Heroic airmen and their exploits

By E. Walter Walters

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Title: Heroic airmen and their exploits

Author: E. Walter Walters

Release date: August 29, 2025 [eBook #76758]

Language: English

Original publication: London: Charles H. Kelly, 1917

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Transcriber’s notes

Changes made are noted at the end of the book.




    HEROIC AIRMEN
    AND THEIR EXPLOITS




[Illustration: Flight-Commander W. L. Robinson, V. C. By Dudley Tennant.

_Reproduced by special permission from the plate in ‘Answers.’_]


    HEROIC AIRMEN
    AND THEIR EXPLOITS

    BY
    E. W. WALTERS

    _Author of ‘The Souls of the Brave,’ ‘Heroines of
    the World War,’ &c._


    LONDON
    CHARLES H. KELLY
    25-35 CITY ROAD, AND 26 PATERNOSTER ROW, E.C.


_First Edition, 1917_


    TO THE
    MEMORY OF THE HEROIC AIRMEN
    WHO HAVE
    LAID DOWN THEIR LIVES IN THE SERVICE
    OF THEIR COUNTRY


AUTHOR’S NOTE


Acknowledgement is due in many directions, to various friends for
supplying interesting information, and to the authors of various books
and articles.

These pages, however, are far from being of a technical nature. The
chief aim is to awaken the interest of the reader and throw fresh light
on heroic deeds.

  E. W. W.




CONTENTS


    CHAPTER PAGE

    I. BY WAY OF INTRODUCTION                        11

    II. THE BIRTH OF THE AIRSHIP                     14

    III. THE PIONEER WORK OF M.
    SANTOS DUMONT                                    18

    IV. FURTHER LINES OF PROGRESS                    22

    V. THE BIRTH AND GROWTH OF
    THE AEROPLANE                                    30

    VI. FURTHER DEVELOPMENTS AND
    CERTAIN ENEMY MACHINES                           37

    VII. THE ZEPPELIN AND OTHER
    MODERN AIRSHIPS                                  44

    VIII. CONTROLLING AN AEROPLANE                   53

    IX. FLIGHT-COMMANDER WILLIAM
    LEAFE ROBINSON, V.C.                             61

    X. LIEUT. F. SOWREY, D.S.O., AND
    LIEUT. A. BRANDON, D.S.O.                        75

    XI. THE CAPTIVE ZEPPELIN                         89

    XII. LIEUT. W. L. TEMPEST, D.S.O.                94

    XIII. LIEUT. WARNEFORD, V.C.                    104

    XIV. THE NEW ARM IN WARFARE                     108

    XV. FROM VICTORY TO VICTORY                     117

    XVI. AIR SUPREMACY                              123

    XVII. FLIGHT-COMMANDER ALBERT
    BALL, D.S.O., M.C.                              127

    XVIII. LIEUT. ALLAN BOTT, M.C.                  130

    XIX. FLIGHT-LIEUT. GUYNEMER                     134

    XX. LIEUT. STEWART GORDON
    RIDLEY                                          137

    XXI. SOUS-LIEUT. LOUIS NOËL                     142

    XXII. FLIGHT-LIEUT. HAROLD
    ROSHER, R.N.A.S.                                147

    XXIII. AN OBSERVER IN THE
    R.N.A.S.                                        152

    XXIV. HEROES OF THE ROYAL NAVAL
    AIR SERVICE                                     157

    XXV. TOLD BY THE ADMIRALTY                      162

    XXVI. HEROES OF FRANCE                          168

    XXVII. AWARDS AND DECORATIONS                   191

    XXVIII. FRENCH APPRECIATION                     202

    XXIX. THE EYES OF OUR ARMIES
    IN THE FIELD                                    207

    XXX. RUSSIAN PRAISE AND
    RUSSIAN ACHIEVEMENTS                            213

    XXXI. ITALY’S PART                              219

    XXXII. ENEMY ACTIVITY                           224

    XXXIII. A GENERAL VIEW                          231

    XXXIV. THE HEROIC DEAD                          253

    XXXV. CONCLUSION                                265




LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS


                                               PAGE

  FLIGHT-COMMANDER W. L. ROBINSON, V.C. _Frontispiece_

  DISTINCTIVE MARKS USED BY BELLIGERENTS
  IN THE AIR                                       31

  DIAGRAM ISSUED IN THE EARLY PART OF
  THE WAR BY THE FRENCH WAR OFFICE                 41

  SECTIONAL VIEW OF ZEPPELIN AIRSHIP               49

  LIEUT. WARNEFORD, V.C. _face_                   104

  BOMB-DROPPING _face_                            128

  GUARDING OUR COASTS: A NAVAL PATROL
  IN DIFFICULTIES _face_                          154

  AWARDS AND DECORATIONS _face_                   192


 ‘All our airmen are heroes, at home and in France, and the gratitude
 of the nation is due to them for the splendid success with which they
 have got the upper hand of the air service of the enemy.’

  —_The Daily Press_, October 2, 1916.




HEROIC AIRMEN




CHAPTER I

BY WAY OF INTRODUCTION


We approach an intensely interesting subject. Indeed, there is the
danger that we may be tempted to dwell on thrilling achievements before
learning what those achievements really mean. We have all talked
freely in the past of airmen and flying; yet how limited has been our
knowledge! These pages will not, however, touch ground of a purely
technical nature. Matters intricate and involved will be avoided. Harm
rather than good might come from trespassing on ground presided over
by experts. But there is a middle course: we may learn sufficient to
appreciate in a fuller and deeper sense the achievements of our heroic
airmen.

Our subject is wide, as wide, indeed, as the heavens. We must needs
cover much ground, and must regulate our pace accordingly. Much as
we may be tempted to dwell upon this or that branch of the subject,
we shall often be compelled to pass on. For this is a book of heroic
deeds, and our aim in touching briefly upon the birth and early
development of various forms of aircraft will chiefly be with the view
of giving a fuller and deeper meaning to the achievements of such men
as Lieutenant Robinson, V.C., and Lieutenant Warneford, V.C. Happily
there are many such heroes.

‘I was not the only one to go up after the Zeppelin,’ Lieutenant
Robinson said in his first public speech. ‘Men have gone up in
conditions of almost certain death, and some have met their death in
facing the murderers who have come over here. There are men, friends of
mine, who have been maimed for life by going up just on the off-chance
of strafing them on absolutely impossible nights—misty nights, when it
is exceedingly difficult to land, and the ground cannot be seen when
you are up. They get into the clouds, lose control of their machines,
and crash to earth. These deeds are hundreds of times more heroic than
what I did. It was merely my good fortune.’

A brave speech, worthy of a true hero! We shall do well if in the
course of these pages we can get into closer touch with men of such
stamp.




CHAPTER II

THE BIRTH OF THE AIRSHIP


Progress in the construction of aircraft has been rapid of recent
years, but there was a long period of experiment and preparation. It is
a long flight from the aircraft of to-day back to the efforts of the
Robert brothers in 1784.

The Robert brothers’ experiments took the form of a balloon shaped like
a melon, made of silk carefully proved, and measuring 52 feet in length
and 32 feet in diameter. The gas employed was pure hydrogen. Underneath
the envelope was suspended a long, narrow car, in general idea not
unlike that used on some modern airships, and three pairs of oars with
blades made like a racquet-frame, covered with silk, and a rudder of
similar material.

The two brothers, accompanied by a third person, went up in this early
dirigible and succeeded in describing a curve of one kilometre radius,
thus showing that, at any rate, they could deviate in some measure
from the wind then prevailing. But at the time of the ascent there
seems to have been very little opposition in the way of wind pressure.
Favourable weather was naturally chosen. Nevertheless, something was
attempted and something done, paving the way for further efforts.

Another airship, which led to a thrilling adventure, was built in due
course. This was fitted with an internal air ballonet. An ascent was
bravely attempted, but the ship got into a strong air eddy, which tore
away the oars and rudder and detached the air-bag from its sustaining
cords. This airship, however, is said to have reached a remarkable
height for those days—no less than 16,000 feet! This, however, was
_not_ intentional.

Another airship worthy of note was the dirigible built in France by
Henri Giffard. This took a spindle shape, measuring 143 feet in length
and 39 feet in diameter. It had a 3 h.-p. steam engine and an 11 foot
screw propeller. The first trip was made in September, 1852. Six miles
were covered in conditions not entirely favourable, and it is recorded
that several further journeys were made. Ten years, however, passed
before marked progress was shown in the construction of this type of
dirigible.

Tissandier was the next in the field. His dirigible was not unlike
previous efforts in shape and construction; but now an electric motor
and a bichromate battery were employed, and a speed of eight miles an
hour was reached.

Next came Captain Charles Renard, who made marked progress by building
an envelope with a ‘true streamline.’ The car was suspended by means
of a huge sheet placed over the back of the airship, to which were
attached suspensory cords. The cubic capacity of the airship was 66,000
feet. It was kept rigid by means of an internal air ballonet, which
was kept full by a fan blower coupled to a motor. It had a car 108
feet in length, which helped to steady the airship, and indeed played
a somewhat similar part to the spar employed in later airships of the
semi-rigid type. An electric motor, weighing 220 lbs., was installed,
which developed 9 h.-p. The first trial trips were made in 1884, and
were considered at the time remarkably successful so far as navigation
was concerned. Indeed, it is recorded that on one occasion this
dirigible flew round Paris at an average speed of 14½ miles an hour—a
remarkable achievement at the time.

Clearly there was now a future for airships. Germany had recognized
this for some while, and had not been idle. Baumgarten and Wolfert
built an airship in 1879 with a benzine motor, but when making an
ascent at Leipzig the vessel got out of control, fell to the ground,
and was hopelessly wrecked.

In 1897 Wolfert made further experiments, which cost him his life.
A fire broke out in the benzine container of the new ship, with the
result that the inventor and his assistant were killed.

The same year saw an effort on the part of an Austrian named Schwartz,
who built an airship of sheet aluminium. This, however, proved a leaky
structure. It descended and came to a sudden end. Schwartz, however,
was the first to build a rigid airship with a petrol motor, and there
is a sense in which his efforts led to the modern Zeppelin.

With that airship—the modern Zeppelin—with its intricate construction
and remarkable capacities of speed and distance, its carrying powers,
its evil missions, its tactics when under fire—we shall deal later.




CHAPTER III

THE PIONEER WORK OF M. SANTOS DUMONT


The efforts of M. Santos Dumont call for special reference. He
contributed greatly to the science of aerostation, and may be
considered one of the foremost of the flight pioneers. He was a man of
remarkable industry, perseverance, and courage.

His first noteworthy effort in construction was in 1898, when he made a
cylinder of varnished silk, 82½ feet in length, with pointed ends, and
measuring 11½ feet in diameter. An internal air ballonet was fitted,
and an engine giving 3 h.-p. A balloon basket was hung beneath the
envelope. There was a two-blade propeller, whilst shifting weights
controlled the poise of the ship, steering being effected by means of a
rudder composed of strong silk over a steel frame.

Comparative success greeted the venture. The airship left the
Zoological Gardens in Paris and performed various evolutions, in spite
of a gentle wind. Later, however, disaster threatened the ship and its
distinguished pilot, owing to too rapid contraction of the gas whilst
the ship was in the act of descending. But a calamity was averted by
some schoolboys, who with commendable foresight caught hold of the tail
rope of the airship and drew it along kite fashion with such speed that
a gentle landing was effected.

At a later date, being encouraged by the offer of a prize, M. Santos
Dumont built a new and larger airship with the view to flying from St.
Cloud, round the Eiffel Tower, and back to the starting-point within
thirty minutes. This new ship was 109 feet in length and 17 feet in
diameter. It was fitted with a 4-cylinder air-cooled motor, driving
an enormous propeller of 26 feet in diameter, which gave a thrust of
120 lbs. at 140 revolutions per minute. Among other novelties, water
ballast was used, and piano wires replaced the old type of suspension
cords.

An attempt to earn the prize was made in July, 1901. At 6.30 in the
morning the airship started from St. Cloud, reached the Eiffel Tower,
and made a successful turn. But the weather conditions were adverse to
the venture. A wind arose, and the return journey took thirty minutes.

Not to be outdone, Santos Dumont made another attempt in August of
the same year. He failed again, but soon got to work upon yet another
airship. This developed an ascensional force of 1,158 lbs., and was
driven by a 12 h.-p. 4-cylinder motor which gave a thrust of 145 lbs.
With this ship, on October 19, 1901, Santos Dumont started for the
Eiffel Tower hampered by a side wind of 20 feet a second. Nevertheless,
he reached the tower in nine minutes, but owing to allowing
insufficient clearance he barely missed colliding with it. However, he
got the airship under control and returned to his starting-point in
29½ minutes, thus winning the Deutsch prize of 125,000 francs and an
additional reward of 125,000 francs.

The greater part of the money was given by the aviator to charity,
showing clearly that in his experiments M. Santos Dumont had other aims
than self-gain. A wit has observed that he was a ‘man of high-soaring
motives,’ which is, in fact, entirely true. His aim was to construct
an airship that would prove of real service to mankind, and in his
experiments he sacrificed both time and money, and, of far greater
importance, he made his ascents at great risk to his personal safety
at a time when ‘air courage’ was comparatively new, and in conditions
which made no immediate call to patriotism and duty. He was of the
‘stuff’ of which the true hero of the air is made, taking with a brave
heart serious risks, and going from flight to flight with no other
thought than achieving the end he had in view.




CHAPTER IV

FURTHER LINES OF PROGRESS


Progress toward the modern airship has, as we have seen, been by
short and laborious flights. The disappointments and disasters have
been almost numberless. Endless patience, perseverance, and dauntless
courage have been demanded. Moreover, in the past the would-be master
of the air has needed very considerable resources. On account of a lack
of funds many promising designs have come to no definite end. In the
earlier days of flying the work of construction was done chiefly by men
of leisure and means. Not till a comparatively recent date has the work
been put on a commercial basis and done by large manufacturing firms.

One of the chief difficulties to be overcome was to discover an object
of sufficient strength to be driven through the air, and yet so light
that it could displace more than its own weight of air. No very great
difficulty was experienced in constructing the spherical balloon, for
the sphere is, of course, the natural shape which any flexible envelope
will take. No framework was needed to stiffen the flimsy covering of
such a balloon. The sphere is, in itself, a natural shape, and it has
no tendency to change. The distorting action upon it is that due to the
weight of the car; but by using a large net bag, enclosing the whole
balloon, this has been so spread that the distortion is very slight,
and the natural shape not interfered with to a very appreciable extent.

The great pressure of the air has, of course, constituted many
difficulties. At sea-level the air pressure is 14·7 lbs. per square
inch. A vessel containing a vacuum has therefore to be strong enough
to support 15 lbs. on every square inch of its surface. To make the
envelope of a balloon strong enough to contain a vacuum is impossible
for the purpose. Too great weight would be required.

It has been found that the best course is to fill the balloon with
hydrogen, the lightest of gases. In this way the difficulty as regards
pressure is overcome, for the hydrogen presses upwards as strongly as
the air presses inwards. Stated in round figures, 1,000 cubic feet of
hydrogen weighs about 5½ lbs., and the same quantity of air about 80
lbs. It has been found, then, that 75 lbs. represents the gross lifting
weight, and that from it must be deducted the weight of the envelope to
arrive at the desired lifting effect.

With the increased size of the balloon many difficulties have been
removed, for the lifting weight increases faster than the superficial
area of the envelope. The contents of a sphere increase as the cube
of a diameter, but the area grows only as the square of the diameter.
Therefore, if you double the diameter of a balloon you increase its
capacity and consequently its gross lift by eight times. Even if it
should be necessary to increase the thickness of the fabric of which
the balloon is made, there is still a good margin left in favour of the
larger balloon.

But the aim has been to obtain something more than the ordinary
spherical balloon, which simply drifts in the air-currents. Such a
balloon is helpless as far as direction is concerned. It simply ‘goes
with the wind.’ Its weight may be varied, but not its direction. The
aim of the inventors of steerable balloons has been to overcome
helpless drifting by means of propellers and rudders, and by various
means designed to avoid loss of gas in ascending and descending.

Inventors in time past found that it was no easy matter to drive a
large spherical object of a light and flimsy construction through the
air. With the huge area which a spherical balloon offers to the wind,
it was found impossible to make any headway at all, except in perfectly
calm weather, or with the wind behind. Consequently the steerable
balloon took on an elongated shape, the nose growing more and more
pointed, so that it could ‘cut’ the air.

But now a fresh call arose for new ways and means of construction.
The simple bag, which served in spherical form, was useless for the
new design. A rigid framework of suitable lightness and strength was
called for—an extremely difficult matter. Indeed, even in the case of
a ship built for the sea there are troubles in this direction. ‘The
water supports it all along, while the load which it carries is more
or less in lumps, distributed irregularly from end to end. A ship in
still water, without any attacks by storms from without, is in danger
of breaking its back. If it be divided up into short sections some
will be found to possess great buoyancy and little load, while others
will be carrying loads far in excess of their buoyancy. The ship
must therefore be strongly constructed, so that the lightly loaded
parts may be able effectually to assist the heavily loaded parts. As
great longitudinal stiffness is required in a ship as in a bridge. In
fact, the modern ship is actually modelled upon a railway bridge. The
method of construction which made the great liner of to-day possible
was invented by I. K. Brunel, who got the idea from the Menai Straits
Bridge of Robert Stephenson.’

Longitudinal stiffness is, then, an absolute essential to any structure
of the kind now in mind. The buoyancy must be fairly constant from end
to end, the cars being suspended at intervals. That is to say, it has
been found that the necessary stiffness must be attained whereby the
weight of the suspended cars will be distributed in due proportion to
every part of the balloon, not simply to the parts immediately above.

This has been attained by means of a cleverly constructed framework of
aluminium, and on a line with this improvement have come a number of
drum-shaped gas-bags, made of rubber fabric and placed in allotted
spaces in the framework. A kind of keel has also been introduced
beneath the frame, giving additional stiffness and keeping the airship
from rolling, just as in the case of seafaring craft.

Improvement has followed improvement. In some designs two light frames
have been spread out from the main structure of the airship, each
carrying a propeller. Frames have also been introduced at the back of
the airship, thus giving four propellers in all—two forward and two
aft. With these have come fins or planes, designed with the view to
keeping the nose of the airship foremost to the wind. Moreover, groups
of planes have been employed, lying in horizontal position but capable
of movement, and making it possible to steer upward at both ends or at
one only, as required.

Whilst these structures, which led to the Zeppelin, were in course of
preparation, other designs of importance were being made, which led by
degrees to airships of the nature of the Parseval. In these designs
there was no elaborate framework. The balloon portion was in one—a
huge shape, stout in the middle with a pointed tail and rounded nose,
and carrying triangular planes, placed horizontally. This strange
shape, not unlike a fish, was maintained simply by the formation of
the bag, distended by pressure of the gas. Difficulties as regards the
car were overcome by long ropes, the car being suspended some distance
below. The ropes were attached to the balloon at intervals, thus
distributing the weight of the car throughout almost the full length of
the balloon.

Later came improvements which permitted the car of the airship to
slide, so to speak, upon the suspending ropes, thus giving greater
freedom to the action of the propeller. To the design were also added
two smaller ballonets, inside the large one, carrying air-ballast. And
by means of clever manipulation these bags made it easier to keep the
airship at an even keel. This aim was also aided by a small horizontal
plane or elevator placed beneath the bow. Underneath the stern was hung
a vertical plane, to the end of which the rudder was hinged. The motor
was in the car, and drove two propellers, supported upon a framework,
between the car and the balloon. These craft gradually grew to about
300 feet in length, and about 50 feet in diameter at the thickest
parts.

Other designs, which led to the Astra-Torres, an airship of French
origin, had a balloon of ‘trefoil’ shape. The car was hung low, as in
other models of the kind, and was distributed by a number of wires,
some of which passed into the balloon itself and were attached inside.
Indeed, it was this mode of attaching the car that led to the trefoil
shape. Two planes were attached to the rear, and two elevators and the
rudder were placed beneath the rear end.

In another fairly successful design of a similar nature a long girder
ran underneath the balloon, supported by wires from the balloon,
the car being attached to the centre, thus distributing the weight
throughout the whole length of the balloon.

Many of these designs had their origin in France, but the British have
not been idle. Many improvements have had their birth in England, and
we know that these, as in the case of other designs here mentioned,
have led to definite results. Out of persevering efforts, checked again
and again by misfortune and often by disaster, have come the modern
airships with which we are familiar. In their wake are many victims.
Yet, as we have seen, and shall see afresh in these pages, they have
called forth many heroic deeds.




CHAPTER V

THE BIRTH AND GROWTH OF THE AEROPLANE


It is to the honour of the British nation that one of the first
principles of the biplane was proposed and explained by a British
subject, Mr. F. H. Wenham, as far back as 1866. He pointed out that the
lifting power of a surface can be economically obtained by placing a
number of smaller surfaces one above another. Indeed, flying-machines
were built by Wenham on this principle, with appliances for the use of
his own muscular power. He did not, however, accomplish actual flight,
although valuable results were obtained as regards the driving power of
superposed surfaces.

After various further experiments in the same direction, it fell to
H. von Helmholtz to emphasize the improbability that man could drive
a flying-machine by his own muscular power. A period of stagnation
followed. But interest was revived later, and fresh efforts were made,
varying in importance, down to the experiments of Sir Hiram Maxim and
Professor Langley.

[Illustration: DISTINCTION MARKS USED BY THE BELLIGERENTS IN THE WAR.

  1. British. 2. Marks on rudder of British machine.
  3. French. 4. Marks on rudder of French machine.
  5. Russian. 6. Italian. 7. German and Austrian. 8. Turkish.

The British marks consist of circles, having a red and blue
circumference, with a white or (occasionally) the natural colour of the
fabric in between. The positions for these circles are:—Two on the
upper surface of the top plane near the wing tips; two on the lower
surface of the bottom plane, also close to the tips; one on each side
of the body between the pilot’s seat and the tail. Sometimes simply a
red circle is used on naval machines. The rudder is painted with three
vertical stripes in the following order counting from front to back:
blue, white, red. The French distinction marks are similar to the
British, with the exception that the centre of the circles is blue and
the circumference red. The Belgian, Serbian, and Roumanian marks are
similar to the French. The Russian marks are lateral stripes on the
planes in the order from the leading to the trailing edge of the wing:
white, blue, red. Our Italian Allies incorporate their national colours
in a rosette on their machines. The device has a red centre, then a
white ring with a green circle outside.]


These two eminent men, who took up the subject of flying in the last
decade of the last century, came to their task with great scientific
knowledge. Hitherto flying was associated in the minds of the public
with failure and folly. Indeed, Sir Hiram Maxim once remarked that at
the time he took up the subject it was almost considered a disgrace
to any one to think of it. It was thought ‘quite out of the practical
question.’ But the two great men now in mind were not to be turned
aside by ridicule. ‘They rescued aeronautics from a fallen position,
and fired in its cause the enthusiasm of men of light and learning.’

Sir Hiram Maxim’s experiments were on a large scale. He built the
largest flying-machine that had then been constructed. It had 4,000
feet of supporting surface and weighed 8,000 lbs.; the screw propellers
measured 17 feet 11 inches in diameter, the width of the blade at the
tip being 5 feet. The boiler was of 363 h.-p. This remarkable machine
had wheels and a railway line, and was restrained from premature
flight by a system of wooden rails. But it proved unruly. It burst
through the wooden rails, and flew in a wholly unexpected fashion for
300 feet!

Professor Langley’s experiments carried flying still further. In 1896
he built a machine that flew for more than three-quarters of a mile. In
this machine there was only 70 square feet of supporting surface, and
the weight was only 72 lbs. It had a 1 h.-p. engine, weighing 7 lbs.

But Professor Langley had still to build a machine that would carry
a man. This he did in due course, but when the machine was being put
to the test over water, and at the very moment of being launched, it
caught in the launching ways and was pulled into the water. Progress
had, however, been made, and it is well worthy of note that of recent
date an American aviator has unearthed Langley’s machine and flown on
it, thus giving posthumous honour to the inventor.

Following the professor’s efforts, further progress was made by Mr.
Octava Chanute, who introduced the important principle of making
moveable surfaces. He also made use of superposed surfaces. But it was
reserved for the two famous aviators, the brothers Wright, to bring
the desired conquest of the air to a definite point.

Their first practical experiment was with gliding machines at Kitty
Hawk, North Carolina, in 1900. They endeavoured with comparatively
small surfaces to raise their machines like a kite by the wind. But
they found that the wind was not always in their favour and often
blew too strongly for their method. Consequently, they abandoned
the idea, and resorted to flight by gliding. Their machines now had
two superposed surfaces. They also introduced two highly important
principles, namely, a horizontal rudder in front for controlling the
vertical movements, and the principle of warping or flexing one wing or
the other for steering purposes. Later a vertical rudder was added.

Writing of these improvements, Mr. Eric Stuart Bruce, Vice-President of
the Aerial League of the British Empire, remarks that their importance
cannot be over-estimated: ‘We have only to look at nature for their
_raison d’être_, and observe the flight of seagulls over the sea. How
varied are the flexings of nature’s aeroplanes in their wonderful
manœuvrings to maintain and recover equilibrium!’

A feature of these early experiments was the placing of the operator
prone upon the gliding machine, instead of in an upright position, to
secure greater safety in alighting and to diminish the resistance.
This, however, was only a temporary expedient while the Wrights were
feeling their way. In the motor-driven aeroplanes the navigator and
his companion were comfortably seated. After the experiment of 1901,
the Wrights carried on laboratory researches to determine the amount
and direction of the pressure produced by wind upon planes and arched
surfaces exposed at various angles of incidence. They discovered that
the tables of the air pressures which had been in use were incorrect.

As the result of these experiments the Wrights produced in 1902 a
new and larger machine. This had 28·44 square metres of sustaining
surfaces, about twice the area of previous experiments. At first the
machine was flown in the manner of a kite, with the view of learning
whether it would soar in a wind. Experiments showed that the machine
soared whenever the wind was of sufficient force to keep the angle
of incidence between four and eight degrees. Later, in 1903, screw
propellers were applied and four flights made. Definite progress
favoured the venture. Two hundred and sixty metres were covered at a
height of two metres!

In the following year, 1904, there was further marked progress, many
successful flights, some ‘circular,’ being made. In the next year came
an astonishing achievement: the Wrights flew no less than 24¼ miles
in half an hour. This was rightly deemed at the time a great flight
forward. But a period of silence and seeming inactivity followed. It
was not until 1908 that further revelations were made. It was then
seen that the Wrights had not been idle. Indeed, it is said (and with
obvious justice) that ‘to the labours of the Wright brothers we owe the
advent of the mobile and truly efficient military air scout.’




CHAPTER VI

FURTHER DEVELOPMENTS AND CERTAIN ENEMY MACHINES


The earliest experiments in the construction of aeroplanes were, as we
have seen, to a considerable extent made in France. The United States
have also played an active part. Meanwhile England had not been idle.
Mr. Henry Farman, the inventor of the Farman Biplane, was the first
to apply the now famous Gnome motor, in which seven or more cylinders
revolved. The influence of this motor in facilitating flight generally
has been remarkable. The early forms of aeroplane engines had proved
unreliable, owing to the great speed demanded. Indeed, it is said
that if the aeroplanes of the great European War were flying over the
enemy’s line with old-fashioned engines they would drop down into
hostile hands as quickly as dying flies from the ceiling on the first
winter day.

