"Well, hardly that," I confess. "I am here to take kinema records of the war. 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 sortie to-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 cellar steps, then into the room came four soldiers with a man in peasant's clothes. He turned out to be a spy caught signalling in the dunes. They brought 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 he would accept no responsibility for my safety. Those conditions I did not mind a sc.r.a.p. Rolling myself in a blanket, I tumbled in. "What would the morrow bring forth?" I wondered.

I was up next morning at four o'clock. Everywhere there was a state of suppressed excitement. Outside the men were preparing, but there was not the least sign of confusion anywhere. To look at them one would not imagine these men were going out to fight, knowing that some of them at least would not return again. But it is war, and sentiment has no place in their thoughts.

The order came to line up. Hours before the scouts had gone out to prepare the ground. They had not returned yet. Personally, I hoped they would not turn up till the day was a little more advanced. Eight o'clock; still not sufficient light for filming. A lieutenant came to me, and said if I would go carefully along the sand-dunes in the direction he suggested, possibly it would be better; he would say no more. 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 two scouts, running for all they were worth.

Quietly getting my camera into position, I started exposing, being certain this was the opening of the attack. I was not mistaken, for within 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. Sh.e.l.ls then went at it thick and fast, shrieking one after the other overhead.

The advance guard opened out, clambered up the dunes, and disappeared over the top, I filming them. I waited until the supporting column came up, and filmed them also. I followed them up and over the dunes.

Deploying along the top, they spread out about six metres apart, with the object of deceiving the Germans as to their numbers, until the supporting column reached them. The battle of musketry then rang out.

Cautiously advancing with a company, I filmed them take the offensive and make for a large dune forty yards ahead. Successfully reaching it they lay down and fired in rapid succession. Crawling up, I managed to take a fine scene of the attack, showing the explosion of two French sh.e.l.ls over the ruins of the town. The Germans evidently found our range, for several sh.e.l.ls came whistling unpleasantly near me.

What followed was a succession of scenes, showing the covering columns advancing and others moving round on the flank. The Germans lost very heavily in this engagement, and great progress was made by the gallant French. While filming a section of the flanking party, I had the nearest acquaintance with a sh.e.l.l that I shall ever wish for. I don't think it would have been the good fortune of many to have such an experience and come scathless out of it.

I was kneeling filming the scene, when I heard a sh.e.l.l hurtling in my direction. 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 explosion occurred just behind me, which sounded as if the earth itself had cracked. The concussion threw me with terrific force head over heels into the sand. The explosion seemed to cause a vacuum in the air for some distance around, for try as I would I could not get my breath. I lay gasping and struggling like a drowning man for what seemed an interminable length of time, although it could have only been a few seconds.

At last I pulled round; my first thought was for my camera. I saw it a short distance away, half buried in the sand. Picking it up, I was greatly relieved to find it uninjured, but choked with sand round the lens, which I quickly cleared. The impression on my body, caused by the concussion of the exploding sh.e.l.l, seemed as if the whole of one side of me had been struck with something soft, yet with such terrible force that I felt it all over at the same moment. That is the best way I can describe it, and I a.s.sure 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 sh.e.l.l, I cannot say; in all probability it was, for I do not think striking the soft sand would have caused it.

Turning back, I made for the sea road, and filmed the reserves coming up to strengthen the positions already won. Hurrying across in the direction of another column, I filmed them steadily advancing, while their comrades kept the Germans employed from the top of a large dune.

The main body then came up and lined the top for a considerable distance, and at the word of command the whole body arose as one man.

For the fraction of a second they were strikingly silhouetted against the sky-line; then with a cheer they charged down the other side.

Darkness was now closing in, making it impossible for me to film any further developments, so I proceeded back to the cellar with an officer and some men. After resting awhile, I decided to go back to Furnes that night with my films and get home with them as quickly as possible.

Meeting a small transport car going in the desired direction after some stores, I begged a ride, and getting up beside the driver, we started off. Owing to the enormous sh.e.l.l-holes it was impossible to proceed along the road without a light.

What a magnificent sight it was. Magnesium star-sh.e.l.ls were continually being sent up by the Germans. They hung in the air alight for about thirty seconds, illuminating the ground like day. When they disappeared the guns flashed out; then the French replied; after that more star-sh.e.l.ls; then the guns spoke again, and so it continued. We were suddenly stopped by an officer warning us to put out our lamp immediately, and proceed cautiously for about three hundred yards.

While doing so a sh.e.l.l came screaming by. We knew then that the Germans had seen our light. We immediately rushed to a sh.e.l.l-proof shelter in the sand. I had barely reached it when a sh.e.l.l exploded close by the car, half destroying the body of it. That was the only one that came anywhere near. Running to see what damage was done, I was pleased to see, by the aid of a covered light, that the cha.s.sis was practically uninjured. So starting up we once more proceeded on our journey.

We had several narrow squeaks in negotiating corners and miniature sand-banks, and once we b.u.mped into a mule that had strayed on to the road--but whether it will do so again I don't know, for after the b.u.mp it disappeared in a whirl of sand, making a noise like a myriad of fiends let loose. But the remainder of the journey was uneventful, and after a long night's rest I left for Calais.

CHAPTER V

UNDER HEAVY Sh.e.l.l-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, and obtained a series of pictures that delighted my employers, and pleased the picture theatre public. But I wanted something more than snapshots of topical events.

Unfortunately, I had been unable to make previous arrangements for a car to take me into Belgium. The railroad was barred to me, and walking quite out of the question. A motor-car was the only method of travelling. After two days of careful enquiries, I at last found a man to take me. He was in the transport department, taking meat to the trenches. I was to meet him that evening on the outskirts of Calais. And I met him that night at an appointed rendezvous, and started on our journey.

