They had dug their way under and beyond German trenches when the explosion of a German mine between the lines cut their gallery, leaving them imprisoned in a space eight feet long. This happened at ten in the morning. They determined to dig toward the surface and encouraged each other by singing Breton songs in low tones while they worked. The air became foul and they were almost suffocated. Their candles went out and left them to burrow in absolute darkness. After hours of intense labor the appearance of a glowworm told them that they were near the surface. Then a fissure of the earth opened and admitted a welcome draft of fresh air. The miners pushed out into the clear starlight. Within arm's length they beheld the loophole of a German trench and could hear German voices. The thought seems not to have occurred to them to give themselves up, as they could easily have done. Instead, they drew back and began to dig in another direction, enduring still longer the distress which they had already undergone so long without food or drink. After digging another day they came out in the crater of a mine. The night was again clear and it was impossible for them to show themselves without being shot by one side or the other. So they decided to hold out for another night. They lay inside the crater exposed to shells, bombs, and grenades from both sides, eating roots and drinking rain water. On the third night Mauduit crept near the edge of the crater and got near an advance sentinel, one of those pushed out at night beyond the lines to protect against surprise. Cadoret, exhausted, lost his balance and fell back into the crater. Under the German fire Mauduit went back and helped his companion out. Both crawled along the ground until they fell into the French trenches.
Attacks by French aeroplanes upon the German lines were the main features of the day's fighting for November 28, 1915. They damaged the aviation hangars near Mülhausen, in Alsace, and brought down two German machines. The Germans exploded a mine in front of the French works near the Labyrinth, north of Arras, and succeeded in occupying the crater.
Near the end of November the sleet, snow and winds abated and a dry frost accompanied by clear skies set in. Immediately a perfect epidemic of aerial activity broke out. French, German, British, and Belgian aeroplanes scoured the heavens in all directions, seeking information and adventure. Even the restless artillery seemed inspired with still greater energy. German ordnance belched its thunder around Aveling, Loos, Neuve Chapelle, Armentières, and Ypres, eliciting vigorous responses from the opposite sides. Aviators fought in the air and brought each other crashing to earth in mutilated heaps of flesh, framework and blazing machinery. No fewer than fifteen of these engagements were recorded in one day. And yet, despite all the bustle and excitement, the usually conflicting reports agreed that there was nothing particular to report. Each sector appeared to be conducting a local campaign on its own account.
The Switzerland correspondent of the since defunct London "Standard" quoted, on November 30, 1915, from a remarkable article by Dr. Heinz Pothoff, a former member of the Reichstag:
"Can any one doubt that the German General Staff will hesitate to employ extreme measures if Germany is ever on the verge of real starvation? If necessary, we must expel all the inhabitants from the territories which our armies have occupied, and drive them into the enemy's lines; if necessary, we must kill the hundreds of thousands of prisoners who are now consuming our supplies. That would be frightful, but would be inevitable if there were no other way of holding out."
On the last day of November a bill was introduced in the French Chamber of Deputies by General Gallieni calling to the colors for training the 400,000 youths of the class of 1917, who in the ordinary course of events would not have been called out for another two years. The war minister explained that it was not the intention of the Government to send the new class, composed of boys of 18 and 19, to the front at once, but to provide for their instruction and training during the winter for active service in the spring, when, "in concert with our allies, our reenforcements and our armaments will permit us to make the decisive effort." The bill was passed.
A British squadron bombarded the German fortifications on the Belgian coast, from Zeebrugge to Ostend, for two hours on November 30, 1915. The weather suddenly changed on the entire western front. Rain, mist, and thaw imposed a check on the operations, which simmered down to artillery bombardments at isolated points. For the next three months the combatants settled down to the exciting monotony of a winter campaign, making themselves as comfortable as possible, strengthening their positions, keeping a sharp eye on the enemy opposite, and generally preparing for the spring drive. Great offensive and concerted movements can only be carried out after long and deliberate preparations. The Allies had shot their bolt, with only partial success, and considerable time would have to elapse before another advance on a big scale could be undertaken. Hence the winter campaign developed into a series of desultory skirmishes and battles, as either side found an opportunity to inflict some local damage on the other. For the Allies it was part of the "war of attrition," or General Joffre's "nibbling process."