Side by side with the efforts of Mr. Henry Farman in the construction
of biplanes, M. Bleriot gave his attention to the construction of
monoplanes. After attempts, which unfortunately brought disaster
and disappointment, he produced a machine which astonished by its
remarkable performances the whole aeronautical world.

Simplicity was the keynote of the Bleriot monoplane. The machine in
which M. Bleriot flew over the Channel in 1909 has been described by
a well-known member of the Aeronautical Society of Great Britain as
‘stretching like the wings of a bird on either side of a tubular wooden
frame partly covered with canvas and tapering to the rear, with two
supporting planes, rounded at the ends. At the front was placed the
motor, geared direct to a 6 feet 6 inch wooden propeller, and on a
level with the rear end of the planes. Immediately behind the engine
was a petrol tank, and behind that the aviator’s seat. Near the end
of the frame and beneath it was the fixed tail, with two moveable,
elevating tips. The act of moving a lever backwards and forwards
actuated the tips of the fixed tail at the back of the machine, and
caused it to rise and fall. Moving the same lever from side to side
warped the rear surfaces of the supporting planes. The act of pushing
from side to side a bar on which the aviator’s feet rested put the
rudder into action and steered the machine.’

Still fresh in the memory is the flight in which the Bleriot monoplane
carried M. Prior from London to Paris, covering 250 miles in three
hours and fifty-six minutes. Later, a Bleriot monoplane carried M.
Garros up to a height of 5,000 metres. At this height the engine broke
down, but in virtue of wonderful gliding powers the machine was landed
safely. It was this same type of machine that flew over the Alpine
peaks, and later carried the first aeroplane post, flying from Hendon
to Windsor in seventeen minutes.

Another monoplane which calls for special reference is the Latham
Antoinette monoplane, which enjoyed the great distinction of being
the first to fly effectively in a wind. Before the invention of this
machine, aviators had only dared to fly in favourable conditions. It
consisted of large, strongly constructed wings. The motor was about 60
h.-p. At the rear of the machine were fixed horizontal and vertical
fins. At the end of the tail there were hinged horizontal planes
for elevating or lowering the machine. The machine, with its ability
to withstand high winds, gave great impetus to the adoption of the
aeroplane for military purposes. Latham, the inventor, performed some
remarkable feats, and must be accounted an heroic pioneer in the more
recent history of flying.

Progress continued on the lines indicated. But it is impossible, for
obvious reasons, to touch upon the modern types of machines employed
by Great Britain and her Allies. We may, however, deal briefly with
certain outstanding types of enemy machines.

One of the most familiar German machines is the Aviatik biplane. The
vital parts of this ‘fighting dragon’ are fortified with metallic
‘capot.’ The rest of the fuselage is also armoured. In the forepart of
the fuselage a space is provided allowing the observer free movement
for scouting, photographing, &c. The machine can be quickly erected and
dismantled. The supporting surface consists of two planes of unequal
dimensions, the upper plane being the larger. Stability is assured by
a fixed plane prolonged by a rudder. Two ‘ailerons’ at the back of the
upper planes give lateral stability. Steering is effected by means
of a vertical rudder placed between the two portions of the horizontal
plane rudder.

[Illustration: REDUCED REPRODUCTION OF A DIAGRAM ISSUED AT THE EARLY
PART OF THE WAR BY THE FRENCH WAR OFFICE, BEARING THE WORDS: ‘GERMAN
AEROPLANES, FIRE ON THESE MACHINES.’]

Another familiar type, the Etrich monoplane, is on the lines of the
German bird-shape design. The wing-shaped supporting planes have
upturned wing tips at the back, which are flexed up and down for the
purpose of lateral stability. The back part of the tail planes is also
moveable, and can be flexed for elevating.

The Germans also have large numbers of the well-known Albatross
biplanes and various monoplanes of the Taube design, and also many
waterplanes of the Albatross type. An interesting feature of these
machines is the fact that they are all double seated with the exception
of the Argo type of monoplane.

The swiftly dashing scouting monoplane did not at first find favour
with the enemy, but the war has brought many sudden and sweeping
changes, and, following the much-vaunted Fokker, we learn of a German
machine able to attain the astonishing speed of 120 miles an hour!

The Albatross, a much used type of German machine, was first made at
Johnnisthal, near Berlin (about 200 of these machines were made in
1913). Mercedes motors are fitted, capable of attaining a high speed.

In the Rumpler monoplane, another well-known German type, the wings are
again in the shape of a dove’s wings, the ends being flexible. ‘The
stability of the apparatus,’ writes a well-known authority, ‘is assured
both by the shape of the wings and their flexibility. It is at once a
combination of the inherent stability type and the depending on the
warping of surfaces.’

The Rumpler biplane, as in the case of the Aviatik, is remarkable for
the space provided for the pilot and observer. In this case also the
fuselage is strongly protected. The upper plane varies from that of
the majority of German machines; it is not made to move in the centre.
There is a short moveable central plane, attached to the fuselage by
four tubes. The other planes are fixed to this central plane.

The Rumpler monoplane is shown, together with other German designs,
including the Gotha monoplane, in a diagram issued in the early part
of the war by the French War Office, bearing the words: _German
Aeroplanes. Fire on these machines._ (See page 41.)




CHAPTER VII

THE ZEPPELIN AND OTHER MODERN AIRSHIPS


The keenest interest and curiosity is very naturally felt in the
Zeppelin airship. Much has been written concerning its peculiar
construction—much that is founded on doubtful evidence, and much that
is mainly true. At this point we shall limit ourselves to a brief
description of the construction of the Zeppelin, and seek to show in
simple terms how the type of airship rises and falls. With the heroic
acts the Zeppelins have called forth we shall deal later.

Now, imagine a long cage tapering to a rounded point at either end. At
intervals are thin walls or partitions of aluminium sheet, dividing
the cage lengthwise into a large number of drum-shaped compartments,
while every part is stiffened and straightened by crossed bars forming
diagonal bracing, tying and holding all together into a structure of
remarkable strength. Such is the basis of a Zeppelin airship.

The whole of the framework is covered with waterproof fabric, the
length of some of the patterns being 492 feet in length and 47½ feet in
diameter.

Beneath is fixed a light framework, forming a kind of keel, and giving
additional stiffness. In some designs a cabin is formed in the keel.
The cars, which are not unlike the form of a boat, are hung under the
keel, one near either end. Near the front, on either side, two light
frames spread out, each of which carries one of the propellers, and
another pair of frames are fixed in like manner toward the end. At the
after end are a number of fins or planes, the purpose of these being to
keep the nose of the ship foremost to the wind, as shown in a previous
chapter.

Now as regards rising and falling. To many people the manœuvring of a
Zeppelin in the air is still a matter of mystery. It is certainly not
easy for the lay mind to grasp and hold the fact that a monster vessel
made of metal, and weighing nearly 20 tons, can float in a medium
through which a feather falls. The Zeppelin, in effect, is lighter
than a feather, volume for volume, and this lightness is obtained by
creating an enormous space within the carcase of the ship and filling
this space with hydrogen gas, which is about fifteen times lighter than
air.

If we imagine that a steel boiler 50 feet long has the same width and
height as a Zeppelin and weighs 20 tons, it is easy to understand that
if this were filled with hydrogen gas it would not float in the air.
But imagine the boiler to be drawn out until it was 500 feet long, and
one gets some idea of the lightness of the Zeppelin structure. Each
plate of metal in the boiler would be increased to ten times its normal
length, and thus would become exceedingly thin. Of course, in the
Zeppelin lighter materials are used, with the result that for a small
weight we get an enormous volume.

Then, by filling this space with hydrogen the ship displaces its own
volume of air, but this volume of air is so much heavier than the
ship’s weight that the vessel rises.

The most remarkable feature of the Zeppelin is the ingenious manner
in which the volume of hydrogen is controlled, and through this
control the altitude of the ship is regulated. In principle the method
resembles that of the air bladder of a fish. When the eighteen
gas-bags of a Zeppelin are filled with hydrogen the ship is at its
maximum of buoyancy or lightness. It then has a lifting power which
unless restrained by heavy weights would take the vessel high up into
the air until a thin atmosphere was reached, where the ship would float
motionless in a medium of less density. But if we replace the hydrogen
with air when the ship is held to the ground, we increase the weight of
the vessel so much that it will not rise.

Thus in the Zeppelin, by the alternative use of light hydrogen and
heavy air, we can so alter the weight that the vessel can be made
to rise or sink. By a highly-developed system of tanks, pumps, and
valves the relative volumes of hydrogen and air can be controlled with
wonderful accuracy.

In the older system of airships the hydrogen was allowed to escape when
it was desired to make the ship heavier, but the modern Zeppelin, when
it takes hydrogen from the gas-bags, is able to store the gas in metal
tanks under pressure, and it also has a reserve supply to make up for
unavoidable leakage.

Each gas-bag is mounted above an air-bag, and when the gas-bag is
inflated to the maximum the air-bag is almost empty. The ship is then
at its most buoyant stage. To reduce this buoyancy the air pumps are
put in motion, and they force air under pressure into the air-bags.
This pressure, acting on the gas-bags, forces out the hydrogen through
pipes and non-return valves to the storage tanks. If at any time it
is required to make the vessel ascend, the air-bags are deflated and
the gas supply pipe with its pump is employed to force more hydrogen
into the gas-bags. One thousand cubic feet of hydrogen have a lifting
power of nearly 75 lbs. at sea-level, and this lifting power acts very
quickly. Thus a Zeppelin changes its altitude rapidly when the weight
is altered, and at the same time there is automatic control whereby
the vessel can be kept at the same level if necessary. When a Zeppelin
drops a bomb it suddenly becomes lighter, and it rises in consequence.
This circumstance is very disconcerting to gunners, for if, say, a 200
lb. bomb were dropped, the ship would leap up nearly 200 feet in the
air, unless the captain desired to check the ascent. The discharge
of water ballast produces the same rising effect, and with almost
equal suddenness the ship can sink by using its powerful air pumps to
press out the hydrogen. Moreover, when the Zeppelin is in motion it
can use its elevating planes for changing altitude in the manner of
an aeroplane. Thus, in addition to its power of steering from left
to right in the same plane, and of climbing and descending along an
inclined path by the use of the elevators, the Zeppelin can rise and
fall vertically, and by its system of storage tanks these manœuvres can
go on for a long period.

[Illustration: SECTIONAL VIEW OF ZEPPELIN AIRSHIP, SHOWING THE
ARRANGEMENT OF THE HYDROGEN AND AIR BALLONETS WHICH CONTROL THE WEIGHT
OF THE AIRSHIP, THUS ENABLING IT TO RISE AND FALL AS REQUIRED.

 (1) Section of one of the eighteen ballonets. (2) Hydrogen gas-bag
 partly inflated. (3) Air. (4) Rear gondola. (5) Outer covering of
 fabric. (6) Metal work. (7) Air space between gas-bag and frame. (8)
 Hydrogen gas-bag fully inflated. (9) Flexible gas-pipe. (10) Inner
 ballonet deflated. (11) Metal gas tank into which hydrogen is pumped
 under pressure. (12) Forward gondola. (13) Flexible pipe from pump to
 ballonet. (14) Keel cabin.

(Diagram from a photograph taken from a point at the forward part of a
Zeppelin Airship.)]

There is a good deal of difference of opinion as to the altitude which
the Zeppelin can attain. When fully loaded in war trim the latest ships
can rise to about 5,000 feet, but by the time they reach London, for
example, and have used nearly half their fuel, ammunition, &c., they
are several thousand feet higher. The practical limit to airship work
is said to be about 10,000 feet. Above that height the cold is so
intense, the air so rarefied, and the conditions for men, engine, and
ship so distressing, that there is no inducement to rise further.

It is noteworthy that the latest type of Zeppelin is fitted with a
switchboard for dropping bombs, as, for example, in the airship brought
down in the north of London in the early part of October, 1916.

The German Schütte-Lanz, a well-known type, is an attempt to secure
the advantages of a rigid type, without the fragilities of the
Zeppelin. The framework is made of fir wood, and contains separate gas
compartments. Exceptional strength is claimed for these compartments.
A centrifugal pump is employed for distributing the gas. The volume
of the airship is 918,000 cubic feet—an extremely large structure,
surpassing even some of the largest types of airship. It is believed in
authoritative quarters that one of the first airships brought down in
flames on British soil was a ship of this type.

The German Gross airship has been described as more or less a
reproduction of the Lebauchy type, which is, of course, of French
origin. It is built partially on the rigid and partly on the non-rigid
system.

The Parseval airship is portable, and therefore a particularly useful
type. On account of its subtleness it has been remarkably free from
accidents. It is small in size, and is fitted for many purposes for
which larger airships would be useless. The dimensions, however, of
the Parseval vary considerably, the smallest being 3,200 cubic metres.
(This particular ship was built in the year 1908.) The more recent and
larger designs have a far greater capacity.

There are, of course, many other types on similar lines, but we are
chiefly concerned in these pages with the purpose and fate of airships
of the rigid type, and in our next chapter we shall see how our airmen
have fitted themselves for the task of dealing with Zeppelins.




CHAPTER VIII

CONTROLLING AN AEROPLANE


It need scarcely be said that the control of an aeroplane very greatly
depends upon the pilot. One pilot will perform marvels with a machine
which in the hands of another may produce a very different result.
There are, of course, rules which must be observed. But to the skilful
pilot an aeroplane may be said to be like a horse under the care of
a trained horseman. A light touch will achieve more than the most
strenuous efforts of the amateur, and out of the seemingly wayward
machine the expert aviator will make a docile and obedient servant.

The pilot has various rudders by which he steers parts of his machine
independently of the other parts. If he finds the left-hand side of his
machine dipping, he can steer the side up, or _vice versa_. In this way
he has at his command the means of correcting any tendency to ‘heel
over’ to one side or the other, or to ‘pitch skyward.’ But without a
natural tendency on the part of the machine to keep a safe angle, such
precautions would, of course, be futile.

It has been said that the bicycle affords a good illustration. ‘The
rider of a bicycle instinctively balances himself on his machine, but
it would be exceedingly difficult for him to do so were it not for
the fact that a rolling wheel tends of itself to keep upright.’ As
regards air pressure, a little thought will show that when a machine
is moving along horizontally in the air the upward pressure must
be equal to the downward pull of gravity. Consequently, a machine
travelling steadily through the air has been likened to a pendulum.
‘It is just as if the machine,’ writes Mr. Thomas Corbin, author of
_Aircraft_, ‘were suspended upon a point at the centre of pressure. And
just as a pendulum always hangs, when it is steady, with its centre
of gravity exactly under the point of support, so the flying machine
hangs with its centre of gravity exactly under the centre of pressure.’
The designer and user of an aeroplane have, therefore, so to arrange
surfaces and weights that when the machine is in the right position of
horizontal flight the centre of gravity and the centre of pressure
will be in the same vertical line.

Suppose, for instance, that the machine tips forward and tends to
dive downward; the centre of pressure is thrown forward, though of
course the centre of gravity remains still. In such a case the natural
righting tendencies of the machine come into operation, causing it to
steer upward and so right itself. On the other hand, if the machine
tries to deflect upward the very opposite happens. The only pose in
which the machine is stable is when it is moving horizontally.

As we turn from the horizontal to the vertical, the effective surface
of the plane diminishes, but when turning from the vertical towards
the horizontal it increases. When the machine tips to the left the
effective area of its right hand half diminishes, whilst that of
the left hand half increases. Similar action will take place if the
machine tips over to the other side, but whichever way it tips the
self-righting tendency brings it back. And so we see that an aeroplane
is far safer than is thought by many persons. But a great deal, as we
have seen, rests with the pilot; in his hands is the general system of
control.

One of the simplest methods consists in providing a universally pivoted
hand lever and pivoted foot lever. The latter operates the rudder
through two crossed cables which connect the rudder tiller with a cross
piece on the spindle of the rudder bar. Upon releasing the pressure on
the left foot, the machine turns to the left, and acting similarly with
the right foot the machine turns to the right.

The general method for controlling the elevators is by cross wires
which pass from their tillers to the ends of a fore and aft bar passing
through the centre of the universal action of the vertical centred
rod. One wire cables to the balancing flaps, or the warping cables are
attached to a horizontal crosspiece, whose axis is set transversely in
the machine and passes through the same centre of motion of the control
rod. In this the method is such that a forward or backward movement of
the rods rocks the fore and aft bar and pulls on the elevator cables
to make the machine go up or down. A side movement of the control rod
rocks the traverse bar and pulls on the warp or flap cables.

Another control system consists in replacing the universally pivoted
rod by a simple pivoted rod, the pivoting of which, fore and aft,
controls the elevators, and having a handwheel and drum upon which
the warp or flap cable is wound or unwound. The winding in and out of
the balancing cables has been likened to the wheel control system of
a motor boat or small steamer. By duplicating the cables on single
control the safety of the machine is enhanced, and by duplicating
the controls both the pilot and the passenger are given power. This
duplication is, of course, most useful in the event of the pilot
becoming incapacitated from action.

The experienced pilot, in virtue of his keen sense of touch, has an
almost infallible guide as to what the air is doing with his machine.
His hand is upon his lever, holding the elevator in the desired
position, and the slightest increase or decrease in the speed of the
air causes an increase or decrease of the lever’s pressure against his
hand. ‘He has his hand on the machine’s pulse, and feels instantly any
change in its conditions.’ In the event of the elevator pulling, he
knows that the wind is increasing and that there is a call for reducing
the ‘up-starring action’ of the elevator. If, on the contrary, the wind
slackens, his lever gives toward him and is drawn in a little, till
the normal tension is gained. The ‘feel’ of the lever tells him what to
do, and with practice the necessary correcting movements are made by
instinct.

We know how well our airmen have learnt their lesson. Many of them
have become competent pilots with astonishing rapidity. A writer in
the _Daily Chronicle_ (October 13, 1916) has told how ‘the British
Air Service is now a great army, 80 per cent. of whom, before the
war, had never even seen an aeroplane, much less been up in one—bank
clerks, young merchants, undergrads., doctors, lawyers, journalists,
all endowed with two sterling qualities required by the pilot of the
air, courage and levelheadedness.’ And how has this great miracle
been accomplished? August, 1914, found us lamentably short of both
personnel and material, but what little there was, was of the very
best. The already experienced pilots set to work with a will upon
the more than generous quantity of raw material that came to hand.
Within a few months their influence made itself felt. ‘They taught the
_quirks_—the airmen’s pet name for the novice—in their own simple
and undemonstrative manner, that the air is to be respected but never
feared, the aeroplane treated as a being of life and animation, with
quaint humours peculiarly its own, and not as a lifeless mass of metal
and woodwork.’ The usual method of training a new hand is to get him
used to the air. The beginner is taken up for several flights as a
passenger. In the initial flight the pilot will perform the most daring
manœuvres and precipitous turns, watching his passenger closely the
whole time for any signs of nervousness or fear. It is a most trying
ordeal that first trip up aloft, and the bravest hearts have been known
to quail.

‘Following the first flight,’ says the author of the article from
which we have quoted above, ‘there are numerous trips in dual-control
machines, that is to say, with the ordinary pilot’s control-stick
and steering-bar duplicated, and both couples working under the same
controls. Thus, gradually, the _quirk_ becomes used to the handling of
the craft and accustomed to the sudden drop of wind, until eventually,
without his knowledge, the instructor allows him to fly the machine
himself. Sufficient progress made, he is allowed to make flights alone,
and when he has learnt to bank left and right, and land the machine
in a safe and seemly manner, permission is given him to attempt
the Royal Aero Club’s certificate; for which an altitude flight, a
distance flight, and landing on a given spot are the only tests that
are necessary. This, let it be said, is but the starting-point of his
flying education. Flying fast machines, wireless operating, machine-gun
firing, bomb dropping, navigation and map reading are still to be
mastered. Only one who has been in the air and seen that queer panorama
of jumbled green, grey and blue, stretching away for miles on either
hand behind him, can appreciate the difficulties of an air pilot
endeavouring to make a true course from a mist-bound earth; or when
one’s hands are frozen to the bone, and the ice-cold wind whistles by
one’s ears, the extreme difficulty of manœuvring the control-stick and
working the machine gun at one and the same time.’

As for flying at night, ‘when sky and earth are alike
indistinguishable,’ that is a science needing far more than the average
degree of courage. Such flying is only entrusted to experienced
and skilful pilots. How few persons know the _full_ meaning of the
achievements of the heroic airmen who have attacked German airships and
caused them to fall flaming to the earth!




CHAPTER IX

FLIGHT-COMMANDER WILLIAM LEAFE ROBINSON, V.C.


Flight-Commander William Leafe Robinson, V.C., was the first airman
to bring down a German airship on British soil, and he enjoyed the
distinction of being the first soldier to win the Victoria Cross
in England. The raid during which his heroic act was performed was
carried out by thirteen airships in the early part of September,
1916. The principal theatre of operations was the Eastern Counties,
and the objectives seem to have been London and certain industrial
centres in the Midlands. The new measures taken for the reduction or
obscuration of light undoubtedly proved most efficacious, for the
raiding squadrons, instead of steering a steady course, as in the raids
of the spring and autumn of 1915, groped about in darkness, looking for
a safe avenue of approach to their objectives. Three airships only
were able to approach the outskirts of London. One of them appeared
over the northern district at about 2.15 a.m., where she was at once
picked up by searchlights and heavily engaged by anti-aircraft guns and
aeroplanes. After a few minutes this airship was seen to burst into
flames and to fall rapidly towards the earth.

Not, however, till some hours had elapsed was the name of the hero of
the hour made known. Meanwhile official reports were issued, the first
simply announcing the raid, and the second stating that one airship
had been brought down in flames near London. On Sunday, September
3, an official report stated that after careful inquiries it had
been found that casualties and damage caused by the raid were quite
disproportionate to the number of airships employed, the casualties
being one man and one woman killed, eleven men and two children
injured. No casualties occurred in the Metropolitan District, though
some houses and outhouses were slightly damaged. Elsewhere the damage
was very small, no military damage of any sort being done.

A great number of persons saw the airship fall. One witness relates
that he saw it shortly before two o’clock, and for ten minutes, it
seemed to him, it was smothered with shrapnel, held the whole time
by a concentration of three or four searchlights. He had watched the
bombardment on other visits, but in none of them, he says, did the
shells burst in such deadly proximity to their objective. The airship,
in his own words, might have been giving her own firework display.
He saw the airship make off northwards. Already she was a ship in
distress. ‘She yawed and dipped first this end and then that—going,
all the time, at a good speed. Then she was lost behind a cloud. A long
silence ensued. The sky was full of cloud patches. The searchlights
were all shut off. Suddenly the airship was seen far to the northward.
She had travelled behind a sheltering cloud. She slipped from its
edge, and the searchlights had her at once. It was seen that she was
falling. She must have been from 2,000 to 3,000 feet up. She had
fallen a little, when suddenly she burst into flames! The light was
everywhere. Had your back been to it, or your eyes shut, you must
have been sensible of it. The thing fell like the moon falling from
heaven, with a long trail of light—only the light was crimson, not
green—and as it fell there broke out one of the most eerie sounds ever
heard—hand-clapping and cheering from thousands of people all round,
whose waking existence one had never suspected in the dark until that
moment. They applauded simultaneously as at a pageant, till the sky
over London seemed as full of cheering as it had been full of the rosy
strange light only a moment before.’

There are many other interesting and instructive accounts. A special
constable, who witnessed the raid, writes: ‘It was at about 11.30
p.m. when I heard the first Zeppelin. I could not, however, see any
airship owing to the mist intervening. Several aeroplanes continued
to cruise around at great heights with only their little tail lights
discernible. People were beginning to return to bed on the assumption
that the raid was over, when soon after two o’clock bombs were heard
dropping again—this time in the direction of London—together with
the noise of heavy anti-aircraft bombardment. We now saw the airship
easily just over the north-eastern outskirts of London in the rays of
many searchlights. After some minutes of very heavy gunfire she made a
graceful sweep and turned tail, going full speed eastwards for home
and safety. But though she must have been about 8,000 feet up at this
time the searchlights followed with relentless persistency, while all
the time the guns were barking madly after her. Then a strange thing
occurred. The airship suddenly disappeared and reappeared again—caught
up apparently by new searchlights further along the line of its
retreating course. She looked much smaller than before. At about the
same time a strange red light appeared in the sky almost directly above
the airship and the guns immediately ceased to fire. The searchlights
never left the invader for an instant now. The hundreds of thousands of
people who were again out of doors and witnessing this new and weird
development held their breath. Everybody seemed to feel that something
dramatic was about to occur.

‘Suddenly a flame flashed out from one end of the airship, and almost
at the same time she began a nose dive towards the earth, the flame
growing and spreading throughout the whole length of her immense body.
It was a wonderful, unforgettable sight. The flames lit up the sky
and land for miles and miles around with a brilliant red hue as the
million and half or so cubic feet of hydrogen were being devoured by
the hungry flames. I could read a newspaper with ease in this light,
though I was more than ten miles away. The airship took quite two
minutes dropping to earth, but during those two minutes mad, deafening
cheers rose out of the night from all sides. Hooters from works and
from vessels in the Thames and railways shrieked and whistled and
screeched, all joining in the general pandemonium of joy. Even from
a distance of five miles away I could hear the deep-throated cheers
of the Irish Guards in camp there. For a full half-hour the cheering
continued, echoing and re-echoing from all sides, and in the intervals
of the joyous shouts of half-dressed men, women, and children could be
heard the humming of an aeroplane’s uncommonly powerful engines. Again
the mysterious red light appeared: then a white light and again a red
light, and so on alternately, until the multitude realized that the
victor of a great air battle was returning, signalling the story of his
success as he made for his aerodrome head quarters, guided by friendly
searchlights. Then again such cheers rent the air as may not have ever
been heard before anywhere on earth in the blackness of a very early
September morning.’

A crowd of persons from a radius of almost twenty miles flocked hastily
to the scene of the wreckage. One records how ‘an engine, salved with
the two halves of a propeller from the wreckage, lay by the side of
a hedge. Men were measuring them with their walking-sticks and women
by the length of their umbrellas. Pieces of wood and aluminium had
been shot helter-skelter all over the field and were being gathered
up as grim yet precious treasures. A cordon, half military, half
constabulary, kept the onlookers at a distance of some twenty yards.
And all the time the flames were steadily consuming the framework of the
terror of the air.’

How the monster met her end was described by one who saw all that
happened: ‘She was flying at a great height,’ he said, ‘but the
anti-aircraft guns were putting in splendid work. Not once, nor twice,
but many times the airship seemed to be hit, until the gondola must
have been riddled through and through. She reeled. Then she shook
herself like some great angry animal enraged at attack, but not
disposed to turn and flee. Probably she couldn’t fly away, even at that
time. Anyway, she made no attempt. The airship burst into flames in
the centre first, then at the ends. She sank lower and lower, and at
last, tumbling over with nose pointing downward, she fell to the earth
with no bump or thud. The dull splash of an incendiary bomb and the
cracking report of what was left of her ammunition were the only noises
she made as her dying gasps.

