"Yes," I said, and handed him my water-bottle.
He rinsed out his mouth.
"I do believe it's worth risking shrapnel rather than tolerate these vile things!" he remarked. "But excuse my laughter; you did look funny coming along there."
"Yes, I expect I did," I said, still puffing away at my cigarettes. "I'd smoke a dozen at once if I could. Anything to keep the flies away."
"Well," he said, "I'm stumped. Have you one to spare?"
I handed him my case. He lighted up and both of us, puffing as hard as we could, made quite a healthy volume of smoke. From above it must have looked as if a small fire was raging.
We had sat there alternately puffing and chatting and killing flies by the hundreds for about ten minutes. I told him I wanted to get some scenes of Trones. He politely told me I ought to have brought my keeper out with me, but as he was going in that direction he would help me on the way to being killed by carrying my tripod.
We started off. The shelling was getting unpleasantly near. Phoot-bang! We both ducked, my head getting a nasty knock against the tripod top. For the moment I thought I had been struck by the whizz-bang. Presently we reached a junction in the trench, and as my friend's road lay in an opposite direction we parted, and I trudged on alone.
I was brought to a standstill by a mound of earth which completely blocked the way. By all appearances the shell that had caused it could have only come over a few minutes before, for a thin wisp of smoke was still curling up from the débris. "Well," I thought, placing my kit on the ground, "it's got to be done; so over I go." Here the air was completely free from flies. Evidently the gas from the bursting shell had choked them off for a time. Jove! I was glad. It was like heaven; and my tongue was beginning to burn rather badly through fiercely smoking two cigarettes at once.
Cautiously I crept up to the top of the parapet! What a sight! Shells were falling thick and fast over Trones and towards Baentin-le-Grand. I must film this, Bosche or no Bosche! So hastily fixing up my tripod, I fastened on the camera and began exposing. "Excellent," I thought; "I've got it." Another shell came along. This time it was evidently a 5·9, and was right in the centre of my view, about one hundred and fifty yards away! Another one. Rotten! Just out of my limits. Phut-bang! Phut-bang! I grabbed my camera and fell with it on the opposite side of the mound. I let it lie there, and dashing back into the other section of trench grabbed my bags and returned. Whizz-bangs followed; whizz-bangs in front and behind! I crouched as low as possible and replacing the camera in its case hung it over my back and, still bending low, hurried away dragging my tripod behind me.