"Possibly, sir," I replied, "but to obtain genuine scenes one must be absolutely in the front line." "Ah, you English," he said, "you are _extraordinaire_." Suddenly taking me by the arm, he led me to an outhouse. At the door we met his Captain. Introducing me, he began to explain my wishes. By the looks and the smiles, I knew things were going well for me. Calling the interpreter, the Captain said, "If you accompany my men to the trenches you may get killed. You must take all risks. I cannot be held responsible, remember!" And with a smile, he turned and entered the house. Hardly realising my good fortune, I nearly hugged my new friend, the Lieutenant. "Monsieur," I said, saluting, "I am un Belge soldat _pro tem_." Laughingly he told me to get my kit ready, and from a soldier who could speak English I borrowed a water-bottle and two blankets. Going round to the back of the farm, I came upon the rest of the men being served out with coffee from a copper. Awaiting my turn, I had my water-bottle filled; then the bread rations were served out with tinned herrings. Obtaining my allowance, I stowed it away in my knapsack, rolled up my blanket and fixed it on my back, and was ready. Then the "Fall in" was sounded. What a happy-go-lucky lot! No one would have thought these men were going into battle, and that many of them would probably not return. This, unfortunately, turned out to be only too true. In my interest in the scene and anxiety to film it, I was forgetting to put my own house in order. "What if I don't come back?" I suddenly thought. Begging some paper, I wrote a letter, addressed to my firm, telling them where I had gone, and where to call at Furnes for my films in the event of my being shot. Addressing it, I left it in charge of an officer, to be posted if I did not return, and requested that if anything happened to me my stuff should be left at my café in Furnes. Shaking me by the hand, he said he sincerely hoped it would not be necessary. Laughingly I bade him adieu. Falling in with the other men we started off, with the cheers and good wishes of those left behind ringing in our ears. It was still raining, and, as we crossed the fields of mud, I began to feel the weight of my equipment pressing on my shoulders, which with my camera and spare films made my progress very slow. Many a time during that march the men offered to help me, but, knowing that they had quite enough to do in carrying their own load, I stubbornly refused. On we went, the roar of the guns getting nearer: over field after field, fully eighteen inches deep in mud, and keeping as close to hedges as possible, to escape detection from hostile aeroplanes. Near a bridge we were stopped by an officer. "What's the matter?" I asked of my interpreter. Not knowing, he went to enquire.