Snipers seemed to be in every tree. Bullets whistled down like acorns in the autumn breeze, but the French suddenly formed a semi-circle and pushed right into the wood, driving the enemy from their perches in the trees or shooting them as they scrambled down.
Through the wood I plunged, utterly ignoring every danger, both from friend or foe, in the thrill of that wonderful "drive." Luck, however, was with me. Neither the French nor the Germans seemed to see me, and we all suddenly came out of the wood at the far side, and I then managed to get a splendid picture of the end of the pursuit, when the French, wild with excitement at their success in clearing the district of the enemy, plunged madly down the hill in chase of the last remnants of the sniping band.
A few seconds later I darted back into the cover of the trees.
My mission was accomplished. I had secured pictures of actual events in the Vosges. But that was the least part of my work. I had to get the film to London.
The excitement of the pursuit had taken me far from my starting-point, and with the reaction that set in when I was alone in the wood, with all its memories and its ghastly memorials of the carnage, I found it required all my strength of nerve to push me on. I had to plough through open spaces, two feet and more deep in snow, through undergrowth, not knowing at what moment I might stumble across some unseen thing. Above all, I had but the barest recollection of my direction. It seemed many hours before I regained my stump of wall and found my skis lying just where I had cast them off.
It was a race against time, too, for dusk was falling, and I knew that it would be impossible to get out of St. Dié by any conveyance after dark.
I had the luck to find a man with a sledge, who was returning to a distant village, some way behind the war zone, and he agreed for a substantial consideration to take me. We drove for many hours through the night, and it was very late when at last, in a peasant's cottage, I flung myself fully dressed on a sofa, for there was no spare bed, and slept like a log for several hours.
It was by many odd conveyances that I made my way to Besançon, and thence to Dijon. I had managed to clean myself up, and looked less like an escaped convict than I had done; but I was very wary all the way to Paris, where I communicated with headquarters, and received orders to rush the films across to London as fast as ever I could.
Having overcome the perils of the land, I had to face those of the sea, for the German submarines were just beginning their campaign against merchant shipping, and cross-Channel steamers were an almost certain mark. So the boat service was suspended for a day or two, and there was I stranded in Dieppe with my precious films, as utterly shut off from London as the German army.
I was held up there for three days, during which time I secured pictures of the steamer Dinorah, which limped into port after being torpedoed, of a sailing vessel which had struck a mine, and some interesting scenes on board French torpedo boat destroyers as they returned from patrolling the Channel.