Then, to add to the discomfiture of the situation, it began to rain, and rain like fury, and in a few minutes I was wet through to the skin. The hood leaked badly and had convenient holes in alignment to one's body, whether you were sitting lengthways or otherwise inside. I had resigned myself for a dismal night out. Two hours had passed when I heard the clatter of hoofs coming towards me in the distance and, by the direction of the sound, I could tell they were our men. I tumbled out and ran as fast as possible to the other side of the crater and reached there just as the horsemen arrived. "Hullo!" I shouted. "Hulloa!" came the reply, "who is it?" "I am badly stuck, or rather my car is--in the mud in the field here. Can you hitch two or three of your horses on and help me out on to the road?" "Certainly, if we can, sir." "I will guide you with my lamp--by the way, where are you going?" I said. "We are trying to get into touch with the Bosche." "I have been in Bovincourt," I said, "but there are none there, though I heard a lot of rifle-fire just outside the village." We arrived at the car and, quickly hitching on a rope, the engine was started up and, with a heave and a screech, it moved forward and was eventually dragged on to the road. "Thank Heaven," I thought. Then, thanking the men, and warning them of the other delightful mine crater further down, I started off again, sitting on the bonnet. As I neared Brie I switched on my lamp as a headlight and got held up by two sentries with their bayonets at the ready. They did not understand why a motor-car should be coming back apparently from the German lines, and their attitude was decidedly unfriendly till I assured them I was not a German, but only the Official Kinematographer out for pictures. CHAPTER XXVIII THE STORY OF AN "ARMOURED CAR" ABOUT WHICH I COULD A TALE UNFOLD Possibilities--Food for Famished Villagers--Meeting the Mayoress of Bovincourt--Who Presides at a Wonderful Impromptu Ceremony--A Scrap Outside Vraignes--A Church Full of Refugees--A True Pal--A Meal with the Mayor of Bierne. To keep hard upon the heels of the retreating Germans and so obtain scenes, the character of which had never been presented before to the British public, was my chief aim. I had no time for sleep. I arrived at my base wet through, the rain had continued throughout the whole of my return journey. Changing into dry underwear, I refilled my exposed spool-boxes and packed up a good surplus supply, sufficient to last for several days, then packing my knapsack with the usual rations, bully and bread, condensed milk and slabs of chocolate, I was ready to start out once more. My clothes had by this time dried. Daylight was breaking, the car arrived and, with all kit aboard, I started out again for the Somme, wondering what the day would bring forth. I stopped on the way to pick up the "still" photographer. "Where for to-day?" he asked.