own & Dawson, From Underwood & Underwood._)]

Now the enemy are firing on the little village behind our lines,
dropping shell among the houses, and always near the house where certain
staff officers are at work. A curious point this--how close they get to
the house when they can't possibly see the result of their fire. The
explanation must be "spies." They are everywhere here; they wear British
uniform and French uniform, and, most dangerous of all, civilian dress.
It is our own fault; we allow the French population to return to the
village right in our midst, and who in these times can question every
one's rights? The other day three men in civilian dress were found near
our lines sitting in trees; they were armed with wire-cutters, and said
they were engaged in cutting vines. Now there are no vineyards near, but
our wire entanglements were just beyond the wood. Again, one night we
were to attack a small position at a given hour, but the order was
afterward canceled. However, at the appointed time the enemy opened
fire upon the ground we should have crossed and lighted the scene with
rockets.

Nighttime is a period of continuous strain. The sentry peers into the
darkness, imagining every bush to be an approaching enemy. Distant trees
seem to change their position; bunches of grass, really quite close,
seem to be men coming over the sky-line. One man questions another; the
section commander is called upon. He in turn explains his fears to an
officer. A single shot is ordered at the suspected object, and no sound
is heard. So the night goes on. When we were new to the game a single
shot was enough to alarm the whole line, and thousands of rounds were
fired into the darkness. Now we know better. So also do the enemy. And
it was satisfactory to find that our ammunition had not all been wasted,
for a patrol recently discovered more than a hundred dead Germans in a
wood in front of us. The ammunition had not been wasted that time. But,
oh, what a wasteful war!

The Baptism of Fire

[From The London Times, Nov. 4, 1914.]

_The following letter, thoroughly characteristic of the pluck
and cheerfulness of the young British officer, was received
from a cavalry subaltern at the front:_

October 27.

Your two boxes of cigarettes were heaven. We've been in the trenches two
days and nights, but no excitements, except a good dose of shrapnel
three times a day, which does one no harm and rather relieves t