Successive pictures have been taken at intervals during an ocean voyage to show the life aboard ship, the swing of the great seas, and the rolling and pitching of the steamer.  The heave and swing of the steamer and the mountainous waves have been so realistically shown on the screen in the theatre that some squeamish spectators have been made almost seasick.  It might be comforting to those who were made unhappy by the sight of the heaving seas to know that the operator who took one series of sea pictures, when lashed with his machine in the lookout place on the foremast of the steamer, suffered terribly from seasickness, and would have been glad enough to set his foot on solid ground; nevertheless, he stuck to his post and completed the series.

[Illustration:  DEVELOPING MOVING-PICTURE FILMS The films are wound on the great drums and run through the developer in the troughs as the drums are slowly revolved.]

It was a biograph operator that was engaged in taking pictures of a fire department rushing to a fire.  Several pieces of apparatus had passed—­an engine, hook-and-ladder company, and the chief; the operator, with his (then) bulky apparatus, large camera, storage batteries, etc., stood right in the centre of the street, facing the stream of engines, hose-wagons, and fire-patrol men.  In order to show the contrast, an old-time hand-pump engine, dragged by a dozen men and boys, came along at full speed down the street, and behind and to one side of them followed a two-horse hose-wagon, going like mad.  The men running with the old-time engine, not realising how narrow the space was and unaware of the plunging horses behind, passed the biograph man on one side on the dead run.  The driver of the rapidly approaching team saw that there was no room for him to pass on the other side of the camera man, and his horses were going too fast to stop in the space that remained.  He had but an instant to decide between the dozen men and their antiquated machine and the moving-picture outfit.  He chose the latter, and, with a warning shout to the photographer, bore straight down on the camera, which continued to do its work faithfully, taking dozens of pictures a second, recording even the strained, anxious expression on the face of the driver.  The pole of the hose-wagon struck the camera-box squarely and knocked it into fragments, and the wheels passed quickly over the pieces, the photographer meanwhile escaping somehow.  By some lucky chance the box holding the coiled exposed film came through the wreck unscathed.

When that series was shown on the screen in a theatre the audience saw the engine and hook-and-ladder in turn come nearer and nearer and then rush by, then the line of running men with the old engine, and then—­and their flesh crept when they saw it—­a team of plunging horses coming straight toward them at frightful speed.  The driver’s face could be seen between the horses’ heads, distorted with effort and fear.  Straight on the horses