"Come along," I said, "let's explore. If there are any Bosches about they'll soon let us know of their presence. Let's get on to that other ridge; the Somme river should be there somewhere."

We left the village and cautiously followed the road down one hill and up the next. The Germans had disappeared as completely as if the earth had swallowed them up. Not a soul was to be seen; we might have been strolling on the Surrey hills!

I gradually reached the brow of the next ridge. The sight which met my eyes was the most stimulating one I had ever seen from a picture point of view. There, in front of us, at a distance of six hundred yards, was the river Somme--the name which will go down to history as the most momentous 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," and we raced away down the road.

In calmer moments at home I have admitted that we were mad. n.o.body in their right senses would have done such a thing as to rush headlong into country which might have been thick with enemy snipers and machine-guns.

But the quietness of the grave reigned--not a rifle-shot disturbed the silence.

Evidence of the German retreat met our gaze as we ran down the road. On either side were discarded material and, in a quarry on the left, a German Red Cross sign was stuck up on a post, and several dug-outs were burning--smoke was pouring up from below, showing that the Hun was destroying everything.

I was brought to a standstill at the sight of a ma.s.s of wreckage near the river. Smoke was issuing from it. I looked on my map and saw that it was the village of Brie; a small section was this side of the river, but the main part was on the other side. The whole place had been completely destroyed, partly, I ultimately found out, by our gun-fire, and the remainder burnt or blown up by the Germans.

The river had developed into a swampy marsh; in fact it was very difficult to say precisely where the river and ca.n.a.l finished and the marshes began.

I again got my camera into action and filmed, for the first time, the Somme river which was directly in our line of advance.

The bridges were blown up; huge ma.s.ses of stone and iron, twisted and torn and flung into the mora.s.s of weeds and mud and water, forming small dams, thus diverting the river in all directions. Several scenes on this historic spot I filmed, then, wishing to push forward, I attempted to cross the broken bridges. By careful manoeuvring I managed to cross the first, then the second, but a large gap blown in the roadway about forty feet across, through which the water rushed in a torrent, brought me to a standstill, so reluctantly I had to retrace my steps.

Except for the sound of rushing water the quietness was almost uncanny--the excitement of the chase was over. Then I began to realise our position.

We were in a section of ground which the enemy had occupied only a few hours before and had apparently abandoned--vanished into thin air! We were 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 at home--const.i.tuted ourselves an advance patrol, armed, not with machine-guns, swords, or lances, but with cameras. There was every possibility of our being taken for Germans ourselves by our men from a distance; the real advance guard coming up would undoubtedly open fire and enquire into credentials afterwards. The ruins across the bridge might hide enemy rifles; they might open fire any moment. I explained the situation to my companion, who had also presumably reached a decision very similar to my own, which was to return to the village of Villers-Carbonel as quickly and as carefully as possible.

Keeping to the side of the road we trudged back, and half-way up the hill we ran into one of the things I expected--an advance party. An officer 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 the Somme, but owing to the bridge being blown up we have come back. The Germans seem to have vanished entirely, not a sign of one about anywhere."

"Well, I'm ----," he said, "this is the funniest thing I've ever known.

Will our advance patrols const.i.tute the official photographers for the future? 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 across the 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 unique picture."

With that we retraced our steps, and laughing and chatting about our adventure, we once again reached the Somme river.

I fixed up my camera, and, when all was ready, a rough bridge was hastily made of several planks lashed together to bridge gaps in the fallen stonework, and I filmed the first troops to cross the Somme during the great German retreat.

The light was now failing, so, packing up my apparatus, and waving farewells to the C.O., I turned back again. B---- joined me; the day had been a great one for us, and we mutually agreed that it was a fitting sequel to the first British battle that had ever been filmed which I took at Beaumont Hamel on July 1st, 1916.

Weary in body, but very much alive mentally, we returned via Villers-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 Debris 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 front for which I was responsible, and to obtain a comprehensive record of events, it was necessary to keep very wide awake. Movements, definite and indefinite, were taking place in scores of different places at the same moment. To keep in touch with the enemy, to work with our forward patrols, to enter upon the heels of our advance guard into the evacuated villages--and, if possible, to get there first and film their triumphal entry, film our advance infantry and guns taking up new positions, the engineers at work remaking the roads, building new bridges over the Somme, laying down new railways and repairing old ones--the hundred and one different organisations that were working and straining every muscle and nerve for the common cause. Only the favoured few have the remotest idea 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 of Villers-Carbonel was now swarming with men clearing away the acc.u.mulated debris of the battlefield. Tree trunks were moved off the road, sh.e.l.l-holes were being filled up with bricks and branches, trenches, which crossed the road, were being filled in, a Tank trap at the entrance to the village, the shape of a broad, deep ditch, about thirty by twenty feet wide by fifteen feet deep, was being loaded with tree trunks and earth. I filmed these scenes; then hurried as fast as possible in the direction of Brie to cover the advanced work on the Somme, and then to cross to the other side and get in touch with our cavalry patrols.

What an extraordinary change in the place! Yesterday a ghostly silence reigned; now men and material and transport were swarming everywhere. I reached the river. The engineers had thrown up light, temporary bridges--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 that the Germans in their inevitable retreat would destroy the bridges, so, to save time, duplicates were built in sections, ready to throw across the gap.

I managed to arrive in time to film several squadrons of the Duke of Lancaster's cavalry hurrying forward to hara.s.s the enemy. Cyclist patrols were making their way over. I hurried as fast as possible through the ruins of Brie and on to the ridge beyond. In the distance I watched our cavalry deploying in extended order and advance towards a wood to clear it of the enemy rearguards. Motor-cyclists, with their machine-guns, were dashing up the hill anxious to get into contact with the flying enemy. I filmed many scenes in this section.

I looked along the road which was the main one into St. Quentin; it stretched away as far as the eye could see. The condition is certainly excellent, I thought. There would be a greater possibility of obtaining exciting scenes if it were possible to proceed in my car; the only question was whether the temporary bridges across the Somme were capable of sustaining the weight. The possibility of getting into villages just evacuated by the Germans spurred me on, so retracing my steps, I reached the river again.

"Do you think the bridge will take the weight of my car?" I asked an officer in charge of engineers.

"What is it?"

"Daimler," I replied.

"Well," he said, "there is a risk, of course, but our G.S. wagons have been across and also the artillery, so they may take your bus--if you don't bounce her in crossing."

"Right-o!" I said. "I will get it down." Hurrying across I had just reached the last bridge when, with a sudden snap, one of the main beams gave way. All traffic was, of course, stopped, and engineers quickly got to work replacing the broken girder.

"It will be at least another hour, sir," said a sergeant in answer to my enquiry. 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 films of the villages and the occupants."

"That's good," said the speaker, a captain. "I am going up to them as well. Intelligence I heard from our airmen this morning that they saw civilians in one or two villages a few miles out--so I'm off to investigate. 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 the first meeting of British troops in the liberated villages. I will follow in my car."

[Ill.u.s.tration: FILMING OUR GUNS IN ACTION DURING THE GREAT GERMAN RETREAT TO ST. QUENTIN. MARCH, 1917]