on of the wild screaming hum of the
strained wires. After switching on, the engine informed me with much
spluttering that it was sorry that I should have to land on the wrong
side, but it really had done its best. I had just managed to turn
towards our trenches, when the scout pilot, seeing I did not land, at
once followed me down and with its machine gun impressed on me that
the sooner I landed the better. As I was then a long way over the
lines, sinking fast towards the tree-tops, I had no alternative, so
endeavoured to reach the village green. By this time the machine was
literally riddled with bullets, though, luckily, I had not been
touched. Before landing I overtook a German horseman, so thinking to
introduce myself I dived on him from a low altitude, just passing over
his head. Well, scare him I certainly did, poor man; he was much too
frightened to get off, and seemed to be doing his best to get inside
his would-be Trojan animal. The machine landed on a heap of picks and
shovels, ran among a number of Huns who were having a morning wash at
some troughs (or rather I should say, a lick and a promise!). They
scattered and then closed in on the machine. I ran one wing into a
post, and tried the lighter, which did not work. I was a prisoner.
Undoubtedly, the next German communique announced that the gallant
Lieutenant X. had brought down his thirtieth machine; it is probable
that this gallant officer had heard strange rumours of what lay behind
the British lines, but preferred cruising on the safer side. I could
hardly believe that these grey-clad, rather unshaven men who jabbered
excitedly were genuine "Huns." I was furious and very "fed-up," but
that did not help, so turning in my seat and raising my hand I said,
"_Gutten Morgen_." This surprised them so much that they forgot to be
rude and mostly returned the compliment.

CHAPTER II

CAMBRAI

The immediate treatment I received was rather better than I had
expected. Several officers came forward, and one, who held a revolver,
told me in broken English to get out. So leaving my poor old machine,
we proceeded to the village headquarters.

Photographers appeared from nowhere and I was twice "snapped" on the
way, though I'm afraid I did not act up to the usual request, "look
pleasant." On arriving at a small house I was received by a German
general, who looked rather like an Xmas tree, the Iron C