Soixante-quinze had again scored, for the German guns had been put out of action.  From out the French position came infantry, at this point thousands of little dots over the landscape, presenting a front of, I should think, about two miles, rapidly advancing in skirmishing order.  Every now and then the sharp crackle of rifle fire could distinctly be heard.

The French had advanced over a mile, and the Germans had hastily evacuated the wood.  Other French batteries now came into action, and the German fire over the whole arc was becoming decidedly fainter and less frequent.  This might, of course, be due to changing their positions on the German front.

Wounded began to arrive, which showed that for the present at any rate, it was safe to go out to the trenches to collect them.

Very few of them seemed badly hit, and the wounded French artillerymen seemed to be elated in spite of their wounds.  Had not their beloved Soixante-quinze again scored?  The time was 6 o’clock of a beautiful evening and the firing, though fairly continuous, was dropping off.  The Germans had changed their positions and it was getting a little too hazy to make observation, although a French aeroplane was seen descending in wide circles over the German position, evidently quite regardless of the numerous small balls of smoke, which made their appearance in the sky in dangerous proximity to the daring pilot.

It is very interesting to watch these aeroplane shells bursting in the air.  First of all one sees a vivid little streak of bluish white light in the sky, and then instantaneously a smoke ball, which appears to be about the size of a football, is seen in the sky, always fairly close to the machine.  Then there is the sound of an explosion like a giant cracker.

Occasionally several guns will fire at about the same time, and it is weird to watch the various balls of smoke, apparently coming into being from nowhere, all around the machine.  Sometimes one of these shells, which are filled with a species of shrapnel, bursts rather unpleasantly near the aeroplane, and then one sees the machine turn quickly and rise a little higher.

Two or three holes have been neatly drilled through the planes.  Perhaps one has appeared in the body of the machine, rather too near the pilot for safety; but it is a big gamble, anyhow, and besides the pilot has been instructed to find out where the various positions are, and he means to do it.

So he simply rises a little higher and calmly continues his big circles over the German position.

I take off my hat to these brave men, the aeroplane pilots.  They are willing to chance their luck.  What matters it if their machine gets hit, if the planes are riddled with holes?  It will still fly, even if the engine gets a fatal wound and stops.

The pilot, if he is high enough, can still glide to safety in his own lines.  But (and it is a big “but”) should a shrapnel ball find its billet in the pilot—­well, one has only to die once, and it is a quick and sure death to fall with one’s machine.