eful 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 Bassee and Loos. Town after town,
village after village, were passed 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 Bassee.

"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 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. 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 butt 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,