"You will have to wrap up well," said the Captain. "It's jolly cold up there. It looks rather misty, and that will make it all the worse. Now then, all aboard."

Up I scrambled, or rather wriggled, between a network of wire stays, and taking my seat the camera was handed to me. I fastened it on one side of the gun-mounting and fixed a Lewis gun on the other, making sure I had spare boxes of film ready, and spare drums of ammunition. I then fastened 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 position for starting. The mechanics were turning the propeller round to suck the gas into the many cylinders, to facilitate easier starting.

"All ready," shouted the Captain. "Right away, contact, let her go." And with a jerk the motor started.

The whirl of the huge blades developed into a deafening roar. The machine vibrated horribly. I clung to my camera, holding it tight to the socket. I knew that once in the air the shake would be reduced to a minimum. Faster and faster whirled the propeller as the Captain opened the throttle. How sweet and perfect was the hum of the giant motor. Not the slightest sound of a misfire. Being an ardent motorist, I could tell that the engine was in perfect tune. The Captain leaned over and shouted to me through the roar to fasten the telephone receiver against my ear under my leather cap.

"That," said he, pointing to a mouthpiece attached to a small rubber tube, "is the transmitter. If you want to give me any instructions shout into that. I shall hear you. All fit?" he asked.

I nodded my head. He took his seat, and opened the throttle. The engine leapt into new life. The roar was deafening. The whirring blades flung the air back into my face, cutting it as if with a whip. He dropped his arm. The men drew away the chocks from the wheels, and amid shouts of "Good luck!" from the officers present, the machine sprang forward like a greyhound, bounding over the gra.s.s, until at last it rose like a gigantic bird into the air.

The earth gradually drew away. Higher and higher we rose, and began to circle round and round to gain height.

"We will get up to three thousand feet before we strike towards the coast," he shouted through the telephone.

The vibration, now we were in the air, was barely perceptible, at any rate it was not sufficient to affect the taking of my scenes. In case any moisture collected on my lens, I had brought a soft silk pad, to wipe 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 towards the 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 a snowfield. Here and there, in clear patches, the sun gleamed upon the water, throwing back its dazzling reflections.

As soon as we reached the coast-line, I shouted: "Proceed well along this side, so that I can obtain an oblique view. It looks much better than directly above the object. What's our speed?"

"Sixty miles," he said. "I shall keep it up until we reach the German lines."

He turned sharp to the right. We are now following the coast-line towards Ostend. How beautiful the sand dunes looked from above. The heavy billows of sea-mist gave it a somewhat mystic appearance. How cold it was. I huddled down close into my seat, my head only above the fuselage. Keeping my eye upon the wonderful panorama unfolding itself out beneath me, I glanced at my camera and tested the socket. Yes, it was quite firm.

"We are nearing the lines now," my companion shouted. "Can you see them on your right? That's the Belgium area. Our section, as you know, begins just before Ypres. Will this height suit you? Shall I follow the trenches directly overhead or a little to one side?"

"Keep this side, I'll begin taking now." Kneeling up in my seat, I directed my camera downwards and started filming our lines and the German position stretching away in the distance.

We were nearing Ypres, that sh.e.l.l-battered city of Flanders. White b.a.l.l.s of smoke here and there were bursting among the ruins, showing that the Huns were still sh.e.l.ling it. What a frightful state the earth was in.

For miles and miles around it had the appearance of a sieve, with hundreds of thousands of sh.e.l.l-holes, and like a beautiful green ribbon, winding away as far as the eye could see, was that wonderful yet terrible strip of ground between the lines, known as "No Man's Land."

We were now running into a bank of white fleecy clouds, which enveloped us in its folds, blotting the whole earth from view. I held my handkerchief over the lens of the camera to keep the moisture from settling upon it. After a time several breaks appeared in the clouds beneath, and the earth looked wonderful. It seemed miles--many miles--away. Rivers looked like silver streaks, and houses mere specks upon the landscape. Here and there a puff of white smoke told of a bursting sh.e.l.l. But for that occasional, somewhat unpleasant reminder, I might have been thousands of miles away from the greatest war in history.

