. Not to be done, I
roughly measured off a yard stick, and left the shelter of the trench to
measure the distance. It turned out to be 28 feet. Just as I had
finished, I heard three more shells come shrieking towards me. I simply
dived for the trench, and luckily reached it just in time.

Towards evening our artillery shelled a farm-house about three-quarters
of a mile distant, where the Germans had three guns hidden, and through
the glasses I watched the shells drop into the building and literally
blow it to pieces. Unfortunately, it was too far off to film it
satisfactorily.

That night was practically a repetition of the previous one. The trench
was attacked the greater part of the time, and bullets continually
spattered against the small iron plate.

Next morning I decided to try and film the mitrailleuse outpost on a
little spot of land in the floods, only connected by a narrow strip of
grass-land just high enough to be out of reach of the water. Still
keeping low under cover of the trenches, I made my way in that
direction. Several officers tried to persuade me not to go, but knowing
it would make an excellent scene, I decided to risk it. On the side of
the bank nearest our front line the ground sloped at a more abrupt
angle, the distance from the trench to the outpost being about sixty
yards. Rushing over the top of the parapet, I got to the edge of the
grass road and crouched down. The water up to my knees, I made my way
carefully along. Twice I stumbled over dead bodies. At last I reached
the outpost safely, but during the last few yards I must have raised
myself a little too high, for the next minute several bullets splashed
into the water where I had been.

The outpost was very surprised when I made my appearance, and expressed
astonishment that I had not been shot. "A miss is as good as a mile," I
laughingly replied, and then I told them I had come to film them at
work. This I proceeded to do, and got an excellent scene of the
mitrailleuse in action, and the other section loading up. The frightful
slaughter done by these guns is indescribable. Nothing can possibly live
under the concentrated fire of these weapons, as the Germans found to
their cost that day.

After getting my scenes, I thanked the officer, and was about to make my
way back; but he forbade me to risk it, telling me to wait until night
and return under cover of the darkness. To this I agreed, and that night
left the outpost with the othe