of Teuton sandwiches, which added to the picnic
illusion and claimed far more attention than the Cathedral of Rheims.
The frequent sight of Generals down to high privates taking hearty
nourishment all along the front in France with the same comfortable
enjoyment as in their own homes was more convincing than all official
bulletins that they are not worrying about the outcome in the West, for
morale and meals are synonyms.

The luncheon interval over, the French batteries woke up and began
sending over shells with Gallic prodigality, the Germans replying
sparingly, and as if in invitation, for my benefit, a French aeroplane
no bigger than a Jersey mosquito appeared and circled over the German
positions trying to locate the cleverly concealed heavy batteries, while
down on the plain back of the hills a German motor aeroplane gun popped
away for dear life trying to connect with the inquisitive visitor.
Little cottonball clouds of white smoke, like daylight fireworks, hung
high in the air, where the French flier had been, also black "smoke
pots" to help the gunners in getting the range, but the Frenchman
managed to dodge all the shrapnel that came his way, and escaped.

By request, "the friend of the cathedral" led the way (a long and
strenuous one) to his 15-centimeter howitzer battery, concealed with
amazing cleverness even against the observation of aviators, and pointed
out the gun that had fired "the shot heard round the world." He would
gladly have fired a sample shot, but the guns of the battery were
already set for the night (although it was only noon!) that is, aimed at
certain portions of the landscape which French troops would have to
cross if they attempted to make a night attack on certain of the German
trenches, so that no time would be lost in aiming the guns--all they had
to do was to fire the moment the telephone bell rang a night alarm.

"Was there any connection between his iron crosses and the Rheims
Cathedral?" he was tactfully asked. There was not, but modest heroes are
a nuisance journalistically, and "the friend of the cathedral" required
a lot of coaxing before he told that he had won both the first and
second class sometime before and elsewhere, the second for galloping his
heavy howitzer battery into action like field artillery and by getting
it to work at close range, "smearing" a desperate French attack; first
class for continuing to direct the fire of his battery from the roof of
a building