Yet another thing to see--an aeroplane assisting a battery by spotting the fall of its shells, which is engrossing, too, and amazingly simple. Of course, this battery was proud of its method of concealment. Each battery commander will tell you that one of the British planes has flown very low, as a test, without being able to locate his battery. If the plane does locate it, there is more work due in “make-up” to complete the disguise. Competition among batteries is as keen as among battleships of the North Atlantic. Situation favoured this battery, which was Canadian. It was as nicely at home as a first-class Adirondack camp. At any rate, no other battery had a dugout for a litter of eight pups, with clean straw for their bed, right between two gun-emplacements. “We found the mother wild out there in the woods,” one of the men explained. “She, too, was a victim of war; a refugee from some home destroyed by shell-fire. At first she wouldn’t let us approach her, and we tossed her pieces of meat from a safe distance. I think those pups will bring us luck. We’ll take them along to the Rhine. Some mascots, eh?” On our way back to the general’s headquarters we must have passed other batteries hidden from sight only a stone’s throw away; and yet in an illustrated paper recently I saw a drawing of some guns emplaced on the crest of a bare hill, naked to all the batteries of the enemy but engaged in destroying all the enemy’s batteries, according to the account. Eleven months of war have not shaken conventional ideas about gunnery; which is one reason for writing this chapter. Also, on our way back we learned the object of the German fire in answer to our bombardment of the redoubt and the wireless station. They had shelled a cross-roads and a certain village again. As we passed through the village we noticed a new hole in the church tower and three holes in the churchyard, which had scattered clods of earth about the pavement. A shopkeeper across the street was engaged in repairing a window-frame that had been broken by a shell-fragment. There is no flustering the French population. That very day I heard of an old peasant, who asked a British soldier if he could not get permission for the old man to wear some kind of an armband which both sides would respect, so that he could cut his field of wheat between the trenches. Why not? Wasn’t it his wheat? Didn’t he need the crop? The Germans fire into villages and towns; for the women and children there are the women and children of the enemy. But those in the German lines belong to the ally of England. Besides, they are women and children. So British gunners avoid the towns--which is, in one sense, a professional handicap. XIX ARCHIBALD THE ARCHER