+------------------------------------------------------------+ | Transcriber's Note | | | | Obvious typographical errors have been corrected in | | this text. For a complete list, please see the bottom of | | this document. | +------------------------------------------------------------+ HOW I FILMED THE WAR _When I was in France I made arrangements with my friend Mr. Low Warren, at that time Editor of the_ Kinematograph Weekly, _to arrange the manuscript I sent him for publication in book form. _ _The manuscript has in no way been altered in any material respect, and is in the form in which I originally wrote it. _ _GEOFFREY H. MALINS. _ [Illustration: FILMING THE PRELIMINARY BOMBARDMENT OF THE BIG PUSH, JULY1ST, 1916. A FEW MINUTES AFTER THIS PHOTOGRAPH WAS TAKEN A SHELL BURSTWITHIN SIX YARDS, SMASHING DOWN THE TRENCH WALLS AND HALF BURYING ME. NOTE THE SANDBAG ON A WIRE IN FRONT OF MY CAMERA FOR "CAMOUFLAGE"] HOW I FILMED THE WAR A RECORD OF THE EXTRAORDINARYEXPERIENCES OF THE MAN WHOFILMED THE GREAT SOMME BATTLESETC. BY LIEUT. GEOFFREY H. MALINS, O. B. E. EDITED BY LOW WARREN HERBERT JENKINS LIMITEDYORK STREET, ST. JAMES'SLONDON, S. W. 1 MCMXX CONTENTS PART I CHAPTER I A FEW WORDS OF INTRODUCTION CHAPTER II WITH THE BELGIANS AT RAMSCAPELLE PAGE I Reach the First Line Belgian Trenches--And become a Belgian Soldier for the Time Being--A Night Attack--An Adventure whilst Filming a Mitrailleuse Outpost--Among the Ruins of Ramscapelle--I Leave the Company and Lose my Way in the Darkness--A Welcome Light and a Long Sleep--How Little does the Public know of the Dangers and Difficulties a Film Operator has to Face 6 CHAPTER III WITH THE GOUMIERS AT LOMBARTZYDE A Morning of Surprises--The German Positions Bombarded from the Sea--Filming the Goumiers in Action--How these Tenacious Fighters Prepare for Battle--Goumier Habits and Customs--I Take the Chief's Photograph for the First Time--And Afterwards take Food with Him--An Interesting and Fruitful Adventure Ends Satisfactorily 15 CHAPTER IV THE BATTLE OF THE SAND-DUNES A Dangerous Adventure and What Came of It--A Race Across the Sand-dunes--And a Spill in a Shell-hole--The Fate of a Spy--A Battle in the Dunes--Of which I Secured Some Fine Films--A Collision with an Obstructive Mule 22 CHAPTER V UNDER HEAVY SHELL-FIRE In a Trench Coat and Cap I again Run the Gauntlet--A Near Squeak--Looking for Trouble--I Nearly Find It--A Rough Ride and a Mud Bath--An Affair of Outposts--I Get Used to Crawling--Hot Work at the Guns--I am Reported Dead--But Prove Very Much Alive--And then Receive a Shock--A Stern Chase 30 CHAPTER VI AMONG THE SNOWS OF THE VOSGES I Start for the Vosges--Am Arrested on the Swiss Frontier--And Released--But Arrested Again--And then Allowed to Go My Way--Filming in the Firing Zone--A Wonderful French Charge Over the Snow-clad Hills--I Take Big Risks--And Get a Magnificent Picture 40 PART II CHAPTER I HOW I CAME TO MAKE OFFICIAL WAR PICTURES I am Appointed an Official War Office Kinematographer--And Start for the Front Line Trenches--Filming the German Guns in Action--With the Canadians--Picturesque Hut Settlement Among the Poplars--"Hyde Park Corner"--Shaving by Candlelight in Six Inches of Water--Filming in Full View of the German Lines, 75 yards away--A Big Risk, but a Realistic Picture 51 CHAPTER II CHRISTMAS DAY AT THE FRONT Leave-taking at Charing Cross--A Fruitless Search for Food on Christmas Eve--How Tommy Welcomed the Coming of the Festive Season--"Peace On Earth, Good Will To Men" to the Boom of the Big Guns--Filming the Guards' Division--And the Prince of Wales--Coming from a Christmas Service--This Year and Next 61 CHAPTER III I GET INTO A WARM CORNER Boxing Day--But No Pantomime--Life in the Trenches--A Sniper at Work--Sinking a Mine Shaft--The Cheery Influence of an Irish Padre--A Cemetery Behind the Lines--Pathetic Inscriptions and Mementoes on Dead Heroes' Graves--I Get Into a Pretty Warm Corner--And Have Some Difficulty in Getting Out Again--But All's Well that Ends Well 65 CHAPTER IV THE BATTLEFIELD OF NEUVE CHAPELLE A Visit to the Old German Trenches--Reveals a Scene of Horror that Defies Description--Dodging the Shells--I Lose the Handle of My Camera--And then Lose My Man--The Effect of Shell-fire on a Novice--In the Village of Neuve Chapelle--A Scene of Devastation--The Figure of the Lonely Christ 72 CHAPTER V FILMING THE PRINCE OF WALES How I Made a "Hide-up"--And Secured a Fine Picture of the Prince Inspecting some Gun-pits--His Anxiety to Avoid the Camera--And His Subsequent Remarks--How a German Block-house was Blown to Smithereens--And the Way I Managed to Film it Under Fire 76 CHAPTER VI MY FIRST VISIT TO YPRES AND ARRAS Greeted on Arrival in the Ruined City of Ypres by a Furious Fusillade--I Film the Cloth Hall and Cathedral, and Have a Narrow Escape--A Once Beautiful Town Now Little More Than a Heap of Ruins--Arras a City of the Dead--Its Cathedral Destroyed--But Cross and Crucifixes Unharmed 80 CHAPTER VII THE BATTLE OF ST. ELOI Filming Within Forty-five Yards of the German Trenches--Watching for "Minnies"--Officers' Quarters--"Something" Begins to Happen--An Early Morning Bombardment--Develops Into the Battle of St. Eloi--Which I Film from Our First-Line Trench--And Obtain a Fine Picture 85 CHAPTER VIII A NIGHT ATTACK--AND A NARROW ESCAPE A Very Lively Experience--Choosing a Position for the Camera Under Fire--I Get a Taste of Gas--Witness a Night Attack by the Germans--Surprise an Officer by My Appearance in the Trenches--And Have One of the Narrowest Escapes--But Fortunately Get Out with Nothing Worse than a Couple of Bullets Through My Cap 93 CHAPTER IX FOURTEEN THOUSAND FEET ABOVE THE GERMAN LINES The First Kinematograph Film Taken of the Western Front--And How I Took It Whilst Travelling Through the Air at Eighty Miles an Hour--Under Shell-fire--Over Ypres--A Thrilling Experience--And a Narrow Escape--A Five Thousand Foot Dive Through Space 107 CHAPTER X FILMING THE EARTH FROM THE CLOUDS Chasing an "Enemy" Aeroplane at a Height of 13, 500 Feet--And What Came of It--A Dramatic Adventure in which the Pilot Played a Big Part--I Get a Nasty Shock--But am Reassured--A Freezing Experience--Filming the Earth as we Dived Almost Perpendicularly--A Picture that would Defy the Most Ardent Futurist to Paint 116 CHAPTER XI PREPARING FOR THE "BIG PUSH" The Threshold of Tremendous Happenings--General ----'s Speech to His Men on the Eve of Battle--Choosing My Position for Filming the "Big Push"--Under Shell-fire--A Race of Shrieking Devils--Fritz's Way of "Making Love"--I Visit the "White City"--And On the Way have Another Experience of Gas Shells 121 CHAPTER XII FILMING UNDER FIRE The General's Speech to the Fusiliers Before Going Into Action--Filming the 15-inch Howitzers--A Miniature Earthquake--"The Day" is Postponed--Keeping Within "The Limits"--A Surprise Meeting in the Trenches--A Reminder of Other Days--I Get Into a Tight Corner--And Have An Unpleasantly Hot Experience--I Interview a Trench Mortar--Have a Lively Quarter of an Hour--And Then Get Off 135 CHAPTER XIII THE DAWN OF JULY FIRST A Firework Display Heralds the Arrival of "The Day"--How the Boys Spent Their Last Few Hours in the Trenches--Rats as Bedfellows--I Make an Early Start--And Get Through a Mine-shaft into "No Man's Land"--The Great Event Draws Near--Anxious Moments--The Men Fix Bayonets--And Wait the Word of Command to "Go Over the Top" 151 CHAPTER XIV THE DAY AND THE HOUR A Mighty Convulsion Signalises the Commencement of Operations--Then Our Boys "Go Over the Top"--A Fine Film Obtained whilst Shells Rained Around Me--My Apparatus is Struck--But, Thank Goodness, the Camera is Safe--Arrival of the Wounded--"Am I in the Picture?" they ask 162 CHAPTER XV ROLL-CALL AFTER THE FIGHT A Glorious Band of Wounded Heroes Stagger Into Line and Answer the Call--I Visit a Stricken Friend in a Dug-out--On the Way to La Boisselle I Get Lost in the Trenches--And Whilst Filming Unexpectedly Come Upon the German Line--I Have a Narrow Squeak of Being Crumped--But Get Away Safely--And later Commandeer a Couple of German Prisoners to Act as Porters 169 CHAPTER XVI EDITING A BATTLE FILM The Process Described in Detail--Developing the Negative--Its Projection on the Screen--Cutting--Titling--Joining--Printing the Positive--Building Up the Story--It is Submitted to the Military Censors at General Headquarters--And After Being Cut and Approved by Them--Is Ready for Public Exhibition 178 CHAPTER XVII THE HORRORS OF TRONES WOOD Three Times I Try and Fail to Reach this Stronghold of the Dead--Which Has Been Described as "Hell on Earth"--At a Dressing Station under Fire--Smoking Two Cigarettes at a Time to Keep off the Flies--Some Amusing Trench Conversations by Men who had Lost Their Way--I Turn in for the Night--And Have a Dead Bosche for Company 183 CHAPTER XVIII FILMING AT POZIÈRES AND CONTALMAISON Looking for "Thrills"--And How I Got Them--I Pass Through "Sausage Valley, " on the Way to Pozières--You _May_ and you _Might_--What a Tommy Found in a German Dug-out--How Fritz Got "Some of His Own" Back--Taking Pictures in What Was Once Pozières--"Proofs Ready To-morrow" 196 CHAPTER XIX ALONG THE WESTERN FRONT WITH THE KING His Majesty's Arrival at Boulogne--At G. H. Q. --General Burstall's Appreciation--The King on the Battlefield of Fricourt--Within Range of the Enemy's Guns--His Majesty's Joke Outside a German Dug-out--His Memento from a Hero's Grave--His Visit to a Casualty Clearing Station--The King and the Puppy--Once in Disgrace--Now a Hospital Mascot 205 CHAPTER XX KING AND PRESIDENT MEET An Historic Gathering--In which King and President, Joffre and Haig Take Part--His Majesty and the Little French Girl--I Am Permitted to Film the King and His Distinguished Guests--A Visit to the King of the Belgians--A Cross-Channel Journey--And Home 214 CHAPTER XXI THE HUSH! HUSH!--A WEIRD AND FEARFUL CREATURE Something in the Wind--An Urgent Message to Report at Headquarters--And What Came Of It--I Hear for the First Time of the "Hush! Hush!"--And Try to Discover What It Is--A Wonderful Night Scene--Dawn Breaks and Reveals a Marvellous Monster--What Is It? 222 CHAPTER XXII THE JUGGERNAUT CAR OF BATTLE A Weird-looking Object Makes Its First Appearance Upon the Battlefield--And Surprises Us Almost as Much as It Surprised Fritz--A Death-dealing Monster that Did the Most Marvellous Things--And Left the Ground Strewn with Corpses--Realism of the Tank Pictures 230 CHAPTER XXIII WHERE THE VILLAGE OF GUILLEMONT WAS An Awful Specimen of War Devastation--Preparing for an Advance--Giving the Bosche "Jumps"--Breakfast Under Fire--My Camera Fails Me Just Before the Opening of the Attack--But I Manage to Set it Right and Get Some Fine Pictures--Our Guns "Talk!" Like the Crack of a Thousand Thunders--A Wonderful Doctor 234 CHAPTER XXIV FIGHTING IN A SEA OF MUD Inspecting a Tank that was _Hors de Combat_--All that was Left of Mouquet Farm--A German Underground Fortress--A Trip in the Bowels of the Earth--A Weird and Wonderful Experience 245 CHAPTER XXV THE EVE OF GREAT EVENTS A Choppy Cross-Channel Trip--I Indulge in a Reverie--And Try to Peer Into the Future--At Headquarters Again--Trying to Cross the River Somme on an Improvised Raft--In Peronne After the German Evacuation--A Specimen of Hunnish "Kultur" 250 CHAPTER XXVI AN UNCANNY ADVENTURE Exploring the Unknown--A Silence That Could be Felt--In the Village of Villers-Carbonel--A Cat and Its Kittens in an Odd Retreat--Brooks' Penchant for "Souvenirs"--The First Troops to Cross the Somme 259 CHAPTER XXVII THE GERMANS IN RETREAT The Enemy Destroy Everything as They Go--Clearing Away the Débris of the Battlefield--And Repairing the Damage Done by the Huns--An Enormous Mine Crater--A Reception by French Peasants--"Les Anglais! Les Anglais!"--Stuck on the Road to Bovincourt 266 CHAPTER XXVIII THE STORY OF AN "ARMOURED CAR" ABOUT WHICHI COULD A TALE UNFOLD Possibilities--Food for Famished Villagers--Meeting the Mayoress of Bovincourt--Who Presides at a Wonderful Impromptu Ceremony--A Scrap Outside Vraignes--A Church Full of Refugees--A True Pal--A Meal with the Mayor of Bierne 275 CHAPTER XXIX BEFORE ST. QUENTIN The "Hindenburg" Line--A Diabolical Piece of Vandalism--Brigadier H. Q. In a Cellar--A Fight in Mid-air--Waiting for the Taking of St. Quentin--_L'Envoi_ 292 ILLUSTRATIONS FILMING THE PRELIMINARY BOMBARDMENT OF THE "BIG PUSH, " JULY 1ST, 1916 _Frontispiece_ TO FACE PAGE WITH A GROUP OF BELGIAN OFFICERS AT FURNES, BELGIUM, 1914 12 ON SKIS IN THE VOSGES MOUNTAINS JUST BEFORE THE FRENCH ATTACK, FEBRUARY AND MARCH, 1915 12 USING MY AEROSCOPE IN BELGIUM, 1914-15 22 HOW I CARRIED MY FILM IN THE EARLY DAYS OF THE WAR IN BELGIUM AND THE VOSGES MOUNTAINS 40 THE STATE OF THE TRENCHES IN WHICH WE LIVED AND SLEPT (?) FOR WEEKS ON END DURING THE FIRST AND SECOND WINTER OF WAR 52 OUR DUG-OUTS IN THE FRONT LINE AT PICANTIN IN WHICH WE LIVED, FOUGHT, AND MANY DIED DURING 1914-15, BEFORE THE DAYS OF TIN HATS 52 CHOOSING A POSITION FOR MY CAMERA IN THE FRONT LINE TRENCH AT PICANTIN. WITH THE GUARDS. WINTER, 1915-16 56 THE PRINCE OF WALES TRYING TO LOCATE MY "CAMOUFLAGED CAMERA" 62 THE PRINCE OF WALES LEAVING A TEMPORARY CHURCH AT LA GORGUE, XMAS DAY, 1915 62 ON THE WAY TO THE "MENIN GATE" WITH AN ARTILLERY OFFICER TO FILM OUR GUNS IN ACTION 76 TAKING SCENES IN DEVASTATED YPRES, MAY, 1916 80 IN YPRES, WITH "BABY" BROOKS, THE OFFICIAL STILL PHOTOGRAPHER, MAY, 1916 84 WITH MY AEROSCOPE CAMERA AFTER FILMING THE BATTLE OF ST. ELOI 90 IN THE MAIN STREET OF CONTALMAISON THE DAY OF ITS CAPTURE 96 LAUNCHING A SMOKE BARRAGE AT THE BATTLE OF ST. ELOI 96 IN THE TRENCHES AT THE FAMOUS AND DEADLY "HOHENZOLLERN REDOUBT, " AFTER A GERMAN ATTACK 109 IN A SHELL-HOLE IN "NO MAN'S LAND" FILMING OUR HEAVY BOMBARDMENT OF THE GERMAN LINES 122 GEOFFREY H. MALINS, O. B. E. , OFFICIAL KINEMATOGRAPHER TO THE WAR OFFICE 132 BOMBARDING THE GERMAN TRENCHES AT THE OPENING BATTLE OF THE GREAT SOMME FIGHT, JULY 1ST, 1916 138 MY OFFICIAL PASS TO THE FRONT LINE TO FILM THE BATTLE OF THE SOMME, JULY 1ST, 1916 138 THE PLAN OF ATTACK AT BEAUMONT HAMEL, JULY 1ST, 1916 146 OVER THE TOP OF BEAUMONT HAMEL, JULY 1ST, 1916 146 IN THE SUNKEN ROAD AT BEAUMONT HAMEL, JUST BEFORE ZERO HOUR, JULY 1ST, 1916 154 IN A TRENCH MORTAR TUNNEL, DURING THE BATTLE OF THE SOMME, AT BEAUMONT HAMEL, JULY 1ST, 1916 154 THE OPENING OF THE GREAT BATTLE OF THE SOMME, JULY 1ST, 1916 162 THE ROLL CALL OF THE SEAFORTHS AT "WHITE CITY, " BEAUMONT HAMEL, JULY 1ST, 1916 168 FAGGED OUT IN THE "WHITE CITY" AFTER WE RETIRED TO OUR TRENCHES, JULY 1ST, 1916 168 THE GERMANS MAKE A BIG COUNTER ATTACK AT LA BOISSELLE AND OVILLERS, JULY 3RD AND 4TH, 1916 176 MEN OF SCOTLAND RUSHING A MINE CRATER AT THE DEADLY "HOHENZOLLERN REDOUBT" 176 FILMING THE KING DURING HIS VISIT TO FRANCE IN 1916. HE IS ACCOMPANIED BY PRESIDENT POINCARÉ, SIR DOUGLAS HAIG, GENERAL JOFFRE AND GENERAL FOCH 184 HIS MAJESTY THE KING, WITH PRESIDENT POINCARÉ, IN FRANCE, 1916 206 HER MAJESTY, THE QUEEN OF THE BELGIANS, TAKING A SNAP OF ME AT WORK WHILE FILMING THE KING 218 THE PRINCE OF WALES SPEAKING WITH BELGIAN OFFICERS AT LA PANNE, BELGIUM 218 THE FIRST "TANK" THAT WENT INTO ACTION, H. M. L. S. "DAPHNE. " SEPTEMBER 15TH, 1916 222 THE BATTLEFIELD OF "GINCHY" 224 RESERVES WATCHING THE ATTACK AT MARTINPUICH, SEPTEMBER 15TH, 1916 224 OVER THE TOP AT MARTINPUICH, SEPT. 15TH, 1916 228 TWO MINUTES TO ZERO HOUR AT MARTINPUICH, SEPT. 15TH, 1916 228 THE HIGHLAND BRIGADE GOING OVER THE TOP AT MARTINPUICH, SEPTEMBER 15TH, 1916 234 LORD KITCHENER'S LAST VISIT TO FRANCE 256 FILMING OUR GUNS IN ACTION DURING THE GREAT GERMAN RETREAT TO ST. QUENTIN, MARCH, 1917 268 THE QUARRY FROM WHICH I CRAWLED TO FILM THE GERMAN TRENCHES IN FRONT OF ST. QUENTIN, 1917 290 OUR OUTPOST LINE WITHIN 800 YARDS OF ST. QUENTIN 302 PART I HOW I FILMED THE WAR CHAPTER I A FEW WORDS OF INTRODUCTION Fate has not been unkind to me. I have had my chances, particularlyduring the last two or three years, and--well, I have done my best tomake the most of what has come my way. That and nothing more. How I came to be entrusted with the important commission of acting asOfficial War Office Kinematographer is an interesting story, and thefirst few chapters of this book recount the sequence of events that ledup to my being given the appointment. Let me begin by saying that I am not a writer, I am just a "movie man, "as they called me out there. My mind is stored full to overflowing withthe impressions of all I have seen and heard; recollections ofadventures crowd upon me thick and fast. Thoughts flash through my mind, and almost tumble over one another as I strive to record them. Yet attimes, when I take pen in hand to write them down, they seem to elude mefor the moment, and make the task more difficult than I had anticipated. In the following chapters I have merely aimed at setting down, in simplelanguage, a record of my impressions, so far as I can recall them, ofwhat I have seen of many and varied phases of the Great Drama which hasnow been played to a finish on the other side of the English Channel. Most of those recollections were penned at odd moments, soon after theevents chronicled, when they were still fresh in mind, often withinrange of the guns. It was my good fortune for two years to be one of the Official WarOffice Kinematographers. I was privileged to move about on the WesternFront with considerable freedom. My actions were largely untrammelled; Ihad my instructions to carry out; my superiors to satisfy; my work todo; and I endeavoured to do all that has been required of me to the bestof my ability, never thinking of the cost, or consequences, to myself ofan adventure so long as I secured a pictorial record of the deeds of ourheroic Army in France. I have striven to make my pictures worthy ofbeing preserved as a permanent memorial of the greatest Drama inhistory. That is the keynote of this record. As an Official Kinematographer Ihave striven to be, and I have tried all the time to realise that I wasthe eyes of the millions of my fellow-countrymen at home. In my picturesI have endeavoured to catch something of the glamour, as well as theawful horror of it all. I have caught a picture here, a picture there; ascene in this place, a scene in that; and all the time at the back of mymind has always been the thought: "That will give them some idea ofthings as they are out here. " My pictures have never been taken with theidea of merely making pictures, nor with the sole idea, as some peoplethink, of merely providing a "thrill. " I regarded my task in a differentlight to that. To me has been entrusted the task of securing for theenlightenment and education of the people of to-day, and of futuregenerations, such a picture as will stir their imaginations and thrilltheir hearts with pride. This by way of introduction. Now to proceed with my task, the tellingof the adventures of a kinematograph camera man in war-time. From my early days I was always interested in photography, and boyishexperiments eventually led me along the path to my life's vocation. Intime I took up the study of kinematography, and joined the staff of theClarendon Film Company (of London and Croydon), one of the pioneer firmsin the industry. There I learned much and made such progress that intime I was entrusted with the filming of great productions, which costthousands of pounds to make. From there I went to the Gaumont Company, and I was in the service of this great Anglo-French film organisationwhen war broke out. During the early days of the autumn of 1914 I was busily occupied infilming various scenes in connection with the war in different parts ofthe country. One day when I was at the London office of the Company Iwas sent for by the Chief. "We want a man to go out to Belgium and get some good 'stuff. ' [Stuff, let me say, is the technical or slang term for film pictures. ] How wouldyou like to go?" "Go?" I asked. "I'm ready. When? Now?" "As soon as you like. " "Right, I'm ready, " I said, without a moment's hesitation, littlethinking of the nature of the adventure upon which I was so eager toembark. And so it came about. Provided with the necessary cash, and an Aeroscopecamera, I started off next day, and the following chapters record a fewof my adventures in search of pictorial material for the screen. CHAPTER II WITH THE BELGIANS AT RAMSCAPELLE I Reach the First Line Belgian Trenches--And become a Belgian Soldier for the Time Being--A Night Attack--An Adventure whilst Filming a Mitrailleuse Outpost--Among the Ruins of Ramscapelle--I Leave the Company and Lose my Way in the Darkness--A Welcome Light and a Long Sleep--How Little does the Public know of the Dangers and Difficulties a Film Operator has to Face. Leaving London, I crossed to France. I arranged, as far as possible, toget through from Calais to Furnes, and with the greatest of good luck Imanaged it, arriving at my destination at eleven o'clock at night. Asusual, it was raining hard. Starting out next day for the front line, I reached the district where abattalion was resting--I was allowed in their quarters. Addressing oneof the men, I asked if he could speak English. "Non, monsieur, " andmaking a sign to me to remain he hurried off. Back came the fellow withan officer. "What do you want, monsieur?" said he in fine English. "You speak English well, " I replied. "Yes, monsieur, I was in England for four years previous to the war. " SoI explained my position. "I want to accompany you to the trenches totake some kinema films. " After exchanging a few words he took me to his superior officer, whoextended every courtesy to me. I explained to him what I was desirous ofdoing. "But it is extraordinary, monsieur, that you should take suchrisks for pictures. You may in all probability get shot. " "Possibly, sir, " I replied, "but to obtain genuine scenes one must beabsolutely in the front line. " "Ah, you English, " he said, "you are _extraordinaire_. " Suddenly takingme by the arm, he led me to an outhouse. At the door we met his Captain. Introducing me, he began to explain my wishes. By the looks and thesmiles, I knew things were going well for me. Calling the interpreter, the Captain said, "If you accompany my men tothe trenches you may get killed. You must take all risks. I cannot beheld responsible, remember!" And with a smile, he turned and entered thehouse. Hardly realising my good fortune, I nearly hugged my new friend, theLieutenant. "Monsieur, " I said, saluting, "I am un Belge soldat _pro tem_. " Laughingly he told me to get my kit ready, and from a soldier who couldspeak English I borrowed a water-bottle and two blankets. Going round tothe back of the farm, I came upon the rest of the men being served outwith coffee from a copper. Awaiting my turn, I had my water-bottlefilled; then the bread rations were served out with tinned herrings. Obtaining my allowance, I stowed it away in my knapsack, rolled up myblanket and fixed it on my back, and was ready. Then the "Fall in" wassounded. What a happy-go-lucky lot! No one would have thought these menwere going into battle, and that many of them would probably not return. This, unfortunately, turned out to be only too true. In my interest in the scene and anxiety to film it, I was forgetting toput my own house in order. "What if I don't come back?" I suddenlythought. Begging some paper, I wrote a letter, addressed to my firm, telling them where I had gone, and where to call at Furnes for my filmsin the event of my being shot. Addressing it, I left it in charge of anofficer, to be posted if I did not return, and requested that ifanything happened to me my stuff should be left at my café in Furnes. Shaking me by the hand, he said he sincerely hoped it would not benecessary. Laughingly I bade him adieu. Falling in with the other men westarted off, with the cheers and good wishes of those left behindringing in our ears. It was still raining, and, as we crossed the fields of mud, I began tofeel the weight of my equipment pressing on my shoulders, which with mycamera and spare films made my progress very slow. Many a time duringthat march the men offered to help me, but, knowing that they had quiteenough to do in carrying their own load, I stubbornly refused. On we went, the roar of the guns getting nearer: over field after field, fully eighteen inches deep in mud, and keeping as close to hedges aspossible, to escape detection from hostile aeroplanes. Near a bridge wewere stopped by an officer. "What's the matter?" I asked of my interpreter. Not knowing, he went toenquire. An order was shouted. The whole regiment rushed for cover to a hedgewhich ran by the roadside. I naturally followed. My friend told me thatthe Germans had sent up an observation balloon, so we dare not advanceuntil nightfall, or they would be sure to see us and begin shelling ourcolumn before we arrived at the trenches. In the rain we sat huddledclose together. Notwithstanding the uncomfortable conditions, I was verythankful for the rest. Night came, and we got the word to start again. Progress was becoming more difficult than ever, and I only kept myselffrom many a time falling headlong by clinging on to my nearestcompanion; he did likewise. Ye gods! what a night, and what a sight! Raining hard, a strong windblowing, and the thick, black, inky darkness every now and thenilluminated by the flash of the guns. Death was certainly in evidenceto-night. One felt it. The creative genius of the weirdest, imaginativeartist could not have painted a scene of death so truthfully. The odourarising from decaying bodies in the ground was at times almostoverwhelming. We had been conversing generally during the march, but now word waspassed that we were not to speak under any circumstances, not until wewere in the trenches. A whispered order came that every man must hold onto the comrade in front of him, and bear to the left. Reaching thetrench allotted to us, we went along it in single file, up to our kneesin water. Sometimes a plank had been thrown along it, or bricks, butgenerally there was nothing but mud to plough through. "Halt!" came the command to the section I was with. "This is ourshelter, monsieur, " said a voice. Gropingly, I followed the speaker on hands and knees. The shelter wasabout 12 feet long, 3 feet 6 inches high, the same in width, and made ofold boards. On the top, outside, was about 9 inches of earth, to renderit as far as possible shrapnel-proof. On the floor were some boards, placed on bricks and covered with soddened straw. There was just enoughroom for four of us. Rolling ourselves in our blankets we lay down, and by the light of anelectric torch we ravenously ate our bread and herrings. I enjoyed thatsimple meal as much as the finest dinner I have ever had placed beforeme. Whilst eating, a messenger came and warned us to be prepared for anattack. Heavy rifle-fire was taking place, both on the right and leftof our position. "Well, " thought I, "this is a good start; they might have waited fordaylight, I could then film their proceedings. " At any rate, if theattack came, I hoped it would last through the next day. Switching off the light, we lay down and awaited events. But not forlong. The order came to man the trench. Out we tumbled, and took up ourpositions. Suddenly out of the blackness, in the direction of the Germanpositions, came the rattle of rifle-fire, and the bullets began towhistle overhead. Keeping as low as possible, we replied, firing inquick succession at the flashes of the enemy rifles. This continuedthroughout the night. Towards morning a fog settled down, which blocked out our view of eachother, and there was a lull in the fighting. At midday the attackstarted again. Taking my apparatus, I filmed a section of Belgians inaction. Several times bullets whistled unpleasantly near my head. Passing along the trench, I filmed a mitrailleuse battery in action, which was literally mowing down the Germans as fast as they appeared. Then I filmed another section of men, while the bullets were flying allaround them. Several could not resist looking round and laughing at thecamera. Whilst thus engaged, several shells fell within thirty feet of me. Twofailed to explode; another exploded and sent a lump of mud full in myface. With great spluttering, and I must admit a little swearing, Iquickly cleaned it off. Then I filmed a large shell-hole filled withwater, caused by the explosion of a German "Jack Johnson. " The diameter was 28 feet across, and, roughly, 6 feet deep in thecentre. At the other end of the line I filmed a company damming theCanal, to turn it into the German trenches. Then I cautiously made my way back, and filmed a section being servedwith hot coffee while under fire. Coming upon some men warmingthemselves round a bucket-stove, I joined the circle for a littlewarmth. How comforting it was in that veritable morass. Even as wechatted we were subjected to a heavy shrapnel attack, and the way we allscuttled to the trench huts was a sight for the gods. It was one madscramble of laughing soldiers. Plunk--plunk--plunk--came the shells, not20-25 feet from where we were sitting by the fire. Six shells fell inour position, one failed to explode. I had a bet with a Belgian officerthat it was 30 feet from us. He bet me it was 40 feet. Not to be done, Iroughly measured off a yard stick, and left the shelter of the trench tomeasure the distance. It turned out to be 28 feet. Just as I hadfinished, I heard three more shells come shrieking towards me. I simplydived for the trench, and luckily reached it just in time. Towards evening our artillery shelled a farm-house about three-quartersof a mile distant, where the Germans had three guns hidden, and throughthe glasses I watched the shells drop into the building and literallyblow it to pieces. Unfortunately, it was too far off to film itsatisfactorily. That night was practically a repetition of the previous one. The trenchwas attacked the greater part of the time, and bullets continuallyspattered against the small iron plate. Next morning I decided to try and film the mitrailleuse outpost on alittle spot of land in the floods, only connected by a narrow strip ofgrass-land just high enough to be out of reach of the water. Stillkeeping low under cover of the trenches, I made my way in thatdirection. Several officers tried to persuade me not to go, but knowingit would make an excellent scene, I decided to risk it. On the side ofthe bank nearest our front line the ground sloped at a more abruptangle, the distance from the trench to the outpost being about sixtyyards. Rushing over the top of the parapet, I got to the edge of thegrass road and crouched down. The water up to my knees, I made my waycarefully along. Twice I stumbled over dead bodies. At last I reachedthe outpost safely, but during the last few yards I must have raisedmyself a little too high, for the next minute several bullets splashedinto the water where I had been. The outpost was very surprised when I made my appearance, and expressedastonishment that I had not been shot. "A miss is as good as a mile, " Ilaughingly replied, and then I told them I had come to film them atwork. This I proceeded to do, and got an excellent scene of themitrailleuse in action, and the other section loading up. The frightfulslaughter done by these guns is indescribable. Nothing can possibly liveunder the concentrated fire of these weapons, as the Germans found totheir cost that day. After getting my scenes, I thanked the officer, and was about to make myway back; but he forbade me to risk it, telling me to wait until nightand return under cover of the darkness. To this I agreed, and that nightleft the outpost with the others when the relief party came up. Shortly after news was received that we were to be relieved from duty inthe trenches for the next forty-eight hours; the relief column was onits way to take our places. I was delighted, for I had been wet throughduring the days and nights I had been there, but was fully satisfiedthat I had got some real live films. Hastily packing up my equipment, Istood waiting the signal to move off. At last the relief came up. Holding each other's hands, we carefully made our way in Indian filealong the trench, on to the road, and into Ramscapelle. [Illustration: WITH A GROUP OF BELGIAN OFFICERS AT FURNES, BELGIUM, 1914. ONE OF THEM USED TO ACT AS MY COURIER] [Illustration: ON SKIS IN THE VOSGES MOUNTAINS JUST BEFORE THE FRENCHATTACK, FEBRUARY AND MARCH, 1915] What a terrible sight it was! The skeletons of houses stood grim andgaunt, and the sound of the wind rushing through the ruins was like themoaning of the spirits of the dead inhabitants crying aloud forvengeance. The sounds increased in volume as we neared this scene ofawful desolation, and the groans became a crescendo of shrieks which, combined with the crash of shell-fire, made one's blood run cold. Leaving the ruins behind we gained the main road, and on arriving at thebridge where we had stopped on our journey out, I parted with thecompany, thinking to make my way to a café by a short cut over somefields. I wished to heaven afterwards that I had not done so. I cutacross a ditch, feeling my way as much as possible with a stick. But Ihad not gone far before I knew I had lost my way. The rain was drivingpitilessly in my face, but I stumbled on in the inky darkness, oftenabove my knees in thick clay mud. Several times I thought I should neverreach the road. It was far worse than being under fire. I must have staggered along for about two miles when I perceived a lightahead. Never was sight more welcome. Remember, I had about fifty tosixty pounds weight on my back, and having had little or no sleep forfive nights my physical strength was at a low ebb. It seemed hoursbefore I reached that house, and when at last I got there I collapsed onthe floor. I struggled up again in a few minutes, and asked the bewilderedoccupants to give me hot coffee, and after resting for an hour, I madeagain for Furnes reaching it in the early hours of the morning. Going to my café, I went to bed, and slept for eighteen hours; thefollowing day I packed up and returned to London. A day or two afterwards I was sitting comfortably in a cushioned chairin the private theatre at our London office watching these selfsamescenes being projected upon the screen. Ah! thought I, how little doesthe great public, for whom they are intended, know of the difficultiesand dangers, the trials and tribulations, the kinematograph camera manexperiences in order to obtain these pictures. CHAPTER III WITH THE GOUMIERS AT LOMBARTZYDE A Morning of Surprises--The German Positions Bombarded from the Sea--Filming the Goumiers in Action--How these Tenacious Fighters Prepare for Battle--Goumier Habits and Customs--I Take the Chief's Photograph for the First Time--And Afterwards take Food with Him--An Interesting and Fruitful Adventure Ends Satisfactorily. Once more I went to Furnes, and while sipping my coffee at the café Iheard a remark made about the Goumiers (the Arab horsemen employed bythe French as scouts). Quickly realising the possibilities in a film ofsuch a body of men, I made enquiries of the speakers as to theirwhereabouts. "Ah, monsieur, they are on the sand-dunes near Nieuport. They areveritable fiends, monsieur, with the Bosches, who run away from themlike cats. They are terrible fighters. " After such a glowing account, I thought the sooner I interviewed thesefighters the better. Starting out next morning, I made a bee-line for the coast. I soon began to hear the sharp crackle of rifle-fire, and artillery onmy right opened fire on the German position, and then the heavy boom, boom of the guns from the sea. Looking in that direction, I discernedseveral of our battleships opening fire, the shells giving a fearfulshriek as they passed overhead. The Germans were certainly in for itthat day. Keeping along the bottom of the dunes, I observed a Goumier encampmentin the distance. At that moment there came a rasping voice on my right. "Halt!" This certainly was a morning of surprises. "Ah, " I said, with a laugh, "you startled me. " "I am sorry, monsieur, " he said. "The password, if you please?" "It is not necessary, " I replied. "I wish to speak to your officer. Iwill go by myself to the officer in charge, it is not necessary for youto leave your post. Direct me to Headquarters, and tell me yourcaptain's name. " "Captain ----, monsieur. He is billeted in that house which is halfdestroyed by shell-fire. Be careful, monsieur, and keep low, or you willdraw the fire on you. " He saluted, and turned back to his post. Making straight for the ruined house in question, I observed a sentry onguard at the door. This, I perceived, led to a cellar. I asked to seethe Captain. The man saluted and entered the house, appearing in a fewminutes with his chief. I saluted, and bade him "good morning, "extending my hand, which he grasped in a hearty handshake. I straightwayexplained my business, and asked him for his co-operation in securingsome interesting films of the Goumiers in action. He replied that he would be glad to assist me as far as possible. "You will greatly help me, sir, " I said, "if you can roughly give metheir location. " "That I cannot do, " he replied, "but follow my directions, and take yourchance. I will, however, accompany you a short distance. " We started out, keeping as much to the seashore as possible. "Keep low, " the Captain said, "the place is thick with Bosche snipers. "I certainly needed no second warning, for I had experienced thosegentry before. "Our Goumiers are doing splendid work here on the dunes. It is, of course, like home to them among the sand-heaps. " Our conversation was suddenly cut short by the shriek of a shell comingin our direction. Simultaneously we fell flat on the sand, and only justin time, for on the other side of the dune the shell fell and exploded, shaking the ground like a miniature earthquake and throwing clouds ofsand in our direction. "They have started on our encampment again, " the Captain said, "but ourhuts are quite impervious to their shells; the sand is finer thanarmourplate. " Several more shells came hurtling overheard, but fell some distancebehind us. Looking over the top of the dune, I expected to see anenormous hole, caused by the explosion, but judge my surprise on seeinghardly any difference. The sides of the cavity had apparently fallen inagain. A short distance further on the Captain said he would leave me. "You can start now, " and he pointed in the distance to a moving objectin the sand, crawling along on its stomach for all the world like asnake. "I will go, " he said, "and if you see the Chief of the Goumiers, tell him I sent you. " With a handshake we parted. I again turned to lookat the Goumier scout, his movements fascinated me. Keeping low under thetop of the dune, I made for a small hill, from which I decided to filmhim. Reaching there, I did so. I then saw, going in opposite directions, two more scouts, eachproceeding to crawl slowly in the same fashion as the first. "This film certainly will be unique, " I thought. Who could imagine thatwithin half an hour's ride of this whirling sand, with full-bloodedArabs moving about upon it, the soldiers of Belgium are fighting in twofeet of mud and water, and have been doing so for months past. No onewould think so to look at it. A rattle of musketry on my right served as a hint that there were otherscenes to be secured. Making my way in the direction of the sound, Icame upon a body of Goumiers engaged in sniping at the Germans. I filmedthem, and was just moving away when the interpreter of the companystopped and questioned me. I told him of my previous conversation withthe Captain, which satisfied him. "Well, " he said, "you are just in time to catch a troop going off on ascouting expedition, " and he led the way to a large dune looking down onthe sea, and there just moving off was the troop. What a magnificent picture they made, sitting on their horses. Theyseemed to be part of them. Veritable black statues they looked, andtheir movements were like a finely tensioned spring. Hastily filming thetroop, I hurried across and succeeded in obtaining some scenes ofanother detachment proceeding further on the flank, and as they wound inand out up the sand-hills, I managed to get into a splendid point ofvantage, and filmed them coming towards me. Their wild savage huzzas, asthey passed, were thrilling in the extreme. Looking round, I perceived acurious-looking group a short distance away, going through what appearedto be some devotional ceremony. Hastening down the hill, I crossed to the group, which turned out to beunder the command of the Chief of the Goumiers himself, who was goingthrough a short ceremony with some scouts, previous to their meeting theGermans. It was quite impressive. Forming the four men up in line, theChief gave each of them instructions, waving signs and symbols overtheir heads and bodies, then with a chant sent them on their journey. The actual obeisance was too sacred in itself to film. I was told by theinterpreter afterwards that he was glad I did not do so, as they wouldhave been very wrath? A few words about the customs of the Goumiers may not be out of place. These men are the aristocracy of the Algerian Arabs; men of independentmeans in their own land. At the outbreak of war they patrioticallycombined under their chief, and offered themselves to the FrenchGovernment, which gladly accepted their services for work on thesand-dunes of Flanders. The troop bore the whole cost of their outfitand transport. They brought their own native transport system with them. The men obey none but their chief, at whose bidding they would, Ibelieve, even go through Hell itself. All arguments, quarrels, anddiscussions in the troop are brought before the Chief, whose word andjudgment is law. On the dunes of Northern Flanders they had their own encampment, conducted in their own native style. They looked after their horses withas much care as a fond mother does her child. The harness and trappingswere magnificently decorated with beautiful designs in mother-of-pearland gold, and the men, when astride their horses and garbed in theirlong flowing white _burnouses_, looked the very personification ofdignity. The Chief never handles a rifle, it would be beneath hisposition to do so. He is the Head, and lives up to it in every respectpossible. I filmed him by the side of his horse. It was the first time he had beenphotographed. Returning to the point where the scouts were leaving, I decided tofollow close behind them, on the chance of getting some good scenes. Strapping my camera on my back, and pushing a tuft of grass under thestrap, to disguise it as much as possible if viewed from the front, Icrawled after them. One may think that crawling on the sand is easy;well, all I can say to those who think so is, "Try it. " I soon found itwas not so easy as it looked, especially under conditions where theraising of one's body two or three inches above the top of the dunemight be possibly asking for a bullet through it, and drawing aconcentrated fire in one's direction. I had crawled in this fashion for about 150 yards, when I heard a shellcome shrieking in my direction. With a plunk it fell, and exploded aboutforty feet away, choking me with sand and half blinding me for aboutfive minutes. The acrid fumes, too, which came from it, seemed totighten my throat, making respiration very difficult for some tenminutes afterwards. Cautiously looking round, I tried to locate theother scouts, but nowhere could they be seen. I crawled for anotherthirty yards or so, but still no sign of them. Deciding that if Icontinued by myself I had everything to lose and nothing to gain, Iconcluded that discretion was the better part of valour. Possibly thebuzzing sensation in my throat, and the smarting of my eyes, helped mein coming to that decision, so I retraced my steps, or rather crawl. Getting back to the encampment, I bathed my eyes in water, which quicklysoothed them. In a short time news came in that the scouts were returning. Hurrying tothe spot indicated, I was just in time to film them on their arrival. The exultant look on their faces told me that they had done good work. I then filmed a general view of the encampment, and several otherinteresting scenes, and was just on the point of departing when theChief asked me to partake of some food with him. Being very hungry, Iaccepted the invitation, and afterwards, over a cup of coffee andcigarettes, I obtained through an interpreter some very interestinginformation. The night being now well advanced, I bade the Chief adieu, and strikingout across the dunes I made for Furnes. The effect of the star-shellssent up by the Germans was very wonderful. They shed a vivid blue lightall round, throwing everything up with startling clearness. After about a mile I was suddenly brought up by the glitter of asentry's bayonet. "Password, monsieur. " Flashing a lamp in my face, theman evidently recognised me, for he had seen me with his officer thatday, and the next moment he apologised for stopping me. "Pardon, monsieur, " he said. "Pass, Monsieur Anglais, pardon!" Accepting his apologies, I moved off in the direction of Furnes, where, after reviewing the events of the previous days, I came to theconclusion that I had every reason to be thankful that I had once morereturned from an interesting and fruitful adventure with a whole skin. CHAPTER IV THE BATTLE OF THE SAND-DUNES A Dangerous Adventure and What Came of It--A Race Across the Sand-dunes--And a Spill in a Shell-Hole--The Fate of a Spy--A Battle in the Dunes--Of which I Secured Some Fine Films--A Collision with an Obstructive Mule. I arrived at Oost-Dunkerque, which place I decided to use as a base forthis journey, chiefly because it was on the main route to Nieuport Bain. Having on my previous visit proceeded on foot, and returnedsuccessfully, I decided that I should go by car. To get what I requiredmeant that I should have to pass right through the French lines. Finding out a chauffeur who had previously helped me, I explained myplans to him. "Well, monsieur, " he said, "I will try and help you, but for me it isnot possible to get you through. I am stationed here indefinitely, but Ihave a friend who drives an armoured car. I will ask him to do it. " Wethen parted; I was to meet him with his friend that night. I packed my things as close as possible, tying two extra spools of filmin a package round my waist under my coat, put on my knapsack, and drewmy Balaclava helmet well down over my chin. Anxiously I awaited my friends. Seven o'clock--eight o'clock--nineo'clock. "Were they unable to come for me?" "Was there some hitch in thearrangement?" These thoughts flashed through my mind, when suddenly Iheard a voice call behind me. "Monsieur, monsieur!" [Illustration: USING MY AEROSCOPE CAMERA IN BELGIUM, 1914-15] Turning, I saw my chauffeur friend beckoning to me. Hurrying forward, Iasked if all was well. "Oui, monsieur. I will meet you by the railway cutting. " This was the beginning of an adventure which I shall always remember. Ihad been up at the bridge some two minutes, when the armoured car glidedup. "Up, monsieur, " came a voice, and up I got. Placing my camera by theside of the mitrailleuse, I sat by my chauffeur, and we started off forthe French lines. Dashing along roads covered with shell-holes, I marvelled again andagain at the man's wonderful driving. Heaps of times we escaped asmash-up by a hair's-breadth. On we went over the dunes; the night was continuously lighted up byflashes from the big guns, both French and German. We were pulled upwith a jerk, which sent me flying over the left wheel, doing asomersault, and finally landing head first into a lovely soft sandbank. Spluttering and staggering to my feet, I looked round for the cause ofmy sudden exit from the car, and there in the glare of the headlightwere two French officers. Both were laughing heartily and appreciatingthe joke. As I had not hurt myself, I joined in. After our hilarity hadsubsided they apologised, and hoped I had not hurt myself. Seeing that Iwas an an Englishman, they asked me where I was going. I replied, "toNieuport Bain. " They asked me if my chauffeur might take a message tothe Captain of the ---- Chasseurs. "Yes, yes, " I replied, "withpleasure. " Thinking that by staying every second might be dangerous, I asked theofficers to give the message, and we would proceed. They did so, andagain apologising for their abrupt appearance, they bade us "goodnight. " I hurriedly bade the driver start off, and away we went. He evidentlyhad not got over his nervousness, for, after going about three-quartersof a mile, we ran into a large, partially filled shell-hole, burying thefront wheels above the axle. To save myself from a second dive Iclutched hold of the mitrailleuse. This was a position indeed! Scooping away as much sand as possible fromthe front wheels, we put on full power, and tried to back the car out ofit. But as the rear wheels were unable to grip in the sand it would notbudge. While there the Germans must have seen our light, for suddenly astar-shell shot up from their position, illuminating the ground for agreat distance. I swiftly pinched the tube of our headlight, so puttingit out, then dropped full length on the sand. I observed my companionhad done the same. We lay there for about ten minutes, not knowing what to expect, butluckily nothing happened. It was obvious that we could not move the carwithout assistance, so shouldering my apparatus we started to walk theremaining distance. Twice we were held up by sentries, but by giving thepassword we got through. Enquiring for the headquarters of Captain ----, we were directed to a ruined house which had been destroyed by Germanshell-fire. "Mon Capitaine is in the cellar, monsieur. " Thinking that it would be a better introduction if I personallydelivered the message to the Captain, I asked my chauffeur to let me doso. Asking the sentry at the door to take me to his Captain, we passeddown some dozen steps and into a comfortably furnished cellar. Sittinground a little table were seven officers. I asked for Captain ----. "He is not here, monsieur, " said one. "Is it urgent?" "I do not know, " I replied. I was trying to form another reply inFrench, when an officer asked me in English if he could be of anyservice. I told him that an officer had given me a message to deliver onmy journey here, but owing to an accident to the car I had had to walk. Taking the letter, he said he would send a messenger to the Captain withit. "You must be hungry, monsieur. Will you share a snack with us?" Gladlyaccepting their hospitality, I sat down with them. "Are you fromLondon?" he asked. "Yes, " I said. "Do you know it?" "Yes, yes, " he replied. "I was for three years there. But are you_militaire_?" he enquired. "Well, hardly that, " I confess. "I am here to take kinema records of thewar. I have come in this direction to film an action on the sand-dunes. Will you help me?" "I will do what I can for you, " he replied. "We expect to make a sortieto-morrow morning. It will be very risky for you. " "I will take my chance, " I replied, "with you. " Whilst our conversation proceeded, I noticed a scuffling on the cellarsteps, then into the room came four soldiers with a man in peasant'sclothes. He turned out to be a spy caught signalling in the dunes. Theybrought him in to have a cup of coffee before taking him out to be shot. He was asked if he would take sugar; his reply was "No. " Presently there was a shot outside, and there was one spy the less. The Captain returned and, after explanations, made me understand that hewould accept no responsibility for my safety. Those conditions I did notmind a scrap. Rolling myself in a blanket, I tumbled in. "What would themorrow bring forth?" I wondered. I was up next morning at four o'clock. Everywhere there was a state ofsuppressed excitement. Outside the men were preparing, but there wasnot the least sign of confusion anywhere. To look at them one would notimagine these men were going out to fight, knowing that some of them atleast would not return again. But it is war, and sentiment has no placein their thoughts. The order came to line up. Hours before the scouts had gone out toprepare the ground. They had not returned yet. Personally, I hoped theywould not turn up till the day was a little more advanced. Eighto'clock; still not sufficient light for filming. A lieutenant came tome, and said if I would go carefully along the sand-dunes in thedirection he suggested, possibly it would be better; he would say nomore. I did so; and I had only gone about half a kilometre when, chancing to turn back, I spied coming over the dunes on my right twoscouts, running for all they were worth. Quietly getting my camera into position, I started exposing, beingcertain this was the opening of the attack. I was not mistaken, forwithin a few minutes the advance guard came hurrying up in the distance;the attack was about to begin. Suddenly the French guns opened fire;they were concealed some distance in the rear. Shells then went at itthick and fast, shrieking one after the other overhead. The advance guard opened out, clambered up the dunes, and disappearedover the top, I filming them. I waited until the supporting column cameup, and filmed them also. I followed them up and over the dunes. Deploying along the top, they spread out about six metres apart, withthe object of deceiving the Germans as to their numbers, until thesupporting column reached them. The battle of musketry then rang out. Cautiously advancing with a company, I filmed them take the offensiveand make for a large dune forty yards ahead. Successfully reaching itthey lay down and fired in rapid succession. Crawling up, I managed totake a fine scene of the attack, showing the explosion of two Frenchshells over the ruins of the town. The Germans evidently found ourrange, for several shells came whistling unpleasantly near me. What followed was a succession of scenes, showing the covering columnsadvancing and others moving round on the flank. The Germans lost veryheavily in this engagement, and great progress was made by the gallantFrench. While filming a section of the flanking party, I had the nearestacquaintance with a shell that I shall ever wish for. I don't think itwould have been the good fortune of many to have such an experience andcome scathless out of it. I was kneeling filming the scene, when I heard a shell hurtling in mydirection. Knowing that if I moved I might as likely run into it as not, I remained where I was, still operating my camera, when an explosionoccurred just behind me, which sounded as if the earth itself hadcracked. The concussion threw me with terrific force head over heelsinto the sand. The explosion seemed to cause a vacuum in the air forsome distance around, for try as I would I could not get my breath. Ilay gasping and struggling like a drowning man for what seemed aninterminable length of time, although it could have only been a fewseconds. At last I pulled round; my first thought was for my camera. I saw it ashort distance away, half buried in the sand. Picking it up, I wasgreatly relieved to find it uninjured, but choked with sand round thelens, which I quickly cleared. The impression on my body, caused by theconcussion of the exploding shell, seemed as if the whole of one side ofme had been struck with something soft, yet with such terrible forcethat I felt it all over at the same moment. That is the best way I candescribe it, and I assure you I don't wish for a second interview. Noticing some blood upon my hand, I found a small wound on the knuckle. Whether or no it was caused by a small splinter from the shell, I cannotsay; in all probability it was, for I do not think striking the softsand would have caused it. Turning back, I made for the sea road, and filmed the reserves coming upto strengthen the positions already won. Hurrying across in thedirection of another column, I filmed them steadily advancing, whiletheir comrades kept the Germans employed from the top of a large dune. The main body then came up and lined the top for a considerabledistance, and at the word of command the whole body arose as one man. For the fraction of a second they were strikingly silhouetted againstthe sky-line; then with a cheer they charged down the other side. Darkness was now closing in, making it impossible for me to film anyfurther developments, so I proceeded back to the cellar with an officerand some men. After resting awhile, I decided to go back to Furnes thatnight with my films and get home with them as quickly as possible. Meeting a small transport car going in the desired direction after somestores, I begged a ride, and getting up beside the driver, we startedoff. Owing to the enormous shell-holes it was impossible to proceedalong the road without a light. What a magnificent sight it was. Magnesium star-shells were continuallybeing sent up by the Germans. They hung in the air alight for aboutthirty seconds, illuminating the ground like day. When they disappearedthe guns flashed out; then the French replied; after that morestar-shells; then the guns spoke again, and so it continued. We weresuddenly stopped by an officer warning us to put out our lampimmediately, and proceed cautiously for about three hundred yards. While doing so a shell came screaming by. We knew then that the Germanshad seen our light. We immediately rushed to a shell-proof shelter inthe sand. I had barely reached it when a shell exploded close by thecar, half destroying the body of it. That was the only one that cameanywhere near. Running to see what damage was done, I was pleased tosee, by the aid of a covered light, that the chassis was practicallyuninjured. So starting up we once more proceeded on our journey. We had several narrow squeaks in negotiating corners and miniaturesand-banks, and once we bumped into a mule that had strayed on to theroad--but whether it will do so again I don't know, for after the bumpit disappeared in a whirl of sand, making a noise like a myriad offiends let loose. But the remainder of the journey was uneventful, andafter a long night's rest I left for Calais. CHAPTER V UNDER HEAVY SHELL-FIRE In a Trench Coat and Cap I again Run the Gauntlet--A Near Squeak--Looking for Trouble--I Nearly Find It--A Rough Ride and a Mud Bath--An Affair of Outposts--I Get Used to Crawling--Hot Work at the Guns--I am Reported Dead--But Prove Very Much Alive----And then Receive a Shock--A Stern Chase. Time after time I crossed over to France and so into Belgium, andobtained a series of pictures that delighted my employers, and pleasedthe picture theatre public. But I wanted something more than snapshotsof topical events. Unfortunately, I had been unable to make previous arrangements for a carto take me into Belgium. The railroad was barred to me, and walkingquite out of the question. A motor-car was the only method oftravelling. After two days of careful enquiries, I at last found a manto take me. He was in the transport department, taking meat to thetrenches. I was to meet him that evening on the outskirts of Calais. AndI met him that night at an appointed rendezvous, and started on ourjourney. Eventually we entered Furnes. Making my way into a side street, I toldmy chauffeur to call at a certain address whenever he passed through thetown, and if I should require his services further, I would leave aletter to that effect. I was awakened next morning by being vigorously shaken by my Belgianfriend, Jules. "Quick, monsieur, the Germans are bombarding us, " he cried. Jumping out of bed, I rushed to the window. The next second I heard theshriek of shells coming nearer. With a crash and a fearful explosionthey burst practically simultaneously on the houses opposite, completelydemolishing them, but luckily killing no one. Hastily dressing, Igrabbed my camera and went out into the square and waited, hoping tofilm, if possible, the explosion of the shells as they fell on thebuildings. Two more shells came shrieking over. The few people aboutwere quickly making for the cover of their cellars. Getting my camerainto position, ready to swing in any direction, I waited. With deafeningexplosions the shells exploded in a small street behind me. The Germanswere evidently trying to smash up the old Flemish town hall, which wasin the corner of the market-place, so I decided to fix my focus in itsdirection. But though I waited for over an hour, nothing else happened. The Germans had ceased firing for that morning at least. Not till I hadgone to my café did I realise the danger I had exposed myself to, butsomehow I had seemed so confident that I should not get hit, that tofilm the explosions entirely absorbed all my thoughts. Next morning I decided to tour the front line, if possible from Dixmudeto Nieuport, making Ramscapelle a centre. I hoped to drop in with anisolated action or a few outpost duels, for up to the present thingswere going exceedingly slow from my point of view. Arranging for a dispatch rider to take me along to Ramscapelle, away Iwent. The roads were in a frightful condition after months of rain, andshell-holes were dotted all over the surface. It is marvellous these mendo not more frequently meet death by accident, for what with the backwheel sliding and skidding like an unbroken mule, and dodging roundshell-holes as if we were playing musical chairs, and hanging round thedriver's waist like a limpet to keep our balance, it was anything but acomfortable experience. In the end one back wheel slipped into ashell-hole and pitched me into a lovely pool of water and mud. Thenafter remounting, we were edged off the road into the mud again by aheavy transport lorry, and enjoyed a second mud-bath. After that I cameto the conclusion that I would rather film a close view of a bayonetcharge than do another such journey. By now I was the most abject-looking specimen of humanity imaginable. Mycamera in its case was securely fastened on my shoulders as a knapsack, and so, with the exception of a slight derangement, which I soonreadjusted, no damage was done. But the motor-cycle sufferedconsiderably, and leaving it alongside the road to await a breakdownlorry to repair it--or a shell to finish it--I proceeded on foot toRamscapelle. Within a hundred yards of the ruined town, from the shelter of a wreckedbarn came the voice of a Belgian soldier peremptorily ordering me totake cover. Without asking questions, I did so by sprawling full lengthin a deep wheel-rut, but as I had previously had a mud-bath, a littlemore or less did not matter. I wriggled myself towards the cover of thebarn, when a sharp volley of rifle-fire broke out on my left. Gainingshelter, I asked the soldier the reason of the fusillade. "Uhlan outposts, monsieur, " replied the man laconically. Keeping under cover, I crawled towards the back of the barn, andensconced behind some bales of straw, on a small bridge, I filmed thisBelgian outpost driving off the Uhlans, and peeping through one of therifle slots, I could see them showing a clean pair of heels, but notwithout losing one of their number. He was brought into our lines later, and