Who could imagine anything more wonderful, more fantastic? I had dreamed of such things, I had read of them; I even remembered having read, years ago, some of the wonderful stories in _Grimm's Fairy Tales_. To my childish mind, they seemed very wonderful indeed. There were fairies, goblins, mysterious figures, castles which floated in the air, wonderful lands which shifted in a night, at the touch of a magic wand or the sound of a magic word. Things which fired my youthful imagination and set me longing to share in their adventures. But never in my wildest dreams did I think I should live to do the same thing, to go where I listed; to fly like a bird, high above the clouds. It was like an adventure 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, but to--things more material.

Looking down, I could discern several b.a.l.l.s of smoke, which I immediately recognised as shrapnel sh.e.l.ls, or "Archibalds," that had been fired at us by the Germans. They were well below. I looked round at the Captain. He was smiling through his goggles, and humorously jerked his thumb in the direction of the bursting "Archies."

"Too high, eh?" I shouted. But I had forgotten that in the fearful hum of the rushing air and whirling motors my voice would not carry. It was literally cut off as it left my lips. I picked up the 'phone and shouted through it.

"Yes, they are pretty safe where they are," he said drily. Then a few more burst underneath us.

By this time we were well out of the cloud bank. The atmosphere was much clearer. I knelt up again on my seat and began to expose, and continued turning the handle while we pa.s.sed over St. Eloi and Hill 60. On certain sections I could see that a considerable "strafe" was going on. Fritz seemed to be having a very trying time. Near Messines my film suddenly ran out. I had to reload. This was anything but an easy operation. I unscrewed my camera from the gun socket, and in doing so had a near escape from doing a head-dive to earth. Like an idiot, I had unfastened my waist-strap, and in reaching over the fuselage my camera nearly over-balanced, the aeroplane contributing to this result by making a sudden dive in order to avoid an "Archibald."

For a second or two I had clear visions of flying through s.p.a.ce on wings other than those of an aeroplane. But fortunately I had the steel crossbar to cling to, and this saved me.

Getting back to my seat, I asked the pilot to circle round the spot for a few minutes. While changing my spool, I settled down in the bottom of the car and reloaded my camera, eight thousand feet above the earth.

This operation occupied about ten minutes, and when I had finished I gingerly 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 as if 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, but with a graceful glide, which brought us level, we continued our journey at 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 of trenches. At times we were well over the Bosche lines. I continued to film the scenes.

First came Ploegsteert, Fromelles, and Aubers Ridge. Then we crossed to Neuve Chapelle, Festubert, La Ba.s.see and Loos. Town after town, village after village, were pa.s.sed over, all of them in ruins. From above the trenches, like a splash of white chalk dropped into the middle of a patch of brown earth. The long winding trenches cut out of the chalk twisted and wound along valley and dale like a serpent. Looking down upon it all, it seemed so very insignificant. Man? What was he? His works looked so small that it seemed one could, with a sweep of the foot, crush him out of existence. How small he was, yet how great; how powerful, yet how weak! We were now over La Ba.s.see.

"We shall have to rise," shouted my companion. "Look up there." I looked up, 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 Rea.s.sured--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. I nodded. "Right-o! I'm going to get up higher. We are absolutely lost down here."

I fixed on a drum of cartridges, and with a b.u.t.t in my hand was ready for any emergency. Higher and higher we rose. The mist was becoming more and more dense. Photographing was impossible. The cold seemed to chill one's bones. I could tell by the increasing vibration we were going "all out," in order to get above the enemy machine, which seemed to be drawing closer and closer. I looked at the pilot. He had his eyes fixed upon the Bosche.

"What are we now?"

"Eight thousand," he said. "That chap must be at least thirteen thousand up. 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. To breathe, I had to turn my head sideways to avoid the direct rush of air from the whirling propeller. I could just discern the ground through the mist. I looked around for the Bosche. He seemed further away. I shouted to the pilot. He looked round.