This is what is happening behind the German lines--I have not overdrawn the picture, believe me--and it is upsetting somewhat the plans of the high German officers who are arranging things from afar through telephones, down which they shout their orders.
_In his dispatch of May 9 the following was written to describe the difficulties of the Germans in reorganizing their battered forces:_
From many points the British have complete observation of the enemy's positions there, as he has of theirs from the other side of the way, and, needless to say, they are making use of this direct view by flinging over storms of shells whenever his transport is seen crawling along the tracks of the old Somme battlefields or his troops are seen massing among their shell craters.
The town of Albert itself, where once until recent history the golden Virgin used to lean downward with her babe outstretched above the ruins, is now a death trap for the German garrisons there and for any German gunners who try to hide their batteries among the red brick houses. By day and night their positions are pounded with high explosives and soaked in asphyxiating gas.
I went within 2,000 yards of it yesterday, and saw the heaviest work of the British upon it. It was a wonderful May day, as today is, and the sun shone through a golden haze upon the town. As I looked into Albert and saw the shells smashing through, and then away up the Albert-Bapaume road, past the white rim of the great mine crater of La Boiselle to the treeless slopes of Posières, and over all that ground of hills and ditches to the high, wooded distant right, with its few dead stumps of trees, it was hard to believe that all this was in the area of the German Army, that the white, winding lines freshly marked upon this bleak landscape were new German trenches, and that the enemy's outposts were less than 2,000 yards from where I stood.
Some siege gunners were lying on their stomachs and observing the enemy's lines for some monsters I had seen on my way up, monsters that raised their snouts slowly, like elephants' trunks, before bellowing out with an earthquake roar, annihilating all one's senses for a second. Some of the men passed the remark to me that "Albert isn't the town it was" and that "Fritz must be having a thin time there." They also expressed the opinion that the Albert-Bapaume road was not a pleasant walk for Germans on a sunny afternoon.