pop pop! of the defending guns could
be heard now almost continuously, followed by the shrieks and moans of
the shrapnel shells as they passed close overhead. They sounded like
giant rockets, and even as rockets some of them broke into a cascade of
sparks. Star shells they are called, bursting, it seemed, among the
immutable stars themselves that burned serenely on. And there were other
stars like November meteors hurrying across space--the lights of the
British planes scouring the heavens for their relentless enemies.
Everywhere the restless white rays of the searchlights pierced the
darkness, seeking, but seeking in vain. Not a sign of the intruders was
to be seen. I was induced to return to the sitting-room.

"But what are they shooting at?" I asked.

"Listen," said one of the officers. There came a lull in the firing and
then a faint, droning noise like the humming of insects on a still summer
day. "It's all they have to shoot at, that noise."

"But their own planes?" I objected.

"The Gotha has two engines, it has a slightly different noise, when you
get used to it. You'd better step out of that window. It's against the
law to show light, and if a bomb falls in the street you'd be filled with
glass." I overcame my fascination and obeyed. "It isn't only the
bombs," my friend went on, "it's the falling shrapnel, too."

The noise made by those bombs is unmistakable, unforgetable, and quite
distinct from the chorus of the guns and shrapnel--a crashing note,
reverberating, sustained, like the E minor of some giant calliope.

In face of the raids, which coincide with the coming of the moon, London
is calm, but naturally indignant over such methods of warfare. The
damage done is ridiculously small; the percentage of deaths and injuries
insignificant. There exists, in every large city, a riffraff to get
panicky: these are mostly foreigners; they seek the Tubes, and some the
crypt of St. Paul's, for it is wise to get under shelter during the brief
period of the raids, and most citizens obey the warnings of the police.
It is odd, indeed, that more people are not hurt by shrapnel. The