‘When the crowd did talk of the awful thing that lay smouldering in
the long damp grass they were emphatic in two directions. Men of our
own Flying Corps, who know the perils of the air from experience, paid
splendid tribute to the memory of the charred dead who lay doubled
up in the attitudes of the final agony. “Whatever they meant to do,
whatever they had done, they were brave men,” said one. From others
of the spectators came what was, perhaps, not unnatural—satisfaction
undisguised.’

People who saw the airship in full flight agreed that she was flying
very high—much higher indeed than the airship which previously visited
London. From the earth she looked like a small illuminated cigar set
thousands of feet above the countryside. Directly she was sighted in
the northern districts of London several large searchlights held her
while the guns got to work. There was an incessant gunfire for a few
minutes, and then there was silence. The airship had fled north. But in
the course of the next few moments the lights picked her up again. Then
was seen the mysterious signalling light of our heroic airmen.

The village of Cuffley, made famous by the fall of the airship, is
a little village of tiled cottages resting in the curve of a white
road which defines the crest of a splendid sweeping hill crowned with
poplars and tall pines.

The contour of the village is that of a wide, clearly determined
triangle, with the church and the inn marking the base and the cottage
of Castle Farm placed at the apex. ‘The shadow of the little grey
church falls athwart the yard of the inn, by name The Plough; but
Castle Farm is divided from it by two smooth, rich meadows.’ A footpath
crosses these meadows, uniting the farm and the inn.

The burning airship fell into a big field which lies in the direct
centre of the triangle. This is a barren field; the very soil is
black and unfertile, covered with tall grass, grey and parched. The
splintered blades of the airship’s propeller crashed through a
hedge, tearing it and breaking it down. ‘Such was the damage done,’
one writes, ‘such was the fine quality of the mercy meted out to the
village of Cuffley.’

One of the villagers records: “I was running downstairs at the time
the airship was falling. The whole house was lighted up. I saw all of
the furniture in the hall, and the table and the carpet. My husband
was down there. He hadn’t had time to get dressed. He was putting on
his clothes down there in the hall. They were all streaked with red,
his face and his hands, too. The red light stopped, but it was still
light—just a little light.”

‘I could hear him talking. I was trying to ask him what he was saying,
but my tongue wouldn’t move in my mouth. I was shaking all over. I
thought I was going to fall down the stairs—the steps in our house are
very crooked.

‘“We are lost—we are lost!”’ I said. But my husband says I said
nothing at all. I’m sure I don’t know.

‘“We must get out of here,” he said, “It’ll be on us in a minute.”

‘But we couldn’t get the front door unlocked. We were trying to break
it open, hammering on it. And I was wondering all the time if it was
going to fall through the roof. I thought it was hours we were there.
“What a dreadful way to die,” I said. And he said, “There, there,
everything’s all right.”

‘Then the red light came back in the sky again—and all of the time we
couldn’t get the door open. But all at once it came open quite easily.

‘We were out in the yard. We saw a flaming mass drop into the field by
The Plough. We thought the people there were killed. We began to run.
We could see the fire burning. But nobody was hurt—what a wonderful
thing! I felt, almost happy—but I knew I shouldn’t be happy when such
an awful thing had happened.

‘My husband took me with him into the field. He said I couldn’t stand
to see those things out there. But I thought that when it’s war
everybody can stand everything. And I didn’t know—maybe, somebody had
been hurt. You couldn’t tell, you know—somebody might need help.’

Another villager records that the airship just missed The Plough, and
fell in a field close by. ‘When we got over to the field we could
still hear the crack, crack, crack of the cartridges exploding in
the fire. This must have kept up for about twenty minutes. The thing
I was thinking was that there wasn’t much of a wreck there for an
airship—only about twenty-five square yards of it. I had a great fear
at the back of my mind that it might be one of our smaller airships,
after all. Then we found the propeller. We saw four bodies burning in
the wires—they were all black and charred, still burning. There’s no
doubt about it—not a man in that airship came down alive. There was a
lot of burnt wood sticking in the ground everywhere around—everything
had stuck in the ground end on. We even saw a broken Thermos flask.’

It is well that these statements of eye-witnesses, which with the
passing of time will take on peculiar interest, should be set down in
these pages.

In appraising the heroic achievement of Flight-Commander Robinson,
V.C., we should bear in mind that night flying presents peculiar
difficulties. A contributor to _The Aeroplane_, October 11, 1916,
writes: ‘The actual bodily peril of flying at night may not be as great
as is the peril of crossing the German lines in broad daylight, but the
nerve strain must be greater. The aviator over the German side of the
lines has generally something on hand to keep him from brooding, such
as a battle with a German machine or the dodging of good shooting, and
he generally has a passenger by way of company. The night pilot, on the
other hand, flies entirely alone. He flaps around for hours on end,
with nothing to do but think and keep a look-out for other aircraft.
And nothing is so great a strain on the nerves as unlimited time for
thinking, a pastime for which the pilot has considerable leisure, now
that all respectable aeroplanes are inherently stable.

‘If there is any mist about, there is the constant danger of collision
with other machines, for in the dark there is not even that chance
of dodging which a pilot gets from the few seconds during which he
can see another aeroplane approaching in a cloud which is illuminated
by daylight. Over and above it all is the constant imminence of the
landing problem, with the prospect of being smashed up, and possibly
burnt to death, if the pilot makes a mistake, or fortune is against
him.’

Flight-Commander Robinson showed remarkable skill as well as great
valour—a hero in the good British sense of the word. On September
3 he had the honour of being foremost at the investiture at Windsor
Castle, when the King decorated him with the Victoria Cross.

The first of the money rewards received from grateful admirers of his
valour was £500 from Mr. L. A. Oldfield. Mr. William Bow also sent the
£500 which he offered to the first pilot to bring down an enemy airship
on British soil. A further £2,000 came from Col. Joseph Cowen, and
public recognition was made by Sir Charles Cheers Wakefield, Lord Mayor
of London. All united in paying a tribute to the young aviator’s heroic
deed.

We have seen that he bore his honours with fine spirit. He claimed
for himself no peculiar gifts of gallantry or skill. It was, he said,
merely his good fortune. There were many, he said, waiting for the
opportunity to do what he had done. Later the opportunity came, and we
know to our just pride that amongst our airmen there are _many_ heroes.




CHAPTER X

 LIEUTENANT FREDERICK SOWREY, D.S.O., AND LIEUTENANT ALFRED BRANDON,
 M.C., D.S.O.


The next raid over England by German airships took place on the
night of September 25, 1916. Twelve airships took part, but only ten
returned. One was brought down in flames not far from London, the crew
being killed; the second came down near the coast, and the crew were
made prisoners. Both of the airships were of the latest and largest
type.

An official report issued by Lord French stated that probably not more
than twelve airships participated in the raid. Police reports from the
provinces indicated that the damage done by the raiding airships was
slight. At one town in the East Midlands, however, a number of bombs
were dropped, and two persons were killed and eleven injured. Some
damage was caused at a railway station, and about a dozen houses and
shops were wrecked or damaged, and a chapel and a storehouse were set
on fire. With this exception no other casualties were reported outside
the Metropolitan area, and although a large number of bombs were
dropped promiscuously over the districts visited by the airships the
material damage was insignificant. A great number of bombs fell in the
sea or in open places. In the Metropolitan area seventeen men, eight
women, and three children were killed, forty-five men, thirty-seven
women and seventeen children being injured. A considerable number
of small dwelling-houses and shops were demolished or damaged, and
a number of fires were caused. Two factories sustained injury. Some
empty railway trucks were destroyed, and the permanent way was slightly
damaged in two places. No reports were received of any _military_
damage.

The first definite information that German airships were approaching
London was received shortly before eleven o’clock. No sooner was a
Zeppelin located than the guns opened fire with apparent accuracy,
considering the difficulty of estimating the range. Some of the shells
burst very close to the raider, and once it appeared to have been hit.
Anyway, after that it lost no time in seeking a higher altitude, where
it was lost to sight. Some minutes elapsed before the weird humming of
Zeppelin engines was heard again.

Two Zeppelins were now seen making their way in a north-easterly
direction. An anti-aircraft gun, which had been following or
anticipating their movements, opened fire. The gun was fired as fast as
it could be reloaded, and one or two others, at a little distance off,
joined in. But owing, perhaps, to their power of emitting dense smoke
clouds behind which to escape, the Zeppelins managed to elude their
watchers. But once more, after a brief interval, the sounds of the
engines could be heard above, and the airships could occasionally be
discerned at a great height, as they were revealed by the searchlights
making their way back to the coast at what seemed to be the utmost
speed of which they were capable. Whether the Zeppelin that was first
seen was one of the two which were hit afterwards is not known.

The guns for the defence of London now opened again sharply for a few
minutes, and as suddenly relapsed into silence. Faint searchlights
flickered here and there, and were withdrawn one or two at a time,
when it seemed there was nothing left aloft to search for. But the
fleeing Zeppelins were not having it all their own way. Their flight
was punctuated by gunfire, which became fainter the farther they went,
and they were also pursued by heroic airmen. Then miles away in the
distance, and not many degrees above the horizon, the sky began to glow
red. ‘Then there appeared the nucleus of a brilliant comet falling
headlong.’ It was visible only for a few seconds, but the spectators
raised loud cheers, for they knew that another raiding Zeppelin had
met with the fate it deserved so richly, and that another proof had
been given to the Germans that Zeppelin raids could not be made with
impunity.

Describing the fall in flames of the raider, a Metropolitan special
constable writes: ‘I was on duty on Monday, September 3, when the
Zeppelin was brought down at Cuffley, and again during the raid in the
early hours of yesterday morning (September 26). I had a particularly
clear, though distant, view of both events, which, though they
resembled one another in some respects, had at least one important
point of difference. When the Cuffley airship took fire she sailed
helpless across the sky, a blazing tomb drifting for miles through
the air at an angle which brought her steadily nearer to the ground.
That was the first stage. Then her nose dipped, the fire enveloped her
completely, and she fell almost perpendicularly; that was the last
stage. But this time the end came more swiftly. I watched one of the
Zeppelins under fire for some minutes; in the searchlight beams she
looked like an incandescent bar of white-hot steel. Then she staggered,
and swung to and fro in the air for just a perceptible moment of time.
That, no doubt, was the instant when the damage was done, and the huge
craft became unmanageable. Then, without drifting at all from her
approximate place in the sky, without any other preliminary, she fell
like a stone—first horizontally, then in a position which rapidly
became almost perpendicular she went down, a mass of flame.... From the
place where I was I could see and hear some of the rejoicings which
greeted the victorious end of this latest battle in the air. Policemen,
special constables, firemen, and ambulance men had their eyes turned
on the combat in the eastern sky, and cheered and cheered again.
From houses of all sorts men, women and children ran out in their
night-clothes to listen to the bombardment, and to stare at the vast
glow which for a few seconds lit up darker London.’

Another special constable writes: ‘The sky was so clear that the action
was apparently fought without the aid of searchlights. The gunfire was
continuous, deep and heavy. It in fact became so continuous that sense
of excitement faded away, and the people in the streets chatted about
home affairs without very much heed of what was going on to the east.
But air engagements have the quality of speed. Suddenly we were in the
great first act. A cry, a shout, a rush, and all eyes were fixed on the
eastern sky. An airship was seen for one moment ‘riding at anchor,’ as
it were, on level keel, and then it glowed and slowly turned and came
quietly down the eastern side a cigar-shaped, red, incandescent mass.
The fall seemed much slower than that of September 3, but the distance
was much greater, and refraction of the horizon distorted the image.
The fall seemed appallingly slow, and towards the end, as it reached
the skyline, the ruined airship hung and glowed for many seconds. Then
the great shout broke out, the cheering ran across London and must have
been heard on the outer hills and down the expectant Thames.’ Then
followed the eager rush of thousands of persons toward the scene.

A correspondent of the _Times_ has told how the wreckage lay athwart a
hedge with its lattice framework impaled on an oak-tree, looking like
the skeleton of some huge primaeval monster. ‘She had not fallen like
the ship which fell at Cuffley Wood. That one crumpled and telescoped
until it occupied a space little more than 30 yards square. This
lay with her nose crumpled and bent out of shape, but the framework
of girders and lattice was strong enough to hold together. All this
twisted mass of metal fell its length on the ground. As she lay it did
not seem that the fabric was burnt off the gaunt ribs until one noticed
pieces of molten aluminium and brass in the débris.

‘One realized the cost of such a craft looking even at the wreck.
Lying on the ground was a red leather cushion. This covered the seat
of the engineman, and the ghastly evidences still to be seen showed
that he died at his post. One at least of the petrol tanks had burst
in half, and the heat of the burning spirit had melted the broken
edges until they looked like some fine fretted lace. The airship was
built of aluminium girders, and some of the parts were almost massive,
although, of course, comparatively light. There were the remains of an
air mattress and a blanket, perhaps the bed for one of the night shift
when off duty.

‘Curious evidences of the crew’s breakfast still remained. There were
slices of bacon and hunks of brown greasy Kriegsbrod with delicately
sliced potatoes. Even with the subsequent unanticipated cooking the
breakfast was not done, so presumably the crew intended to have their
meal when they got clear of the coast.

‘One body was found far out in the field. This was the body of the
commander, for although his uniform was burned a little it was still
recognizable, and the badges were plain to see. He must have thrown
himself over before the ship took her headlong plunge. The other bodies
were all dressed in warm clothing, with thick felt boots. Several of
the bodies would have been easily recognizable to any one that had
known the men in life, but for the most part they were badly burned.
A working party of troops was put on to clear away the wreckage, and
it was thought that there were other bodies still under the piled-up
débris.’

The second raider came down in Essex. Her propeller had been hit,
presumably by gunfire, and with the ship unmanageable and the danger
of drifting out to sea, the commander was compelled to make a hasty
descent.

The special constable who was the first on the scene has given the
following account: ‘I was on duty near where the Zeppelin fell. I had
seen something about 300 yards away, and I was looking about expecting
some adventure, when a batch of Germans appeared in the roadway.

‘I turned my torchlight upon the leading man—the commander—who at
once said:

‘“Can you please tell us the way to——?”

‘I said, “Oh, yes; just come with me.” I walked with the commander, the
rest of the crew following, till I saw several other special constables
on duty.

‘The Germans jabbered mostly in their own language as we walked along,
but several could speak quite good English.

‘I asked them how they had managed to land safely.

‘“Were you hit?” I asked. One grudgingly said something like “Yah.” The
commander was less talkative about this, though.

‘By this time we were approaching my colleagues of the Special
Constabulary, and I told them what had happened.

‘Meanwhile I, of course, told the commander what was really unnecessary
under the circumstances—that he was my prisoner.

‘He asked to be brought over to the military. Accompanied by the
specials, the crew were handed over to the military.

‘They were taken in Red Cross motor-cars to the detention barracks.’

A labourer near whose cottage the Zeppelin fell, when interviewed by
the _Daily Mirror_, said that at about half-past one he was roused by
the loud drone of a Zeppelin engine—a noise to which residents of this
part of the North-east coast have now become accustomed.

He got out of bed and saw the huge bulk of an airship close overhead.

The vessel passed away, but then turned and soon descended in a field
near the back of his cottage. The crew got out; and then followed an
explosion.

‘It didn’t hurt any of us, but it smashed the front windows of my
house and those of my neighbours,’ said the man.

‘I found afterwards that all the hair was singed off the back of my
dog, which was in a kennel outside.

‘Then all the crew came to my cottage and started knocking at the door.
I never answered, and I heard the commander shouting. He spoke English,
and said something about the house.’

Asked if the German said ‘Kamerad,’ the labourer replied, ‘I don’t know
what else he said, but I put my wife and three children in a back room
and made myself scarce, too.’

The end of the airship dropped across the road which is by the cottage.

When the Zeppelin came down it was to all appearances intact, though
suffering fatally from engine trouble. It had a big bulge upwards
and downwards at the middle. Its full shape, however, was still well
outlined, though twisted in places. Its engines had dug well into the
earth, and a long, thin line indicated it had trailed along the ground
for some hundreds of yards before coming to rest outside the cottage.

It is now known that our heroic airmen dealt the death-blows to the
raiders. An inhabitant of a South London suburb relates that when our
searchlights had spotted the enemy, it was realized by the diminutive
appearance of the airship that it was far higher than any yet seen over
the outskirts of London. It was travelling quickly, for a time due
north, then north-east. Our airmen, hot in pursuit, were seen to be
making splendid progress. Not till the 5th of October were the names of
the heroic airmen made public. On the day named the following official
announcement was made:—

‘The King has been graciously pleased to appoint the undermentioned
officers Companions of the Distinguished Service Order in recognition
of their gallantry and distinguished service in connexion with the
successful attack on enemy airships:

‘Sec.-Lieut. Frederick Sowrey, Royal Fusiliers, attached R.F.C.

‘Sec.-Lieut. Alfred De Bath Brandon, M.C., R.F.C. Special Reserve.’

The valour and skill of the aviators was acclaimed on all sides. Lieut.
Sowrey, it may be said, is one of three flying brothers, sons of Mr.
John Sowrey, Deputy Chief Inspector of Inland Revenue, of Yeoveney
Lodge, Staines. Born at Gloucester, he was educated at home until he
was thirteen, when he won an open scholarship at King’s College School,
Wimbledon. Gaining two leaving scholarships, tenable at a university,
he went to King’s College, where he took the intermediate B. Sc. Degree.
He was finishing his graduate course when the war broke out. He at once
volunteered for service, and, joining the infantry, went out early to
the Western front. Wounded at Loos, he was invalided home, remaining
in hospital about three months. On leaving hospital he joined the
Flying Corps, for ‘anything with a motor connected with it had always
had a great attraction for him.’ He had Lieut. Robinson, V.C., as his
fellow-learner. He was taking a course for the Indian Civil Service
when the war called him into the fighting service.

Lieutenant Brandon is the young New Zealander who in April of the year
1915 assisted in bringing down the Zeppelin L15 in the Thames Estuary.
An advertisement of the Hall Flying School at Hendon brought him to
England. He answered the advertisement, and was immediately accepted as
a pupil. He gained his aeroplane ticket seven weeks after joining the
school. Previous to the war he was at Trinity College, Cambridge.

The battle fought by the airmen was of a thrilling nature. It is
recorded that a ‘ding-dong’ fight ensued, in which Lieut. Sowrey and
Lieut. Brandon manœuvred for position. Lieut. Sowrey had the best of
luck, and quickly seized his opportunity of emulating the feat of
Lieut. Robinson. Making splendid use of his machine gun, he sent a few
well-directed shots into the Zeppelin. Instantly the airship began to
turn and twist, and finally crashed to earth a blazing mass. Meanwhile
Lieut. Brandon stood by in case of emergency, and later attacked a
second raider, which was compelled to surrender.




CHAPTER XI

THE CAPTIVE ZEPPELIN


The Zeppelin which came down in the manner described in the foregoing
chapter was on view to a party of London Press Representatives on
October 8, 1916. The _Times_ representative recalled the fact that the
airship lost one of her starboard propellers some while before falling.
Although parts of the structure of the airship were crumpled up, the
main outlines could be easily recognized. The framework or skeleton was
composed of a series of longitudinal lattice-work girders running from
end to end and connected at intervals by circular lattice-work ties,
the whole structure being bound together and stiffened by means of a
system of wires provided with arrangements which enabled them to be
tightened up. The material used was an alloy of aluminium.

At the largest point the framework had a diameter of 72 feet, and was
of streamlike form, the bow being sensibly blunter than the stern,
which, indeed, tapered off to a sharp point. The length of the vessel
appeared to have been 650 feet or 680 feet, and the weight complete,
with engines, fuel, guns, and ammunition, was calculated at 50 tons.
The hydrogen capacity was 2,000,000 cubic feet, and there were 24
ballonets extending the whole length of the ship. Of the envelope only
one or two fragments were to be seen, the rest having been burnt. The
airship, which was numbered L33, was of quite recent construction,
having been built last July, and its cost is estimated by the Admiralty
authorities at about a quarter of a million. How long was required for
building it could not be told from an inspection of the remains, but
the enormous amount of detail was evident enough. To enable the crew,
which consisted of twenty-two men, to move from one part of the ship to
another, a cat-walk ran along the keel, enclosed in an arched passage.
It consisted of a narrow footway, nine inches in width and made of
wood—one of the very few examples of wood construction used—and
provision for ventilation was made in the shape of shafts rising to the
top of the ship.

In all there were four gondolas—one forward, two amidships, and one
aft. The first of these constituted the navigating bridge. It was
divided into three parts. The first was set apart for the commander,
and in it were concentrated the controls of the horizontal and vertical
rudders at the stern, the engine-room, telegraphs, and the switches for
the electrical release of the bombs. These last, of which sixty were
carried, were actually arranged amidships, and the sliding door which
was opened to allow them to fall could still be seen moving freely on
its bearings.

Behind the commander’s room in the forward gondola was a cabin for
the wireless operator, measuring perhaps 6 feet by 4 feet, and behind
that again an engine-room containing a 240 h.-p. Maybach Mércèdes
engine having six vertical cylinders. Behind the engine was a clutch,
a brake, and a reducing gear, through which the power was transmitted
to a propeller shaft; a generator for the wireless installation was
placed in front. One similar engine was carried in each of the gondolas
amidships, and three in the aft gondola, all the engines having
wireless generators attached. There were thus six engines, with an
aggregate power of 1,440 h.-p., and six propellers. Of the latter,
three were worked from the aft gondola, one being placed in the centre
at a point distant from the tail about one-fifth of the length of the
ship, and the other two one on each side; two were driven from the side
gondolas amidships, and the sixth was in connexion with the forward
gondola. To reduce air-resistance a streamline form was given to the
propeller stays by the aid of a thin two or three-ply wooden casing.
The amount of petrol carried was 2,000 gallons, and the speed is
supposed to have been about sixty miles an hour in a still atmosphere.
The armament, apart from the bombs, consisted of nine quick-firing
guns. Of these, two larger than the others were mounted on the roof,
two were in the forward gondola, one each in the amidships gondolas,
two in the aft gondola, and one in the tail. The lightness of the
construction was shown by the fact that the huge tail still containing
the remains of the gun platform could easily be rolled over.

In addition to the particulars given there were other interesting
features. It may be noted, for instance, that practically everything,
except the engines and the guns, was made of aluminium alloy. The only
woodwork was the narrow platform, known as the ‘cat-walk,’ which ran
along the keel and connected the gondolas. It was closed in with fibre.
There was a little wood also in the ventilators, which were found
intact. The wood was covered with Manchester cotton, which looked like
common sheeting, but was really of very fine texture. The pressure of a
button in the captain’s cabin opened the sliding grille of framework,
and an electrical device permitted each bomb to be dropped separately,
either slowly or rapidly.




CHAPTER XII

LIEUTENANT W. K. TEMPEST, D.S.O.


Concerning the raid over England by hostile airships which took place
on the night of October 2, 1916, the official report issued by Lord
French was to the effect that ten hostile airships crossed the East
Coast between nine p.m. and midnight. One airship approached the north
of London about ten p.m., but was driven off by gunfire and pursued
by aeroplanes. She attempted to return from the north-west, but was
attacked by guns and aeroplanes and brought to earth in flames in the
neighbourhood of Potter’s Bar shortly before midnight.

[Footnote 1: The _Times_, Oct. 3, 1916.]

An eye-witness of the fall of the airship writes[1]: ‘I live in the
country just outside the fringe of the great searchlights which guard
the London area. From the verandah of the house one can obtain a
wonderful view of any “pyrotechnic” display within a distance of
twenty odd miles. The household is most familiar with Zeppelins,
aeroplanes, bombs, guns, and searchlights. We have seen all the raids,
we have seen three Zeppelins destroyed, and bombs have fallen all
round us; but happily our little district has so far escaped damage.
So accustomed are we to all these aerial affairs that we seem to
know instinctively when a raid is due. And it was so on Sunday. The
sky at eight o’clock looked very ominous. Some time later came the
warning to the special constables, and at the same time the sky in our
immediate neighbourhood was lit up by powerful rays from searchlights.
I rightly surmised that the Zeppelin would attempt to reach London
from the north. By now (I live close to the railway) the searchlights
were sweeping the cloudless sky, and the air was quite still. About
half-past ten we heard the beat of the Zeppelin engines; she was due
north of the house. Then she sailed towards the east. The night was so
clear that she was seen quite easily. With the aid of a night glass she
appeared about a yard long.

‘By the sound of her engines we could tell she was circling the
fringe of light, for she gradually altered her course from east to
south-east. Then we heard her wheel round to the left. She made a
circle of some miles, and finally went south-east again, when we heard
the engines no more. Meanwhile my children, two girls, aged eight and
eleven, insisted on dressing: they wanted to “see the show.” With
their mother they made themselves comfortable on the verandah. About
half-past eleven, away to the south-east, we saw flashes from falling
bombs, and the bursting of shrapnel, with the boom of heavy guns
firing. The children were getting very interested. Suddenly a score of
searchlights seemed to concentrate at one point, and quite distinctly
we saw the Zeppelin “held.” Shrapnel was bursting all around her. Then
the guns ceased, and we could see no Zeppelin. We thought she had
managed to slip away. But our airmen were on her track, and soon there
appeared a yellow light; it became larger and larger, until we realized
that it was the Zeppelin alight. From yellow the flames changed to
ruby; they seemed to spread from the centre to each end of the airship.
When she was aglow from end to end she tilted, gradually became
perpendicular, and fell slowly to earth. The flames lit up the country
for miles; the framework of the machine was plainly visible. You could
see smaller portions of her ribs, loosened by the heat, falling like
small sparks. She fell five miles from my house, but I thought I heard
the whole of England cheering.’

Another witness, who watched the coming of the raider from the
north-east, has given the following account: ‘What struck me was
the evident uncertainty of the crew as to where they were, or where
they wanted to go. They stopped; they turned this way and that; they
manœuvred in every direction in order to avoid the searchlights which
were darting about all round them. But it was all to no purpose. The
way in which the great beams of light followed the airship in all
its desperate efforts to escape was really wonderful. A few moments
passed, and the guns began to shell the Zeppelin. The shells burst all
round—some of them so near that it seemed as though hits had been
scored. Then, in a moment, a bright light burst out in the body of the
airship, and in another moment she was a mass of flame from end to end.
She seemed to turn over on her side, and then gradually sink to earth.
While coming down, she broke into halves, and during the descent
she threw off huge bunches of some flaming material. From the great
height at which she had been floating it was impossible to tell where
she would come down, and for some moments the onlookers did not know
but that she might fall upon them. But the blazing remains plunged at
length behind some trees, and that is the last we saw of her.’

