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320 WITH THE GERMAN ARMIES IN THE WEST
by pickets who stepped out on to the road and cried " Halt !
"
If you do not stop, you get a bullet through your back. " Armé-
oberkommando " {" Chief Army Command ") calls the Duke, and
we continue on our way. The strictest control has to be
exercised, especially at night. Not even the German uniforms
are a guarantee against spies. I feel that I am once more on
the brink of glorious and wild adventure—on the way to the
field of battle now lighted by the moon, and where every bush
and tree trunk may hide a lurking spy. But the silence is
unbroken except for the rhythmic thud of the engine.
At length we stopped at the gate of a farm, where several
officers of the General Staff came out to meet us and con-
ducted us into an impretentious little house. Here we were
warmly greeted by General von Winckler himself, a soldierly
figure with a fine head, distinguished, weather-beaten, kindly
features, steel-grey hair and a dark well-groomed moustache.
We sat down to table almost at once. It would have been
wrong to call the mood of the company solemn or heavy.
From the first moment lively and interesting conversation
was afoot. More cheerful officers it would be hard to find
—
and yet these men had been at work since daybreak, and might
well feel tired, but they showed no traces of fatigue. The
company included the Surgeon-General of the Forces, Dr.
Reichard, who had much to tell about his experience among
the wounded, also a young lieutenant who that night was to
have his first experience of trench duty, that strange phenome-
non of modern warfare. One might perhaps have expected
this youth to sit quiet and thoughtful, but he joked and
laughed and chatted with the rest of them. He was delighted
that his turn had come at last to be in the forefront of battle.
He ate his supper, drank his wine and smoked his cigarettes
without giving a thought to the cold and hardships which
awaited him later in the night, for an advanced infantry
position in close touch with the enemy is in very truth a living
grave.
At nightfall the occupants of some trenches immediately
west of the village of Monchy-au-Bois, about seven kilometres
from Boiry, were to be relieved. At this point it was done
every forty-eight hours. Those who had been on duty for
this length of time were then allowed to withdraw to the rear
to rest, sleep and get some hot food. I had of course passed
numberless empty trenches in Belgium, but thought it would
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