"Are you going over?" I said.
"Rather," he replied, "the whole lot of us. Some stunt, eh!"
"Don't forget," I said, "the camera will be on you; good luck!"
Bidding my man collect the tripod and camera, I made for the position on Jacob's Ladder. But I was to receive a rude shock. The shelling of the morning had practically blown it all down. But there was sufficient for a clearance all around for my purpose, and sufficient shelter against stray bits of shrapnel. I prepared to put up my camera. Not quite satisfied, I left it about thirty yards away, to view the situation quickly, as there were only twenty minutes to go. Hardly had I left the machine than a "whizz-bang" fell and struck the parapet immediately above the ladder, tumbling the whole lot of sandbags down like a pack of cards.
It was a lucky escape for me. The position was absolutely no use now, and I had to choose another. Time was short. I hastily fixed my camera on the side of the small bank, this side of our firing trench, with my lens pointing towards the Hawthorn Redoubt, where the mine—the largest "blown" on the British Front—was going up. It was loaded with twenty tons of a new explosive of tremendous destructive power, and it had taken seven months to build.
Gee, what an awakening for Bosche!
My camera was now set ready to start exposing. I looked along the trench. The men were ready and waiting the great moment.
One little group was discussing the prospects of a race across "No Man's Land."
"Bet you, Jim, I'll get there first."
"Right-o! How much?"