I was lucky enough to secure the pennon from his lance as asouvenir. I made my way by various means into the town. The place was absolutelydevoid of life. It was highly dangerous to move about in the open. To beseen by the German airmen was the signal for being shelled for aboutthree hours. Whilst filming some of the ruins, I was startled by a sharp word ofcommand. Turning round, I saw a Belgian soldier, with his rifle pointingat me. He ordered me to advance. I produced my permit, and giving thepassword, I quite satisfied him. Bidding me come inside he indicated aseat, and asked me to have some soup. And didn't it smell appetising! Abroken door served as a table; various oddments, as chairs and thesoup-copper, stood in the centre of the table. This proved one of themost enjoyable meals of the campaign. The soldier told me they had to be very careful to guard against spies. They had caught one only that morning, "but he will spy no more, monsieur, " he said, with a significant look. I rose, and said I must leave them, as I wanted to take advantage of thedaylight. I asked my friend if he could give me any information as tothe whereabouts of anything interesting to film, as I wanted to takeback scenes to show the people of England the ravages caused in Belgiumby the Huns, and the brave Belgians in action. He was full of regretsthat he was not able to accompany me, but being on duty he dare notmove. With a hearty shake of the hand and best wishes we parted, and, keepingunder cover of the ruined buildings as much as possible, I made my waythrough Ramscapelle. Hardened as I was by now to sights of devastation, I could not help a lump rising in my throat when I came upon children'stoys, babies' cots, and suchlike things, peeping out from among theruins caused by the German guns. These scenes caused me to wander on in deep thought, quite oblivious tomy immediate surroundings. This momentary lapse nearly proveddisastrous. By some means I had passed the sentries, and wanderedpractically on top of a Belgian concealed heavy gun battery. I wasquickly brought to my senses by being dragged into a gun trench, absolutely invisible both from the front and above. Compelled to go on hands and knees into the dug-out, I was confronted bya rather irate Belgian officer, who demanded why I was there walkingabout and not taking cover. Did I know that I had drawn the enemy'sfire, which was very nearly an unpardonable offence? Quickly realising the seriousness of my position, I thought the bestthing to do was to tell him my mission, and so I explained to theofficer that I had unconsciously wandered there. "There, monsieur, " he said, "that is what you have done, " and at thatmoment I heard two shells explode fifteen yards behind us. "We dare notreply, monsieur, " he said, "because this is a secret battery. Mon Dieu!"he exclaimed, "I hope they cease firing, or they may destroy ourdefences. " Fortunately, the Germans seeing no further sign of life, evidently thought it was a case of an isolated soldier, and so ceasedtheir fire. Imagine my thankfulness. I enquired if there was anyone there who could speak English. Amessenger was sent out and returned with a Belgian, who before the warbroke out was a teacher of languages in England. With his aid I gave thechief officer full explanation, and pledged my word of honour thatneither names, districts, nor details of positions should ever bementioned. Wishing to film some scenes of big guns in action, I enquired whether hewas going to fire. He was expecting orders any minute, so making myselfas comfortable as possible in the dug-out, I waited. But nothinghappened, and that night, and the one following, I slept there. Early next morning (about 3 a. M. ) I was awakened by the noise of aterrific cannonading. Together with the officer I crawled out on to thetop of our embankment and viewed the scene. The Germans had started anight attack, the Belgian guns had caught them in the act and wereshelling them for all they were worth. As soon as it was daylight I strapped my camera on my back, and, lyingflat in the mud, I edged away in the direction of the battery. Beforeleaving, the officer gave me a final warning about drawing the Germans'fire. Alternately crawling and working my way on hands and knees, andtaking advantage of any little bit of cover, I drew nearer to the guns. While I was lying here, there crashed out a regular inferno ofrifle-fire from the German trenches. The bullets sang overhead like aflight of hornets. This certainly was a warm corner. If I had filmedthis scene, all that would have been shown was a dreary waste ofmud-heaps, caused by the explosion of the shells, and the graves offallen soldiers dotted all over the place. As far as the eye could seethe country was absolutely devoid of any living thing. Thousands of people in England, comfortably seated in the picturetheatre, would have passed this scene by as quite uninteresting exceptfor its memories. But if the sounds I heard, and the flying bullets thatwhizzed by me, could have been photographed, they might take a differentview of it. Death was everywhere. The air was thick with it. To have lifted my headwould have meant the billet for a bullet. So there I had to lie soakedthrough to the skin, and before I had been there twenty minutes I wasliterally lying in water. The German fusillade seemed interminable. Suddenly with a roar the Belgian guns spoke. About fifty shells werefired, and gradually the rifle-fire ceased. With a sigh of relief I drewmyself out of the hole which my body had made, and on my elbows andknees, like a baby crawling, I covered the intervening ground to thebattery. Getting up, and bending nearly double, I ran under cover of thebarricades. The men were astounded to see me run in. I went in the direction of agroup of officers, who looked at me in amazement. Saluting me, one ofthem came forward and asked who I wanted. Explaining my business, I toldhim I had permission from headquarters to film any scenes of interest. The officer then introduced me to his friends, who asked me how in theworld I had crossed the district without getting hit. I described mymovements, and they all agreed that I was exceedingly lucky. Once more the guns started, so getting my camera ready I commencedfilming them in action, one scene after another. I changed from thefiring of one gun to the full battery in action. The men were workinglike mad. All the time they were baling water out of the gun trencheswith buckets. In some cases after the gun had fired it sank back abouteighteen inches in the mud, and had to be dug out and set again. Thesepoor devils had been doing this for nearly four months, every man ofthem was a hero. While taking these scenes, my compressed air cylinders ran out. Lookinground for somewhere solid on which to put my machine and foot-pump, Ifound some bricks, and made a little foundation. Then I started to pumpup. At every six strokes of the pump, it was necessary to pack under itmore bricks, and still more, for the ground was a veritable morass. Inthe ordinary way my camera takes ten minutes to refill. On this occasionit took me forty-five minutes, and all the time guns were thunderingout. Making my way in a semi-circle, under cover of the communicationtrenches, to the most advanced outpost, I filmed a party of Belgiansnipers hard at work, cheerfully sniping off any German unwise enough toshow the smallest portion of his head. Several times while I waswatching, I noticed one of the men mark upon his rifle with the stub ofa pencil. I asked why he did it. "That, monsieur, " he replied, "is a mark for every Bosche I shoot. See, "he said, holding the butt-end for me to look at, and I noticedtwenty-eight crosses marked upon it. Snatching it up to his shoulder hefired again, and joyfully he added another cross. By this time it was getting dark, and quite impossible to take any morescenes, so I returned to the battery, where the officer kindly invitedme to stay the night. Getting some dry straw from a waterproof bag, wespread it out on the boards of the trench-hut, rolled our blankets roundour shoulders, and lighted our cigarettes. Then they asked me aboutEngland. They told me that as long as Belgium existed they would neverforget what England had done for her people. While talking our candlewent out, and as we had no other we sat in the darkness, huddledtogether to keep warm. Heavy rain again came on, penetrating through theearth roof and soaking into my blanket. I must have dozed off, for after a little while I awoke with a startand, looking towards the entrance, I noticed a blue-white glare oflight. As my companions were getting out, I followed them, in time tosee the Germans sending up star-shells, to guard against any attack onour part. The following day I filmed several scenes connected with the Belgianartillery and outposts. I waited during the remainder of the day tocatch, if possible, some scenes of German shells exploding, but again Iwas doomed to disappointment, for, with the exception of a few at adistance, I was never able to get the close ones in my field of view. Having exhausted my stock of film, I decided to return to my base, buton bidding adieu to the Commandant he begged me to return under cover ofdarkness. That night I set out for Furnes, and after walking about anhour, I was lucky enough to get a lift in an ambulance waggon, which setme down in the market-place. Entering the café by a side door, my Belgian friend seemed to me to beastounded at my appearance. He immediately rushed up to me, shook myhands and pummelled my back. His friends did the same. After I had gotover my astonishment, I ventured to ask the reason for this jubilation. "We thought you were dead, " he cried; "we heard you had been shot by theGermans, and as you had not turned up for the last five days, we came tothe conclusion that it was true. But, monsieur, we cannot tell you howpleased we are to see you again alive and well. " Seeing the condition I was in, they heated water for a bath, andassisted me in every way possible. When I was once more comfortable, Iasked my friend, over a cup of coffee, to tell me the exact report, asit highly amused me. "Well, monsieur, " he said, "your motor cyclist came rushing in the otherevening, saying that Monsieur Malins, the Englishman, had been shotwhile crossing ground between the two batteries. He told us that you hadbeen seen attempting the crossing; that you suddenly threw up yourarms, and pitched forward dead. And, monsieur, we were preparing to sendyour bag to London, with a letter explaining the sad news. The Colonelwas going to write the letter. " "Well, " I replied with a laugh, "I am worth a good many dead men yet. Iremember crossing the ground you mention--but, anyway, the 'eye-witness'who saw my death was certainly 'seeing things. '" CHAPTER VI AMONG THE SNOWS OF THE VOSGES I Start for the Vosges--Am Arrested on the Swiss Frontier--And Released--But Arrested Again--And then Allowed to Go My Way--Filming in the Firing Zone--A Wonderful French Charge Over the Snow-clad Hills--I Take Big Risks--And Get a Magnificent Picture. The man who wants to film a fight, unlike the man who wants to describeit, must be really on the spot. A comfortable corner in the Hôtel desQuoi, at Boulogne, is no use to the camera man. "Is it possible to film actual events with the French troops in theVosges and Alsace?" I was asked when I got back after my last adventure. "If the public wants those films, " I replied, "the public must havethem. " And without any previous knowledge of the district, or itsnatural difficulties, apart from the normal military troubles to whichby that time I was hardened, I set out for Paris, determined to plan myroute according to what I learned there. And for the rest I knew itwould be luck that would determine the result, because other camera menhad attempted to cover the same district, men who knew everything therewas to be known in the way of getting on the spot, and all had beenturned back with trifling success. [Illustration: HOW I CARRIED MY FILM IN THE EARLY DAYS OF THE WAR INBELGIUM AND THE VOSGES MOUNTAINS] For various reasons, among them the claims of picturesqueness, St. Diéstruck me as the best field, and to get there it is necessary to make adetour into Switzerland. From Geneva, where I arranged for transport ofmy films in case of urgent need, much as an Arctic explorer wouldleave supplies of food behind him on his way to the Pole, I arranged incertain places that if I was not heard from at certain dates and certaintimes, enquiries were to be made, diplomatically, for me. From Basle I went to the Swiss frontier, and had a splendid view of theAlsace country, which was in German possession. German and Swiss guardsstood on either side of the boundary, and they made such a picturesquescene that I filmed them, which was nearly disastrous. A gendarmepounced on me at once, took me to general headquarters and then back toPerrontruy, where I was escorted through the streets by an armed guard. At the military barracks I was thoroughly examined by the chief of thestaff, who drew my attention to a military notice, prohibiting anyphotographing of Swiss soldiery. He decided that my offence was so rankthat it must go before another tribunal, and off I was marched toDelemont, where a sort of court-martial was held on me. My film, ofcourse, was confiscated; that was the least I could expect, but theyalso extracted a promise in writing that I would not take any morephotographs in Switzerland, and they gave me a few hours to leave thecountry, by way of Berne. That didn't suit me at all. Berne was too far away from my intendeddestination, and, after a hurried study of the map, I decided to chanceit, and go to Biel. I did. So did the man told off to watch me. And whenI left the train at Biel he arrested me. I am afraid I sang "RuleBritannia" very loudly to those good gentlemen before whom he took me, claiming the right of a British citizen to do as he liked, withinreason, in a neutral country. In the result they told me to get out of the country any way I liked, ifonly I would get out, and, as my opinion was much the same, we partedgood friends. I had lost a week, and many feet of good film, which showed me that thedifficulties I should have to face in my chosen field of operations wereby far the greatest I had up to then encountered in any of my trips tothe firing line. I pushed on through Besançon on the way to Belfort. Now Belfort, being a fortified town, was an obviously impossible placefor me to get into, because I shouldn't get out again in a hurry. So Itook a slow train, descended at a small station on the outskirts, prepared to make my way across country to Remiremont. This I achieved, very slowly, and with many difficulties, by means of peasants' carts andan occasional ride on horseback. This brought me into the firing zone, and the region of snow. My dangerwas increased, and my mode of progress more difficult, because for thefirst time in my life I had to take to skis. So many people have toldthe story of their first attempts with these that I will content myselfwith saying that, after many tumbles, I became roughly accustomed tothem, and that when sledge transport was not available, I was able tomake my way on ski. I don't suppose anyone else has ever learned to skiunder such queer conditions, with the roar of big guns rumbling roundall the time, with my whole expedition trembling every moment in thebalance. The end of my journey to St. Dié was the most dramatic part of the wholebusiness. Tired out, I saw a café on the outskirts of the village, whichI thought would serve me as a reconnoitring post, so I went in andordered some coffee. I had not been there five minutes when someofficers walked in, and drew themselves up sharply when they saw astranger there, in a mud-stained costume that might have been a Britisharmy uniform. I decided to take the bold course. I rose, saluted them, and in my Anglo-French wished them good evening. They returned mygreeting and sat down, conversing in an undertone, with an occasionalside-flung glance at me. I saw that my attack would have to be pushedhome, especially as I caught the word "_espion_, " or my feveredimagination made me think I did. I rose and crossed to their table, all smiles, and in my best Frenchheartily agreed with them that one has to be very careful in war timeabout spies. In fact, I added, I had no doubt they took me for one. This counter-attack--and possibly the very noticeable Britishness of myaccent--rather confused them. Happily one of them spoke a littleEnglish, and, with that and my little French, satisfactory explanationswere made. I affected no secrecy about my object, and asked them frankly if itwould be possible for pictures of their regiment to be taken. One ofthem promised to speak to the Commandant about it. I begged them not totrouble about it, however, as really all I wanted was a hint as to whenand where an engagement was probable, and then I would manage to bethere. They shrugged their shoulders in a most grimly expressive way. "If you do that it will be at your own risk, " they said. I gladly accepted the risk, and they then told me of one or two vantagepoints in the district from which I might manage to see something of theoperations, taking my chance, of course, of anything happening nearenough to be photographed, as they could not, and quite rightly wouldnot, say anything as to the plans for the future. It was not quite midday. I had at least four hours of daylight, and Idetermined not to lose them. It was obvious that my stay in St. Diéwould be very brief at the best. I hired a sledge and persuaded thedriver to take me part of the way at least to the nearest point whichthe officers had mentioned. But neither he nor his horse liked the way the shells were comingaround, and at last even his avarice refused to be stimulated further atthe expense of his courage. So I strapped on my skis, thankful for myearlier experience with them, and sped towards a wood which Frenchsoldiers were clearing of German snipers. I managed to get one or twogood incidents there, though occasional uncertainty about my skisspoiled other fine scenes, and in my haste to move from one spot toanother, I once went head over heels into a snowdrift many feet deep. The ludicrous spectacle that I must have cut only occurred to meafterwards, and the utterly inappropriate nature of such an incidentwithin sight of men who were battling in life and death grip was areflection for calmer moments. I do not mind confessing that my solethought during the whole of that afternoon was my camera and my films. The lust of battle was in me too. I had overcome great difficulties toobtain not merely kinema-pictures, but actual vivid records of the GreatWar, scenes that posterity might look upon as true representations ofthe struggle their forefathers waged. Military experts may argue as towhether this move or that was really made in a battle: the tales ofsoldiers returned from the wars become, in passing from mouth to mouth, fables of the most wondrous deeds of prowess. But the kinema film neveralters. It does not argue. It depicts. The terrific cannonade that was proceeding told me that beyond the crestof the hill an infantry attack was preparing. It was for me a questionof finding both a vantage point and good cover, for shells had alreadywhizzed screaming overhead and exploded not many yards behind me. Therewere the remains of a wall ahead, and I discarded my skis in order tocrawl flat on my stomach to one of the larger remaining fragments, andwhen I got behind it I found a most convenient hole, which would allowme to work my camera without being exposed myself. In the distance a few scouts, black against the snow, crawled crouchingup the hill. The attack was beginning. The snow-covered hill-side became suddenly black with moving figuressweeping in irregular formation up towards the crest. Big gun and riflefire mingled like strophe and antistrophe of an anthem of death. Therewas a certain massiveness about the noise that was awful. Yet there wasnone of the traditional air of battle about the engagement. There was nohand to hand fighting, for the opponents were several hundred yardsapart. It was just now and then when one saw a little distant figurepitch forward and lie still on the snow that one realised there was realfighting going on, and that it was not manoeuvres. The gallant French troops swept on up the hill, and I think I was theonly man in all that district who noted the black trail of spent humanlife they left behind them. I raised myself ever so little to glance over the top of my scrap ofsheltering wall, and away across the valley, on the crest of the otherhill, I could see specks which were the Germans. They appeared to bemassing ready for a charge, but the scene was too far away for thecamera to record it with any distinctness. I therefore swept round again to the French lines, to meet the splendidsight of the French reserves dashing up over the hill behind me to thesupport. Every man seemed animated by the one idea--to take the hill. There was a swing, an air of irresistibility about them that wasmagnificent. But even in the midst of enthusiasm my trained sense toldme that my position must have been visible to some of them, and that itwas time for me to move. I edged my way along the broken stumps of wall to the shelter of a wood, and there, with bullets from snipers occasionally sending twigs, leaves, and even branches pattering down around me, with shells bursting allround, I continued to film the general attack until the spool in thecamera ran out. To have changed spools there would have been the heightof folly, so I plunged down a side path, where in the shelter of a dell, with thick undergrowth, I loaded up my camera again, and utterlycareless of direction, made a dash for the edge of the wood again, emerging just in time to catch the passage of a French regimentadvancing along the edge of the wood to cut off the retreat of thelittle party of Germans who had been endeavouring to hold it as anadvanced sniping-post. Snipers seemed to be in every tree. Bullets whistled down like acorns inthe autumn breeze, but the French suddenly formed a semi-circle andpushed right into the wood, driving the enemy from their perches in thetrees or shooting them as they scrambled down. Through the wood I plunged, utterly ignoring every danger, both fromfriend or foe, in the thrill of that wonderful "drive. " Luck, however, was with me. Neither the French nor the Germans seemed to see me, and weall suddenly came out of the wood at the far side, and I then managed toget a splendid picture of the end of the pursuit, when the French, wildwith excitement at their success in clearing the district of the enemy, plunged madly down the hill in chase of the last remnants of the snipingband. A few seconds later I darted back into the cover of the trees. My mission was accomplished. I had secured pictures of actual events inthe Vosges. But that was the least part of my work. I had to get thefilm to London. The excitement of the pursuit had taken me far from my starting-point, and with the reaction that set in when I was alone in the wood, with allits memories and its ghastly memorials of the carnage, I found itrequired all my strength of nerve to push me on. I had to plough throughopen spaces, two feet and more deep in snow, through undergrowth, notknowing at what moment I might stumble across some unseen thing. Aboveall, I had but the barest recollection of my direction. It seemed manyhours before I regained my stump of wall and found my skis lying justwhere I had cast them off. It was a race against time, too, for dusk was falling, and I knew thatit would be impossible to get out of St. Dié by any conveyance afterdark. I had the luck to find a man with a sledge, who was returning to adistant village, some way behind the war zone, and he agreed for asubstantial consideration to take me. We drove for many hours throughthe night, and it was very late when at last, in a peasant's cottage, Iflung myself fully dressed on a sofa, for there was no spare bed, andslept like a log for several hours. It was by many odd conveyances that I made my way to Besançon, andthence to Dijon. I had managed to clean myself up, and looked less likean escaped convict than I had done; but I was very wary all the way toParis, where I communicated with headquarters, and received orders torush the films across to London as fast as ever I could. Having overcome the perils of the land, I had to face those of the sea, for the German submarines were just beginning their campaign againstmerchant shipping, and cross-Channel steamers were an almost certainmark. So the boat service was suspended for a day or two, and there wasI stranded in Dieppe with my precious films, as utterly shut off fromLondon as the German army. I was held up there for three days, during which time I secured picturesof the steamer _Dinorah_, which limped into port after being torpedoed, of a sailing vessel which had struck a mine, and some interesting sceneson board French torpedo boat destroyers as they returned from patrollingthe Channel. I spent most of my time hanging around the docks, ready to rush on boardany steamer that touched at an English port. At last I heard of one thatwould start at midnight. My films were all packed in tins, sealed withrubber solution to make them absolutely watertight, and the tins werestrung together, so that in the event of the ship going down I couldhave slipped them round my waist. If they went to the bottom I should gotoo, but if I was saved I was determined not to reach London withoutthem. As it happened, my adventures were at an end. We saw nothing of anyunder-water pirates, and my trip to the fighting line ended in a prosaictaxi-cab through London streets that seemed to know nothing of war. PART II CHAPTER I HOW I CAME TO MAKE OFFICIAL WAR PICTURES I am Appointed an Official War Office Kinematographer--And Start for the Front Line Trenches--Filming the German Guns in Action--With the Canadians--Picturesque Hut Settlement Among the Poplars--"Hyde Park Corner"--Shaving by Candlelight in Six Inches of Water--Filming in Full View of the German Lines, 75 yards away--A Big Risk, but a Realistic Picture. During the early days of the war I worked more or less as a free lancecamera man, both in Belgium and in France, and it was not till theautumn of 1915 that I was appointed an Official Kinematographer by theWar Office, and was dispatched to the Front to take films, under thedirection of Kinematograph Trade Topical Committee. When offered theappointment, I did not take long to decide upon its acceptance. I wasready and anxious to go, and as I had had considerable experience of thework, both in Belgium and in the Vosges, I knew pretty well what wasexpected of me. Numerous interviews with the authorities and members ofthe Committee followed, and for a few days I was kept in a fever ofexpectation. Eventually arrangements were completed, and the announcement was thenmade that Mr. Tong (of Jury's Imperial Pictures) and myself had beenappointed Official War Office Kinematographers. I was in the seventhheaven of delight, and looked forward to an early departure for theFront in my official capacity. This came soon enough, and on the eve ofour going Tong and I were entertained to dinner by the members of theTopical Committee, and during the post-prandial talk many interestingand complimentary things were said. We left Charing Cross on an early morning in November, and severalmembers of the Committee were there to see us off, and wish usGod-speed. We reached the other side safely, after a rather choppycrossing, and soon I was on my way to the Front--and the front linetrenches, if possible. Passing through Bailleul, Armentières and Ploegsteert, I was able tofilm some hidden batteries in action. As the whole road was in full viewof the German lines we had to go very carefully. Several shells droppedclose by me when running across the open ground. I managed at last toget into a house, and from a top window, or rather what was once awindow, filmed the guns in action. While doing so an artillery officer came and told me not to move toomuch as the Germans had been trying to find this battery for someconsiderable time, and if they saw any movement they would undoubtedlystart to shell heavily. Not wishing to draw a cloud of shells on me, needless to say, I was very careful. Eventually I obtained the desiredview, and making my way through the communication trenches to the frontof the guns, I obtained excellent pictures of rapid firing. I had tokeep very low the whole of the time. About forty yards on my right asmall working party of our men had been seen, and they were immediately"strafed. " During the next few days it rained the whole of the time, and there waslittle opportunity for photography; but I obtained some excellentscenes, showing the conditions under which our men were living andfighting, and their indomitable cheerfulness. [Illustration: THE STATE OF THE TRENCHES IN WHICH WE LIVED AND SLEPT (?)FOR WEEKS ON END DURING THE FIRST AND SECOND WINTER OF WAR] [Illustration: OUR DUG-OUTS IN THE FRONT LINE AT PICANTIN IN WHICH WELIVED, FOUGHT, AND MANY DIED DURING 1914-15, BEFORE THE DAYS OF TINHATS] About this time I arranged to go to the Canadian front trenches, intheir section facing Messines. Arriving at the headquarters at Bailleul, I met Lieutenant-Colonel ----, and we decided to go straight to thefront line. Leaving in a heavy rain, we splashed our way through onecontinuous stream of mud and water. Mile after mile of it. In places thewater covered the entire road, until at times one hardly knew which wasthe road and which was the ditch alongside. Several times our car gotditched. Shell-holes dotted our path everywhere. Apart from the rotten conditions, the journey proved most interesting;vehicles of all kinds, from motor-buses to wheelbarrows, were rushingbackwards and forwards, taking up supplies and returning empty. Occasionally we passed ambulance cars, with some poor fellows insidesuffering from frost-bite, or "trench-foot" as it is generally calledout here. Though their feet were swathed in bandages, and they wereobviously in great pain, they bore up like true Britons. Line after lineof men passed us. Those coming from the trenches were covered in mudfrom head to foot, but they were all smiling, and they swung along witha word and a jest as if they were marching down Piccadilly. Those goingin to take their places: were they gloomy? Not a bit of it! If anythingthey were more cheerful, and quipped their mud-covered comrades on theirappearance. We drew up at a ruined farm-house, which the Colonel told me used to betheir headquarters, until the position was given away by spies. Then theGermans started shelling it until there was hardly a brick standing. Luckily none of the staff were killed. Leaving the farm, we made our wayon foot to Ploegsteert Wood. A terrible amount of "strafing" was goingon here. Shells were exploding all round, and our guns were replyingwith "interest. " As we made our way cautiously up to the side of thewood, with mud half way up to our knees, we scrambled, or ratherwaddled, round the base of the much-contested hill, which the Germanstried their hardest to keep, but which, thanks to the Canadians, wewrested from them. Under cover of canvas screens, which in many places were blown away byshell-fire, and bending low to save our heads from the snipers' bullets, we gained the communication trenches. Again wading knee-deep in mud andwater, we eventually reached the firing trench. The German front line was only sixty-five yards away, and the town ofMessines could be seen in the distance. Staying in this section of trench, I filmed several scenes of the men atwork repairing and rebuilding the sides which the night previous hadbeen destroyed by shell-fire and the heavy rains. Then followed scenesof relief parties coming in, and working parties hard at it trying todrain their dug-outs. This latter seemed to me an almost superhumantask; but through it all, the men smiled. Bending low, I raced across anopen space, and with a jump landed in an advanced sniper's post, in aruined farm-house. I filmed him, carefully and coolly picking off theGermans foolish enough to show their heads. Then I set my camera up behind what I thought quite a safe screen, tofilm a general view of our front line, but I had hardly started exposingwhen, with murderous little shrieks, two bullets whizzed close by myhead--quite as near as I shall ever want them. Dropping as low aspossible, I reached up, and still turning the handle finished the scene. Then followed several pictures of scouts and snipers making their wayacross the ground, taking advantage of any slight cover they could get, in order to take up suitable positions for their work. By this time the light was getting rather bad, and as it was stillraining hard I made my way back. During the return journey, an officerwho accompanied me showed himself unknowingly above the parapet, and"zipp" came a bullet, which ripped one of the stars off his coat. "Jove!" said he, with the greatest of _sang-froid_, "that's a nearthing; but it's spoilt my shoulder-strap": and with a laugh we went onour way. Again we had to cross the open ground to the covered way. Accordingly wespread out about fifty yards apart, and proceeded. Careful as we were, the Germans spotted us, and from thence onwards to the top of the hillshrapnel shells burst all round us and overhead. Several pieces fellalmost at my feet, but by a miracle I escaped unscathed. For some minutes I had to lie crouching in a ditch, sitting in water. Itwas a veritable inferno of fire. I cautiously worked my way along. Wherethe rest of the party had gone I did not know. I hugged my camera to mychest and staggered blindly on. In about half an hour I gained the coverof some bushes, and for the first time had a chance to look about me. The firing had momentarily ceased, and from various ditches I saw theheads of the other officers pop out. The sight was too funny for words. With a hearty laugh they jumped up and hurried away. My chauffeur, whoincidentally used to carry my tripod, was the most sorry spectacle forhe was absolutely covered from head to foot with clay, and my tripod wasquite unrecognisable. Hurrying over the top of the hill we gained ourcars, and rapidly beat a retreat for headquarters. The following day I went to film the ruins of Richebourg St. Vaaste. What an awful spectacle! A repetition of the horrors of Ypres on asmaller scale. Nothing left, only the bare skeletons of the houses andthe church. With great difficulty, I managed to climb to the top of theruined tower, and filmed the town from that point. I was told by anobservation officer to keep low, as the Germans had the church stillunder fire. Naturally I did so, not wishing for a shell that might bringthe tower down, and myself with it. Remarkable to relate, the figure of Christ upon the Cross was untouchedin the midst of this terrible scene of devastation. Subsequently thetower was completely destroyed by German shells. Hearing that the Canadian guns were going to bombard Petite Douve, alarge farmstead which the Germans had fortified with machine-guns andsnipers, I started off from headquarters in the company of alieutenant-colonel and a captain. A few passing remarks on theconditions of the road as we went along to Hill 63 will be interesting. No matter where one looked there was mud and water. In several placesthe roads were flooded to a depth of six inches, and our cars severaltimes sank above the front axle in hidden shell-holes. The wholedistrict was pitted with them. Entire sections of artillery were stuckin the mud on the roadside, and all the efforts of the men failed tomove them. All around us hidden guns, 4. 5 and 9. 2, were hurtling their messengersof death with a monotonous regularity. Passing a signpost, marked "HydePark Corner, " which looked incongruous in such a place, we enteredPloegsteert Wood. But what a change! It was as if one had suddenlyleft France and dropped unceremoniously into the western woods ofAmerica, in the times of the old pioneers. By the wood-side, as far asone could see, stretched a series of log-huts. To the right the samescene unfolded itself. Our cars came to a stop. Then I had a chance tostudy the settings more closely. [Illustration: CHOOSING A POSITION FOR MY CAMERA IN THE FRONT LINETRENCH AT PICANTIN, WITH THE GUARDS. WINTER, 1915-16] What a picture! Amidst all the glamour of war, these huts, surrounded bytall poplars, which stood grim, gaunt and leafless--in many placesbranchless, owing to the enemies' shells, which tore their waythrough them--presented the most picturesque scene I had come across formany a long day. Upon the boards fixed over the doorposts were writtenthe names of familiar London places. As the time of the bombardment wasdrawing near I could not stay at the moment to film anything, butdecided to do so at an early opportunity. Sharing my apparatus with two men, we started climbing through eighteeninches of slimy mud towards the top of Hill 63. The effort was almostbackbreaking. At last we got through and paused, under cover of theruins of an old château, to gain breath. To negotiate the top neededcare as it was in full view of the German front. I went first with theCaptain, and both of us kept practically doubled up, and moved on allfours. The men behind us waited until we had covered about one hundredyards, then they followed. We decided to make for a point in thedistance which was at one time a grand old château. Now it was nothingmore than a heap of rubble. We waited for the remainder of the party tocome up before proceeding, the idea being that in case either of us washit by shrapnel, or picked off by a sniper, no time would be lost inrendering assistance. Resting awhile, we again proceeded in the same order as before. We wereheld up by a sentry, and warned to take to the communication trenchesdown the hill, as German snipers had been picking off men in the workingparties the whole of the morning, and shrapnel was continually burstingoverhead. We entered the trench, and as usual sank up to our knees inmud. How in the world we got through it I don't know! Every time I lifted myfoot it seemed as though the mud would suck my knee-boot off. Aftergoing along in this way for about three hundred yards, and occasionallyducking my head to avoid being hit by bursting shells, we came to aruined barn. The cellars had been converted, with the aid of a goodsupply of sandbags, into a miniature fort. A sloping tunnel led to theinterior, and the Captain going in front, we entered. There by the light of a candle, and standing in a good six inches ofwater, was a captain shaving himself. This officer the previous week hadled his party of bombers into the German trenches, killed over thirtyand captured twelve, and only suffered one casualty. For this action hewas awarded the D. S. O. I was introduced, and sitting on the edge of abench we chatted until the others came up. A few minutes later theColonel entered. We then started off in single file down the other side of Hill 63. I hadto take advantage of any bit of cover that offered itself during thedescent. At one point we had to cross an open space between a ruinedfarm and a barn. The Germans had several snipers who concentrated onthis point, and there was considerable risk in getting across. Bendinglow, however, I started, and when half-way over I heard the whistle of abullet overhead. I dropped flat and crawled the remainder of thedistance, reaching cover in safety. At that moment our big guns started shelling the German trenches, andknowing that the diversion would momentarily occupy the snipers'attention the others raced safely across in a body. The remainder of thejourney was made in comparative safety, the only danger being fromexploding shrapnel overhead. But one does not trouble very much aboutthat after a time. Reaching the front trenches, I made my way along to apoint from which I could best view the Petite Douve. Obtaining awaterproof sheet we carefully raised it very, very slowly above theparapet with the aid of a couple of bayonets. Without a doubt, Ithought, the Germans would be sure to notice something different onthat section after a few seconds. And so it proved. Two rifle-shots rangout from the enemy trench, and right through the sheet they went. Our object in putting up this temporary screen was to hide the erectionof my tripod and camera, and then at the moment the bombardment began itwas to be taken away, and I would risk the rest. Just when the bullets came through I was bending to fasten the tripodlegs. A few seconds earlier and one or other of them would have surelyfound my head. Getting some sandbags, we carefully pushed them on to theparapet, in order to break the contact as much as possible, and we putone in front of the camera in a direct line to cover the movement of myhand while exposing. I was now ready. Raising my head above the parapetfor a final look, I noticed I was fully exposed to the right Germantrenches, and was just on the point of asking Captain ---- if there wasany possibility of getting sniped from that direction when with a "zipp"a bullet passed directly between our heads. Having obtained such apractical and prompt answer to my enquiry, though not exactly the kind Ihad expected, I had some more sandbags placed, one on top of the other, to shelter my head as much as possible. All I had to do now was to focus, and to do that I lifted the bottomedge of the screen gently. In a few seconds it was done, and droppingthe screen, I waited for the first shot. I was warned by an observingofficer that I had still five minutes to spare. They were not bombardinguntil 2. 15. German shells were continually dropping all round. The partof the hill down which we came was getting quite a lively time of it. The enemy seemed to be searching every spot. On the right a Canadiansniper was at work, taking careful aim. Turning to me, he said: "Wall, sir, I bet that chap won't want any more headache pills. " The remark caused a good deal of laughter. Boom--boom--boom. In rapid succession came two shells from our guns. Everyone was alert. I sprang to my camera. Two men were standing by me, ready to take down the screen. Boom came another shell, and at a signthe men dropped the screen. I was exposed to the full view of the German lines, from my shouldersupwards. I started exposing; the shells came in rapid succession, dropping rightin the middle of the Petite Douve. As they fell clouds of bricks andother débris were thrown in the air; the din was terrific. Nothing inthe world could possibly have lived there. After about thirty shells hadbeen dropped there was a slight pause for about half a minute, duringwhich I continued turning the handle. The Germans were too occupied ingetting under cover to notice the fine target my head offered, for not asingle shot was fired at me. Once more our guns rang out, and in as many seconds--at least so itseemed to me--another thirty shells dropped into the buildings and torethem wall from wall. Word was then passed to me that this was thefinishing salvo. With the same suddenness as it had begun, the firing ceased. Droppingquickly, and dragging the camera after me, I stood safely once more inthe bottom of the trench and, to tell the truth, I was glad it was over. To put one's head above the parapet of a trench, with the Germans onlyseventy-five yards away, and to take a kinematograph picture of abombardment, is not one of the wisest--or safest--things to do! CHAPTER II CHRISTMAS DAY AT THE FRONT Leave-taking at Charing Cross--A Fruitless Search for Food on Christmas Eve--How Tommy Welcomed the Coming of the Festive Season--"Peace On Earth, Good Will To Men" to the Boom of the Big Guns--Filming the Guards' Division--And the Prince of Wales--Coming from a Christmas Service--This Year and Next. On December 23rd I met an officer, a captain, at Charing Cross Station. We were leaving by the 8. 50 train, and we were not the only ones toleave Christmas behind, for hundreds of men were returning to the Front. Heartbreaking scenes were taking place, and many of the brave women-folkwere stifling their sobs, in order to give their men a pleasantsend-off, possibly for the last time. Amidst hurried good-byes and fond kisses from mothers, sisters, sweethearts and wives, and with shouts of good luck from hundreds ofthroats, the train started off. Handkerchiefs were waved from manywindows, cheerful heads were thrust out, and not until the train hadcleared the platform, and the "hurrahs" had faded away in the distance, did we take our seats. Then with set faces, grim with determination, weresigned ourselves to the fate that awaited us on the battlefields ofFrance. Reaching Boulogne, after a rather choppy voyage, our carconveyed us to G. H. Q. , which we reached late in the evening. The following morning I was told to leave for La Gorgue, to film scenesconnected with the Guards' Division. Late that afternoon, the Captainand I set out for our destination, reaching there about 8 o'clock. Iwas billeted in a private house, and immediately enquired for some food, but it was impossible to obtain any there. Going out I walked throughthe town, in the hope of finding a place to get something. But nonecould be found. Feeling very tired, I began to retrace my steps, withthe intention of going to bed. On my way back I had reason to change my mind. Quite an interestingscene unfolded itself. The boom of the guns rang out sharp and clear. The moon was shining brightly, and at intervals there flashed across thesky the not-far-distant glare of star-shells. In the houses, lining bothsides of the road, there was music, from the humble mouth-organ to thepiano, and lusty British voices were singing old English tunes with theenthusiasm of boyhood. On the pavement clusters of our Tommies were proceeding towards theirbillets, singing heartily at the top of their voices. Some batches weresinging carols, others the latest favourites, such as "Keep the HomeFires Burning. " No matter where one went, the same conditions and the same soundsprevailed; just happy-go-lucky throngs, filled with the songs andlaughter born of the spirit of Christmas. And yet as I reached my room, despite the scenes of joyousness and hilarity rampant, I could stillhear the crash of the guns. [Illustration: THE PRINCE OF WALES TRYING TO LOCATE MY "CAMOUFLAGEDCAMERA"] [Illustration: THE PRINCE OF WALES LEAVING A TEMPORARY CHURCH AT LAGORGUE, XMAS DAY, 1915] This was my second Christmas at the Front, although not in the samedistrict. Last year I was with the brave Belgian army. This year wascertainly very different in all respects except the weather, and thatwas as poisonous as ever. A miserable, misty, drifting rain, which wouldsoak through to the skin in a few minutes anyone not provided with agood rainproof. Donning my Burberry, I proceeded towards a small chapel, or rather to a building which is now used as one. It was originally aworkshop. On three sides it was entirely surrounded by the floods. Thefront door was just clear, but I had to paddle through mud half-way upto my knees to get there. I intended to obtain a film of the Guards'Division attending the Christmas service. Fixing up my camera, I awaited their arrival. After a short time theycame along, headed by their band. What a fine body of men! Swingingalong with firm stride, they came past. Thinking I had got sufficient Ipacked my camera, when, to my astonishment, I saw the Prince of Wales, with Lord Cavan, coming up at the rear. Rushing back to my old position, I endeavoured to fix up again, to film them coming in, but I was toolate. "Anyway, " I thought, "I will get him coming out. " Fixing up my machine at a new and advantageous point of view, I waited. The service began. I could hear the strains of the old, old carols andChristmas hymns. Surely one could not have heard them under strangerconditions, for as the sound of that beautiful carol, "Peace on Earth, Good Will to Men!" swelled from the throats of several hundreds of ourtroops, the heavy guns thundered out round after round with increasingintensity. Strange that at such a moment so terrific a bombardmentshould have taken place. It seems as if some strange telepathicinfluence was at work, commanding all the guns in the vicinity to openfire with redoubled fury. And high in the air, our steel "birds" werehovering over the enemy lines, directing the fire, and flecked all roundthem, like flakes of snow, was the smoke from the shrapnel shells firedon them by the Germans. "Peace on earth, good will to men, " came the strains of music from thelittle church. Crash! went the guns again and again, throwing theirshrieking mass of metal far overhead. I fell into a deep reverie, andmy thoughts naturally strayed to those at home. Returning to my room. I donned my thick woollen coat, as I intended torush off to G. H. Q. To see Tong, who had got a bad attack of dysentery, and try and cheer him up. Getting into my car, I told the chauffeur todrive like the wind. I had fifty kilometres to go. Away we rushedthrough the night, and as we went through villages where our Tommieswere billeted, the strains of the old home songs--Irish, Scotch andEnglish--were wafted to my ears. Except for the incessant shelling, theflash of guns, and the distant glare from the star-shells, it was almostimpossible to believe we were in the terrible throes of war. I arrivedat G. H. Q. About 8. 30 p. M. Poor Tong was very queer and feeling dejected. Not being able to speakFrench, he could not let the people of the hotel know what he wanted. Isoon made him as comfortable as possible, and sat beside his bedchatting about this, the strangest Christmas Day I had ever experienced. After remaining with him for about an hour and a half, I again startedfor the front line, where I arrived about 1 a. M. , dog-tired, and at onceturned in. So ended my second Christmas Day at the Front, and, as I dozed off tosleep, I found myself wondering whether the next Christmas would find mestill in France. Should I be listening to carols and guns at the Front, or would the message of the bells peal from a church in an adjacentstreet at home, and announce the coming of another Christmas to me andmine? CHAPTER III I GET INTO A WARM CORNER Boxing Day--But No Pantomime--Life in the Trenches--A Sniper at Work--Sinking a Mine Shaft--The Cheery Influence of an Irish Padre--A Cemetery Behind the Lines--Pathetic Inscriptions and Mementoes on Dead Heroes' Graves--I Get Into a Pretty Warm Corner--And Have Some Difficulty in Getting Out Again--But All's Well that Ends Well. Boxing Day! But nothing out of the ordinary happened. I filmed the RoyalWelsh Fusiliers en route for the trenches. As usual, the weather wasimpossible, and the troops came up in motor-buses. At the sound of awhistle, they formed up in line and stopped, and the men scrambled outand stood to attention by the roadside. They were going to the frontline. They gave me a parting cheer, and a smile that they knew would beseen by the people in England--perchance by their own parents. I went along the famous La Bassée Road--the most fiercely contestedstretch in that part of the country. It was literally lined withshell-destroyed houses, large and small; châteaux and hovels. All hadbeen levelled to the ground by the Huns. I filmed various scenes of theColdstreams, the Irish and the Grenadier Guards. At the furthermostpoint of the road to which cars are allowed shells started to fallrather heavily, so, not wishing to argue the point with them, I tookcover. When the "strafing" ceased I filmed other interesting scenes, andthen returned to my headquarters. The next day was very interesting, and rather exciting. I was to go tothe front trenches and get some scenes of the men at work under actualconditions. Proceeding by the Road, I reached the Croix Rouge crossing, which was heavily "strafed" the previous day. Hiding the car under coverof a partly demolished house, and strapping the camera on my back, myorderly carrying the tripod, I started out to walk the remainingdistance. I had not gone far when a sentry advised me not to proceedfurther on the road, but to take to the trench lining it, as thethoroughfare from this point was in full view of the German artilleryobservers. Not wishing to be shelled unnecessarily, I did as hesuggested. "And don't forget to keep your head down, sir, " was his lastremark. So bending nearly double, I proceeded. As a further precaution, I kept my man behind me at a distance of about twenty yards. Severaltimes high explosives and shrapnel came unpleasantly near. Presently I came upon a wooden tramway running at right angles to theroad. My instructions were to proceed along it until I came to "SignpostLane. " Why it was so dubbed I was unable to discover, but one thing Iwas certainly not kept in ignorance of for long, and that was that itwas perpetually under heavy shell-fire by the Germans. They wereevidently under the impression that it was the route taken by our reliefparties going to the trenches at appointed times during the day, and sothey fairly raked it with shell-fire. Unfortunately I happened to arrive on one of these occasions, and I knewit. Shells dropped all round us. Hardly a square yard of ground seemeduntouched. Under such conditions it was no good standing. I looked roundfor cover, but there was none. The best thing to do under thecircumstances was to go straight on, trust to Providence, and make forthe communication trenches with all speed. I doubled like a hare overthe intervening ground, and I was glad when I reached the trenches, foronce there, unless a shell bursts directly overhead, or falls on top ofyou, the chances of getting hit are very small. I was now in the sniping zone, and could continually hear the crack of aHun rifle, and the resulting thud of a bullet striking the mud or thesandbags, first one side then the other. The communication trenchesseemed interminable, and, as we neared the front line, the mud gotdeeper and parts of the trench were quite water-logged. Plod, plod, plod; section after section, traverse after traverse. Suddenly I came upon a party of sappers mending the parapet top withnewly filled sandbags. At that particular section a shell had droppedfairly near and destroyed it, and anyone walking past that gap stood avery good chance of having the top of his head taken off. These men werefilling up the breach. "Keep your head well down, sir, " shouted one, asI came along. "They" (meaning the Germans) "have got this place marked. " Down went my head, and I passed the gap safely. We were now well up in the firing trench. Fixing the camera, and therest of the apparatus, I began taking scenes of actual life andconditions in the trenches--that mysterious land about which millionshave read but have never had the opportunity of seeing. No mere verbaldescription would suffice to describe them. Every minute the murderouscrack of rifles and the whir of machine-guns rang out. Death hovered allround. In front the German rifles, above the bursting shrapnel, eachshell scattering its four hundred odd leaden bullets far and wide, killing or wounding any unfortunate man who happened to be in the way. The trenches looked as if a giant cataclysm of Nature had taken place. The whole earth had been upheaved, and in each of the mud-hills men hadburrowed innumerable paths, seven feet deep. It was hard to distinguishmen from mud. The former were literally caked from head to foot with thelatter. I filmed the men at work. There were several snipers calmlysmoking their cigarettes and taking careful aim at the enemy. Crack--crack--crack--simultaneously. "Sure, sir, " remarked one burly Irish Guardsman, "and he'll never bobhis ---- head up any more. It's him I've been afther this severalhours!" And as coolly as if he had been at a rifle range at home, theman discharged the empty cartridge-case and stood with his rifle, motionless as a rock, his eyes like those of an eagle. All this time it was raining hard. I worked my way along thenever-ending traverses. Coming upon a mount of sandbags, I enquired ofan officer present the nature and cause of its formation. He bade mefollow him. At one corner a narrow, downward path came into view. Trudging after him, I entered this strange shelter. Inside it was quitedark, but in a few seconds, when my eyes had got used to the conditions, I observed a hole in the centre of the floor about five feet square. Peering over the edge, I saw that the shaft was about _twenty-five feetdeep_, and that there was a light at the bottom. It then dawned upon mewhat it really was. It was a mine-shaft. At the bottom, men worked attheir deadly occupation, burrowing at right angles under our owntrenches (under "No Man's Land") and under the German lines. They laidtheir mines, and at the appointed time exploded them, thus causing agreat amount of damage to the enemy's parapets and trenches, and killinglarge numbers of the occupants. Retracing my steps, I fixed the camera up and filmed the men enteringthe mines and others bringing up the excavated earth in sandbags andplacing them on the outside of the barricade. Then I paused to film themen at work upon a trench road. Thinking I could obtain a better viewfrom a point in the distance, I started off for it, bent nearly double, when a warning shout from an officer bade me be careful. I reached thepoint. Although about fifty yards behind the firing trench, I was underthe impression that I was still sheltered by the parapet. Evidently Ihad raised my head too high while fixing up the tripod, for with amurderous whistle two bullets "zipped" by overhead. I must be morecareful if I wanted to get away with a whole skin; so bending low, Ifilmed the scene, and then returned. While proceeding along the line, I filmed the regimental padre of theIrish Guards wading through the mud and exchanging a cheery word withevery man he passed. What a figure he was! Tall and upright, with a longdark beard, and a voice that seemed kind and cheery enough to influenceeven the dead. He inspired confidence wherever he went. He stayed awhileto talk to several men who were sitting in their dug-outs pumping thewater out before they could enter. His words seemed to make the men workwith redoubled vigour. Then he passed on. Along this section, at the back of the dug-outs, were innumerable whitecrosses, leaning at all angles, in the mud. They were the lastresting-place of our dead heroes. On each cross a comrade had written ashort inscription, and some of these, though simple, and at times badlyspelt, revealed a pathos and a feeling that almost brought tears to theeyes. For all its slime and mud it was the most beautiful cemetery Ihave ever seen. On some of the graves were a few wildflowers. Nowreaths; no marble headstones; no elaborate ornamentation; but in theirplace a battered cap, a rusty rifle or a mud-covered haversack, thetreasured belongings of the dead. I had barely finished filming this scene when with a shriek severalshells came hurtling overhead from the German guns and burst about ahundred yards behind our firing line. Quickly adjusting the camera, Icovered the section with my lens. In a few seconds more shells cameover, and turning the handle I filmed them as they burst, throwing upenormous quantities of earth. The Huns were evidently firing atsomething. What that something was I soon found out. An enemy observerhad seen a small working party crossing an open space. The gunsimmediately opened fire. Whether they inflicted any casualties I do notknow, but a few minutes later the same party of men passed me as thoughnothing had happened. The rain was still falling, and the mist getting heavy, so I decided tomake my way back to headquarters. Packing up, and bidding adieu to theofficers, I started on the return journey through the communicationtrenches. One officer told me to go back the same way, via "SignpostLane. " "You will manage to get through before their evening 'strafing, '"he called out. After wearily trudging through nearly a mile of trenches, I came out at "Signpost Lane, " and I am never likely to forget it. We had left the shelter of the trench, and were hurrying, nearlydoubled, across a field, when a German observer spotted us. The nextminute "whizz-bangs" started falling around us like rain. No matterwhich way I turned, the tarnation things seemed to follow and burst witha deafening crash. At last, I reached the crossing, and was making myway down the trench lining the road, when a shell dropped and explodednot thirty feet ahead. But on I went, for a miss is as good as a mile. About a hundred yards further on was the battered shell of a farm-house. When almost up to it a couple of shells dropped fairly in the middle ofit and showered the bricks all round. A fairly warm spot! I had just reached the corner of the building when I heard the shriek ofa shell coming nearer. I guessed it was pretty close, and without amoment's hesitation dropped in the mud and water of a small ditch, andnot a moment too soon for with a dull thud the shell struck and bursthardly seven feet from me. Had I not fallen down these lines would neverhave been written. Picking myself up, I hurried on. Still the shellscontinued to drop, but fortunately at a greater distance. When I reachedCroix Rouge, I was literally encased in mud. Our progress along the roadhad been anxiously watched by the sentries and by my chauffeur. "Well, sir, " said the latter, with a sigh of relief, "I certainlythought they had you that time. " CHAPTER IV THE BATTLEFIELD OF NEUVE CHAPELLE A Visit to the Old German Trenches--Reveals a Scene of Horror that Defies Description--Dodging the Shells--I Lose the Handle of My Camera--And then Lose My Man--The Effect of Shell-fire on a Novice--In the Village of Neuve Chapelle--A Scene of Devastation--The Figure of the Lonely Christ. It occurred to me that an interesting film might be made out of scenesof the battlefield of Neuve Chapelle. The very thought of it conjured upa reeking, whirling mass of humanity, fighting with all the mostdevilish, death-dealing weapons that had ever been conceived by the mindof man. I decided to do a picture of the scene, and took with me anorderly who had never been under fire before. We proceeded along the La Bassée Road, and at the Croix Rouge proceededon foot towards Neuve Chapelle. As usual, Bosche shelling was soconsistent in its intensity that we thought it advisable to spread out abit in case a shell burst near us. My guide was Major ----, whocommanded one of the regiments holding the ground on the other side ofNeuve Chapelle. Eventually I reached the assembly trenches, where our men concentratedfor the great attack. In shape they were just ordinary trenches, branches off a main gallery, but they were in an awful state of decay, and literally torn to shreds by shell-fire. What tales these oldsandbags might tell if only they could speak, tales of our brave boysand our Indian troops that would live for ever in the history ofmankind. Standing upon one of the parapets, I looked round, andmarvelled that it was possible in so small a section of ground so manymen were hidden there. Quickly formulating my programme, I decided tobegin at the assembly trenches, and follow in imagination the path ofthe troops during the battle, ending up in the ruins of Neuve Chapellevillage itself, which I could see in the distance. "Be careful, " came the warning voice of a major, "the whole of theground here is in view of the Bosche artillery observers. If they seeanyone moving about they'll start 'strafing' like anything, and I assureyou they do it very conscientiously. " I therefore kept as low as possible. Fixing up the camera, I started to film the scenes from the assemblytrenches to the old first line trench, and then into the stretch ofground known as "No Man's Land. " Finishing this particular picture, wewent along to the old German trenches, and during the whole time we bentnearly double, to keep under the line of the old parapets. In the oldGerman trenches the frightful effect of modern shell-fire was only tooapparent. The whole line, as far as one could see, was absolutelysmashed to atoms. Only the bases of the parapets were left, and in thebottom of the trenches was an accumulation of water and filth. It was adisgusting sight. The whole place was littered with old Germanequipment, and whilst wading and splashing along through the water I sawsuch things, and such stenches assailed my nostrils, as I shall noteasily forget. Dotted all over the place, half in and half out of themud and water, were dead bodies. But why recount the horrors of the scene? Imagine the sights and thesmell. How I got through that section of trench Heaven only knows. Itwas simply ghastly. To escape from the scene I hurried to the end of the trench and againcrossed "No Man's Land. " The sight here was not so bad as in thetrenches. To obtain a good view of the spot I got up very gingerly ontop of the parapet, fixed the machine, and filmed the scene. But thisenterprise nearly put an end to my adventure, _and also to the othermembers of the party_. I had finished taking, and had got my camera downon the stand, in the bottom of the trench, and was on the point ofunscrewing it, when two shells came hurtling overhead and exploded aboutforty feet away. The Major ran up to me and shouted that I had beenseen, and told me to take cover at once. He and the others, suiting theaction to the word, dived below the parapets. Snatching the camera offits stand, I followed, and paddled as close as possible to the mud. Theshells began falling in quick succession. Nearer and nearer they came. Some just cleared the parapet top; some burst in front, some immediatelybehind. "They have got our line; let's shift along further, " some one said. From one point of the trench to the other we dodged. The shells seemedto follow us wherever we went. Crash! One struck the crumbling parapeton the very spot where, a few seconds before, I had been sheltering. Inthe rush for cover I had lost the handle of the camera, and as it wasthe only one I had there, I began to work my way back to find it. "Don't be a fool, " called the Major. "If you show yourself they'll haveyou, as sure as eggs are eggs. " But my anxiety to obtain pictures of thebursting shells was too much for me. I set to to make a handle of wood. Looking round, I spotted an old tree-trunk, behind which I could takecover. Doubling towards it, I crouched down, and finding a piece of woodand an old nail I fashioned a handle of a sort. At this moment a funny incident occurred. I had momentarily forgottenthe existence of the other members of the party. I was hoping againsthope that they had escaped injury. What had happened to them? Where werethey? It almost seemed as if my thoughts were communicated by telepathyto one of them, for just above the parapet in front of me rose the headof Captain ----. "I say, Malins, " he said, "did you find your handle?" The words were barely out of his mouth when a shell shot by. Captain----'s head went down like a jack-in-the-box. The sight was too funnyfor words. If he hadn't ducked the shell would have taken his head off, for it struck the ground and exploded, as we found out afterwards, onlyten feet away. For three-quarters of an hour this "strafing" continued, then givingBosche ten minutes to settle down we came out of our holes and corners. What sights we were! Collecting my apparatus, I again crossed "No Man's Land, " and carefullymade my way into the village of Neuve Chapelle itself. To describe itwould only be to repeat what I said of the devastated city of Ypres. There was nothing whole standing. The place was smashed and ground downout of all recognition. And yet, from its solitary high position uponthe cross, the figure of Christ looked down upon the scene. It wasabsolutely untouched. It stood there--this sacred emblem of ourFaith--grim and gaunt against the sky. A lonely sentinel. The scene wasa sermon in itself, and mere words fail to describe the deep impressionit made upon me. CHAPTER V FILMING THE PRINCE OF WALES How I Made a "Hide-up"--And Secured a Fine Picture of the Prince Inspecting some Gun-pits--His Anxiety to Avoid the Camera--And His Subsequent Remarks--How a German Block-house was Blown to Smithereens--And the Way I Managed to Film it Under Fire. To-day has certainly been most interesting, and not without excitement. I was to film the bombardment of a concrete German block-house from theGuards' trenches at ----. Previous to starting out from ---- news camethrough from headquarters that the Prince of Wales was going to inspectsome guns with Lord Cavan. The staff officer who told me this knew the trouble I had previouslyexperienced in trying to obtain good films of the Prince, and warned meto be very careful. I enquired the time of his arrival at the gun-pits. So far as I could ascertain, it was to be at 11. 