The nearest view of this fourth airship débacle on British soil was
enjoyed by a farmer at Potters Bar, on whose farm the Zeppelin came
down. He has given the following interesting account: ‘We were awakened
by the sound of the guns, and we got up. I went into my garden, and
from where I stood the Zeppelin seemed to be right overhead. Thinking
that she might be preparing to drop bombs, I brought my wife and two
children into the garden away from the house. We had not been watching
it many moments before the airship suddenly burst into flame. It was
then apparently right over my house, and looked as though it would
fall right across the roof. It was burning furiously, and blazing
masses were flying away from it during its descent. I shouted to my
wife to be prepared to run out into the road in case it should fall
upon the house. But as it got lower and lower—it did not seem to
fall very quickly—I saw it would fall into the fields behind my farm
buildings. I ran through the stable yard and down a by lane leading
to some grass fields. In the corner of one of these were some large
haystacks, and I was afraid that these might be set on fire. When I
reached the spot I found they were all right; but about 200 yards away
the remains of the Zeppelin lay blazing furiously. I dared not go very
near to it for two reasons: one was that the heat was very great, and
another was that ammunition of some kind was exploding at intervals.
I afterwards discovered that this was machine-gun ammunition, a large
quantity of which seems to have been carried, for some was found in
boxes unexploded. I only saw one bomb drop before the Zeppelin came
down, but others were found among the débris. The Zeppelin had broken
into two pieces. The larger half was hanging over a big oak tree, which
stood in the middle of the field. I saw some dead bodies lying about.
One appeared to be that of an officer, for I could see gold stripes on
the arm of his coat. Another was wearing the Iron Cross. Some of them
had wrapped themselves up in blankets, evidently trying to avoid the
flames. I had a herd of valuable dairy cows in the field, and these
were very much alarmed at the blazing Zeppelin. They galloped round the
field in terror, and one of them seemed determined to rush into the
burning mass. I had some difficulty in keeping her away, and I was very
glad when the fire brigade came on the scene and began to throw water
on the ruins.’

There were many interesting incidents connected with the fall of this
airship. An Iron Cross was picked up close by. The commander of the
airship was wearing a wrist watch which had stopped at 1.20 (German
time). One member of the crew, whose body was recovered, appeared to be
a boy of sixteen or seventeen years of age. The heat of the wreckage
was so great that full search was impossible till over twelve hours had
elapsed after the fall. No less than thirty-nine bombs were dropped
over one small area to the north of London. Most of the bombs fell,
however, in fields and meadows.

The airship was thwarted in its evil designs by our heroic airmen.
In the course of a few days it was officially announced that
Second-Lieutenant Wulstan Joseph Tempest, General List and Royal
Flying Corps, had been appointed a Companion of the D.S.O., in
recognition of conspicuous gallantry and devotion to duty in connexion
with the destruction of an enemy airship.

On the fateful day Lieutenant Tempest had finished his regular duties,
and was spending the evening with friends at a dinner party. Before the
meal was over a call reached him, and a few minutes later he was back
at his aerodrome.

He made a speedy start, with the idea of intercepting the airship,
which was reported to be approaching. He had soon reached a height of
upwards of 10,000 feet. He manœuvred around unwearying in a protracted
vigil. At the end of two hours a searchlight picked out the airship
and persistently stuck to it, despite its efforts to get beyond the
focus of the beam. Soon other searchlights added to the volume of
illumination, and anti-aircraft guns began to pepper at the airship.

In a moment a great sheet of fire swept along the airship, and it began
to fall at a speed increasing as the law of gravitation came into play.
Immediately after the Zeppelin caught fire Lieut. Tempest travelled
the complete length of the airship from stem to stern, being parallel
with it all the time. Then he began to descend. But the falling airship
hampered his movements very considerably. Once or twice he narrowly
escaped collision with the flaming mass, and in order to avoid this he
was compelled to resort to nose-diving.

The work had been done under tremendous strain, but Lieut. Tempest
fortunately escaped injury of any kind. The spot where he landed was
miles away from the place where he had first taken the air. Without
troubling to examine the burning airship, which had fallen not far
away, Lieut. Tempest was driven back to his home station in a side-car,
arriving about 2.30 a.m. Here he received a tremendous welcome from his
brother-officers as the third man of the same flight who had brought
down a Zeppelin.

Lieutenant Tempest was born on January 22, 1890. He was educated at
Stonyhurst, and afterwards entered the Mercantile Marine and received
training on the _Worcester_. He learned to fly at one of the military
schools, taking his pilot’s certificate on May 22 of the year of
his heroic deed. He had previously been attached to the King’s Own
Yorkshire Light Infantry, and was invalided home after fighting in
France last year at Ypres. For nearly twenty-four hours he was buried
in a dug-out, and as a consequence he is still liable to attacks from
rheumatic gout. The experience also left him a little lame, but he
still retains great skill and courage, and certainly takes high rank
amongst our heroic aviators.




CHAPTER XIII

LIEUTENANT WARNEFORD, V.C.


To Lieutenant Warneford, V.C., falls the distinction of being one of
the first airmen to destroy a Zeppelin. At the time of his heroic deed
he was on patrol duty in Belgium, and, it seems, was under orders to
await the return of raiding airships from England. After a long and
trying vigil he sighted a Zeppelin, and made straight for a position
above the giant structure.

The attack, we must remember, was made in the year previous to the
successful exploits dealt with in other chapters. At the time certain
improvements in guns and cartridges had not come into use. Lieutenant
Warneford’s only hope of completely destroying the airship was to drop
a bomb on it from above, and this he did with remarkable skill and
courage.

[Illustration: Lieutenant Warneford, V.C.]

On gaining the desired position, he dropped a bomb with such effect
that an explosion immediately followed. His bravery will be fully
appreciated when we recall the fact that so violent was the explosion
that his machine was turned completely over, compelling him to
‘loop-the-loop.’ This he did with coolness and skill, and although
under great difficulties he succeeded in bringing about a safe landing.
Unfortunately he was compelled, owing to engine trouble, to land on
territory occupied by the Germans. Good fortune, however, favoured him.
He managed, before the appearance on the scene of enemy troops, to
restart the motor and again take to the air. It is generally thought
that he was assisted by Belgians, but this does not appear to be
established. It is, in any circumstances, sufficient to know that the
heroic young aviator managed to escape and return safely to his base,
there to receive the enthusiastic congratulations of his comrades.

The stricken airship unfortunately fell upon a monastery, doing much
damage and killing a number of the inmates. It was a Zeppelin of
notable type, carrying an exceptionally large crew, including some of
Germany’s most efficient engineers.

The news of the destruction of the airship was communicated almost
immediately to England, causing keen interest and delight. Lieutenant
Warneford became the hero of the hour. The King telegraphed the honour
of the Victoria Cross, and the heroic young pilot thus came into the
distinction of being the first airman to win the coveted decoration.
England and France united in honouring him, and hopes were widely
expressed that fresh deeds of valour would be performed in coming days.

But Lieutenant Warneford tasted earthly fame for only a few brief
hours. Shortly after his heroic deed, whilst flying with an American
journalist as passenger, his machine suddenly swerved, and in some way
never fully explained, control was lost, and the machine dashed to
earth, killing both the pilot and passenger.

Deep regret was expressed by every friend of the Allies. Much hope had
been centred in the courageous young pilot, and the end had come with
terrible suddenness. People could not understand. But above all there
shone brightly, and still shines, the deed of that _one glorious hour_,
when self was forgotten and only duty called.

The name and fame of Lieutenant Warneford will surely live in the
annals of aviation—a fearless spirit, quick and strong to act,
tasting for a brief while of conquest and fame, and then meeting, all
unexpected, a sudden and untimely end. ‘Fame,’ it is written, ‘may
fade, but not the great deeds that bring true fame; their influence
lasts through all time.’ Lieutenant Warneford’s heroic act is not dead.
His example has inspired and will continue to inspire, and to him we
owe in no small measure many of the more recent deeds of our heroic
airmen.




CHAPTER XIV

THE NEW ARM IN WARFARE


We shall, no doubt, have occasion to return later to the heroic
achievements of our airmen in destroying enemy raiders. Meanwhile, our
attention is claimed by a subject of great interest and importance,
namely, the part played by aircraft on the various battle fronts of the
great war. It was clear some while before the outbreak of hostilities
that the aeroplane was destined to play a prominent part. Mr. Sydney
F. Walker, R.N., M.I.E.E., remarks, in a useful little volume on
aviation, published before the war, that the first important work to
which the aeroplane has been put is that of scouting. ‘When armies
are manœuvring in the field, it is the great object of each general
to find out what his opponent is doing, exactly where his forces are,
where each particular arm is weak, and where, above all things, he is
open to attack. On the other hand, each general makes the greatest
efforts to prevent his opponents from finding out all about himself.
The art of hiding men, and even of artillery and of horses, has been
brought to such success that the non-military observer might be in the
midst of an army of 30,000 or 40,000 men and be perfectly ignorant of
their presence. Every inequality in the ground, every natural object,
such as a tree, a mound, a house, &c., is made use of for the purpose
of concealing the presence of men, horses, and accessories. It will
be evident that with an aeroplane flying at anywhere up to eighty
miles an hour, and that has been exceeded at the time of writing, and
viewing the surface of the ground from above—provided the pilots, or
passengers accompanying them, are trained to observe the ground and the
bodies of men on the ground from above—practically any disposition of
the enemy could be discovered.’

We are now able to judge by results and appreciate the work done. A
point of primary importance in active warfare, as we have seen, is the
use of the aeroplane for reconnaissance work. Other duties, and there
are many, are set forth with admirable clearness by Mr. W. E. Dommett
in his little work, _Aeroplanes and Airships_. The book was written
at the early part of the war, and on that account is particularly
instructive at this point; for it enables us to trace the progress
made and the victories won by our airmen. ‘Reconnaissance work for the
purpose of co-operation with artillery,’ Mr. Dommett writes, ‘forms the
most important function next to scouting. An aerial observer is sent
out to determine the position of hostile batteries whose existence
may or may not be known by its fire, to determine the strength of the
batteries, and how the units composing them are grouped. In addition it
is the duty of the observer to look out for troops, stores, or other
matters which could and should be subjected to the fire of one’s own
batteries. He should supply as far as possible details as to range and
elevation necessary for clearing intervening high ground. In addition
the observer can report as to the effect of his own side’s artillery,
and the manner in which it is failing or succeeding in its object.

‘The value of this form of observation is beyond calculation, in view
of the fact that the artillery have not to waste time and ammunition
in getting the target. Moreover, the time during which the opposing
batteries or forces can do damage is correspondingly reduced.
Naturally, much depends upon the accuracy of an observer’s report as to
its value, and in this respect it appears that the allied forces are
superior to their opponents, and it would seem that this superiority
is due not so much to the superiority in the observer’s machine, but
to the better self-reliance, intelligence, and powers of initiative
possessed by the men themselves. Observation work, it may be said, is
generally accompanied by some offensive action on the part of the pilot
or accompanying observer.’

Observation in naval warfare is of course also of great importance. In
the work of detecting submarines, for instance, aeroplanes have proved
of great value, for it is possible to detect submerged objects with
greater ease from considerable heights than from the water surface.
Writing to the _Matin_, a correspondent stated in the early part of
the war that an aviator flying several hundreds of feet above the sea
off Cape Helles, saw a black spot in the water beneath him. Circling
round, to enable him to observe it more closely, he at last made
out the form of a German submarine, under water, moving towards a
British transport, which was heavily laden with troops and munitions.
Immediately the aviator flashed a wireless signal to the transport,
and then, swooping down to a few feet of the surface of the water he
dropped two bombs. These did no damage to the submarine, but taking
warning she sank to greater depths. When the enemy thought enough time
had passed he raised his periscope above the surface, but the aeroplane
was still circling close at hand and once more a couple of bombs fell
close alongside the boat. Then the submarine finally disappeared. Many
incidents of a similar nature have been recorded.

It is, moreover, sometimes necessary to find out the position of our
own submarines in such a case as when a submarine has disappeared and
not returned to its base. Before the war, when one of our A Class boats
sank off the Cornish coast, whilst out from Devonport for exercise,
an aeroplane was successfully employed for finding its whereabouts.
The boats in company with the lost boat laid buoys to indicate the
position, but these had become shifted by heavy seas, and had become
useless for the purpose.

Observation work is frequently accompanied by direct offensive action;
but the work is sometimes done purely with the view to the offence.
For example, as early as September 23, 1914, naval airmen, namely,
Squadron-Commander E. F. Briggs, Flight-Commander J. T. Babington, and
Flight-Commander S. V. Lippe, carried out a raid over a mountainous
route of 120 miles upon the Zeppelin sheds at Dusseldorf. And at a
later date a similar raid was made on the sheds near Lake Constance.

In the early part of the war the Paris correspondent of the _Times_
wrote as follows: ‘A feature of the operations along the front is the
active use by the French of their air service, and the many indications
given of the progress which has been accomplished in this branch of
the service since the outbreak of the war. Realizing that for fighting
purposes the chief mission of the aeroplane is to act like a gun of
immense range, and that bombardment requires swarms of aeroplanes and
not an isolated machine, the French have equipped and organized a
number of air squadrons with the object of disturbing and destroying
the enemy’s communications, either during or on the eve of military
developments, so as to impede the arrival of men and shells from the
reserve points during the progress of operations.

‘For this purpose the squadrons are composed of three different types
of machines, the names of which indicate the special duties of each
type. These squadrons, in spite of the boisterous weather which has
prevailed throughout the month, have raided no less than ten important
German railway centres in the area of operations, throwing over 400
bombs in their flight, while the chaser planes engaged any protecting
enemy aircraft that tried to interfere with the operations.

‘A glance at a map will show how effectively the air services are able
to act as an extension of artillery in upsetting the enemy’s transport.
Thus Challerange, an important junction on the Vouziers—St. Menehould
and Vouziers—Apremont Railways, whence are served the requirements
of the army operating in the west of the Argonne; Arnaville and
Bayonville, to the south-west of Metz; Vigneuvelles les Hattonchattel,
the railway centre for the south-eastern armies operating against
Verdun; Autruy, to the north of the Argonne; and Conflans-en-Jarisy,
on the Verdun-Metz railway, have been regularly bombarded by aerial
squadrons, which in some cases have numbered thirty-five air machines.’

In this connexion it is interesting to recall an extract from
an official communiqué that was issued early in the war: July
20—‘Thirty-one aviators yesterday bombarded the railway station of
Conflans, an important junction. Three shells of 155 mm. and four of
90 mm. were observed to have been neatly dropped on the station. The
engine shed was struck by a shell of 155 mm. Three aviatiks were put to
flight by our pursuing aeroplanes, which accompanied the squadron. One
aviatik was compelled to land rapidly.’

In the place of an enemy camp or railway junction the attack is made
by the Naval Air Service on the submarine base or the dockyard. On
many occasions naval airmen have bombarded German submarines in Ghent
harbour. In the raid on Cuxhaven, seven seaplanes were conveyed to the
vicinity of Heligoland and thence flew over Cuxhaven and dropped bombs
on the docks.

A report issued at a comparatively early date of the war stated: ‘Quite
one of the features of the campaign, on our side, has been the success
attained by the Royal Flying Corps. In regard to the collection
of information it is impossible either to award too much praise to
our aviators for the way they have carried out their duties, or to
over-estimate the value of the intelligence collected, more especially
during the recent advance. In due course certain examples of what has
been effected may be specified, and the far-reaching nature of the
results more fully explained, but that time has not yet arrived. That
the services of our Flying Corps, which has really been on trial, are
fully appreciated by our Allies is shown by the following message from
the Commander-in-Chief of the French armies, received on the night of
September 9 by Field-Marshal Sir John French:—

‘“_Please express most particularly to Marshal French my thanks for
services rendered on every day by the English Flying Corps. The
precision, exactitude, and regularity of the news brought in by its
members are evidence of their perfect organization, and also of the
perfect training of pilots and observers._”’




CHAPTER XV

FROM VICTORY TO VICTORY


At a later date (September 12, 1916) a writer in the _Daily Chronicle_
remarked: ‘All reports, official and unofficial, concur in warm praise
of the daring, resourceful, and effective work of the British airmen.
Our supremacy over the Germans in the aerial arm is incontestable.
Every day’s fighting brings evidence of it. Not only are the exploits
of our airmen the theme of admiring comment by our own soldiers, but
they also extort reluctant tributes of admiration even from the enemy.
Were it not for the accurate observation of these fearless, hawk-eyed
scouts of the air, the marvellously effective results achieved by our
gunners in the recent fighting would not have been possible, and the
difficulties in the way of our heroic infantry would have been vastly
increased.’

By general consent, then, our aerial scouts far surpass those of the
enemy in this work. Our aeroplanes have constantly hovered over his
lines, his seldom over ours. Casualties have been inevitable in these
perilous enterprises, but such is the dexterity of our fliers that the
price paid has not been nearly so high as the risks run would suggest.
In point of fact, our losses in the air have been less than those of
the enemy, despite the greater enterprise and the bolder initiative of
British airmen. ‘From July 1 to September 17 in France we destroyed no
fewer than 104 German aeroplanes.’ These figures, compiled from the
official reports, are the more impressive when it is remembered that
it is the British rule not to include enemy machines damaged as lost,
but only those that have, in fact, been actually destroyed. It is not
surprising, in the light of the remarkable achievements of the British
air service in the battle-line, that its critics, so loud-voiced a
few months ago, have been silenced. Fresh in everybody’s recollection
is the ridiculous fuss made by some sensational newspapers over the
Fokker and its wonderful qualities. Where is the Fokker now? Where have
those scribes vanished who were daily ‘crabbing’ our air service, now
admittedly the best in the world? Will they, wherever they are, have
the assurance to claim that it is their criticisms that have wrought
what they would call the change? If so, it would be a baseless claim,
absolutely without justification of any kind. Our Air Service has
evolved steadily in strength and efficiency ever since the outbreak
of war. Of course mistakes were made in the process of evolution
and expansion. They could not be avoided in a new service, rapidly
extending, and necessarily involving experimental changes in design
and structure. But the progress has been steady and uninterrupted ever
since the war began.

The truth is, the original expeditionary force was well equipped with
aeroplanes and well-trained pilots. Later came the rapid expansion of
the army, which imposed heavy new demands on the Royal Flying Corps.
Those demands have all been met. It is to the credit of the late Lord
Kitchener that from the first he recognized the great importance of the
aeroplane in this war. ‘When in the early autumn of 1914 authorization
was sought for the manufacture of a sufficient number of machines to
equip thirty new air squadrons he at once doubled the number, ordering
not 720 aeroplanes, but 1,440.’ This was a notable instance of Lord
Kitchener’s prevision as to the scale of the war. Early in 1915 a very
large new constructive programme was embarked upon, and the output
since then has progressively increased. At first we relied chiefly on
France for the engines of our flying-machines. Now some of our best
engines are made at home.

The interim report of Mr. Justice Bailhache’s Committee, issued early
in August, 1916, said: ‘There has been an enormous expansion of the
Flying Service since the war; and all the critics of the Service,
without exception, have borne testimony to the great progress made in
its efficiency—a progress which, although most noticeable since the
beginning of this year is, in the opinion of the Committee, the result
of many months of strenuous work. To this efficiency the recent reports
from the front bear eloquent witness.’

Early in September, 1916, one who enjoyed facilities for visiting
flying centres, and learning at first hand of the progress of aviation
in the country, remarked that ‘there was no need to be an expert to
appreciate the remarkable change that had come over certain districts,
where, what a few months ago were mere country villages or stretches
of pine wood, have been transformed into industrial centres, with as
many signs of bustle and industry as are to be found in the great
shipbuilding centres of the British Isles.

‘A really remarkable thing is the enterprise and adaptability of firms
who had never tackled the job before in organizing their work so that
Britain’s output of machines was marvellously increased. Now the fruits
of long and costly experimental work are being reaped, and the rate of
output increases every week. This applies not to one establishment,
but to the hundreds of works throughout the kingdom. So much is this
the case that a country which at the beginning of war was believed to
be behind in this branch of warfare is able not only to supply its own
needs but also those of its Allies.’

The same careful, persistent, and unobtrusive research work that
has brought British aircraft to the top has also resulted in great
improvements in the construction and invention of bomb sights and
dropping appliances. British engines, too, are now second to none
in point of power, and great improvements are to be recorded in
carburettors and special appliances for flight at high altitudes. The
same progress is to be recorded in the matter of speed. The average
speed of aeroplanes as used by our Air Service two years ago was from
sixty-five to seventy miles per hour. Nowadays it is much higher.

As regards the future, a British officer remarked at the time now in
mind: ‘With all the results achieved so far, and the knowledge gained
by this great war, there is no reason to doubt that the British Air
Service—like the British Navy—will be the premier in the world. That
is our constant aim.’




CHAPTER XVI

AIR SUPREMACY


The great Somme offensive proved beyond all dispute the claim of
England and France to the supremacy of the air. It is not, however,
always clearly understood precisely what air supremacy means. To that
remarkably able war correspondent, Mr. Philip Gibbs, we owe one of
the clearest accounts given of the part played by aircraft in modern
warfare.

Writing whilst with the British Armies in the field, September 12,
1916, Mr. Philip Gibbs said: ‘To-day has been quiet on our front,
without infantry fighting, up to the time I write. Southward, on our
right, the French have been attacking heavily, with a bombardment that
has swept a great stretch of country with fire between Combles and
Péronne. When the French get to Combles—one need hardly use the word
“if,” as they are now hammering at its outskirts—they will link up
with us to the right of Ginchy and Leuze Wood, where the enemy is still
holding out against us in a bad position, a few hundred Germans still
defending themselves bravely in the “loop” trench which is flung like
a lassoo to the north-east of Guillemont.... We are still below the
line of the Ginchy telegraph on the high plateau, so that we have not
yet obtained full observation of the valley slopes on the other side,
though by the capture of Ginchy itself we have robbed the enemy of his
old point of view, which was of enormous value to him in registering
upon our batteries and watching our movements.

‘His only means of observation now is from the air, and yesterday
there was visible proof of this, because fifteen or sixteen of his
kite balloons came creeping out of the clouds above the plateau here,
peering at us at close range. I should hate to be a German observer
in one of those “sausages,” as our men call them. They have a painful
reminiscence of six such gas-bags brought down on one day, which was
June 30 last, before the great battle began. Since then they have
not floated aloft with any safety. On September 1 two of them were
attacked by one of our air-pilots, who fired machine guns at them
and dropped bombs on to them so that they had to haul down hurriedly
in a great scare, and a few days ago one of our knights-errant of the
air crossed the enemy’s lines at nearly 12,000 feet, mounted directly
above a German balloon, and dived upon it, until he was no higher than
500 yards above it. Then he fired until he almost touched the great
bag, and as he passed it burst into a vast flame and was burnt to a
wisp of smoke in a few seconds. For fighting purposes these German
“Peeping Toms” are not safe and certain means of observation with our
airmen hovering near them, even though they have adopted a new means of
defence, which is a gun below them sending up a high-reaching flame to
scorch the wings of any British moth who dares to come too close. Our
moths will take the risk....

‘To-day, a German plane did come across our lines, where I was
wandering about some old dug-outs and trenches, watching our batteries
plug away in a leisurely style, and wondering at the relative quietude
of an _off day_ of battle. But that hostile bird was scared back by
some of our hawks, and they followed him well into his own country of
the sky, with their usual audacity. There is no humbug about all this.
On this part of the battle-front we maintain the mastery of the air and
blind the enemy’s point of view. It makes all the difference to our
artillery, and it is extraordinary to go through the recent history of
the Royal Flying Corps and to note how many German batteries have been
put under heavy gunfire by aerial registration. It is not easy to knock
out a battery by a direct hit. A gun is a small target, and shells may
crump it all round and leave it unscathed; but on the laws of luck we
have certainly scored many direct hits during the last week or two.
Many ammunition dumps and pits have been blown up after aerial reports,
as I have seen myself several times, watching the high enduring volumes
of black curly smoke.’

Thus we see that the claim of England and her gallant Allies to the
supremacy of the air is an established fact. Later, we shall see more
closely still how this has been brought about, and that more than can
be estimated is due to the individual courage of our heroic aviators.




CHAPTER XVII

FLIGHT-COMMANDER ALBERT BALL, D.S.O., M.C.


Few airmen have a finer record than the young British officer,
Flight-Commander Albert Ball, who for a while held a commission in the
Notts and Derby Regiment, and later was attached to the Royal Flying
Corps with the rank of Flight-Commander. He is a native of Nottingham,
and joined the Sherwood Foresters as a private at the outbreak of the
war. He has brought down no fewer than twenty-nine German aeroplanes
and a Drachen observation balloon.

He is only twenty years of age at the time of writing (October, 1916),
and is probably one of the smallest flying officers in the service—a
small man with great courage. He has black hair, the eyes of a hawk,
and a jaw that spells two words—determination and fearlessness.

During a brief period of leave in England he had with him two
noteworthy mascots—the propeller of the aeroplane in which he brought
down fourteen hostile machines, and a mascot in the form of a large red
nose-cap of steel. The Germans know this mascot well.

Whilst on his visit to England he said that his most ‘sporting fight’
was one in which he and his opponent went at each other for over half
an hour. Then, when the ammunition had all gone, the two flew side by
side and grinned at one another in mutual admiration.

‘We flew together,’ Lieut. Ball said, ‘in that way for quite a long
distance, exchanging air greetings.’

Good fortune has, of course, played a part in Lieut. Ball’s many
successes. He has himself been forced down several times, but thus far
not once has he suffered any personal injury.

His exploits have won him the D.S.O., the Military Cross, the bar to
the D.S.O., and the Russian St. George’s Cross, which is our Ally’s
equivalent to the English Victoria Cross. The D.S.O. was bestowed
on him for attacking seven enemy machines which he saw flying in
formation. One of them he shot down at fifteen yards range, and the
others retired.

[Illustration: BOMB DROPPING.

The dropping of aerial bombs is a more or less haphazard affair, and
unless the target is a big one, such as a town or dockyard, it is
exceedingly difficult to take aim with any degree of accuracy.

_Reproduced by permission of the Editor of ‘The Royal Magazine.’_]

Immediately afterwards, seeing five more hostile machines, he attacked
one at about ten yards range and shot it down. He then attacked another
of the machines which had been firing at him, and shot it down into a
village. Still not satisfied, he flew to the nearest aerodrome for more
ammunition, and returning attacked three more machines.

The bar to the D.S.O. was awarded for subsequent acts of gallantry. On
one occasion, observing twelve enemy machines in formation, Commander
Ball dived in among them and fired a drum into the nearest machine,
which went down out of control. Several more hostile machines then
approached, and he fired three more drums at them, driving down another.

The record of this heroic young aviator is indeed remarkable, and one
is not surprised when one learns that the British Commander-in-Chief,
Sir Douglas Haig, has written to the young hero as follows:

 ‘Well done! D. H.’




CHAPTER XVIII

LIEUTENANT ALLAN BOTT, M.C.


Lieutenant Allan Bott, who has been awarded the Military Cross for
gallantry and devotion to duty in the field, is a member of the
editorial staff of the _Daily Chronicle_, and when war broke out acted
for a time as a special correspondent in France and Switzerland. He
went to Lake Constance to investigate the building of super-Zeppelins,
and while at Kreuzlingen, a small Swiss town which is really a suburb
of Constance, made an involuntary trip into Germany by entering the
wrong train. He spent some hours in Constance, and managed to escape
detection at the frontier by travelling under the seat of a cab driven
by a friendly Swiss who was going back to Kreuzlingen.

On his return to England, in November, 1914, Mr. Bott joined the
O.T.C., and after training received a commission in the R.G.A., whence
he transferred to the Royal Flying Corps. Since the deeds which have
won Mr. Bott the Military Cross he has been promoted from the rank of
Second-Lieutenant to Lieutenant. The story of his flight on a blazing
aeroplane has been told modestly by the young officer in a letter to
his parents:

‘All at once our fuselage shivered, and looking down it, I saw that
Archie had left his card in the form of a piece of burning H.E.

