Then, along the whole line, including the two sides of the St. Mihiel triangle, we were brought up short by far the strongest and most elaborate system of earth entrenchments that the world had ever seen. It was a perfectly legitimate means of making war, and although, like every other step in the campaign, it had been devised by the enemy as part of their grand plan for destroying the French, from a military point of view they deserved every credit for having thought it out. They were the first people to see that no soldiers could stand up for any length of time in the open, or with only the protection of the shallow ditches which used to be called trenches, against modern weapons. Thanks to their foresight they had invented or perfected a simple means of defence infinitely stronger than the strongest and most modern fortress. We all know now that compared to a properly constructed trench with well-disposed shell-proof shelters the bastions and casemates and cupolas of such places as Toul and Verdun, which till the war was well under way were considered the _dernier cri_ in fortifications, are as flimsy as a Gladstone bag compared to a fire-proof safe. But it was the Germans who taught us, and all that we could do—but we did it—was to set to work resolutely to play them at their own game. Not, unfortunately, to fight them with their own weapons, or at least with their own shells. It took us all, especially our own country, which has always borne a strong family resemblance to its ancient King Ethelred, a very long time to learn that particular lesson. The French were quicker and more adaptable. Their main difficulty, thanks to shortsighted and ignoble political squabbles before the war, was that when war began they were very short of big guns, as a consequence of which in the earlier engagements their pieces were constantly outranged, sometimes by as much as two miles, by those opposed to them. But they had, and still have, one gun which, for its size, was far superior to any possessed by Germany, though they had produced a colourable imitation of it. To every French civilian, and to every French soldier, no matter to what arm of the service he belongs, the Soixante-Quinze is the real hero of the war. And in one sense they are not far wrong. For without it not the most splendid courage and most dashing exploits of the chasseurs-alpins, chasseurs-à-pied, and all the splendid French and African regiments of their armies could have held out against the German advance, much less have rolled it back.