30 a. M. I thereforedecided to be there half an hour earlier, and make a "hide-up" formyself and camera. I was determined to succeed this time. Proceeding byway of ----, which place has suffered considerable bombardment, thechurch and surrounding buildings having been utterly destroyed, I stayedawhile to film the interior and exterior of the church, and so addanother to the iniquitous record of the Bosche for destroying everythingheld sacred. [Illustration: ON THE WAY TO THE "MENIN GATE" WITH AN ARTILLERY OFFICER, TO FILM OUR GUNS IN ACTION] A short distance outside the town I came upon the gun positions, andcrossing a field--or rather shall I say a mud-pond, for the mud verynearly reached my knees--I selected a point of vantage at one side ofa hedge which ran at right angles to the gun-pits. There was only onepath fit to traverse, and getting hold of an officer, I asked him if wecould so arrange it that the Prince started from the further end of thepath and came towards camera. He said he would try. Fixing up thecamera, I got in front of the hedge facing the path, and completely hidall signs of the machine with bracken and branches of trees. Pushing thelens well through the hedge, I ripped open an old sandbag, cut a hole init and hung it on the hedge, with my lens pointing through. By suchmeans it was quite impossible for anyone in front to see either myselfor the camera, and having completed my preparations, I settled down topatiently await the arrival of the Prince. In about half an hour he came along with Lord Cavan, a general, andother officers of the staff. True to his promise, Captain ---- got thePrince to follow the path I had indicated. When he arrived at thefurther end of the row of guns, I started filming. He came directtowards the camera, but when within fifteen feet of it the noise ofhandle turning attracted his attention. He stood fully fifteen secondsgazing in my direction, evidently wondering what it was on the otherside of the hedge. Then he passed out of range. I hurried across thefield with my aeroscope (an automatic camera), and stood at the end ofthe path waiting for him to pass. In a few moments he came along, and I started filming. The smiles of thestaff officers were pleasing to behold. One of them remarked to thePrince that it was quite impossible to escape this time. As he passedinside the farm-house, I heard him remark: "That was the man I tried tododge on Christmas Day. How did he know I was coming here? Who toldhim?" The enquiry was followed by some good-natured laughter, andfeeling satisfied with my work, I hurried away. I had now to proceed to the front line trenches, taking the car, as faras possible, along the road. I had hidden it under cover of some ruinedbuildings, and taking the camera, and bidding my chauffeur bring thetripod, I started out. A captain conducted me. We quickly got to thecommunication trenches. As usual, a good deal of "strafing" was goingon, and the German snipers were very busy. When we reached the firstline firing trenches, I peered over the parapet through a periscope, butfound I was too far south of the block-house. So I proceeded higher up, and about eight hundred yards further on came a traverse, which I hadchosen, and the loophole through which I was going to film the scene. The distance to the German block-house from where I was standing wasabout 150 yards. The thickness of the parapet, I should say, was roughly four feet; andthrough the parapet was a conical, square-shaped, wooden cylinder. Infront, under cover of darkness, the night previous, I had had twosandbags placed, so that when everything was ready, and my camera fixed, a slight push from the back with a stick would shift them clear of theopening. Fixing up the camera, I very carefully pinned an empty sandbagover the back of the aperture, with the object of keeping any daylightfrom streaming through. I placed a long stick ready to push the sandbagsdown. I intended doing that after the first shell had fallen. This particular loophole had been severely sniped all the morning, theGermans evidently thinking it was a new Maxim-gun emplacement. Time wasdrawing near. I thought I would try with the stick whether the sandbagswould fall easily. Evidently I gave them too vigorous a push, for thenext moment they came toppling down. Knowing such a movement as that wascertain to attract the German snipers' attention, I quickly ducked myhead down and hoped our 9. 2's would soon open fire. I did not relishthe idea of having a bullet through my camera. Sure enough the Germans had seen the movement, for bullets beganbattering into sandbags around the loophole. At that moment the C. O. Withdrew the whole of the men from that section of the trench, and I wasleft alone. But the prospect of getting a fine film drove all otherthoughts from my mind. A few minutes later the first shell came hurtling over and explodedwithin ten yards of the block-house. I started filming. Shell aftershell I recorded as it exploded, first on one side then on the other, until at last the eighth shell fell directly on top of the block-house, and with a tremendous explosion the whole fabric disappeared in a cloudof smoke and flame. Débris of every description rattled in the trenchall round me, and continued to fall for some moments, but luckily I wasnot hit. Being unable to resist the temptation of looking over theparapet, I jumped up and gazed at the remains of the building which nowconsisted of nothing more than a twisted, churned-up mass of concreteand iron rails. Our artillery had done its work, and done it well. CHAPTER VI MY FIRST VISIT TO YPRES AND ARRAS Greeted on Arrival in the Ruined City of Ypres by a Furious Fusillade--IFilm the Cloth Hall and Cathedral, and Have a Narrow Escape--A OnceBeautiful Town Now Little More Than a Heap of Ruins--Arras a City of theDead--Its Cathedral Destroyed--But Cross and Crucifixes Unharmed. To Ypres! This was the order for the day. The news gave me a thrill ofexcitement. The thunder of the big guns grew louder as we approached thefront line, until they seemed to merge into one continuous roar. Stopping on the road, I asked if the Germans were "strafing" to-day. "Yes, " said one of our military police, "they were shelling us prettyheavily this morning: you will have to be very careful moving aboutinside. Bosche machines are always up in the air, taking bearings forthe guns. " Arriving at the outskirts of the ruined town, we were pulled up by asentry, who, finding our papers in order, allowed us to proceed. At thatmoment a furious fusillade of gun-fire attracted our attention, andthree shrill blasts of a whistle rang out; then we heard a cry, "Everyone under cover!" Stopping the car, I immediately jumped out, andstood under cover of a broken-down wall, and looking up, could see thecause of this activity. [Illustration: TAKING SCENES IN DEVASTATED YPRES, MAY, 1916] High in the air, about eight to ten thousand feet, was a Boscheaeroplane, and while I was watching it shrapnel shells from ouranti-aircraft guns were exploding round it like rain. A great numberwere fired at it. The whole sky was flecked with white and black patchesof smoke, but not one hit was recorded. The machine seemed to sailthrough that inferno as if nothing were happening, and at last itdisappeared in the haze over its own lines. Only then were we allowed toproceed. I had made a rough programme of what to film, and decided to start fromthe Grand Place. In a few words, I may say that I filmed the Place fromthe remains of the Cloth Hall, the Cathedral, and various districts ofthe town, but to try and describe the awful condition of what was oncethe most beautiful town in Belgium would be to attempt the impossible. No pen, and no imagination, could do justice to it. The wildest dreamsof Dante could not conjure up such terrible, such awful scenes. The immensity of the outrage gripped me perhaps more completely when Istood upon the heap of rubble that was once the most beautiful piece ofarchitecture of its kind in all the world. The Cloth Hall, and theCathedral, looked exactly as if some mighty scythe had swept across theground, levelling everything in its path. The monster 15-inch Germanshells had dismembered and torn open the buildings brick by brick. Confusion and devastation reigned everywhere, no matter in whatdirection you looked. It was as if the very heavens and the earth hadcrashed together, crushing everything between them out of all semblanceto what it had been. The ground was literally pock-marked with enemy shell-holes. The stenchof decaying bodies followed me everywhere. At times the horror of it allseemed to freeze the understanding, and it was difficult to realise thatone was part and parcel of this world of ours. Literally, horror waspiled upon horror. And this was the twentieth century of which menboasted; this was civilisation! Built by men's hands, the result ofcenturies of work. Now look at them; those beautiful architecturalmonuments, destroyed, in a few months, by the vilest spawn that evercontaminated the earth. A breed that should and would be blotted out ofexistence as effectively as they had blotted out the town of Ypres. Beneath one large building lay buried a number of our gallant soldiers, who were sheltering there, wounded. The position was given away byspies, with the result that the Germans poured a concentrated fire ofshells upon the helpless fellows, and the shelling was so terrific thatthe whole building collapsed and buried every living soul beneath thedébris. As I stood upon the heap tears came into my eyes, and the spirits of thebrave lads seemed to call out for vengeance. And even as I stood andpondered, the big guns rang out, the very concussion shaking bricks anddust upon me as I stood there. While filming the scene, German shellscame hurtling and shrieking overhead, exploding just behind me andscattering the débris of the ruins high above and whizzing in mydirection. To obtain a good view-point, I clambered upon a mount of bricks nearlyfifty feet high, all that was left of the Cathedral Tower. From thateminence I could look right down into the interior, and I succeeded intaking an excellent film of it. While doing so, two German shellsexploded a short distance away. Whether it was the concussion or piecesof shell that struck it, I do not know--probably the latter--but largepieces of stone and granite fell at my feet, and one piece hit myshoulder. So I quickly made my way to more healthy quarters, and even asI left the shells overhead began to shriek with redoubled fury, as ifthe very legions of hell were moaning, aghast at the terrible crimewhich the fiendish Huns had perpetrated. Arras, although not by any means as badly damaged as Ypres, is one ofthe most historical and beautiful places systematically destroyed by theGermans. The Cathedral, the wonderful Museum, the Hôtel de Ville, oncethe pride of this broken city, are now no more. Arras provides yetanother blasting monument of the unspeakable methods of warfare aspractised by the descendants of Attila, the Hun. The city was as silentas the tomb when I visited it. It was dead in every sense of the word; aplace only fit for the inhabitants of the nether world. Only when theGerman shells came screaming overhead with unearthly noise, in an emptystreet, was the silence broken in this city of the dead. I visited the ruined Cathedral, and filmed various scenes of theinterior and exterior, having to climb over huge mounds of fallenmasonry to obtain my best view-points. In places all that was leftstanding was the bare walls. The huge columns, with their beautifulsculptures, no longer able to support the roof, still stood like grimsentinels watching over their sacred charge. And yet, despite theunholy bombardment to which the building had been subjected, threethings remained unharmed and untouched in the midst of this scene ofawful desolation. The three crucifixes, with the figures of Christstill upon them, gazed down upon this scene of horror. And high uponthe topmost joint of the south wall stood the cross, the symbol ofChristianity--unharmed. The united endeavours of the Powers of Evilcould not dislodge that sacred emblem from its topmost pinnacle. I left the Cathedral and walked along the grass-covered streets, pock-marked by innumerable shell-holes, and every now and then I had todive into some cellar for shelter from falling shells. At the Hôtel deVille the same sight presented itself. The bombardment had reduced itswalls to little more than a tottering shell, which fell to pieces at themerest touch. [Illustration: IN YPRES, WITH "BABY" BROOKS, THE OFFICIAL STILLPHOTOGRAPHER, MAY, 1916] CHAPTER VII THE BATTLE OF ST. ELOI Filming Within Forty-five Yards of the German Trenches--Watching for "Minnies"--Officers' Quarters--"Something" Begins to Happen--An Early Morning Bombardment--Develops Into the Battle of St. Eloi--Which I Film from Our First-Line Trench--And Obtain a Fine Picture. A bombardment was to take place. A rather vague statement, and a commonenough occurrence; but not so this one. I had a dim idea--not without foundation, as it turned out--that therewas more in this particular bombardment than appeared on the surface. Why this thought crossed my mind I do not know. But there it was, and Ialso felt that it would somehow turn out seriously for me before I hadfinished. I was to go to a certain spot to see a general--and obtain permission tochoose a good view-point for my machine. My knowledge of the topographyof this particular part of the line was none too good. Reaching the place I met the General, who said, in a jocular way, when Ihad explained my mission: "Have you come to me to-day by chance, or have you heard something?" This remark, "Had I heard something?" confirmed my opinion thatsomething _was_ going to happen. Without more ado, the General told methe bombardment would take place on the morrow, somewhere about 5. 30a. M. "In that case, " I said, "it will be quite impossible to obtain anyphotographs. Anyway, " I added, "if you will permit me, sir, I will sleepin the front line trenches to-night, and so be ready for anything thatmay happen. I could choose a good spot for my machine this afternoon. " "Well, " he replied, "it's a hot corner, " and going to the section mapshe told me our front line was only forty-five yards away from theBosche. "You will, of course, take the risk, but, honestly speaking, Idon't expect to see you back again. " This was anything but cheerful, but being used to tight corners I didnot mind the risk, so long as I got some good films. The General then gave me a letter of introduction to another general, who, he said, would give me all the assistance he could. Armed with thisdocument, I started out in company of a staff officer, who was to guideme to the Brigade headquarters. Arriving there (it was the most advancedpoint to which cars were allowed to go), I obtained two orderlies, gaveone my aeroscope the other the tripod, and strapping another upon myback, we started off on a two-mile walk over a small hill, and throughcommunication trenches to the section. At a point which boasted the name of "Cooker Farm, " which consisted of afew dug-outs, well below ground level, and about five by six feet highinside by seven feet square, I interviewed two officers, who 'phoned tothe front line, telling them of my arrival. They wished me all good luckon my venture, and gave me an extra relay of men to get me to the front. A considerable amount of shelling was going on overhead, but none, fortunately, came in my immediate neighbourhood. The nearest was aboutfifty yards away. From our front line trenches the Bosche lines were only forty-five yardsaway, therefore dangers were to be anticipated from German snipers. Agreat many of our men had actually been shot through the loophole ofplates. I immediately reported myself to the officer in charge, who wasresting in a dug-out, built in the parapet. He was pleased to see me, and promised me every assistance. I told him I wished to choose a pointof vantage from which I could film the attack. Placing my apparatus inthe comparative safety of the dug-out, I accompanied him outside. Rifle-fire was continuous; shells from our 60-pounders and 4. 2's werethundering past overhead, and on either side "Minnies" (German bombs)were falling and exploding with terrific force, smashing our parapetsand dug-outs as if they had been the thinnest of matchwood. Fortunately for us these interesting novelties could be seen coming. Menare always on the look-out for "Minnies, " and when one has been firedfrom the Bosche it rises to a height of about five hundred feet, andthen with a sudden curve descends. At that point it is almost possibleto calculate the exact whereabouts of its fall. Everyone watches it; thespace is quickly cleared, and it falls and explodes harmlessly. Sometimes the explosion throws the earth up to a height of nearly 150feet. While I was deciding upon the exact point of the parapet upon which Iwould place the camera, a sudden cry of "Minnie" was heard. Looking up, I saw it was almost overhead, and with a quick rush and a dive Idisappeared into a dug-out. I had barely got my head into it before"Minnie" fell and blew the mud in all directions, covering my backplentifully, but fortunately doing no other damage. Eventually I decided upon the position, and looking through my periscopesaw the German trenches stretching away on the right for a distance ofhalf a mile, as the ground dipped into a miniature valley. From thispoint I could get an excellent film, and if the Germans returned ourfire I could revolve the camera and obtain the resulting explosions inour lines. The farm-house where I spent the night was about nine hundred yardsbehind the firing track. All that now remained of a once prosperousgroup of farm buildings were the battered walls, but with the aid of aplentiful supply of sandbags and corrugated iron the cellars were madecomparatively comfortable. By the time I reached there it was quite dark, but by carefully feelingmy way with the aid of a stick I stumbled down the five steps into thecellar, and received a warm welcome from Captain ----, who introduced meto his brother officers. They all seemed astounded at my mission, neverimagining that a moving picture man would come into the front battleline to take pictures. The place was about ten feet square; the roof was a lean-to, and wassupported in the centre by three tree-trunks. Four wooden frames, uponwhich was stretched some wire-netting, served as bedsteads; in a cornerstood a bucket-fire, the fumes and smoke going up an improvised chimneyof petrol tins. In the centre was a rough table. One corner of it waskept up by a couple of boxes; other boxes served as chairs. Rough as it was, it was like heaven compared with other places at whichI have stayed. By the light of two candles, placed in biscuit tins, wesat round, and chatted upon kinematograph and other topics until 11. 30p. M. The Colonel of another regiment then came in to arrange about thepositions of the relieving battalions which were coming in on thefollowing day. He also arranged for his sniping expert and men toaccompany the patrolling parties, which were going out at midnight in"No Man's Land" to mend mines and spot German loop-holes. A message came through by 'phone from Brigade headquarters that the timeof attack was 5. 45 a. M. I could have jumped for joy; if only the sky wasclear, there would be enough light for my work. The news was received inquite a matter-of-fact way by the others present, and after sending outcarrying parties for extra ammunition for bomb guns, they all turned into snatch a few hours' sleep, with the exception of the officer on duty. At twelve o'clock I turned in. Rolling myself in a blanket and using mytrench-coat and boots as a pillow, I lay and listened to the continualcrack of rifle-fire, and the thud of bullets striking and buryingthemselves in the sandbags of our shelter. Now and then I dozed, andpresently I fell asleep. I suddenly awakened with a start. What causedit I know not; everything seemed unnaturally quiet; with the exceptionof an isolated sniper, the greatest war in history might have beenthousands of miles away. I lit a cigarette, and was slowly puffing it(time, 4. 15 a. M. ), when a tremendous muffled roar rent the air; theearth seemed to quake. I expected the roof of our shelter to collapseevery minute. The shock brought my other companions tumbling out. "Something" was happening. The rumble had barely subsided, when it seemed as if all the guns inFrance had opened rapid battery fire at the same moment. Shells pouredover our heads towards the German positions in hundreds. The shriekingand earsplitting explosives were terrific, from the sharp bark of the4. 2 to the heavy rumble and rush of the 9-inch "How. " The Germans, surprised in their sleep, seemed absolutely demoralised. They wereblazing away in all directions, firing in the most wild andextraordinary manner, anywhere and everywhere. Shells were crashing andsmashing their way into the remains of the outbuildings, and they wereliterally exploding all round. Captain ---- instructed his officers to see what had happened to theammunition party. They disappeared in the hell of shell-fire as thoughit were quite an every-day incident. I opened the door, climbed thesteps, and stood outside. The sight which met my eyes was magnificent inits grandeur. The heavens were split by shafts of lurid fire. Masses ofmetal shot in all directions, leaving a trail of sparks behind them;bits of shell shrieked past my head and buried themselves in the wallsand sandbags. One large missile fell in an open space about forty feeton my left, and exploded with a deafening, ear-splitting crash. At thesame moment another exploded directly in front of me. Instinctively Iducked my head. The blinding flash and frightful noise for the momentstunned me, and I could taste the exploding gas surrounding me. Istumbled down the steps into the cellar, and it was some minutes beforeI could see clearly again. My companions were standing there, calmlyawaiting events. The frightful din continued. It was nothing but high explosives, highexplosive shrapnel, ordinary shrapnel, trench bombs, and bullets fromGerman machine-guns. One incessant hail of metal. Who on earth couldlive in it? What worried me most was that there was not sufficient lightto film the scene; but, thank Heaven, it was gradually getting lighter. It was now 5 a. M. The shelling continued with increasing intensity. Igot my apparatus together, and with two men decided to make my way tothe position in the front line. [Illustration: WITH MY AEROSCOPE CAMERA AFTER FILMING THE BATTLE OF ST. ELOI] Shouldering my camera I led the way, followed by the men at a distanceof twenty yards. Several times on the journey shrapnel balls andsplinters buried themselves in the mud close by. When I reached thefiring trench all our men were standing to arms, with grim faces, awaiting their orders. I fixed up the tripod so that the top of it camelevel with our parapet, and fastened the camera upon it. It topped theparapet of our firing trench (the Germans only forty-five yards away), and to break the alignment I placed sandbags on either side of it. In this position I stood on my camera case, and started to film theBattle of St. Eloi. Our shells were dropping in all directions, smashing the German parapetsto pulp and blowing their dug-outs sky-high. The explosions lookedgorgeous against the ever-increasing light in the sky. Looking throughmy view-finder, I revolved first on one section then on the other; froma close view of 6-inch shells and "Minnies" bursting to the more distantview of our 9. 2. Then looking right down the line, I filmed the cloudsof smoke drifting from the heavy (woolly bears) or high shrapnel, thenback again. Shells--shells--shells--bursting masses of molten metal, every explosion momentarily shaking the earth. The Germans suddenly started throwing "Minnies" over, so revolving mycamera, I filmed them bursting over our men. The casualties were veryslight. For fully an hour I stood there filming this wonderful scene, and throughout all the inferno, neither I nor my machine was touched. Afragment of shrapnel touched my tripod, taking a small piece out of theleg. That was all! Shortly after seven o'clock the attack subsided, and as my film had allbeen used up, I packed and returned to my shelter. What a "scoop" this was. It was the first film that had actually beentaken of a British attack. What a record. The thing itself had passed. It had gone; yet I had recorded it in my little 7- by 6-inch box, andwhen this terrible devastating war was over, and men had returned onceagain to their homes, business men to their offices, ploughmen to theirploughs, they would be able to congregate in a room and view all overagain the fearful shells bursting, killing and maiming on that winter'smorning of March 27th, 1916. CHAPTER VIII A NIGHT ATTACK--AND A NARROW ESCAPE A Very Lively Experience--Choosing a Position for the Camera Under Fire--I Get a Taste of Gas--Witness a Night Attack by the Germans--Surprise an Officer by My Appearance in the Trenches--And Have One of the Narrowest Escapes--But Fortunately Get Out with Nothing Worse than a Couple of Bullets Through My Cap. The weather was very fine when I left G. H. Q. , but on reaching ----, tointerview Colonel ---- in reference to the mining section, rain fellheavily. I arrived soon after midday, and went to the IntelligenceDepartment to report; the C. O. Telephoned to the C. Of M. For anappointment. It was made for nine o'clock that night. Having plenty oftime at my disposal, I returned to ----, and passed a few hours withsome friends. In the evening I returned for my appointment at the hournamed. The Colonel was exceedingly interested in my project, and waswilling to do anything to help me. He gave me a letter of introductionto the Corps Commander of the ---- Army, Brigadier-General ----; alsoone to Captain ----, C. O. Of the ---- Mining Section. I was to proceedto General ---- first, and obtain the permission. At eight o'clock the following morning I rushed off to the Company H. Q. I met the General leaving his château. Having read my letter ofintroduction, he promptly gave his consent. I was to report to Major----, at H. Q. , saying it was quite all right. Thanking the General, Ihastened to H. Q. , and showing his letter and delivering his message, Iwas given a note to Captain ----, asking him to give me everyassistance. Before leaving, the Major wished me success, and asked mewhether I was prepared to wait until a "blow" came off? "Yes, sir, " I replied, "for five or six days in the trenches, ifnecessary. " The Colonel had made arrangements with several Companies that they wereto report immediately to ----th Company when they were going to "blow, "in order to give me time to go immediately to the spot and film it. Leaving the Company H. Q. , I proceeded to ----, and duly presented theCaptain's letter. "You have the Corps' permission, " said the Colonel; "it will now benecessary to obtain the Divisional C. O. Permit. " This I eventually obtained. Now if by any chance a "blow" took placeopposite either of the other Companies, it would be necessary to obtaintheir permission, as they were in another Division. Therefore, callingupon a major of that Division, I secured the final permit. Next morning I left for the front line trenches. Reaching ----, whichwas smashed out of all recognition, we drew up under cover of someruined walls. Shells were falling and bursting among the ruins, butthese diversions were of such ordinary, everyday occurrence that hardlyany notice was taken of them. If they missed--well, they were gone. Ifthey hit--well, it was war! The Miners, gathering near the "Birdcage" (a spot which derives its namefrom a peculiar iron cage erection at the corner of the road), formedup, and proceeded for about three hundred yards to the beginning of"Quarry Ally, " the ammunition trench leading to their particular part ofthe front line. They filed in one by one; I filmed them meanwhile. The journey of thirteen hundred yards to the front line was quite anordinary walk. It was interesting to note the different tones of theheavy and light shells as they flew overhead, from the dull rush of a9. 2 to the shriek of the 18-pounder. I reached a Company dug-out. It wascertainly one of the best I have ever seen. Going down three steps, thenturning sharply at right angles, I disappeared through a four-footopening; down more steps to a depth of ten feet, then straight for threepaces. At the end was the main gallery, about twenty-five feet long, five feet in width, and five feet six inches high. Half of it was usedfor the telephone operator, and sleeping accommodation for theorderlies, the other half was used as officers' quarters. Severalofficers were busy discussing plans when I arrived. The conversationmight sound strange and callous to an ordinary listener. "Well, what's the news? How's Brother Bosche?" "Bosche reported quite near, " was the reply. "Our shaft is practicallyfinished, and ready for charging. This morning you could distinctly hearBosche speaking. His gallery was getting nearer to ours. I told theSergeant to work only when Bosche was doing so. " "When are you going to 'blow' ----?" "I am not sure of the date, but 'Dinkie' is going to 'poop' in a fewdays. He's got two tons under Bosche. It will be a ---- fine show; rightunder his trenches. Ought to snip a hundred or so. " "Well, " said another, "I was down in C shaft, and could hear Boscheworking very hard, as if he had got all the world to himself. " At that moment a tunnelling-sergeant came in, and reported that theBosche was much nearer. The listener could distinctly hear talkingthrough the 'phone. An officer immediately got up and went out with the sergeant, one of thespeakers meanwhile suggesting that Brother Bosche was certainly goingto visit realms of higher kultur than he had hitherto known. Then came a close scrutinising of maps, showing shafts in the making andmines ready for "blowing"; of sharp orders to the tunnelling-sergeantsand fatigue parties to bring charges from the magazine. The whole thingwas fascinating in the extreme. A new branch of His Majesty's Service, and one of the most dangerous. To be on duty in a listening-post thirtyfeet underground--in a narrow tunnel, scarcely daring to breathe, listening to German miners making a counter-mine, and gradually pickingtheir way nearer and nearer, until at last you can hear theirconversation--would try the nerves of the strongest of men. I went out, and made my way towards the well-known Quarries. Notingseveral interesting scenes of our Scottish battalions at work, I filmedthem. A most pathetic touch was added to the scene, for a neat littlegraveyard occupied the right-hand corner, and about one hundred smallcrosses were there. I was not allowed to remain very long. The Bosche sent over severalaerial torpedoes, which exploded with terrific force and split up theground as if a 12-inch H. E. Shell had been at work. Naturally every onerushed to obtain as much cover as possible. I crossed to the other sideof the Quarry, and entered a small tunnel, which led into a winding mazeof narrow communication trenches. [Illustration: IN THE MAIN STREET OF CONTALMAISON THE DAY OF ITSCAPTURE] [Illustration: LAUNCHING A SMOKE BARRAGE AT THE BATTLE OF ST. ELOI] "Be careful, sir, " called a sentry. "Bosche is only thirty yards away, and they are plugging this corner pretty thoroughly; they're fairlywhizzing through the sandbags, as if they warn't there, sir. They caughtmy Captain this morning, clean through the head. I was a-talking to him, sir, at the time; the finest gentleman that ever lived; and the swinekilled him. I'll get six of them for him, sir. " The look in his eyes andthe tone of his voice told me he was in earnest. I passed on, keepingas low as possible. The crater, when I reached it, proved to be one of an enormous size. Itmust have been quite 150 feet across. The place had been converted intoa miniature fort. I noticed how spongy the ground was. When walking itseemed as if one was treading upon rubber. I casually enquired of anofficer the cause of it. "Dead bodies, " said he; "the ground here isliterally choked with them; we dare not touch it with a spade; thecondition is awful. There are thousands of them for yards down, and whena shell tears away any section of our parapets the sight is too ghastlyfor words. " At that moment a man yelled out "cover, " and, looking up, I saw severalBosche rifle grenades falling. Shouting to my orderly to take cover withthe camera, he disappeared into what I thought was a dug-out but which Iafterwards discovered was an incline shaft to a mine. He made a runningdive, and slid down about four yards before he pulled himself up. Luckily he went first, the camera butting up against him. He told usafterwards he thought he was really going to the lower regions. I dived under a sandbag emplacement, when the grenades went off with asplitting crash, and after allowing a few seconds for the pieces todrop, looked out. A tragic sight met my gaze. The officer with whom Ihad been speaking a few moments before had, unfortunately, been too latein taking cover. One of the grenades had struck him on the head, andkilled him on the spot. Within a few moments some Red Cross menreverently covered the body with a mackintosh sheet and bore it away. One more cross would be added to the little graveyard in the Quarry. Shortly after I met an officer of the Mining Section. He was just goingdown into the gallery to listen to Bosche working a counter-mine. Did Icare to accompany him? "Don't speak above a whisper, " he said. He disappeared through a hole about three feet square. I followed, clinging to the muddy sides like a limpet, half sliding, half crawling, in the impenetrable darkness. We went on, seemingly for a greatdistance; in reality it was only about fifteen yards. Then we came to alevel gallery, and in the distance, by the aid of a glow-lamp, I couldsee my companion crouching down, with a warning finger upon his lips toassure silence. The other side of him was a man of the tunnellingsection, who had been at his post listening. The silence was uncannyafter the din outside. In a few moments I heard a queer, muffledtap--tap--tap, coming through the earth on the left. I crept closer tomy companion, and with my mouth close to his ear enquired whether thatwas the Bosche working. "Yes, " he said, "but listen with this, " giving me an instrument verysimilar to a doctor's stethoscope. I put it to my ear and rested the other end upon a ledge of mud. Theeffect was like some one speaking through a telephone. I coulddistinctly hear the impact of the pickaxe wielded by the Bosche upon theclay and chalk, and the falling of the débris. I turned to him with a smile. "Brother Bosche will shortly have a risein life?" "Yes, " said he, "I think we shall 'blow' first. It's going to be a race, though. " Final orders were given to the man in charge, then we crawled up againinto the din of the crashing shells. I was more at home in theseconditions. Down below the silence was too uncanny for me. When Ireached our dug-out once more a message was waiting for me to return toH. Q. , as important things were in prospect the following morning. The message was urgent. Mines were to be blown at an early hour. Itherefore decided that the best thing to do was to go into the trenchesand stay the night, and so be prepared for anything that might happen. Little did I dream what the next forty-eight hours were going to bring. It's a good thing sometimes we don't know what the future has in storefor us. The stoutest heart might fail under the conditions created bythe abnormal atmosphere of a modern battlefield. I prepared to depart at 8 p. M. , and bidding adieu to my friends, Istarted off in the car. The guns were crashing out continuously. Severaltimes I pulled the car up to shelter under some ruins. Then for a fewminutes there was a lull, and directing my chauffeur to go ahead at topspeed we reached our destination safely. I had barely entered this sceneof desolation when Bosche shells came hurtling overhead and fell with adeafening explosion a short distance away. Here I had my first taste ofgas from the German weeping shells. The air was suddenly saturated withan extraordinarily sweet smell. For the first few moments I quiteenjoyed it. Then my eyes began to water freely, and pain badly. Realising at once that I was being "gassed, " I bade the driver rushthrough the village, and as far beyond as possible. His eyes, poor fellow, were in the same state. The car rolled andpitched its way through, smashing into shell-holes, bounding over fallenmasonry, scraping by within a hair's-breadth of a recently smashedlorry. On and on, like a drunken thing. Still the air was thick with thefoul gas. My eyes were burning; at last it was quite impossible to keepthem open. But I had to get through, and so with a final effort lookedahead, and to my great relief found we were beyond the village, and theair smelt cleaner. I told the driver to pull up, and with a final rollthe car landed its front wheels into a ditch. For two hours afterwards I was to all intents and purposes blind. Myeyes were burning, aching and weeping. The pain at last subsided, andcollecting the apparatus we trudged off along the communication trenchto the front line. Threading our way through seemed much more difficultthan previously. The sides of the trenches had been blown in by shells afew minutes before, and this necessitated climbing over innumerablemounds of rubble; but working parties were quickly on the scene clearinga way through. At last I reached the dug-out previously referred to, andbelieve me, I was very thankful. The officer there seemed rathersurprised to see me. "Hullo!" he said. "What news? Anything doing?" "Yes, " I replied. "H. Q. Says they are 'blowing' in the early morning, soI decided to come along to-night and fix up a good position for thecamera, not desiring to attract the too earnest attentions of a Boschesniper. " "Whose mine are they blowing?" said he. "I suppose I shall hear anymoment. " Just then a message came through on the 'phone. He picked upthe receiver and listened intently. An earnest conversation was takingplace. I could gather from the remarks that H. Q. Was speaking. In a fewminutes he replaced the receiver, and turning to me, said: "D shaft isgoing to blow; time, 7. 15 a. M. " Soon after I turned in. Rolling myself in a blanket, I lay down on atrestle-bed in the corner, and in doing so disturbed a couple of rats, almost as large as rabbits, which had taken up their temporary quartersthere. Apparently there were plenty of them, for several times I feltthe brutes drop on my blanket from holes and crannies in the chalk. Needless to say, I could not sleep a wink, tired out as I was, and as Ilay there, twenty feet underground, I could hear the rumble and roar ofthe shells crashing their way through our parapets, tearing, killing andmaiming our brave lads, who throughout all these horrors held thissection of our line like a wall of steel. I had been lying there for about half an hour. Then I got up and climbedout of the incline into the open trench. I worked my way towards thefiring trench; bullets from Bosche machine-guns and snipers wereflattening themselves against the parapet. Several times I had tosqueeze myself close to the muddy sides to allow stretcher-bearers topass with their grim burdens; some for the corner of the Quarry, somefor good old "Blighty. " I stayed for a while alongside a sentry. "Any news?" I asked. "No, sir, " said he, "but I feel as if something is going to happen. " "Come, " said I, with a laugh, "this is not the time for dreaming. " "No, sir, I'm not dreaming, but I feel something--something that I can'texplain. " "Well, cheer up, " I said. "Good night. " "Good night, sir!" And as I wended my way along I could hear him softly whistling tohimself the refrain of an old song. At last I came upon the section opposite which our mine was going up inthe morning, and cautiously looking over the parapet I surveyed theground in front. There were several sandbags that required shifting. Ifthey remained it would be necessary to place the camera higher above thetop than was safe or wise. Carefully pulling myself up, I lay along thetop of the parapet and pushed them aside. Several star-shells were firedwhilst I was so engaged, and I dare not stir--I scarcely daredbreathe--for fear the slightest movement would draw a stream of bulletsin my direction. Undoubtedly this was the only place from which to film the minesuccessfully. So marking the spot I slid down into the trench again, andretraced my steps to the dug-out. I found the officer I had previouslyseen enjoying a lovely, steaming tin of tea, and it wasn't many minutesbefore I was keeping him company. We sat chatting and smoking for aconsiderable time. "Is everything ready?" I asked. "Yes, " he said. "There is over three thousand pounds of it there"(mentioning an explosive). "Brother Bosche will enjoy it. " "Let me see your map, " I said, "and I'll point out the spot where I'mworking. It's about eighty yards away from Bosche. If we work out theexact degree by the map of the 'blow, ' I can obtain the right directionby prismatic compass, and a few minutes before 'time' lift the camera upand cover the spot direct. It'll save exposing myself unnecessarilyabove the parapet to obtain the right point of view. " The point of viewwas accordingly settled. It was 124° from the spot chosen for the"blow. " We had been so busy over our maps that we had not noticed how quieteverything had become. Hardly a gun sounded; the silence was uncanny. Save for the scurrying of the rats and the drip--drip--drip of water, the silence was like that of the grave. "What's wrong?" I asked. "Bosche is up to no good when he drops silent so soon, " he said. Thewords of the sentry recurred to me. "I've a feeling, sir, that I cannotdescribe. " I was beginning to feel the same. At length my companion broke the silence. "As Bosche seems to be going easy, and our artillery has shut up shop, let's lie down, " and with that he threw himself on the bed. I sat on thebox, which served as a table, smoking. Half an hour went by. Things were livening up a bit. We began to hum atune or two from the latest revue. Suddenly we were brought to our feetby a crashing sound that was absolutely indescribable in its intensity. I rushed up the incline into the trench. What a sight! The whole of ourfront for the distance of a mile was one frightful inferno of fire. Theconcentration of artillery fire was terrific! Scores of star-shells shotinto the air at the same moment, lighting the ground up like day, showing up the smoking, blazing mass more vividly than ever. Hundreds ofshells, large and small, were bursting over our trenches simultaneously;our guns were replying on the German front with redoubled fury; the airwas alive with whirling masses of metal. The noise was indescribable. The explosions seemed to petrify one. I made my way as near the front line as possible. A number of Scotsrushed by me with a load of hand grenades. The trenches were packed withmen rushing up to the fight. I asked an officer who raced by, breathlessly, if Bosche was getting through. "Yes, " he yelled; "they are trying to get through in part of my section. They have smashed our communication trenches so much that I have got totake my men round on the right flank. It's hell there!" It was impossible to get through. The place was choked with men, many ofthem badly wounded; some of them, I'm afraid, destined as tenants of thelittle cemetery near by. The awful nightmare continued. Men were coming and going. Reserves werebeing rushed forward; more bombs were being sent up. The Boscheartillery quietened down a bit, but only, as I found out immediatelyafterwards, to allow their bombers to attack. I could see the flash ofhundreds of bombs, each one possibly tearing the life out of some of ourbrave boys. Nothing in the world could have withstood such aconcentrated artillery fire as the Germans put upon that five hundredyards of ground. It was torn and torn again, riven to shreds. It waslike the vomiting of a volcano, a mass of earth soddened with the bloodof the heroes who had tried to hold it. The Germans came on, bombing their way across to what was left of ourtrench. They dug themselves in. Then with a whirl and a crash, our gunsspoke again. Our boys, who had been waiting like dogs on a leash, sprangto the attack. Briton met Bosche. The battle swayed first this way thenthat. Our men drove the Germans out twice during the night, and held onto a section commanding the flank of the original position. Towards fouro'clock the fighting ceased. Daylight was breaking. The wounded werestill being passed to the rear. I stopped and spoke to an officer. "How have you got on?" I asked. "We occupy the left flank trench, and command the position. But, what afight; it was worse than Loos. " Then suddenly, "What are _you_ doinghere?" "I am taking kinema pictures!" I said. The look of amazement on his face was eloquent of his thoughts. "Doing _what_?" he asked. "I am taking kinema pictures, " I repeated. "Well I'm damned, " were his exact words. "I never thought you fellowsexisted. I've always thought war pictures were fakes, but--well--now Iknow different, " and giving me a hearty shake of the hand he went on hisway. Time was now drawing near for my work to begin. Taking the camera tothe selected point in the front line, which, luckily, was just on theleft of the fighting area, I took my bearings by the aid of a compass. Fixing up a tripod in such close quarters was very difficult. Istretched an empty sandbag on a piece of wire, cut a hole in it and hungit on the front of the camera in such a position that the lens projectedthrough the hole. The sandbag stretched far enough on either side toshelter my hands, especially the right one, which operated the machine. I was now ready. I had to risk the attentions of the snipers; it wasunavoidable. Little by little I raised the camera. It was now highenough up, and ramming some sand against the tripod legs, I waited. Had the Bosche seen it? Three more minutes, then the mine. One minute went by; no shots! Anotherminute went by. A bullet flew over my head. Immediately afterwardsanother buried itself in the parapet, then another. Surely they wouldhit it! Heavens how that last minute dragged! To be absolutely sure ofgetting the mine from the very beginning, I decided to start exposing aminute before time. It had to be done; reaching up, I started to expose. Another and another bullet flew by. Then the thing happened which I had been dreading. The Bosche opened amachine-gun on me. At that moment there was a violent convulsion of the ground, and with atremendous explosion the mine went up. It seemed as if the whole earthin front of us had been lifted bodily hundreds of feet in the air. Showers of bombs exploded, showing that it had been well under theGerman position. Then with a mighty roar the earth and débris fell backupon itself, forming a crater about 150 feet across. Would our men rushthe crater and occupy it? On that chance, I kept turning the handle. The smoke subsided; nothing else happened. The show was over. No, not quite; for as I hurriedly took down thecamera, I evidently put my head up a little too high. There was a crack, and a shriek near my head, and my service cap was whisked off. The wholething happened like a flash of lightning. I dropped into the bottom ofthe trench and picked up my cap. There, through the soft part of it, just above the peak, were two holes where a bullet had passed through. One inch nearer and it would have been through my head. Can you realise what my thoughts were at that precise moment? CHAPTER IX FOURTEEN THOUSAND FEET ABOVE THE GERMAN LINES The First Kinematograph Film Taken of the Western Front--And How I Took It Whilst Travelling Through the Air at Eighty Miles an Hour--Under Shell-fire--Over Ypres--A Thrilling Experience--And a Narrow Escape--A Five Thousand Foot Dive Through Space. "I feel confident I can manage it, and that the result will be bothinstructive and unique, and provided the weather is clear and I get assmall a dose of 'Bosche' as possible, there is no reason why itshouldn't be successful. " "Of course, I am quite aware of the atmospheric difficulties. The factthat it is so thick and misty is entirely due to the heavy body ofmoisture in the ground--but if I start off early in the morning I mayjust escape it. " This conversation took place in the office of a certain Britishaerodrome in France between the Flight Commander and myself. We had beengoing into the pros and cons of an aerial expedition over the Germanlines. I was anxious to film the whole line from an aeroplane. "Well, " said he, "what about the height? I think I had better call inthe Captain, " and pressing a bell an orderly quickly appeared and wassent off to inform the Captain that his presence was required. "I say, " said the Flight Commander, "this is Malins, the War OfficeKinematographer. " He then explained my mission and requirements. "Now, " he said, after all preliminaries had been discussed, "thequestion is about the height. What is a tolerably safe height over'Bosche'?" "About 8, 000 feet, I should say, though of course if we go well over hislines it will be necessary to rise higher. There are too many'Archibalds' about to dodge any lower. " "Well, " I replied, "I'll start taking my scenes when we arrive at thecoast-line. We can then follow it along and turn off inland towardsYpres. I should very much like to film that place from above, thenfollow down the lines, passing over St. Eloi, Ploegsteert, Armentières, Neuve Chapelle, Richebourg, Festubert, Givenchy, Loos, Hohenzollern Redoubt, and on to Arras. I am of course entirely in yourhands. I do not want to jeopardise the trip, nor wish you to run anyunnecessary risks, you understand, but I should like to get as low aspossible, and so obtain more detail. It will be the first kinematographfilm ever taken of the Western Front. " "Well, " said the Flight Commander, rising, "you have full permission. You can have the use of a BE 2C machine, with Captain ----. Do what youlike, but take care. Don't be rash. Good luck to you. I shall be asanxious as you to see the result. " In the Captain's company I left the office, and together we went roundto make arrangements regarding the means of fixing my camera. The machine was the usual type of passenger-carrying aero, numbered BE2C, a very stable and reliable machine, but according to the Captain, not very fast. Speed in this case was not an absolute necessity, unlessa Fokker favoured us with his attentions. [Illustration: IN THE TRENCHES AT THE FAMOUS AND DEADLY HOHENZOLLERNREDOUBT, AFTER A GERMAN ATTACK. SHORTLY AFTER THIS WAS TAKEN I WAS SHOTTHROUGH MY SERVICE CAP BY A GERMAN SNIPER] I went aboard to find the best means of fixing and operating my camera. I decided to use my debrie, not the aeroscope. The latter had jambed aday or two previous, and I had not had an opportunity of repairingit. The observer's seat was in the front, and just above, on the mainstruts, was a cross-tube of metal. On each end was an upright socket, for the purpose of dropping into it a Lewis gun. The pilot also had thesame in front of him. I suggested that a metal fixing, which would fit the socket, and atilting arrangement, so that it would be possible to raise or lower thecamera to any angle, would suit admirably, and on the other side, incase of attack, a Lewis gun could be fitted. "It's well to be prepared for emergencies, " said the Captain. "It'squite possible we shall be attacked. " "Well, " I said, "I will have a good shot at him if he does turn up. Andwho knows--I may be able to get a picture of the Hun machine falling. ByJove, what a thrill it would provide!" Instructions were given to the excellent mechanics employed in theR. F. C. , and within an hour or so the metal tilting-top was made andfixed on the plane. "You will have to wrap up well, " said the Captain. "It's jolly cold upthere. It looks rather misty, and that will make it all the worse. Nowthen, all aboard. " Up I scrambled, or rather wriggled, between a network of wire stays, andtaking my seat the camera was handed to me. I fastened it on one side ofthe gun-mounting and fixed a Lewis gun on the other, making sure I hadspare boxes of film ready, and spare drums of ammunition. I thenfastened the broad web belt round my waist, and fixed on my goggles. I was ready for the ascent. My companion was in his seat, and the machine was wheeled into positionfor starting. The mechanics were turning the propeller round to suckthe gas into the many cylinders, to facilitate easier starting. "All ready, " shouted the Captain. "Right away, contact, let her go. " Andwith a jerk the motor started. The whirl of the huge blades developed into a deafening roar. Themachine vibrated horribly. I clung to my camera, holding it tight to thesocket. I knew that once in the air the shake would be reduced to aminimum. Faster and faster whirled the propeller as the Captain openedthe throttle. How sweet and perfect was the hum of the giant motor. Notthe slightest sound of a misfire. Being an ardent motorist, I could tellthat the engine was in perfect tune. The Captain leaned over and shoutedto me through the roar to fasten the telephone receiver against my earunder my leather cap. "That, " said he, pointing to a mouthpiece attached to a small rubbertube, "is the transmitter. If you want to give me any instructions shoutinto that. I shall hear you. All fit?" he asked. I nodded my head. He took his seat, and opened the throttle. The engineleapt into new life. The roar was deafening. The whirring blades flungthe air back into my face, cutting it as if with a whip. He dropped hisarm. The men drew away the chocks from the wheels, and amid shouts of"Good luck!" from the officers present, the machine sprang forward likea greyhound, bounding over the grass, until at last it rose like agigantic bird into the air. The earth gradually drew away. Higher and higher we rose, and began tocircle round and round to gain height. "We will get up to three thousand feet before we strike towards thecoast, " he shouted through the telephone. The vibration, now we were in the air, was barely perceptible, at anyrate it was not sufficient to affect the taking of my scenes. In caseany moisture collected on my lens, I had brought a soft silk pad, towipe it with occasionally. Higher, still higher, we rose. "What's the height now?" I asked. "Very nearly three thousand feet, " he said. "We are now going towardsthe coast. That's Dunkirk over there. " I peered ahead. The port, with its shipping, was clearly discernible. Over the sea hung a dense mist, looking for all the world like asnowfield. Here and there, in clear patches, the sun gleamed upon thewater, throwing back its dazzling reflections. As soon as we reached the coast-line, I shouted: "Proceed well alongthis side, so that I can obtain an oblique view. It looks much betterthan directly above the object. What's our speed?" "Sixty miles, " he said. "I shall keep it up until we reach the Germanlines. " He turned sharp to the right. We are now following the coast-linetowards Ostend. How beautiful the sand dunes looked from above. Theheavy billows of sea-mist gave it a somewhat mystic appearance. How coldit was. I huddled down close into my seat, my head only above thefuselage. Keeping my eye upon the wonderful panorama unfolding itselfout beneath me, I glanced at my camera and tested the socket. Yes, itwas quite firm. "We are nearing the lines now, " my companion shouted. "Can you see themon your right? That's the Belgium area. Our section, as you know, beginsjust before Ypres. Will this height suit you? Shall I follow thetrenches directly overhead or a little to one side?" "Keep this side, I'll begin taking now. " Kneeling up in my seat, Idirected my camera downwards and started filming our lines and theGerman position stretching away in the distance. We were nearing Ypres, that shell-battered city of Flanders. White ballsof smoke here and there were bursting among the ruins, showing that theHuns were still shelling it. What a frightful state the earth was in. For miles and miles around it had the appearance of a sieve, withhundreds of thousands of shell-holes, and like a beautiful green ribbon, winding away as far as the eye could see, was that wonderful yetterrible strip of ground between the lines, known as "No Man's Land. " We were now running into a bank of white fleecy clouds, which envelopedus in its folds, blotting the whole earth from view. I held myhandkerchief over the lens of the camera to keep the moisture fromsettling upon it. After a time several breaks appeared in the cloudsbeneath, and the earth looked wonderful. It seemed miles--manymiles--away. Rivers looked like silver streaks, and houses mere specksupon the landscape. Here and there a puff of white smoke told of abursting shell. But for that occasional, somewhat unpleasant reminder, Imight have been thousands of miles away from the greatest war inhistory. Who could imagine anything more wonderful, more fantastic? I had dreamedof such things, I had read of them; I even remembered having read, yearsago, some of the wonderful stories in _Grimm's Fairy Tales_. To mychildish mind, they seemed very wonderful indeed. There were fairies, goblins, mysterious figures, castles which floated in the air, wonderfullands which shifted in a night, at the touch of a magic wand or thesound of a magic word. Things which fired my youthful imagination andset me longing to share in their adventures. But never in my wildestdreams did I think I should live to do the same thing, to go where Ilisted; to fly like a bird, high above the clouds. It was like anadventure in fairyland to take this weird and wonderful creation of men, called an aeroplane, through the home of the skylark. Boom! Boom! I was suddenly brought back to--no, not to earth, butto--things more material. Looking down, I could discern several balls of smoke, which Iimmediately recognised as shrapnel shells, or "Archibalds, " that hadbeen fired at us by the Germans. They were well below. I looked round atthe Captain. He was smiling through his goggles, and humorously jerkedhis thumb in the direction of the bursting "Archies. " "Too high, eh?" I shouted. But I had forgotten that in the fearful humof the rushing air and whirling motors my voice would not carry. It wasliterally cut off as it left my lips. I picked up the 'phone and shoutedthrough it. "Yes, they are pretty safe where they are, " he said drily. Then a fewmore burst underneath us. By this time we were well out of the cloud bank. The atmosphere was muchclearer. I knelt up again on my seat and began to expose, and continuedturning the handle while we passed over St. Eloi and Hill 60. On certainsections I could see that a considerable "strafe" was going on. Fritzseemed to be having a very trying time. Near Messines my film suddenlyran out. I had to reload. This was anything but an easy operation. Iunscrewed my camera from the gun socket, and in doing so had a nearescape from doing a head-dive to earth. Like an idiot, I had unfastenedmy waist-strap, and in reaching over the fuselage my camera nearlyover-balanced, the aeroplane contributing to this result by making asudden dive in order to avoid an "Archibald. " For a second or two I had clear visions of flying through space on wingsother than those of an aeroplane. But fortunately I had the steelcrossbar to cling to, and this saved me. Getting back to my seat, I asked the pilot to circle round the spot fora few minutes. While changing my spool, I settled down in the bottom ofthe car and reloaded my camera, eight thousand feet above the earth. This operation occupied about ten minutes, and when I had finished Igingerly raised myself on the seat and refixed the camera in its socket. "Right away, " I shouted. "Is it possible to go any lower?" "It's very risky, " he said, "but if you like I will try. Hold tight, it's a dive. " I held tight. The nose of the machine tilted forward until it seemed asif it was absolutely standing on end. The earth rushed up to meet us. For the moment it seemed as if the aeroplane was out of control, butwith a graceful glide, which brought us level, we continued our journeyat a height of three thousand feet. "Get what you want quickly, " he shouted. "We can't stay here long. " I began to expose again. By now we were over line after line oftrenches. At times we were well over the Bosche lines. I continued tofilm the scenes. First came Ploegsteert, Fromelles, and Aubers Ridge. Then we crossedto Neuve Chapelle, Festubert, La Bassée and Loos. Town after town, village after village, were passed over, all of them in ruins. Fromabove the trenches, like a splash of white chalk dropped into the middleof a patch of brown earth. The long winding trenches cut out of thechalk twisted and wound along valley and dale like a serpent. Lookingdown upon it all, it seemed so very insignificant. Man? What was he? Hisworks looked so small that it seemed one could, with a sweep of thefoot, crush him out of existence. How small he was, yet how great; howpowerful, yet how weak! We were now over La Bassée. "We shall have to rise, " shouted my companion. "Look up there. " I lookedup, and thousands of feet above us was a small speck. "Bosche plane, " said he. "Hold tight!" And I did. CHAPTER X FILMING THE EARTH FROM THE CLOUDS Chasing an "Enemy" Aeroplane at a Height of 13, 500 Feet--And What Came of It--A Dramatic Adventure in which the Pilot Played a Big Part--I Get a Nasty Shock--But am Reassured--A Freezing Experience--Filming the Earth as we Dived Almost Perpendicularly--A Picture that would Defy the Most Ardent Futurist to Paint. "Is that gun ready?" asked my companion, twisting round in his seat. Inodded. "Right-o! I'm going to get up higher. We are absolutely lostdown here. " I fixed on a drum of cartridges, and with a butt in my hand was readyfor any emergency. Higher and higher we rose. The mist was becoming moreand more dense. Photographing was impossible. The cold seemed to chillone's bones. I could tell by the increasing vibration we were going "allout, " in order to get above the enemy machine, which seemed to bedrawing closer and closer. I looked at the pilot. He had his eyes fixedupon the Bosche. "What are we now?" "Eight thousand, " he said. "That chap must be at least thirteen thousandup. Do you notice whether he is coming nearer?" I told him it seemed to me as if he was doing so. Up and up we went. Colder and colder it grew. My face was frozen. Tobreathe, I had to turn my head sideways to avoid the direct rush of airfrom the whirling propeller. I could just discern the ground through themist. I looked around for the Bosche. He seemed further away. I shoutedto the pilot. He looked round. "I'm going to chase it, " he said. And away he went. But the faster wemoved the faster went the other machine. At last we discovered thereason. In fact, I believe we both discovered it at precisely the samemoment. _The plane was one of our own!