"You can start now," and he pointed in the distance to a moving object in the sand, crawling along on its stomach for all the world like a snake. "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 look at the Goumier scout, his movements fascinated me. Keeping low under the top of the dune, I made for a small hill, from which I decided to film him. Reaching there, I did so.

I then saw, going in opposite directions, two more scouts, each proceeding to crawl slowly in the same fashion as the first.

"This film certainly will be unique," I thought. Who could imagine that within half an hour's ride of this whirling sand, with full-blooded Arabs moving about upon it, the soldiers of Belgium are fighting in two feet of mud and water, and have been doing so for months past. No one would think so to look at it.

A rattle of musketry on my right served as a hint that there were other scenes to be secured. Making my way in the direction of the sound, I came upon a body of Goumiers engaged in sniping at the Germans. I filmed them, and was just moving away when the interpreter of the company stopped and questioned me. I told him of my previous conversation with the Captain, which satisfied him.

"Well," he said, "you are just in time to catch a troop going off on a scouting expedition," and he led the way to a large dune looking down on the sea, and there just moving off was the troop.

What a magnificent picture they made, sitting on their horses. They seemed to be part of them. Veritable black statues they looked, and their movements were like a finely tensioned spring. Hastily filming the troop, I hurried across and succeeded in obtaining some scenes of another detachment proceeding further on the flank, and as they wound in and out up the sand-hills, I managed to get into a splendid point of vantage, and filmed them coming towards me. Their wild savage huzzas, as they pa.s.sed, were thrilling in the extreme. Looking round, I perceived a curious-looking group a short distance away, going through what appeared to be some devotional ceremony.

Hastening down the hill, I crossed to the group, which turned out to be under the command of the Chief of the Goumiers himself, who was going through a short ceremony with some scouts, previous to their meeting the Germans. It was quite impressive. Forming the four men up in line, the Chief gave each of them instructions, waving signs and symbols over their 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 the interpreter afterwards that he was glad I did not do so, as they would have 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 independent means in their own land. At the outbreak of war they patriotically combined under their chief, and offered themselves to the French Government, which gladly accepted their services for work on the sand-dunes of Flanders. The troop bore the whole cost of their outfit and transport. They brought their own native transport system with them.

The men obey none but their chief, at whose bidding they would, I believe, even go through h.e.l.l itself. All arguments, quarrels, and discussions in the troop are brought before the Chief, whose word and judgment is law.

On the dunes of Northern Flanders they had their own encampment, conducted in their own native style. They looked after their horses with as much care as a fond mother does her child. The harness and trappings were magnificently decorated with beautiful designs in mother-of-pearl and gold, and the men, when astride their horses and garbed in their long flowing white _burnouses_, looked the very personification of dignity. The Chief never handles a rifle, it would be beneath his position to do so. He is the Head, and lives up to it in every respect possible.

I filmed him by the side of his horse. It was the first time he had been photographed.

Returning to the point where the scouts were leaving, I decided to follow close behind them, on the chance of getting some good scenes.

Strapping my camera on my back, and pushing a tuft of gra.s.s under the strap, to disguise it as much as possible if viewed from the front, I crawled 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 it was not so easy as it looked, especially under conditions where the raising of one's body two or three inches above the top of the dune might be possibly asking for a bullet through it, and drawing a concentrated fire in one's direction.

I had crawled in this fashion for about 150 yards, when I heard a sh.e.l.l come shrieking in my direction. With a plunk it fell, and exploded about forty feet away, choking me with sand and half blinding me for about five minutes. The acrid fumes, too, which came from it, seemed to tighten my throat, making respiration very difficult for some ten minutes afterwards. Cautiously looking round, I tried to locate the other scouts, but nowhere could they be seen. I crawled for another thirty yards or so, but still no sign of them. Deciding that if I continued by myself I had everything to lose and nothing to gain, I concluded that discretion was the better part of valour. Possibly the buzzing sensation in my throat, and the smarting of my eyes, helped me in coming to that decision, so I retraced my steps, or rather crawl.

Getting back to the encampment, I bathed my eyes in water, which quickly soothed them.

In a short time news came in that the scouts were returning. Hurrying to the 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 other interesting scenes, and was just on the point of departing when the Chief asked me to partake of some food with him. Being very hungry, I accepted the invitation, and afterwards, over a cup of coffee and cigarettes, I obtained through an interpreter some very interesting information.

The night being now well advanced, I bade the Chief adieu, and striking out across the dunes I made for Furnes. The effect of the star-sh.e.l.ls sent up by the Germans was very wonderful. They shed a vivid blue light all round, throwing everything up with startling clearness.

