I say mechanical, for it all seemed unreal to me. I knew I should not
see cavalry charges, guns in the open, and all the old-world panoply of
war, but I was not prepared for this barren and shell-torn circle of
hills, continually being freshly, and, to an uninformed observer,
aimlessly lashed by shell fire.

Not a man in sight, though below us the ground was thickly strewn with
corpses. Overhead a few aeroplanes circled round amidst balls of white
shell bursts.

During the day the slow-circling aeroplanes (which were artillery
observing machines) were galvanized into frightful activity by the
sudden appearance of a fighting machine on one side or the other; this
happened several times; it reminded me of a pike amongst young trout.

After lunch I saw a Spad shot down in flames, it was like Lucifer
falling down from high heavens. The whole scene was enframed by a
sluggish line of observation balloons.

Sometimes groups of these would hastily sink to earth, to rise again
when the menace of the aeroplane had passed. These balloons seemed more
like phlegmatic spectators at some athletic contest than actual
participants in the events.

I wish my pen could convey to paper the varied impressions created
within my mind in the course of the past day; but it cannot. I have the
consolation that, though I think that I have considerable ability as a
writer, yet abler pens than mine have abandoned in despair the task of
describing a modern battle.