_ I looked at the Captain. Hesmiled at me, and I'm positive he felt disappointed at the discovery. "What's the height?" I enquired. "About thirteen thousand feet, " he said. "Shall we go higher? We may getabove the mist. " "Try a little more, " I replied. "But I don't think it will be possibleto film any more scenes to-day; the fog is much too heavy. " The whole machine was wet with moisture. It seemed as if we should neverrise above it. I had never before known it so thick. My companion askedif we should return. With reluctance I agreed, then, turning round faceto the sun, we rushed away. The mist did not seem to change. Mile after mile we encountered the sameimpenetrable blanket of clammy moisture. I was huddling as tight aspossible to the bottom of the seat, taking advantage of the least bit ofcover from the biting, rushing swirl of icy-cold air. Mile after mile;it seemed hours up there in the solitude. I watched the regular dancingup and down of the valves on top of the engine. I was thinking of a tunethat would fit to the regular beat of the tappets. I shouted through the 'phone. No answer. He must be too cold to speak, I thought. For myself, I did not knowwhether I had jaws or not. The lashing, biting wind did not affect myface now. I could feel nothing. Once I tried to pinch my cheek; it waslifeless. It might have been clay. My jaw was practically set stiff. Icould only just articulate. I tried again to attract my companion's attention. Still no answer. I was wondering whether anything had happened to him, when something didhappen which very nearly petrified me. I felt a clutch on my shoulder. Quickly turning my head, I was horrified to see him standing on his seatand leaning over my shoulder. "Get off the telephone tube, you idiot. You are sitting on it, " heshouted. "We can't speak to one another. " "Telephone be damned!" I managed to shout. "Get back to your seat. Don'tplay monkey-tricks up here. " If you can imagine yourself fourteen thousand feet above the earth, sitting in an aeroplane, and the pilot letting go all his controls, ashe stands on his feet shouting in your ear, you will be able to realise, but only to a very slight extent, what my feelings were at this precisemoment. He returned to his seat. He was smiling. I fumbled about underneath andfound the tube. Putting it to my mouth, I asked him what he meant by it. "That's all right, my dear chap, " he said, "there's no need to getalarmed. The old bus will go along merrily on its own. " "I'll believe all you say. In fact I'll believe anything you like totell me, but I'd much rather you sit in your seat and control themachine, " I replied. He chuckled, apparently enjoying the joke to the full, but during theremainder of the journey I made sure I was not sitting on the speakingtube. The mist was gradually clearing now. The sun shone gloriously, theclouds, a long way beneath us, looked more substantial; through the gapsin their fleecy whiteness the earth appeared. It seemed a long timesince I had seen it. We were again coming to the edge of a cloud bank. The atmosphere beyond was exceedingly clear. "We are nearly home, " said my companion. "Are you going to take any morescenes?" "Yes, " I said, "I suppose you'll spiral down?" "Right-ho!" "I'll take a film showing the earth revolving. It'll look very quaint onthe screen. " "Here goes then. We are going to dive down to about six thousand feet, so hold on tight to your strap. " The engines almost stopped. Suddenly we seemed to be falling earthwards. Down--down--down! We were diving as nearly perpendicular as it ispossible to be. Sharp pains shot through my head. It was getting worse. The pain was horrible. The right side of my face and head seemed as if ahundred pin-points were being driven into it. I clutched my face inagony; then I realised the cause. Coming down from such a height, at soterrific a speed, the different pressure of the atmosphere affected theblood pressure on the head. Suddenly the downward rush was stopped. The plane was brought to an evenkeel. "I'm going to spiral now, " said the pilot. "Ready?" "Right away, " I said, and knelt again in my seat. The plane suddenlyseemed to swerve. Then it slanted at a most terrifying angle, and beganto descend rapidly towards the earth in a spiral form. I filmed thescene on the journey. To say the earth looked extraordinary would beputting it very mildly. The ground below seemed to rush up and mix withthe clouds. First the earth seemed to be over one's head, then theclouds. I am sure the most ardent futurist artist would find it utterlyimpossible to do justice to such a scene. Round and round we went. Nowone side, now the other. How I held to my camera-handle goodness onlyknows. Half the time, I am sure, I turned it mechanically. Suddenly we came to an even keel. The earth seemed within jumpingdistance. The nose dipped again, the propeller whirled. Within a fewseconds we were bounding along on the grassy space of the aerodrome, andfinally coming to rest we were surrounded by the mechanics, who quicklybrought the machine to a standstill. "By the way, " I said to the pilot, as we went off to tea, "how long werewe up there altogether?" "Two hours, " he replied. Two hours! Great Scott! It seemed days! CHAPTER XI PREPARING FOR THE "BIG PUSH" The Threshold of Tremendous Happenings--General ----'s Speech to His Men on the Eve of Battle--Choosing My Position for Filming the "Big Push"--Under Shell-fire--A Race of Shrieking Devils--Fritz's Way of "Making Love"--I Visit the "White City"--And On the Way have Another Experience of Gas Shells. The time for which England has been preparing during these past twoawful years is here. We are now on the threshold of tremendoushappenings. The Great Offensive is about to begin. What will be theresult? We see the wonderful organisation of our vast armies, and we know thefirm and resolute methods of our General Staff--as I have seen and knownthem during the war--would leave nothing to be desired. As a machine, itis the most wonderful that was ever created. My position as Official Kinematographer has afforded me uniqueopportunities to gain knowledge of the whole system required to wage themost terrible war that has ever been known to mankind. I have not letthese opportunities slip by. The great day was coming; there was a mysterious something whichaffected everyone at G. H. Q. There was no definite news to hand; nobody, with the exception of those directly concerned, knew when and where theblow was to be struck. Some thought on the northern part of our line, others the centre; others, again, the south. In the home, in thestreets, in the cafés and gardens, the one topic of conversationwas--the coming Great Offensive. I was told by a colonel that my chance to make history was coming. Thatwas all. But those few words conveyed an enormous lot to me. Later inthe day I was told by a captain to proceed to the front line, to choosea suitable position wherein to fix up my camera. Our section facingGouerment was suggested to me as the place where there was likely to bethe most excitement, and I immediately set out for that section. Duringthe journey I was held up by a large body of our men, who turned outafterwards to be the London Scottish. They were formed up in a square, and in the centre was a general, with his staff officers, addressing themen. His words thrilled the hearts of every one who heard them: "Gentlemen of the London Scottish: Within the next few days you will take part in the greatest battle in the history of the world. To you has been entrusted the taking and holding of Gouerment. .. . England is looking to you to free the world from slavery and militarism that is epitomized in the German nation and German Kultur. .. . Gentlemen, I know you will not fail, and from the bottom of my heart I wish you the best of luck. " I waited until the address was finished, and then proceeded to a certainplace, striking out on the left and trudging through innumerablecommunication trenches, at times up to my knees in mud and water. Eventually I reached an eminence facing the village of Gouerment. It wasin a valley. The German trenches ran parallel with my position, and onthe right I could discern the long green ribbon of grass termed "NoMan's Land, " stretching as far as the eye could see. The whole front ofthe German lines was being shelled by our heavy guns; the place was aspitting mass of smoke and flame. Salvo after salvo was being pouredfrom our guns. [Illustration: IN A SHELL HOLE IN "NO MAN'S LAND" FILMING OUR HEAVYBOMBARDMENT OF THE GERMAN LINES. I GOT INTO THIS POSITION DURING THENIGHT PREVIOUS. IT WAS HERE THAT I EARNED THE SOUBRIQUET "MALINS OF NOMAN'S LAND"] "What an inspiring sight, " I said to an officer standing by my side, "and these shells were made by the women of England. " "Well, " he said, "you see Gommecourt; that's all coming down in a day ortwo. Every gun, large and small, will concentrate its fire on it, andlevel it to the ground. That's your picture. " "In that case, " I replied, "I shall want to be much nearer our frontline. I must get within five hundred yards of it. What a sight! What afilm it will be!" I stood watching the bombardment for some time, then fixing my cameraposition, I returned. Divisional H. Q. Told me I should be informed inample time when the attack was to be made. That afternoon I returned to G. H. Q. , but the best laid schemes of miceand men aft gang agley. I was told that night to prepare immediately toproceed to the H. Q. Of a certain Division, with instructions to attachmyself to them for the next week; all particulars would be given to mein the morning. I received my instructions next morning. I was to proceed to theDivision, report myself, and I should receive all the information andassistance I required. With parting wishes for the best of luck, and"don't come back wounded, " I left H. Q. , and proceeded by car to theCompany H. Q. , where I was received with every courtesy by General ----. He told me the best thing to do was to go to Divisional H. Q. And see theGeneral. He had been informed of my arrival, and the final details couldbe arranged with him, such as the best points of vantage for fixing upmy camera. Accordingly I hurried off to Divisional H. Q. And met theGeneral. On being ushered into his room, I found him sitting at a tablewith a large scale map of a certain section of our line before him. Helooked the very incarnation of indomitable will, this General of theincomparable ---- Division. I quickly explained my mission, and told him I should like to go to thefront trenches to choose my position. "Certainly, " he said, "that is a very wise plan, but if you will lookhere I will show you the spot which, in my opinion, will make an idealplace. This is the German position. This, of course, is Beaumont Hamel, which is our objective. This is as far as we are going; it will be apivot from which the whole front south of us will radiate. We are goingto give the village an intense bombardment this afternoon, at 4 o'clock;perhaps you would like to obtain that?" "Yes, sir, " I replied, "it is most necessary to my story. What guns areyou using?" "Everything, from trench mortars to 15-inch howitzers. We are going toliterally raze it to the ground. It is one of the strongest Germanredoubts, and it's not going to be an easy job to occupy it; but weachieved the impossible at Gallipoli, and with God's help we will winhere. There is a spot here in our firing trench called 'Jacob'sLadder, '" and pointing to the map, he showed it me. "That certainly looks a most excellent point, sir, " I said. "What is thedistance from Bosche lines?" "About 150 yards. They 'strafe' it considerably, from what I am told;but, of course, you will have to take your chance, the same as all myother officers. " "That is unavoidable, sir. The nature of my work does not permit me tobe in very comfortable places, if I am to get the best results. " "Right, " he said, "if you will report to Brigade H. Q. The Brigade Majorwill give you what orderlies you require, and you had better drawrations with them while you are there. He has instructions to give youevery assistance. " "Oh, by the way, sir, what time does the mine go up?" "Ten minutes to zero, " he replied. "You quite understand, don't you?Major ---- will give you zero time to-morrow night. " After lunching with the General I started off for Brigade H. Q. Theweather was vile. It had been raining practically without break forseveral days, and was doing its best to upset everything and give us asmuch trouble as possible. What an enormous number of munition waggons and lorries I passed on theroad; miles and miles of them, all making for the front line. "Ye gods!"I thought, "Bosche is certainly going to get it. " I reached my destination about 2. 30. What a "strafe" there was going on!The concussion of what I afterwards found out was our 15-inch howitzerswas terrible. The very road seemed to shake, and when I opened the doorof the temporary Brigade H. Q. , one gun which went off close by shook thebuilding to such an extent that I really thought for the moment a shellhad struck the house. "Captain ----, I presume?" said I, addressing an officer seated at along table making out reports and giving them over to waiting dispatchriders. The room was a hive of industry. "Gad, sir, " he said, "are you the kinema man? I am pleased to see you. Take a seat, and tell me what you want. You are the last person Iexpected to see out here. But, seriously, are you really going to film'The Day'?" "Yes, " I replied. "Where do you propose to take it?" "General ---- suggested 'Jacob's Ladder. '" "What?" came a startled chorus from about half a dozen other officers. "Take photos from 'Jacob's Ladder, '" they repeated in tones ofamazement. "Good Lord! it's an absolute death-trap. Bosche strafes itevery day, and it's always covered by snipers. " "Well, " I said, "it certainly seems by the map to be an ideal place toget the mine going up and the advance over 'No Man's Land. '" "Granted, but--well!--it's your shoot. Will you let us introduce thedoctor? You'll need him. " "Gentlemen, " I said, with mock gravity, "I assure you it would be mostdifficult for me to receive a more cordial welcome. " This remark causedsome laughter. Turning to the Captain, I said: "Will you give me anorderly? One who knows the trenches, as I wish to go there thisafternoon to film the 'strafe' at 4 o'clock. I shall stay down there forthe next few days, to be on the spot for 'The Day, ' and ready foranything that follows. " "Certainly, " he said. "Have you got a trench map? What about blanketsand grub?" "I have my blanket and some provisions, but if I can draw some bully andbiscuits, I shall manage quite well. " Having secured supplies and filled my knapsack, I strapped it on myshoulder, fixed the camera-case on my back and, handing the tripod toanother man, started off. I had hardly got more than two hundred yardswhen the Captain ran up to me and said that he had just had a 'phonemessage from D. H. Q. , saying that the General was going to address themen on the following day, before proceeding to battle. Would I like tofilm the scene? It would take place about 10 a. M. Naturally, I wasdelighted at the prospect of such a picture, and agreed to be on thefield at the time mentioned. Then with a final adieu we parted. The weather was still vile. A nasty, drizzly mist hung over everything. The appearance of the whole country was much like it is on a badNovember day at home. Everything was clammy and cold. The roads werecovered to a depth of several inches with slimy, clayey mud. Loads ofmunitions were passing up to the Front. On all sides were guns, largeand small. The place bristled with them, and they were so cunninglyhidden that one might pass within six feet of them without being awareof their existence. But you could not get away from the sounds. Thehorrible dinning continued, from the sharp rat-tat-tat-tat of the French75mm. , of which we had several batteries in close proximity, and fromthe bark of the 18-pounders to the crunching roar of the 15-inchhowitzer. The air was literally humming with shells. It seemed like arace of shrieking devils, each trying to catch up with the one in frontbefore it reached its objective. Salvo after salvo; crash after crash; and in the rare moments ofstillness, in this nerve-shattering prelude to the Great Push, I couldhear the sweet warblings of a lark, as it rose higher and higher in themurky, misty sky. At one place I had to pass through a narrow lane, and on either sidewere hidden batteries, sending round upon round into the Germantrenches, always under keen observation from enemy-spotting balloons andaeroplanes. The recent shell-holes in the roadway made me pause beforeproceeding further. I noticed a sergeant of the Lancashire Fusiliers atthe entrance to a thickly sand-bagged shelter, and asked him if therewas another way to the section of the front line I sought. "No, sir, " he said, "that is the only way; but it's mighty unhealthyjust now. The Hun is crumpling it with his 5. 9-inch H. E. , and making atidy mess of the road. But he don't hit our guns, sir. He just improvestheir appearance by making a nice little frill of earth around them, hedoes, and--look out, sir; come in here. "Here she comes!" With a murderous shriek and horrible splitting roar a German shell burston the roadway about fifty yards away. "That is Fritz's way of making love, sir, " he said, with a chuckle;which remark admirably reflects the marvellous morale of our men. "Have they been shelling the avenues much?" I asked, referring to thevarious communication trenches leading to the front line. "Yes, sir. Nos. 1, 2 and 3 are being severely crumped. I would suggestNo. 5, sir; it's as clear as any of them. I should advise you to getalong this lane as fast as possible. I have been here some time, so Iknow Fritz's little ways. " He saluted, and like a mole disappeared into his dug-out as I movedaway. I told my man to keep about ten yards behind me, so that in the event ofa shell bursting near by one or the other of us would have a chance ofclearing. "Now, " I said, "let it go at a double. Come on, " and with head wellforward I raced up the road. Altogether, with my camera, I was carrying about seventy pounds inweight, so you can guess it was no easy matter. There was about another150 yards to go, when I heard the ominous shriek of a German shell. "Down in the ditch, " I yelled. "Lie flat, " and suiting the action to theword, I flung myself down in the mud and water near a fallen tree. Crashcame the shell, and it exploded with a deafening roar more on the sideof the road than the previous one, and near enough to shower mud andwater all over me as I lay there. "Now then, " I yelled to my man, "double-up before they range the nextone, " and jumping up we raced away. Not before I had got well clear, and near the old railway station, did I stay and rest. While thereseveral shells crashed in and around the road we had just left. I wasglad I was safely through. With the exception of the usual heavy shelling, getting down to thefront trench was quite uneventful. My objective was a place called "TheWhite City, " so called because it is cut out of the chalk-bank of ourposition facing Beaumont Hamel. Getting there through the communicationtrenches was as difficult as in the winter. In places the mud and waterreached my knees, and when you had come to the end of your journey youwere as much like dirty plaster-cast as anything possibly could be. After three-quarters of an hour's trudging and splashing I reached "TheWhite City, " and turned down a trench called "Tenderloin Street. " Aboutone hundred yards on my right, at the junction of "King Street" and "St. Helena Street, " my guide pointed me out the Brigade dug-out. Depositingmy camera and outfit close to some sandbags I went inside and introducedmyself. Four officers were present. "By Jove!" said one, "you are welcome. Have a drink. Here's acigarette. " "Here you are, " said another, "have a match. Now tell us all the newsfrom home. My word, we haven't heard a blessed thing for days. Have youreally come to photograph 'The Day'?" "Yes, " I replied. "But I have come this afternoon to look round, and tofilm the 'strafe' at Beaumont Hamel. You know the trenches round here:where can I see the village to the best advantage?" "Well, " said one, "there are several places, but Bosche is 'hating' usrather this afternoon, and the firing trench is anything but healthy. He's been properly dosing us with 'whizz-bangs, ' but you know he _will_have his bit of fun. You see, when Fritz starts we let off a few 'flyingpigs' in return, which undoubtedly disturbs his peace of mind. " "By my map, a spot called 'Lanwick Street' seems likely, " I said. "It'sbang opposite the village, and they are putting the 15-inch on theeastern corner. If you will be good enough to guide me, I will have alook now; it will take me some time to fix up my camera in reasonablesafety. " "You won't find much safety there, " he replied. "We have practically torebuild the parapet every night, but only for a few more days, thankHeaven! Anyway, come along. " We proceeded by way of "King Street" to "Lanwick Street, " and severaltimes we had to fall flat in the trench bottom to escape being hit byshells. They seemed at times to burst almost overhead. The "whizz-bangs"which Fritz puts over are rather little beggars; you have no time tododge them. They come with a "phut" and a bang that for sheer speedknocks spots off a flash of lightning. One only thinks to duck when thebeastly thing has gone off. "Lanwick Street" was the usual sort of trench. At one end was anartillery observation officer, correcting the range of his guns. "Go easy, won't you?" he said to me. "Bosche has an idea we use thiscorner for something rather important. If he sees your camera we shallcertainly receive his attention. For Heaven's sake, keep your headdown. " "Right-o!" I said. "Lend me your periscope; I will have a look at theground first through that. " I looked on the village, or rather the late site of it. It wasabsolutely flattened out, with the exception of a few remaining stumpsof trees, which used to be a beautiful wood, near which the villagenestled. "That's been done by our guns in five days; some mess, eh?" "My word, yes. Now about this afternoon's bombardment; they are workingon the left-hand corner. " I chose a spot for working and fixing up my tripod, and waited until4. 30 p. M. In the meantime, with the aid of a stick, I gradually pushed awayseveral sandbags which interfered with my view on the parapet. To dothis it was necessary to raise myself head and shoulders above the topand, with one arm pushed forward, I worked the bags clear. I felt muchbetter when that job was done. "You're lucky, " said the A. O. "I had one of my periscopes hit clean by abullet this morning. Fritz must be having a nap, or he would have hadyou for a cert. " "Anyway, " I replied, "it gives me a comparatively clear view now. " Time was drawing near. I prepared my camera by clothing it in an oldpiece of sacking, and gently raising it on to the tripod I screwed ittight. Then gradually raising my head to the view-finder, I covered thesection which was going to be "strafed, " and wrapping my hand in a khakihandkerchief, waited. Our guns were simply pouring shells on the Bosche. The first of the15-inch came over and exploded with a deafening roar. The sight wasstupefying. I began to expose my film, swinging the camera first on one side thenthe other. Shell after shell came roaring over; one dropped on theremaining walls of a château, and when the smoke had cleared there wasabsolutely nothing left. How in the world anything could live in such amaelstrom of explosive it is difficult to conceive. I continued to expose my film at intervals until about 6 o'clock, andtwice I had to snatch my camera down hastily and take shelter, for the"whizz-bangs" came smashing too close for safety. I was just taking down my camera when several shells exploded in thetrenches about fifteen yards behind us. Then a man came running into ourtraverse: "Shure, sor, " he said, "and it's gas-shells the dirty swineare sending over. My eyes seem to be burning out. " His eyes wereundoubtedly bad. Tears were pouring down his cheeks, and he was tryingto ease the pain by binding his handkerchief over them. Then I smelt thegas, and having had a previous dose at Vernilles, and not wishing forfurther acquaintance with it, I bade my man rush as quickly as possibleback to "The White City. " I got back to H. Q. Dug-out just in time for tea. I told the officerspresent of my success in filming the "strafe, " and I learned that it wasthe first time Fritz had put tear-shells over them. "We must certainlyprepare our goggles, " they said. "Have you seen 'Jacob's Ladder'?" enquired one of the officers. "No, " I replied, "I shall wait until dusk. It will then be safer to moveabout. " We sat smoking and talking about the prospects of the "Big Push, " and atlast we all lapsed into silence, which was broken by the arrival of alieutenant. The Captain looked up from his bench. "Hullo, what's up? Anynews?" "Oh, no; nothing much, sir, " said he, "but H. Q. Wishes me to go out fora raid to-night. They want a Bosche to talk to; there are a few thingsthey want to know. We haven't brought one in for several nights now. They asked me to go out again; I said, if there was one to be had myCompany would bring him along. " [Illustration: GEOFFREY H. MALINS, O. B. E. , OFFICIAL KINEMATOGRAPHER TOTHE WAR OFFICE] "Right-o!" said the Captain. "Who are you taking?" "---- for one, and a few men--the same lot that have been across with mebefore. H. Q. Specially want to know the actual results of the heavy'strafe. ' They are going to cease fire to-night, between twelve and one. I want to find out where their machine guns are fixed up----" And so theconversation went on. At that moment another officer came in, and I got him to show me round"Jacob's Ladder. " We went through "King Street" again, and followed thetrench until we arrived at the place. The formation of this point wasextraordinary. A stranger coming upon it for the first time would undoubtedly get aslight shock for, upon turning into a traverse, you come abruptly uponan open space, as if the trench had been sliced off, leaving an openingfrom which you could look down upon our front line trenches, not onlyupon them but well in front of them. I was on the bank of a small valley; leading down from this positionwere about twenty-five steps, hence the name "Jacob's Ladder. " Ourparapet still followed down, like the handrail of a staircase, only ofcourse much higher. The position from a photographic point of view was admirable, and Idoubt whether on any other part of our front such a suitable point couldbe found. "Jove!" I said, "this is the ideal place. I will definitelydecide upon it. " "If you look carefully over here you will see the Bosche line quiteplainly. They are about seventy yards away, and at that point we aregoing to put a barrage of fire on their second line with our Stokesguns. We are going to do that from 'Sunken Road, ' midway in 'No Man'sLand. ' Can you see it there?" "Yes, " I replied; "splendid. As soon as I have got the mine exploding, and our men going over the parapet and across 'No Man's Land, ' I canimmediately--if all's well--swing my camera on to the barrage and filmthat. This is a wonderful position. " "It rests entirely with Fritz now. If he does not crump this place youwill be all right, but they are sure to plaster our front trench as soonas they see us go over. " "Well, I must risk that, " I said. And we turned and retraced our steps to the "White City, " where I bademy companion good night, and returned to film the scene of the General'sspeech to his men the following morning. CHAPTER XII FILMING UNDER FIRE The General's Speech to the Fusiliers Before Going Into Action--Filming the 15-inch Howitzers--A Miniature Earthquake--"The Day" is Postponed--Keeping Within "The Limits"--A Surprise Meeting in the Trenches--A Reminder of Other Days--I Get Into a Tight Corner--And Have An Unpleasantly Hot Experience--I Interview a Trench Mortar--Have a Lively Quarter of an Hour--And Then Get Off. Rain, rain, rain. It was like a dull, dismal December night. Owing tothe tramping of hundreds of feet up and down the trenches, they becamelike a quagmire. We slipped and slid, clutching to the sticky, claywalls, and floundering up to our knees in holes, and, to make mattersworse, Bosche, who knew that this was the time we brought up freshmunitions, crumped the Fifth Avenue as hard as he could. One or twoshells crashed into the trench on the way up, and I had to pass over twoworking parties (by the aid of a candle-light, screened) searching for, and placing the remains of their comrades in sacks. Good God! it's a hellish game; and the terror of war gripped one'sheartstrings that night. The momentary flash of the exploding shellslighted up the faces of the men with ghastly vividness, some grindingout curses then groping blindly on. I was glad when the journey wasended, and I turned into a dug-out in the village to rest for the night. Next morning a misty, drizzly pall still hung over everything. Iwondered how in the world our men were going to attack under suchconditions, and to-morrow was "The Day. " I pitied them with all myheart and soul. And then I thought of myself, and my own particular job. I couldn't possibly "take" in such disgusting weather. The result wouldbe an absolute failure. I controlled my feelings, and hoped for thebest. The time arrived for the General's speech. Reaching the field, I foundall the men mustered up. The General had just arrived. I started to filmthe scenes as they presented themselves to me. Jove! The speech was themost impressive that I had ever heard. I will give it as it was spoken, as near as I can. I do not think that it has been published before: "Officers and men of the West Riding Field Company, R. E. , and -- Battalion, Royal Fusiliers: "I hoped yesterday to be able to come and wish you good luck, on the first anniversary of the engagement in Gully Ravine, there the Royal Fusiliers took the Turkish fifth line of trenches. Owing to the rain, however, and to the discomfort to which you would have been placed, I postponed my visit until to-day. "I want to tell you something of the situation as it now stands. You are probably aware that we are now taking part in the greatest battle ever fought by British troops. Not only is it of far more importance than any fight since Waterloo, but the numbers engaged far exceed any assembly of troops in former days. The strength of this army, --the Fourth Army--under General Sir H. S. Rawlinson, is ---- times as large as the force of British troops at Mons, when we first came out a year and a half ago. "The importance of winning a great victory is so great that nothing has been left undone to ensure success. But the higher Commanders know--and I know--that all the best arrangements in the world cannot win battles. Battles are won by infantry, and it is to the battalions like yourself that we look to gain a great victory, equal to the great victory which the Russians have obtained this month. "The Germans are shut in all round. On their northern flank they are shut in by the British Navy, on the eastern flank pressed back by the Russians, on the southern flank the Italians are advancing, and this week, on the western flank, certain Divisions of the French and many Divisions of the British are determined to break their line and drive them back to their own country. "Officers and men of the -- Battalion, the Royal Fusiliers: You are very fortunate in having this opportunity to add to the high honours already gained by your distinguished regiment. Not only, however, are you fighting for your battalion and your regiment, you are fighting to maintain against the Germans the same high reputation which you have won for the ---- Division on the Gallipoli Peninsula. More than that, you are fighting for your country, and also you are fighting for Christianity and Humanity. You are fighting for truth and justice against oppression. We are fighting for our liberty against slavery. "It is now thirty-three years since I was first associated with the Royal Fusiliers, the regiment I have looked up to during all my service as a pattern of smartness and efficiency. I have served with you in Gibraltar, Egypt, and many stations in India; also at Aldershot, and on the Gallipoli Peninsula during the past year. There is no regiment in the service in which I have had a higher confidence, and I hope next week to be able to assemble you again and to congratulate you on the great victory that you are going to win for me, as commanding this Division, and for your country. " The faces of the men shone with a new light. It seemed as if they hadseen a sight which other mortals were not allowed to look upon. Asupright as poplars, chests well forward and heads thrown back, theirsouls seemed to speak out of their inflexible determination to win. Theymarched away, going to that stretch of land from which many have neverreturned--giving their lives for freedom and the honour of England. I turned and gave a parting wave of the hand to a group of officersstanding by. "See you to-night, " I said, "at the 'White City. ' We will drink to thehealth of 'The Day, '" and with a parting laugh I moved a way. I found out through H. Q. That some of our 15-inch howitzers were in thevicinity, so I decided to film them without delay, to work them into thestory of the battle. I discovered their position on my map. I reachedthe battery. The state of the ground was indescribable. It was morelike a "sea of mud, " and standing in the middle of this morass was thegiant gun, for all the world like a horrible frog squatting on itshaunches. Each time it breathed it belched out flame and smoke with themost unearthly crash that could possibly be produced, and with eachbreath there flew with it a mass of metal and high explosive weighingfourteen hundred pounds, scattering death and destruction for hundredsof yards round the point of impact in the German defences, so that ourboys might find it easier to force their way through. I filmed the firing several times, from various points of view, and whenstanding only about fifteen yards away the concussion shook the groundlike a miniature earthquake. On one occasion, indeed, it lifted mycamera and tripod in the air, driving it crashing into my chest. I hadunknowingly placed myself in the danger zone which forms a semi-circleon either side of the muzzle when fired, the force being at times sogreat as to tear trees up by the roots and send them crashing to theground. The prospects for "The Day" were certainly bad. As one burly Lancashirelad said to me: "the Devil was looking after his own; but we are goingto beat them, sir. " That was the spirit of all the men I met there. I went direct to B. H. Q. To get a full supply of film stock before goingto the front line. I wished to get there early, to have a final lookround and a discussion with the officers. A man I knew was there, looking for all the world like a man down andout. He had a face as long as a fiddle, and several other officers werelooking just as glum. "You're a cheerful lot, " I said. "What's up?Anything wrong?" "Yes, rather, " they replied, "the ---- day is postponed for forty-eighthours. " [Illustration: BOMBARDING THE GERMAN TRENCHES AT THE OPENING BATTLE OFTHE GREAT SOMME FIGHT, JULY 1ST, 1916] [Illustration: MY OFFICIAL PASS TO THE FRONT LINE TO FILM THE BATTLE OFTHE SOMME, JULY 1ST, 1916] "Great Scott! Why?" I asked. "The weather, " he answered laconically. "It's quite impossible for ourchaps to go over the top in such sticky stuff. They wouldn't stand anearthly. As I said before, it's doing its best to upset the wholeaffair. I know the men will be awfully disappointed. We can hardly holdthem back now--but there, I suppose the Commander-in-Chief knows best. Undoubtedly it's a wise decision. The weather may break--God knows itcouldn't be worse!" At that moment the Brigade-General came in. He was looking quite bright. "I hear 'The Day' has been postponed, sir, " I said. "Is that official?" "Yes, " he said. "If the weather improves ever such a little it will payus for waiting, and of course it will suit you much better?" "Rather, " I replied. "It also gives me more time to film the preliminaryscenes. I shall, however, keep to my programme, and go to the trenchesthis afternoon. " I packed all my apparatus together, put some bully and biscuits in mybag, and started off once more for the trenches. I admit that on thejourney thoughts crept into my mind, and I wondered whether I shouldreturn. Outwardly I was merry and bright, but inwardly--well, I admit Ifelt a bit nervous. And yet, I had an instinctive feeling that all wouldbe well, that I need not worry. Such is the complex mystery of the humanmind, battling within itself against its own knowledge, its owndecisions, its own instincts. And yet there is a predominating forcewhich seems to shuffle itself out of the midst of that chaotic state ofmind, and holds itself up as a beacon-light, saying "Follow me, believein me, let me guide you, all will be well. " And it is the man who allowshimself to be guided by that mysterious something, which for the want ofa better name we may call "instinct, " who benefits, both spirituallyand materially, by it. The usual big gun duel was proceeding with its usual intensity, but wewere putting over about fifty shells to the Huns' one. "Crump" fell bothahead and behind me, compelling me, as before, to fall flat upon theground. I reached the "Fifth Avenue. " The trench was full of men takingdown munitions. The news of the postponement had by some means reachedthem; they also were looking rather glum. Ye Gods, I thought, it's very nearly worth while to risk walking alongthe top. In places there was quite two feet of mud and water to wallowthrough. "Fritz is crumping down the bottom of the Avenue, sir, " said a Tommy tome; "just caught several of our lads--dirty blighters: right in thetrench, sir. " "Thanks, " I replied. Thinking there might be an opportunity of getting some scenes ofshell-bursts, I hurried on as fast as conditions would permit. With mencoming up, and myself and others going down, with full packs on, it wasmost difficult to squeeze past each other. At times it was impossible, so climbing up on to the parapet, I crawled into another traversefurther along. Just then another shell burst lower down, but well away from the trench, hurting no one. I eventually reached the "White City" without mishap, and was greeted enthusiastically by the officers present. "What's the programme now?" "I am waiting for the final kick-off, " I said. "Are you going to give mea good show? And don't forget, " I said, "hold back some of yourbayonet-work on Fritz until I get there with my machine. " "But you're not coming after us with that affair, are you?" "Yes, certainly; bet your life I shan't be far behind. As soon as youget into Bosche trenches I shall be there; so don't forget--get there. " From the corner some one shouted: "Tell brother Fritz if he gets out of'the limits, ' won't you?" This remark caused much laughter. "Where have you heard that term used?" I enquired. "'Limits' is atechnical term. " "Yes, I heard it used once, a year or two ago. I was staying at a smallplace called Steyning, near Brighton. A Film Company was taking scenesin the village and on the downs. They had about two hundred horsemen andan immense crowd, and were rehearsing a scene for what I was told was arepresentation of the Battle of Worcester. It was some fight. The cameraman was continually shouting out to them to keep in 'the limits' (Iassumed he meant the angle of view). As I say, it was some fight. Everything went well until a section of the men, who were supposed torun away, got a few genuine knocks on the head and, wishing to get theirown back, they continued fighting. It was the funniest thing in theworld. Of course the camera was stopped, and the scene retaken. " "That's extraordinary, " I replied. "Do you know that I was the chap whofilmed that scene? it was for a film play called 'King Charles. ' It'svery peculiar how one meets. I remember that incident quite well. " I again filmed various scenes of the Germans "strafing" our lines. Ourguns, as usual, were crashing out. They were pouring concentrated fireon the Hawthorn Redoubt, a stronghold of the Germans, and thinking itwould yield an excellent picture, I made my way to a point of vantage, whence I could get an unobstructed field of view. There was only oneplace, and that was a point directly opposite. To get there it wasnecessary to cross a sunken road about twenty-five feet wide. But itwas under continual fire from German machine guns, and being broaddaylight it was absolutely asking for trouble, thick and unadulterated, to attempt to cross it. I was advised not to do so, and I admit I oughtto have taken the advice. Anyway, the opportunity of getting such a finescene of a barrage of fire was too strong, and for once my cautionaryinstincts were at fault. To reach the sunken road was comparatively easy. You had only to walkalong our front line trench, and fall down flat on the ground when aGerman shell burst near you, then proceed. I reached the junction wherethe road ran across at right angles, and from the shelter of our parapetthe road looked the quietest place on earth. It appeared easy enough tome to jump up quickly, run across and drop on the further side in ourtrench. "Ridiculously easy! I'm going across, " I said to my man. "When I'm overI'll throw a cord across for you to tie my tripod on to; then I'll pullit across. It will save you attempting it. " I tied the camera on my shoulders, so as to have my arms quite free. Iwas now ready. The firing was renewed with redoubled vigour. Shells Icould see were falling on the Hun lines like hailstones. "Jove!" I saidto myself, "I shall miss it. Here goes. " Clambering up to the road level, I sprawled out flat and lay perfectlystill for a few seconds, with my heart jumping like a steam engine. Nothing happened. I gradually drew up my leg, dug the toe of my boot inthe ground, and pushed myself forward bit by bit. So far, so good: I washalf-way across. I was congratulating myself on my easy task. "What inthe world am I lying here for?" I asked myself; "why shouldn't I run theremaining distance?" And suiting the action to the word, I got up--andfound trouble! I had barely raised myself to my hands and knees when, with a rattle and a rush, a stream of bullets came swishing by, somestriking the ground on my left, about nine feet away. I took the whole situation in in a flash. To lie there was almostcertain death; to stand up was worse; to go back was as bad as goingforward. What happened afterwards I don't know. I could hear the bulletswhizzing by my head with an ugly hiss. The next moment, with a jump anda spring, I landed head first in the trench on the opposite side. Forthe moment I did not know whether I was hit or not. I unstrapped mycamera, to see if it had caught any bullets, but, thank Heaven, they hadcleared it. Some of our men were standing looking aghast at me, andwondering what the devil it was that had made such a sudden dive intotheir midst. The look on their faces was just too funny for words; I hadto roar with laughter, and, realising that I was safe, they also joinedin. But I was not out of the wood yet, for brother Fritz immediately turned"whizz-bangs" on to us. "Phut-bang, " "phut-bang, " they came. Every onescampered for cover. Needless to say, I did so too. Five minutes wentby. All the time these souvenirs dropped around us, but luckily none ofthem got any direct hits on our trench. I thought I would wait another five minutes, to see if Bosche wouldcease fire. But not he. He was rather cross about my crossing the roadsafely. Time went by. Still the firing continued. I decided to risk throwing thecord and pulling over my tripod. Keeping low, I yelled to my man: he, like a sage, had also taken cover, but hearing my shouts came out. "The rope is coming, " I yelled. "Tug it as a signal, when you have it. " "Right, " came the reply. Three times I threw it before I received the welcome tug at the otherend. Then a voice shouted: "Pull away, sir. " I pulled. I had to do it gently, otherwise the broken nature of theground might damage the head. At last it was safely over, but Bosche hadseen something moving across; then he turned his typewriter on again. More bullets flew by, but with the exception of one which struck themetal revolving top and sliced out a piece as evenly as if it had beendone by machine, no harm was caused. I bade one of the men shoulder my tripod. We rushed up the trench asfast as possible, and I thanked Heaven for my escape. When I reached thesection where I judged it best to fit up my camera, I gently peeped overthe parapet. What a sight. Never in my life had I seen such a hurricaneof fire. It was inconceivable that any living thing could exist anywherenear it. The shells were coming over so fast and furious that it seemedas if they must be touching each other on their journey through the air. To get my camera up was the work of a few seconds. I had no time to putany covering material over it. The risk had to be run, the picture wasworth it. Up went my camera well above the parapet and, quickly sightingmy object, I started to expose. Swinging the machine first one way thenthe other, I turned the handle continuously. Pieces of shell were flyingand ripping past close overhead. They seemed to get nearer every time. Whether they were splinters from the bursting shells or bullets frommachine guns I could not tell, but it got so hot at last that I judgedit wise to take cover. I had exposed sufficient film for my purpose, soquickly unscrewing the camera, my man taking the tripod, I hurried intoa dug-out for cover. "Jove!" I thought, mopping the perspiration frommy head, "quite near enough to be healthy!" Although the men were all taking cover, they were as happy as cricketsover this "strafe. " There is nothing a Tommy likes more than to see ourartillery plastering Bosche trenches into "Potsdam. " "Well, what's the next move?" I was asked. "Trench Mortars, " I said. "Both 'Flying Pigs' and 'Plum Puddings' oughtto make topping scenes. " "Yes, " the Captain said. "They are in action this afternoon, and I am incharge of H. T. M. I'll give you a good show. I have only one pitavailable, as Fritz dropped a 'crump' in the other yesterday, and blewthe whole show to smithereens. My sergeant was sitting smoking at thetime, and when she blew up it lifted him clean out of the trench, without even so much as scratching him. He turned round to me, andcursed Bosche for spoiling his smoke. He's promised to get his own backon 'Brother Fritz. ' Bet your life he will too. " He had hardly ceased speaking, when our dug-out shook as if a mine hadgone up close by. I tumbled out, followed by the others. Lumps of earthfell on our heads; I certainly thought the roof was coming in on us. Getting into the trench, the bombardment was still going strong, andlooking on my left I saw a dense cloud of smoke in our own firingtrench. "What in the world's up?" I enquired of a man close by. "Dunno, sir, " he said. "I believe it's a Bosche mine. It made enoughfuss to be one, yet it seems in such an extraordinary position. " "How about getting round to have a look at it?" I said to ----. "Right-o, " he said; "but you know we can't cross the road there. Ithink if we back well down, about one hundred yards, we may nip acrossinto No. 2 Avenue. That'll bring us out near 'Jacob's Ladder. '" "Lead on, " I said. "I wish I had known. I came in across the roadthere, " pointing down our firing trench. "You've got more pluck than I have, " he said. "You can congratulateyourself that you are alive. Anyway, come on. " Eventually I reached "Jacob's Ladder, " and asked an officer what hadhappened. "I don't know, " he said; "but whatever it was, it's smashed our fronttrench for about eighty yards: it's absolutely impassable. " Another officer came running up at that moment. "I say, " he said, "there's a scene up there for you. A trench mortar gun had a prematureburst, and exploded all the munition in the pit; blew the whole lot--menand all--to pieces. It's made a crater thirty yards across. It's abeastly wreck. Can't use that section of the front line. And to makematters worse, Fritz is pumping over tear-shells. Everybody is tickledto death with the fumes. " "Don't cheer me up, will you?" I remarked. "I'm going to film the trenchmortar this afternoon, both the H. T. M. And the 2-inch Gee. I can thankmy lucky stars I didn't decide to do them earlier. Anyway, here goes;the light is getting rather poor. " The officer with whom I was talking kindly offered to guide me to thespot. Crumps were still falling, and so was the rain. "We'll go through'Lanwick Street, ' then bear to the left, and don't forget to keep yourhead down. " [Illustration: THE PLAN OF ATTACK AT BEAUMONT HAMEL. JULY 1ST, 1916] [Illustration: OVER THE TOP OF BEAUMONT HAMEL. JULY 1ST, 1916] There are two things I detest more than anything else in the trenches:they are "whizz-bangs" and rats. The latter got mixed up in my feetas I was walking through the trench, and one, more impudent than therest, when I crouched down to avoid a burst, jumped on to my back andsprang away into the mud. "We will turn back and go by way of 'White City, ' then up King Street. It may be cooler there. " It certainly was not healthy in thisneighbourhood. Turning back, I bade my man follow close behind. Entering the maintrench, I hurried along, and was quite near the King Street turning whena Hun "crump" came tearing overhead. I yelled out to my man to takecover, and crushed into the entrance of a dug-out myself. In doing so, Iupset a canteen of tea over a bucket-fire which one of our lads waspreparing to drink. His remarks were drowned in the explosion of theshell, which landed barely twenty-five feet away. "Now then, " I called to my man, "run for it into King Street, " and I gotthere just in time to crouch down and escape another "crump" which camehurtling over. In a flash I knew it was coming very near: I crouchedlower. It burst with a sickening sound. It seemed just overhead. Dirtand rubble poured over me as I lay there. I rushed to the corner to seewhere it had struck. It had landed only twelve feet from the dug-outentrance which I had left only a few seconds before, and it had killedthe two men whom I had crushed against, and for the loss of whose tea Iwas responsible. It was not the time or place to hang about, so I hurried to thetrench-mortar pit to finish my scenes whilst daylight lasted. I met the officer in charge of the T. M. "Keep your head down, " he shouted, as I turned round a traverse. "Ourparapet has been practically wiped out, and there is a sniper in the farcorner of the village. He has been dropping his pellets into my showall day, and Fritz has been splashing me with his 'Minnies' to try andfind my gun, but he will never get it. Just look at the mess around. " I was looking. It would have beaten the finest Indian scout to try anddistinguish the trench from the débris and honeycomb of shell-holes. "Where the deuce is your outfit?" I said, looking round. "You follow me, but don't show an inch of head above. Look out. "Phut-bang came a pip-squeak. It struck and burst about five yards infront of us. "Brother Fritz is confoundedly inconsiderate, " he said. "Heseems to want all the earth to himself. Come on; we'll get there thistime, and run for it. " After clambering, crawling, running and jumping, we reached a hole inthe ground, into which the head and shoulders of a man were justdisappearing. "This is my abode of love, " said my guide. "How do you like it?" I looked down, and at the depth of about twelve feet was a trenchmortar. The hole itself was, of course, boarded round with timber, andwas about seven feet square. There was a gallery leading back under ourparapet for the distance of about eighty feet, and in this were storedthe bombs. The men also sheltered there. I let myself down with my camera and threaded by the numerous "plumpuddings" lying there: I fixed my camera up and awaited the order forthe men to commence firing. "Are you ready?" came a voice from above. "Right, sir, " replied the sergeant. I began exposing my film. "Fire!" the T. M. Officer shouted down. Fire they did, and the concussion nearly knocked me head over heels. Iwas quite unprepared for such a backblast. Before they fired again, Igot a man to hold down the front leg of my tripod. The gun wasrecharged; the order to fire was given, the lanyard was pulled, but noexplosion. "Hullo, another----" "Misfire, " was the polite remark of the sergeant. "Those fuses aregiving us more trouble than enough. " Another detonator was put on, everything was ready again. Another tugwas given. Again no explosion. Remembering the happenings of the morning in another pit, when apremature burst occurred, I felt anything but comfortable. Sitting inthe middle of about one hundred trench mortar bombs, visions of thewhole show going up came to me. Another detonator was put in. "Fire, " came the order. Again it failed. "Look here, sergeant, " I said, "if that bally thing happens again I'moff. " "The blessed thing has never been so bad before, sir. Let's have onemore try. " Still another detonator was put in. I began turning the handle of mycamera. This time it was successful. "That's all I want, " I said. "I'm off. Hand me up my camera. And withdue respect to your gun, " I said to the T. M. Officer, "you might ceasefire until I am about fifty yards away. I don't mind risking BrotherFritz's 'strafe, ' but I do object to the possibility of being scatteredto the four winds of heaven by our own shells. " And with a laugh andgood wishes, I left him. "I say, " he called out, "come into my dug-out to-night, will you? It'sjust in front of Fifth Avenue. I shall be there in about half an hour; Ihave got to give Fritz a few more souvenirs to go on with. There is alittle more wire left over there, and the C. O. Wants it all 'strafed'away. Do come, won't you? So long. See you later. Keep your head down. " "Right-o!" I said, with a laugh. "Physician, heal thyself. A littlehigher, and you might as well be sitting on the parapet. " He turnedround sharply, then dropped on his knees. "Strafe that bally parapet. I forgot all about it. Fire!" he yelled, andI laughed at the pleasure he was getting out of blowing up Fritz. I scrambled and slithered back into the recognised trench again, and onmy way back filmed the H. T. M. , or "Flying Pig, " in action. By this timeit was getting rather dull, so going to a dug-out, I dropped myapparatus, and had another final look at the position from which I wasgoing to film the great attack in the morning. CHAPTER XIII THE DAWN OF JULY FIRST A Firework Display Heralds the Arrival of "The Day"--How the Boys Spent Their Last Few Hours in the Trenches--Rats as Bedfellows--I Make an Early Start--And Get Through a Mine-shaft into "No Man's Land"--The Great Event Draws Near--Anxious Moments--The Men Fix Bayonets--And Wait the Word of Command to "Go Over the Top. " Darkness came, and with it a host of star-shells, or Verey lights, whichwere shot up high in the air from both the German and our own trenches. They looked for all the world like a huge firework display at theCrystal Palace. Rain had ceased. The heavens were studded with countless millions ofstars. "Great prospects for to-morrow, " said one. "I hope it's fine, forthe sake of the boys. They are as keen as mustard to go over the top. " As we talked, batch after batch of men came gliding by in their fullkit, smoking and chatting. While I was standing there hundreds must havepassed me in that narrow trench, quietly going to their allottedpositions. Now and again sharp orders were given by their officers. "How's your section, sergeant? Are you fitted up?" "Yes, sir, " came a voice from the blackness. "Now, lads, come along: get through as quickly as possible. Post yoursentries at once, and be sharp. " It was not long before little red fires were gleaming out of the dug-outentrances, and crowds of men were crouching round, heating theircanteens of water, some frying pieces of meat, others heating soup, andall the time laughing and carrying on a most animated conversation. Fromother groups came the subdued humming of favourite songs. Some werecursing and swearing, but with such a bluntness that, if I may say so, it seemed to take all the profanity from the words. And these men knew they were going "over the top" in the morning. Theday which they had dreamed of was about to materialise. They knew thatmany would not be alive to-morrow night, yet I never saw a sad face norheard a word of complaint. My feeling whilst watching these men in theglow of the firelight was almost indescribable. I was filled with awe attheir behaviour. I reverenced them more than I had ever done before; andI felt like going down on my knees and thanking God I was an Englishman. No words of mine can fitly describe this wonderful scene. And all thetime more men, and still more men, were pouring into the trenches, andmunitions of all descriptions were being served out. The bursting German shells, and the shrieks overhead of the missilesfrom our own guns, were for the moment forgotten in the immensity of thesights around me. I turned and groped the way back to my shelter and, asI did so, our fire increased in intensity. This was the prelude to thegreatest attack ever made in the history of the world, and ere the sunset on the morrow many of these heroes--the Lancashire Fusiliers, RoyalFusiliers, Middlesex, etc. --would be lying dead on the field of battle, their lives sacrificed that civilisation might live. At last I found a friend, and sitting down to our box-table we had ameal together. Afterwards I wandered out, and entered several otherdug-outs, where friends were resting. They all seemed anxious for themorning to come. I met the mining officer. "I say; let me check my watch by yours, " I said. "As the mine is goingup at 7. 