After about a mile I was suddenly brought up by the glitter of a sentry's bayonet. "Pa.s.sword, monsieur." Flashing a lamp in my face, the man evidently recognised me, for he had seen me with his officer that day, and the next moment he apologised for stopping me. "Pardon, monsieur," he said. "Pa.s.s, 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 the conclusion that I had every reason to be thankful that I had once more returned 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 Sh.e.l.l-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 for this journey, chiefly because it was on the main route to Nieuport Bain.

Having on my previous visit proceeded on foot, and returned successfully, I decided that I should go by car. To get what I required meant that I should have to pa.s.s right through the French lines.

Finding out a chauffeur who had previously helped me, I explained my plans to him.

"Well, monsieur," he said, "I will try and help you, but for me it is not possible to get you through. I am stationed here indefinitely, but I have a friend who drives an armoured car. I will ask him to do it." We then parted; I was to meet him with his friend that night.

I packed my things as close as possible, tying two extra spools of film in a package round my waist under my coat, put on my knapsack, and drew my Balaclava helmet well down over my chin.

Anxiously I awaited my friends. Seven o'clock--eight o'clock--nine o'clock. "Were they unable to come for me?" "Was there some hitch in the arrangement?" These thoughts flashed through my mind, when suddenly I heard a voice call behind me.

"Monsieur, monsieur!"

[Ill.u.s.tration: USING MY AEROSCOPE CAMERA IN BELGIUM, 1914-15]

Turning, I saw my chauffeur friend beckoning to me. Hurrying forward, I asked 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. I had been up at the bridge some two minutes, when the armoured car glided up. "Up, monsieur," came a voice, and up I got. Placing my camera by the side of the mitrailleuse, I sat by my chauffeur, and we started off for the French lines.

Dashing along roads covered with sh.e.l.l-holes, I marvelled again and again at the man's wonderful driving. Heaps of times we escaped a smash-up by a hair's-breadth.

On we went over the dunes; the night was continuously lighted up by flashes from the big guns, both French and German. We were pulled up with a jerk, which sent me flying over the left wheel, doing a somersault, and finally landing head first into a lovely soft sandbank.

Spluttering and staggering to my feet, I looked round for the cause of my sudden exit from the car, and there in the glare of the headlight were two French officers. Both were laughing heartily and appreciating the joke. As I had not hurt myself, I joined in. After our hilarity had subsided they apologised, and hoped I had not hurt myself. Seeing that I was an an Englishman, they asked me where I was going. I replied, "to Nieuport Bain." They asked me if my chauffeur might take a message to the Captain of the ---- Cha.s.seurs. "Yes, yes," I replied, "with pleasure."

Thinking that by staying every second might be dangerous, I asked the officers to give the message, and we would proceed. They did so, and again apologising for their abrupt appearance, they bade us "good night."

I hurriedly bade the driver start off, and away we went. He evidently had not got over his nervousness, for, after going about three-quarters of a mile, we ran into a large, partially filled sh.e.l.l-hole, burying the front wheels above the axle. To save myself from a second dive I clutched hold of the mitrailleuse.

This was a position indeed! Scooping away as much sand as possible from the front wheels, we put on full power, and tried to back the car out of it. But as the rear wheels were unable to grip in the sand it would not budge.

While there the Germans must have seen our light, for suddenly a star-sh.e.l.l shot up from their position, illuminating the ground for a great distance. I swiftly pinched the tube of our headlight, so putting it out, then dropped full length on the sand. I observed my companion had done the same.

We lay there for about ten minutes, not knowing what to expect, but luckily nothing happened. It was obvious that we could not move the car without a.s.sistance, so shouldering my apparatus we started to walk the remaining distance. Twice we were held up by sentries, but by giving the pa.s.sword we got through. Enquiring for the headquarters of Captain ----, we were directed to a ruined house which had been destroyed by German sh.e.l.l-fire. "Mon Capitaine is in the cellar, monsieur."

Thinking that it would be a better introduction if I personally delivered the message to the Captain, I asked my chauffeur to let me do so. Asking the sentry at the door to take me to his Captain, we pa.s.sed down some dozen steps and into a comfortably furnished cellar. Sitting round 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 in French, when an officer asked me in English if he could be of any service. I told him that an officer had given me a message to deliver on my 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 with it.

"You must be hungry, monsieur. Will you share a snack with us?" Gladly accepting their hospitality, I sat down with them. "Are you from London?" 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.