‘“Fuselage burning—pass the fire extinguisher,” I shouted down the
speaking-tube to my pilot. But the pilot’s earpiece had slipped from
his cap during the dive, and he heard nothing. I stood up, leaned
across and shook his shoulder. “Pass the fire extinguisher,” I yelled.

‘“Hun down on the left,” he shouted back, my words having been lost in
the roar of the engine.

‘“Fire extinguisher,” I called again.

‘“Why don’t you fire at that Hun?” was the reply.

‘Seeing that the flames were licking their way back to the tail, I
abandoned the attempt to get the extinguisher, and crawled down the
fuselage to the scene of the fire. I managed to beat out the flames,
which had eaten half-way through one of the longerons.

‘Meanwhile, the pilot had been attacking one of the enemy machines, and
a bullet had gone into our petrol tank. Confronted with a diminishing
pressure, we decided to make for Allied territory at once, and turned
west.

‘Five minutes later, by which time the number of revolutions had
dropped alarmingly, we found the way barred by two more Boche machines.
My gun having jammed, the pilot did the only thing possible—he went
straight at the nearest German, firing all the time. The Boche swerved
just in time to avoid a collision, but had obviously been hit, for
his machine all but did a nose-dive, and he only landed with great
difficulty.

‘Then our engine petered out altogether, and there was nothing for it
but to do a long glide and try to reach the lines. We were at 4,000
feet when we started to glide, and for a long time we didn’t know if we
had sufficient height to get us across.

‘But the pilot took advantage of a small salient, and we managed to
glide over the trenches at a height of about 400 yards, fired at by
machine-guns and rifles, besides dear old Archie. We landed just
behind the second-line trenches of a certain part of the French line,
and, to our joy and astonishment, we were not shelled on the ground.’

It was an exciting adventure, showing the mettle of our aviators. There
have been many such thrilling incidents on the various battle-fronts,
some coming to light and winning well-deserved awards, others going to
make up the great and glorious number of unrecorded deeds of gallantry.




CHAPTER XIX

FLIGHT-LIEUTENANT GUYNEMER


We learn from the _Matin_ that the French champion, Flight-Lieutenant
Guynemer, once brought down three German aeroplanes in the record time
of three minutes, and then himself had an extremely narrow escape from
death. He was 3,000 yards up when a shell burst full in one of the
wings of his aeroplane, and the frail bird seemed mortally wounded. The
whole left wing was completely cut to bits, and the canvas fluttered
in the wind, making the rent still worse. In a few seconds there
was nothing left on the frame but a piece of canvas the size of a
pocket-handkerchief.

The machine fell with a crash through space—it would not support its
pilot any longer. Lieutenant Guynemer declares that he gave himself up
for lost; the only thing he asked Providence for was that he should not
fall in enemy territory.

‘I was powerless to make my will felt,’ he has said. ‘My machine
refused to obey me. At 1,600 yards I determined to make a fight for it
all the same.

‘The wind had brought me back into our own lines. I was almost happy. I
had been thinking of my funeral, with sorrowing friends walking behind
my last remains. I had nothing more to fear from the “pickelhauben.”
However, I felt that it was death, and that thought is not a very
pleasant one.

‘My fall continued. In spite of all my efforts, I could not do what I
wanted with my machine. I tried to turn it first to the right and then
to the left. I pushed and pulled, but all to no purpose. I could do
nothing.

‘Down I fell, faster and faster, drawn surely and inevitably to the
earth, where I was going to be smashed to atoms.

‘I shut my eyes, then I opened them again and looked down. At something
like 110 miles an hour I crashed into a pylon. There was a terrific
cracking sound and a deep thud. I looked round and found that nothing
was left of my machine.

‘How is it I am still alive? I wonder myself. I think it was the straps
which held me in my seat which saved my life. They had eaten right into
my shoulders anyhow, but if it had not been for them I should be dead
at this moment.’

Only to the fortunate is it given to relate their experiences. Sudden
and untimely death overtakes many heroic pilots, sealing their lips
and robbing the world of personal records of their deeds. We are
indeed fortunate in having from Flight-Lieutenant Guynemer a story so
thrilling. He is one of our gallant Allies’ most courageous and skilful
pilots, and in aviation France is second to none. Later, we shall
afresh see how rich she is in skilful and heroic airmen, and we shall
see in particular how well the heroic aviator, Lieutenant Guynemer, has
continued to acquit himself.




CHAPTER XX

LIEUTENANT STEWART GORDON RIDLEY


It has been said that the story of Second-Lieutenant Ridley, a young
British flying officer, is as great as the story of Captain Oates.
‘Captain Oates walked into the Antarctic blizzard so that his comrades
should have a better chance of living. Lieutenant Ridley, stranded
in the burning Libyan Desert with an air mechanic, and seeing his
tiny stock of water near its end, shot himself in the hope that his
companion might live.’

The heroic young aviator went out singly on a machine from an oasis in
the Libyan Desert as an escort to another pilot, who was accompanied
by Air-Mechanic J. A. Garside. After flying for an hour and a half,
the party failed to locate the camel patrol which had been sent out in
advance to establish a temporary landing-place.

They encamped for the night. The next morning it was found that
Lieutenant Ridley’s engine would not work, and it was agreed that the
other pilot should try to discover the track of the camel patrol. He
left his water and provisions with the others, and arranged to return
on the following day. The pilot picked up the camel patrol, but when he
returned to find Lieutenant Ridley and Garside they had disappeared.

Search parties, consisting of camel patrols, motor-cars, and aeroplanes
were at once sent out. Nothing was discovered of the missing men until
four days after the start of the original mission, when, twenty-five
miles away from the spot where the first night had been spent, a second
landing-place was found. The two men had evidently flown away again
after patching up their machine. Two days later a motor party found the
machine and the two dead bodies of the aviators.

During the search the footprints of the two men had been discovered.
They were noticed to have been overtaken by a hostile camel patrol, and
for a time it was believed that Lieutenant Ridley and Garside had been
captured.

A diary kept by Garside throws peculiar light on the moving story:

‘_Friday._—Mr. Gardiner left for Meheriq, and said he would come and
pick one of us up. After he went we tried to get the machine going, and
succeeded in flying for about twenty-five minutes. Engine then gave
out. We tinkered engine up again, succeeded in flying about five miles
next day, but engine ran short of petrol.

‘_Sunday._—After trying to get engine started, but could not manage it
owing to weakness, water running short—only half a bottle—Mr. Ridley
suggested walking up to the hills.

‘_Six p.m._—Found it was further than we thought; got there
eventually: very done up. No luck. Walked back; hardly any water, about
a spoonful. Mr. Ridley shot himself at 10.30 on Sunday while my back
was turned. No water all day; don’t know how to go on; dozed all day,
feeling very weak; wish some one would come; cannot last much longer.

‘_Monday._—Thought of water in compass, got half bottle; seems to be
some kind of spirit. Can last another day. Fired Lewis gun, about four
rounds; shall fire my “Very light” to-day: last hope without machine
comes. Could last days if had water.’

On the following day the bodies were discovered by a motor-car.

The Commander of the Imperial Camel Corps reports that from what he
discovered he has formed the opinion that Lieutenant Ridley gave his
life in the hope of saving the mechanic. Added to this, the commanding
officer of the Royal Flying Corps states: ‘There is no doubt in my mind
that he did this in an act of self-sacrifice in the hope of saving the
other man.’

Lieutenant Ridley, who was affectionately known as ‘Riddles’ in the
corps, came of a celebrated Northumbrian family, one of his ancestors
being Bishop Ridley, who, bound to the stake at Oxford, ‘played
the man’ with Latimer amid the flames. ‘It may well be,’ states a
sympathetic admirer of this gallant officer, ‘that there came across
the desert from Gordon at Khartoum a message in the words of Latimer,
“Be of good cheer, Master Gordon, and play the man.”’

The fallen hero was a young man of attractive appearance and great
charm of manner. His character, as known to intimate friends, confirms
in all respects the interpretation put upon his last act, ‘He gave his
life in the hope that his companion might be saved.’

Both Lieutenant S. G. Ridley and Air-Mechanic J. A. Garside were
unmarried, but Garside was the only son of a widowed mother, and
evidently in the mind of his heroic companion had special claims upon
life.

A chaplain with a party of service men paid the last honours. At the
head of the grave a cross was erected.




CHAPTER XXI

SOUS-LIEUTENANT LOUIS NOËL


An Army Order, signed by General Sarrail, describes how Lieutenant
Noël, when hardly convalescent from a grave operation, from the
effects of which he was still suffering, effected on two occasions
the bombardment of an enemy capital, and assured a long-distance link
between two friendly armies, covering 1,100 kilometres (roughly 700
miles) there and back, of which 850 kilometres (over 500 miles) were
over enemy territory.

Lieutenant Noël is an old pilot, remarkable for his address, his
bravery, his coolness, and his modesty. Numerous difficult and perilous
missions in France and in the Orient have been successfully carried out
by him, and in addition to the Cross of the Legion of Honour he has
earned the Médaille Militaire, the Croix de Guerre, and the Russian
Cross of St. George.

Describing his remarkable flight from Salonica to Bukarest, a Roumanian
journal (September 16, 1916) says: ‘Roumania received yesterday the
visit of gracious Allied winged guests, who come to us from Salonique,
from the heroic army of Sarrail, from that corner of ground which,
right in the heart of the Balkans, sinks in like a vice, to choke in
its powerful grip the Bulgars and our common enemies. As legitimate
reprisal for the cowardly attack on Bukarest by the Zeppelins, the
French aviators had received orders to bombard Sofia and reach Roumania
afterwards. Yesterday, Wednesday, at 6.20 a.m., four French avions left
Salonique. The first, a Farman biplane, was conducted by the heroic
Sous-Lieutenant Noël, one of the best aviators of the French Army,
who had already sunk two German avions in the course of seventeen
months passed on the German front. The Sous-Lieutenant Noël brought
with him Lieutenant Leseur, one of the best observers of the Army of
Salonique. The second biplane was mounted by Sergeant Lamprou and the
Soldier-Machine-Gunner Masson; the third by the Lieutenant Quillery and
an observer, and the fourth by the Sergeant Rohan and a machine-gunner.

‘At 8.40 the Noël biplane arrived above Sofia, where were to be seen
several fires lighted by one of the French avions which had just
passed. The Lieutenant Leseur let go many bombs. The aviators were
perfectly guided by the sparkling dome of the cathedral. Let us say
that the bombs thrown contained an explosive newly discovered by the
French, and of an extraordinary power of destruction. Some German
avions made chase to the French avions, which were soon able to
distance them without being touched by their projectiles. At 11.20 a.m.
the avions, piloted by the Sous-Lieutenant Noël, arrived at Bukarest,
where he descended directly in the aviation field, in the midst of the
delirious acclamation of the Roumanian aviators. The biplane Lamprou
descended at Alexandria, and the two others landed, according to
orders, at Turnu-Magaurele.

‘Six hundred kilometres in a single stage! A hundred and twenty
kilometres to the hour! The difficult crossing of the Balkans, with
their heights of over 2,900 metres (9,000 feet), their pernicious
currents, their thousand and one difficulties, effected without
encumbrance, without the least accident! What marvellous exploit of
ability, of cool blood, of this legendary and magnificent heroism
French! What new and beautiful page of glory to inscribe to the credit
of the aviation French! Salutes to you, glorious heroes of the air!
Salutes to you, well-beloved colours of France, which in these solemn
hours come to unite yourselves to the tricolour Roumanian! Roumania has
received you open-armed with legitimate pride, and from the plains of
the Danube up to the slopes of the Carpathians, and from the banks of
the Olt and of the Muresh, and from those of the Black Sea, to those of
the Thass, a sole cry sincere, but which sums up all our sentiments,
will hail you, “Vive la France! Vive l’armée française!!”’

High praise, very warmly expressed, and richly deserved!

‘The aviators,’ says one who writes with intimate knowledge of their
movements, ‘deserved thoroughly the acclamation. All the French pilots
remained for a while in Roumania except Louis Noël, who flew back alone
on the nineteenth again without landing. Owing to a head wind after
reaching the seaward side of the Balkans, he only just scraped home
without a drop of essence.’ It should be added that Lieutenant Noël
is well known at Hendon, and has been justly termed one of the most
decorated and distinguished of Hendon aviators.




CHAPTER XXII

FLIGHT-LIEUTENANT HAROLD ROSHER, R.N.A.S.


All are conscious of the fact that to our Royal Naval Air Service the
highest praise is due. The service is rich in heroic pilots. Few,
however, are known by name to the wider public. But we must not suppose
that our Navy has not in its service a goodly share of skilful and
heroic pilots.

The letter, for instance, of Flight-Lieutenant Harold Rosher, R.N.A.S.,
written to his family and published by Chatto and Windus, reveals an
aviator of fine character. ‘One wonders,’ a friend writes, ‘whether
most to admire the man in him, the gentleman, or the accomplished pilot
of the skies who took all risks, keeping his head among them, because
that way lay duty and achievement.’ He is well reflected in his quiet,
modest manner of writing. Here is a little picture of the difficulties
of flying at a great altitude, ‘absolutely lost’ and in search of
bearings:

‘I nose-dived, side-slipped, stalled, &c., &c., time after time, my
speed varying from practically nothing to over a hundred miles an hour.
I kept my head, but was absolutely scared stiff. I didn’t get out of
the clouds, which, lower down, turned into a snowstorm and hail, until
I was only 1,500 feet up. I came out diving headlong for the earth.’

Mastery of the air becomes still more difficult when making a raid,
as Lieutenant Rosher did more than once, on the German fortifications
along the Belgian coast. ‘A few seconds passed,’ he writes, ‘and the
shrapnel burst a good deal short of me, but direction and height
perfect. I turned out to sea and put another two miles between me and
the coast. By now a regular cannonade was going on. All along the coast
the guns were firing hasty, vicious flashes, and then a puff of smoke
as the shrapnel burst. I steered a zigzag course and made steadily to
sea, climbing hard.’

Of another time when he was under fire and travelling faster than he
had ever travelled before, he writes: ‘My chief impressions were the
great speed, the flaming bullets streaking by, the incessant rattle of
the machine-gun and rifle fire, and one or two shells bursting close
by, knocking my machine all sideways and pretty nearly deafening me.’

There is inspiration in the letters, chiefly, perhaps, on account
of the fact that they were written for the late Lieutenant Rosher’s
dearest friends. He was killed at Dover, while trying a doubtful
machine before allowing a fellow-aviator to ascend—a hero’s death.

He has been described as one of the most promising officers in the
Service. ‘He was not merely a first-class pilot; he was a born
organizer and leader of men, and, moreover, he had the heaven-sent gift
of being personally popular with all ranks without losing his control
over those below him.’ Knowing personally all the senior officers
under whom he served, they all had the highest regard for his personal
qualities and for his ability as an officer.

‘One may deduce,’ says a writer in the _Aeroplane_, ‘that his letters
may fairly be taken as expressing the views, experiences, and feelings
of the best class of R.N.A.S. officer, and his father, Mr. Frank
Rosher, has done well in publishing them, for they give a vivid and
intimate picture of life in the Royal Naval Air Service during the
early days of the war. The naval censorship is to be congratulated on
having left untouched certain passages which indicate to those who have
understanding some of the mistakes made in those early days in the
supply or choice of the engines, aeroplanes, and landing grounds. There
is no grumbling in the letters themselves, but plain statements are set
down.’

The letters begin with Lieutenant Rosher’s early experiences at the
Bristol School at Brooklands, whither he went to learn as much as he
could between applying for and receiving his commission, and the fact
that he took this course is evidence of the keenness which in his short
flying life carried him so far in the Service.

In one of his letters Lieutenant Rosher describes thus how he came
through a curtain of fire: ‘I found myself across the yards and felt a
mild sort of surprise. My eyes must have been sticking out of my head
like a shrimp’s! I know I was gasping for breath, and crouching down in
the fuselage.’ He was too brave a man to be afraid of admitting that he
was afraid.

Later in the book there is a story like a nightmare of how, when he
went to attack an airship shed at Brussels, he was instead chased by a
Zeppelin, which was already in the air when he got there, and so high
up that his old machine could not reach it: the machine was, in fact,
barely able to go fast enough to keep out of the way of the airship.

Lieutenant Rosher, although highly imaginative and impressionable, was,
as we have seen, of the ‘stuff’ of which heroes are made. All who knew
him join in acclaiming him a young officer of heroic mettle.




CHAPTER XXIII

AN OBSERVER IN THE R.N.A.S.


Further light is thrown on the work of naval pilots by an observer
writing in the _Border Telegraph_. ‘Most of us know,’ he says, ‘what
the pilot of an aeroplane does. But have we as true a conception of
the observer’s duties? The man who makes his mark nowadays is the
specialist. There are first-rate aeroplane observers and first-rate
seaplane observers. Common-sense plays a great part in the affairs of
both. Any man may recognize a haystack from a moderate altitude, but
how many can tell a topsail schooner from a barquentine, a flotilla
leader from a light cruiser, or a German ship of the line from one of
the Entente? Therein lies the secret.’

It is abundantly clear that a very necessary feature in a pilot is
a thorough working knowledge of wireless telegraphy. The days of
returning to report are passing. The observer ignorant of wireless is
no longer classed as an observer. He is becoming a ‘back number.’ It
stands to reason that if a British seaplane sights a hostile squadron,
and is, say, forty miles from her base, or from the nearest unit of the
home fleet, then a precious forty minutes at least is going to be lost
if the observer does not understand wireless telegraphy. ‘Conversely a
radio message, travelling at something like thrice the circumference
of the earth in one second, will reach a receiving installation forty
miles off while you cough, and a great deal quicker. That is one point,
and the time was when it was thought any one could qualify in wireless.
Quite a number of wise men have since then given up the attempt.’ The
observer must recognize ships at sight, and from a reasonable height,
with the aid of prisms, be able to note their type, direction steering
in, nationality, whether armed or otherwise, and their distance from
the nearest mark, probably a buoy. He has, of course, to recognize and
name the buoy. ‘Sometimes he will make a hazard at the cargo carried by
detecting a clue somewhere. In a channel recently swept clear of mines,
and just open to traffic, when scores of merchant-men and patrol craft
are under way, the observer has got to get busy on the job. Very often
if the pilot is daring and gets down to 500 feet, even the names of
the ships can be discerned. Also the observer has got to discriminate
between a U Boat and an E Boat and an S Boat.’

The writer of the article in the _Border Telegraph_ goes on to point
out that bomb-dropping is a difficult matter: ‘Any one can drop bombs,
you say. “Just heave ’em overboard!” Exactly. But it’s no use dropping
a sixteen-pounder on a battle-cruiser. It mightn’t like it. Besides,
it won’t wait till you drop it. You can take it that long before you
get within dropping distance anything from a centimetre to a six-inch
shell is up searching for you. The same when you spot a submarine. If
you take too long calculating and guessing what curve the dropping
bomb will take or how long it should take to reach the objective if
the speed increases thirty odd feet per sec., they’ll sling out the
six-pounder at you, and mighty smart, too. A young man once dropped a
few bombs for practice where he thought was well out in the bay. Alas!
he forgot the curve a bomb makes in its flight. Don’t ever forget that
curve when you watch a hostile machine dropping bombs. On this
occasion the friendly bombs struck the water a couple of hundred yards
from a fairly crowded esplanade, and caused something analogous to a
panic. You see, those bombs, having had the pins extracted, made water
spouts when they burst, not to mention noise. Rumours flew so fast that
the District Brigade Major, being informed that the German fleet were
shelling the port, called out the military. Why, it is not for me to
say, and I’m not quite sure if the special constables were not called
out, too, because I was making tracks, like Huckleberry Finn, for the
back country shortly—very shortly, indeed—after the occurrence.’

[Illustration: GUARDING OUR COASTS.

A Naval Patrol in difficulties in the North Sea.

_Reproduced from ‘Flight,’ by special permission._]

It is, of course, highly important that the observer should be able
to tell the difference between the ships of Britain and her Allies
and an enemy ship. Moreover, at 1,000 feet in a fairly good light the
observer has to distinguish between a floating mine and a war channel
buoy. ‘Then he will never cause his machine to descend to 200 feet for
the purpose of informing his pilot that _it’s a buoy_.’ All this time
communication has to be maintained with the wireless telegraphy station
ashore or afloat. Instructions sent to the ‘plane are taken down and
given effect to, or the observer’s report sent, as required.

Furthermore, the observer must be a master of aerial gunnery, and he
must withal be an air mechanic in the best sense. One can readily
imagine what would happen if an aeroplane had to alight fifty or sixty
miles out to sea with a stubborn engine, if the pilot had no knowledge
of motor mechanism.

Finally, the observer must possess and use sufficient intelligence and
aptitude to write a report satisfactory to the exacting minds of the
Admiralty every time he returns from his patrols. The work, in brief,
is not for every man. Many high qualities are required, and above all
the naval observer must have the spirit of daring enterprise. He must
be a man of heroic mettle.




CHAPTER XXIV

HEROES OF THE ROYAL NAVAL AIR SERVICE


Here we shall see afresh that the British Naval Air Service is rich
in men who possess to a remarkable degree the qualities named in the
foregoing chapters. Flight Sub-Lieutenant Dallas, for example (who in
addition to performing consistently good work in reconnaissances and
fighting patrols since December, 1915), has been brought to notice by
the Vice-Admiral Dover Patrol for the specially gallant manner in which
he has carried out his duties. Amongst other exploits is the following:
On May 21, 1916, he sighted at least twelve hostile machines, which
had been bombing Dunkerque. He attacked one at 7,000 feet, and then
attacked a second machine close to him. After reloading he climbed
to 10,000 feet, and attacked a large hostile two-seater machine off
Westende. The machine took fire and nose-dived seawards. Another enemy
machine then appeared, which he engaged and chased to the shore, but
had to abandon owing to having used all his ammunition. For these
heroic exploits he has been awarded the Distinguished Service Cross.

The same honour has been conferred upon Sub-Lieutenant Oxley, who acted
as observer with Flight-Lieutenant Edward H. Dunning, D.S.C., as pilot,
on escort and reconnaissance patrol for a flight of bombing machines on
the Bulgarian coast, on June 20, 1916. Two enemy machines were engaged
at close range and forced to retire, and as our machine withdrew
Flight-Lieutenant Dunning was hit in the left leg, and the machine
itself was badly damaged. Sub-Lieutenant Oxley, having first improvised
a tourniquet, which he gave to Flight-Lieutenant Dunning, took control
of the machine, whilst the latter put on the tourniquet. The pilot was
obliged to keep his thumb over a hole in the lower part of the petrol
tank in order to keep enough fuel to return to the aerodrome, where he
made an exceedingly good landing.

The Distinguished Service Cross has also been awarded to
Flight-Sub-Lieutenant Donald Ernest Harkness, R.N.A.S., and
Flight-Sub-Lieutenant Ralph Harold Collett, R.N.A.S., in recognition
of their services on the morning of August 9, 1916, when they
dropped bombs on the airship sheds at Evere and Berchem St. Agathe.
Flight-Sub-Lieutenant Collett dropped all his bombs on the shed
at Evere from a height of between 300 and 500 feet, under very
heavy rifle, machine-gun, and shrapnel fire from all directions.
Flight-Sub-Lieutenant Harkness could not descend so low owing to the
very heavy anti-aircraft fire which had by this time been opened on
the machines, but he dropped some of his bombs on the shed, and then
proceeded to Berchem St. Agathe, which he also bombed.

Honour has also been conferred upon Flight-Commander T. Harry England,
R.N.A.S., in recognition of his services on August 26, 1916, when,
accompanied by a military officer as observer, he flew a seaplane
forty-three miles inland from the Syrian coast, crossed a range of
hills 2,000 feet high, with clouds at 1,500 feet, and after dropping
bombs on the station of Homs, returned safely to his ship. The machine
was exposed to rifle fire at extremely low altitudes for long periods,
and Flight-Commander England showed remarkable pluck, determination,
and skill in carrying out the flight under very adverse conditions.

Another officer to be decorated is Flight-Sub-Lieutenant Ronald
Grahame, R.N.A.S., for exceptional gallantry in attacking and beating
off four enemy seaplanes whilst on escort duty off the Belgian coast,
September 22, 1916.

Mention must also be made of Flight-Sub-Lieutenant Stanley James
Goble, R.N.A.S., who has been decorated in recognition of his services
on September 24, 1916, when he attacked two hostile machines in the
vicinity of Ghistelles at close range, and brought one of them down on
fire in a spiral nose-dive.

With each passing day the list of R.N.A.S. heroes grows, calling forth
just pride. Further reference to individual cases will be given later
on in these pages. It may be stated here, however, that the following
officers, together with many others in the Royal Naval Air Service,
have been decorated by the King:—

Squadron-Commander Reginald Bone, Flight-Commander Redford Mulock,
Squadron-Commander Francis Haskins, Flight-Commander Douglas Evill,
Flight-Commander Vincent Nicholl, Flight-Lieutenant John Petre,
Flight-Lieutenant Roderic Dallas, Flight-Lieutenant Ralph Collett.
The first two officers named have been invested by the King with
the Insignia of Companions of the Distinguished Service Order. The
last-named officers have been awarded the Distinguished Service Cross.




CHAPTER XXV

TOLD BY THE ADMIRALTY


Official communications are apt to make cold reading, but how much may
be ‘read into’ them! Considered in the light of a lively imagination
they convey a great deal. Between each line a story of considerable
length and great interest might be written. Take, for instance,
the following communication issued by the British Admiralty in the
latter part of October, 1916: ‘Yesterday afternoon, one of our naval
aeroplanes attacked four enemy seaplanes off Ostend. Our machine was
under fire from all four seaplanes, but succeeded in bringing down one,
which was completely destroyed, and in driving off the others.’

This was the second British aerial success against odds in the same
week. A few days previously a naval single-seater machine attacked a
large German double-engined tractor seaplane. The enemy pilot and
observer were shot, and the seaplane dived vertically into the sea two
miles off Ostend. Another British naval aeroplane destroyed a kite
balloon in the same locality on this occasion.

We may crave for further details, but the time is not yet. Naval and
military censors, though subjected to much adverse criticism, are wise
in their generation.

Experience has shown that it is far better to give a light touch or
two of romantic colouring, than to fall into the fault of conveying
the kind of direct and definite information which might by some chance
prove of service to the enemy. The following communications are
above suspicion in the direction named, but they are not devoid of
colour. They enable one to appreciate in a very real sense the heroic
achievements of our naval aviators:

Between August 25 and 31, 1916, a series of attacks were carried out by
naval aircraft upon the Bulgarian lines of communication beyond Kavala.

On the twenty-fifth the railway station and bridge at Buk (about
twenty-two miles north-east of Kavala) were successfully bombed. On
the twenty-sixth a similar attack upon the railway station at Drama
(twenty-two miles north-west of Kavala) resulted in the burning of a
large petrol store and considerable destruction among the rolling stock
in the sidings. Bombs were also dropped on the billets of the enemy’s
troops at Doksat (fourteen miles north-west of Kavala).

On the twenty-seventh, Okgilar (twenty-five miles north-north-east of
Kavala) railway station, where the headquarters of the 10th Division
were situated, was successfully attacked. The station buildings were
set on fire and considerable damage was done to the permanent way.