20 I shall want to start my machine about half a minutebeforehand. " "Right-o!" he said. We then checked watches. I bade him good night, and also the others, and the best of luck. "Same to you, " they cried in general chorus. "I hope to heavens you getthrough with it, and show them all at home in England how the boysfight. They will then realise what war really means. Good night, oldman. " "Good night, " I replied, and then found my way back to the shelter. Irolled myself in a blanket, and tried to sleep. The night was very cold. I lay shivering in my blanket and could not getwarm. The guns were continually crashing out. Shells were bursting justoutside with appalling regularity. Suddenly they seemed to quieten down, as if by some means the Germans had got to know of our great plans andwere preparing for the blow. Presently everything was comparativelyquiet, except for the scurrying of countless rats, running and jumpingover my body, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. I expectI must have dozed off to sleep, for when I awoke day was breaking, andthe din of the gun-fire was terrific. Innumerable worlds seemed to becrashing together, and it sounded as if thousands of peals of thunderhad concentrated themselves into one soul-terrifying roar. An officer looked in at the entrance at that moment. "Hullo!" he said. "Are you the 'movie-man'?" "Yes, " I said, sitting up. "What's up?" "Well, I'm hanged; I'm glad I've found you. Do you know, I askedseveral Johnnies down the line if you were in the trenches and theylaughed at me; asked me if I had been drinking; they thought I waspulling their leg. 'A movie man in the trenches, ' they said, in tones ofamazement; 'not likely!' I told them that you were here last night, andthat you are here to film the attack. Well, anyway, this is what I havecome for. The Colonel sent me--you know him--to see if you would film acompany of our men in occupation of Sunken Road. They occupied it duringthe night without a single casualty, by tunnelling for about fifty yardsthrough the parapet, under 'No Man's Land'; then sapped up and into theroad. It's a fine piece of work, " he said, "and would make a goodpicture. " "Rather, " I said; "I'll come. It will be splendid from the historicalpoint of view. Can you let me have a guide, to show me the quickest andbest way?" "Yes, I will send one of our pioneers; he will guide you, " he said. "Letme know how you get on, won't you? And, if possible, when you returncall in and see the Colonel. He will be frightfully bucked. " "Right-o!" I said. "By Gad! it's bally cold. My teeth won't hold still. Push that man along, and I'll get off. " "Au revoir, " he called out as he left. "See you later. " [Illustration: IN THE SUNKEN ROAD AT BEAUMONT HAMEL, JUST BEFORE ZEROHOUR, JULY 1ST, 1916. MY EXPERIENCES IN GETTING INTO THIS PLACE AT 6. 20A. M. REMAIN THE MOST VIVID OF ALL] [Illustration: IN A TRENCH MORTAR TUNNEL, DURING THE BATTLE OF THESOMME, AT BEAUMONT HAMEL, JULY 1ST, 1916] The guide turned up a few minutes afterwards; he took the tripod, I thecamera. I started off and entered King Street, making my way towards thefiring trench. I have described in previous chapters what it was like tobe under an intense bombardment. I have attempted to analyse my feelingswhen lying in the trenches with shells bursting directly overhead. Ihave been in all sorts of places, under heavy shell-fire, but forintensity and nearness--nothing--absolutely nothing--compared withthe frightful and demoralising nature of the shell-fire which Iexperienced during that journey. I had only just reached King Street, when it started on that section. Bosche was fairly plastering the whole trench, and smashing down ourparapets in the most methodical manner. Four men passed me, withhorrible wounds; another was being carried on the shoulders of hiscomrades, one arm being blown clean off, leaving flesh and remnants ofcloth hanging down in a horrible manner. The shells fell in front, overhead and behind us. I bent low and rushed through traverse after traverse, halting when ashell burst in the trench itself round the next bend, sending a ghastlyblast of flame and choking fumes full in my face. At one point I halted, hardly knowing which way to go; my guide was crouching as low aspossible on the ground. The further I went, the worse it got; shrieking, splitting shells seemed to envelop us. I looked back. The same. Infront, another burst; the flames swept right into my face. If I had beenstanding up it would have killed me without a doubt. To go back was asdangerous as to advance, and to stay where I was--well, it was worse, ifanything. Truth to tell, I had gone so far now that I did not liketurning back; the picture of our men in Sunken Road attracted me like amagnet. "Go on, " I shouted to the guide. "We'll get through somehow. Are yougame?" "Yes, sir, " said he. We ran round the next traverse, and had to scramble over a heap ofdébris caused by a shell a few moments before. "Look out, sir! There are some dead men here, and the parapet haspractically disappeared. Get down on your stomach and crawl along. " Phut-bang! The shells crashed on the parapet with the rapidity ofmachine-gun fire. I went down, and crawled along over the dead bodies of some of our ladskilled only a few minutes before. It couldn't be helped. Purgatory, inall its hideous shapes and forms, could not possibly be worse than thisjourney. It seemed years getting through that hellish fire. "How much more?" I yelled out. "We are quite near now, sir; about twenty yards. " "Rush for it, then--rush. " I did, and my guide pulled up quickly at the entrance of what seemedlike a mine. "Incline in here, sir, " he said, and disappeared. I followed. Never inall my experience had I welcomed cover as I did at that moment. "Hold on a bit, " I said, "for five minutes' breathing space. " The tunnel was no more than two feet six inches wide and five feet high. Men inside were passing ammunition from one to the other in an endlesschain and disappearing into the bowels of the earth. The shaft took a downward trend. It was only by squeezing past themunition bearers that we were able to proceed at all, and in some placesit was impossible for more than one to crush through at a time. By thelight of an electric torch, stuck in the mud, I was able to see the men. They were wet with perspiration, steaming, in fact; stripped to thewaist; working like Trojans, each doing the work of six men. The journey seemed endless. I could tell by the position that I wasclimbing. My guide was still in front, and letting me know of hiswhereabouts by shouting: "Straight ahead, sir! Mind this hole!" The latter part of the shaft seemed practically upright. I dragged mycamera along by the strap attached to the case. It was impossible tocarry it. We were nearing daylight. I could see a gleam only a few feet away. Atlast we came to the exit. My guide was there. "Keep down low, sir. This sap is only four feet deep. It's been doneduring the night, about fifty yards of it. We are in 'No Man's Land'now, and if the Germans had any idea we were here, the place would soonbe an inferno. " "Go ahead, " I said. It was difficult to imagine we were midway betweenthe Hun lines and our own. It was practically inconceivable. Theshell-fire seemed just as bad as ever behind in the trenches, but hereit was simply heavenly. The only thing one had to do was to keep as lowas possible and wriggle along. The ground sloped downwards. The end ofthe sap came in sight. My guide was crouching there, and in front ofhim, about thirty feet away, running at right angles on both sides, wasa roadway, overgrown with grass and pitted with shell-holes. The bankimmediately in front was lined with the stumps of trees and a roughhedge, and there lined up, crouching as close to the bank as possible, were some of our men. They were the Lancashire Fusiliers, with bayonetsfixed, and ready to spring forward. "Keep low as you run across the road, sir. The Bosche can see rightalong it; make straight for the other side. " With that he ran across, and I followed. Then I set my camera up and filmed the scene. I had totake every precaution in getting my machine in position, keeping itclose to the bank, as a false step would have exposed the position tothe Bosche, who would have immediately turned on H. E. Shrapnel, andmight have enfiladed the whole road from either flank. I filmed the waiting Fusiliers. Some of them looked happy and gay, others sat with stern, set faces, realising the great task in front ofthem. I had finished taking my scenes, and asked an officer if the Colonel wasthere. "No, but you may find him in 'White City. ' He was there about an hourago. Great heavens, " he said, "who would have believed that a'movie-man' would be here, the nearest point to Bosche lines on thewhole front. You must like your job. Hanged if I envy you. Anyway, hopeto see you after the show, if I haven't 'gone West. ' Cheero, " and withthat he left me. Packing up my camera, I prepared to return. Time was getting on. It wasnow 6. 30 a. M. The attack was timed for 7. 20. As I wanted to obtain somescenes of our men taking up their final positions, I told my guide tostart. "Duck as low as possible, " I said, "when you cross the road. " "We can't go yet, sir; munitions are being brought through, and, as youknow, there isn't room to pass one another. " I waited until the last man had come in from the sap, then, practicallyon hands and knees, made for the sap mouth. "Cheer up, boys, " I shouted to the men as I parted from them, "best ofluck; hope to see you in the village. " "Hope so, sir, " came a general chorus in reply. Again I struggledthrough the narrow slit, then down the shaft and finally into thetunnel. We groped our way along as best we could. The place was full ofmen. It was only possible to get my tripod and camera along by passingit from one to another. Then as the men stooped low I stepped over them, eventually reaching the other end--and daylight. The "strafe" was still on, but not quite so violent. Our parapets werein a sorry condition, battered out of all shape. Returning through King Street, I was just in time to film some of themen fixing bayonets before being sent to their respective stations inthe firing trench. The great moment was drawing near. I admit I wasfeeling a wee bit nervous. The mental and nervous excitement under suchconditions was very great. Every one was in a state of suppressedexcitement. On the way I passed an officer I knew. "Are you going over?" I said. "Rather, " he replied, "the whole lot of us. Some stunt, eh!" "Don't forget, " I said, "the camera will be on you; good luck!" Bidding my man collect the tripod and camera, I made for the position onJacob's Ladder. But I was to receive a rude shock. The shelling of themorning had practically blown it all down. But there was sufficient fora clearance all around for my purpose, and sufficient shelter againststray bits of shrapnel. I prepared to put up my camera. Not quitesatisfied, I left it about thirty yards away, to view the situationquickly, as there were only twenty minutes to go. Hardly had I left themachine than a "whizz-bang" fell and struck the parapet immediatelyabove the ladder, tumbling the whole lot of sandbags down like a pack ofcards. It was a lucky escape for me. The position was absolutely no use now, and I had to choose another. Time was short. I hastily fixed my cameraon the side of the small bank, this side of our firing trench, with mylens pointing towards the Hawthorn Redoubt, where the mine--the largest"blown" on the British Front--was going up. It was loaded with twentytons of a new explosive of tremendous destructive power, and it hadtaken seven months to build. Gee, what an awakening for Bosche! My camera was now set ready to start exposing. I looked along thetrench. The men were ready and waiting the great moment. One little group was discussing the prospects of a race across "No Man'sLand. " "Bet you, Jim, I'll get there first. " "Right-o! How much?" "A day's pay, " was the reply. "Take me on, too, will you?" said another hero. "Yes. Same terms, eh? Good enough. " "Say Bill, " he called to his pal, "pay up from my cash if I 'go West. '" "Shut up, fathead; we have to kill Huns, 'strafe' them. " I turned away to speak to an officer as to the prospects. "Very good, " he said. "I hope they don't plaster our trenches before allthe men get out. They are as keen as mustard. Never known them sobright. Look at them now; all smoking. " Our guns were still pounding heavily, and the din and concussion wasawful. To hear oneself speak it was absolutely necessary to shout. "You are in a pretty rocky position, " some one said to me. "Fritz willbe sure to plaster this front pretty well as soon as our men 'getover. '" "Can't help it, " I said; "my machine must have a clear view. I must takethe risk. How's the time going?" "It's 'seven-ten' now, " he said. "I am going to stand by. Cheero; best of luck!" I left him, and stood bymy machine. The minutes dragged on. Still the guns crashed out. TheGerman fire had died down a bit during the last half-hour. I glanceddown our trenches. The officers were giving final instructions. Everyman was in his place. The first to go over would be the engineers, towire the crater. They were all ready, crouching down, with theirimplements in their hands. Time: 7. 15 a. M. ! Heavens! how the minutes dragged. It seemed like a lifetime waitingthere. My nerves were strung up to a high pitch; my heart was thumpinglike a steam-hammer. I gave a quick glance at an officer close by. Hewas mopping the perspiration from his brow, and clutching his stick, first in one hand then in the other--quite unconsciously, I am sure. Helooked at his watch. Another three minutes went by. Would nothing ever happen? CHAPTER XIV THE DAY AND THE HOUR A Mighty Convulsion Signalises the Commencement of Operations--Then Our Boys "Go Over the Top"--A Fine Film Obtained whilst Shells Rained Around Me--My Apparatus is Struck--But, Thank Goodness, the Camera is Safe--Arrival of the Wounded--"Am I in the Picture?" they ask. Time: 7. 19 a. M. My hand grasped the handle of the camera. I set myteeth. My whole mind was concentrated upon my work. Another thirtyseconds passed. I started turning the handle, two revolutions persecond, no more, no less. I noticed how regular I was turning. (Myobject in exposing half a minute beforehand was to get the mine from themoment it broke ground. ) I fixed my eyes on the Redoubt. Any second now. Surely it was time. It seemed to me as if I had been turning for hours. Great heavens! Surely it had not misfired. Why doesn't it go up? I looked at my exposure dial. I had used over a thousand feet. Thehorrible thought flashed through my mind, that my film might run outbefore the mine blew. Would it go up before I had time to reload? Thethought brought beads of perspiration to my forehead. The agony wasawful; indescribable. My hand began to shake. Another 250 feet exposed. I had to keep on. Then it happened. [Illustration: THE OPENING OF THE GREAT BATTLE OF THE SOMME, JULY 1ST, 1916. AT 7. 20 A. M. THIS HUGE MINE LOADED WITH 20 TONS OF AMINOL WHICHTOOK 7 MONTHS TO MAKE, WAS SPRUNG UNDER THE GERMAN TRENCHES AT BEAUMONTHAMEL] The ground where I stood gave a mighty convulsion. It rocked and swayed. I gripped hold of my tripod to steady myself. Then, for all the worldlike a gigantic sponge, the earth rose in the air to the height ofhundreds of feet. Higher and higher it rose, and with a horrible, grinding roar the earth fell back upon itself, leaving in its place amountain of smoke. From the moment the mine went up my feelings changed. The crisis was over, and from that second I was cold, cool, andcalculating. I looked upon all that followed from the purely pictorialpoint of view, and even felt annoyed if a shell burst outside the rangeof my camera. Why couldn't Bosche put that shell a little nearer? Itwould make a better picture. And so my thoughts ran on. The earth was down. I swung my camera round on to our own parapets. Theengineers were swarming over the top, and streaming along the sky-line. Our guns redoubled their fire. The Germans then started H. E. Shrapnelbegan falling in the midst of our advancing men. I continued to turn thehandle of my camera, viewing the whole attack through my view-finder, first swinging one way and then the other. Then another signal rang out, and from the trenches immediately in frontof me, our wonderful troops went over the top. What a picture it was!They went over as one man. I could see while I was exposing, thatnumbers were shot down before they reached the top of the parapet;others just the other side. They went across the ground in swarms, andmarvel upon marvels, still smoking cigarettes. One man actually stoppedin the middle of "No Man's Land" to light up again. The Germans had by now realised that the great attack had come. Shrapnelpoured into our trenches with the object of keeping our supports fromcoming up. They had even got their "crumps" and high-explosive shrapnelinto the middle of our boys before they were half-way across "No Man'sLand. " But still they kept on. At that moment my spool ran out. Ihurriedly loaded up again, and putting the first priceless spool in mycase, I gave it to my man in a dug-out to take care of, impressing uponhim that he must not leave it under any circumstances. If anythingunforeseen happened he was to take it back to Headquarters. I rushed back to my machine again. Shells were exploding quite close tome. At least I was told so afterwards by an officer. But I was sooccupied with my work that I was quite unconscious of their proximity. Ibegan filming once more. The first lot of men, or rather the remainderof them, had disappeared in the haze and smoke, punctured by burstingshells. What was happening in the German lines I did not know. Other menwere coming up and going over the top. The German machine-gun fire wasnot quite so deadly now, but our men suffered badly from shell-fire. Onseveral occasions I noticed men run and take temporary cover in theshell-holes, but their ranks were being terribly thinned. Still more went over, and still a stream of men were making for the minecrater; they then disappeared in the smoke. The noise was terrific. Itwas as if the earth were lifting bodily, and crashing against someimmovable object. The very heavens seemed to be falling. Thousands ofthings were happening at the same moment. The mind could not begin tograsp the barest margin of it. The German shells were crashing all round me. Dirt was being flung in myface, cutting it like whipcord. My only thought was whether any of ithad struck my lens and made it dirty, for this would have spoiled myfilm. I gave a quick glance at it. It was quite all right. Fearful fighting was taking place in the German trenches. The heavyrattle of machine-guns, the terrible din of exploding bombs, could beheard above the pandemonium. Our men had ceased to flow from ourtrenches. I crept to the top of the parapet, and looked towards the leftof the village of Beaumont Hamel. Our guns were bursting on the otherside of the village, but I could distinguish nothing else as to howthings were going. I asked an officer who was standing close by. "God knows, " he replied. "Everything over there is so mixed up. TheGeneral said this was the hardest part of the line to get through, andmy word it seems like it, to look at our poor lads. " I could see them strewn all over the ground, swept down by the accursedmachine-gun fire. A quick succession of shell-bursts attracted my attention. Back to mycamera position. Another lot of our men were going over the top. I beganexposing, keeping them in my camera view all the time, as they werecrossing, by revolving my tripod head. Shell after shell crashed in the middle of them, leaving ghastly gaps, but other men quickly filled them up, passing through the smoke, andover the bodies of their comrades, as if there were no such thing as ashell in all the world. Another spool ran out, making the fourth sincethe attack started. I gave it in charge of my man, with the sameinstructions as before. I loaded again, and had just started exposing. Something attracted my attention on the extreme left. What it was Idon't know. I ceased turning, but still holding the handle, I veeredround the front of my camera. The next moment, with a shriek and aflash, a shell fell and exploded before I had time to take shelter. Itwas only a few feet away. What happened after I hardly know. There wasthe grinding crash of a bursting shell; something struck my tripod, thewhole thing, camera and all, was flung against me. I clutched it andstaggered back, holding it in my arms. I dragged it into ashrapnel-proof shelter, sat down and looked for the damage. A piece ofthe shell had struck the tripod and cut the legs clean in half, on oneside, carrying about six inches of it away. The camera, thank heaven, was untouched. Calling my man, we hastily found some pieces of wood, old telephone wireand string, and within an hour had improvised legs, rigid enough tocontinue taking scenes. I again set up my camera. Our gun-fire was still terrible, but theGermans had shortened their range and were evidently putting a barrageon our men, who had presumably reached the enemy's front trenches. Nobody knew anything definitely. Wounded men began to arrive. There wasa rush for news. "How are things going?" we asked. "We have taken their first and second line, " said one. An officer passed on a stretcher. "How are things going?" "God knows, " he said. "I believe we have got through their first lineand part of the village, but don't know whether we shall be able to holdout; we have been thinned shockingly. " "Have you been successful?" he asked me. "Yes, I've got the whole of the attack. " "Good man, " he said. First one rumour then another came through. There was nothing definite. The fighting over there was furious. I filmed various scenes of ourwounded coming in over the parapet; then through the trenches. Lines ofthem were awaiting attention. Scenes crowded upon me. Wounded and more wounded; men who a few hoursbefore had leaped over the parapet full of life and vigour were nowdribbling back. Some of them shattered and broken for life. But it wasone of the most glorious charges ever made in the history of the world. These men had done their bit. "Hullo, " I said to one passing through on a stretcher, "got a'blighty'?" "Yes, sir, " he said; "rather sure Blighty for me. " "And for me too, " said another lad lying with him waiting attention, "Ishan't be able to play footer any more. Look!" I followed the directionof his finger, and could see through the rough bandages that his foothad been taken completely off. Yet he was still cheerful, and smoking. A great many asked me as they came through: "Was I in the picture, sir?"I had to say "yes" to them all, which pleased them immensely. Still no definite news. The heavy firing continued. I noticed several ofour wounded men lying in shell-holes in "No Man's Land. " They werecalling for assistance. Every time a Red Cross man attempted to get nearthem, a hidden German machine-gun fired. Several were killed whilsttrying to bring in the wounded. The cries of one poor fellow attractedthe attention of a trench-mortar man. He asked for a volunteer to gowith him, and bring the poor fellow in. A man stepped forward, andtogether they climbed the parapet, and threaded their way through thebarbed wire very slowly. Nearer and nearer they crept. We stood watchingwith bated breath. Would they reach him? Yes. At last! Then hastilybinding up the injured man's wounds they picked him up between them, andwith a run made for our parapet. The swine of a German blazed away atthem with his machine-gun. But marvellous to relate neither of them weretouched. I filmed the rescue from the start to the finish, until they passed mein the trench, a mass of perspiration. Upon the back of one was theunconscious man he had rescued, but twenty minutes after these two hadgone through hell to rescue him, the poor fellow died. During the day those two men rescued twenty men in this fashion underheavy fire. [Illustration: THE ROLL CALL OF THE SEAFORTHS AT "WHITE CITY, " BEAUMONTHAMEL, JULY 1ST, 1916] [Illustration: FAGGED OUT IN THE "WHITE CITY" AFTER WE RETIRED TO OURTRENCHES, JULY 1ST, 1916. SOME OF THE INCOMPARABLE 29TH DIVISION] CHAPTER XV ROLL-CALL AFTER THE FIGHT A Glorious Band of Wounded Heroes Stagger Into Line and Answer the Call--I Visit a Stricken Friend in a Dug-out--On the Way to La Boisselle I Get Lost in the Trenches--And Whilst Filming Unexpectedly Come Upon the German Line--I Have a Narrow Squeak of Being Crumped--But Get Away Safely--And later Commandeer a Couple of German Prisoners to Act as Porters. The day wore on. The success of the fighting swayed first this way, thenthat. The casualties mounted higher and higher. Men were coming backinto our trenches maimed and broken; they all had different tales totell. I passed along talking to and cheering our wonderful men as muchas I could. And the Germans, to add to this ghastly whirlpool of horror, threw shell after shell into the dressing station, killing and woundingafresh the gallant lads who had gone "over the top" that morning. Theyseemed to know of this place and played upon it with a gloating, fiendish glee worthy only of unspeakable savages. As I was passing one group of wounded, I ran against my doctor friend ofthe night before. "Busy day for you?" I said. "My word, yes, " he replied. "They are coming faster than I can attend tothem. I am just off to see P----. He's caught it badly. " "Serious?" I asked. "Yes, rather; in the back. He's in the dug-out. " And the doctor rushed away. I followed him. P---- was lying there on astretcher looking ghastly. The doctor was bending over him. Poor oldchap. Only that morning he had hooked me out to film the sunken roadscenes as full of life and hope as anyone could conceive. Now he was onhis back, a broken wreck. In the trenches there were hundreds of casesas bad, or even worse, but they did not affect me. There were far toomany for the mind to fully grasp their meaning. But down here in thisdark dug-out, twenty feet below the earth, the sombre surroundings onlyilluminated by a guttering candle in a bottle, I was far more affected. It was natural though, for one always feels things more when some oneone knows is concerned. P---- was the first to speak. "Hullo, old man, " he said in a husky, low voice. "You've pulledthrough?" "Yes, " I replied. "But 'touchwood'! I'm so sorry. Anyway, you're allright for 'Blighty, '" and to cheer him up I continued in a banteringstrain: "You knew how to manage it, eh? Jolly artful, you know. " Hisface lighted up with a wan smile. "Yes, Malins, rather a long 'Blighty, ' I'm afraid. " Two stretcher-bearers came in at that moment to take him away. Withdifficulty they got him out of the trench, and grasping his hand I badehim good-bye. "I'm glad you got our boys, Malins. I do so want to see that film, " werehis last words. "I'll show it to you when I get back to England, " I called after him, and then he disappeared. The fighting was now beginning to die down. The remnants of fourregiments were coming in. Each section was accumulating in spaces ontheir own. I realised that the roll-call was about to take place. Ifilmed them as they staggered forward and dropped down utterly worn out, body and soul. By an almost superhuman effort many of them staggered totheir feet again, and formed themselves into an irregular line. In one little space there were just two thin lines--all that was left ofa glorious regiment (barely one hundred men). I filmed the scene as itunfolded itself. The sergeant stood there with note-book resting on theend of his rifle, repeatedly putting his pencil through names that weremissing. This picture was one of the most wonderful, the most impressivethat can be conceived. It ought to be painted and hung in all thepicture galleries of the world, in all the schools and public buildings, and our children should be taught to regard it as the standard of man'sself-sacrifice. I stayed in the trenches until the following day, filming scene afterscene of our wounded. I learned that nothing more was to be attempteduntil later, when fresh divisions were to be brought up. Knowing this Idecided to leave this section of the trenches. But the ghastly scenes ofwhich I was witness will always remain a hideous nightmare in my memory, though I thank God I had been spared to film such tremendous scenes ofsupreme heroism and sacrifice in the cause of freedom. I got safely back through the trenches to ----, where Brigade H. Q. Toldme of an urgent message from G. H. Q. I was to report as soon as possible. On my way I called on General ----, who was delighted to hear I hadsuccessfully filmed the attack, the record of which would show the worldhow gloriously our men had fought. Reaching advanced G. H. Q. I reported myself. All were pleased to see mesafe and sound, and to hear of my success. I was told that lively thingswere happening at La Boisselle. I heard also how successful our troopshad been in other parts of the line. Fricourt and Mametz and a dozenother villages had fallen to our victorious troops. This news put newlife into me. At La Boisselle they said we had pushed through, andfighting was still going on. I decided to leave for that district rightaway. Passing through Albert, I halted the car at the top of Becourt Wood. From this point I had to walk. In the distance I could see hundreds ofshells bursting, and guns were thundering out. I gave one camera to myorderly and another had the tripod. Taking the second camera myself, Istarted off. We threaded our way through the wood and out into thetrenches. Shells were falling close by, but by hugging the parapet wegot along fairly well. The communication trench seemed interminable. "Where the deuce am I?" I asked an officer in passing. "I want to get toour front trenches. " "You want to go the other way. This trench leads back to ----. " This was anything but cheering news. I had been walking for about anhour, always seeming to just miss the right turning. Truth to tell I hadfailed to provide myself with a trench map, and it was my first time inthis section. The bursting shells were filling up the trenches, and Iwas becoming absolutely fogged. So, in sheer desperation--for thebombardment was getting more intense and I was afraid of losingpictures--I climbed on to the parapet to look round. What a scene ofdesolation. The first thing I saw was a dead German. That didn't help tocheer me up overmuch. Making a slight detour I stopped to fix the Hunfront line if possible. Our own I could see. But no matter where Ilooked the Bosche line was apparently non-existent. Yet our shells weresmashing into the ground, which seemed to be absolutely empty. I set up my camera and started to expose. While doing so I happened toglance down, for I must explain that I was on a slight mound. Which wasthe most surprised--the Bosche or myself--I do not know, for less than ahundred yards away was the German line. I stopped turning. ImmediatelyI did so bullets came singing unpleasantly past my head. I dropped flaton the ground, which luckily for me was slightly protected by a ridge ofearth. I dragged the camera down on top of me and, lying flat, thebullets whizzed by overhead. The Bosche must have thought he had got me, for in a few moments fire ceased. I wriggled towards the trench anddropped like a log into the bottom, dragging my camera after me. One ofmy men had followed, and seeing me drop, did the same. He came tumblinghead first into the trench. "That was a near squeak, sir, " he said. "Yes, come on, they willprobably start shelling us. Cut through here. I noticed some Germanprisoners coming this way. I must get them. Where's the other man? Keephim close up. " Reaching a trench through which the German prisoners were being led, Ihurriedly fixed my camera and filmed them shambling in, holding theirhands up, their nerves completely shattered by the intensity of ourterrific bombardment. Some were covered with wounds, others werecarrying our wounded Tommies in on stretchers. It was an extraordinarysight. Ten minutes before these men were doing their utmost to kill eachother. Now, friend and foe were doing their best to help each other. Shells were dropping close by. One fell in the midst of a group ofprisoners and, bursting, killed fourteen and wounded eleven. The otherswere marched on. Whether I had been spotted or not, I do not know, but German shells werecrumping unpleasantly near. I was just thinking of moving when anotherburst so close that it made me quickly decide. I looked round for mymen. One was there; the other was missing. "Get into a dug-out, " I yelled. "Where is L----?" "Don't know, sir, " he said. He dived into a dug-out at the first shell which burst near. At thatmoment another "crump" crashed down and exploded with a crunching roar, throwing a large quantity of earth all around me. One after another cameover in quick succession. "Where the devil is that fellow?" I said to ----. "He's got myaeroscope. When brother Fritz has smoothed down this little 'strafe' Iwill try and find him. " "He was in that section, sir, where Bosche crossed. " For over half an hour the crumping continued, then it practicallyceased. The Bosche evidently thought he had distributed us to the fourwinds of heaven. I emerged from my shelter and hurriedly ran along thetrench to find my man. He was nowhere to be found. Several dug-outs hadbeen smashed in, and in one place the water in the trench was deep redwith blood, and wading through this was anything but pleasant. At thatmoment a telephone man came up. "Can you tell me, sir, if there is a machine-gun position hereabouts? Ihave been sent to run a wire. " I was just replying when a crump camehurtling over. "Duck, " I yelled, and duck we did. I tried to cover the whole of my bodyunder my steel helmet, and crouching low on the ground, the crump burstjust on the parapet above, showering huge lumps of dirt which clatteredupon us. "You had better get out of this, " I said, and suiting the action to theword I attempted to run, when another crump burst, this time in thetraverse close behind. Well, which of us ran the fastest for cover Idon't know, but I was a good second! The non-appearance of my other man worried me. He was nowhere to befound. It occurred to me that as he did not find me on emerging fromhis dug-out, and as it was coming on to rain, he had returned to the carthinking he might find me there. Packing up my camera, therefore, Istarted off, passing more prisoners on the way. I promptly collared twoof them to carry my tripod and camera, and as we proceeded I could notrestrain a smile at the sight of two German prisoners hurrying alongwith my outfit, and a grinning Tommy with his inevitable cigarettebetween his lips, and a bayonet at the ready, coming up behind. It wastoo funny for words. When I reached the car my lost man was not there. I enquired of severalbattle-police and stretcher-bearers if they had seen a man of hisdescription wandering about, and carrying a leather case, but nobody hadseen him. After having a sandwich, I decided to go again to the frontline to find him. I could not leave him there. I must find out somethingdefinite. On my way down I made further enquiries, but without result. Isearched around those trenches until I was soaked to the skin and faggedout, but not a trace of him could I discover; not even my camera orpieces of it. The only thing that could have happened, I thought, wasthat he had got into a dug-out, and the entrance had been blown in byheavy shell-fire. Retracing my steps I examined several smashed dug-outs. It wasimpossible to even attempt to lift the rubble. With gloomy thoughts Ireturned again to the car, and on my journey back left instructions withvarious men to report anything found to the town major at ----. I stayedthe night in the vicinity in the hope of receiving news; but not a scrapcame through. Again next day, and the next, I hunted the trenches, unsuccessfully, and finally I came to the conclusion that he had beenkilled and decided to post him as missing. I had arrived at thisdecision whilst resting on the grass at the top of Becourt Wood and wasmaking a meal of bully and biscuits when, looking up, I saw what I tookto be an apparition of my missing man walking along the road andcarrying a black case. I could scarcely believe my eyes. "Where the devil have you been?" I asked. "I was just on my way back topost you as missing. What has happened?" "Well, sir, it was like this. When that shell burst I dived into adug-out, and was quite all right. Then another shell burst and struckthe entrance, smashing it in. I have been all this time trying to getout. Then I lost my way and--well, sir, here I am. But your camera caseis spoilt. " So ended his adventure. Thinking that the films I had obtained of the Somme fighting should begiven to the public as quickly as possible, I suggested to G. H. Q. --andthey fully agreed--that I should return to England without delay. Sopacking up my belongings I returned to London next day. Little time was lost in developing and printing the pictures, and theMilitary authorities, recognising what a splendid record they presentedof "The Great Push, " had copies prepared without delay for exhibitionthroughout the length and breadth of the land; in our Dependencies overseas, and in neutral countries. They were handled with wonderfulcelerity by Mr. Will Jury, a member of the War Office Committee, and putout through the business organisation over which he so ably presides. Itis sufficient here to record the deep and abiding impression created bythe appearance of the films on the screen. People crowded the theatresto see the pictures; thousands were turned away; and it has beenestimated that the number of those who have seen these Official WarFilms must run into many millions. [Illustration: THE GERMANS MAKE A BIG COUNTER ATTACK AT LA BOISSELLE ANDOVILLERS. JULY 3RD AND 4TH, 1916] [Illustration: MEN OF SCOTLAND RUSHING A MINE CRATER AT THE DEADLY"HOHENZOLLERN REDOUBT"] The Somme Film has proved a mighty instrument in the service ofrecruiting; the newspapers still talk of its astounding realism, and itis generally admitted that the great kinematograph picture has done muchto help the people of the British Empire to realise the wonderful spiritof our men in the face of almost insuperable difficulties; the splendidway in which our great citizen army has been organised; the vastness ofthe military machine we have created during the last two and a halfyears; and the immensity of the task which still faces us. His Majesty the King has declared that "the public should see thesepictures"; and Mr. Lloyd George, after witnessing a display of the film, sent forth the following thrilling message to the nation: "Be up anddoing! See that this picture, which is in itself an epic ofself-sacrifice and gallantry, reaches every one. Herald the deeds of ourbrave men to the ends of the earth. This is _your_ duty. " A thrilling message truly, and I am proud indeed to think that I havebeen permitted to play my part in the taking and making of thiswonderful film. CHAPTER XVI EDITING A BATTLE FILM The Process Described in Detail--Developing the Negative--Its Projection on the Screen--Cutting--Titling--Joining--Printing the Positive--Building Up the Story--It is Submitted to the Military Censors at General Headquarters--And After Being Cut and Approved by Them--Is Ready for Public Exhibition. In view of the immense and widespread interest aroused by the appearanceof the Somme Film, it may perhaps be permissible to depart for a spellfrom the narration of my story, in order to explain briefly, for thebenefit of those interested, how such a picture is prepared, and thevarious processes through which it must necessarily pass before it isready for public exhibition. The process is technically known as "editing, " and it must be admittedthat this part of the work more nearly approaches the art of thenewspaper editor than any other I know. Indeed, I am not sure that thefunctions of the film editor--at least in the case of a picture such asthe Somme Film--do not call for a greater exercise of discretion, diplomacy and tact; for so many interests have to be taken into account;so much has to be left out, for so much is at stake. Time and thought is doubly intensified in editing or cutting up the filmin all its various scenes and assembling them in their right order withsuitable sub-titles. Immediately films arrive in London they are sent bythe War Office to the works, and there in a long dark-room, with manycompartments, the film is wound upon wooden frames, about three feet byfour feet. Each section as it is unwound from the roll is numbered by aperforated machine, to save the unnecessary handling that wouldotherwise be caused if one had to wade through all the small sections tojoin in the original lengths in which they are received. The frames are then taken into the developing-room, where they areplaced in tanks of developing mixture, warmed to a temperature of aboutsixty-five degrees. It is there that the technique of a developingexpert asserts itself; he can either make or mar a film. Duringdevelopment the picture is carefully rinsed, and eventually it is readyfor fixing. It is taken out, washed in a bath of pure water, and thendropped into an acid fixing bath and there allowed to remain untilfixation is complete, usually a matter of about fifteen minutes. The films are then taken to the washing-room, where they are placed inhuge tanks, taking from fifty to one hundred frames, and each oneholding one hundred and twenty feet of films. Jets of water runcontinually over them, and in an hour they are taken out and sent to thedrying-room, where the film is rewound whilst wet upon very large drums, about thirty feet long and seven feet in diameter. An electric motor isthen started, and the drum revolves at an ever-increasing speed. Drumafter drum is loaded in the same way, until the whole of the film is inposition and the whirling continues until the negative is perfectly dry. Cleanliness in every possible respect is absolutely essential during theprocess of development, until the film is dry once more. The most minutespeck of dust or foreign matter might adhere to the wet emulsionpermanently disfiguring it. Therefore to avoid this the utmost care mustbe maintained throughout, and the negative is now ready to be projectedon the screen for the first time in order to see that it is technicallyperfect in quality, and to decide upon the possibilities of a bigfeature film, or a series of short ones. For simplicity's sake we will assume that we are dealing with a subjectsuch as the Battle of the Somme, approximately five thousand feet inlength. As the film is projected, notes are taken of each scene instrict rotation. The negative, as in the ordinary process ofphotography, is quite the reverse to the film shown in the picturetheatre. The black portions of the picture as we see it on the screenare white, and all whites are black. It therefore calls for a highlytrained eye to be able to follow the film. Only now do I find out whether the scenes I have taken live up to myexpectations. Sometimes yes--sometimes no. One great drawback is thatthe sounds are not there! When the projection is finished the whole ofthe negative is taken to the cutting and joining-room. I take everyreel, and each scene is cut out separately and titled by means of alabel fastened to the section by an elastic band. So the process goes on until I have the whole of the film cut up andregistered. I often go through each scene again separately and closelyscrutinise it, cutting out all blemishes, black stops, uninterestingsections of the scene, and many other faults which unavoidably presentthemselves. Before going further I should say that the film is "taken"in lengths of four hundred feet, and they are always kept at that lengthand in a separate tin box. Even when they are cut up the sections goback into the same tin. Each box is taken in turn and numbered one, two, three, four, five, six, and so on. Number one contains ten sections, representing ten scenes. Each is labelled and every title is copied on asheet of foolscap, and each section numbered and credited to box one. The process continues in this way until the whole negative isregistered. Meantime I am mentally building up my film story. In story form it mustgrip the interest of the general public, and yet I have to keep tostrict military correctness. I think of my main title. That in itself isa great thing. It has to epitomise the story of the whole film. It hasto be short and it must "hold. " The title once decided upon, the firstreel must deal with preparatory action. I then take the lists preparedas described and call for my sections. For instance, number twentysection, box fourteen; number twelve section, box six; and so on, gradually building up the first reel. The sub-titles must be appealingand concise, and in phraseology that can be easily understood by all. Eventually reel number one is finished. All the sections are joinedtogether, with spaces marked for the titles. The same process continueswith the other reels. Number two must finish their story so far aspreparatory action goes. You are then ready for the thrill, and theharder you can hit that thrill into reels three and four the greater theultimate success of the film. Reel five finishes the story. But afterseeing a battle film through full of suffering and agony, as itunavoidably must be to be genuine, you must not leave the public with abitter taste in their mouth at the end. The film takes you to the grave, but it must not leave you there; it shows you death in all its grimnakedness; but after that it is essential that you should be restored toa sense of cheerfulness and joy. That joy comes of the knowledge that inall this whirlpool of horrors our lads continue to smile the smile ofvictory. Therefore the film must finish with a touch of happiness tosend you home from the picture theatre with a light heart--or at leastas light a heart as circumstances permit. The film is now edited, and it goes into the printer's hands. A positiveprint is made from it on film stock, and after the printing the copiesare returned to the dark-room and the process of developing is gonethrough again, as in the case of a negative. The print is then dried and joined up in its right order, and so dividedthat it makes five reels. The titles by this time have been correctedfrom the military point of view by the War Office, and are printed forinsertion in their appropriate position. The length of reading mattercontrols the length of the title to be printed. In some instances itwill take ten seconds to read a title. Ten feet of film is thereforenecessary for insertion between the scenes to explain them. In othercases three feet of titling suffices. The film is then shown to the War Office officials, and once they haveapproved it, it is packed in a safe and sent to General Headquarters inFrance. Here it is again projected in a specially constructed theatre, before the chief censor and his staff, and it may happen that certainincidents or sections are deleted in view of their possible value to theenemy. These excisions are carefully marked and upon the return of thefilm to London those sections are taken out and kept for futurereference. The film is now ready for public exhibition. CHAPTER XVII THE HORRORS OF TRONES WOOD Three Times I Try and Fail to Reach this Stronghold of the Dead--Which Has Been Described as "Hell on Earth"--At a Dressing Station Under Fire--Smoking Two Cigarettes at a Time to Keep Off the Flies--Some Amusing Trench Conversations by Men who had Lost Their Way--I Turn in for the Night--And Have a Dead Bosche for Company. I have just come from England after seeing the Somme Film well on itsway to the public. It has caused a great sensation. I really thoughtthat some of the dead scenes would offend the British public. And yetwhy should they? It is only a very mild touch of what is happening dayafter day, week after week, on the bloody plains of France and Belgium. Bloody? Yes, inevitably so. There never was such dearly bought landsince creation. The earth in the Somme district has been soaked with theblood of men. Sit out on a field a mile or two from our front line anymorning early, when the mist is just rising. Sit out there on the groundwhich our boys have fought for and won. The place reeks with thehorrible stench of countless decaying bodies, and every minute adds totheir number. But the British public did not object to these realistic scenes in thefilm. They realised that it was their duty to see for themselves. Theyhad been told by the press; they had been told by Parliament; they hadbeen told by lecturers what was happening, but to no purpose. They mustbe shown; they must see with their own eyes. And the kinematographcamera performed this service. Has it justified itself? I put thatquestion to all who have seen the film. What effect did it have uponyou? Did you realise till you saw it what this vast battle-front waslike? Did you realise what our Army was doing; how our wonderfulsoldiers--your husbands, your sons, your brothers--were driving the Hunsback; how they were going to their death with a laugh upon their facesand a cigarette between their lips, fighting and dying like trueBritons? That those who came back wounded and broken still had thatsmile? Yes: the truth has at last dawned upon you. With that knowledge newresolutions were born within you; resolutions that bade you never toslack for an instant in your endeavour to bring success to our arms. Trones Wood! That name had been drummed into my ears for days. It seemedto have a fascination for me. I asked several men to describe the place. "Quite impossible, sir; there baint anything like it on earth, and ifhell is at all like it then I have been there. It's dead; justdead--dead--dead! And the smell--awful. " "Is Fritz strafing there much?" "Yes, sir, he's at it all day: there's not room for a cat to hide in, sowhy Fritz is dropping his souvenirs there heaven knows; I don't. " From the description the place seemed rather satisfactory from a scenicpoint of view, so I made up my mind to try and film it, as I wantedscenes of heavy bombardment which I could get if Fritz was concentratingupon the wood, for the Hun is a tolerably safe person to deal with if hehas a target to fire at; he is so methodical. Going up by my car as far as the top of Camoy Valley, I left it therenear a dressing station. [Illustration: FILMING THE KING DURING HIS VISIT TO FRANCE IN 1916. HEIS ACCOMPANIED BY PRESIDENT POINCARÉ, SIR DOUGLAS HAIG, GENERAL JOFFREAND GENERAL FOCH] "Strafing!" I was out for "strafing, " and by all appearances I waslikely to get it hot and strong before long. I had only just stoppedwhen a shell came hurtling overhead, falling about one hundred and fiftyyards behind the dressing station. I went over to a doctor who wastending some wounded men--our own and Germans. "Has Fritz been sending you these souvenirs very often?" I enquired. The doctor rose, and mopping his forehead, grinned and replied: "Yes;the blighter won't let us alone. Why doesn't he play cricket? He mustknow this is Red Cross. That sign there, " pointing to a large Red Crosslying on the ground, "is large enough to be seen by the men in Mars. Only this morning he put one bang through the roof of our dug-out, rewounding a lot of our chaps lying there. By the way, are you leavingyour car there?" "Yes, " I replied. "Well, you had better say good-bye to it; several of our ambulances havebeen strafed there. " "Well, " I said, "can't be helped; it must take its chance. I'm going totake a few scenes of you at work. Where did these Bosches come from?" "This morning, from Guillemont; our boys had a bit of a stunt on andlanded a few of the beggars. " I filmed various incidents showing the treatment of wounded prisoners. They received the same careful attention as our own men; whatever theyasked for they had. Several padres were kneeling down beside our boys, taking down messages to be sent to their relatives. Stretcher after stretcher with its human freight of Briton and Hun wasdeposited on the ground. Immediately doctors and orderlies were upontheir knees tending to their wants with a gentleness that waswonderful. While I was there several shells fell and exploded only ashort distance away. I left the dressing station and paused upon a mound near a tree stump, the top of which had been carefully split off by shell-fire. I stoodlooking in the direction of Trones. The Bosches were "strafing" itpretty thoroughly. Away across at Montaubon village the same thing washappening. They were fairly watering the place with H. E. And shrapnel. Our guns were rattling out as well, and I am glad to say that it soundedto me as though ours were at least ten to their one. Well, the scenes had to be obtained. I admit the job looked anything butpleasant. "Well, here goes!" I said, and putting on a cigarette, Itrudged off with my apparatus across the open, making a bee-line midwaybetween Montaubon and Bernafay Wood. I gave both places a wide berth, thereby steering clear of possible Bosche shells. How hot it was. Perspiration was literally pouring from me. I kept on over the groundcaptured from the Germans. The smell in places was almost unbearable. Ipuffed away at my cigarette, thereby reducing the stench to a minimum. Several shells came whizzing overhead in the direction of the dressingstation I had just left. With a grinding crash they exploded. "Shrapnel, woolly bears, " I said under my breath. They seemed to burst right on topof them too. I thought of all those poor wounded Tommies lying helplesson their stretchers. Another--then another--came hurtling over. Thesplitting crash of the burst can only be appreciated by those who havebeen in close proximity to a German H. E. Woolly Bear exploding. It givesone rather a sickening sensation. Another came over. This time it burstnearer. "Gee! they're dropping the range. " I hastily grabbed my tripodand hurried off at a tangent. Proceeding for a distance of about fivehundred yards I turned off again and made tracks for my original point. In front, at a distance of about seven hundred yards, one of our forwardfield batteries of 18-pounders opened fire. I at first thought they wereFrench 75 mm. Owing to the extreme rapidity of fire. From my position Icould not see the guns, but stretching across the country a rough lineof brown earth was thrown up, which I afterwards found out was one ofthe old German lines. The guns were cunningly concealed in the trench. Thinking that it would make rather a good scene I decided to film it inaction. I may add that I have previously been rather wary about having much todo with forward artillery positions. On three previous occasions I havebeen badly "strafed" by brother Fritz. He has the uncommonly irritatinghabit of putting his whizz-bangs much too near to be pleasant, with theresult that I have more than once been compelled to take my camera andself off to the more congenial quarters of a dug-out, from which place, you will agree, one cannot obtain very interesting pictures. Reaching the batteries I unlimbered myself of my gear and approachingthe C. O. In charge told him who I was and what I wanted. He was quitepleased to see me and said that he was just about to give Fritz a gooddose of "iron rations, " firing in salvos. Quickly fixing up my camera Ifilmed the scenes from various points of view. The men were stripped tothe waist, jumping out the shells as fast as they could be handled. While I was filming the scene brother Fritz replied with whizz-bangsthick and fast. They are perfect devils, and it is practicallyimpossible to hear them coming until they burst. I turned my machineround upon the spot near which they were dropping. Several times theygot within the range of my camera, and I continued to turn upon themuntil two came much too close, so thinking discretion the better part ofvalour, I hastily disappeared into the doubtful shelter of a broken-downHun trench. Then they came over, several smothering me in dust as theyexploded close by. Having obtained all the pictures I required I thankedthe C. O. And went on my way. My clothes were absolutely saturated with perspiration as I shambledaway towards the top end of Bernafay Wood. I looked back at the battery. Bosche was still "strafing. " I vowed I would never go near any forwardguns again; but good resolutions are made to be broken, and my lust forpictures is too strong within me. Moving was now difficult. The weight of my camera outfit seemed to begetting heavier. I could only get along at a very slow pace. The straparound my chest seemed to squeeze the very breath out of my lungs. Butworse was to come. The Huns began shelling the section with shrapnel ina searching manner, and several times I collapsed into a shell-hole, inthe hope of obtaining a little cover. But there is very little shelterfrom shrapnel. On several occasions I felt like throwing away my steelhelmet; the weight seemed abnormal; but prudence warned me and I clungto it. The fire was now too bad to proceed in the open. If there were anytrenches or ditches I availed myself of their protection. The heat inthe trenches was terrific, and to add to the horrors of the stench andheat there were millions of flies. Filthy brutes! They seemed to clingto one like leeches, and, my arms being full, I could not keep them offmy face. Several times I almost decided to turn back, asking myself ifit was worth while. But when I looked at Trones Wood in the distance, and the heavy shells bursting all round, I gritted my teeth and decidedto push on. Thinking that more smoke might help to keep off the flies I lighted twocigarettes and puffed away at them, one in each corner of my mouth. I'msure I must have looked a most extraordinary specimen of humanity atthis moment. Loaded with kit, perspiring like a bull; my steel helmetcocked on one side of my head; puffing away like a chimney at twocigarettes, and millions of flies buzzing all around me. Picture me ifyou can. I was proceeding like an automaton along the trench when suddenly I cameupon an officer who, I afterwards found out, was going up to fix hisnext gun positions. He was sitting on a sandbag swearing like Hades, andtrying to disperse the clouds of flies which were settling upon him. Helooked up as I approached, then suddenly burst into a peal of laughter. I stood still and grinned, not daring to open my mouth to laugh for fearof losing my cigarettes. Then I dropped my tripod and leaned against thetrench side to rest. His laughter suddenly developed into a coughing andspluttering, spitting and swearing, which in itself was strong enough todrive all the flies in existence away. "Bust the things!" he spluttered. "I got a mouthful of them! They mighthave just come off some dirty Bosche. Got a drink on you?" "Yes, " I said, and handed him my water-bottle. He rinsed out his mouth. "I do believe it's worth risking shrapnel rather than tolerate thesevile things!" he remarked. "But excuse my laughter; you did look funnycoming along there. " "Yes, I expect I did, " I said, still puffing away at my cigarettes. "I'dsmoke a dozen at once if I could. Anything to keep the flies away. " "Well, " he said, "I'm stumped. Have you one to spare?" I handed him my case. He lighted up and both of us, puffing as hard aswe could, made quite a healthy volume of smoke. From above it must havelooked as if a small fire was raging. We had sat there alternately puffing and chatting and killing flies bythe hundreds for about ten minutes. I told him I wanted to get somescenes of Trones. He politely told me I ought to have brought my keeperout with me, but as he was going in that direction he would help me onthe way to being killed by carrying my tripod. We started off. The shelling was getting unpleasantly near. Phoot-bang!We both ducked, my head getting a nasty knock against the tripod top. For the moment I thought I had been struck by the whizz-bang. Presentlywe reached a junction in the trench, and as my friend's road lay in anopposite direction we parted, and I trudged on alone. I was brought to a standstill by a mound of earth which completelyblocked the way. By all appearances the shell that had caused it couldhave only come over a few minutes before, for a thin wisp of smoke wasstill curling up from the débris. "Well, " I thought, placing my kit onthe ground, "it's got to be done; so over I go. " Here the air wascompletely free from flies. Evidently the gas from the bursting shellhad choked them off for a time. Jove! I was glad. It was like heaven;and my tongue was beginning to burn rather badly through fiercelysmoking two cigarettes at once. Cautiously I crept up to the top of the parapet! What a sight! Shellswere falling thick and fast over Trones and towards Baentin-le-Grand. Imust film this, Bosche or no Bosche! So hastily fixing up my tripod, Ifastened on the camera and began exposing. "Excellent, " I thought;"I've got it. " Another shell came along. This time it was evidently a5. 