"Well, monsieur," he said, "I will try and help you, but for me it is not possible to get you through. I am stationed here indefinitely, but I have a friend who drives an armoured car. I will ask him to do it." We then parted; I was to meet him with his friend that night.
I packed my things as close as possible, tying two extra spools of film in a package round my waist under my coat, put on my knapsack, and drew my Balaclava helmet well down over my chin.
Anxiously I awaited my friends. Seven o'clock—eight o'clock—nine o'clock. "Were they unable to come for me?" "Was there some hitch in the arrangement?" These thoughts flashed through my mind, when suddenly I heard a voice call behind me.
"Monsieur, monsieur!"
Turning, I saw my chauffeur friend beckoning to me. Hurrying forward, I asked if all was well.
"Oui, monsieur. I will meet you by the railway cutting."
This was the beginning of an adventure which I shall always remember. I had been up at the bridge some two minutes, when the armoured car glided up. "Up, monsieur," came a voice, and up I got. Placing my camera by the side of the mitrailleuse, I sat by my chauffeur, and we started off for the French lines.
Dashing along roads covered with shell-holes, I marvelled again and again at the man's wonderful driving. Heaps of times we escaped a smash-up by a hair's-breadth.