On the twenty-eighth Drama Station was again bombed. The station
buildings were considerably damaged. On the same day Kavala forts were
attacked with excellent results.

On the twenty-ninth a large body of infantry and transport concentrated
at Porna (about thirty-two miles west of Kavala, on the Seres—Drama
line) were attacked. Considerable havoc was caused in the village
and among the troops. A large fire was started among the stores in
the transport park. The moral as well as the material effect of this
bombardment seems to have been considerable, as a reconnaissance made
on the following day showed that all troops, camps, and transport had
been removed from this district.

On the thirty-first an attack was made on Angista railway station
(twenty-five miles west-north-west of Kavala). Direct hits were made
and extensive damage was caused.

Further communications issued by the Admiralty in the same month showed
that between August 25 and 29 a series of attacks and reconnaissances
upon the enemy railway communications in Palestine were carried out by
a British seaplane squadron. These fights were made under hazardous
conditions, due to the fact that the railway runs, for the most part,
behind a range of mountains difficult for seaplanes to surmount.
Bombs were dropped on Afuleh Junction, where considerable damage
was done to the rolling stock, permanent way, and to stores in the
vicinity. A railway engine and fourteen carriages were also set on
fire and destroyed. The railway stations at Tulkeram and Ardana and
an enemy camp four miles north-west of Remleh (thirteen miles from
Jaffa) were successfully bombarded and severely damaged. And on August
26 a seaplane bombarded the railway station at Homs (about eighty
miles north of Damascus). This flight, carried out at a distance of
forty-five miles inland under extremely adverse conditions and through
clouds low down on the mountains, was a singularly fine performance for
a seaplane.

At a later date, from September 13 to September 22, further series of
attacks were carried out by naval aeroplanes operating against the
Bulgarian coast. On the thirteenth the head quarters of the Bulgarian
10th Division at Bademli Chiftlik were attacked, with considerable
effect. Subsequently these head quarters were removed elsewhere,
but were discovered, and attacked three days later, with excellent
results. A large explosion was caused, and a fire, which lasted for
a considerable time, broke out among the buildings. On the sixteenth
considerable damage was caused to transport proceeding on the road
towards Drama, and on the same day the shipping in Foujes harbour
was bombed. On the seventeenth and eighteenth the rolling stock,
gun emplacements, and stores at Drama station were bombarded and
considerable damage done to them. On the nineteenth a column of troops
and transport were thoroughly plied with small bombs, which caused
considerable damage and confusion.

In October, 1916, a hostile seaplane was shot down and destroyed
by one of our naval aircraft. The enemy machine fell into the sea.
This was evidently the raider that approached Sheerness at 1.45
p.m., flying very high. Four bombs were dropped, three of which fell
into the harbour. The fourth fell in the vicinity of the railway
station, damaging several railway carriages. No casualties, however,
were caused. Naval aeroplanes went up and the raider made off in a
north-easterly direction. But our men of the Royal Naval Air Service
pursued the enemy machine, and after a short, sharp battle in the air,
sent it diving into the sea.




CHAPTER XXVI

HEROES OF FRANCE


_Vive la France!_ To her heroic sons we owe in a great measure the
supremacy in the air enjoyed by the Allies. Who can forget the heroic
and skilful M. Pégoud? Great is our debt to him. With his remarkable
skill as a pilot in the earlier days of flying—his wonderful diving,
‘turning and twisting,’ his ‘looping the loop’ and flying upside down,
all with amazing ease and grace—he taught the astonished world a great
object-lesson in the materiality of the air. ‘He showed that the air
can give the aviator as much support as water to a fancy swimmer, and
that where stability is lacking the human brain can supply the need,
and that in human flight, like the bird and its wings, the machine
and the individual can be in closest touch.’ To his bold example and
skilful illustrations as a pilot we owe more than can be told. Above
all, would we praise his heroic spirit.

It is indeed the heroic spirit of the airmen of France that has been
largely the source of our great success. Who has not heard how at the
time of the great German offensive against Verdun the aviators of
France, thinking of naught but conquest for their beloved country, flew
straight into enemy aircraft, thus robbing the enemy’s pilots of their
nerve, and gaining a supremacy by their self-sacrificing courage which
has remained firmly in their grasp! And never must we forget that to
the heroic courage of the airmen of France is added remarkable skill.
Take, for instance, the triumphant French aviator Lieutenant Nungesser,
who has brought down no less than twenty enemy machines. Such victories
could only have been gained by great skill linked with indomitable
courage.

The official communiqués of France tell many thrilling stories.
Take, for instance, the following for September, 1916: ‘One of our
aeroplanes, which was attacked by four enemy machines, succeeded
in freeing itself from its opponents, one of which, subjected to
machine-gun fire at very close quarters, fell in the Chaulnes district.

‘September 7.—Our Service d’Aviation took an active part in the
actions of the past days on the Somme front, watching the movements
of the enemy’s infantry, carrying out bombardments in the rear of the
German lines, and attacking with machine-guns troops on the march. Our
machines, armed with guns, repeatedly bombarded the enemy’s trenches.
During the air-fights which took place yesterday two machines were
brought down by our pilots. One fell in the direction of Gueudecourt,
and the other in the neighbourhood of Brie-en-Santerre.

‘Five other German machines were forced to descend damaged.

‘During the night of the sixth, in spite of unfavourable atmospheric
conditions, sixteen of our bombarding aeroplanes dropped heavy bombs on
railway stations, bivouacs, and enemy stores at Roisel and Villecourt
(Sommecourt), where a big fire was caused.

‘September 8.—Yesterday, on the Somme front, two enemy aeroplanes were
brought down in the region of Epenancourt. Another was forced to land
after a fight near our lines, and was destroyed by artillery fire.’

On the fifth day of the same month the champion French aviator of whom
we have read, Lieutenant Guynemer, brought down in the region of
Ablaincourt his fifteenth enemy aeroplane.

On September 10, 1916, French aeroplanes were engaged in forty actions
over the enemy lines, in the course of which the German aircraft
suffered appreciable losses. On the Somme front, Adjutant Dorme
brought down his ninth aeroplane, which fell at Beaulencourt, south of
Bapaume. Four other German machines fell damaged—one in the region of
La Maisonette, the other to the north and the east of Péronne. On the
Verdun front an enemy aeroplane which came under machine-gun fire at
very short range crashed to the ground near Dieppe. Another machine was
brought down in the German first lines near Vauquois.

On the following night French aeroplane squadrons dropped 480 bombs on
the stations and enemy depots in the region of Chauny. Several machines
belonging to this squadron twice flew from their aerodrome to the place
where the bombardment was carried out. During the same night eighteen
aeroplanes dropped numerous bombs on the military establishments at Ham
and in the region to the south of Péronne.

The French aviator, Adjutant Maxime Lenoir, who distinguished himself
at this time, calls for special note. On August 4, 1916, he brought
down his sixth enemy machine, and performed other most valuable
services. The coveted decoration, the Legion of Honour, has been
conferred upon him.

Concerning French pilots in general, Mr. Lawrence Jarrold, writing in
the _Daily Telegraph_, has said: ‘In aviation, _les Boches n’existent
plus_, every one in this camp agrees. Since the Somme offensive no
German aeroplane has ever dared to cross its own lines into French
territory. The French have invented methods of air photography the
perfection of which is almost miraculous. “Does not the enemy do the
same?” I asked. “No, he never comes to photograph us, because we never
let him.” In July fifty-eight German aeroplanes were brought down by
the French attacking squadron. One of the new French machines alone
brought down seven Boches, and not one of these machines was lost.
These are the new attacking machines of extraordinary speed. There
are other new French aeroplanes of great power. Some of these have
lost a gunner killed, but all have always come back. One of the French
aviator-captains who showed me over the camp was the officer who had
himself read the letter taken from a German aviator officer, moaning
over the incompetency of German aviation. That German aviation has
ceased to count on the Somme is no exaggeration at all. One morning I
saw over twenty French sausages lolling in the air, where they cast a
seeing eye upon the German positions. Not a single German sausage was
anywhere to be seen—none has been seen for weeks. “The moment a German
sausage comes up, one of my men rises and puts an inflammatory fuse
into the thing, and it bursts up,” said the aviator-captain.’

Mr. Jarrold also reported that the same fate had befallen the German
aeroplanes. ‘Not one dares cross over the lines. The result is that
the German artilleryman is blind. He fires over and over again at the
same place upon which he had long ago trained his gun, but he can fire
nowhere else with any knowledge. French mastery of the air on the Somme
is an absolute fact. But in the air, on the Somme, the Boches are now
powerless, and the French work their war machine absolutely peacefully.
Their aviators have told them that they are safe from air attacks, and
they know it is a fact.’

On September 15 French aviators particularly distinguished themselves
in combats above the enemy’s lines on the Somme front. Sub-Lieutenant
Guynemer brought down his sixteenth, Sub-Lieutenant Nungesser his
twelfth, Lieutenant Heurtaux his sixth, and Sub-Lieutenant de Rothefort
his sixth aeroplane. Moreover, it was confirmed that, in one of the
recent fights, Lieutenant Deullin secured his sixth victory. Two other
German machines, attacked at very short range, were forced to descend
in a seriously damaged condition. Moreover, on the Verdun front, an
enemy machine was brought down to the north of Douaumont.

Bombarding aircraft showed great activity during the night of the
fourteenth. A squadron of ten machines dropped eighty-five bombs on
the railway stations and the lines at Tergnier and Chauny, and on the
station and the huts at Guiscard. Many of the bombs found their mark. A
big fire was observed at Tergnier and the beginning of an outbreak at
Guiscard. Another French squadron dropped forty bombs on the barracks
at Stenay, where several fires were observed, and forty on the works
at Rombach. One pilot got as far as Dillingen, in the Valley of the
Saar, where he dropped eight bombs on a large workshop, causing a
fire. During the same night the blast furnaces at Rombach received ten
bombs, and the railway from Metz to Pont-a-Mousson four, which caused
considerable damage.

Later, it was learnt that besides the nine German aeroplanes brought
down on the French front on the fifteenth, six other enemy machines
were forced to come down in a damaged condition in their own lines
after fights with French pilots.

On September 17 it was confirmed that an enemy machine, which was
attacked by machine-gun fire by Adjutant Lenoir, fell north of
Douaumont. This was the eighth brought down by this pilot. It was also
confirmed that Adjutant Dorme defeated his tenth enemy machine, which
fell on September 15 between Erie and Ennemain.

At a later date (September 23), French aviators fought fifty-six
engagements on the Somme front, in the course of which four enemy
machines were brought down, while four others were seen to fall in a
damaged condition. During these fights Adjutant Dorme brought down
his eleventh German machine (in the neighbourhood of Goyencourt),
Lieutenant Deullin his seventh (south of Doingt), Adjutant Tarascon
his sixth (south-west of Hergny). The fourth German machine reported
as having been brought down fell south-west of Rocquigny. On the same
day, in the region of Verdun, Adjutant Lenoir attacked a German machine
at close quarters and brought it down in its lines north of Douaumont.
This was the tenth machine brought down by Adjutant Lenoir.

At a later date, the French pilot, Adjutant Baron, accompanied
by a bombardier, left his aviation camp at 7.15 p.m. and reached
Ludwigshafen, in the Palatinate (about 100 miles from the nearest point
of the French border), where three bombs were dropped on military
establishments. Continuing their route, the aviators dropped three more
bombs on an important factory at Mannheim (ten miles farther east), on
the right bank of the Rhine, where a vast fire and several explosions
were noticed. The aviators returned safely at 12.50 a.m.

On September 24, the German aviators having shown more activity than
usual, French _escadrilles de chasse_ delivered on the greater part
of the front veritable aerial battles. French pilots gained great
successes and indisputably had the upper hand of the enemy. On the
Somme front there were twenty-nine engagements; four enemy aeroplanes
were brought down. One fell in the Vaux woods. Two others successively
attacked by Sous-Lieutenant Guynemer came down in flames after some
minutes’ fighting. Sous-Lieutenant Guynemer consequently brought
down the same day his seventeenth and eighteenth aeroplanes. The
fourth machine fell south of Misery. Three other German machines were
seriously hit and fell wrecked near Estrees; and in the region of
Péronne four enemy machines were compelled to come to earth in their
own lines. It is also confirmed that one of the German aeroplanes,
given as seriously hit on September 22, was brought down between Misery
and Villers-Carbonnel. Farther to the south, between Chaulnes and the
Avre, six German machines were brought down. One of them fell in flames
near Chaulnes, in the course of an engagement between four machines
and a group of six enemy machines. The second fell at Licourt, the
third at Parvillers, the fourth was seen crashing to earth south of
Marchelepot, the fifth and sixth were brought down by the same pilot
in an engagement between one of the French squadrons and six German
aeroplanes, and they fell in the region of Andechy, one of them in
the French lines. In the region north of Chalons a Fokker fell in
flames near the French lines, and another Fokker appeared to have
been seriously hit. In the Verdun region an enemy aeroplane was fired
at by machine-guns at close quarters, side-slipped, and descended on
the Poivre Hill. East of St. Mihiel a Fokker nose-dived into its own
lines. In Lorraine a French pilot pursued a German machine for twenty
kilometres (12½ miles) into its own lines, killed the passenger, and
compelled the machine to descend. Another enemy machine came down in
the Forest of Gamecy. Finally, in the Vosges, two enemy aeroplanes
nose-dived into their own lines in an abnormal manner after fights with
French pilots.

It is noteworthy that on the following morning Captain de Beauchamps
and Lieutenant Daucourt, each piloting a machine, started at
eleven o’clock from their aerodrome, and threw twelve bombs on the
factories of Essen (Westphalia). The aviators returned safely to
their landing-point after accomplishing a flight of 800 kilometres
(500 miles)—a remarkable achievement! Captain de Beauchamps,
who is twenty-nine years of age, once commanded a squadron on the
Eastern frontier, and Lieutenant Guynemer served for some time under
him. Lieutenant Daucourt, thirty-seven years old, also has many
long-distance flights to his credit. In April, 1913, he flew from Paris
to Berlin, a distance of 560 miles, beating his own ‘record’ in the
contest for the Pommery Cup, when he made the journey from Calais to
Biarritz. In October of the same year he started with a passenger for
Cairo, a flight of 3,750 miles, but was forced to land in the Cilician
Taurus, on November 26, owing to an accident. He has been mentioned in
Army Orders for his fine courage and tenacity in the accomplishment of
missions. In February, 1915, when attacked by two German aeroplanes and
his machine-gun had jammed, he escaped by daring airmanship. In the
following month he attacked four enemy machines single-handed, and put
them to flight.

Special reference must also be made to the heroic French aviator,
Adjutant Tarascon, who was mentioned in the official communiqué of
September 18 as having brought down five German aeroplanes. We learn
from a French source that he enlisted voluntarily, having been rejected
owing to an aviation accident, of which he was the victim, in peace
time. He was picked up in a very serious state, and it was found
necessary to amputate his left leg. Tarascon temporarily abandoned
the sport which cost him this infirmity, but asked to be allowed to
resume his position as pilot when it was a question of defending his
country. The courage of this hero cannot be sufficiently admired. He is
an expert, and one would never believe, whilst watching the evolutions
of the aeroplane which he handles with such skill, that he had but one
leg. Recently, during one of these astonishing raids, almost level
with the tops of the trees above the enemy lines, which have become a
speciality of Allied aviation, Tarascon received a shell splinter in
his artificial leg, the shot being so violent that the leg was broken.

A number of American volunteers are in the French Air Service. Inspired
by the example of the heroic sons of the country they delight to serve,
they have earned high honours and warm praise. Describing an action
witnessed from an anti-aircraft gun emplacement, one writer says:

‘The Germans dropped back for a moment, then the whole force came
forward to attack the Americans. There was a circular counter formation
on the part of the Americans, and the rapid firing of the guns was
accelerated.... At times it was impossible to distinguish the Germans
from the Americans in this most unequal fight. We saw Prince and
Balsley capsize and fall. In the apparent death-drop Prince righted
his machine when near the ground, and returned to the aviation field
uninjured, but with a bullet through his helmet. Balsley was not so
fortunate. He owes his life, perhaps, to the fact that his feet were
strapped to the controls. An explosive bullet struck him on the hip,
rendering him helpless for a time, but he was able to regain command
of his machine sufficiently to make a landing, though the machine
was completely wrecked. Balsley explains that his machine-gun jammed
during the second rush of the Germans. He is now in the American
Ambulance Hospital in Paris. His wound is not believed to be dangerous,
but the doctors say he will never fly again. Just after these two
men had fallen, when things looked bad for the American squadron,
reinforcements of French machines came up. The Germans were soon
driven back across the lines, and the engagement was over. One German
machine was destroyed and its two occupants killed, others were
injured. The French suffered no casualties except the wounding of
Balsley and the loss of his machine.

‘The American aviators are not reckless or foolhardy, but brilliant
fliers, who use their heads. They continue to be very active, despite
unfavourable circumstances, such as repeated bombardments of their
camps and hangars by German aviators. The Germans try constantly
to draw out the Americans. At Belfort they sought to get them at a
disadvantage, and again just recently in a raid on Bar-le-Duc. In this
latter engagement the Americans ascended as the invading squadron’s
approach was telephoned from the firing line. They met and opened fire
directly over the French hangars at Bar-le-Duc. The Germans again
outnumbered them two to one. Both the French captain and Prince were
forced to come down, one with a punctured gasoline tank, and the other
with his ammunition box blown off by explosive bullets. Soon after
Cowden’s machine-gun choked, and he, too, descended, leaving Hall and
Chapman to fight off the Germans alone until reinforced by a French
squadron from Toul. They were then able to force the Germans back into
German territory and inflict heavy losses, though no injuries were
suffered on the French side.’

Among the American aviators who have been most successful is Lieutenant
Thaw. He has fought sixteen battles and brought down five adversaries.
His machine received several bullets while over the German lines at
Verdun, one of which hit him in the elbow, breaking a small bone. He
has recovered, and is again with the Corps. Sergeant Kiffin Rockwell
destroyed a German ‘plane on May 18, and attacked several on May 26,
when he was badly wounded in the face. He brought down two German
machines during the battle at Verdun. Sergeant Bert Hall, after a long,
hard fight on May 22, brought down a German from a height of 13,000
feet. He followed it down 3,000 feet, and saw it crash to the ground
just within the German lines.

On September 25, 1916, French _avions de chasse_ fought forty-seven
engagements on the Somme front. Five enemy machines were brought down,
while three more, which were seriously damaged, were obliged to
alight. Another machine, which was attacked at close quarters with a
machine-gun, fell disabled, but could not be followed to the ground.
During these engagements, Sous-Lieutenant Heurtaux brought down his
eighth machine in the direction of Villers Carbonnel, and Adjutant
Dorme his twelfth machine north of Lieramont. In the Woevre, Adjutant
Lenoir attacked an enemy machine constructed to carry three, and after
a very hard fight brought it down near Fromezey (north-west of Etain).
This was the eleventh machine brought down by this pilot.

Further aerial combats, which again resulted in victory for the French
aviators, were fought on September 27. Sous-Lieutenant Nungesser in
the course of the day alone brought down two German aeroplanes between
Le Transloy and Rocquigny, and an enemy captive balloon, which fell
in flames in the Neuville district. These three victories bring up to
seventeen the number of machines brought down by this pilot. Moreover,
two other German aeroplanes which had been seriously hit fell out of
control—one towards Le Transloy and the other near Le Mesnil Bruntel.
Another captive balloon, attacked by French pilots, collapsed near
Nurlu. In Champagne a Fokker, attacked at close quarters, fell at first
in spirals, then vertically, and was smashed, crashing to the ground at
Grateuil.

It is noteworthy that the much-vaunted German Fokker machine was now
under the shadow of defeat. On September 27 a Fokker, on being attacked
by a French pilot, crashed to the ground near Rheims. Another, shortly
after, ‘nose-dived’ into its own lines. Many other German machines
of the same type fell victims to the courageous and skilful French
aviators.

The French communiqué of September 24 recorded Lieutenant Guynemer’s
seventeenth and eighteenth victories over German aircraft on the
Somme front. As a matter of fact, Lieutenant Guynemer destroyed three
aeroplanes on that day while extricating a brother aviator from the
clutches of five enemy craft. Two of the latter took flight, and three
remained. At 11.22 the first German was shot down. The second followed
thirty seconds later, and the third, already in full flight, was
destroyed at 11.25.

A summing up of the French communiqués issued between July 1 and
September 25 showed that 250 enemy aeroplanes had been destroyed
or brought down out of control within their own lines; twenty-two
observation balloons had been burned; 142 objectives within the
territory occupied by the Germans had been hit; and 5,426 bombs had
been dropped. Such figures bear eloquent testimony to the air services
of our gallant Allies.

Further good work was done in October of the same year. On the second
day of the month Sergeant Sauvage brought down his fifth German
machine. A few days later Adjutant-Pilot Baron and Adjutant Chazard
bombarded at Stuttgart the Bosch magneto factory. Dense smoke was seen
rising from this factory as the result of the bombardment. Stuttgart,
the capital of Würtemberg, is 100 miles from the nearest point on the
French frontier. The return journey, therefore, involved a flight of at
least 200 miles.

On the tenth day of the same month, in addition to numerous
surveillance, reconnaissance, and range-regulating flights, French
aeroplanes fought fifteen engagements in the Verdun region, fourteen
south of the Somme, and forty-four north of that river. In the course
of the latter engagements four enemy machines were brought down, one
by Adjutant Dorme, who thus brought down his thirteenth machine. Six
other enemy machines were seriously hit and fell into the German lines.

It is noteworthy, as showing the unity of action between the French
and British Air Services, that on October 13 a Franco-British squadron
of forty aeroplanes bombarded the Mauser Works at Oberndorf on the
Neckar. Four thousand three hundred and forty kilogrammes (over four
tons) weight of projectiles were dropped, and their attainment of the
objectives aimed at was noted. Six German aeroplanes were brought
down in the course of fights into which they entered to defend their
factories. The raid on the Mauser factory was one of a series of
attacks on important works in Germany carried out by Allied aviators.
During the previous three weeks military establishments, blast
furnaces, and factories had been raided.

A new method of warfare for aviators, first undertaken by French
pilots, is that of flying low over the enemy’s lines, and attacking
enemy troops with machine-gun fire. The _Daily Telegraph_ Paris
correspondent, praising this work, has stated that ‘the aviators
attached to the infantry belong to a special section. They precede
each attacking wave by a few yards and fly extraordinarily low,
sometimes not more than a hundred yards or so above the enemy’s lines,
upon which they drop bombs, thus paving the way for the infantry
advance, and simultaneously, of course, signalling back information to
the infantry as it comes on.’

On October 22 it was reported that Adjutant Dorme had brought down
his fifteenth machine at Barleux, and Marechal de Logis Flachaire
his fifth machine, which was dashed to pieces on the ground in the
same district. On the following day, in spite of a thick mist, French
aircraft displayed activity and fought some twenty engagements. Three
enemy machines were brought down—one to the north of Azannes, another
near Ornes, while the third was seen to fall with a broken wing north
of Romagne. Following upon an engagement fought by one of the French
air squadrons with an enemy group in the region of Verdun, one of the
French pilots came down to within about a hundred yards from the ground
in order to set fire to a shed and to open with his machine-gun on a
motor-car.

Later it was reported that Sergt.-Aviator Sauvage had brought down
his fifth German aeroplane. He was the youngest French aviator to
be mentioned in dispatches. His one desire, we learn, since he was
fourteen, was to become an aviator. At sixteen he was apprenticed to
a small aeroplane builder. He worked hard, and under the direction of
the aviator Gilbert he built a machine to which he added some small
improvement. He had just gone to Valenciennes to try this machine when
war broke out, and he had to make off, leaving the aeroplane behind,
which presumably fell into the hands of the Germans. After one year of
war he managed to get taken into the aviation service, got his pilot’s
licence in March, and went to the front three months later.

It may be recorded here that a new name has been added to the official
list of French aviators considered worthy of mention in dispatches.
This distinction is awarded only after an aviator has brought down
his fifth enemy machine. At the time of writing (October, 1916), the
following heroic French aviators enjoy this remarkable distinction:
Sous-Lieutenant Guynemer, who has brought down eighteen enemy machines;
Sous-Lieutenant Nungesser, seventeen; Adjutant Dorme, fifteen;
Sous-Lieutenant Navarre, twelve; Adjutant Lenoir, eleven; Lieutenant
Heurtaux, ten; Sergeant Chainat, nine; Lieutenant Deullin, eight;
Sous-Lieutenant Chaput, eight; Sous-Lieutenant De la Tour, seven;
Sous-Lieutenant Pégoud, six (killed in action); Sous-Lieutenant De
Rochefort, six (killed in action); Adjutant Tarascon, six; Adjutant
Bloch, Sergeant Viallet, Sergeant Sauvage, Adjutant Lufbery (American),
and Marechal des Logis Flachaire, each five.

There can be no fitting praise in view of such achievements. Truly
France has many heroic sons! Again comes the cry—_Vive la France!_




CHAPTER XXVII

AWARDS AND DECORATIONS


The various awards and decorations conferred upon aviators and other
men of heroic stamp claim our keenest interest. Mention has already
been made of the Victoria Cross and other familiar orders. Here we
purpose setting down a few of the outstanding points of interest
regarding leading French and Russian orders and decorations, and of
certain medals awarded by our own King for heroic and meritorious
service.

The Legion of Honour is the only _Order_ of France. It was instituted
by Napoleon in 1802 as a general military and civil order of merit. The
French Cross of War dates from 1915, and is awarded for distinguished
service to both officers and men. The qualification for the distinction
is that the action must be mentioned in the orders of the day. The
French military medal was created in 1852. N.C.O.’s and men are
eligible. It is also deemed the highest decoration for generals.

The Russian Order of St. George was founded in 1769 by the Empress
Catherine II. It was originally intended to be a reward for conspicuous
bravery in the field. It consists of eight classes, the first four
of which are higher degrees, and are awarded to officers only, the
remaining four being reserved for men. The peculiar method of tying the
ribbon of the order indicates the various classes.

The English Distinguished Conduct Medal was instituted in 1862, and
is awarded for individual acts of distinguished conduct in the field.
The Distinguished Service Medal was instituted in 1914, and is awarded
to chief petty officers and men of the Navy, and non-commissioned
officers and men of the Royal Marines in cases where the Distinguished
Service Order would be inappropriate. The Distinguished Service Cross
was originally the Conspicuous Service Cross instituted in 1901. In
1914 the title was changed to the Distinguished Service Cross, and all
officers below the rank of Lieutenant-Commander were made eligible for
the award. It is frequently bestowed in cases where services are not
considered of a suitable nature for appointment to the Distinguished
Service Order.

[Illustration: AWARDS AND DECORATIONS.

  1. The Legion of Honour: Fifth Order, Croix Chevalier.
  2. The French Cross of War.
  3. The English Distinguished Service Cross.
  4. Distinguished Service Medal.
]

We shall here see afresh how widely and how well awards and decorations
have been earned by our airmen. Captain William Douglas Stock Sanday,
M.C., R.F.C., has been made a Companion of the Distinguished Service
Order for conspicuous gallantry and skill. He had led over thirty-five
patrols with great courage. On one occasion a machine of his formation
was attacked, but he charged and brought down the enemy machine in
flames. He has destroyed at least four enemy machines.