9, and was right in the centre of my view, about one hundred and fiftyyards away! Another one. Rotten! Just out of my limits. Phut-bang!Phut-bang! I grabbed my camera and fell with it on the opposite side ofthe mound. I let it lie there, and dashing back into the other sectionof trench grabbed my bags and returned. Whizz-bangs followed;whizz-bangs in front and behind! I crouched as low as possible andreplacing the camera in its case hung it over my back and, still bendinglow, hurried away dragging my tripod behind me. The trench was blocked by a batch of men returning. They were crouchingdown for cover. The officer in charge asked me what in the world I wasdoing. "Thunder, " he said, "if I knew the 'movie' man had been here I wouldhave gone the other way. You've evidently drawn fire by that contraptionof yours. Where are you going?" "To Trones Wood, " I said. The look of blank amazement on his face was amusing. "My dear chap, " he said, "are you serious?" "Well, " I replied, "I had intended going there till a moment ago, butthe strafing seems to get worse. " Shrapnel was now bursting overhead, a piece hitting one of the men closeby. "Where's he hit?" enquired the officer. The poor fellow was lying down. "In the shoulder, sir, " one of the others shouted back. "Seems ratherbad. " "Two of you bring him through and get ahead to the dressing station asquickly as possible. Keep your heads down. " Then turning to me theofficer said: "Look here, I've just come from the Wood, and, by gad, it's fair hell there! The place is a charnel-house. It's literallychoked with corpses; heaps of them; and we dare not bring them in. We'vetried even at night, but the shelling prevents us. The place reeks. Andthe flies! They're awful. It's more than flesh and blood can stand! Toput your head up means certain death and--well, you see what your cameradid here. You can imagine what it would be like over there, can't you?" "Yes, I see, but of course if I had known any men were about I wouldn'thave put my machine up. I know there is always the possibility ofdrawing fire. It has happened quite a number of times to me!" "If you respect your life don't go any further. The shell-fire isimpossible, and the sight over there is too ghastly for words. " So I decided to relinquish my visit for the time being. A call was made to proceed. "Half a minute, " I said, "the trench hadbeen blown in about fifty yards down, wouldn't it be better to clear itaway rather than take these men over the top?" The officer decided that it was. The men worked away with a will, andquickly replaced the earth in the hollow of the trench wall from whichit had been blown. Again we trudged on. The flies were beginning to annoy us once more. Iput on a couple of cigarettes. All the men had ransacked odds and endsfrom their pockets, and the result was a line of men smoking as hard asthey could, and enveloped in a haze of bluish white smoke. But the fliesrefused to budge. Smoke had no effect on them, and I'm inclined to thinkthat nothing short of a 5. 9 would do the trick. Not until we were out inthe open were we free from them. On two further occasions I tried to enter Trones Wood, and both timesthe conditions were if anything worse. The merest sign of a camera putup over a parapet would have instantly brought a host of shellsclattering round; therefore, on the third try, I decided to abandon thetrip until a later date. But those attempts will always remain in mymemory as a ghastly nightmare. The essence of death and destruction, andall that it means, was horribly visible everywhere. I have been there since. I reached the place just before the finalcleansing, and brother Fritz, just to let us know that he existed, andthat he had a spite against us, persisted in flinging his shrapnelaround, thereby keeping me well on the run. He did not give me theslightest chance to get pictures, nor to meditate on the surroundings;in fact the only meditation I indulged in was to wonder whether the nextshrapnel bullet would strike my helmet plumb on the top or glance offthe rim. Then thinking of George Grave's remark, I called Fritz a "nastyperson, " with a few extra additions culled from the "trench dictionary. " Being a fine night I decided to stay in the vicinity. An officer of apioneer battalion kindly offered me a share of his dug-out--one ofFritz's cast-offs. I gladly accepted, and over a cup--or rather atin--of tea, we exchanged views on various subjects. About ten o'clock Iwent above to terra firma and watched the shells bursting over theGerman lines. Myriads of star-shells or Verey lights shot high in thesky, lighting up the whole country-side like day. The sight waswonderful, and silhouetted against the flashes I could see countlessbodies of men tramping on their way like silent phantoms. Here and there I watched a shell burst. I could see and hear that it haddropped into a section of those men, adding to the number of that greatarmy of heroes who had already "gone West. " But into those gaps, through which the blasting shells had torn their way, stepped other men. A sharp word of command was rapped out, then on again to take up theirbattle position, leaving the dead behind to be reverently buried on themorrow. The wounded were brought away by the stretcher-bearers, and asone lot passed me I heard a voice from the darkness murmur, "Bill, it'sa blighty. " I wandered on in the direction of our line. Near a junction of by-roadsI heard some funny remarks passed by ration parties trying to find theway to their sections. To pick one's way in the dark over strange groundlittered with débris is not an easy task. The exact language I heardwould hardly bear repeating. One party had evidently bumped into another. "D---- and ---- who areyou? Cawn't yer see, mate, I'm taking up company rations? Blimy, but 'owthe 'ell I am going to find the way--blowed if I know. Do you know where---- Company is? I'm taking up sandbags. Lost me ---- way. 'Ave yerpassed a dead 'orse? I knowed I passed it coming up. Good night, mate. " Both men went off into the darkness, swearing like troopers. Another mancame up. He was whistling a homely song, but it came to an abruptconclusion, for he evidently stumbled over some obstacle. Complimentsbegan to fly, and he told the Bosche in plain language what he thoughtof him for leaving it there. His remarks were too pointed for expressionin cold print. The next to come along was an engineering officer. He could faintlydiscern me in the darkness. "Hullo, " he said. "Are you the ----?" "No, " I replied. "I'm sorry I can't help you. I haven't the least ideawhere they are. What's wrong?" "I have to run out some wires to-night, but bothered if I know wherethey are. Missed my way near the wood. Some silly ass sent me wrong. " "Well, " I said, "most of the troops I have seen have gone in thatdirection, " pointing the way. He disappeared. Apparently he was held up a minute or two later by some one else, for inthe distance I heard a voice, "Do you know where ---- Company is, sir?" "No, I don't, " in a rather irritated tone. "I can't find my own bloomingway. " This sort of thing went on for over an hour; first one then another. Whether all of them eventually found their various points Heaven onlyknows! I had wandered so far, owing to my interest in other people, that I hadsome difficulty in retracing my steps to the dug-out. Eventually Iarrive there about one o'clock. I had been given up for lost. I told ---- of my experiences. "That kind of thing happens practically every night. They manage to findtheir way somehow. Come along; let's turn in. Look out for your head asyou crawl through. Don't mind the rats. Cover your head well up. Theywon't touch your face then. " I crawled in on to my bed. Then I noticed a peculiar and decidedlyunpleasant smell. "Have you got any corpses here?" I asked him. "Yes, I believe so, " he said. "You see the other entrance has been blownin. It's the other end of your bed, and I believe some Bosches wereburied in the débris. Never mind, stick it; they won't bite. " "Pleasant dreams, " I mumbled as I drew my blanket well around my face;in a few minutes the presence of dead Bosche ceased to trouble me. Islept. CHAPTER XVIII FILMING AT POZIÈRES AND CONTALMAISON Looking for "Thrills"--And How I Got Them--I Pass Through "Sausage Valley, " on the Way to Pozières--You _May_ and you _Might_--What a Tommy Found in a German Dug-out--How Fritz Got "Some of His Own" Back--Taking Pictures in What Was Once Pozières--"Proofs Ready To-morrow. " Things, from my point of view, were slackening down. Plenty ofpreparatory action was taking place, and here and there small localengagements, but the fact that they were local made it very difficultfor me to get to hear of them. None of the Corps Commanders knew exactlywhen or where the nibble would develop, or, if they did know, they werenaturally chary of giving me the information. On occasions too when Idid know I had not sufficient time to make my arrangements, I had to becontent with scenes which unfolded themselves after the action had takenplace. This was getting rather monotonous. The aftermath of one attack was toall intents and purposes an exact replica of the previous one, exceptthat the surroundings were different. There was the return of theattackers; the bringing in of prisoners, the wounded, the dead; and tovary these scenes to make my pictures generally interesting required alot of thought and a careful choice of view point. In the course of the "push, " which began in July, there were hundreds, Imight almost say thousands, of incidents that to the eye were ofenthralling interest, but to have filmed them with the idea ofconveying that interest on the screen would have been so much wastedeffort. Even the kinematograph has its limitations. Over my head all the time, like a huge sword, hung the thought ofBritish public opinion, and the opinion of neutral countries. They wouldaccept nothing unless there was great excitement in it; unless thepictures contained such "thrills" as they had never seen before, and hadnever dreamed possible. Once I had secured that thrill I could then--andonly then--take the preparatory scenes, depicting the ordinary life andaction of the men and the organisation which are necessary to run thewar. Such scenes--interesting as they undoubtedly are--without that"thrill" would have fallen flat, would have been of no use, from theexhibition point of view, and I had always to bear that fact in mind. I have spent many sleepless nights wondering how and where I was toobtain that magnetic thrill, that minute incident, probably only ten percent of which would carry the remaining ninety per cent to success. Onethat would positively satisfy the public. I had been filming a lot of stuff lately, but when I looked through mylist, excellent as the scenes were--many of which I would probably neverbe able to get again--they struck me as lacking "thrill. " That was whatI required. So I set out to get it. The Australians had just captured Pozières, and hearing that the Boschewere continually "strafing" it I decided to make for that quarter withthe object of getting a good bombardment. If possible, I would also getinto the village itself where there ought to be some very good pictures, for the capture had only taken place two days previously. Pozières then it should be. Leaving my base early in the morning I mademy way through Becourt Wood and beyond, up "Sausage Valley"--why thatname I don't know. The whole area was crowded with men of the Australiandivision. As there was no road I took my car over the grass, or rather all thatwas left of it. The place was covered with shell-holes. Driving between, and more often than not into them, was rather a tiresome job, but itsaved several miles of tramping with heavy stuff. "Sausage Valley"during this period was anything but healthy. I was warned about it as Ileft an Australian battery where I had stayed to make a few enquiries. Amajor told me the place was "strafed" every day, and I soon found thatthis was so when I arrived. Several "crumps" fell in the wood behind me, and two on the hill-side among some horses, killing several. If I sawone dead horse I must have seen dozens; they were all over the place. But everyone was much too busy to bury them at the moment. The stenchwas decidedly unpleasant, and the flies buzzed around in swarms. I soonhad a couple of cigarettes alight. What a boon they were at times. After much dodging and twisting I halted the car close to a forwarddressing station. While I was there several shells dropped unpleasantlynear, and I could not restrain my admiration for the medical staff whotended the wounded, quite oblivious of the dangers by which they weresurrounded in so exposed a position. I obtained several very interestingscenes of the wounded arriving. I waited awhile to watch the Bosche shelling before going over the ridgeto Pozières. I could then tell the sections he "strafed" most. I wouldbe able to avoid them as much as possible. I watched for fully an hour;the variation in his target was barely perceptible. On one or twooccasions he "swept" the ridge. I decided to make a start after the nextdose. Strapping the camera on my back, my man taking the tripod, we startedoff. There was a light railway running towards Contalmaison. I followedthis until I got near the spot brother Fritz was aiming at, hugging atrench at the side of a by-road. The bank was lined with funk-holes, which came in very useful during the journey, and I had to seek theirshelter several times, but the nearest shell fell at a junction betweenthat road and a communication trench. Just this side lay a very muchdead horse. The shell came over. Down I went flat on my stomach. My mandived into a hole. The shell exploded, and the next thing I remember wasa feeling as if a ton of bricks had fallen on top of me. I managed tostruggle up and make quickly for the trench, my man following; and youmay be quite sure I took care that I was well out of line of the nextbefore I eased up. Beyond a few scratches on the camera-case and a torncoat, I was quite sound. I was told of a Hun battery of 77 mm. Guns on the left-hand side of thevalley leading to Pozières, so I decided to make for that spot. Ienquired of a man as to the whereabouts of them. "Well, sir, " he said, "you may come to them if you keep straight on, butI shouldn't advise you to do so as you have to cross the open. Boschehas a pretty sharp eye on anyone there; he knows the lay of the batteryand he just plasters it. You _might_ get round at 'Dead Man's Corner, 'on the Contalmaison Road. It's pretty bad there, but I think it's thebest place to try, and once you are round the corner you _may_ be allright. " "Well, which way do I take?" "Down this way, then turn to your left at the corner; the battery isabout two hundred yards along on the hill-side. " "But, man alive, " I said, "they're strafing it like blazes. Look!" They were, too, and 8-inch shells were dropping wholesale. "No, I think I will take the risk and run over the open. Are there anydug-outs at the battery?" "Yes, sir, jolly good ones; forty feet deep; regular beauties. Evidentlymade up their minds to stay the winter. Electric light, libraries, andbeds with real spring mattresses. My, sir, but they were comfortable. And what do you think I found there, sir?" "Heaven knows, " I replied. "Well, sir, several ladies' fringe nets and hair-pins. " "The devil you did. Well, Fritz knows how to make himself cosy. " With that remark we parted, Tommy having a broad grin on his face. "You will see the place where you get out of this ditch, sir, " he calledout; "a shell has blown it in; strike off on your left straight ahead. You'll see them in front of you. " The shelling was getting very unpleasant, and I had to keep low in thetrench the whole of the time. At length we reached the point where wehad to get over the top. "Well, come on, let's chance it, " I said to my man. I saw the battery inthe distance before getting over. Up we went and bending low raced for the spot. On the way I passedseveral dead bodies, all Bosche, and numbers of pieces blown to bits byour shell fire. A whizz-bang came over whilst we were crossing. Down wewent into a shell-hole. Another, and another came over. Murderous littlebrutes they were too. Seven of them. Then they ceased. We immediatelyjumped up again and reached our objective. Then getting under cover ofsome twisted ironwork, which once formed the roofing of theemplacement, I took breath. "Anyway, " I thought, "here I am. " In a few minutes I had a look round. What an excellent view of Pozières, about eight hundred yards away on my left. On the right wasContalmaison, which had only been taken a short time previously. TheBosches were shelling the place pretty frequently. I set up the cameraand waited. Away on the opposite hill shells were falling thickly. Istarted filming them and got some interesting bursts, both highexplosive and H. E. Shrapnel. Now for Pozières. The enemy must have been putting 9-inch and 12-inchstuff in there, for they were sending up huge clouds of smoke anddébris. I secured some excellent scenes. First Pozières, thenContalmaison. My camera was first on one then on the other. For a changeBosche whizz-banged the battery. I could see now why he was so anxiousto crump it, for lying all around me in their carriers, were hundreds ofgas shells. I was in fact standing on them. They were all unused, and ifFritz got a good one home, well good-bye to everything. One time I thought I would seek the shelter of a dug-out, but the fireswept away in the opposite direction. By careful manoeuvring I managedto film the German guns there. Every one of the four was quite smashedup. An excellent example of artillery fire, and by the date upon themthey were of the latest pattern. In all there were three batteries in that small area, making twelveguns. But out of the twelve sufficient parts were found intact to makeone good one, so that Fritz would get "some of his own" back in a waythat he least expected; for there were thousands of rounds of ammunitionfound in the dug-outs beneath the gun pits. How to get into Pozières was the next problem. I had, while filming, been making mental notes as to the section which Fritz did not"strafe, " and that place, by all that's wonderful, was the actual thinghe was undoubtedly trying for--the road. By hugging the bank-side, along which here and there I could spot a fewfunk-holes, I managed to get into the chalk-pit. Here I filmed variousscenes, but Bosche, as usual, kept me on the jump with his shrapnel, forcing me to take hurried shelter from time to time. There is one thing I shall always thank Fritz for, and that is hisdug-outs. If he only knew how useful they had been to me on manyoccasions I am sure he would feel flattered. From the chalk-pit to Pozières was no great distance. The ground waslittered with every description of equipment, just as it had been leftby the flying Huns, and dead bodies were everywhere. The place looked averitable shambles. Believe me, I went along that road very gingerly, picking my way between the shell bursts. Just before I reached the placethe firing suddenly ceased. The deadly silence was uncanny in theextreme; in fact I seemed to fear it more than the bombardment. Itseemed to me too quiet to be healthy. What was Bosche up to? There mustbe some reason for it. I took cover in a shallow trench at the roadside. Along the bottom were lying several dead Bosches, and a short distanceaway fragments of human remains were strewn around. The place was desolate in the extreme. The village was absolutelynon-existent. There was not a vestige of buildings remaining, with oneexception, and that was a place called by the Germans "Gibraltar, " areinforced concrete emplacement he had used for machine-guns. The fewtrees that had survived the terrible blasting were just stumps, no more. Fritz's sudden silence seemed uncanny, but taking advantage of hisspell of inactivity I hastily rigged up the camera and began exposing. In a few minutes I had taken sufficient, and packing up I hurried downthe road as fast as I could. I reached the chalk-pit safely and then, cutting across direct to thegun pits, I took up my original position and awaited Fritz's goodpleasure to send a few more crump to provide me with scenes. But not ashell came over. Before leaving this section I thought I would film Contalmaison, a nameimmortalised by such fighting as has rarely been equalled even in thisgreat war. To get there it was necessary to go to "Dead Man's Corner. "The road was pitted with shell-holes, and dead horses lay about on bothsides. Bosche was still uncannily quiet. I was beginning to think Ishould just manage to get my scenes before he interfered with me. Butno! Either he had finished his lunch or had some more ammunition, for hestarted again. One came over and burst in the village in front of me, with a noise like the crashing of ten thousand bottles. I took shelterbehind a smashed-up limber, and waited to see where the next would fall. It burst a little further away. Good enough, I thought. Here goes beforehe alters his range. Jumping up I ran and scrambled on to the ruins of a house, and took somefine panoramic views of the village, first from one position then fromanother. Some of the scenes included a few of our men in possession. Altogether a most interesting series, including as it did both Pozièresand Contalmaison. It was the first time they had been filmed since theircapture. At that moment I heard another crump coming over. It seemed to beunpleasantly near, so I made a running dive for a dug-out entrance, fromwhich poked the grinning face of an officer. "Look out, " I yelled. Crash came the crump. "Near enough anyhow, " I said, as a piece flew shrieking past closeoverhead. "Are you the 'movie' man? I'm pleased to meet you, " he said. "Did youget me in that last scene?" "Yes, " I said. "Proofs ready to-morrow. " And with a laugh I hurried downthe road. CHAPTER XIX ALONG THE WESTERN FRONT WITH THE KING His Majesty's Arrival at Boulogne--At G. H. Q. --General ----'s Appreciation--The King on the Battlefield of Fricourt--Within Range of the Enemy's Guns--His Majesty's Joke Outside a German Dug-out--His Memento from a Hero's Grave--His Visit to a Casualty Clearing Station--The King and the Puppy--Once in Disgrace--Now a Hospital Mascot. That evening I reported at headquarters. "Well, Malins, " said Colonel----, "I have a special job for you. Will you be on the quay at Boulogneto-morrow morning by twelve o'clock? Captain ---- is going down; he willmake all arrangements for you there; he will also tell you who it isthat's coming. Start at eight o'clock to-morrow morning. It is veryimportant; so don't fail to be there. " Leaving the Colonel I met Captain ---- outside. "Who's coming?" I asked. "Don't know, " he said. "Tell you to-morrow. " "Is it the King?" I asked. "Well, " he said, "as a matter of fact it is. He arrives to-morrow. Ishall have the full programme in the morning, and will give you a copy. " What a film! My first thought was whether he would visit thebattlefield. What scenes I conjured up in my imagination. To seeBritain's King on the battlefield with his troops; to see him inspectingthe ground; to see him in trenches lately captured from the Germans. Myimagination began to run away with me. No, I thought, it will be justthe ordinary reviews and reception. But I was wrong. The scenes that I had pictured to myself I was soon towitness. On the morrow the Captain, the still picture man and myself, left G. H. Q. For Boulogne. Arriving at the quay I looked around for any signs ofpreparation, but the whole place was as usual. The Captain called at theA. M. L. O. "Do you know what time the King is due?" he asked. The A. M. L. O. In tones of amazement ejaculated a long-drawn-out "What;never heard of his coming. " "Well, he is, " said the officer. "He's arriving at midday. " "I was never informed, " said the other. "I will ring up the M. L. O. " Hedid so, and after a short time the information came through. "The Kingwill not arrive to-day; he will be here to-morrow at 9 a. M. His sailingwas altered at the last moment. " That night I turned in at the Hôtel Folkestone, making arrangements formy car to take me and my apparatus to the quay at 8. 30 in the morning. The morning fortunately was beautifully bright. I sincerely hoped itwould continue. What excellent quality it promised in the films. Icompared it with the weather during the last visit to France of the lateLord Kitchener; unfortunately it rained all the time. I arrived at the quay. The French officials were gathered there, andlined up was a guard of honour, formed by the North StaffordshireRegiment. Every man had been through many engagements during the war. I fixed up the camera. The boat had already drawn up by the quay-side. There was a hushed whisper from several officials standing by: "There heis. " I looked and saw the King gaily chatting to the Naval Officer incharge. [Illustration: HIS MAJESTY THE KING, WITH PRESIDENT POINCARÉ, IN FRANCE, 1916. HIS MAJESTY GRACIOUSLY CONSENTED TO POSE FOR ME] I wondered whether His Majesty would like being photographed, thereforeI carefully kept my camera under cover of a shelter close by. At thatmoment the King's equerry came ashore. I asked him what time His Majestywas due to land. "Another half an hour yet, " he said, "the Governor of Boulogne and otherFrench officials are just going aboard to be introduced. " I arranged some wheeled railings in such a manner that the opening wasclose by my camera, thereby making sure that the King would pass verynear me. The moment arrived. My camera was in position. At that moment the Kingcame down the gangway--he was in Field-Marshal's uniform--followed byhis suite, including Lord Stamfordham, Sir Derek Keppel, Lieutenant-Colonel Clive Wigram, and Major Thompson. I started turningas he stepped on the shores of France. He gravely saluted. Passing close by he reviewed the guard of honour, giving them a word ofpraise as he went. I filmed him the whole of the time, until he reachedhis car, bade adieux to the many officers present, and drove away toG. H. Q. I had made an excellent start. The landing was splendid. Now to follow. The King was going to G. H. Q. , breaking his journey to lunch with SirDouglas Haig on the way. I knew I should have ample time therefore toget well ahead and film the arrival at General Headquarters. Arriving at G. H. Q. I took up my stand near the entrance to the building. The Prince of Wales and other officers were there. I noticed that thePrince, as soon as he saw me, turned and said something to a friend nearby. He evidently remembered my two previous attempts to film him. His Majesty arrived. The Prince of Wales came to the salute, then HisMajesty--not as a king, but as a father--embraced his son. I shouldhave obtained a better view of that incident, but unluckily an officerside-stepped and partly covered the figures from my camera. I obtained many scenes during the day of His Majesty visiting, incompany with General Sir Douglas Haig, various headquarter offices, where he studied in detail the general position of the armies. I noticedthat Sir Douglas did not look upon my camera very kindly. He was rathershy of the machine, though latterly he has looked with a moresympathetic eye upon it. On the second day of the King's visit I started out and proceeded to anappointed place on the main road, where the King's car would join us. The weather was very dull. It was causing me much concern, for to-day ofall days I wanted to obtain an excellent film. The cars pulled up. We had about fifteen minutes to wait. I fixed up mycamera ready to film the meeting with General Sir Henry Rawlinson. Whilewaiting, the General came over to me and began chatting about my work. "I hear, " he said, "that you filmed the attack of the 29th Division atBeaumont Hamel on the 1st July, and have been told of the excellence ofthe result. " He seemed much impressed by what I told him of the possibilities of thecamera. A patrol signalled the King's arrival. His car drew up; His Majestyalighted and heartily greeted the General. I filmed the scenes as theypresented themselves. All aboard once more--the King leading--we started on our journey forthe battlefield of Fricourt. Having hung about until the last second turning the handle, it was arush for me to pack, and pick them up again. My car not being one of thebest, I had great difficulty in keeping up with the party. The news of the King's arrival and journey to Fricourt seemed to havespread well ahead, for everywhere numbers of troops were strewn alongthe roadside, and even far behind as I was, I could hear the echoingcheers which resounded over hills and valleys for miles around. Finally the cars came to a halt at an appointed place near the ruins ofthe village and once beautiful woods of Fricourt, well within range ofthe enemies' guns. The spot where the King alighted was known as the Citadel, a Germansandbag fortification of immense strength. It was arranged in the form of a circle, with underground tunnels anddug-outs of great depth. In various sections of the walls weremachine-gun emplacements, and the whole being on the top of the hill, formed a most formidable obstacle to the advance of our troops. I mayadd that the hill is now known as "King George's Hill. " The King and his party had already alighted when I arrived to set up mycamera, and hurrying forward was very difficult work, especially as Ihad to negotiate twisted masses of enemy barbed wire entanglements. Buteventually, after much rushing, and being very nearly breathless, I gotahead, and planted my machine on the parapet of an old German trench andfilmed the party as they passed. To keep ahead after filming eachincident was very hard work. It meant waiting here and there, jumpingtrenches, scrambling through entanglements, stumbling into shell-holes, and at times fairly hanging by my eyebrows to the edge of trenches, balancing my camera in a way that one would have deemed almostimpossible. But I am gratified to think that I managed to keep up withthe King, and I succeeded in recording every incident of interest. At a point on the hill-top the King halted, and General ---- describedthe various movements and details of the attack and capture of thevillage, the King taking a very keen interest in the whole procedure. I continued turning the handle. I did not allow a single scene to pass. Such a thing had never been known before. Throughout it all the guns, large and small, were crashing out, and the King could see the shellsbursting over the German lines quite distinctly. The guide, who was a lieutenant in the Engineers, suddenly calledattention to an old German trench. The Prince of Wales first entered andexamined from above the depths of an old dug-out. With a jump I landed on the other side of the trench and sticking thetripod legs in the mud I filmed the scene in which His Majesty and thePrince of Wales inspected the captured German trenches. The party halted at the entrance to another dug-out. The guide enteredand for some moments did not reappear, the King and the Generalmeanwhile standing and gazing down. Suddenly a voice echoed from thedepths: "Will you come down, sir?"--this remark to the King. His Majesty laughed, but did not avail himself of the invitation. All the party joined in the laughter, and all those who have seen thatpicture on the screen of His Majesty's visit to his troops, will recallthe incident to which I refer. Many of the London papers in theirarticles, referring to the film, wondered what the joke was that theKing so thoroughly enjoyed outside a German dug-out. The party passed on, but some difficulty was experienced when they triedto get out of the trench again. The King was pulled out by the Princeof Wales, and another officer, but some members of the partyexperienced a difficulty which provided quite an amusing episode. At times I had to stop and change spools. Then the party got well ahead, and on several occasions His Majesty, with his usual thoughtfulness andcourtesy, hung back and debated on various things in the trenches, inorder to allow me time to catch them up again. His Majesty passed over old mine craters, and stood with hisdeer-stalking glasses, resting against a tree which had been witheredduring the fighting, watching the bombardment of Pozières. He madesympathetic enquiries by the side of a lonely grave surmounted by arough wooden cross, on which the name and number of this hero wereroughly inscribed. A shrapnel helmet, with a hole clean through the top, evidently caused by a piece of high-explosive shell, rested upon themound. The King stooped and picked up a piece of shell and put it in hispocket. It was now time for His Majesty's departure. Gathered near his car was acrowd of Tommies, ready to give their King a rousing cheer as he droveaway. I filmed the scene, and as the car vanished over the brow of thehill, three more were called for the Prince of Wales. Hurriedly picking up my kit I chased away after them. On the way massesof Anzacs lined both sides of the road, and the cheers which greeted HisMajesty must have been heard miles away. The scene made a mostimpressive picture for me. At that moment a battalion of Anzacs just outof the trenches at Pozières were passing. The sight was very wonderful, and the King saw with his own eyes some of his brave Colonials returningfrom their triumph, covered with clay, looking dog-tired but happy. His Majesty was now going to view some ruins near the front, butunfortunately, owing to burst tyres, I could not keep up with the party, and by the time I got on the move again it would have been impossiblefor me to reach the place in time to film this scene. Therefore, knowingthat he was due at No. 18 C. C. S. Or "Casualty Clearing Station, " I madehurried tracks for it. A most interesting picture promised to result. I arrived at the C. C. S. And was met by the C. O. In charge. "Hullo, Malins, " he said, "still about? Always on the go, eh? The lastscenes you took here came out well. I saw them in London on the R. A. M. C. Film. What do you want now?" "Well, sir, " I said, "I am chasing the King, and some chase too, myword. I lost him this morning when my old bus broke down. But up to thepresent I have obtained a most excellent record. Topping day yesterdayon the battlefield of Fricourt. I wouldn't have missed it for anything. " Half an hour later the royal car drew up. The King and the Prince ofWales alighted, and were conducted around the hospital by the C. O. I did not miss a single opportunity of filming, from His Majesty's talkto some wounded officers, to his strolling through the long lines ofhospital tents and entering them each in turn. At one point my camerawas so close to the path along which the King passed, that the Prince ofWales, evidently determined not to run into my range again, quicklyslipped away and crossed higher up between the other tents. An officerstanding by me remarked with a laugh, "The Prince doesn't seem to likeyou. " A touching incident took place when the King was on the point ofleaving. He stooped down and tenderly picked up a small puppy, andgently caressed and kissed it, then handed it back to the Colonel. Thisscene appears in the film, and illustrates His Majesty's affection fordumb animals. I had just finished turning, when an officer came up to me and said in alow tone: "That's funny. " "What's funny?" I asked. "Why that incident. Do you know that dog only came in here yesterday, and he has done so much mischief through playing about, that at last theC. O. Determined to get rid of him. But we won't now. I shall put a red, white, and blue ribbon round his neck and call him George. He shall bethe hospital's mascot. " Before I had time to reply His Majesty prepared to leave, so runningwith my camera I planted it in the middle of the road and filmed hisdeparture, amid the cheers of the officers and men of the hospital. CHAPTER XX KING AND PRESIDENT MEET An Historic Gathering--In which King and President, Joffre and Haig Take Part--His Majesty and the Little French Girl--I Am Permitted to Film the King and His Distinguished Guests--A Visit to the King of the Belgians--A Cross-Channel Journey--And Home. I heard that night that the King was going to meet M. Poincaré, theFrench President, at the house of Sir Douglas Haig, and very possiblyGeneral Joffre might be there, as well. In the morning there was an excellent light, the sun was blazing; and at9 a. M. Sharp we started off, the royal car leading. By cutting acrosscountry I was able to save a considerable distance as I wished to getthere first, in order to film the arrival. The château was a typical French one, not very large, but situated in acharming spot, seemingly miles away from such a thing as war. Everythingwas as peaceful indeed as if we were at home in the midst of thebeautiful Surrey Hills. Yet in this scene of profound peace the rulers of England and France, with the leading Generals, were meeting to discuss the future policy ofthe greatest and most bloody war of all time. I took my stand on a grass patch in a position that commanded views ofboth the main gates and the entrance to the house. Lining the drive fromthe main gates were men of Sir Douglas Haig's regiment, the 17thLancers, standing to attention, their lance points glistening in thesun. The sentries at the gates came smartly to the salute as the royal car, in which were the King and Sir Douglas Haig, drew up. I started turningas he entered the gates. At that moment a little French girl ran outwith a bunch of flowers and presented them to the King, who, smiling, stopped and patted her cheek, passed a remark to Sir Douglas, and thenproceeded down the lines of troops, and entered the house, the Prince ofWales following close behind. Shortly afterwards a signal was given. His Majesty and Sir Douglas camedown the steps and reached the gates as the car, bringing M. Poincaré, the French President, and General Joffre, drew up. What a scene it wouldmake. M. Poincaré came first, and was warmly greeted by the King. He wasimmediately followed by General Joffre, and an incident then occurredwhich took "Papa" Joffre unawares. For the moment he was perplexed. Thesame little French maid ran out with another bunch of flowers andoffered them to the General. "No, no, " he said, "not for me, give them to the President. " But the child thought otherwise. She intended that Papa Joffre, the idolof France, should have them. He must have them. But no; the General, taking the child gently by the arm, led her to where M. Poincaré wasspeaking to the King and Sir Douglas Haig, and drew their attention tothe child. They all smiled, and were greatly amused by the incident. Then the little one gave her flowers to the President, who taking them, stooped and kissed her forehead, and the little one satisfied with hersuccess ran away. The President, not knowing what to do with the flowers, looked aroundfor an officer to take them to his car, but General Joffre, anticipatingthe desire, called up his A. D. C. Who took them away. The party thenmoved into the house. General Foch also entered with the Prince ofWales. After the lunch and conference, word was sent in to Colonel Wigram whoendeavoured to persuade the King and M. Poincaré to pose for a shortscene on the balcony. Word came back that they would do so. To fix my camera up on the balcony was the work of only a few seconds. The King came out through the French window, followed by M. Poincaré. They were both smiling and seemed to be very interested in the comingexperience. "Where do we go?" said the King. "Would your Majesty stand over there?" I said, pointing to one end ofthe terrace. They stood there side by side, King and President laughingand chatting. While I turned on them, General Joffre came out. "Come along, Joffre, you stand here, " said His Majesty, "and you there, "he said laughingly to General Foch. Sir Douglas Haig then came out andstood at the end of the line. For fully a minute they stood there, making a scene, the like of which Ihad never dreamed. King, and President, and Generals, who held in their hands the destinyof the world. I continued turning, until His Majesty, thinking I hadenough, withdrew, laughing and chatting by the camera, followed byGeneral Joffre, Sir Douglas Haig, and General Foch. By this time my spool had run out, so quickly changing I got round tothe front of the house to film the royal party leaving. After they had all gone, I heard that Mr. Lloyd George was on his way upfrom Paris. How late he was, one officer was saying: "We expected himbefore this. " Hearing that I decided to wait. About half an hour later, up he came in a great hurry, and I just managed to film him as he lefthis car and entered the building. To-day was Sunday. His Majesty attended Divine Service with some of thetroops stationed near by, in a small country church perched high up onthe hill-side. Quiet and contentment pervaded everything; not even thesound of a gun was heard. A visit to His Majesty, King Albert of Belgium, was the next item on theprogramme. The King and Prince of Wales and their suite entered their respectivecars and, amidst the cheers of the civilian populace, we left thevillage on the hill. The red and gold of the little Royal Standard onthe King's car glittered bright in the morning sun. Away we went. How my old "bus" did go; every ounce was being obtainedfrom it; she fairly rocked and roared on the tails of the high-powermachines ahead. I knew the road only too well; many a time in the earlypart of the war had I traversed it, and passed through these self-samegates. On we tore to where, in an unostentatious little villa, lived the Kingand Queen of the Belgians. By the time I arrived King George had alighted, and the Belgian Guard ofHonour was playing the national hymn. I hurried through the villa gates, ignoring the guards stationed there who tried to hinder me. I wanted tofilm the meeting. But I was too late, for by the time I had my machineon the stand the two Kings had passed along the line of troops, crossedthe sand-dunes and entered the villa. I had unfortunately missed themeeting by a few minutes, but I vowed I wouldn't move far away from themduring the afternoon. I heard that after lunch King George, assisted byPrince Alexander of Teck, was going to award decorations and medals toBelgian officers, and during the afternoon I obtained many good scenes. The Queen was there, and with her the two Princes and little PrincessJosephine. They were all most interested in the proceedings. I filmed the King visiting a 6-inch Howitzer Battery. I noticedspecially how keen he was in enquiring about every little detail. Not asingle thing seemed to miss his eye, from the close examination of thegun's breech, to inspecting the dug-outs of the men. He then left, andknowing he was going to inspect the Canadians I hurried off in order toget there ahead. When I arrived the Canadian Generals and staff were there waiting. HereI met many old friends of the St. Eloi battle and, curiously enough, itwas at this very spot that I filmed the scene of the NorthumberlandFusiliers, or Fighting Fifth, returning from battle, fagged out, buthappy. General Burstall was there, and as soon as he saw me he came up andsaid: "Hullo, Malins, you here? Why I thought you would have been killed longago. " "No, sir, " I said, "I don't think I am much of a corpse, though reallyBrother Fritz has tried very hard to send me West. " "You must have a charmed life, " he said. "Have you come to film ourshow?" "Yes, " I replied. "The King will be along shortly. Ah! here he comesnow. " And down the road, stretching away in the distance, a line of cars cametearing along in our direction. Everybody came to attention. I got readymy camera. The King drew up, and from that moment, until he passedthrough the camp, lined with thousands of cheering Canadians, I filmedhis every movement. [Illustration: HER MAJESTY, THE QUEEN OF THE BELGIANS, TAKING A SNAP OFME AT WORK WHILE FILMING THE KING] [Illustration: THE PRINCE OF WALES SPEAKING WITH BELGIAN OFFICERS AT LAPANNE, BELGIUM] The five days' continuous rush and tear was beginning to tell on me. Iwas feeling fagged out. But to-morrow His Majesty was sailing againfor England. That night, through a member of the Headquarter Staff, Ienquired of Colonel Wigram if it was at all possible for me to accompanythe King on his boat across the Channel. It would make a most excellentfinish to my film, I pleaded, and it would show the people at home andneutrals that the British Navy still held the seas secure, and that ourKing could go on the seas where and when he liked, and to film HisMajesty on board, among his naval officers, what a splendid record tohand down to posterity. Colonel Wigram immediately saw the possibilities of such a finish, andagreed to allow me to accompany them. Very jubilant, I thanked him and promised to be at the boat by midday. In my hurry and anxiety to obtain permission I had entirely forgotten toenquire at which port the boat was sailing from--Calais or Boulogne. Irushed back to find Colonel Wigram, but unluckily he had gone. Ienquired of the Intelligence officers present, but they did not know. I therefore decided that the only thing to do was to start off early inthe morning and go to Boulogne, and then on to Calais, if the boat wasleaving from there. Early next morning, with my kit, I rushed away to Boulogne, but on myarrival I found out that the King was not leaving from there, but fromCalais. Off to Calais I went. How the time was going. Ill luck seemed todog me on the journey, for with a loud noise the back tyre burst. Totake it off and replace it with a new one was done in record time. Thenon again. How the old "bus" seemed to limp along. "How many miles is she doing?" I asked the chauffeur. "Nearly fifty to the hour, sir, can't get another ounce out of her. Ishouldn't be surprised if the engine fell out. " "Never mind, let her have it, " I yelled. Down the hills she rocked and swayed like a drunken thing. If there hadhappened to be anything in the way--well, I don't know what would havehappened; but there would have been "some" mess! Anyway, nothing didhappen, and I arrived at the dock in due course. No, the boat had notgone, but by the appearance of every one there, it was just on the pointof moving off. To get on to the quay I had to pass over a swing bridge;a barrier was across it, and soldiers on duty were posted in order tosend all cars round, some distance down, over the next bridge. Knowingthat if I went there I should be too late, I yelled out to the man toallow me to pass. "No, sir, " he said. "You must go the other way. " Well, what I said I don't know, but I certainly swore, and thisevidently impressed the fellow so much that he removed the barrier andallowed me to pass. I literally tumbled out of the old "bus, " andshouting to L---- to bring along my tripod, I rushed to where the boatwas lying against the quay. All the French, British, and Belgian officials were lined up, and theKing was shaking hands as a parting adieu. Whether it was right or not Idid not stop to think. I swept by and rushed up the gangway as the Kingturned with a final salute. So close a shave was it that I barely had time to screw my camera on thestand ere the Prince of Wales saluted the King and went ashore. Thegangway was drawn away and, amid salutes from the officers and alliedrepresentatives, the boat left the quay. I had filmed it all. Not anincident had passed me. The King with the Admiral in charge of the ship, entered the cabin, andonly then did I have a moment's respite to realise what a narrow squeakI had had. We were just leaving the harbour. The sea looked very choppy, and justahead were seven torpedo boats waiting to escort us across. I went up on to the top deck, and obtained some very interesting scenesof these boats taking up their positions around. Then the King came upand mounted the bridge. How happy he looked! A King in every sense ofthe word. Who, if they could see him now, could ever have any doubts asto the issue of the war? I filmed him as he stood on the bridge. Inmid-channel the sea was getting rather rough, and to keep my feet, andat the same time prevent the camera from being bowled overboard, wasrather a task, and this compelled me at times to call in the help ofsome blue-jackets standing near by. At last the white cliffs of old England hove in sight, and to make myfilm-story complete I filmed the cliffs, with Dover Castle perched highabove like the grim watch-dog it is. And then, as the boat drew into the harbour, I got near the gangway inorder to land first and film His Majesty as he came ashore. I managed todo this, and entering the royal special (by which I was permitted totravel) I reached Victoria in due course with what, in my humblejudgment, was one of the finest kinematograph records that couldpossibly be obtained of an altogether memorable and historic journey. CHAPTER XXI THE HUSH! HUSH!--A WEIRD AND FEARFUL CREATURE Something in the Wind--An Urgent Message to Report at Headquarters--And What Came Of It--I Hear for the First Time of the "Hush! Hush!"--And Try to Discover What It Is--A Wonderful Night Scene--Dawn Breaks and Reveals a Marvellous Monster--What Is It? I had been busy in London preparing the film of the King's visit to histroops in France, when I received an urgent message to reportimmediately at General Headquarters--most important. I reported toCaptain ----. "Can you get away in the morning, Malins? The boat train leaves early. " "If there is something doing I wouldn't miss it for worlds!" I replied. "It's quite evident there is, " he said, "or they wouldn't want you sourgently. " "I've only got to get my supply of film stock, " I said; "I'll manage itduring the night somehow, and meet you at Charing Cross in the morning. " No, I certainly was not going to miss a fight, for undoubtedly anotheroffensive was about to take place. That night I managed to get sufficient film stock together. In themorning we proceeded to France. The following morning at GeneralHeadquarters I got the news. Reporting to Colonel ----, he told me ofthe coming attack. "Do you want to get it?" he said. [Illustration: THE FIRST "TANK" THAT WENT INTO ACTION, H. M. L. S. "DAPHNE. " SEPT. 15, 1916] "Yes, sir, I do; and from the first line if possible. I want toimprove on the Battle of the Somme film. What time does it come off?" "I don't know; but if you will call on--mentioning a captain at theHeadquarters of one of the corps--he will be able to put you right onthe section of the attack. " With that information I left, and packing myapparatus left for Headquarters. The captain was there. "You are the 'movie' man, eh? Come in. Now tell me what you want. " "Where is the attack taking place, and at what time?" I asked. "Look here, " he said, unfolding a map, "this is our objective, " pointingto a certain place. "We are going to get up to the yellow line, and Isuggest that you go to ---- Brigade Headquarters. They are in a woodjust below ---- Redoubt. I will ring up the General and tell him you arecoming. He will give you all the information and assistance you require. They know the ground more intimately than we do back here. You areprepared to stay up there, of course?" "Of course, " I said. "I always carry my blanket with me. " "Well it comes off on the fifteenth, rather early in the morning. TheGeneral will give you zero hour. " "Do you know the exact time?" I said. "Do you think it will be too earlyfor me--so far as the light is concerned?" I added hurriedly, with alaugh. "Well no. I think you will just manage it, " he said. Thanking him I hurried off to Brigade Headquarters. They were in an oldGerman dug-out of huge dimensions. There were three distinct floors orrather corridors, one above the other. The galleries wound in and aroundthe hill-side, and the bottom one must have been at the depth of eightyfeet. Scottish troops were in the trenches, which were being held assupport lines. I entered the dug-out, and around a long table was seatedthe General and his staff. "General ----, sir?" I enquired. "Yes, " he said; "come in, will you? You are 'Movies, ' aren't you? Theyhave just rung me up. Have some lunch and tell me what you want. " During lunch I explained my mission. "Well, " he said, "I am glad you are giving us a show. There is no needto tell you what the Scottish battalion have accomplished. " Lunch finished, the General with the Brigadier-Major went into detailsas to the best position from which I could see the show. "I want, if possible, to get an unobstructed view of the Brigade front. " "'---- Trench, ' is the place, " he said. "What do you say? you know it. " "I think, sir, that's as good as anywhere, but it's strafed ratherbadly. " "How far is that from the Bosche front line?" We measured it on the map. It was eight hundred yards. "Too far off; I must get much closer, " I said. "Isn't there a place inour front trench?" "There's a machine-gun position in a sap head, " said an officer. "I amsure that would suit you, but you'll get strafed. Bosche cannot fail tosee you. " "What time is zero hour?" I asked the General. "At 6. 20, " he said. Great Scott, I thought, 6. 20 summer time--real time 5. 20, and inSeptember only one chance in a million that the sky would be clearenough to get an exposure. Certainly if the mornings were anything likethey had been during the last week it would be an absoluteimpossibility. [Illustration: THE BATTLEFIELD OF "GINCHY. " I WAS HURLED INTO THE TRENCHIN THE FOREGROUND BY THE BURSTING OF A GERMAN SHELL, AND AWOKE MANYHOURS LATER WITH SHELL SHOCK AND REALISED I HAD BEEN LYING BESIDE A DEADGERMAN ALL NIGHT. HE HAD BEEN THERE I SHOULD SAY ABOUT THREE WEEKS] [Illustration: RESERVES WATCHING THE ATTACK AT MARTINPUICH. SEPT. 15TH, 1916] Anyway there was just a chance, and I decided to take it. Therefore I suggested that I should go up very early in the morning toour front line, getting there about four o'clock. There would just besufficient light for me to have a look round, that is if Brother Fritzwasn't too inquisitive. I could then fix up the camera and wait. "What time does the barrage start?" I asked. "Ten minutes to zero. It's going to be very intense, I can tell youthat. " "Well, sir, there is one special point I would like you to clear up forme if possible. What the deuce is the 'Hush! Hush!'?" At that question everyone in the place laughed. "Hush! hush! not soloud, " one said, with mock gravity. "You mean the Tanks. " "I am just as wise as ever. Anyway, whether they are called the 'HushHushers' or 'Tanks, ' what the dickens are they? Everyone has been askingme if I have seen the 'Hush! hush!' until I have felt compelled toadvise them to take more water with it in future. At first I thoughtthey were suffering from a unique form of shell-shock. " "I haven't seen them, " he said. "All I know is that we have two of themgoing over with our boys. This is their line; they will make straightfor the left-hand corner of the village, and cross the trenches on yourleft about two hundred yards from the point suggested. They are a sortof armoured car arrangement and shells literally glance off them. Theywill cross trenches, no matter how wide, crawl in and out shell-holes, and through barbed wire, push down trees and. .. . " I turned to the General. "I certainly suggest, sir, that ---- should goto hospital; the war is getting on his nerves. He will tell me next thatthey can fly as well. " The General laughed. But quite seriously he told me it was all true. "Then I hope I shall be able to get a good film of them, " I said, "especially as this will be the first time they have been used. " Finally it was agreed that ----, who was going up to the front line toobserve for the division, should act as my guide, and take me up in themorning at three o'clock. "We shall have to start about that time, " he said; "it will be possibleto go there for quite a good distance over the top of the ridge. It willsave trudging through '---- Trench, ' and there's sure to be a lot oftroops packed in it. In any case it will take us about three-quarters ofan hour. " "And I want at least an hour to look round and find a suitable spot; sothree o'clock will suit me very well. " "Hullo!" I said, as I heard the crack of a 5. 9 crump burst just outsidethe dug-out. "Can't Bosche let you alone here?" "No, " he said, "he strafes us sometimes. He put quite a lot in here theother day, and one went clean through our cook-house, but no damage wasdone, beyond spoiling our lunch. If he anticipates our show in themorning, he will be sure to plaster us. " At night I watched the effect of the flashes from our guns. They wererattling off at quite a good pace. What a gorgeous night! Dotted allround this skeleton of what was once a wood, but now merely a few sticksof charred tree trunks, and in and out as far as the eye could see, werescores of tiny fires. The flames danced up and down like elves, andcrowded round the fires were groups of our boys, laughing and chattingas if there was no such thing as war. Now and then the flash of the bighowitzers momentarily lighted up the whole landscape. What a scene! Having seen as much of the war as I have done, and having beenpractically through the campaign from the very outset, it may surpriseyou that I had not used myself to such sights. Possibly I ought to havedone, but the fact remains that I cannot. These night scenes alwaysappeal to me. Every scene is so different, and looking at everythingfrom the pictorial point of view I wished with all my heart I could havefilmed such a wonderful scene. But even had I been able to do so I couldnot have reproduced the atmosphere, the sound of the guns, the burst ofthe shells, the glare of the star-shells, the laughter of the men--andsome of them were swearing. The impenetrable blackness was accentuatedby the dancing flames from the fires. It was a sight to dream about; andalmost involuntarily reminded one of a scene from the _Arabian Nights_. It was now midnight. My guide told me to follow him. "We'll go downbelow and find a place in which to snatch a little sleep. " Down a longflight of stairs we went, along corridors, then down another flight andround more corridors. The passages seemed endless, until at last we cameto a halt beside the bunk-like beds fastened on the wall. "What an extraordinary place; how deep is it?" "About sixty feet, " said my companion. "The place is like a rabbitwarren. " "Well, I'm glad you are with me, for I should never find my way outalone. " And I rolled my blanket round me and went to sleep. I was awakened by my guide. "Come on, " he said; "time we moved off. " I quickly got out of my blanket. Jove, how cold it was! My teethchattered like castanets. "It's like an ice-house down here; let's go out and see if any of themen have any fire left. Might be able to have a little hot tea before wego. I have some biscuits and odds and ends in my satchel. " "Will you let me have a man to help me with my tripod?" "Certainly, as a matter of fact I arranged for one last night. " Up we went. Along the corridors men were lying about in their blankets, fast asleep. Holding a piece of guttering candle in my hand, and shakinglike a leaf with cold, I stepped between the sleeping men; but it wasanything but an easy task. During the journey I missed my companion. By a lucky accident I managedto find an exit, but it was nowhere near the one I entered last night. Ah, here's a fire, and quickly getting the water on the boil, made sometea; then shouldering the camera, and ---- helping me, by taking one ofthe cases, we started off. It was still very dark, but the sky was quite free from clouds. If onlyit would keep like that I might just get an exposure. We proceeded as fast as the innumerable shell-holes and old barbed wirewould allow, and made straight for the ruins of ----, then crossing theroad we followed the communication trenches along the top. It was still pitch dark. I looked at my watch. It was 4. 30. The trenches were full of life. Men were pouring in to take up theirpositions. Bosche put a few shells over near by, but fortunately nobodywas touched. He was evidently nervous about something, for on severaloccasions he sent up star-shells, in batches of six, which lighted upthe whole ridge like day, and until they were down again I stood stockstill. [Illustration: OVER THE TOP AT MARTINPUICH, SEPT. 15, 1916. IPHOTOGRAPHED THIS SCENE AT 5. 20 IN THE MORNING] [Illustration: TWO MINUTES TO ZERO HOUR AT MARTINPUICH, SEPT. 15, 1916, THEN "OVER THE TOP"] Day was breaking in the east. A low-lying mist hung over the village. I hoped it would not affect my taking. We were now in the trenches, and daylight was gradually beginning toappear. "It's got to light up a lot more if I'm going to be able to film, " Isaid. "But thank heaven the sky is cloudless. That's the one chance. " All at once it seemed as though the sky lightened. Actinic conditionsimproved considerably, and I was just congratulating myself on my goodfortune when---- "What's that, sir?" said the man at my side, who had been peeringthrough a periscope. Gingerly I raised myself above the parapet and peered in the directionin which his finger pointed. For a moment I could discern nothing. Then, gradually out of the earlymorning mist a huge, dark, shapeless object evolved. It was apparentlyabout three hundred yards away. It moved, and judging by the subdued humand a slight smoke which it emitted--like the breath of an animal--itlived! I had never seen anything like it before. What was it? CHAPTER XXII THE JUGGERNAUT CAR OF BATTLE A Weird-looking Object Makes Its First Appearance Upon the Battlefield--And Surprises Us Almost as Much as It Surprised Fritz--A Death-dealing Monster that Did the Most Marvellous Things--And Left the Ground Strewn with Corpses--Realism of the Tank Pictures. What in the world was it? As we stood there peering at the thing, we forgot for the moment thatour heads were well above the parapet. We were too fascinated by themovements of the weird-looking object to bother about such a trifle asthat! And the Bosche trenches were only two hundred yards away! For thelife of me I could not take my eyes off it. The thing--I really don'tknow how else to describe it--ambled forward, with slow, jerky, uncertain movements. The sight of it was weird enough in all conscience. At one moment its nose disappeared, then with a slide and an upwardglide it climbed to the other side of a deep shell crater which lay inits path. I stood amazed and watched its antics. I forgot all about mycamera, and my desire to obtain a picture of this weird and terrifyingengine of destruction. Like everyone else, its unexpected appearance onthe scene first surprised and then held me under its strange influence. So that was the "Hush! hush!"