There at least I should be alone, with no one
to bother me. And I wanted a picture of the open trench. I got
it, too. When I say that with the sunlight of a January day on the
white snow I exposed that extra-quick instantaneous plate first
for six seconds, then for twelve, to make sure I got the picture,
[Footnote: Men are ever prone to doubt what they cannot understand.
With all the accumulated information on the subject, even to this
day, when it comes to taking a snap-shot, at the last moment I
weaken and take it under protest, refusing to believe that it can
be. A little more faith would make a much better photographer of
me.] and then put the plate-holder back among the rest so that I
did not know which was which, amateur photographers will understand
the situation. I had to develop the whole twelve to get one picture.
That was so dark, almost black, from over-exposure as to be almost
hopeless. But where there is life there is hope, if you can apply
that maxim to the Potter's Field, where there are none but dead
men. The very blackness of my picture proved later on, when I came
to use it with a magic lantern, the taking feature of it.
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