The same honour has been conferred upon Lieutenant (temporary Captain)
Alan Machin Wilkinson, for conspicuous gallantry and skill. He has
shown great dash in attacking enemy machines, and up to the end of
August, 1916, he had accounted for five. On one occasion while fighting
a hostile machine he was attacked from behind, but out-manœuvred the
enemy and shot him down. Finally he got back, his machine much damaged
by machine-gun fire.

The Military Cross has been awarded to Lieutenant (temporary Captain)
Leslie Peech Aizlewood, for conspicuous gallantry and skill. Seeing
five hostile machines, he manœuvred to get between them and their
lines; then, diving on one of them, he reserved his fire till he was
only twenty yards off. The hostile machine fell out of control, but he
was so close to it that he collided with it, breaking his propeller and
damaging his machine. Though it was barely controllable, he managed to
get back to our lines.

The same decoration has been conferred on Lieutenant (temporary
Captain) John Oliver Andrews, for conspicuous gallantry and skill. He
has proved a fine leader of offensive patrols, and has himself shot
down four enemy machines. On one occasion he got within twenty-five
yards of an enemy machine under heavy fire and brought it down a wreck.

The Military Cross has also been earned by Lieutenant (temporary
Captain) Keith Riddell Binning, for conspicuous gallantry and skill,
notably when he made two patrol flights over the enemy’s trenches
at a height of under 1,000 feet. His machine was repeatedly hit by
machine-gun and rifle fire, but he rendered exact reports of the
position of our own and the enemy’s troops.

Lieutenant Allan Duncan Bell-Irving has also earned the Military Cross
for gallantry and skill in attacking a hostile balloon at 1,000 feet
under heavy fire and bringing it down in flames. On a previous occasion
he brought down a hostile machine.

Second-Lieutenant Walter Horace Carlyle Buntine is another recipient
of the Military Cross. As escort to a bombing raid he attacked several
hostile machines, one of which fell to the ground nose first. Later he
was attacked by three enemy machines, his own machine being damaged
and himself severely wounded. With great skill he managed to land in
our lines, though most of his propeller was shot away and his machine
otherwise much damaged.

Second-Lieutenant Clifford Westley Busk has also been decorated with
the Military Cross. He has taken part in many reconnaissances and
fights, and on one occasion shot down an enemy aeroplane. On another
occasion, when his pilot’s control wires were cut and the machine went
into a spin, he helped to restore stability by leaning far out on the
upper side, and remained in this position till the machine got home.

Another officer in the R.F.C. to receive the Military Cross is
Lieutenant (temporary Captain) James Lander Chalmers. He has done much
fine counter-battery work, often flying very low under heavy fire from
the ground. On one occasion one of our shells broke the main spar of
his machine. On another in one flight he dealt effectively with four
enemy batteries.

It will be seen that the Military Cross is a much favoured decoration
for officers of the Royal Flying Corps. The deeds of gallantry and
skill, however, for which the Cross has been awarded vary in many
cases. Second-Lieutenant Leslie Frederick Forbes, has, for instance,
been decorated for conspicuous gallantry and ability in attacking
hostile machines and bombing railway lines, especially on one occasion,
when he descended to 350 feet in order to accomplish his object.
Second-Lieutenant Euan James Leslie Warren Gilchrist has also been
decorated for conspicuous gallantry and skill when he attacked a
hostile balloon and brought it down in flames, although under heavy
fire and attacked by six hostile machines.

The case of Second-Lieutenant (temporary Captain) Ian Henry David
Henderson is also worthy of special note. He drove down a machine out
of control, and two days later dispersed six enemy machines which
were attacking his formation. A few days later again he brought down
an enemy biplane, the observer being apparently killed. A week after
this he attacked and drove down another machine which had wounded his
leader. He has also carried out several excellent contact patrols and
attacked retiring artillery and a kite balloon. Another heroic pilot
(Second-Lieutenant Geoffrey Terence Roland Hill) attacked an enemy kite
balloon under very difficult circumstances, and continued firing until
he was within twenty feet of it. He was then only 1,000 feet from the
ground and under heavy fire from anti-aircraft and machine-guns, but on
looking round he saw the burning wreckage of the balloon on the ground.
Mention must also be made of Captain Henry John Francis Hunter, who
has done fine work for the artillery, and has accounted for many enemy
guns. On one occasion, when a heavy storm drove all other machines back
to their aerodromes, and the enemy guns took the opportunity to become
active, he remained up and did excellent work.

Lieutenant (temporary Captain) Charles C. Miles has earned distinction
for showing great dash in contact patrol work. On one occasion he
reconnoitred an enemy trench at 500 feet altitude, under heavy fire,
which severely damaged his machine. Five days later, while working at
600 feet, he was severely wounded.

On one occasion another heroic pilot, Captain Pearson, with one
other pilot, attacked ten hostile aeroplanes. The other pilot had
his controls cut and had to return, but Captain Pearson fought on
till all the enemy aeroplanes were dispersed. On another occasion
he bombed trains from a low altitude. He has done other fine work,
and has been decorated by the King. Another pilot of similar stamp
is Second-Lieutenant Herbert H. Turk, who, with Lieutenant Scott as
observer, attacked seven hostile machines flying in formation. One
was brought down as a wreck. When turning to meet another machine his
rudder controls were shot away, and his machine got into a spinning
nose-dive. After falling 5,000 feet he partially regained control, and,
though his machine kept on turning, he managed to land safely. The
machine was badly damaged; but, thanks to his skill, neither he nor his
observer was hurt. He has been awarded the Military Cross.

Another to receive the Military Cross is Lieutenant John R. Philpott
for conspicuous gallantry and skill in descending to about 300 feet,
under heavy fire of all descriptions, in order to bomb a train.
Finding that his fellow-officer, Captain Tyson, had wrecked the train,
he dropped his bombs on a station and then assisted him to beat off
hostile machines. He then, with Captain Tyson, attacked a machine which
was endeavouring to leave the ground. He had previously displayed great
gallantry.

In recognition of their gallantry and skill Captain J. Upton Kelly and
Captain A. M. Miller have been made Companions of the Distinguished
Service Order. Captain Kelly when making a reconnaissance came down to
700 feet under heavy fire, and obtained valuable information. Again, in
attempting to observe through clouds, he flew over the enemy lines at
500 feet, and although severely wounded and almost blind, he brought
his machine back to our lines. Captain Miller on one occasion flew
close to the ground along a line of hostile machine-guns, engaging them
with his machine-gun, drawing their fire, and enabling the cavalry to
advance. Again, when alone, he engaged five enemy machines, bringing
one down, and also successfully bombed a troop train, coming down to
300 feet to make sure of hitting.

Besides the names already given, the following officers have been
awarded the Military Cross: Lieutenant Norman Brearley, Captain
Dixon-Spain, Second-Lieutenant Spencer Reid. Each has performed
remarkable feats. Lieutenant Brearley on one occasion went out to
attack an enemy kite-balloon and managed to get immediately above his
objective. He then pretended that he had been hit by anti-aircraft
fire and side slipped down to 1,500 feet, when he suddenly dived at
the balloon, which was being hauled down, and fired into it until he
almost touched it. When at 300 feet from the ground, the balloon burst
into flames and was entirely destroyed. Captain Dixon-Spain, with
Second-Lieutenant Reid as pilot, attacked and drove back a hostile
machine. A few minutes later four hostile machines were seen, three of
which were attacked, one after another, and driven back, the fourth
being accounted for by another patrol. Another time they attacked two
hostile machines, shot one down, and drove the other back. Two days
later they attacked two more machines, of which one is believed to
have been destroyed, the other being pursued back to its aerodrome.

Reference must also be made of the courage and fortitude of Lieutenant
Eardley Harper, who has been awarded the Military Cross for conspicuous
skill in many aerial combats, and notably when his machine, with two
others, met six hostile aeroplanes. He at once attacked, and shot down
one machine. He then attacked and drove down a second one. A thick fog
came on, and in landing his machine was wrecked, and he was badly cut
and shaken. He managed, however, to walk two miles to his aerodrome and
to deliver his report before collapsing.

Another noteworthy case is that of Lieutenant Charles M. Chapman, who
has been awarded the Military Cross for conspicuous skill in action
against hostile aeroplanes. On one occasion he attacked three ‘L.V.’
machines and one Fokker, shooting the latter down. Later, during an air
battle with eleven enemy machines, he brought another Fokker down.




CHAPTER XXVIII

FRENCH APPRECIATION


The _Matin_ has published a most appreciative article on the heroic
deeds of British aviators. ‘The English aviators,’ says the writer,
‘are entrusted with the same mission as the French. The same halo of
brilliancy encircles them, they obtain the same glorious results, and
yet there is an indefinable something which distinguished them from
their French colleagues. What is this elusive quality which enables one
to distinguish the nationality of the aviator on merely hearing the
details of an aerial exploit? I think it is because our Allies carry
on aerial warfare in a more sporting than military spirit. They regard
an encounter in the air with their abhorred enemies as an exciting and
thrilling experience.’

The writer goes on to observe that the English mode of action, while
permitting the British remarkable results, has also the inconvenience
of augmenting the losses. ‘The combat in the air is often unequal,
the Englishman will not hesitate to attack single-handed ten or twelve
Germans. He brings down several, but is often beaten himself in the
long run by force of numbers. The English, with perfect loyalty,
state in their official communiqués the number of their aeroplanes
which do not return to their base. In September they lost forty-eight
airmen, brought down fifty-three enemy machines, and damaged about one
hundred. The French during this month brought down fifty-six, damaged
fifty-seven, but their losses were very much less.

‘But marvellous,’ the article continues, ‘are the deeds of heroism
inscribed each day in the annals of the Royal Flying Corps. I will
cite a few of them. During a reconnaissance in Egypt an aeroplane was
attacked by two enemy machines. A bullet broke the English pilot’s jaw,
another pierced his shoulder, a third found a resting-place in his left
leg, and finally his left hand was also wounded. He fainted, regaining
consciousness when only 150 metres above the earth. He was over his own
lines. He brought his machine safely to land, and then found that his
observer was wounded in the chest and shoulder. With difficulty he
made his report and fainted and died.’

Another case cited is that of the heroic aviator Lieutenant Albert
Ball, who during a bombing mission noticed twenty enemy aeroplanes,
divided into three groups. He advanced towards the first group, which
contained seven machines, and fired on them at a distance of ten yards.
The first German wavered, wheeled, and fell. He then threw himself
upon the others, firing two volleys at them. The first took fire and
fell. The others attempted to escape, but Lieutenant Ball immediately
started in pursuit and followed them until he had discharged his last
cartridge, one of the enemy machines falling on a house in a village.
Ball then returned for more ammunition, came back to the charge, and
attacked three more aeroplanes, which he put out of action, then,
having no more petrol, was obliged to return to his base with his
machine disabled.

In another part of the article the writer observes that attacks on
trains are very popular with the R.F.C. ‘In spite of the bad weather
Lieutenant Owen Tudor Boyd one day descended to within 350 metres
in order to drop bombs on a passing train. Lieutenant Gordon Kidd
descended from 2,200 metres to 300 for the pleasure of dropping a
bomb on a munition train, which caught fire and blocked the line with
wreckage. Lieutenant Taylor derailed a troop train. Lieutenant Gordon
Gould, attacked during a reconnaissance, was wounded in the leg. In
spite of the intense pain, he brought down one enemy machine, severely
damaged another, and then calmly continued his appointed work.’

Special reference is also made to Captain Gerald Speim, who, one day,
observed four enemy machines. He attacked three, one after the other,
and put them to flight, the fourth in the meantime being engaged by
another Englishman. The following day he fought two enemy machines,
brought one down, forced the other to recede, and continued his
successful career by again bringing down a German machine the next
day. Other British airmen referred to in the article are Lieutenant
Evans and Lieutenant MacLaren. Lieutenant Evans, during one flight,
conquered four German machines, crashing them to earth. A remarkable
feat was accomplished by MacLaren. Flying over an enemy aerodrome,
he noticed a machine about to rise. Pilot and observer were in their
places, mechanicians held the wings. MacLaren came gently down to
within thirty yards and dropped a bomb. Aeroplane, pilot, observer,
and mechanicians were vanquished. Then MacLaren went serenely on
his bombing way, set fire to a hangar, and destroyed the Fokkers it
contained.

The French writer of the article concludes by saying that among the
many heroic deeds performed by British aviators there is one which
would have inspired the admiration of Edgar Poe: ‘An English aeroplane
was soaring 3,000 metres above German territory on reconnoitring work.
Suddenly a shell burst near it, killing the pilot instantly, severely
damaging the machine, but not injuring the observer, Lieutenant Howey,
in any way. The aeroplane tipped nose downwards, and fell 2,000 yards.
Howey, during this terrific fall, performed a veritable gymnastic
feat. He succeeded in slipping from his place to that of his comrade,
unclasped his dead hands, sat upon his knees, and, in spite of the
appalling situation, seized the control-lever, and in a miraculous
manner righted his machine just at the moment it reached the earth
after a seeming plunge to death. Howey was taken prisoner, but he was
uninjured.’




CHAPTER XXIX

THE EYES OF OUR ARMIES IN THE FIELD


Here we come into still closer contact with the work of the Royal
Flying Corps on the various battle-fronts. On September 3, 1916, the
fighting in the air on the Western Front was continuous. Again the
enemy’s aircraft were forced to remain some miles in rear of their own
lines, and entirely failed to interrupt the work of our machines. On
two separate occasions our aeroplanes opened fire on the enemy’s troops
on the ground. As a result of many combats, three hostile machines were
brought down and many others were driven down in a damaged condition.

On the previous day, in spite of the very unfavourable weather
conditions, our aeroplanes carried out successful co-operation with
our artillery. One of our patrols, consisting of four machines,
encountered and drove off a hostile patrol of thirteen aeroplanes. A
few days later British machines bombed an important railway junction
on the enemy’s lines of communications, causing great damage to the
station and rolling stock. One of the enemy’s aerodromes was bombed,
one machine being destroyed on the ground and others damaged. Many
other points of military importance were bombed. Some good work was
also done from low altitudes, locating the positions reached by our
troops. Three hostile machines were wrecked and four others driven down
in a damaged condition.

Again, on the fifteenth of the month our pilots kept up constant
and successful co-operation with our artillery and infantry, and
frequent and accurate reports were furnished of the course of the
battle. Hostile artillery and infantry were effectively engaged by
our aeroplanes with machine-gun fire. Many bombing attacks were also
carried out against hostile aerodromes and railway stations, in the
course of which troop trains were hit and transport railway sidings
attacked with machine-gun fire. A German kite balloon was brought down.
The total number of hostile aeroplanes destroyed was fifteen. Nine
others were driven down in a damaged condition.

On the twenty-second of the month there was again great aerial
activity. A highly successful raid by about fifty of our machines
was carried out on an important railway junction, where much damage
was done, two trains containing ammunition being destroyed and many
violent explosions caused. A number of other raids on enemy railway
works and sidings, aerodromes, and other points of military importance
were equally successful. In addition many fights took place in the
air, in the course of which three hostile machines were destroyed,
and five others driven to earth in a damaged condition, besides many
others which broke off in the middle of the fight and were seen to be
descending steeply, but could not be watched to the ground owing to our
machines being too busily engaged. On the following day five bombing
attacks were carried out by our aviators against railway stations on
the enemy’s communications. Much damage was done. In the course of an
air fight one of our aviators collided with his opponent. The hostile
machine fell vertically. Our machine fell for several thousand feet,
when the pilot managed to regain control and re-cross the lines,
safely flying over thirty miles with an almost uncontrollable machine.

The month closed in brilliant fashion for our Flying Corps. On the
thirtieth, two of the enemy’s aerodromes were successfully bombed by
our aeroplanes, and at least one machine destroyed. In the fighting
over the front, four enemy machines were brought down. Enemy troops and
transport were repeatedly attacked from the air with machine-gun fire,
and in one case several hundred infantry were dispersed. Another enemy
kite balloon was brought down in flames. There were many fights in the
air, in the course of which two enemy machines were destroyed and many
others driven down. On this particular day we suffered no losses.

Referring to the work of the month, Sir Douglas Haig said: ‘Our
aircraft have shown in the highest degree the spirit of the offensive.
They have patrolled regularly far behind the enemy’s lines, and have
fought many battles in the air with hostile machines and many with
enemy troops on the ground. For every enemy machine that succeeds in
crossing our front, it is safe to say that 200 British machines cross
the enemy’s front. A captured Corps report described our aeroplanes
as _surprisingly bold_, and their work has been as conspicuous for its
skill and judgement as for its daring.’

The opening days of the following month were unfavourable to aerial
activity. On the tenth, however, our aeroplanes showed activity and
destroyed, by bombing, two enemy battery positions, and damaged many
others. They penetrated well behind the enemy front and bombed railway
stations, trains, and billets with good effect. There was now much
fighting in the air, and in one case two of our machines engaged seven
hostile aeroplanes and drove down or dispersed them all. One of these
hostile aeroplanes was seen to be destroyed and two others severely
damaged.

The clear weather of the middle of October, 1916, gave scope for great
aerial activity. On the seventeenth our machines made a large number
of reconnaissances and bombed enemy railway lines, stations, billets,
factories, and depots. There were numerous fights in the air, three
enemy machines being destroyed, another driven to earth, and many
dispersed. Two more enemy kite balloons were attacked and forced down,
one being afterwards seen in flames.

Later in the same month, in spite of adverse weather conditions, our
aeroplanes co-operated successfully with our artillery. This indeed
has been one of the chief parts played by our heroic airmen. They
have acted as ‘the eyes of our artillery,’ observing, directing, and
reporting as only efficient aviators can.




CHAPTER XXX

RUSSIAN PRAISE AND RUSSIAN ACHIEVEMENTS


The Russians have been most generous in their praise of the work done
by the Allied aviators in France. A correspondent of the _Bourse
Gazette_, writing in the _Daily Chronicle_, has said: ‘One need
only stay at the British front one single day to be convinced that
the verdict is right. The Allied aviators dominate the air. This is
a phrase no longer. It is as much a reality as the British Battle
Fleet or the Allied artillery. The Allied aeroplanes are everywhere.
They guide and direct the artillery fire, make bold reconnaissances,
photograph the enemy positions before and after the bombardments, fill
the enemy trenches with grenades, and combine with the infantry to
attack the German fortifications. During the first two months of the
Somme offensive the British aviators covered more than 100,000 miles in
the air, and that in spite of the fact that for a whole fortnight there
was no flying at all because of the heavy mist and rain. According to
careful military statistics, the British airmen covered not less than
1,000,000 miles over the German lines in the first two years of war.’

The correspondent of the _Bourse Gazette_ goes on to remark that the
history of the struggle for mastery in the air is very instructive. ‘At
the beginning of the war the supremacy in aviation undoubtedly belonged
to the British and the French. But during the first year of the war the
Germans, availing themselves of their superior industrial organization,
went ahead of the Allies. For a brief period German aviation surpassed
not only the British and French aviation separately, but both combined.
That period coincides with the appearance of the Fokkers and the
activity of Immelmann and other prominent German pilots.’

But the Germans, as we have seen, could not maintain their superiority.
Towards the end of the second year, the supremacy passed to the Allies
once more. By the quantity and quality of their machines, as well as
by the quantity and quality of their pilots, the British and French
now so much surpass the Germans that at present one can speak of the
absolute superiority of the Allied aviators.

‘The Allied aviation,’ the writer in point continues, ‘is divided into
three separate branches or three kinds of fighting—the attacking
battle-squadron, something like aerial cavalry; the scouts, rather
like aerial infantry; and a division of aerial photographers. The
pilots of the aerial battle-squadron are the real fighters of the air.
Most of them are young. And the lives of all of them are filled with
unprecedented adventures.’

Of all branches of aviation, however, the most important in the
estimate of the writer of the article is that of photographing from
an aeroplane: ‘Before the bombardment of any enemy position, the head
quarters make a detailed map, drawn up from photographs taken from the
aeroplanes. Then, while the bombardment is in progress, the aviators
continue to take photographs of the position at fixed intervals. The
bombardment continues until the photographs taken by the aviators show
them all the _points d’appui_ of the positions have been demolished. I
saw these photographs and the maps of the German positions prepared
from them. The making of these photographic maps is one of the greatest
technical miracles of the present war. But its realization demands
indomitable courage and sang-froid. Photographing the enemy positions
is at once the most ingenious and the most dangerous of aerial
operations. The aviator-photographer having risen to a great height
above the enemy position, settles his aeroplane almost vertically
above the position he is going to photograph. Descending a certain
distance, he arranges his camera, takes his photograph of the German
defences, and at once climbs up at top speed in order to regain his
own lines. One can imagine with what a fire the Germans meet their
uninvited visitor. All the while his dizzy manœuvres over the German
positions are going on, he has to face the fire of anti-aircraft guns,
machine-guns, and rifles.

‘As I stood on a hill,’ the writer of the article continues, ‘I noticed
a tiny spot in the sky far above the German lines, around which small
white clouds exploded. I asked my officer-companion if this was a
fight between aeroplanes in the air. “No,” he said, “it’s our man
photographing the German positions, and the Germans are firing at him
from their trenches....”

‘All day long the British aviators rushed through the air. At certain
moments, when they closed together, I could count up to thirty
aeroplanes. From below they appeared like a flight of some mighty
birds. Several of them evidently formed an aerial patrol. They circled
round the kite balloons. The others flew away, singly or in groups, to
the line of the German trenches. During the whole day only one single
German aeroplane flew over the British lines and tried to attack a kite
balloon. But it was driven off by the aerial patrol.’

As regards the praiseworthy work done by Russian aviators, it is
noteworthy that on September 14, 1916, a squadron of four Russian giant
aeroplanes of the Slyr-Murometz type bombarded the German seaplane
station on Lake Angern, in the Gulf of Riga. Seventeen seaplanes
of various sizes and models were discerned. The Russians dropped
seventy-three bombs, of a total weight of sixty-two poods (about one
ton). The sheds were soon concealed in smoke and flames. Eight enemy
seaplanes attacked the Russian machines, but were speedily put to
flight by machine-gun fire. As the result of the bombing and the air
fight not fewer than eight enemy machines were destroyed or put out
of action. The Russians returned safely, notwithstanding a hail of
incendiary shells from anti-aircraft guns. On a previous occasion one
Slyr-Murometz and one Ilya-Murometz, with a crew of five, routed seven
attacking German seaplanes.

On the twenty-ninth of the same month Russian aviators carried out
a raid on the rear of the enemy’s cantonments in the Bourgunt Krevo
district (about forty-five miles south-east of Vilna). The bombs
dropped caused explosions and fires in the enemy’s depots at various
points. Bombs were also dropped on convoys, a narrow-gauge railway, and
on wagons. In the course of the raid there was an air fight in which
four German machines were brought down.

Russian airmen who call for special mention are Sub-Lieutenant Orloff,
Lieutenant Gorkovenko, Captain Kayakoff, Captain Schifkoff, and
Midshipman Safonoff. Captain Schifkoff in particular has many aerial
victories to his credit.




CHAPTER XXXI

ITALY’S PART


Italy has fought many air battles. Her sons are men of the right
mettle. Her beautiful cities have suffered from raids, but the enemy
has been made to pay the price. Italian airmen have not only put up
a strong defence, but have made their power felt far beyond Italian
territory.

On September 13, 1916, enemy aircraft bombarded Venice, Pordenone
(thirty-five miles north-east of Venice), Latisana, Marano, Cervignano,
and Aquileia on the marshland between Venice and the Isonzo. The
Italians replied with a raid on Trieste and Parenzo, in which
French aviators took part. With the departure of heavy Capronis for
Trieste, squadrons of seaplanes set out from sea-bases for Parenzo.
Five French machines joined forces with eleven Italian seaplanes.
Shortly after 5.30 p.m. the first of them were over Parenzo, dropping
explosive and incendiary bombs on the enemy’s defence batteries and
seaplanes station. Only one enemy ‘plane succeeded in getting off the
water, and was immediately forced to come down by the attacks of the
French aeroplanes and to take refuge among a squadron of Austrian
torpedo-catchers, which continued to hug the coast. In spite of the
lively fire of Austrian army gunners, all the allied aeroplanes
returned to their bases. For a long time on their return journey could
be seen the useful effects of the bombing carried out by the Italian
and French pilots in broad daylight, the hangars and batteries being
shrouded in the smoke from the fires. Scrupulous care was taken not
to do damage to the unredeemed city. The Caproni squadron arrived
over Trieste about 4 p.m., and, supported by other squadrons of light
machines, began from some 9,000 feet the bombardment of the arsenal,
the technical dockyard offices, the timber yards, and the depots
housing the rolling-stock and kerosene supply, this latter at St.
Sabba. Photographs and the dense columns of smoke showed with what
results!

On the thirteenth of the same month an Italian aeroplane squadron
fought a hotly contested battle, in the course of which two enemy
‘planes were brought down. On the seventeenth of the same month,
Italian aviators scored further victories. On the same day an Italian
squadron dropped bombs on the works and sheds of the narrow-gauge
railway in Comignano (Komen on the Carso, ten miles south-east of
Gorizia). Effective results were observed. It was also on this day
that another squadron of Caproni battle-planes, escorted by Nieuport
chasers, dropped bombs on the stations at Dottogliano (about eight
miles north of Trieste), and Scopo (about two miles farther north), on
the Carso, hitting the railway establishments, the adjoining stores,
and the water tanks and trains standing in the stations. All the
Italian aeroplanes returned safely, although chased by the enemy and
fired on by anti-aircraft batteries.

Later it was made known that Italian squadrons of seaplanes in the
course of a general reconnaissance, carried out by them along the west
coast of Istria on October 16, succeeded in spite of unfavourable
weather in successfully bombarding detached naval units near Rovigo,
as well as military works at Rovigo and at Punta Salvore. At one point
they became engaged in a fight with enemy aeroplanes, and damaged two
of them, one of which was seen to fall into the sea. In spite of enemy
artillery fire all the seaplanes returned safely to their bases.

On the first day of the next month, Italian aviators engaged
in numerous further air fights, in the course of which several
enemy machines were driven down. On the same day fourteen Italian
battle-planes, escorted by Nieuport chasers, bombarded with marked
success the railway stations of Nabresina (coast railway, Gulf of
Trieste), Dottogliano, and Scopo (on the Gorizia-Trieste Railway),
on the Carso. The aviators were fired on by anti-aircraft guns and
attacked by enemy aeroplanes, but all returned safely to the Italian
lines.

Again, on November 8, 1916, squadrons of Italian aircraft carried out
an offensive reconnaissance on the enemy coast. Bombs were dropped with
good results on the aviation station at Parenzo-Istria, and on craft
used for military purposes in the harbour of Cittanuova. In spite of
the violent fire of the anti-aircraft defences and of a counter-attack
by enemy seaplanes, all the machines returned safely.

Many battles in the air were fought during the days that followed,
various enemy machines being driven down by the skilful Italian
aviators. Amongst those who have earned special notice are Lieutenant
D’Annunzio, the son of the poet; Second-Lieutenant Garros; Capitaine de
Fregate Arturo Ciano; and Baron Mario de Bratti, of the old nobility,
who lost his life while serving his country. His funeral was attended
by all connected with the Italian Aviation Corps and the technical
and constructional side of the science, from General-in-Command to
mechanics and artificers, so widely was his loss felt.