--the Juggernaut Car of Battle. One of theTanks, the secret of whose appearance, and indeed of whose veryexistence, had been guarded more carefully than all the treasures of theIndies. Truly Bosche was in for a big surprise. [Illustration] All this time I had scarce taken my eyes off the ugly-looking monster. It waddled, it ambled, it jolted, it rolled, it--well it did everythingin turn and nothing long--or wrong. And most remarkable of all, thisweird-looking creature with a metal hide performed tricks which almostmade one doubt the evidence of one's senses. Big, and ugly, and awkwardas it was, clumsy as its movements appeared to be, the thing seemedimbued with life, and possessed of the most uncanny sort of intelligenceand understanding. It came to a crater. Down went its nose; a slightdip, and a clinging, crawling motion, and it came up merrily on theother side. And all the time as it slowly advanced, it breathed andbelched forth tongues of flame; its nostrils seemed to breathe deathand destruction, and the Huns, terrified by its appearance, were mowndown like corn falling to the reaper's sickle. Presently it stopped. The humming ceased. The spell was broken. Welooked at one another, and then we laughed. How we laughed! Officers andmen were doubled up with mirth as they watched the acrobatic antics ofthis mechanical marvel--this Wellsian wonder. Now the metal monster was on the move again. It was advancing on theGerman position. The Bosche machine-guns got busy and poured a very hailof shells and bullets upon the oncoming death-dealer. It made nodifference. The Tank pursued its way, unperturbed by all the racket ofthe exploding metal on its sides. Shells seemed to glide off it quiteharmlessly. Bullets had no effect upon this extraordinary apparition. Fritz must have thought the devil himself had broken loose from hell andwas advancing to devour him. The Huns scurried to their funk-holes andcraters, their hiding-places, and their trenches like so many rabbits. Still the Tank advanced, pausing now and then, astride a particularlywide crater, and sweeping the surrounding pit-scarred ground with itsmachine-guns. Up popped a German head. Zip went a bullet; and down wentthe head for the last time. How many Germans were crushed in their holesin that first advance goodness only knows. Presently the monster stopped again. There was a pause. Nothinghappened. A minute--two minutes went by. Still nothing happened. TheGermans began to regain their courage. Heads popped up all over theplace. Enemy troops began to edge nearer and nearer to it, in spite ofthe hail of bullets from our trenches. Then they began to swarm roundthe strange creature the like of which they had never seen before. Todo them justice, these Germans showed exceptional courage in the face ofunknown and altogether exceptional danger. Mr. Tank meanwhile was not a bit disconcerted by their attentions, andcontinued to breathe forth flames of fire, which did great havoc in theranks of the sightseers. But once their curiosity was satisfied the Hunsdid their level best to damage the brute. They fired at it; theybombarded it; they shelled it; they clambered over it. All to nopurpose. Presently that ominous humming, snorting sound reached usagain, and the monster began to move away. Where it had stood the groundwas strewn with the dead bodies of German soldiers, and I was toldafterwards that over three hundred corpses were counted to the credit ofthe first Tank that ever crossed "No Man's Land. " Meanwhile our boys had been busy. Following in the wake of the Tank, they had cleaned up quite a lot of ground, and all the time, with mycamera on them, I had secured a series of fine pictures. I don't think I ever laughed so heartily at anything as I did on thefirst day that I saw the Tanks in action, and officers and men all agreethat they never saw a funnier sight in all their lives. But whilst theyamused us they put the fear of the devil into Fritz, and whole partiesof men ran forward, hands up, waving their handkerchiefs, and shouting"Kamerad, " and gave themselves up as willing prisoners in our hands. The Tanks have been one of the big surprises and big successes of thewar. CHAPTER XXIII WHERE THE VILLAGE OF GUILLEMONT WAS An Awful Specimen of War Devastation--Preparing for an Advance--Giving the Bosche "Jumps"--Breakfast Under Fire--My Camera Fails Me Just Before the Opening of the Attack--But I Manage to Set it Right and Get Some Fine Pictures--Our Guns "Talk" Like the Crack of a Thousand Thunders--A Wonderful Doctor. After the battle of Martinpuich the nature of my work brought me incontact with many stirring incidents, which, if put on record here, would be merely repeating to a certain degree many of my previousexperiences, therefore I do not intend to bore my readers by doing so. From one section of our front to the other I was kept continually on themove. On the 25th September an attack was timed for twelve o'clock noonfor Morval and Lesboeufs, and the Guards, London Scottish, Norfolks, Suffolks and many other regiments were to take part. The day before Ivisited our front in that section to obtain preliminary scenes. TheLondon Scottish were preparing to leave to take up their battlepositions. From one front to the other I hurried, obtaining scenes ofthe other regiments on the way up. I stayed during the night with anofficer of an 18-pounder battling on the left of Guillemont. The Boschewas "strafing" the place pretty badly. I will not say I sleptcomfortably, for shells came crashing over much too closely to do so; infact, I was up all night. [Illustration: THE HIGHLAND BRIGADE GOING OVER THE TOP AT MARTINPUICH. SEPTEMBER 15TH, 1916] On several occasions I really thought my last minute had come. The noisewas deafening, the glare and flash although beautiful was sickening. Our guns were pouring out a withering fire, and the ground quivered andshook, threatening to tumble the temporary shelter about my ears. Oneshell, which came very near, burst and the concussion slightly blew inthe side of the shelter; it also seemed to momentarily stun me; Icrouched down as close to earth as possible. I will admit that I felt abit "windy, " my body was shaking as if with ague; a horrible buzzingsensation was in my head, dizziness was coming over me. I dare not losecontrol of myself, I thought; with an effort I staggered up and out ofthe shelter, clutching my head as the pain was terrible. I dropped downinto an old German trench and sat in the bottom. In a few minutes myhead pains eased down slightly, but my nerves were still shaky. At thatmoment one of the battery officers came along. "Hullo! you got clear then?" he said. "Yes, only just, by the appearance of things. " "I saw it drop near by where we left you and felt quite certain it haddone you in. Feel all right?" "Yes, " I said, "with the exception of a thick head. I will get my camerastuff down here. Lend me your torch, will you?" I took it out and found my way back to the shelter. Fritz was now jumping over shrapnel, so, believe me, I did not hangabout on my journey. Our guns continued their thundering and fire wasliterally pouring from their mouths. I got down in the trench, as closeas possible, sat on my camera-case and so passed the remainder of thenight, thinking--well, many things. Towards dawn the firing gradually died down until, comparing it with thenight, it was quite peaceful. I got out of my trench and sat up on theparapet. My head was still throbbing from the concussion of the night, and having no sleep made me feel in rather a rotten state. "How's the head, old chap?" asked an officer I knew who came up to me atthat moment. "Better, " I replied, "but needs improvement. " "We are just making some tea; come and join us. " "Jove, rather! It may stop this jumping. " A slight mist was hanging over the shell-pocked ground, it was graduallyrising, as I had seen it on previous occasions, and the horrible stenchfrom the putrifying dead seemed to rise with it. As far as the eye couldsee in every direction the ground had been churned up by the fearfulshell-fire. The shell-holes met each other like the holes in a sponge. Not a blade of grass or green stuff existed; the place which once markeda wood was now a space with a twisted, tangled mass of barbed wire and, here and there, short wooden stumps, slashed, split, and torn intoshreds--the remains of once beautiful trees. The village of Guillemont literally does not exist, in fact, it is _anabsolute impossibility to tell where the fields ended and the villagebegan_. It is one of the most awful specimens of the devastating trackof war that exists on the Western Front. The village had been turned bythe Bosche into a veritable fortress; trenches and strong points, bristling with machine-guns, commanded every point which gave vantage tothe enemy. But, after much bloody fighting, our troops stormed andcaptured the place and the German losses must have been appalling. Manyhad been buried, but the work of consolidating the ground won andpressing on the attack does not permit our men thoroughly to cleanse thesquare miles of ground and bury the bodies and fragments that cover it. Unknowingly, when I had hurried for cover in the trench, the nightbefore I had been within twelve feet of a party of five dead Bosches, and the atmosphere in the early morning was more than I could tolerate, so picking up my camera, etc. , I took up fresh quarters. A snorting, crunching sound struck my ears and looking on my left Iobserved a Tank ambling forward to take up its position for the comingshow. It was emitting clouds of bluish-grey smoke from its exhaust whichgave it a rather ghostly appearance in the mist. .. . Now and again as itcame to a very deep shell-hole it stopped to poise itself on the rim andthen gently tipped its nose downwards, disappearing, to rise like a hugetoad on the other side, and then continue its journey. More troops were coming up in platoon to take up their position insupports, ammunition carriers were taking up fresh supplies of bombs, Red Cross men were making their way forward--not a sound was to be heardfrom them and the whole place was now a line of silent movement. All themain work and preparation was to finish before the last shadow of nighthad been chased away by the light of the rising sun, before the settingof which many of the boys would lay down their lives that justice andcivilisation might triumph over the false doctrine of blood and iron andbarbarism--_German Kultur_. * * * * * "Come along, Malins, your cup of tea is ready, " shouted an officer. I left my camera under cover of a fallen tree trunk and crossed to acovered shell-hole which answered to the name of dug-out. Anyway, apartfrom shrapnel or a direct hit from an H. E. , we were comparatively safe, being below ground level. Along the centre was a rough plank on twoboxes and grouped either side were several other officers of thebattery. We all of us soon forgot about the previous night's efforts ofFritz in a gorgeous repast of _bacon_, fried bread, and tea. Bosche was now fairly quiet; he was "strafing" the ridge in front withan occasional H. E. ; some of our batteries on my right were still at it. It was now quite daylight; our aeroplanes were flitting across the sky, diving low to obtain better observation of the enemy, and incidentallygetting "strafed" by his anti-aircraft guns which did not interest themin the least. "What time is zero-hour?" I asked. "Twelve-thirty, " was the reply. "We start our intense at twelve o'clock, every gun we have in this section is going to fairly give Bosche jumps;in fact he will have to find a 'better 'ole. '" This remark caused considerable laughter. "I am going to get my scenes from 'Ginchy Telegraph'; it seems a verylikely spot by the map. Shall I get there about eleven o'clock and fixup?" "Good, " said one. "I will lend you an orderly to act as guide if it'sany benefit to you. " Thanking him, I gladly accepted the offer. Breakfast over, I collected my apparatus and stood to watch the sectionswhich Fritz "strafed" the most. By practising this method it has made itpossible for me to do my work in comfort on previous occasions. Inoticed there were one or two points which he "strafed" methodically, therefore I judged it safe to make direct for my point over the top, then enter a communication trench just on this side of the ridge. By this time my guide came up, so sharing my apparatus, we started off. The distance to Ginchy Telegraph was about one kilometre. Shrapnel wasplaying upon both roads leading from Guillemont, H. E. Was bursting on myright in Lueze Wood, or "Lousy Wood, " as it is called here, also inDelville Wood on my left. After a very tiring tramp over shell-holesand rubble I eventually reached my post. From this point I could seepractically the whole of our section between Lesboeufs and Morval, but Iimmediately found out to my annoyance that the slight breeze would bringall the smoke back towards our lines. The resulting effect would not beserious enough to in any way hinder our operations, but photographicallyit was disastrous, and even if photographed the effect would not beimpressive in the slightest degree, merely a wall of smoke which to thepublic would appear unintelligible. But in that seemingly useless cloudwere falling thousands of shells of all calibres, tearing the earth intodust, the German line into fragments, forming a living and death-dealingcurtain of blazing steel behind which our men were advancing. But adverse wind conditions were not all, for when I had taken thecamera out of its case I found that by some means or other the lensmounts had received such a knock as to throw it out of alignment. How ithappened I cannot think, for the case was intact, the only possibleexplanation being that I must have dropped it the night before when Itook shelter in the trench and in my dazed condition did not rememberdoing so. It was quite impossible to repair it even temporarily in time to obtainthe opening attack, so I hurried away and took shelter behind some ruinson the south-west side of the village. It was now close on twelve; ourintense bombardment would shortly begin, and I worked feverishly at therepair to the camera, perspiring at every pore. Suddenly, like the terrific crack of a thousand thunders, our fire onthe German position began. Bursting from the mouths of hundreds ofBritish guns it came, the most astonishing, astounding, brain-splittingroar that I had ever heard. In a few moments it reached a crescendo;everyone near by was transfixed with awe. Hundreds of shells wentshrieking overhead. The air was literally alive with blazing metal. Imagine, if you can, being in the midst of five hundred drums. At agiven moment every drummer beats his drum with ever-increasing forcewithout a fraction of a moment's respite. Add to this the mostsoul-splitting crash you have ever heard and the sound as of a gale ofwind shrieking through the telegraph wires. It will give you a littleidea of what it was like under this bombardment. It seemed to numb one'svery brain. What it must have been like in the German position is beyondme to conceive. We were certainly giving Fritz a jump. At last my camera was finished. Looking in the direction of BouleauxWood I could see our men still pouring forward over the open. I racedtowards them as hard as possible and filmed them going across first onesection then the other; Bosche shells were falling near them, knocking afew out but missing most, first one line then the other. Bosche was dropping large "coal boxes" all along our supports. Two Tankscoming up provided me with several interesting scenes as Fritz waspestering them with his attentions but without injury. I obtained ascene of two heavy "crumps" bursting just behind one of them, but theold Tank still snorted on its way, the infantry advancing close behindin extended formation. Throughout the remainder of the day I was kept well on the move, filmingthe many-varying scenes of battle, either whilst they were in progressor immediately afterwards. Prisoners came pouring in from alldirections, first a batch of two hundred and then odd stragglers, thenfurther batches. The Guards seemed to have had a rather good bag, as Inoticed that most of the Bosches were brought in under care ofguardsmen. One Tommy came in the proud possessor of six. From the immediate fighting ground I made my way towards Trones Wood, upon the outskirts of which the Guards had their dressing station. Manyof our men were there, lying about in all directions on stretchers, waiting to be taken away to the Casualty Clearing Station. I filmed manyscenes here of our wonderful men suffering their physical torments likethe heroes they were. One, in particular, sitting on a box making acigarette, had a broad smile on his face, though the _whole of his elbowwas shot completely away_. Another came in, helped along by two othermen; he was a raving lunatic, his eyes ghastly and horrible to lookupon, and he was foaming at the mouth, and gibbering wildly. "Shell-shock, " said the doctor, close beside me; "bad case too, poorchap! Here, put him into this ambulance; three men had better go withhim to look after him. " "Do you get many cases like that?" I asked the doctor. "Yes, " he said, "quite a few, but not all so bad as that. " Wounded were still pouring in, both ours and German. The Bosche wasshelling the ground only a short distance away and I managed to filmseveral of our wounded men being dressed whilst shells were bursting inthe near background. Another man was brought in on a stretcher. I looked closely at him whenhe was set on the ground. He had been knocked out by shell-fire. A pieceof shrapnel was buried in his jaw, another large piece in his head, and, by the bloodstains on his tunic, about his body also. He was groaning pitiably. The doctor bending down had a look at him, then stood up. "It's no use, " he said, "he's beyond human aid; he cannot last manyminutes. Place him over there, " he said to the stretcher-bearers. Themen gently lifted the poor fellow up, and less than three minutesafterwards one came up to the doctor. "He's dead, sir. " "Just tell the padre then, will you, and get his disc and name and havehis belongings packed up and sent home. " And so the day drifted on. The sun was blazing hot; every man there wasworking like a demon. Perspiring at every pore, each doctor was doingthe work of four; the padre was here, there and everywhere, giving thewounded tea and coffee, and cheering them up by word and deed. Towards evening there came a lull in the attack. It had been a greatsuccess; all our objectives had been gained; the wounded drifted in inlessening numbers. An elderly doctor in his shirt sleeves had just finished binding up thestump of a man's leg, the lower part of which had been torn away by apiece of shell. He stood up, mopped his forehead, and, after bidding thecarriers take the man away, he lay on the ground practically exhausted, dried blood still upon his hands and arms and scissors held loosely inhis fingers; he closed his eyes to try and doze. "That doctor is a marvel, " said an officer to me. "He snatches a fewmoments sleep between his cases. Now watch!" Another stretcher-party was coming in, and it was set down. An orderlywent up to the doctor and lightly touched him on the shoulder. "Another case, sir, " he said. The doctor opened his eyes and quickly rose to his feet. The wounded man's head was bound round with an old handkerchief, mattedwith blood which had dried hard. Warm disinfectant was quickly broughtand the doctor proceeded to gently loosen the rough bandage from thehead, revealing a nasty head wound, a gash about three inches long andvery swollen. "What do you think of that?" he said, holding out something in his handto me, "that's from this lad's head. " I looked and saw that it was a piece of his shrapnel helmet about twoinches square, it had been driven into the flesh on his head, fortunately without breaking the skull. The wound was quickly dressedand the doctor again lay down to snatch a few more moments' respite. "This will go on all night, " said the padre, "and all day to-morrow. Have a cup of tea at my canteen, will you?" Having had nothing to eat or drink all day I accepted the invitation. Onthe opposite side of the wood was a small shack built of old lumber, andevery man before he left by ambulance received a cup of tea or coffeeand biscuits. "I find the boys greatly appreciate it, " he said. I joined him in a cup of tea. "Don't you think it's a good idea?" "Excellent, " I replied, "like heaven to a lost soul. " "Look round here, " he said, pointing away in the distance. "Did you eversee such a ghastly travesty of nature, the whole country-side sweptclean of every green and living thing, beautiful woods and charmingvillages blown to the four winds of heaven, and _this_ might have beenour own beautiful sunny downs, our own charming villages. The Britishpublic should go down on its knees every day of the week and thank Godfor their deliverance. " The sun was now setting, and having obtained all the scenes I required, I decided to make my way back. We were still shelling the German linesvery hard, and the Bosche was putting over a few of his H. E. And highshrapnel, but fortunately none came within a hundred yards of us. I bade adieu to the doctors and the padre. "I hope we shall see the films in town, " they said. "It's a pity youcan't introduce the sounds and general atmosphere of a battle like this. Good-bye, best of luck!" they shouted. I left them and made my way across to the battery to thank the Captain. When I arrived I met one of the subalterns. "Where's ----?" I asked. "I am afraid you won't see him, " he replied. "Why?" half suspecting some bad news. "Well, he and four others were killed shortly after you left. " I turned slowly away and walked off in the direction of Guillemont. A hundred yards further on I came upon a scene which afforded somerelief to the tragedies of the day. A short bantam-like British Tommywas cursing and swearing volubly at a burly German sitting on the groundrubbing his head and groaning like a bull. Tommy, with a souvenir cigarin his mouth, was telling him in his best cockney English to get a moveon. "What's the matter?" I said. "Well, sir, it's like this. This 'ere cove is my own prisoner and 'e'sbeen giving me no end of trouble, tried to pinch my gun, sir, 'e did, soI 'it 'im on 'is head, but 'e ain't 'urt, sir, not a bit, are yer, Fritz? Come on. " And Fritz, thinking discretion the better part ofvalour, got up, and Tommy strutted off with his big charge as happy as apeacock. CHAPTER XXIV FIGHTING IN A SEA OF MUD Inspecting a Tank that was _Hors de Combat_--All that was Left of Mouquet Farm--A German Underground Fortress--A Trip in the Bowels of the Earth--A Weird and Wonderful Experience. After our successful attack and capture of Lesboeufs and Morval onSeptember 25th, 1916, beyond consolidating our gains there wascomparatively little done in the way of big offensives until the captureof Mouquet Farm and Thiepval and the capture of Beaumont Hamel--thatfortress of fortresses--on November 13th, and I devoted the interval torecording the ground won. One interesting incident occurred when I filmed Mouquet Farm situatebetween Pozières and Thiepval. Looking at the Farm from the strategicalpoint of view, I feel quite confident in saying that only British troopscould have taken it. It was one of the most wonderful defensive pointsthat could possibly be conceived, and chosen by men who made a specialstudy of such positions. The whole place was thickly planted withmachine-guns, so cunningly concealed that it was impossible to observethem until one was practically at the gun's mouth. To get here it was necessary to go down a long steep glacis, then upanother to the farm. The Germans, with their network of undergroundpassages and dug-outs, were able to concentrate at any threatened pointwith their machine-guns in such a manner that they would have our troopsunder a continual stream of lead for quite one thousand yards without avestige of cover. The farm had been shelled by our artillery time aftertime, until the whole ground for miles round was one huge mass ofshell-craters, but the Germans, in their dug-outs forty and fifty feetunderground, could not be reached by shell-fire. I will not go intodetails of how the place was eventually taken by the Midlanders--it willremain an epic of the war. The weather was now breaking up. Cold winds and rain continually sweptover the whole Somme district, invariably accompanied by thick mists. Iwanted to obtain a film showing the fearful mud conditions, which wewere working hard and fighting in and under. And such mud! You could notput the depth in inches. Nothing so ordinary; it was feet deep. I haveknown relief battalions take six hours to reach their allotted positionin the front line, when, in the dry season, the same journey could beaccomplished in an hour; and the energy expended in wading through sucha morass can be imagined. Many times I have got stuck in the clayeyslime well above my knees and have required the assistance of two, andsometimes three men to help me out. To turn oneself into a lump of mud, all one had to do was to walk down to the front line; you wouldundoubtedly be taken for a part of the parapet by the time you arrived. I asked a Tommy once what he thought of it. "Sir, " he replied, "there ain't no blooming word to describe it!" And Ithink he was right. On one journey, when filming the carrying of munitions by mule-back--asthat was the only method by which our advanced field-guns could besupplied--while they were being loaded at a dump near ---- Wood, the mudwas well above the mules' knees, and, in another instance, it wasactually touching their bellies. In such conditions our men werefighting and winning battles, and not once did I hear of a singleinstance where it affected the morale of the men. We cursed and sworeabout it; who wouldn't? It retarded our progress; we wallowed in it, wehad to struggle through miles of it nearly up to our knees; we slept init or tried to; we ate in it, it even got unavoidably mixed up with ourfood; and sometimes we drank it. And we tolerated it all, month aftermonth. If it was bad for us, we knew it was far worse for the Bosche, for not only had he to live under these conditions, but he was subjectedto our hellish bombardment continually without rest or respite. Thus it was I filmed Mouquet Farm and other scenes in the neighbourhood. I went to Pozières and then struck across country. On my way I passed aTank which, for the time being, was _hors de combat_. It naturallyaroused my interest. I closely inspected it, both inside and out, and, while I stood regarding it, two whizz-bangs came over in quicksuccession, bursting about thirty feet away. The fact immediatelyoccurred to me that the Tank was under observation by the Bosche and he, knowing the attraction it would have for enquiring natures, kept a guncontinually trained upon it. I had just got behind the body of the thingwhen another shell dropped close by. I did not stop to judge the exactdistance. I cursed the mud because it did not allow me to run fastenough, but really I ought to have blessed it. The fact that it was somuddy caused the shell to sink more deeply into the ground beforeexploding, its effective radius being also more confined. When I got clear of the Tank, the firing ceased. I mentally vowed that, for the future, temporarily disabled Tanks near the firing-line wouldnot interest me, unless I was sure they were under good cover. I continued my journey to the farm, but kept well below the top of theridge. At one section, to save my dying a sailor's death, duck-boardshad been placed over the mud to facilitate easier travelling. It made mefeel like going on for ever, after ploughing for hours through mud theconsistency of treacle. Eventually I arrived on the high ground near Mouquet. Many of ourfield-gun batteries had taken up their position near by: they had turnedold shell-holes into gun-pits--occasionally a burst of firing rang out, and Bosche was doing his level best to find them with his 5. 9 crump. Here I managed to obtain several very interesting scenes. The farm, as a farm, did not exist; a mass of jumbled-up brickwork hereand there suggested that once upon a time, say 100 B. C. , it might havebeen. In due time I reached the place. A machine-gun company were inpossession, and I found an officer, who offered to show me over theBosche's underground fortress. I entered a dug-out entrance, the usualtype, and switching on my electric torch, proceeded with uncertain stepsdown into the bowels of the earth. The steps were thick with mud andwater; water also was dripping through all the crevices in the roof, andthe offensive smell of dead bodies reached me. "Have you cleaned this place out?" I called to my friend in front. "Yes, " he said. His voice sounded very hollow in this noisome, cavernousshaft. And it was cold--heavens how cold! Ugh! "There was one gallery section; where it leads to we cannot find out, but it was blown in by us and evidently quite a few Bosches with it;anyway, we are not going to disturb it. There is a possibility of thewhole gallery collapsing about our ears. " "We are at the bottom now; be careful, turn sharp to the left. " "Why this place must be at least forty feet deep. " "Yes, about that. This gallery runs along to more exits and a veritablerabbit warren of living compartments. See these bullet-holes in the sidehere, " pointing to the wooden planks lining the gallery. "When our menentered the other end the Bosche here had a machine-gun fixed up and sothey played it upon anybody who came near; lit up only by the gunflashes it must have been a ghastly sight. It must have been the sceneof devilish fighting judging by the number of bullet-holes all over theplace. There are plenty of bloodstains about, somebody caught it prettybadly. " I followed my guide until eventually we came to a recessed compartment;it was illuminated by two German candles stuck in bottles, and a roughwooden table with two chairs, evidently looted from the farm when theBosche arrived. We made our exit from another shaft and came out at a spot about onehundred yards from the place we had entered. This will give you some idea of the way the ground was interlaced withsubterranean passages, and this, mind you, was only one tunnel of many. It was quite pleasant to breathe comparatively fresh air again after thefoul atmosphere down below. Bosche was more lively with his shell-fire and they were coming much toonear to be pleasant. I fixed up my machine and filmed several very goodbursts near some guns. He was evidently shooting blind, or by the map, for they dropped anywhere but near their objectives. Anyway it was hisshoot and it was not up to us to correct him. CHAPTER XXV THE EVE OF GREAT EVENTS A Choppy Cross-Channel Trip--I Indulge in a Reverie--And Try to Peer Into the Future--At Headquarters Again--Trying to Cross the River Somme on an Improvised Raft--In Peronne After the German Evacuation--A Specimen of Hunnish "Kultur. " Since I left France in December many changes had taken place; tremendouspreparations for the next great offensive were in progress. We shall nowsee the results of all our hard and bloody work, which began on theSomme on July 1st, 1916. I think I can safely say that we have neverrelaxed our offensive for a single day. Granted the great pressure hasnot been kept up, but in proportion to the weather conditions the pushhas been driven home relentlessly and ground won foot by foot, yard byyard, until, in February, 1917, the Germans retired behind their Bapaumedefences. Just how far they are going back one cannot decide. The fact remainsthat the enemy is falling back, not for strategical reasons, as he is soanxious for his people and neutrals to believe, but because he is forcedto by the superiority of our troops and our dominating gun-power. Thebeginning of the end is at hand, the eve of great events is here; theresults of this year's fighting will decide the future peace of theworld, the triumph of Christianity over barbarity, of God over thedevil. I received instructions to proceed again to France. "The capture ofBapaume is imminent, you must certainly obtain that, " I was told, "andadd another to your list of successes. " So I left by the middayboat-train; the usual crowds were there to see their friends off. Adescriptive writer could fill a volume with impressions gathered on thestation platform an hour before the train starts. Scenes of pathos andassumed joy; of strong men and women stifling their emotions with astubbornness that would do justice to the martyrdom of the EarlyChristians in the arenas of Rome. I arrived at Folkestone; the weather was very cold and a mist hung overthe sea, blotting everything out of view beyond the end of thebreakwater. The train drew up alongside and it emptied itself of itshuman khaki freight, who, with one accord, made their way to the waitingsteamboats, painted a dull green-grey. All aboard: quickly andmethodically we passed up the gangway, giving up our embarkation ticketsat the end and receiving another card to fill up, with personalparticulars, as we stepped on board. This card was to be given up uponone's arrival at Boulogne. Gradually the boat filled with officers and men; kits and cars werehoisted aboard, life-belts were served out; everybody was compelled toput them on in case of an accident. Everything was aboard; the three boats were ready to leave; the two infront, one an old cross-Channel paddle boat, the other one of the laterturbine class--but still no sign of leaving. "What are we waiting for?" I asked a seaman near by. "We must wait until we get permission; the mist is very thick, sir--going to be a cold journey. " With that he left. I buttoned my warmgreat-coat well round my throat, pulled my cap firmly down over my earsand went to the upper deck and peered out into the thickening sea-misttowards the harbour entrance. I went to the deck-rail and leaned over. Crowds of sea-gulls cawed andwheeled round, seemingly hung suspended in the air by an invisible wire. The gulls fascinated me; one second they were in the air motionless ontheir huge outstretched wings, then suddenly, seeing either the shape ofa fish coming to the surface, or a crumb of bread floating, one of thebirds would dart down, make a grab with its beak at the object, skim thesurface of the water, then gracefully wing its way upwards and join itsfellows. I turned my gaze again seawards: the mist was drawing nearer, threatening to envelop our boats in its embrace. How cold it was! Theupper deck was now full of officers, busily putting on theirlife-belts--I had secured mine to my kit-bag, ready to put it on whenrequired. At that moment an officer came up to me. "Have you a life-belt?" he said, "if so would you mind putting it on? Ihave to go all round the boat and see that everybody has one. " "Right, " I said, and so I donned my life-belt, and passing along thedeck stood underneath the Captain's bridge and gazed around. The men inthe two boats ahead of us were singing lustily, singing because theywere going back to the land of bursting shells and flying death, laughing and singing because they were going again out to fight for theEmpire. As I stood there, gazing into the mist and hearing the continuous roarof the sea beating upon the rocks behind me, a review of the eventspassed through my mind which have happened to me, and the countlessscenes of tragedy and bloodshed, of defeat and victory that I hadwitnessed since I first crossed over to France in October, 1914. Irecalled my arrival in Belgium; the wonderful rearguard actions of theBelgian troops; the holding up of the then most perfect (and devilish)fighting machine the world had ever known, by a handful of volunteers. The frightful scenes in the great retreat through Belgium lived again;the final stand along the banks of the Ypres canal; the opening of thedykes, which saved the northern corner of France; the countlessincidents of fighting I had filmed. Then my three months with the Frenchin the Vosges mountains, the great strain and hardships encountered toobtain the films, and now, after eighteen months with the British armyon the Western Front, I was again going back--to what? How many had asked themselves that question! How many had tried as I wasdoing to peer into the future. They had laid down their lives fightingfor the cause of freedom. "But, although buried on an alien soil, thatspot shall be for ever called England. " I was quickly recalled to the present by the flashing of a light on theend of the harbour jetty. It was answered by a dull glare seawards;everybody was looking in that direction; and then. .. . A sudden clanging of bells, a slipping of ropes from the first boat, afinal cheer from the men on the crowded decks, and, with its bow turnedoutwards from the quay, it nosed its way into the open sea beyond. Thesecond boat quickly followed, and then, with more clanging of bells andcurt orders to the helmsman, she slid through the water like agreyhound, and, with shouts of "good luck!" from the people on the quay, we were quickly swallowed up in the mist ahead. The boats kept abreast for a considerable time and then, our vesseltaking the lead, with a torpedo boat on either side and one ahead, theconvoy headed for France. The journey across was uneventful. It was quite dark when we backed intoharbour at Boulogne; flares were lit and, as the boat drew alongside thequay, the old familiar A. M. O. With his huge megaphone shouted instentorian tones that all officers and men returning on duty must reportto him at his offices, fifty yards down the quay, etc. , etc. , etc. Hisoration finished, the gangway was pushed aboard and everybody landed asquickly as possible. _I_ had wired from the War Office earlier in theday to G. H. Q. , asking them to send a car to meet the boat. Whether_they_ had received _my_ message in time I did not know--anyway I couldnot find it, so, that night, I stayed at Boulogne, and the followingevening proceeded to G. H. Q. To receive instructions. Here I collected my apparatus and stood by for instructions. News of ourcontinued pressure on the German line of retreat was penetratingthrough. First one village, then another fell into our hands. The fallof Peronne was imminent. My instructions were to proceed to Peronne, orrather the nearest point that it was possible to operate from. I journeyed that night as far as Amiens, and arriving there aboutmidnight, dog tired, went to my previous billet in the Rue l'AmiralCambet, and turned in. Early next morning I reported to a major of theIntelligence Department, who told me our troops had entered Peronne theprevious night. Rather disappointed that I had not been there to obtainthe entry, I made tracks for that town. I took by-roads, thinking that they would be more negotiable than themain ones, and, reaching the outskirts of the village of Biaches, I leftthe car there and prepared to walk into Peronne. I could see in thedistance that the place was still burning; columns of smoke were pouringupwards and splashing the sky with patches of villainous-looking blackclouds. Strapping my camera upon my back, and bidding my man follow with mytripod, I started off down the hill into Biaches. Then the signs of theGerman retreat began to fully reveal themselves. The ground wasabsolutely littered with the horrible wastage of war; roads were tornopen, leaving great yawning gaps that looked for all the world likehuge jagged wounds. On my right lay the Château of La Maisonnette. Theground there was a shambles, for numerous bodies in various stages ofputrefaction lay about as they had fallen. I left this section of blood-soaked earth, and, turning to my left, entered the village, or rather the site of what had once been Biaches. Iwill not attempt to describe it; my pen is not equal to the task ofconveying even the merest idea of the state of the place. It was as if ahuman skeleton had been torn asunder, bone by bone, and then flung inall directions. Then, look around and say--this was once a man. Youcould say the same thing of Biaches--this was once a village. I stayedawhile and filmed various scenes, including the huge engineers' dumpleft by the Germans, but, as the light was getting rather bad, I hurriedas fast as possible in the direction of Peronne. I wandered down the path of duck-boards, over the swamp of the Somme, filthy in appearance, reeking in its stench, and littered with thousandsof empty bottles, that showed the character of the drunken orgies towhich the Huns had devoted themselves. I reached the canal bank. Lying alongside was the blackened ribs of abarge. Only the stern was above water and it was still smouldering; eventhe ladders and foot-bridges were all destroyed; not a single thing thatcould be of any use whatsoever had been left. I trudged along the canalbank; bridge after bridge I tried, but it was no use, for each one inthe centre for about ten or twelve feet was destroyed--and, stretchedbetween the gap, I found a length of wire netting covered over withstraw--a cunning trap set for the first one across. Not a bridge waspassable--they were all down! Peronne lay on the other side and there I must get before the lightfailed and while the place was still burning; if I had to make a raft ofold timber I made up my mind to get there. Returning to the bank I placed my camera upon the ground and with thehelp of three men gathered up some rusty tin cylinders, which, earlierin the campaign, had been utilised as floats for rafts. I had fished out of the river three planks, and laying them at equaldistance upon the cylinders, I lashed them together and so made a raftof sorts. With care I might be able to balance myself upon it and soreach the other section of the bridge and then a rope at either endwould enable my man and tripod to be pulled across. The idea was excellent, but I found that my amateur lashing togetherwith the strong current that was running made the whole plan quiteimpossible, so, after being nearly thrown into the river several times, and one of the floats coming adrift and washing away, and then doing aflying leap to save myself being hurled into the water upon a trestlewhich collapsed with my weight, I decided to give up the experiment andexplore the river bank further down in the hope of getting across. Eventually, after going for about two kilometres, I reached the ruins ofthe main bridge leading into the town. This, also, was blown up by theretreating Huns, but, by using the blocks of stone and twisted irongirders as "stepping-stones, " I reached the other side. The old gateway and drawbridge across the moat were destroyed; the hugeblocks of masonry were tossed about, were playthings in the hands of themighty force of high explosives which flung them there. These scenes Icarefully filmed, together with several others in the vicinity of theramparts. [Illustration: LORD KITCHENER'S LAST VISIT TO FRANCE. HE IS VERYINTERESTED IN THE CARE OF THE WOUNDED] The town was the same as every other I had filmed--burnt andshell-riven. The place as a habitable town simply did not exist. German names were everywhere; the names of the streets were altered, even a French washerwoman had put up a notice that "washing was donehere, " in German. Street after street I passed through and filmed. Many of the buildingswere still burning and at one corner of the Grande Place flames wereshooting out of the windows of the three remaining houses in Peronne. Ihastily fitted up my camera and filmed the scene. When I had finished itwas necessary to run the gauntlet, and pass directly under the burningbuildings to get into the square. Showers of sparks were flying about, pieces of the burning building werebeing blown in all directions by the strong wind. But I had to get by, so, buttoning up my collar tightly, fastening my steel shrapnel helmeton my head, and tucking the camera under my arm, I made a rush, yellingout to my man to follow with the tripod. As I passed I felt severalheavy pieces of something hit my helmet and another blazing piece hit myshoulder and stuck there, making me set up an unearthly yell as theflames caught my ear and singed my hair. But, quickly shooting past, Ireached a place of safety, and setting up the camera I obtained someexcellent views of the burning buildings. Standing upon a heap of rubble, which once formed a branch of one of thelargest banking concerns in France, I took a panoramic scene of thegreat square. The smoke clouds curling in and around the skeleton wallsappeared for all the world like some loathsome reptile seeming to gloatupon its prey, loath to leave it, until it had made absolutely certainthat not a single thing was left to be devoured. With the exception of the crackling flames and the distant boom of theguns, it was like a city of the dead. The once beautiful church wastotally destroyed. In the square was the base of a monument upon which, before the war, stood a memorial to France's glorious dead in the war of1870. The "kultured" Germans had destroyed the figure and, in its place, had stuck up a dummy stuffed with straw in the uniform of a FrenchZouave. Could ever a greater insult be shown to France! Not content with burning the whole town, the Huns had gone to thetrouble of displaying a huge signboard on the side of a building in thesquare on which were these words: "Don't be vexed--just admire!" Think of it! The devils! CHAPTER XXVI AN UNCANNY ADVENTURE Exploring the Unknown--A Silence That Could be Felt--In the Village of Villers-Carbonel--A Cat and Its Kittens in an Odd Retreat--Brooks' Penchant for "Souvenirs"--The First Troops to Cross the Somme. Lieutenant B----, the official "still" photographer, and I have beencompanions in a few strange enterprises in the war, but I doubt whetherany have equalled in strangeness, and I might say almost uncanny, adventure that which I am about to record. In cold type it would bepardonable for anyone to disbelieve some of the facts set forth, but, asI have proved for myself the perfect application of the well-knownsaying that "truth is stranger than fiction, " I merely relate the factsin simple language exactly as they happened, and leave them to speak forthemselves. It was early morning on March 17th, 1917, when the Germans began theirheadlong flight towards their Cambrai, St. Quentin, or "Hindenburg"Line. When B---- and I hastened along the main St. Quentin Road, troopsand transports were as usual everywhere. We passed through the ruinedvillages of Foscaucourt and Estrées and brought our car to a standstillabout two kilometres from the village of Villers-Carbonel, it beingimpossible owing to the fearful road conditions to proceed further. We left the car and started off to explore the unknown. On either sideof the road I noticed many troops in their trenches; they were lookingdown at us as if we were something out of the ordinary, until I turnedto him and said: "Is there anything funny about us? These chaps seem to be highlyinterested in our appearance, or something. What is it?" "I don't know, " he said, "let's enquire. " So, going up to an R. A. M. C. Officer, who was standing outside hisdug-out, I asked him if there was any news--in fact I enquired whetherthere was a war on up there, everything seemed to be so absolutelyquiet. "Well, " he said, "there was up to about three hours ago; Bosche hasfairly plastered us with 5. 9 and whizz-bangs. These suddenly ceased, and, as a matter of fact, I began to wonder whether peace had beendeclared when your car came bounding up the road. How the devil did youmanage it? Yesterday evening the act of putting one's head over theparapet was enough to draw a few shells; but you come sailing up here ina car. " "This is about the most charming joy-ride I have had for many a day, " Ireplied, "but let me introduce myself. I am Malins, the OfficialKinematographer, and my friend here is the Official 'still' picture man. We are here to get scenes of the German retreat, but it seems to me thatone cannot see Bosche for dust. That is Villers-Carbonel, is it not?" Isaid, pointing up the road in the distance. "Yes, " he replied. "Right, " I said, "we are going there and on our way back we'll tell youall the news. " With a cheery wave of the hand he bade us adieu, and we started on ourjourney. The once beautiful trees which lined the sides of the road were torn toshreds and, in some instances, were completely cut in half by shell-fireand the trunks were strewn across the road. These and the enormousshell-holes made it difficult to proceed at all, but, by clamberingover the huge tree trunks, in and out of filthy slime-filledshell-holes, and nearly tearing oneself to pieces on the barbed wireintermingled with the broken branches, we managed at last to reach thevillage. Not a sound was to be heard. I turned to my companion. "This is an extraordinary state of affairs, isn't it? In case there areany Bosche rearguard patrols, we'll keep this side of the ruins as muchas possible. " The village was practically on the top of a ridge of hills. I stoodunder the shadow of some tree-stumps and gazed around. What a scene ofdesolation it was. I got my camera into action and took some excellentscenes, showing what was once a beautiful main road: broken trees flungover it in all directions like so many wisps of straw, and anunimaginable mass of barbed wire entanglements. Then, swinging my cameraround, I obtained a panoramic view of the destroyed village. Dotted hereand there were the dead bodies of horses and men: how long they had lainthere Heaven knows! While examining the ruins of a building which used to be a bakehouse Ireceived a startling surprise. I was bending down and looking into anempty oven when, with a rush and a clatter, a fine black cat sprang atmy legs with a frightened, piteous look in its eyes, and mewed in astrange manner. For a moment I was startled, for the animal clung to mybreeches. The poor creature looked half-starved. In its frenzy, it mightbite or scratch my leg or hand. Blood-poisoning would be likely tofollow. I gently lowered my gloved hand and caressed its head. With asoft purr it relaxed its hold of my leg and dropped to the ground. Feeling more comfortable I unfastened my satchel and, taking out somebiscuits, gave them to the poor brute. It ravenously ate them up. Mysecond surprise was to come. A faint scratching and mewing sound camefrom behind some bread bins in a corner and, as I looked, the black catsprang forward with a biscuit in its mouth in the direction of thesound. I followed and gently moved the bin aside. The sight there almostbrought tears into my eyes. Lying upon some old rags and straw werethree tiny kittens. Two were struggling around the mother cat, mewingpiteously and trying to nibble at the biscuit she had brought. The otherwas dead. The mother cat looked up at me with eyes which were almost human intheir expression of thanks. I took out some more biscuits, and breakingthem up in an empty tin I picked up from the floor, I poured some waterfrom my bottle on to them, placed it beside the starving group and, leaving a handful near the mother cat, I made their retreat as snug aspossible. Making our way again to the main road I stood by some ruins and lookedaway in the distance where the Germans had disappeared. What adifference. Here were green fields, gorgeous woods, hills, and daleswith winding roads sweeping away out of sight. It reminded me of thefeeling Moses must have experienced when he looked upon the PromisedLand. Here were no shell-torn fields, no woods beaten out of allsemblance to anything, no earth upon which thousands of men had pouredout their blood; but, here in front of us, a veritable heaven. "Come along, " I said, "let's explore. If there are any Bosches aboutthey'll soon let us know of their presence. Let's get on to that otherridge; the Somme river should be there somewhere. " We left the village and cautiously followed the road down one hill andup the next. The Germans had disappeared as completely as if the earthhad swallowed them up. Not a soul was to be seen; we might have beenstrolling on the Surrey hills! I gradually reached the brow of the next ridge. The sight which met myeyes was the most stimulating one I had ever seen from a picture pointof view. There, in front of us, at a distance of six hundred yards, wasthe river Somme--the name which will go down to history as the mostmomentous in this the bloodiest war the world has ever known. There it glistened, winding its way north and south like a silver snake. "Come along, " I said, "I shall get the first picture of the Somme, " andwe raced away down the road. In calmer moments at home I have admitted that we were mad. Nobody intheir right senses would have done such a thing as to rush headlong intocountry which might have been thick with enemy snipers and machine-guns. But the quietness of the grave reigned--not a rifle-shot disturbed thesilence. Evidence of the German retreat met our gaze as we ran down the road. Oneither side were discarded material and, in a quarry on the left, aGerman Red Cross sign was stuck up on a post, and several dug-outs wereburning--smoke was pouring up from below, showing that the Hun wasdestroying everything. I was brought to a standstill at the sight of a mass of wreckage nearthe river. Smoke was issuing from it. I looked on my map and saw that itwas the village of Brie; a small section was this side of the river, butthe main part was on the other side. The whole place had been completelydestroyed, partly, I ultimately found out, by our gun-fire, and theremainder burnt or blown up by the Germans. The river had developed into a swampy marsh; in fact it was verydifficult to say precisely where the river and canal finished and themarshes began. I again got my camera into action and filmed, for the first time, theSomme river which was directly in our line of advance. The bridges were blown up; huge masses of stone and iron, twisted andtorn and flung into the morass of weeds and mud and water, forming smalldams, thus diverting the river in all directions. Several scenes on thishistoric spot I filmed, then, wishing to push forward, I attempted tocross the broken bridges. By careful manoeuvring I managed to crossthe first, then the second, but a large gap blown in the roadway aboutforty feet across, through which the water rushed in a torrent, broughtme to a standstill, so reluctantly I had to retrace my steps. Except for the sound of rushing water the quietness was almostuncanny--the excitement of the chase was over. Then I began to realiseour position. We were in a section of ground which the enemy had occupied only a fewhours before and had apparently abandoned--vanished into thin air! Wewere at least two kilometres in _front_ of our infantry, in fact we had, of our own accord--keen on obtaining live scenes for the people athome--constituted ourselves an advance patrol, armed, not withmachine-guns, swords, or lances, but with cameras. There was everypossibility of our being taken for Germans ourselves by our men from adistance; the real advance guard coming up would undoubtedly open fireand enquire into credentials afterwards. The ruins across the bridgemight hide enemy rifles; they might open fire any moment. I explainedthe situation to my companion, who had also presumably reached adecision very similar to my own, which was to return to the village ofVillers-Carbonel as quickly and as carefully as possible. Keeping to the side of the road we trudged back, and half-way up thehill we ran into one of the things I expected--an advance party. Anofficer came forward and said in astonished tones: "Where the devil have you fellows come from?" "We've been getting photographs of the German retreat, " I replied. "We're the official photographers and have been half-way across theSomme, but owing to the bridge being blown up we have come back. TheGermans seem to have vanished entirely, not a sign of one aboutanywhere. " "Well, I'm ----, " he said, "this is the funniest thing I've ever known. Will our advance patrols constitute the official photographers for thefuture? If so, it will save us any amount of trouble. " "Well?" I said, "you can go on--devil a Bosche is over there anyway. " "Well, " he said, "these troops I am taking down will be the first acrossthe Somme. " "Right, " I said, seeing immediately the scoop it would be for my film. "I will come back and film your men going over; it will make a uniquepicture. " With that we retraced our steps, and laughing and chatting about ouradventure, we once again reached the Somme river. I fixed up my camera, and, when all was ready, a rough bridge washastily made of several planks lashed together to bridge gaps in thefallen stonework, and I filmed the first troops to cross the Sommeduring the great German retreat. The light was now failing, so, packing up my apparatus, and wavingfarewells to the C. O. , I turned back again. B---- joined me; the day hadbeen a great one for us, and we mutually agreed that it was a fittingsequel to the first British battle that had ever been filmed which Itook at Beaumont Hamel on July 1st, 1916. Weary in body, but very much alive mentally, we returned viaVillers-Carbonel to our car. On my way back I wondered how the cat and her kittens were getting on. The black cat had certainly brought me luck. CHAPTER XXVII THE GERMANS IN RETREAT The Enemy Destroy Everything as They Go--Clearing Away the Débris of the Battlefield--And Repairing the Damage Done by the Huns--An Enormous Mine Crater--A Reception by French Peasants--"Les Anglais! Les Anglais!" Stuck on the Road to Bovincourt. To keep in touch with all the happenings on that section of the frontfor which I was responsible, and to obtain a comprehensive record ofevents, it was necessary to keep very wide awake. Movements, definiteand indefinite, were taking place in scores of different places at thesame moment. To keep in touch with the enemy, to work with our forwardpatrols, to enter upon the heels of our advance guard into the evacuatedvillages--and, if possible, to get there first and film their triumphalentry, film our advance infantry and guns taking up new positions, theengineers at work remaking the roads, building new bridges over theSomme, laying down new railways and repairing old ones--the hundred andone different organisations that were working and straining every muscleand nerve for the common cause. Only the favoured few have the remotestidea of the enormous amount of work to be done under such conditions. The road (which was No Man's Land yesterday morning) to the village ofVillers-Carbonel was now swarming with men clearing away the accumulateddébris of the battlefield. Tree trunks were moved off the road, shell-holes were being filled up with bricks and branches, trenches, which crossed the road, were being filled in, a Tank trap at theentrance to the village, the shape of a broad, deep ditch, about thirtyby twenty feet wide by fifteen feet deep, was being loaded with treetrunks and earth. I filmed these scenes; then hurried as fast aspossible in the direction of Brie to cover the advanced work on theSomme, and then to cross to the other side and get in touch with ourcavalry patrols. What an extraordinary change in the place! Yesterday a ghostly silencereigned; now men and material and transport were swarming everywhere. Ireached the river. The engineers had thrown up light, temporarybridges--six in all. Huge iron girders had arrived from back behind;they had been made in readiness for "The Day. " Our H. Q. Had known thatthe Germans in their inevitable retreat would destroy the bridges, so, to save time, duplicates were built in sections, ready to throw acrossthe gap. I managed to arrive in time to film several squadrons of the Duke ofLancaster's cavalry hurrying forward to harass the enemy. Cyclistpatrols were making their way over. I hurried as fast as possiblethrough the ruins of Brie and on to the ridge beyond. In the distance Iwatched our cavalry deploying in extended order and advance towards awood to clear it of the enemy rearguards. Motor-cyclists, with theirmachine-guns, were dashing up the hill anxious to get into contact withthe flying enemy. I filmed many scenes in this section. I looked along the road which was the main one into St. Quentin; itstretched away as far as the eye could see. The condition is certainlyexcellent, I thought. There would be a greater possibility of obtainingexciting scenes if it were possible to proceed in my car; the onlyquestion was whether the temporary bridges across the Somme werecapable of sustaining the weight. The possibility of getting intovillages just evacuated by the Germans spurred me on, so retracing mysteps, I reached the river again. "Do you think the bridge will take the weight of my car?" I asked anofficer in charge of engineers. "What is it?" "Daimler, " I replied. "Well, " he said, "there is a risk, of course, but our G. S. Wagons havebeen across and also the artillery, so they may take your bus--if youdon't bounce her in crossing. " "Right-o!" I said. "I will get it down. " Hurrying across I had justreached the last bridge when, with a sudden snap, one of the main beamsgave way. All traffic was, of course, stopped, and engineers quickly gotto work replacing the broken girder. "It will be at least another hour, sir, " said a sergeant in answer to myenquiry. So there was nothing for it but to curb my impatience and wait, and I stood my apparatus down and watched the proceedings. At that moment a car came to a standstill alongside me. "What's wrong?" called out one of the occupants. "Broken bridge, " I said. "I'm waiting to cross with my car to get filmsof the villages and the occupants. " "That's good, " said the speaker, a captain. "I am going up to them aswell. Intelligence I heard from our airmen this morning that they sawcivilians in one or two villages a few miles out--so I'm off toinvestigate. Would you care to come? We shall be the first there. " "Yes, rather, " I replied. "It will be a fine scoop for me to film thefirst meeting of British troops in the liberated villages. I will followin my car. " [Illustration: FILMING OUR GUNS IN ACTION DURING THE GREAT GERMANRETREAT TO ST. QUENTIN. MARCH, 1917] The bridge was again complete, so, dumping my camera aboard, I followedin the wake of the captain. Up the hill we dashed and spun along theroad at the top, passing beyond the outskirts of Brie. We were nowbeyond the extreme limit of the shelling which we had subjected theGermans to during their months of occupation. I was now beginning to see the sights and view the atrocious system andregularity of wilful destruction which had obviously been planned monthsbefore by the Huns to carry out Hindenburg's orders and make the wholeland a desert. Not a tree was standing; whole orchards were hewn down;every fruit tree and bush was destroyed; hedges were cut at the base asif with a razor; even those surrounding cemeteries were treated in thesame way. Agricultural implements were smashed. Mons en Chaussée was thefirst village we entered; every house was a blackened smoking ruin, andwhere the fiends had not done their work with fire they had broughtdynamite to their aid; whole blocks of buildings had been blown into theair; there was not sufficient cover for a dog. The car suddenly came to a standstill; my driver jammed on his brake andI hurried forward. There, at the middle of the village cross-roads wasanother enormous mine-crater--one hundred feet across by about sixtyfeet deep. It was quite impassable, but the sight which astounded me wasto see about twenty old women and children running up the road the otherside of the crater shouting and waving their arms with joy. "LesAnglais! Les Anglais!" they yelled. I got my camera into position andfilmed the captain and his companions as they clambered round the jaggedlip of the crater and were embraced by the excited people. For the