"It's very risky," he said, "but if you like I will try. Hold tight, it's a dive."
I held tight. The nose of the machine tilted forward until it seemed as if it was absolutely standing on end. The earth rushed up to meet us. For the moment it seemed as if the aeroplane was out of control, but with a graceful glide, which brought us level, we continued our journey at a height of three thousand feet.
"Get what you want quickly," he shouted. "We can't stay here long."
I began to expose again. By now we were over line after line of trenches. At times we were well over the Bosche lines. I continued to film the scenes.
First came Plœgsteert, Fromelles, and Aubers Ridge. Then we crossed to Neuve Chapelle, Festubert, La Bassée and Loos. Town after town, village after village, were passed over, all of them in ruins. From above the trenches, like a splash of white chalk dropped into the middle of a patch of brown earth. The long winding trenches cut out of the chalk twisted and wound along valley and dale like a serpent. Looking down upon it all, it seemed so very insignificant. Man? What was he? His works looked so small that it seemed one could, with a sweep of the foot, crush him out of existence. How small he was, yet how great; how powerful, yet how weak! We were now over La Bassée.
"We shall have to rise," shouted my companion. "Look up there." I looked up, and thousands of feet above us was a small speck.
"Bosche plane," said he. "Hold tight!" And I did.