And now the peaceful character of the voyage came to an end. The “Archies” were at work again, and on every side, and dangerously near. Don Hale saw the wicked, lashing little balls of black smoke, though the explosions of the shells could scarcely be heard. Nor were the flying men threatened by the anti-aircraft batteries alone: Albatross and Fokker machines were approaching. And, in order that the enemy planes might not gain too great an altitude and be in a position to dive down upon them, the leader of the flotilla gave a prearranged signal; whereupon several of the convoys began following him to a higher level.
Don Hale, however, had been instructed to remain below, while the photographs were being taken, and the prospect was not altogether a pleasant one. He well knew that the Caudron would take all sorts of risks in order to obtain the desired pictures; and the protecting Nieuports, to fulfil the duties imposed upon them, must all expect to run a fiery gauntlet of shrapnel.
Down—still further down, as though unmindful of their spiteful presence, the big Caudron flew in a circling flight directly over the town.
Now in light, now in shadow, the collection of buildings made a pleasant picture. The golden cross surmounting the spire of the lone church occasionally reflected the mellow rays of the sun, and, like a jet of fire, sent its light into the sky.
But these were things to which Don Hale paid not the slightest attention: his mind was wholly wrapped up in the work ahead of him. He was playing a game in which life and liberty were at stake, and, as the Nieuport rocked and shook in the currents of the air disturbed by the almost continual explosions of the shrapnel shells, he warily watched the movements of the enemy planes.
Somehow or other, now that the perilous moment had come, he felt neither excited, apprehensive nor alarmed. An almost unnatural calmness seemed to have a hold upon him; and even when he saw a hole suddenly appear on the left-hand side of the upper plane, which meant that a piece of flying lead had pierced it, he did not lose his steadiness of hand or presence of mind.
He seemed to be fairly surrounded by the bursting shells. In every direction he turned they were there to meet him. The “flaming onions,” too, were beginning to cut their fiery passage through the air; and as they traveled with terrible swiftness the danger from them was even greater than that from the anti-aircraft guns.
Around and around soared the photographic machine; and around and around soared the Nieuports, both above and below. It was a veritable ride of death, with a chance that some of the combat pilots would pay the penalty for their daring, and be recorded in the brief official communique as among the missing or the dead.
Suddenly the photographic machine darted downward. Don Hale, with his eyes fixed upon it, almost held his breath with suspense and apprehension. It seemed scarcely possible that the pilot could rise again.
However, just as this gloomy thought was becoming fixed in his mind, the airplane began to ascend.