pegs pushed into the earthen walls, and, of equal importance with
the telescope, a telephone. Occasionally the telephone faintly
buzzed, and a very faint, indistinguishable murmur came out of it.
But the orderly ignored this symptom, explaining that it only meant
that somebody else was talking to somebody else. I had the
impression of a mysterious underground life going on all around me.
The officer's telescopic business was to keep an eye on a particular
section of the German front, and report everything. The section of
front comprised sundry features extremely well known by reputation
to British newspaper readers. I must say that the reality of them was
disappointing. The inevitable thought was: "Is it possible that so
much killing has been done for such trifling specks of earth?"

The officer made clear all details to us; he described minutely the
habits of the Germans as he knew them. But about his own habits
not a word was said. He was not a human being--he was an
observer, eternally spying through a small slit in the wall of the dug-
out. What he thought about when he was not observing, whether his
bed was hard, how he got his meals, whether he was bored,
whether his letters came regularly, what his moods were, what was
his real opinion of that dug-out as a regular home--these very
interesting matters were not even approached by us. He was a
short, mild officer, with a quiet voice. Still, after we had shaken
hands on parting, the General, who had gone first, turned his bent
head under the concealing leafage, and nodded and smiled with a
quite particular cordial friendliness. "Good-afternoon, Blank," said
the General to the officer, and the warm tone of his voice said: "You
know--don't you, Blank?--how much I appreciate you." It was a
transient revelation. As, swallowed up in trenches, I trudged away
from the lonely officer, the General, resuming his ordinary worldly