en them
in action, firing at hostile planes. I have never yet seen them do any
damage, but they serve a useful purpose in keeping the scouting
machines high in the air, thus rendering difficult the work of the
enemy's observer. The real weapon against the hostile aeroplane is
another machine. Several times I have seen German _Taubes_ driven off
by French aviators, and winging a swift flight back to their lines.
Not, one may be sure, through any lack of courage on the part of
German aviators. They are fearless and extremely skilful. But because
they have evidently been instructed to conserve their machines.

I had considerable curiosity as to the anti-aircraft batteries. How
was it possible to manipulate a large field gun, with a target moving
at a varying height, and at a speed velocity of, say, sixty miles an
hour?

The answer was waiting on the field just north of Ypres.

A brick building by the road was evidently a storehouse for provisions
for the trenches. Unloaded in front of it were sacks of bread, meal
and provisions. And standing there in the sunshine was the commander
of the field battery, Captain Mignot. A tall and bearded man,
essentially grave, he listened while Lieutenant Puaux explained the
request from General Foch that I see his battery. He turned and
scanned the sky.

"We regret," he said seriously, "that at the moment there is no
aeroplane in sight. We will, however, show Madame everything."

He led the way round the corner of the building to where a path,
neatly banked, went out through the mud to the battery.

"Keep to the path," said a tall sign. But there was no temptation to
do otherwise. There must have been fifty acres to that field, unbroken
by hedge or tree. As we walked out, Captain Mignot paused and pointed
his finger up and somewhat to the right.

"German shrapnel!" he said. True enough, little spherical clouds told
where it had burst harmlessly.

As cannonading had been going on steadily all the afternoon, no one
paid any particular attention. We walked on in the general direction
of the trenches.

The gunners were playing prisoner's base just beyond the guns. When
they saw us coming the game ceased, and they hurried to their
stations. Boys they were, most of them. The youth of the French troops
had not impressed me so forcibly as had the boyishness of the English
and the Belgians. They are not so young, on an average, I believe. But
also the deception of maturity is caused by