d another is entering Toutpres from
the east. A few barges are dotted among the various canals. Bordering a
wood to the west is an aerodrome. About a dozen aeroplanes are in line
on the ground, but the air above it is empty of Boche craft.

Evidently the Huns below had not expected a visit from hostile machines
on such a day, for Archie allows several minutes to pass before
introducing himself. A black puff then appears on our level some
distance ahead. We change direction, but the gunners find our new
position and send bursts all round the bus. The single _wouff_ of the
first shot has become a jerky chorus that swells or dwindles according
to the number of shells and their nearness.

I signal to the flight-commander that I have finished with Toutpres,
whereupon we climb into the clouds and comparative safety. We rise above
the white intangibility and steer north-east, in the direction of
Passementerie. I continue to look for possible aggressors. The necessity
for a careful look-out is shown when a group of black specks appears
away to the south, some fifteen hundred feet above us. In this area and
under to-day's weather conditions, the odds are a hundred to one that
they will prove to be Boches.

We lose height until our bus is on the fringe of the clouds and ready
to escape out of sight. Apparently the newcomers do not spot us in the
first place, for they are flying transverse to our line of flight. A few
minutes later they make the discovery, turn in our direction, and begin
a concerted dive. All this while I have kept my field-glasses trained on
them, and as one machine turns I can see the Maltese crosses painted on
the wings. The question of the strangers' nationality being answered, we
slip into a cloud to avoid attack.

The flight-commander thinks it advisable to remain hidden by keeping
inside the clouds. He must therefore steer entirely by compass, without
sun or landmark to guide him. As we leave the clear air a left movement
of the rudder, without corresponding bank, swings the machine to the
north, so that its nose points away from the desired course. The pilot
puts on a fraction of right rudder to counteract the deviation. We veer
eastward, but rather too much, if the swaying needle of the compass is
to be believed. A little left rudder again puts the needle into an
anti-clockwise motion. With his attention concentrated on our
direction, the pilot, impatient at waiting for the needle to become
steady, u