I doubt whether, until the war is over, it will be possible adequately to describe the battle, or rather, the series of battles extending along this particular front of about fifty miles. "Labyrinth" certainly is the fittest word to call it. I always had a fairly accurate sense of direction; but, standing in many places in this giant battlefield, it was impossible for me to say where were the Germans and where the French, so completely was I turned around on account of the constant zigzag of the trench lines. Sometimes, when I was positive that a furious cannonade coming from a certain position was German, it turned out to be French. At other times, when I thought I was safely going in the direction of the French, I was hauled back by officers, who told me I was heading directly into the German line of fire. I sometimes felt that the German lines were on three sides, and often I was quite correct. On the other hand, the French lines often almost completely surrounded the German positions. One could not tell from the nearness of the artillery fire whether it was from friend or foe. Artillery makes three different noises; first, the sharp report followed by detonations like thunder, when the shell first leaves the gun; second, the rushing sound of the shell passing high overhead; third, the shrill whistle, followed by the crash when it finally explodes. In the Labyrinth the detonations which usually indicated the French fire might be from the German batteries stationed quite near us, but where they could not get the range on us, and firing at a section of the French lines some miles away. I finally determined that when a battery fired fast it was French; for the German fire is becoming more intermittent every day. I shall attempt to give some idea of what this fighting looks like. Late one afternoon, coming out of a trench into a green meadow, I suddenly found myself planted against a mudbank made of the dirt taken from the trenches. We were just at the crest of a hill. In khaki clothes I was of the same color as the mudbank; so an officer told me I was in a fairly safe position. Modern war becomes quite an ordinary--often even a sedate, methodical--affair after the first impressions have been rubbed off.