Eventually we entered Furnes. Making my way into a side street, I told my chauffeur to call at a certain address whenever he pa.s.sed through the town, and if I should require his services further, I would leave a letter to that effect.

I was awakened next morning by being vigorously shaken by my Belgian friend, Jules.

"Quick, monsieur, the Germans are bombarding us," he cried.

Jumping out of bed, I rushed to the window. The next second I heard the shriek of sh.e.l.ls coming nearer. With a crash and a fearful explosion they burst practically simultaneously on the houses opposite, completely demolishing them, but luckily killing no one. Hastily dressing, I grabbed my camera and went out into the square and waited, hoping to film, if possible, the explosion of the sh.e.l.ls as they fell on the buildings. Two more sh.e.l.ls came shrieking over. The few people about were quickly making for the cover of their cellars. Getting my camera into position, ready to swing in any direction, I waited. With deafening explosions the sh.e.l.ls exploded in a small street behind me. The Germans were evidently trying to smash up the old Flemish town hall, which was in the corner of the market-place, so I decided to fix my focus in its direction. But though I waited for over an hour, nothing else happened.

The Germans had ceased firing for that morning at least. Not till I had gone to my cafe did I realise the danger I had exposed myself to, but somehow I had seemed so confident that I should not get hit, that to film the explosions entirely absorbed all my thoughts.

Next morning I decided to tour the front line, if possible from Dixmude to Nieuport, making Ramscapelle a centre. I hoped to drop in with an isolated action or a few outpost duels, for up to the present things were going exceedingly slow from my point of view.

Arranging for a dispatch rider to take me along to Ramscapelle, away I went. The roads were in a frightful condition after months of rain, and sh.e.l.l-holes were dotted all over the surface. It is marvellous these men do not more frequently meet death by accident, for what with the back wheel sliding and skidding like an unbroken mule, and dodging round sh.e.l.l-holes as if we were playing musical chairs, and hanging round the driver's waist like a limpet to keep our balance, it was anything but a comfortable experience. In the end one back wheel slipped into a sh.e.l.l-hole and pitched me into a lovely pool of water and mud. Then after remounting, we were edged off the road into the mud again by a heavy transport lorry, and enjoyed a second mud-bath. After that I came to the conclusion that I would rather film a close view of a bayonet charge than do another such journey.

By now I was the most abject-looking specimen of humanity imaginable. My camera in its case was securely fastened on my shoulders as a knapsack, and so, with the exception of a slight derangement, which I soon readjusted, no damage was done. But the motor-cycle suffered considerably, and leaving it alongside the road to await a breakdown lorry to repair it--or a sh.e.l.l to finish it--I proceeded on foot to Ramscapelle.

Within a hundred yards of the ruined town, from the shelter of a wrecked barn came the voice of a Belgian soldier peremptorily ordering me to take cover. Without asking questions, I did so by sprawling full length in a deep wheel-rut, but as I had previously had a mud-bath, a little more or less did not matter. I wriggled myself towards the cover of the barn, when a sharp volley of rifle-fire broke out on my left. Gaining shelter, 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, and ensconced behind some bales of straw, on a small bridge, I filmed this Belgian outpost driving off the Uhlans, and peeping through one of the rifle slots, I could see them showing a clean pair of heels, but not without 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 a souvenir.

I made my way by various means into the town. The place was absolutely devoid of life. It was highly dangerous to move about in the open. To be seen by the German airmen was the signal for being sh.e.l.led for about three hours.

Whilst filming some of the ruins, I was startled by a sharp word of command. Turning round, I saw a Belgian soldier, with his rifle pointing at me. He ordered me to advance. I produced my permit, and giving the pa.s.sword, I quite satisfied him. Bidding me come inside he indicated a seat, and asked me to have some soup. And didn't it smell appetising! A broken door served as a table; various oddments, as chairs and the soup-copper, stood in the centre of the table. This proved one of the most 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 the daylight. I asked my friend if he could give me any information as to the whereabouts of anything interesting to film, as I wanted to take back scenes to show the people of England the ravages caused in Belgium by the Huns, and the brave Belgians in action. He was full of regrets that he was not able to accompany me, but being on duty he dare not move.

With a hearty shake of the hand and best wishes we parted, and, keeping under cover of the ruined buildings as much as possible, I made my way through 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's toys, babies' cots, and suchlike things, peeping out from among the ruins caused by the German guns.

These scenes caused me to wander on in deep thought, quite oblivious to my immediate surroundings. This momentary lapse nearly proved disastrous. By some means I had pa.s.sed the sentries, and wandered practically on top of a Belgian concealed heavy gun battery. I was quickly 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 by a rather irate Belgian officer, who demanded why I was there walking about and not taking cover. Did I know that I had drawn the enemy's fire, which was very nearly an unpardonable offence?

Quickly realising the seriousness of my position, I thought the best thing to do was to tell him my mission, and so I explained to the officer that I had unconsciously wandered there.

"There, monsieur," he said, "that is what you have done," and at that moment I heard two sh.e.l.ls explode fifteen yards behind us. "We dare not reply, monsieur," he said, "because this is a secret battery. Mon Dieu!"

he exclaimed, "I hope they cease firing, or they may destroy our defences." Fortunately, the Germans seeing no further sign of life, evidently thought it was a case of an isolated soldier, and so ceased their fire. Imagine my thankfulness.

I enquired if there was anyone there who could speak English. A messenger was sent out and returned with a Belgian, who before the war broke out was a teacher of languages in England. With his aid I gave the chief officer full explanation, and pledged my word of honour that neither names, districts, nor details of positions should ever be mentioned.