“The French government has sent here,” he said, “the men who are unfit for service in the army.  Day by day, as German aeroplanes are seen overhead, the alarm is raised in the shop.  The men are panic-stricken.  If there are a dozen alarms they do the same thing.  They rush out like frightened rabbits, throw themselves flat on the sand, and wriggle through that hole into a cave that they have dug underneath.  It is hysterically funny; they all try to get in at the same time.”

I had hoped to see the thing happen myself.  But when, late that afternoon, a German aeroplane actually flew over the station, the works had closed down for the day and the men were gone.  It was disappointing.

Between the machine shop and the administration building is a tall water tower.  On top of this are two observers who watch the sky day and night.  An anti-aircraft gun is mounted there and may be swung to command any portion of the sky.  This precaution is necessary, for the station has been the object of frequent attacks.  The airship itself has furnished a tempting mark to numerous German airmen.  Its best speed is forty miles an hour, so they are able to circle about it and attack it from various directions.  As it has only two ballonets, a single shot, properly placed, could do it great damage.  The Zeppelin, with its eighteen great gasbags, can suffer almost any amount of attack and still remain in the air.

“Would you like to see the trenches?” said one of the officers, smiling.

“Trenches?  Seven miles behind the line?”

“Trenches certainly.  If the German drive breaks through it will come along this road.”

“But I thought you lived in the administration building?”

“Some of us must hold the trenches,” he said solemnly.  “What are six or seven miles to the German Army?  You should see the letters of sympathy we get from home!”

So he showed me the trenches.  They were extremely nice trenches, dug out of the sand, it is true, but almost luxurious for all that, more like rooms than ditches, with board shelves and dishes on the shelves, egg cups and rows of shining glasses, silver spoons, neat little folded napkins, and, though the beds were on the floor, extremely tidy beds of mattresses and warm blankets.  The floor was boarded over.  There was a chair or two, and though I will not swear to pictures on the walls there were certainly periodicals and books.  Outside the door was a sort of vestibule of boards which had been built to keep the wind out.

“You see!” said the young officer with twinkling eyes.  “But of course this is war.  One must put up with things!”

Nevertheless it was a real trench, egg cups and rows of shining glasses and electric light and all.  It was there for a purpose.  In front of it was a great barbed-wire barricade.  Strategically it commanded the main road over which the German Army must pass to reach the point it has been striving for.  Only seven miles away along that road it was straining even then for the onward spring movement.  Any day now, and that luxurious trench may be the scene of grim and terrible fighting.