at your colonies. We thought Canada and Australia would break
away; or at the very best, would not send over more than about 50,000
men.

"But what we cannot understand is why a country which can organise and
handle such an enormous army, is unable to manage its civilian
population."

"In what way do you mean?"

"Well, look at Ireland; fancy allowing that sort of thing! And the
strikes you have! You build an army, and then allow your people to
hinder it by striking."

"How can you help it?"

"You don't find strikes in Germany, because we organise our civil
population for war, as well as the military population.

"There was one strike a little while ago, not for more money, but
because the men felt they were not getting the food they were entitled
to. Do you know what we did?--We put them all in uniform, and sent
them on to the Somme, and we sent back from the Somme an equal number
of soldiers to replace them in the factory."

"When do you think the war will be over?" I asked.

"When each side realises that it can't exterminate the other. Look
what we've done on the Somme! You've lost, let us say, 700,000 men,
and we have lost, say 500,000; and how far have you got? You'll never
beat us. If you bend us back more, all we shall have to do is to
retire to a new line, and you will have to begin your work all over
again. You can bend, but you can't break us."

"Well, you tried it, and now it's our turn."

"Yes; but it will never end that way. Do you know that for months past
we've been digging a new line, a straight line between Lille and
Verdun, which will shorten our line by half? And if you bend that we
will build another farther back. It can go on for ever at that rate."

"What about the blockade?"

"Of course, that's a farce. You've been doing your best to starve us
for over two years. Do I look starved? We may not get as good food as
we should like, but we get enough to live on, because we've got it
properly systemised; whereas you let your people eat what they like."

Yes, there was truth in that; and after drinking all his wine, I
turned into bed; for to-morrow I was to be free!

At 7 o'clock on the following evening motor-cars, each with two
trailers, went towards the station, filled with totally disabled
soldiers, en route for England.

Even their captors thought it was not worth while to keep them.

War is a monstrous machine of the devil. At one end the manhood of
Britain was pouring into its