probably call on them again next week, when I will let you know whether
their bloodthirsty intentions mature.

FRANCE, _September_, 1916

IV.

SPYING BY SNAPSHOT.

... Since daybreak a great wind has raged from the east, and even as I
write you, my best of friends, it whines past the mess-tent. This,
together with low clouds, had kept aircraft inactive--a state of things
in which we had revelled for nearly a week, owing to rain and mist.

However, towards late afternoon the clouds were blown from the trench
region, and artillery machines snatched a few hours' work from the
fag-end of daylight. The wind was too strong for offensive patrols or
long reconnaissance, so that we of Umpty Squadron did not expect a call
to flight.

But the powers that control our outgoings and incomings thought
otherwise. In view of the morrow's operations they wanted urgently a
plan of some new defences on which the Hun had been busy during the
spell of dud weather. They selected Umpty Squadron for the job,
probably because the Sopwith would be likely to complete it more quickly
than any other type, under the adverse conditions and the time-limit set
by the sinking sun. The Squadron Commander detailed two buses--ours and
another.

As it was late, we had little leisure for preparation; the cameras were
brought in a hurry from the photographic lorry, examined hastily by the
observers who were to use them, and fitted into the conical recesses
through the fuselage floor. We rose from the aerodrome within fifteen
minutes of the deliverance of flying orders.

Because of doubtful light the photographs were to be taken from the
comparatively low altitude of 7000 feet. We were able, therefore, to
complete our climb while on the way to Albert, after meeting the second
machine at 2000 feet.

All went well until we reached the neighbourhood of Albert, but there we
ran into a thick ridge of cloud and became separated. We dropped below
into the clear air, and hovered about in a search for the companion bus.
Five minutes brought no sign of its whereabouts, so we continued alone
towards the trenches. Three minutes later, when about one mile west of
Pozieres, we sighted, some 900 yards to north of us, a solitary machine
that looked like a Sopwith, though one could not be certain at such a
range. If it was indeed our second bus, its pilot, who was new to
France, must have misjudged his bearings, for it nosed across to the
German air count