The
general was watching the car, his hand shading his eyes against the
glare of the winter sun. Behind him rose his lonely hill, white with
snow, with the little path leading, by devious ways, up its steep and
shining side.
It was not considered advisable to return by the road behind the
trenches. The late afternoon artillery duel was going on. So we turned
off a few miles south of the hill and left war behind us.
Not altogether, of course. There were still transports and troops. And
at an intersection of three roads we were abruptly halted. A line of
military cars was standing there, all peremptorily held up by a
handful of soldiers.
The young officer got out and inquired. There was little time to
spare, for I was to get to Calais that evening, and to run the Channel
blockade some time in the night.
The officer came back soon, smiling.
"A military secret!" he said. "We shall have to wait a little. The
road is closed."
So I sat in the car and the military secret went by. I cannot tell
about it except that it was thrillingly interesting. My hands itched
to get out my camera and photograph it, just as they itch now to write
about it. But the mystery of what I saw on the highroad back of the
British lines is not mine to tell. It must die with me!
My visit to the British lines was over.
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