The Germans had gone through a bitter experience in Champagne; with characteristic skill and energy they set to work improving their defenses. At intervals of approximately 500 yards behind their second line they constructed underground strongholds known as "starfish defenses," which cannot be detected from the surface: About thirty feet below the ground is a dugout of generous dimensions, in which are stored machine guns, rifles, and other weapons. Leading from this underground chamber to the surface are five or six tunnels, jutting out in different directions, so that their outlets form half a dozen points in a circle with a diameter of perhaps 100 yards. In each of the tunnels was laid a narrow-gauge railway to allow the machine guns to be speedily brought to the surface. At the mouth of the tunnels were two gun platforms on either side, and the mouth itself was concealed by being covered over with earth or grass. The defenses were also mined, and the mines could be exploded from any one of the various outlets. On several occasions when the French endeavored to press home their advantage they found themselves enfiladed by machine guns raised to the surface by troops who had taken up their places in the underground strongholds at the first menace to the second line. When one of the outlets was captured, machine guns would appear at another; while, if the French troops attempted to rush the stronghold, the Germans took refuge in the other passages, and met them as they appeared.
On the French and British side also, underground defense works were of a most scientific and elaborate character. Trench warfare has become an art. Away from the seat of war the importance of the loss or the gain of a trench is measured by yards. If you are in trenches on the plain, where the water is a few feet below the surface, and all the area has been used as a cockpit, you would wonder how any trench can be held. If, on the other hand, you were snugly installed in a deep trench on a chalk slope, you would wonder how any trench can be lost. Any real picture of what a trench is like cannot be drawn or imagined by a sensitive people. It is, of course, a graveyard—of Germans and British and French. Miners and other workers in the soil drive their tunnel or trench into inconceivable strata. They come upon populous German dugouts, corked by some explosion perhaps a year ago. They are stopped far below ground by a layer of barbed wire, proved by its superior thickness to be German. Every yard they penetrate is what gardeners call "moved soil." It is of the nature of a fresh mole heap or ants' nest, so crumbled and worked that all its original consistency has been undone. A good deal of it doubtless has been tossed fifty feet in the air on the geyser of a mine or shell explosion. It is full of little bits of burnt sacking, the débris of sandbags. Weapons and bits of weapons and pieces of human bodies are scattered through it like plums. The so-called trench may be no more than a yoked line of shell holes converted with dainty toil and loss to a more perpendicular angle. And the tangled pattern of craters is itself pocked with the smaller dents of bombs. There are three grades of holes—great mine craters that look like an earth convulsion themselves, pitted with shell holes, which in turn are dimpled by bombs. Imagine a place like the Ypres salient, a graveyard maze under the visitation of 8,000 shells falling from three widely separate angles, and some slight idea may be formed of nearly two years' life in the trenches. It is an endless struggle for some geographical feature: a hill, a mound, a river, or for a barn or a house. At Ypres, indeed, the German and British lines have passed through different sides of the same stable at the same time. The competition for a hill or bluff is such that in many cases, as at Hill 60, the desired spot, as well as the intervening houses and even woods, have been wiped out of existence before the rival forces.
On November 2, 1915, the British Premier announced in the House of Commons that there were then nearly a million British soldiers in Belgium and France; that Canada had sent 96,000 men to the front, and that the Germans had not gained any ground in the west since April of that year. He furthermore stated that the British Government was resolved to "stick at nothing" in carrying out its determination to carry the war to a successful conclusion. In addition to the troops mentioned above, the Australian Commonwealth had contributed 92,000 men to date; New Zealand 25,000; South Africa, after a brilliant campaign in which the Germans in Southwest Africa were subdued, had sent 6,500; and Newfoundland, Great Britain's oldest colony, 1,600. Contingents were also sent from Ceylon, the Fiji Islands, and other outlying parts of the empire. The premier said that since the beginning of the war the admiralty had transported 2,500,000 troops, 300,000 sick and wounded, 2,500,000 tons of stores and munitions, and 800,000 horses. The loss of life in the transportation of these troops was stated to be less than one-tenth of one per cent.