Looking out over the German lines with a telescope one day, my Ross focussed suddenly and surprisingly a portly German, a little forage cap on his head, absorbed in the preparation of something in a little pot. Presently he dipped down and disappeared, but almost the next moment two other grey figures came bobbing along down the trench. They were out of range of our rifles, and, with ammunition a luxury, not worth wasting a shell on. More than once I have watched Germans at work behind their lines. One summer afternoon, in particular, I had a regular surfeit of Germans. First a cart appeared, slowly descending a field. As I followed it with my glass until it stopped, my eye caught two diminutive figures digging. In another part of my field of vision I saw two German officers out riding, the one on a bay, the other on a white horse. They galloped across a field, then walked their horses, to cool them, alongside the fringe of a belt of black forest. They were engaged in animated conversation, and as I watched I wondered what their feelings would have been had they known that two artillery officers at my side were discussing whether it was worth while putting a shell over at them. The verdict was against a shot, so the two officers continued their ride undisturbed. There is nothing more thrilling than to watch the discovery and shelling of a working party by our guns. I was present one day when a detachment of Germans were made out digging on a road behind a screen of trees. I saw four of them myself quite distinctly, working busily in their white shirts, their tunics discarded. A few brief directions about angle and direction and shell went over the telephone to the battery behind us. Then I glued my eye to the glass and waited. The four men worked on. I could see the flash of their shirt-sleeves behind the trees. One man had a loose sleeve which kept coming unrolled, and which he kept rolling up again. A loud explosion ... a rushing noise ... the telephone orderly’s voice, “First gun fired, sir!” ... three more explosions, and three more shells cleaving the air, and, almost simultaneously, as it seemed, a pear-shaped ball of white smoke, then another and another and another ... four detonations--boom! bum-bum-bum! Between the appearance of the first white pear-drop and the second there was a flash of white cloth between the trees ... then all was quiet. And presently I heard the telephone orderly slowly dictating a report to the Brigade ... “dispersed a German working-party on the ---- road.”