firsttime since their captivity by the Germans they had seen "les Anglais. "Liberators and captives met! Several scenes I filmed of the enormous crater and of the cut-down fruittrees. Not a single tree, old or young, was left standing. To blow uproads, and hew down telegraph poles was war, and such measures arejustified; but to destroy every tree or bush that could possibly bearfruit, wilfully to smash up agricultural implements; to shoot a dog andtie a label to its poor body written in English: "Tommies, don't forget to put this in your next communique--that we killed one dog. (Signed) THE HUNS. " To crucify a cat upon a door and stick a cigar in its mouth, to blow upand poison wells, to desecrate graves, to smash open vaults and rob thecorpses which lay there, and then to kick the bones in all directionsand use the coffins as cess-pools--these things I have seen with my owneyes. Is this war? It is the work of savages, ghouls, fiends. I wondered where these people had come from and where they had been asthe whole village was burnt out. I enquired and found that the Germans, two days before, had cleared the village of its population anddistributed them in villages further back, and had then set fire to theplace, leaving nothing but a desert behind, and taking with them all themen who could work and many girls in their teens to what fate one mayguess. These few villagers had wandered back during the day to gaze upon thewreckage of their homes and arrived just in time to meet us at thecrater. "We will get along, " said my companion. "I want to visit Bovincourt andVraignes before nightfall, though I am afraid we shall not do it. Bymaking a detour round these ruins I believe we shall strike the mainroad further down. " I followed him through the ruins and, after bouncing over innumerablebricks and beams, we reached the main road. We passed throughEstrées-en-Chaussée. One large barn was only standing; everything was asquiet as the grave; columns of smoke were still rising from the ruins. Another jamming on of brakes brought us to a standstill at across-roads; another huge mine-crater was in front of us and it was mostdifficult to see until we were well upon it. There was nothing to do butto take to the fields--our road was at right angles to the one we weretraversing. I examined the ground, it was very soft, and the newly scattered earthand clay from the mine made it much worse. "If we get stuck, " I thought, "there is nobody about to help us out. "The captain tried and got over. I yelled out that I would follow; they disappeared in the direction ofBovincourt. Backing my car to get a good start I let it go over the edgeof the road into the field. It was like going through pudding. The nearwheels roared round without gripping. Then it happened! We were stuck! Afine predicament, I thought, with prowling enemy patrols about and norifle. "All shoulders to the wheel, " I said. By digging, and jamming wood, sacking and straw under the wheels we managed, after three-quarters ofan hour, to get it out. Jove! what a time it was! And so on the roadagain. "We will get into Bovincourt, " I said. "Let her go; I may meet theothers. " The feeling was uncanny and my position strange, for all I knew Boscheswere all around me (and later on this proved to be the case). Night was falling, and ere I reached the village it was quite impossibleto take any scenes. At the entrance to the village I ran into several people who crowdedround the car, crying and laughing in their relief at seeing the Britisharrive. Old men and women who could barely move hobbled forward to shakehands, with tears in their eyes. They clambered in and around the car, and it was only by making them understand that I would return on thefollowing day that they allowed the car to proceed. The sight waswonderful and I wish I were able to describe it better. I could not find the other car, so, assuming it had gone back, I decidedto return as far as Brie and stay the night. As I was leaving thevillage a burst of machine-gun fire rang out close by followed byviolent rifle-shots. "Let her go, " I said to my chauffeur. "I am not at all anxious to getpipped out here. My films must not fall into enemy hands. " The car shot up the road like a streak; the mine-crater was ahead andthe possibility of getting stuck again whilst crossing made me feelanything but easy. Full tilt, I told my driver, we must trust to speedto get across. On went the lower gear; a right-hand twist of the wheeland we were on the field; the speed gradually grew less, the back wheelsbuzzed round but still gripped a little. "Keep her going at all costs, " I yelled, "if the car sticks here it willhave to be left. " To lighten her a little I jumped out and pushed upbehind for all I was worth. Mud was flying in all directions; we werenearly across; another twenty yards. With a final roll and screech shebounded off on to the road. I jumped aboard again and up the road weshot towards Mons. If the Hun patrols had been anywhere near they musthave thought a battalion of Tanks were on their track, for the noise myold "bus" made getting across that field was positively deafening. On Iwent through Mons, into the ruins of its houses, still glowing red and, in some places, flames were licking around the poor skeletons of itsonce prosperous farms. One more mine-crater to negotiate; then all would be plain sailing. Itwas now quite dark. I dared not use lights, not, even side lamps, andgoing was decidedly slow and risky in consequence. I sat in the bonnetof the car and, peering ahead, called out the direction. Shortly alightish mass loomed up only a few yards distant. "Stop!" I yelled. On went the brakes, and only just in time. We came to a standstill onthe outer lip of a huge crater. Another two yards and I should have beentrying to emulate the antics of a "tank" in sliding down a crater andcrawling up the other side. In my case the sliding down would have beenall right, but coming up the other side would have been on the lap ofthe gods. A hundred men with ropes and myself--well, but that's anotherstory. "Back the car to give it a good run, " I said, "and let us lighten it asmuch as possible, " and soon all was ready. "I will go ahead and put my handkerchief over my electric light; we mustrisk being seen--you head direct for the glow. " I went into the muddy fields. "Let her go, " I shouted. With a whir and a grind I could tell it hadstarted. I stood still. It was coming nearer. Ye gods! what a row. Then, suddenly, the engines stopped and dead silence reigned. "It's stuck, sir, " came a voice from the darkness. I went to the car and switched my lamp on to the near wheels. The carwas stuck right up to the axle. "We shall never get out of this unaided, " I said. "Put all the stuffback inside and get the hood up; we shall have to sleep here to-night. " Then, to add to the discomfiture of the situation, it began to rain, andrain like fury, and in a few minutes I was wet through to the skin. Thehood leaked badly and had convenient holes in alignment to one's body, whether you were sitting lengthways or otherwise inside. I had resignedmyself for a dismal night out. Two hours had passed when I heard theclatter of hoofs coming towards me in the distance and, by the directionof the sound, I could tell they were our men. I tumbled out and ran asfast as possible to the other side of the crater and reached there justas the horsemen arrived. "Hullo!" I shouted. "Hulloa!" came the reply, "who is it?" "I am badly stuck, or rather my car is--in the mud in the field here. Can you hitch two or three of your horses on and help me out on to theroad?" "Certainly, if we can, sir. " "I will guide you with my lamp--by the way, where are you going?" Isaid. "We are trying to get into touch with the Bosche. " "I have been in Bovincourt, " I said, "but there are none there, though Iheard a lot of rifle-fire just outside the village. " We arrived at the car and, quickly hitching on a rope, the engine wasstarted up and, with a heave and a screech, it moved forward and waseventually dragged on to the road. "Thank Heaven, " I thought. Then, thanking the men, and warning them ofthe other delightful mine crater further down, I started off again, sitting on the bonnet. As I neared Brie I switched on my lamp as a headlight and got held up bytwo sentries with their bayonets at the ready. They did not understandwhy a motor-car should be coming back apparently from the German lines, and their attitude was decidedly unfriendly till I assured them I wasnot a German, but only the Official Kinematographer out for pictures. CHAPTER XXVIII THE STORY OF AN "ARMOURED CAR" ABOUT WHICH I COULD A TALE UNFOLD Possibilities--Food for Famished Villagers--Meeting the Mayoress of Bovincourt--Who Presides at a Wonderful Impromptu Ceremony--A Scrap Outside Vraignes--A Church Full of Refugees--A True Pal--A Meal with the Mayor of Bierne. To keep hard upon the heels of the retreating Germans and so obtainscenes, the character of which had never been presented before to theBritish public, was my chief aim. I had no time for sleep. I arrived atmy base wet through, the rain had continued throughout the whole of myreturn journey. Changing into dry underwear, I refilled my exposedspool-boxes and packed up a good surplus supply, sufficient to last forseveral days, then packing my knapsack with the usual rations, bully andbread, condensed milk and slabs of chocolate, I was ready to start outonce more. My clothes had by this time dried. Daylight was breaking, thecar arrived and, with all kit aboard, I started out again for the Somme, wondering what the day would bring forth. I stopped on the way to pick up the "still" photographer. "Where for to-day?" he asked. "Bovincourt and Vraignes, " I replied, "and, if possible, one or two ofthe villages near by. I must get into them before our troops, so as tobe able to film their entry. Does that suggest possibilities to you?" Isaid, with a smile, knowing that he, like myself, would go throughanything to obtain pictures. "Possibilities, " he said, "don't, you make my mouth water. How aboutfood? Shall we take some to the villages?" "Excellent idea, " I said. We stopped on the way and purchased a good supply of white bread andFrench sausages, thinking that these two commodities would be mostuseful. Through Foucacourt Estrées and Villers-Carbonel the roads were linedwith troops, guns, and transport of every description, all making theirway forward. Engineers were hard at work on the roads; shell-holes werefilled in and road trenches bridged. Work was being pushed forward withan energy and skill which reflected great credit upon those in charge;traffic controls were at cross roads which forty-eight hours before hadbeen "No Man's Land. " Hun signboards were taken down and familiarBritish names took their place. The sight was wonderful. En route Istopped and filmed various scenes. Arriving again at Brie on the Sommethe change in affairs was astounding. The place was alive with men; itwas a veritable hive of industry; new lines were being laid to replacethe torn and twisted rails left by the Germans; bridges were beingstrengthened, roads on both sides were widened, and, to make it possibleto continue the work throughout the night, a searchlight was beingmounted upon a platform. Crossing the bridges of Brie we mounted the hill and were once againupon the ridge. Great gaps had been made by our men in the huge line ofbarbed wire entanglements which the Huns had spent months of laboriouswork to construct. It stretched away over hill and dale on both sides asfar as the eye could see. To pick up further information I stopped a cyclist officer coming fromthe direction of Mons. "Any news?" I enquired. "Where is Bosche?" "We were in touch with his rearguards all last night, " he said. "Theyhave made several strong points round the villages of Vraignes, Haucourt, and Bierne. They were scouting around Vraignes, but we quicklyput the wind up them, " he said, with a smile. "Several villages wereseen burning during the night and the enemy put a little shrapnel aroundsome patrols near Pouilly, but no damage was done. " "Vraignes, of course, is quite clear?" "Yes, as far as we know. Our patrols reported it clear late lastevening, but possibly Bosche returned during the night. We capturedthree Bosches and they have an extraordinary tale of seeing two armouredcars yesterday evening near Bovincourt, and they insist upon it althoughI am quite aware there were none at all near there. They say that aboutsix o'clock they were on the outskirts of Bovincourt when two armouredcars came in sight. Not having a machine-gun with them they decided tohide and so took cover in the ruins of a house. Later on they say theysaw only one car leave in the direction of the main road. That's theirtale and they seem quite serious about it. " "Well, " I said, with a grin, "do you think this car of mine would looklike an armoured car at a distance?" "Well, yes, possibly, in a failing light. Why?" "Well, this must be one of your excellent prisoner's so-called armouredcars, because I was in Bovincourt with ---- of the Corps Intelligence, hence the two cars. I missed him through getting stuck in the mud, andentered Bovincourt about six o'clock and left by myself later as askirmish was taking place somewhere near by, and not being armed withanything more dangerous than a camera, I decided to quit. I am muchobliged to the Bosche for taking this bus of mine for an armoured car. " With a laugh and a cheery adieu the officer bade me good luck andpedalled off. I could not help thinking that I had had a lucky escape. On again, and reaching the first mine, the scene of the previous night'sadventure, I put the car to the field at a rush and by someextraordinary means got her round. I was just entering the village when, with a shriek and a crash, a shellburst near the church. I stopped the car and, under cover of the ruins, reached a distance of about three hundred yards from where it fell. Ifany more were coming over I intended, if possible, to film thembursting. Carefully taking cover behind a wall, I fitted up my camera. Anothershell came hurtling over and dropped and burst quite near the previousspot. Showers of bricks flew in all directions, liberally splatteringthe wall behind which I was concealed. The débris cleared, up went mycamera, and, standing by the handle, I awaited the next. It came soon enough, I heard the shriek nearer and nearer. I turned thehandle and put my head close behind the camera with my eye to theview-finder. Crash came the shell, and, with a terrific report, itexploded. The whole side of a house disappeared, and bricks, wood, andmetal flew in all directions. I continued to turn when, with an uglylittle whistle, a small piece of something struck my view-finder andanother my tripod. Luckily nothing touched the lens. I awaited the next. It was longer this time, but it came, and nearer to me than the previousone. I was satisfied. I thought if they elevated another fifty yards Imight get a much too close view of a shell-burst, so scrambled aboardthe car, and made a detour round the mine on to the road beyond. "Those scenes ought to be very fine, " I said. "It's one of those luckychances where one has to take the risk of obtaining a thrilling scene. " By the balls of white smoke I could see that shrapnel was bursting inthe near distance. "That's near Pouilly, " I said. "We are turning up on the left, let'shope the Huns don't plaster us there. " Reaching the village of Bovincourt, the villagers were there eagerlyawaiting our arrival. They again crowded around the car, and it was withdifficulty that I persuaded them to let us pass into the village. Cheering, shouting, and laughing they followed close behind. I stoppedthe car and asked an old man who, by his ribbons, had been through the1870 war: "Where is the Mayor?" "There is no Mayor, monsieur, but a mayoress, and she is there, "pointing to a buxom French peasant woman about fifty years of age. I went up to her and explained in my best French that I had broughtbread and sausages for the people, would she share them out? "Oui, oui, monsieur. " "I would like you to do it here, I will then take a kinematograph filmof the proceeding, so that the people in England can see it. " "Ah, monsieur, it is the first white bread and good French sausage wehave seen since the Bosches came. They took everything from us, everything, and if it had not been for the American relief we shouldhave starved. They are brutes, pig-brutes, monsieur, they killeverything. " And, with tears in her eyes, she told me how the Huns shother beautiful dog because, in its joyfulness, it used to play with andbark at the children. "They did not like being disturbed, monsieur, sothey shot him--poor Jacques! They have not left one single animal;everything has gone. Mon Dieu, but they shall suffer!" I changed the painful subject by saying that now the British had drivenback the Bosche everything would be quite all right. With a wan smileshe agreed. I set up my camera, and telling my man to hand over the food, theMayoress shared it out. One sausage and a piece of white bread to eachperson, men, women, and children. The joy on their faces was wonderfulto behold. As they received their share they ran off to the shelter ofsome ruins, or up into the church, to cook their wonderful gifts. Ifilmed the scene, and I shall never forget it. The last of the batch had disappeared when up the road came hobbling awoman whose age I should say was somewhere about forty-five. I could seeshe was on the point of exhaustion. She had a huge bundle upon her backand a child in her arms, another about seven years clinging to herskirts. They halted outside the ruins of a cottage, the woman droppedher bundle, and crouching down upon it clung convulsively to the babe inher arms and burst into tears. I went up to her and gently asked her the cause. "This, monsieur, was my house. Two days past the Germans drove me awaywith my children. My husband has already been killed at the front. Theydrove me away, and I come back to-day and now my home, all that I had inthe world, monsieur, is gone. They have burnt it. What can I do, monsieur? And we are starving. " The babe in her arms began to send forth a thin lifeless wail. I helpedthe poor woman to her feet and told her to go to the church, and that Iwould bring her bundle and some food for her. God above, what despair! The grim track of war in all its damnablenakedness was epitomised in this little French hamlet. Houses burnt, horses taken away, agricultural implements wilfully smashed, fruit treesand bushes cut down, even the hedges around their little gardens, theircemetery violated and the remains of their dead strewn to the four windsof heaven. Their wells polluted with garbage and filth; in some casesdeliberately poisoned, in others totally destroyed by dynamite. Theirchurches used as stables for horses and for drunken orgies. All theyounger men deported, and the prettiest of the girls. In some casestheir clothes had been forcibly taken away from them and sacks had beengiven in exchange to clothe themselves with. They were robbed of everypenny they possessed. But when the wonderful sound of the British guns and the tramp of oursoldiers crept nearer and nearer, terrifying, relentless, andirresistible, the Germans left, fleeing with their ill-gotten spoil likedemons of darkness before the angels of light, leaving in their trailthe picture I have unfolded to you. Wishing to push on further I scouted round the outskirts of the village. In a wood a short distance away it was evident that our patrols were incontact with the Huns. Volley after volley of rifle-fire rang out, andnow and then a burst from the machine-guns. A horseman was headingstraight for me. Was he British or Hun? In a few minutes I could see hewas one of our men--evidently a dispatch-rider. He swept down into ahollow, then up the road into the village. He was riding hard; his horsestumbled, but by a great effort the rider recovered himself. He dashedpast me and, clattering over the fallen masonry, disappeared from sight. I looked around. Not a sign of life anywhere, so I decided to make forVraignes about a kilometre distant south-east of Bovincourt. I hadpreviously heard from one of the villagers that there were about onethousand people left there. Strapping my camera on my back I tramped away, my man following in therear. The "still" man, who had left me after feeding the villagers, hadbeen prowling around getting pictures. Accidentally he ran into me, sotogether we trekked off. Taking advantage of every bit of cover possible, as German snipers werenone too careful as to where they put their bullets, we eventuallyreached the outskirts of Vraignes. Not a sign of Germans, but crowds ofcivilians. Things here were the same as at Bovincourt, but a few morehouses were left standing owing to the fire not completely doing itswork. The people were in the same state. We had just got into thevillage, and near the Mairie, when a commotion round the corner by thechurch attracted my attention. The men and women who had crowded aroundus shouting with joy, turned and rushed up the road. "Vive les Anglais! Vive les Anglais!" The cry was taken up by every one. Hands and handkerchiefs were waving in all directions. "Vive lesAnglais! Vive les Anglais!" "Our boys are there, " I said. My camera was up and turned on to the corner where the crowd stood and, at that moment, a troop of our cyclists entered, riding very slowlythrough the exultant people--the first British troops to enter thevillage. I turned the handle. The scene was inspiring. Cheer after cheerrent the air. Old men and women were crying with joy. Others wereholding their babies up to kiss our boys. Children were clinging andhugging around their legs, until it was impossible for them to proceedfurther. The order was given by the officer in charge to halt. The mentumbled off their machines, the people surged round them. To say themen were embarrassed would be to put it mildly. They were absolutelyovercome. I filmed them with the crowd around. And then an order wasgiven to take up billets. Patrols were thrown out, sentries posted, themen parked their cycles and rested. On a large double door of a barn the Huns had gone to the trouble ofpainting in huge letters the hackneyed phrase "Gott strafe England, " andimmediately our men saw it one of them, with a piece of chalk, improvedupon it. They gathered the children round them and formed a group beneath theletters with German trophies upon their heads; I filmed them there, oneof the happiest groups possible to conceive. I left them and went to find the officer in charge, and asked him forthe latest news from other sections. "I couldn't say, " he replied, "but my men were well in touch with themearly this morning, but you seem to know more about it here than anyoneelse. When on earth did you arrive in the village?" "Just before you, " I replied. "I came from Bovincourt. " "Well, you have got some job. I certainly didn't expect to find anyoneso harmless as a photographer awaiting our arrival. " The conversation was abruptly stopped by a warning shout from one of theobservers on a house-top close by. "Germans, sir. " The officer and I rushed to a gap in the buildings and looked throughour glasses, and there, on a small ridge a thousand yards off, a body ofhorsemen were seen approaching, riding hard, as if their very livesdepended upon it. An order was immediately given to the machine-gun company who had takenup a most advantageous position and one that commanded most of thecountry near by. I placed my camera in such a position by the side of a wall that I couldsee all that was taking place and if seen myself I could easily pull itunder cover. Nearer and nearer they came. They were too far away to photograph. Excitement was intense. Were they coming into the village? If they did, I thought, in all conscience they would get a warm reception, knowing asI did the arrangements for its defence. My eyes were fixed upon them. The officer close by was on the point of giving the order to fire when aburst of machine-gun fire rang out in the distance. "Our cavalry have got them, " said the officer. "We have some strongposts just here, Bosche has fairly run into them. Look! They have theirtails up. " And they had, for they were running back for all they were worth in thedirection of Bierne. Our men were positively disappointed, and I can honestly say I wasmyself, for the possibilities of a wonderful scene had disappeared. The tension relaxed; most of the men returned to their billets andquickly made themselves at home with the people. Noticing people going into church, I went up the hill to investigate. AsI entered the outer gate an officer clattered up on horseback, swunghimself off and walked up to me. "Hullo, " he said, "I am the doctor. Anything doing here?" "Well, " I said, "there might have been just now. " I related the happenings of the last ten minutes. "Have you been to Bovincourt?" "Yes, but the poor devils are too ill for me. I haven't sufficient stuffwith me to go round. " Another officer ran up, "I say, Doctor, for Heaven's sake look in thechurch here. The place is packed and half of them are ill, God knowswhat with, and one or two are dead. " "Well, I will look, but I can do nothing until this evening. I have nostuff with me. " We went into the church. Heavens! what a sight met our eyes; theatmosphere was choking. It was like a charnel-house. Crowds of old men, women, and children of all ages were crowded together with theirbelongings. They had been evacuated from dozens of other villages by theHuns. Women were hugging their children to them. In one corner an oldwoman was bathing the head of a child with an old stocking dipped inwater. The child, I could see, was in a high fever. There must have beenat least three hundred people lying about in all directions, wheezingand coughing, moaning and crying. The doctor spoke to one old woman, who had hobbled forward and sank downnear a pillar. The doctor bent down and told her that he would bringmedicine in the evening. Everybody there seemed to hear that magic word, and scrambled forward begging for medicine for themselves, but mostlyfor the children. The scene was pitiable in the extreme. I asked one women where they had come from. She told me from manyvillages. The Bosche had turned them all out of their homes, then burnttheir houses and their belongings. They had walked miles exposed to thefreezing cold rains and winds, they had been packed into this churchlike a lot of sheep without covering, without fires. She was begging formedicine for her three-months-old babe. "She will die, monsieur, she will die!" And the poor woman burst into aflood of tears. I calmed her as much as possible by telling her that everything would bedone for them without delay, and that medicine, food, and comfort wouldbe given them. I turned and left the building, for the air was nearly choking me. Outside I met the doctor, who was arranging to send a cyclist back foran ambulance. "They cannot be treated here, it's impossible. I've never seen such asight. " I left him and went into the house where the cyclist C. O. Had made histemporary headquarters. "I want to get on further, is there any other village near by?" "Yes, " he said, "there is Haucourt, but I believe Bosche is in part ofit, or he was this morning. It's about two kilos from here. I shouldn'tgo if I were you unless you get further information; I am expectinganother patrol in from there. If you care to wait a few minutes you maylearn something. " I agreed to wait, the "still" man came in just then, and he agreed tocome with me. "We may as well risk it, " I said. "I will take my old bus into theplace. If Bosche sees it he may mistake it again for an armoured car. " So, packing the cameras aboard, I waited for the expected patrol to turnup. Half an hour passed; no sign. Daylight was waning. "I am going on, " I said to the "still" man, "we cannot wait for thepatrol, there's not time. Will you come?" "Yes, " he said. I told the C. O. Of my intention. "It's thundering risky, " he said. "You're going into new ground again. " I left Vraignes and advanced at a cautious pace in the direction ofHaucourt. Rifle-fire was proceeding in the distance, which I judged wasthe other side of the village. A destroyed sugar refinery on the leftwas still smoking. It had been blown up by the Huns and the mass ofmachinery was flung and twisted about in all directions. In the village I stopped the car close by a crucifix, which was stillstanding. "Turn the car round, " I said to my driver, "and keep the engine going, we may have to bolt for it. " Then, shouldering the camera, I made my way up the main street. Theplace was a mass of smoking ruins; absolutely nothing was left. A hugemine had been blown up at a cross-road; all trees and bushes had beencut down. A piano, curiously enough, was lying in the roadway; the fronthad been smashed, and no doubt all the wires were hacked through by somesharp instrument, and the keys had all been broken. The Huns hadevidently tried to take it away with their other loot, but finding ittoo heavy for quick transport had abandoned, then wilfully destroyed itto prevent its being used by others. The place was as silent as the grave. I filmed a few scenes whichappealed to me, and was on the move towards the further end of the roadwhen two of our cyclists suddenly came into view. I hurried up to them. "Any news?" I asked. "Where's Bosche?" The men were half dead with fatigue. Their legs were caked inches thickin mud, and it was only by a tremendous effort that they were able tolift their feet as they walked. They were pushing their cycles; the mudwas caked thick between the wheels and the mudguards forming in itself abrake on the tyres. Fagged out as they obviously were they tried tosmile at the reply one made. "Yes, the Bosche is about here outside the village, " said one. "We had asmall strong point last night over there, " pointing in the distance, "myself and two pals. We were sitting in the hole smoking when nineBosches jumped in on us. Well, sir, they managed to send my pal West, but that's all. Then we started and six Fritzes are lying out there now. The other three escaped. It made my blood boil, sir, when they did in mypal. I'm going to make a wooden cross, and then bury him. We had beentogether for a long time, sir, and--well--I miss my pal, but we got sixfor him and more to come, sir, more to come before we've finished. " I thanked the man and sympathised with him over his loss andcomplimented him on his fight. "But it's not enough yet, sir, not enough. " The two then struggled away, bent on their errand of making a cross fora pal. And as they disappeared among the ruins I wondered how many menin the world could boast of such a true friend. Very few, worse luck! * * * * * The sharp crack of a rifle quickly brought me back to earth. A bulletstruck the wall close by. I dived under cover of some bricks dragging mycamera after me. Another came over seeming to strike the spot I had justvacated. I decided to keep the ruins between myself and the gentleBosche. Scenes were very scarce, no matter where one looked it was justruins, ruins, ruins. I wandered on until I came to a long black building, evidently put up bythe Huns. It was quite intact, which to me seemed suspicious. It mighthide a German sniper. I put my camera behind a wall then quietly edgednear the building. Not a sound was audible. In case anyone was there Ithought of a little ruse. The door was close to me and it openedoutwards, so picking up a stone I flung it over the roof, intending itto fall the other end and so create a diversion. With a sudden pull Iopened the door alongside me, but with no result. I peered round thedoor; nobody there. I entered and found the building had been used as astable. Straw was lying all over the place; feed-bags had been hastilythrown down, halters were dotted here and there, and a Uhlan lance waslying on the ground, which, needless to say, I retained as a souvenir. The rearguard of the enemy had evidently taken shelter there during theprevious night and had made a hasty exit owing to the close proximity ofour boys. Evening was drawing on apace, so I decided to make my way back to thecar. The "still" man was awaiting my return. At Bovincourt I met an Intelligence Officer and told him of myexperiences. He seemed highly amused and thanked me for the informationbrought. I told him that wishing to be on the spot if anythinginteresting happened during the night or early next morning I haddecided to sleep in my car in the village. I was going to hunt up aplace to cook some food. "I will take you somewhere, " he said. "There is the old Mayor of Biernehere. He has been evacuated by the Bosche. He's an interesting oldfellow and you might have a chat with him. He is in a house close bywith his wife. Come along. " We found the old man in one of the half-dozen remaining houses leftintact by the Huns. We entered the kitchen and my friend introduced us to Paul Andrew, atall stately French farmer of a type one rarely sees. He had dark curlyhair, a shaggy moustache and beard, blue eyes and sunken cheeks, sallowcomplexion and a look of despair upon his face, which seemed to brightenup on our entrance. I asked him if his good wife would cook a little food for us, as wewished to stay the night in the village. "Monsieur, " he said, "what we have is yours. God knows it's littleenough--the Bosche has taken it all. But whatever monsieur wishes hehas only to ask. Will monsieur sit down?" I bade adieu to the officer who had brought us there, had the car runinto the yard, and then returned to the cosy kitchen, and sat by thefire whilst the old lady prepared some hot coffee. "These are more comfortable quarters than we expected to-night, " I said. "I must make a note of all my scenes taken to-day. Have you a light, Monsieur Andrew?" "Oui, Monsieur, I have only one lamp left and I hid that as the Boschetook everything that was made of brass or copper, even the doorhandles. " He brought in the lamp, a small brass one with a candle stuck in it. Iproceeded with my record, then we supped on bread, sardines, and bully, sharing our white bread with Andrew and his wife. They had not seen ortasted such wonderful stuff since the Bosche occupation, and their eyessparkled with pleasure on tasting it again. I had brought copies of the_Echo de Paris_, _Journal_, _Matin_ and other French papers, and thesewere the first they had seen for two years. The farmer declared it waslike a man awakening from a long sleep. "We'll turn in, " I said. Gathering up my coat I opened the door. The freezing cold seemed tochill me to the bone, and it was snowing hard. I flashed on my torch andwe found our way to the car. Quickly getting inside, I unfolded theseats which formed two bunks, and struggling inside our sleeping-bags wewere soon asleep. [Illustration: THE QUARRY FROM WHICH I CRAWLED TO FILM THE GERMANTRENCHES IN FRONT OF ST. QUENTIN, 1917. IT WAS ALSO THE POINT OF LIAISONBETWEEN THE BRITISH AND FRENCH ARMIES] I awoke with a start. It was pitch dark. I rubbed the steam from thedoor window and looked out; it was still snowing. I had an extraordinaryfeeling that something was happening, that some danger was near. Ifanybody had been there near the car I should have seen them; the snowmade that possible. But there was not a sign of movement. I got outof my sleeping-bag, thinking that if any prowling Bosche patrol venturednear I should be able to do something. Nothing happened, and for quitehalf an hour I was on the alert. Several rifle-shots rang out quitenear, then quietness reigned again, and, as nothing else happened, Iwriggled into my bag again and dozed. In the morning I told one of our patrol officers of my experience. "You were right, " he said. "Uhlan rearguard patrols sneaked in near thevillage, and must have passed quite close to your place. My men had someshots at them and gave chase, but owing to the confounded snow they gotaway. " I decided that if I slept there again that night it would be with arifle by my side. CHAPTER XXIX BEFORE ST. QUENTIN The "Hindenburg" Line--A Diabolical Piece of Vandalism--Brigadier H. Q. In a Cellar--A Fight in Mid-air--Waiting for the Taking of St. Quentin--_L'Envoi_. Still the great German retreat continued. Village after village fellinto our hands; mile after mile the enemy was relentlessly pursued byour cavalry and cyclist corps. Still the Germans burnt and devastatedeverything in their path although, in some instances, there was evidencethat they were shifted from their lines of defence with far more forceand promptitude than they imagined we would put up against them in thisparticular section. The enemy had arranged his operations, as usual, bytimetable, but he had failed to take into consideration the character ofthe British soldier, with the result his schemes had "gone agley. " Tosave men the German high command gave orders for a further retirement totheir Hindenburg defences, a fortified line of such strength as hadnever been equalled. If this line was not impregnable, nothing could be. It was the last wordin defence system and it had taken something like two years to perfect. The barbed wire, of a special kind, was formidable in its mass; threebelts fifty feet deep wound about it in an inextricable mass in the formof a series of triangles and other geometric designs. The trenchesthemselves were constructional works of art; switch lines were thrownout as an extra precaution; in front of the most important strategicalpositions, machine-gun posts and strong points abounded in unlimitedquantities. It was the Hun's last and most powerful line of defence thisside of the Franco-German frontier. This "Hindenburg" line stretchedfrom a point between Lens and Arras where it joined the northern trenchsystem, which had been occupied for the past two years, down to St. Quentin, passing behind the town at a distance of about five kilos, witha switch line in front to take the first shock of the Allies' blow whenit came. Behind this trench the Huns thought they could safely rest and hold upthe Allies' advance. But, with their wonderful and elaborate system ofbarbed-wire defence which they anticipated would keep us out, theyprobably forgot one point--it would certainly keep them in--tightlybolted and barred. Therefore, under such conditions, it was the sidewhich had the predominance in guns and munitions that could smash theirway through by sheer weight of metal, and force a passage through whichto pour their troops, taking section by section by a series of flankingand encircling movements, threaten their line of communication, finallycracking up the whole line and compel a further extensive falling backto save their armies. Against the front portion of this line we thrust ourselves early inMarch, 1917, and our massed guns poured in the most terrible fire theworld had ever known. Lens was practically encircled--the Vimy ridge wastaken by assault, and dozens of villages captured, resulting in thecapture of eighteen thousand prisoners and over two hundred guns. Hindenburg threw in his divisions with reckless extravagance; he knewthat if this section gave way all hope of holding on to Northern Francewas gone. Time and again he sent forward his "cannon fodder" in massedformation--targets which our guns could not possibly miss--and theywere mown down in countless numbers; his losses were appalling. Incertain places his attacking forces succeeded for a time in retakingsmall sections of ground we had gained, only to be driven out by astrong counter-attack. His losses were terribly disproportionate to histemporary advantage. I moved down to the extreme right of the British line; St. Quentin wasthe goal upon which I had set my mind. In my opinion the taking of thatplace by a combined Franco-British offensive with the triumphant entryof the troops would make a film second to none. In the first place thepreliminary operations pictorially would differ from all previous issuesof war films, and in the second place it would be the first filmactually showing the point of "liaison" with the French and theirsubsequent advance--making it, from an historical, public, andsentimental point of view, a film _par excellence_. Therefore in thissection of the British line I made my stand. I left my H. Q. Early in April, 1917. I intended to live at the line inone of the cellars of a small village situated near the Bois de Holnon, which had been totally destroyed. I proceeded by the main St. Quentin road, through Pouilly intoCaulaincourt. The same desolation and wanton destruction was everywherein evidence; but the most diabolical piece of vandalism was typified bythe once beautiful Château of Caulaincourt, which was an awful heap ofruins. The Château had been blown into the Somme, with the object ofdamming the river, and so flooding the country-side; partially itsucceeded, but our engineers were quickly upon the scene and, soon, theriver was again running its normal course. The flooded park made anexcellent watering-place for horses. The wonderful paintings andtapestries in the library on the Château had been destroyed. As Iwandered among the ruins, filming various scenes of our engineers atwork sorting out the débris, I noticed many things which must have beenof inestimable value. Every statue and ornamentation about the groundswas wilfully smashed to atoms; the flower-pots which lined the edges ofthe once beautiful floral walks had been deliberately crushed--in fact amore complete specimen of purposeless, wanton destruction it would beimpossible to find. I filmed the most interesting sections; then continued my way throughBouvais on to see the General of a Division. This Division was workingnear the French left. After a very interesting conversation this officerrecommended me to call on a Brigadier-General. "He is stationed at ----, " he said. "I will ring him up and tell him youare on the way. He will give you all the map references of the O. P. 's inthe neighbourhood. Anyway, you can make your own arrangements, Isuppose, about views?" "Oh, yes, sir, certainly, so long as I can get very near to the place. " "Right. You go into all these details with General ----. " Thanking him I hurried away. I found the mines which Bosche had explodedat all cross-roads very troublesome, and on one occasion, inendeavouring to cross by way of the field alongside, I got badly stuck;so I had to borrow a couple of horses to get me out on to the roadagain. I duly arrived and reported to Brigadier H. Q. It was the cellar of aonce decent house by the appearance of the garden. I went down six stepsinto a chamber reeking with dampness about six feet high by ten feetsquare; a candle was burning in a bottle on a roughly made table, and, sitting at it, was the General closely studying details on a map. He looked up as I entered. "Are you the Kinema man?" he enquired. "General ---- told me you werecoming; what do you want?" "Well, sir, " I said, "I want to obtain films of all the operations inconnection with the taking of St. Quentin; if you have anobservation-post from which I can obtain a good view it will suit meadmirably. " "I am sure we can fix you up all right. But we are just going to have ameal; sit down and join us. We can then go into details. " Lunch was served in primitive fashion, which was unavoidable under suchconditions--but we fared sumptuously, although on a rough plain tablewith odds and ends for platters, and boxes and other makeshifts forchairs. During the meal I went into details with the General about myrequirements. He quite understood my position and thoroughly appreciatedmy keen desire to obtain something unique in the way of film story. "The taking of St. Quentin by the Allied troops, sir, would be one of myfinest films. " "Well, " he said, "the French are bombarding the suburbs and otherplaces, so far as damage is concerned, to-day; our batteries are alsogiving a hand. I should advise you to go to this spot"--indicating aposition on the map. "What do you think?" he turned to the BrigadeMajor. "Will this do for him?" "Yes, sir, I should think so. " "Anyway, I can soon see, if you can put me on the road to find it. But aguide would save time. " "You had better take him, " said the General to the Brigade Major; "youknow the place quite well. " "Right, sir, " he said. So, getting hold of an extra orderly to help carry my kit, we startedoff, up through a wood and then for the first time I viewed St. Quentin. "We had better spread out here, " said my guide. "Bosche can observe allmovements from the Cathedral tower, and he doesn't forget to 'strafe' usalthough no harm is ever done. " "He is crumping now by all appearances, " I replied, noticing some crumpsbursting about three hundred yards away. "Yes, they are 'strafing' the place we are going to! That's cheerful, anyway. We will make a wide detour; he's putting shrapnel over now. Lookout! Keep well to the side of the wood. " We kept under cover until it was necessary to cross a field to a distantcopse. "That's our O. P. We have some guns there, worse luck. " "Hullo, keep down, " I said; "that's a burst of four. "Crash--crash--crash--crash! in quick succession, the fearful burstsmaking the ground tremble. "Very pretty, " I remarked. "I will get my camera ready for the nextlot. " They came--and I started turning one after the other; it was anexcellent scene; but, as the enemy seemed to swing his range roundslightly, the pieces were coming much too near to be healthy. So, hastily packing up, we made straight for the copse on the quarry top. High shrapnel was now bursting, several pieces whistling veryunpleasantly near. "Let's get under shelter of the trees, " said the Brigade Major, "thetrunks will give us a lot of cover. " We made a run for it, and reached them safely, and, gently drawing nearthe outer edge, I was in full view of St. Quentin. The Cathedral loomed up with great prominence--and shrapnel wasexploding near the tower. "That's to keep the Hun observers down, " he said. "We are not, ofcourse, shelling the place to damage it at all. Those fires you can seethere are of Bosche making; he is systematically burning the place as aprelude to retreat. My Intelligence officer says that the Palace ofJustice and the theatre are well alight, and airmen declare the townquite empty; they flew over it yesterday only about two hundred feetabove the house-tops and they were not fired at once. Seems to methey've evacuated the populace entirely. " "Jove, " I said, "the French are letting them have it over there, "pointing in the distance. "That is, of course, south of the town, very nearly running due east andwest--it's an excellent barrage--and all H. E. , too. " I soon got my camera into action and, carefully concealing the tripodbehind a tree trunk or rather a little to one side, I began exposing. The firing was very heavy. I continued exposing on various sectionswhich gave me the most comprehensive idea of barrage fire. "The French are bang up against the 'Hindenburg' line there, and it'spretty deep in wire--as you know, " said my guide, "but I think they willmanage it all right; it's only a matter of time. Hullo! they are'strafing' their confounded guns again with H. E. Look out! keep down!"And keep down we did. "Those 5. 9 of brother Fritz's are not very kind toone; we had better stay for a few minutes; he may catch us crossing thefield. " Ten minutes went by; things were a bit quieter, so, hastily packing up, we doubled back to the road. "I never did like getting near forward gun position, " I said, "but, curiously enough, my best view-points compel me on many occasions to fixup in their vicinity. " We got on to the road without casualties and in time to see the H. L. I. Forming up to leave at dusk for the front line, or the series of strongpoints which comprised it in this section. They were having the operation orders read out to them by their officerin charge. The scenes made very interesting ones for me--the men, alertand keen to the last degree, stood there in line, listening intently tothe words until the end. The next morning I had a wire from H. Q. Asking me to take charge of twoFrench journalists for a day or two; they were most anxious to see theBritish troops in action before St. Quentin. Towards midday theyarrived--M. Gustave Babin, of _L'Illustration_, Paris--and M. EugèneTardeau, of the _Echo de Paris_. I presented these gentlemen to theGeneral, who kindly extended every facility to them. I took them up to the observation post from which they could look downon St. Quentin. "It will be a great moment for me, " said M. Babin, "to obtain the firstimpression of the Allied entry in the town. " For myself the day was quite uneventful, beyond obtaining extra scenesof the preparatory work of our artillery. The heavy bombardment wascontinuing with unabated fury, the horizon was black with the smoke ofbursting high explosives, huge masses of shrapnel were showering theirleaden messengers of death upon the enemy. Towards evening the weatherchanged for the worse. It began with a biting cold sleet, which quicklyturned into snow. That night we slept in an old greenhouse which was open to the fourwinds of heaven. The cold was intense. I rolled myself up tight in mybag and drew my waterproof ground-sheet well over my body. It was agood job I did so for the snow was blowing in through the many fissuresand cracks and settling upon me like fallen leaves in autumn. The heavy shelling continued throughout the night. Several Bosche shellscame unpleasantly near, shaking my rickety shelter in an alarmingmanner. The next day the weather continued vile and the operations wereindefinitely postponed. Therefore there was nothing further to do but toreturn to H. Q. St. Quentin, for the present, was to me a blank, although I hadcontinued for some time preparing all the scenes leading up to itscapture. The weather was changing, the ground was drying. Our line, just north ofthe town, was being pushed further forward. Holon-Selency, Francilly-Selency, Fayet and Villerete had fallen to our victorioustroops, but the main attack was not yet. To obtain scenes of our men actually in the front line trenches facingthe town, I made my way through Savy and Savy Wood, in which not asingle tree was left standing by the Bosche. Through the wood Icarefully worked forward by keeping well under cover of a slight rise inthe ground. I met a battalion commander on the way who kindly directedme to the best path to take. "But be careful and keep your head down. Hun snipers are very active andhe is putting shrapnel over pretty frequently. Although it doesn't hurtus--it evidently amuses him, " he said, with a smile. "There is onesection where you will have to run the gauntlet--for you are in fullview of the lines. Keep down as low as possible. " I thanked the C. O. And went ahead. The weather was now perfect--acloudless blue sky flecked here and there by the furry white balls ofour bursting shrapnel around Hun aeroplanes, keeping them well aboveobservation range. I noticed a flight of our men winging their way over enemy lines. Icould hear the rapid fire of the Bosche anti-aircraft guns, and seetheir black balls of shrapnel burst. But our birdmen went on their waywithout a moment's hesitation. I recalled the time when I was up amongthe clouds, filming the Bosche lines thirteen thousand feet above motherearth. Suddenly a sharp crack, crack and whir of a machine-gun rang out. Afight was going on up there; our anti-aircraft guns ceased, being afraidof hitting our own men, but the Bosche still kept on. It was impossible to see the progress of the fight; the whole flock wasnow directly overhead. Watching the "strafe" with such keen interest, this point quite escaped me until pieces of shrapnel began to fallaround in alarming proportions, causing me to beat a hasty retreat outof range, though I still hung about in the hope of a Bosche machinebeing brought down, thereby providing me with a thrilling scene. But itdid not happen. The airmen disappeared in a southerly direction, stillfighting until the sharp cracks of the guns droned away in the distance. In a few minutes I came in full view of one of our strong points in theshape of a disused quarry. Around the inner lip our Tommies had made aseries of funk-holes, which looked quite picturesque in the brightsunlight. Machine-gun parties were there ready for anything that might turn up; inthe far corner a group of Frenchmen were chattering volubly to a knot ofour men. This certainly was a most interesting scene--the point of "liaison"between the two great armies, France and Britain. I noticed by freshshell-holes that Bosche had a rather bad habit of annoying the placewith his pip-squeaks, but generally they only resulted in scoring aBlighty for more or one of the occupants--and, for others, they were asource of amusement in the shape of gambling on the spot the next onewould fall. I filmed various sections here, then, having partaken of a little tea, Iwended my way to the trenches. I kept low, as the tower of the Cathedralwas in full view. I had previously covered the aluminium head of mytripod with a sandbag to prevent it glistening in the sun. As I drewnearer to the trench, which I could now see quite distinctly, more andmore of St. Quentin came into view. Such a picture gives one rather aqueerish feeling. If a keen-eyed Hun observer spotted me, with my load, he would take me for a machine-gunner or something equally dangerous. But, fortunately, nothing happened. I dropped into the trench of the ---- Worcesters who were amazed andamused to see me there, as one of them said: "Well, sir, I always thought all the War pictures were fakes, but now Iknow they're not. "Will you take us, sir? We expect to go over to-night. Please do, sir;our people at home will then in all probability see us. Don't suppose Ishall. I have an idea I shan't--but, " he said, pulling himself together, "I hope so, yer know, sir. " I liked the man's spirit. It caused all the others to smile. I carefullyfixed up my machine and filmed them, holding our front line. "How close is this to the town?" I asked. "About nine hundred yards, sir. " [Illustration: OUR OUTPOST LINE WITHIN 800 YARDS OF ST. QUENTIN. IT WASTO THIS OUTPOST THAT I CRAWLED IN DAYLIGHT TO OBTAIN THIS SCENE] Whether or not Bosche had seen movement I don't know, but suddenly agroup of four 5. 9 came crashing over. Everybody ducked--wise plan, rather, out here--they fell and burst about fifty yards behind us. Iawaited the next lot; they came very shortly and fell in almost the sameplace. "Before he shortens the range, " I thought, "I'll move, " and suiting theaction to the word I moved out towards the Bois de Savy and was half-waythere when another lot burst in my direction. This time I made for theBois de Holnon, and fortunately the shells ceased. As I reached the furthest side of the Bois de Savy several tear shellscame whistling over and burst just behind me. Needless to say I hadfallen flat, and, as I arose, the sweet smell of tear gas made itselfevident. Not intending to risk a repetition of my previous experience atBeaumont Hamel, I closed my eyes and ran like--well, you couldn't see mefor dust. Yard by yard we continued to press back the enemy. For me the film storyof the taking of St. Quentin is an obsession. It holds me as a needle toa magnet. And in this section, at the present, I remain--waiting andwatching. My leave is fast running out, and I am nearing the end of my story. Inall the pictures that it has been my good fortune to take during the twoand a half years that I have been kept at work on the great Europeanbattlefield, I have always tried to remember that it was through the eyeof the camera, directed by my own sense of observation, that themillions of people at home would gain their only first-hand knowledge ofwhat was happening at the front. I have tried to make my pictures actual and reliable, above all I havestriven to catch the atmosphere of the battlefield, and whilst I havedwelt as little as possible upon its horrors, I have aimed at showingthe magnificent spirit which imbues our fighting men, from the highestin command to the humblest unit in the ranks. I am proud to think that the task of doing this has been mine, and indoing it, I have tried "to do my bit" for the land that gave me birth. THE END INDEX A Albert, 172 Albert, King of the Belgians, 217 Alexander of Teck, Prince, 217 Amiens, 254 Andrew Paul, Mayor of Bierne, 289, 290 Anzacs, the, 211 Armentières, 108 Arras, 83, 108, 293 Aubers Ridge, 114 Australians, the, 197, 198 B Babin, M. Gustave, of _L'Illustration_, 299 Bailleul, 52 Bapaume, 250 Basle, 41 Beaumont Hamel, 124, 129, 165, 208, 245, 265, 303 Bécourt Wood, 172, 176, 197 Belfort, 42 Belgians, Queen of, 217, 218 Bernafay Wood, 186, 188 Besançon, 42, 47 Biaches, 254 Biel, 41 Bierne, 277, 284, 289 Bizantin-le-Grand, 190 Bois de Holnon, 294, 303 Bois de Savy, 300, 303 Boulogne, 205-7, 253, 254 Bouleaux Wood, 240 Bouvais, 295 Bovincourt, 270, 271, 274, 275, 277, 279-84, 289 Brie, 263, 267, 269, 272, 274, 276 Brooks, Lieut. , Official "Still" Photographer, 259-65, 275 Burstall, General, 218 C Calais, 219-221 Cambrai, 259 Canadians, the, 52-60, 218 Camoy Valley, 184 Caulaincourt, 294 Cavan, Earl of, 63, 76, 77 Clarendon Film Co. , the, 5 Contalmaison, 199, 201-203 D Delemont, 41 Delville Wood, 238 Dieppe, 48 Dijon, 47 _Dinorah_, S. S. , the, 48 Dixmude, 31 Dunkirk, 111 E Estrées, 259, 271, 276 F Fayet, 300 Festubert, 108, 114 Foch, Gen. , 215 Folkestone, 251 Foscaucourt, 259 Foucacourt, 276 Francilly-Selency, 300 Fricourt, 171, 208, 209, 212 Fromelles, 114 Furnes, 6, 8, 13, 15, 21, 29, 30, 38 G Gaumont Co. , the, 5 George V-- his approval of Somme film, 177 arrival at Boulogne, 206, 207 attends Divine Service, 217 on Battlefield of Fricourt, 208-211 being filmed, 216 his departure from France, 220, 221 greets Sir H. Rawlinson, 208 at hospitals, 212 inspects Canadians, 218 meets M. Poincaré and Gen. Joffre, 215, 216 and puppy, 212, 213 visits King of the Belgians, 217, 218 George, David Lloyd, Prime Minister, 177, 216, 217 Givenchy, 108 Gommecourt, 123 Gouerment, 122 Goumiers, the (Algerian Arabs), 15-17, 21 Guards' Division, the, 61, 63, 65-71, 76-79, 234, 241 Guillemont, 135, 234, 236, 238 Gully Ravine, 136 H Haig, Field-Marshal Sir Douglas, 207, 208, 214-16 Haucourt, 277 Hawthorn Redoubt, the, 141, 159 Hill 60, 113 Hill 63, 56-58 Hindenburg, General, 293 "Hindenburg Line, " the, 259, 292, 293, 298 Hohenzollern Redoubt, the, 108 Holon-Selency, 300 J Joffre, General, 214-216 Josephine, Princess, 218 Jury, Mr. Will, 176 K Keppel, Sir Derek, 207 Kinematograph Trade Topical Committee, the, 51 "King George's Hill, " 209 Kitchener, Earl of, 206 L La Bassée, 65, 72, 114, 115 La Boisselle, 171 La Gorgue, 61 La Maisonnette, Château of, 255 Lancashire Fusiliers, the, 127, 152, 157 Lancers, 17th, the, 214 Lens, 293 Lesboeufs, 234, 239, 245 London Scottish, the, 122, 234 Loos, 104, 108, 114 Lueze Wood, 238 M Malins, Lieut. Geoffrey H. , O. B. E. -- appointed Official War Office Kinematographer, 51 arrested in Switzerland, 41 at Battle of St. Eloi, 85-92 on battlefield of Neuve Chapelle, 72-79 with Belgian Army, 6-13, 30-39 in bombardment of Furnes, 31 with Canadians, 52-60 his description of preparation of film, 178-182 experiences in aeroplane, 107-120 films Battle of the Somme, 121-177 with Goumiers, near Nieuport, 15-21 with Guards' Division, 65-71 his life before the War, 5 narrow escapes of, 93-106, 142-146 at Pozières and Contalmaison, 196-204 and Prince of Wales, 77, 207, 212 at Ramscapelle, 32-34 reported dead, 38 spends Christmas at the Front, 62-64 and Tanks, 222 on tracks of retreating Huns, 254-303 in Trones Wood, 183-195 views battle of sand-dunes, 22-29 visits ruins of Guillemont and Mouquet Farm, 234-250 on Vosges Mountains, 40-48 on Western Front with the King, 205-221 at Ypres and Arras, 80-84 Mametz, 171 Martinpuich, battle of, 234 Messines, 52, 54, 113 Middlesex Regt. , the, 152 Mons, 136 Mons en Chaussée, 269, 272 Montaubon, 186 Morval, 234, 239, 245 Mouquet Farm, 245, 247, 248 N Neuve Chapelle, 72, 73, 108, 114 Nieuport, 15, 31 Nieuport Bain, 22, 23 Norfolks, the, 234 North Staffordshire Regt. , the, 206 Northumberland Fusiliers, the, 218 O Oost-Dunkerque, 22 Ostend, 111 P Peronne, 254-258 Perrontruy, 41 Petite Douve, 56, 58, 60 Ploegsteert, 108, 114 Ploegsteert Wood, 53, 56 Ploegstrathe, 52 Poincaré, President, 214-216 Pouilly, 279, 294 Pozières, 197, 198, 201-203, 211, 245 R Ramscapelle, 6, 12, 31-33 Rawlinson, General Sir H. S. , 136, 208 Remiremont, 42 Richebourg, 108 Richebourg St. Vaaste, 55 Royal Engineers, West Riding Field Co. , 136 Royal Fusiliers, the, 136, 137, 152 Royal Welsh Fusiliers, the, 65 S St. Dié, 40, 42, 43, 47 St. Eloi, 108, 113 St. Eloi, Battle of, 89-92, 218 St. Quentin, 259, 267, 293, 294, 296-303 Savy, 300 Somme, River, 255, 263, 265-267, 275, 294 Somme Battle, film of, 176-178, 183, 223 Stamfordham, Lord, 207 Suffolks, the, 234 T Tanks, the, 225, 229-233, 237, 240 Tardeau, M. Eugène, of _Echo de Paris_, 299 Thiepval, 245 Thompson, Major, 207 Tong, Mr. , 51, 52, 64 Trones Wood, 184, 186, 190, 192, 241 U Uhlans, the, 32 V Vernilles, 132 Villerete, 300 Villers-Carbonel, 259-266, 276 Vimy Ridge, 293 Vosges, the, 40, 47, 51 Vraignes, 270, 275, 277, 281 W Wales, Edward, Prince of-- his anxiety to avoid camera, 77, 212 attends service on Christmas Day, 63 cheered by Tommies, 211 and General Foch, 216 in German trench, 210, 211 inspects gun-pits, 77 meets King George at Boulogne, 207 takes leave of King George, 220 Wigram, Lieut. -Col. Clive, 207, 216, 219 Y Ypres, 55, 75, 80-83, 111, 112, 253 PRINTED BY WILLIAM BRENDON AND SON, LTD. PLYMOUTH, ENGLAND +--------------------------------------------------------------+ | Transcriber's Notes | | | | Page 59: "Wall, sir. .. " _sic_ | | Page 68: afther _sic_ | | Page 203: Boche amended to Bosche | | Page 268: Closing quotes added ("I will get it down. ") | | Page 269: Chaussé amended to Chaussée | | Page 273: axel amended to axle | | Page 277: was amended to saw ("Later on they say they | | saw. .. . ") | | Page 279: if amended to it ("To take it off. .. . ") | | Page 281: evidently amended to evident | | Page 285: moniseur amended to monsieur | | Page 293: kilos _sic_ | | Page 295: beeen amended to been | | Page 305: Becourt amended to Bécourt | | Page 206: Les Boeufs amended to Lesboeufs | | Page 306: Reboubt amended to Redoubt | | Page 307: Vaast amended to Vaaste | | | | Illustration facing page 12: skies amended to skis | | Illustration facing page 184: Poincarie amended to Poincaré | | Illustration facing page 206: Poincarie amended to Poincaré | | Illustration facing page 290: liason amended to liaison | | | | Hyphenation has generally been standardized. However, when a | | word appears hyphenated and unhyphenated an equal number of | | times, both versions have been retained | | (earsplitting/ear-splitting; everyday/every-day; | | selfsame/self-same). | +--------------------------------------------------------------+