FILMING THE EARTH FROM THE CLOUDS
Chasing an "Enemy" Aeroplane at a Height of 13,500 Feet--And
What Came of It--A Dramatic Adventure in which the Pilot
Played a Big Part--I Get a Nasty Shock--But am Reassured--A
Freezing Experience--Filming the Earth as we Dived Almost
Perpendicularly--A Picture that would Defy the Most Ardent
Futurist to Paint.
"Is that gun ready?" asked my companion, twisting round in his seat. I
nodded. "Right-o! I'm going to get up higher. We are absolutely lost
down here."
I fixed on a drum of cartridges, and with a butt in my hand was ready
for any emergency. Higher and higher we rose. The mist was becoming more
and more dense. Photographing was impossible. The cold seemed to chill
one's bones. I could tell by the increasing vibration we were going "all
out," in order to get above the enemy machine, which seemed to be
drawing closer and closer. I looked at the pilot. He had his eyes fixed
upon the Bosche.
"What are we now?"
"Eight thousand," he said. "That chap must be at least thirteen thousand
up. Do you notice whether he is coming nearer?"
I told him it seemed to me as if he was doing so.
Up and up we went. Colder and colder it grew. My face was frozen. To
breathe, I had to turn my head sideways to avoid the direct rush of air
from the whirling propeller. I could just discern the ground through the
mist. I looked around for the Bosche. He seemed further away. I shouted
to the pilot. He looked round.
"I'm going to chase it," he said. And away he went. But the faster we
moved the faster went the other machine. At last we discovered the
reason. In fact, I believe we both discovered it at precisely the same
moment. _The plane was one of our own!_ I looked at the Captain. He
smiled at me, and I'm positive he felt disappointed at the discovery.
"What's the height?" I enquired.
"About thirteen thousand feet," he said. "Shall we go higher? We may get
above the mist."
"Try a little more," I replied. "But I don't think it will be possible
to film any more scenes to-day; the fog is much too heavy."
The whole machine was wet with moisture. It seemed as if we should never
rise above it. I had never before known it so thick. My companion asked
if we should return. With reluctance I agreed, then, turning round face
to the sun, we rushed away.
The mist did not seem to change. Mile after mile we encountered the same
impenetrable blanket of clammy moisture. I was huddling as tight as
possible to the bottom of the seat, taking advantage of the least bit of
cover from the biting, rushing swirl of icy-cold air. Mile after mile;
it seemed hours up there in the solitude. I watched the regular dancing
up and down of the valves on top of the engine. I was thinking of a tune
that would fit to the regular beat of the tappets.
I shouted through the 'phone.
No answer.
He must be too cold to speak, I thought. For myself, I did not know
whether I had jaws or not. The lashing, biting wind did not affect my
face now. I could feel nothing. Once I tried to pinch my cheek; it was
lifeless. It might have been clay. My jaw was practically set stiff. I
could only just articulate.
I tried again to attract my companion's attention. Still no answer.
I was wondering whether anything had happened to him, when something did
happen which very nearly petrified me. I felt a clutch on my shoulder.
Quickly turning my head, I was horrified to see him standing on his seat
and leaning over my shoulder.
"Get off the telephone tube, you idiot. You are sitting on it," he
shouted. "We can't speak to one another."
"Telephone be damned!" I managed to shout. "Get back to your seat. Don't
play monkey-tricks up here."
If you can imagine yourself fourteen thousand feet above the earth,
sitting in an aeroplane, and the pilot letting go all his controls, as
he stands on his feet shouting in your ear, you will be able to realise,
but only to a very slight extent, what my feelings were at this precise
moment.
He returned to his seat. He was smiling. I fumbled about underneath and
found the tube. Putting it to my mouth, I asked him what he meant by it.
"That's all right, my dear chap," he said, "there's no need to get
alarmed. The old bus will go along merrily on its own."
"I'll believe all you say. In fact I'll believe anything you like to
tell me, but I'd much rather you sit in your seat and control the
machine," I replied.
He chuckled, apparently enjoying the joke to the full, but during the
remainder of the journey I made sure I was not sitting on the speaking
tube.
The mist was gradually clearing now. The sun shone gloriously, the
clouds, a long way beneath us, looked more substantial; through the gaps
in their fleecy whiteness the earth appeared. It seemed a long time
since I had seen it. We were again coming to the edge of a cloud bank.
The atmosphere beyond was exceedingly clear.
"We are nearly home," said my companion. "Are you going to take any more
scenes?"
"Yes," I said, "I suppose you'll spiral down?"
"Right-ho!"
"I'll take a film showing the earth revolving. It'll look very quaint on
the screen."
"Here goes then. We are going to dive down to about six thousand feet,
so hold on tight to your strap."
The engines almost stopped. Suddenly we seemed to be falling earthwards.
Down--down--down! We were diving as nearly perpendicular as it is
possible to be. Sharp pains shot through my head. It was getting worse.
The pain was horrible. The right side of my face and head seemed as if a
hundred pin-points were being driven into it. I clutched my face in
agony; then I realised the cause. Coming down from such a height, at so
terrific a speed, the different pressure of the atmosphere affected the
blood pressure on the head.
Suddenly the downward rush was stopped. The plane was brought to an even
keel.
"I'm going to spiral now," said the pilot. "Ready?"
"Right away," I said, and knelt again in my seat. The plane suddenly
seemed to swerve. Then it slanted at a most terrifying angle, and began
to descend rapidly towards the earth in a spiral form. I filmed the
scene on the journey. To say the earth looked extraordinary would be
putting it very mildly. The ground below seemed to rush up and mix with
the clouds. First the earth seemed to be over one's head, then the
clouds. I am sure the most ardent futurist artist would find it utterly
impossible to do justice to such a scene. Round and round we went. Now
one side, now the other. How I held to my camera-handle goodness only
knows. Half the time, I am sure, I turned it mechanically.
Suddenly we came to an even keel. The earth seemed within jumping
distance. The nose dipped again, the propeller whirled. Within a few
seconds we were bounding along on the grassy space of the aerodrome, and
finally coming to rest we were surrounded by the mechanics, who quickly
brought the machine to a standstill.
"By the way," I said to the pilot, as we went off to tea, "how long were
we up there altogether?"
"Two hours," he replied.
Two hours! Great Scott! It seemed days!