Two weeks after his capture a most astounding thing happened--as if it had been long cut and dried. During a semi-bright moonlight night a British plane made its appearance over the camp, and was being duly shelled. Presently it wavered like a wounded bird, then rapidly descended to a spare piece of ground near where Henare rambled. Hurrying towards it he found that it was not "wounded," but had alighted for a minor but necessary adjustment. As Henare approached, the airman drew his revolver, but the Maori threw up his arms and cried out: "Hey! Don't shoot! Me te Pritis prisoner." [Illustration] "Be the saints," came the reply, "Yez don't look much like a prisoner! Phat the mischief are yez doing here?" "Py korry, you better hurry up--all te Sherman looking for you. I tink you better take me up in te sky, too. I can ride." With that they both jumped into the plane, fixed the straps, and flew away. Only just in time, however, for bullets and shells soon began once more to liven things up. The plane dived, and swooped, and looped the loop until Henare thought his woolly head would drop off. They then had a safe run for an hour, but just as the aeroplane was crossing the German lines she was winged and had to descend in No-Man's-Land. Enemy searchlights soon discovered where they landed, and shells started to dance and sing all around them. The two men left the machine just before it was blown to pieces. They hid for awhile in a crater, until the welcome sound of a tank was heard. Presently she was seen lumbering along in the moonlight. Henare and the Irish airman made for her with all haste, waving their caps. The tank lurched towards them suspectingly, and then came to a standstill. [Illustration] When the back door opened a voice called out: "Weel naw, an' who might ye be?" The Irishman answered: "We're just lookin' for a bhuss to carry us back to the loines." "This wee cabby is no takin' passengers, but maybe ye can squeeze in--for its rough walkin' here." They had not travelled--or lumbered--far when the old tank tumbled headfirst into a deep shell-hole. With difficulty they all crawled out and had a good look at the undignified position of H.M.L.S. with her nose fast in the mud. Each one of them said a few simple words suitable to the occasion. Henare's contribution was--"Py cripes! she can buck worse'n te wild Maori hoss." There was nothing for it now but to walk. The enemy shelling became so fierce that the wanderers separated and dodged along--each man for himself--hiding here and there, and sheltering from time to time in large craters. Dead and dying men were lying about in all directions--giving evidence of recent heavy fighting. When Henare realized this, he forgot his own danger and set to work carrying wounded men--British and German--to the shelter of a crater. [Illustration]