CHAPTER XXXII

ENEMY ACTIVITY


In November, 1916, a series of brilliant conquests by British and
French aviators had reduced the Germans to a secondary, if not
actually a futile, part in the air. But after a period of bad weather
and a lull in the fighting, German aviators again ventured over the
Allies’ lines. Their enterprise, however, was short-lived. Proof of
the Allies’ superiority was again seen on November 10 in an important
aerial victory over the German lines. Thirty British machines defeated
a greater number of the enemy—his strength is believed to have been
between thirty and forty—while on a bombing expedition between Bapaume
and Arras. The fact worth remembering is that the British airmen were
not turned off, but that they punished their assailants decisively and
then fulfilled their obligations as ordered, delivering seventy-two
high explosive bombs on Vaulx-Vraucourt with satisfactory effect.

‘It is a pity,’ writes Mr. Percival Phillips, special correspondent of
the _Daily Express_, ‘that such a thrilling episode of aerial warfare
cannot be told in detail—but there are very few details to be had. The
only eye-witnesses at close range were the intrepid airmen involved,
who were so fully occupied with their own individual opponents that it
was impossible to follow the fortunes of the entire enemy fleet until
its ignominious disappearance. I am told, in the dry, matter-of-fact
language of our airmen, that the British bombing ‘planes, flying at
pre-arranged altitudes in a westerly wind, surrounded by their escort,
sighted the German battle machines climbing through the rising mist to
try to intercept them. The British fleet dropped to accept battle, and
they closed a mile above the German trenches.

‘Then followed a breathless, furious duel, fought at a dizzy speed as
the opposing ‘planes swirled and eddied through the clouds, intent on
each other’s destruction. Machine-gun bullets ripped their hulls. They
circled and dived with amazing confidence and accuracy. British and
Germans alike drove their craft with superb skill, for the science of
fighting in the air has become as intricate and difficult as handling
a group of Dreadnoughts. No longer do the aeroplanes barge blindly at
each other, firing point-blank, like old ships of the line. The expert
crews twist and dodge in a manner undreamed of even a few short months
ago, working their guns with nice discrimination, perhaps putting in
one skilful shot where the pioneer guns of the air would have wasted
half a drum. The battle was won as much by good airmanship as by the
work of individual gunners. The German pilots were out-manœuvred. When
at last their machines had enough of the fight—three of them had
reeled earthwards, smoking wrecks—they dropped beyond range to examine
their wounds, and the victorious British fleet passed on its way, in
full view of the great army of spectators gazing upwards from the
fields, road, and trenches below.’

Besides the three German ‘planes destroyed, others were sent down more
or less damaged, but the full extent of the enemy casualties could not
be ascertained. A broken aeroplane does not drop like a stone. It takes
three or four minutes to reach the earth, and there is not time during
an engagement for the men who are fighting to follow the progress of
every crippled machine in its aimless descent.

The British casualties for the day’s work were two bombing machines
and two escorting machines missing, one observer killed and two pilots
wounded. Of the latter, one managed to alight inside the British lines;
the other came down in ‘No Man’s Land.’

The special correspondent of the _Times_ describing the same battle
writes: ‘It is a long time since the German initiated anything new in
the air. Now, in his recrudescence of activity he is doing his best
to learn from us. He copies exactly our methods, formations, and air
tactics. In the recent moonlight nights especially his airmen have been
penetrating behind our lines, trying to bomb rail-heads and transport,
and so forth; and individual Germans are even getting so bold as to
do what we have done for the last four months, namely, fly low enough
to use their machine-guns on troops in trenches or on columns on the
road. So far, they are making little by it; and they are having a most
exciting time. One of the chief evidences of the new activity has been
the great aerial battle, wherein some seventy aeroplanes were engaged,
which the official communiqué has already mentioned. It took place
between nine and ten o’clock on the morning of November 9, well over
the German lines in the direction of Vaulx-Vraucourt, whither certain
of our aeroplanes were bound on a bombing expedition. With them were
fighting machines and scouts, making in all a fleet of thirty sail.
Near the villa of Mory, just before reaching Vaulx-Vraucourt, they
sighted an enemy squadron somewhat outnumbering themselves, the actual
strength being something from thirty-six to forty aeroplanes.

‘They attacked at once. Some of our machines were flying at a higher
level than the enemy, and they plunged headlong to join in the general
engagement, which was fought at an average height of not much above
5,000 feet. Of the mêlée which followed, it is impossible to get any
coherent account, for no man in it had time or thought for anything
except the enemy machines with which he was successively engaged; but
for twenty minutes there raged among the clouds such a battle as the
world has never seen before: an inextricable tangle of single combats,
of darting, swirling machines, the air filled with the roar of seventy
propellers and the chatter of guns.

‘Four of our machines were lost, that is to say, that they were
compelled to descend in German territory, a strong westerly wind
drifting the battle as it raged more and more over enemy’s soil. In the
ships which came home, one brought a dead observer, and two others,
with wounded pilots, had difficulty in beating up against the wind and
landing in our lines. Of the enemy we know that six machines were sent
to earth, of which three are known to have crashed. What happened to
the other three, beyond that they were falling out of control, is not
known. In yet another the pilot was seen to be shot dead. What further
casualties the enemy suffered he only is aware; but the best evidence
that the victory was ours lies in the fact that the whole enemy
formation was broken and scattered. The Germans fled for safety in all
directions, leaving us in possession of the sky. Then we went upon our
business; we punctually dropped our bombs on the stores and ammunition
depots of Vaulx-Vraucourt, and then came home proudly flying in regular
formation, no German daring to interfere.’

Again and again the Germans have made desperate efforts to snatch the
control of the air from the firm grasp of the Allies, but without
the desired result. The Allies’ aviators are not to be beaten. Their
enterprise, their courage, above all their heroic bearing, are proof
against all attacks.




CHAPTER XXXIII

A GENERAL VIEW


‘Any unbeliever in the reality of the command of the air being in the
hands of Britain and her Allies,’ writes the editor of _Flight_, ‘must
indeed be despaired of, after the daily records of the wonderful work
of our pilots which are issued officially, combined with the unstinted
paeans of praise emanating from every imaginable source upon this and
the other side of the world. Quite recently again, Mr. H. G. Wells
repeated his admiration of the Allies’ air-work; at the same time he
entered the lists with General Brussiloff as prophet as to the duration
of the war, Mr. Wells putting it at June, 1917.

Mr. Wells’ reasons for his prophecy are as follows: ‘I think so for a
hundred reasons, but above all for these: The marvellous organization
of the French front, the mastery of the air which is assured to our
aviators—I was witness of it, and I should rather say the exclusive
possession of the air. Then the photographic marking by aeroplanes, in
which the French take first rank. Lastly, by your artillery fire, which
demolishes, methodically and mathematically the enemy batteries without
fear of reprisals.’

An interesting communication upon the same subject has just come to
hand from the well-known correspondent of the _Chicago Daily News_, Mr.
Edward Price Bell, in which he states that the British flying man is in
the air every day between four and eight hours, constantly under fire.
Ordinarily along the British front the flying men are in the air from
two to three hours each day. Mr. Price Bell hits upon the basic reason
for our superiority when he points out that our officers are always
‘hunting for trouble’ above the German lines, never declining a combat,
and fighting, however outnumbered. Altogether he calculates that up to
the latter part of 1916 British flying men on the Western front must
have flown entirely over the enemy’s lines much more than a million
miles.

An officer of the Royal Flying Corps, also writing of the supremacy of
the Allies, says: ‘Man for man, we undoubtedly are masters of the air
on the west front. This fact I attribute to the mental and physical
training we give our boys in England. Our youngest pilots have done
wonderfully well. They learn quickly, are intensely keen, have great
alertness of mind and act instinctively.’

‘Our people have the tails up morally and mechanically,’ adds another,
‘and though they have plenty of fighting when they get to the other
side of the lines, they are on the offensive all the time. The moral
as well as the physical uplift is considerable, when one has a machine
which will get above the German range of accurate fire in a quarter of
an hour, and will do in or about 100 miles an hour when pushed. With
such a machine one can attack and keep on attacking; and though perhaps
not even the majority of our people are mounted on such machines, the
worst machine at the front to-day is probably nearly as good as the
best a year ago, and there are enough of the first-class machines to
protect the weaker brethren. Despite all the errors of the past, our
air service has certainly acquired dominance, if not absolute command,
in the air, and for that fact very great credit is due to the officers
who have so thoroughly reorganized affairs at the War Office, and who
have so notably increased the performance and output of the machines
now in use.’

The great improvement in the construction of machines for long-distance
flying is particularly worthy of note. We have seen how Captain de
Beauchamps, leaving France in the morning, flew in broad daylight as
far as Munich, where he dropped bombs on the stations. Then turning at
right angles towards the south, he flew over the whole of the Tyrol
and crossed the Alps, to land at length 12½ miles north of Venice, in
the village of Santa Dona, on the small River Piave, having journeyed
without stopping a distance of about 700 kilometres.

Captain de Beauchamps holds the flight record for bombing raids on
German towns, but the longest journey made by an Allied aviator
during the war was that of Lieutenant Marchal, who visited Berlin on
a previous date. He, however, only dropped pamphlets on the German
capital, before making off to the Russian frontier. He came down sixty
miles within the German lines, having flown over 800 miles.

Captain de Beauchamps was accompanied in his great flight to Essen
by Lieut. Daucourt, who made at the time some extremely interesting
entries in his logbook:

‘11 a.m. My friend Beauchamps has just gone, and I followed two minutes
later. One thousand yards up, 2,000-3,000, we keep on getting higher
and higher. The weather is clear with just a few clouds over 9,000
feet. The air is distinctly cold.

‘12 a.m. I am full over the Boche lines. We are seen and the
anti-aircraft guns start a curtain fire a little forward but too high.
The white puffs of the 77 make a line of smoke which I have got to
cross. Soon the shots become more and more numerous; 300 shots at least
must have been fired in a few minutes. Time after time I get right
into the smoke of the bursting shells, and I can hear pieces of steel
whistle near, very near. Oh! the Boche gunner rectifies his range. But
he is too low now, so I go higher still, and I pass.... Now there are
shots on my left, which burst with black smoke, 105 calibre shells.
This is getting more serious. Shots get nearer, I point towards the
left slightly, and, all of a sudden, I go ninety degrees to the left
and drop straight towards the ground for 300 feet. The game is finished
and the gunners done. Out of spite they shoot all over the place, and
the shells burst now at the back of me. It looks as if I was going to
get out of trouble without much difficulty.... Now where is my friend?
I cannot see him. Has he been brought down? Has he changed his line?
A little under me I can see a big, fat yellow ‘plane. Black crosses!
It’s a Boche. Another one follows very near. The distance between us
is about 600 feet, but they are slower than I am. Clac—clac—clac. It
is Mr. Boche opening fire. The short bursts of his machine-gun keep
crepitating. The brute does not shoot badly. Shall I engage him in a
fight? It is really very tempting. But no, Essen is my only target, and
I have no right to compromise, by a passing engagement, the success of
our raid. I open my engine right out, and soon lose my aggressors....
As I fly over Treves I just distinguished on my left the outline of
another ‘plane. It is getting nearer and nearer. The sun prevents me
from seeing it clearly, although I seem to recognize the silhouette
of my companion’s machine. No doubt it is he. I can now see his blue,
white and red cocarde. And all of a sudden I feel very happy....

‘A little later I change my direction and go straight north, leaving
Coblenz on my left. Far in front of me I can see a small grey ribbon
... The Rhine. It looks beautiful from up here. Somehow my confidence
increases every minute. Sure everything will go well. I cross over the
right bank. On the river many long convoys of barges go up towards
Coblenz. If only I did not have a consignment of bombs to deliver, I
should go down to gun them. It is funny how strong these temptations
are.... Here is Bonn. My friend and co-raider is still on my right. My
engine keeps on turning merrily, and I marvel at the ease with which
I have covered these first 200 kilometres. A quick calculation shows
me that we are going at the rate of about 130 miles an hour. It is
a goodish speed. The weather is cold up here. My thermometer shows
sixteen degrees below zero. To try and get warm I move arms and legs as
much as I can in that cramped space. A few drops of peppermint which
I drink warm my inside and cool my mouth.... Underneath the Rhine,
and still more boats!... Now we pass a town which seems enormous.
It is Cologne. What a splendid target it would make! But there are
women, children, old people, and I am a soldier, not a pirate. I must
only aim at destroying the military power of the enemy. Now I point
straight towards Dusseldorf. But all the district disappears under a
pool of smoke. What an extraordinary agglomeration of works! Here are
Solingen, Elberfeld, Barmen, black country criss-crossed by innumerable
railway lines and with hundreds of high chimneys, like guns, pointing
to the sky. Down there a tremendous amount of arms of all sorts, guns,
munitions, &c., all to be directed against us, are produced with a
tremendous activity.

‘Essen at last. I am over what has been considered as the heart of
Germany, over the town which stands as the symbol of brutal force.
Where now are the Krupp’s works? There, at the west of the town. How
large they are! The shops and buildings, between which trains are
running, seem innumerable. The attempts to disguise it are indeed
foolish. It is the most perfect target one can imagine. Now I suppose
I am going to be _strafed_. I look here and there for bursting shells.
Nothing! They aim too low. However, some very violent waves of air of
which I do not understand the cause disturb for a moment my bombing
preparations.

‘2 o’clock. The centre of the works pass. I drop my torpedoes in
rapid succession. My friend, who is over me and a little on the left,
drops his also. I guess, more than I can exactly see, as I am so very
high, that underneath in the works the people suffer from a sort of
madness. There are rushes of people soon hidden by clouds of smoke
which rise from many points. Nearly at the centre it seems that there
is a formidable explosion, followed by intense fire. What a joy to have
attained one’s aim! Krupp has been bombed, in full daylight, in spite
of its anti-aircraft guns and of its ‘planes. I suppose that now the
Boches must be mad with fury, and will try to chase us. Never mind, my
mission has been fulfilled. I will fight enemy ‘planes if they come....
Here I am again over Dusseldorf, but not going so fast as in coming.
The wind, which has veered, hampers me. A quick verification of my oil
and petrol tanks. All is well; I can keep up for another six hours. The
clouds get denser and denser. There is at some moments a thick mist,
which veils completely the ground. As I am browsing, some explosions
thunder louder than the noise of my engine. I turn right round, so
that the Boche gunner loses the range. But as I turn I see 1,500 or
2,000 feet under me three Boche ‘planes who are giving chase. Their
machines are as fast as mine, but as soon as they try to go up they
lose ground. I slacken for a few seconds, and going straight towards
the most forward of them, I serve him at about 150 yards with three
bursts of my machine-gun. Unnerved, he prefers not to engage a fight
and flies towards the left. But the others are attacking me from the
back. It is time to go.... Have I wounded my opponent? I don’t think
so, as he seems to be flying straight again, but very much lower. Soon
the two others are only black spots.... The chase has lasted over
thirty minutes, and I have got a real stiff neck, so often did I turn
round.... Now I have been up six hours. Time drags dreadfully. My eyes
hurt, and I suffer from the cold. Evidently I am over Belgium now. But
where? I must know. I come down, engine stopped. How sweet is that
silence, after six hours of tempest! Four thousand feet; it is low
enough.

‘6.30. I cannot stand it any more, I am coming down, 7,000 feet,
5,000 feet, 1,000 feet. I cannot hear the guns any more. But what are
these? Bivouacs. Am I in France? I keep on for another quarter of an
hour, going south, and finally alight in an immense field, far from
a village. If I am on the territory invaded by the Germans I’ll fly
away under their nose. I am at the end of the field, ready to start
again in case of need. I have kept my engine turning slowly. After five
minutes of waiting, some people come running towards me—peasants. I
shout to them at the top of my voice, “Where am I?” “At Champaubert,”
they answer me. What a joy is mine! I am in France. Back, after having
succeeded in what seemed to men an impossible enterprise.’

It is particularly interesting to note that in their remarkable flight
both Captain de Beauchamps and Lieutenant Daucourt used machines of
British manufacture.

We have seen that the officers and men of the Royal Naval Air Service
have also to their credit many long-distance flights. Indeed, in all
respects the R.N.A.S. have kept at ‘level-fight’ with the R.F.C. The
two Services work, however, under different conditions. The following
is an extract from a report from Admiral Sir John R. Jellicoe, G.C.B.,
G.C.V.O., then Commander-in-Chief, Grand Fleet: ‘_Iron Duke_, August
23, 1916. Sir,—With reference to my dispatch of June 24, 1916, I have
the honour to bring to the notice of the Lords Commissioners of the
Admiralty the names of officers who are recommended for honours and
special commendation. Where all carried out their duties so well it
is somewhat invidious and difficult to select officers for special
recognition.’

We have seen, however, that many naval aviators have been decorated.
In addition to the names already given, mention must be made of
Flight-Lieutenant F. J. Rutland, who has been decorated with the
Distinguished Service Order for his gallantry and persistence in flying
within close range of four enemy light cruisers, in order to enable
accurate information to be obtained and transmitted concerning them.
Conditions at the time made low flying necessary.

This is also a fitting place to record that it has been officially
announced that the King has conferred the Distinguished Service Cross
on Flight-Lieutenant Charles T. Freeman, R.N.A.S., for the following
act of gallantry: On the night of August 2, 1916, he made a determined
attack on a Zeppelin at sea, only abandoning the attack when he had
exhausted all his ammunition. As darkness was approaching at the time,
and his chances of being picked up were problematical, his courage
and devotion in returning to the attack a second and third time were
exemplary.

There is every indication that our airmen are becoming more heroic
and skilful each passing day. Touching their great service in dealing
with enemy airships, the editor of the _Aeroplane_ writes: ‘One of
the commonest and cheapest jeers of certain papers which have adopted
anti-Churchillism as part of their political creed has been the
constant jibe at the late First Lord of the Admiralty that the defence
which he promised against enemy airships has not been forthcoming.
It is now many, many months—in fact, it runs into years—since Mr.
Winston Churchill informed the world that, if enemy airships ventured
to invade this country, they would be met by ‘a swarm of hornets’ which
would make them regret that they had ever come.

‘At that time the defence of England was entirely in the hands of the
Navy. The Army was still piously supposed to be the Expeditionary
Force. Naturally, as part of the Navy, the R.N.A.S. was supposed to
be responsible for the defence of the country against aircraft; a
perfectly logical position, and an eminently sensible one, for the
Navy has always been able to obtain all the money it has wanted for any
scheme it might have in hand. Consequently there seemed to be no reason
why Mr. Churchill’s rhetorical phrase—to which one might have returned
the time-honoured question, “Is that a threat or a promise?”—should
not have become before long a literal truth. There was one point
on which all of us seem to have tripped up, however—namely, that
in talking or thinking of invasion by aircraft we all pictured to
ourselves a fleet of machines coming over in broad daylight, and the
world’s aerial navies grappling in full sight, complete with central
blue as fitted. None of us seems to have had the sense to see that
nocturnal invasions would be very much more effective, both morally and
practically, than any daylight show could have been.

‘If the Germans had sent their airships over early in 1915, in
daylight, they would certainly have been wiped out by aeroplanes. We
had very few aeroplanes then; not a fraction of the number we should
have had if the supply of engines and machines had been properly
handled before the war by the Government. But nevertheless, we had some
few, such as Sopwith tabloids and Bristol scouts, quite capable of
reaching and catching and destroying any airship of that period, if it
could be seen. The destruction of the very first Zeppelin ever brought
down by an aeroplane—that which ultimately wrecked itself after being
damaged and made uncontrollable by Squadron-Commander Bigsworth,
R.N.—proves it, for this officer was flying a standard 80 h.-p.
Avro, a considerably slower machine than either of the single-seaters
mentioned. The Germans spotted this quickly enough, and so their ships
only came over at night, with the result that for over a year they came
and went unhindered, so far as defensive aeroplanes were concerned.
The only people who suffered were the gallant young officers of the
R.N.A.S., who went up to try to abolish the airships.

‘The Admiralty published openly the names of those killed in these
operations. Young Mr. Lord, of Newcastle, was, I believe, the first
victim. He was killed in the south of England when trying to land a
fast scout in the dark. Much about the same time Mr. Hilliard was
killed through the bombs he had on board his Caudron exploding as he
landed. Mr. Richard Gates was killed when landing a Henry Farman
in the dark. Mr. Barnes was killed through landing a big Sopwith
pusher in the early morning fog after flying all night. There may
have been other deaths, but those are all I recall in the early part
of 1915. There were many other officers injured, and still many
more marvellous escapes. I have been told how an officer jumped out
of his machine near the ground, chancing where he fell rather than
risk being blown up by his bombs. Another officer had a still more
extraordinary experience. He landed on a Caudron, and his bombs blew
up. Subsequently investigation showed clearly where his skids first
struck the ground. About twenty-five yards farther on was the wreck of
the machine and engine, all burnt to bits by the petrol set on fire by
the bombs; and about twenty yards farther still was the place where
the pilot had finished having a private fire of his own. Seemingly the
first shock had jarred and bent the stems of the bombs and released
the firing mechanism. The second shock had exploded them, had blown
the whole machine to pieces, had burst the petrol tank so that the
spirit splashed all over the pilot and caught light, and, finally and
fortunately, had blown the pilot clean out of the machine into some
longish grass, where he fell without being stunned, and rolled over and
over till he put the flames out. I gather that his worst injury was a
rather burned hand, due to his glove falling off while he was beating
the flames out on his coat.’

Never must we forget the debt we owe to these heroes of the Royal Naval
Air Service. They have played, as we have seen, a most heroic part.

And we would bear in mind the fact that the work of our heroic aviators
covers the _whole_ field of the World War. In Mesopotamia, for
instance, much good work has been done. A correspondent of the _Daily
Telegraph_ wrote in October, 1916: ‘On the night of the 19th one of
our aeroplanes raided an enemy aerodrome at Shumran, dropping eight
20-pound bombs, which fell all round a machine, apparently damaging
the same, and putting out lanterns left on the ground by the guard,
who fled on the aviator’s approach. Early in the morning of the 26th
two of our aeroplanes successfully bombed a hangar, descending to 100
feet. One of our machines was damaged. A bullet cut a control wire,
and the aeroplane “nose-dipped” 1,000 yards, but the pilot succeeded
in righting the machine and landed safely. The Turks, believing they
had destroyed the machine, started cheering in the trenches. Several
exposed themselves, and were “picked off.”’

At a later date news came from Mesopotamia of an affair which afforded
a striking instance of aeroplanes working in co-operation with cavalry.
Mounted enemy irregulars had driven off our camels on the left bank of
the river, and were proceeding north-west. Two aeroplanes were sent out
with machine guns to attack the raiders. Our aviators soon passed over
scattered bodies of mounted men, who were taking cover in nullahs and
firing at the machines. These were driven out by machine-gun fire from
the aeroplanes, and, breaking into small groups, made for the hills.
Several were hit, and three or four killed. During the action our
machines flew very low, descending at times to within twenty feet of
the ground. After dispersing this body our aviators pursued the raided
camels, which were seen being driven towards the hills by troops of
irregular cavalry. Fire was opened from the aeroplanes, and the escort
immediately abandoned the camels, retiring towards the mountains. A
troop of our cavalry coming up recaptured the camels. The machines and
cavalry continued to chase the raiders, inflicting further casualties.

Further reports from the same quarter show that on October 25, 1916,
one of our aviators, returning from a reconnaissance, attacked a
party of enemy irregular cavalry. After dropping bombs among them, he
descended to 800 feet, firing his machine-gun into them, and killing
many. In the evening five of our machines raided a cavalry camp by
Shattlhai, dropped bombs, and again brought the machine-gun into
action, causing considerable loss and panic.

All will remember how our aviators, overcoming many serious
difficulties, dropped provisions into besieged Kut, thus enabling our
soldiers to prolong their defence.

In Egypt also some very useful work has been done. The Officer
Commanding has reported that on September 4, 1916, the Royal Flying
Corps carried out a further raid on the enemy’s encampment at Mazar.
One anti-aircraft gun was put out of action and a number of bombs were
dropped with good effect on camps, supply depots, and camel lines.
Further reports showed that on the following day two of our aeroplanes
raided the Turkish aerodrome and aeroplane repair section at El Arish.
Twelve bombs were dropped with good results. Enemy aeroplanes attacked
our machines, but did not close, and only opened fire at long range.
They ultimately gave up the fight, and our machines returned undamaged.

From Salonika news came in September, 1916, of an enemy machine being
shot down on the seventh and of a second enemy machine being shot down
on the following day north-east of Lake Doiran. The days that followed
were equally favourable to the Allied airmen.

An account of the sensational landing of a French bombarding aeroplane
containing two aviators has come from an officer in the Doiran
district: ‘A piece of bursting shrapnel having severed one of the
control wires of an aeroplane,’ he writes, ‘the machine began to dive
head-foremost and was apparently lost. It was falling within the
enemy’s lines, to the great delight of the Bulgarians. When within a
hundred yards of the ground the observer managed to leave his seat, and
succeeded in hoisting himself on to the upper plane of his machine,
where, lying on the canvas, he was able to restore the balance of the
machine by moving the plane by hand. The motor controls were undamaged,
and as soon as the equilibrium of the aeroplane was restored it was
able to return to the Allied lines and land without further mishap,
with a bomb still on board.’

Another sensational incident was that of a naval observer in a
‘sausage’ balloon operating in Macedonia, attacked by two Fokkers,
which fired a stream of bullets, piercing the ‘sausage’ at several
points and destroying the telephone. The observer had on board a small
machine-gun and a parachute. After having sent the contents of two
belts of ammunition at his enemies, the gun jammed. He then threw
himself overboard with his parachute, and fell for about 600 feet. At
last, however, the parachute opened, and the observer landed safely.
After which the balloon was repaired and he went up again.

From the Secretary of State for India news came in November, 1916,
of aeroplanes being used in Indian warfare for the first time. Large
Mohmand forces (estimated at 6,000) collected on the border opposite
Shubkadr, and were dealt with by our aviators with remarkable effect.

Each passing day our heroic airmen add to their laurels. But it must
not be supposed that so much has been accomplished without the loss of
valuable lives. Many heroic men—aviators of whom we are prouder than
words can tell—have made the supreme sacrifice.




CHAPTER XXXIV

THE HEROIC DEAD


‘Those who die for their country,’ says the author of _The Wrack of
the Storm_, ‘must not be numbered with the dead.... This death, on the
field of battle, in the clash of glory, becomes more beautiful than
birth, and exhales a grace greater than that of love. No life will
ever give what their youth is offering us, that youth that gives, in
one moment, the days and the years that lay before it. There is no
sacrifice to be compared with that which they have made; for which
reason there is no glory that can soar so high as theirs, no gratitude
that can surpass the gratitude which we owe them. They have not only a
right to the foremost place in our memories: they have a right to all
our memories and to everything that we are, since we exist only through
them.’

Amongst the heroic aviators who have made the supreme sacrifice is
Lieutenant William Herbert Stuart Garnett, R.F.C., who was killed
while making a flight. While still at the university, Mr. Garnett, who
in 1903 took a First Class in the Mechanical Science Tripos, wrote a
book on the turbine engine, which went through several editions, and
was translated into German. After a brief spell as a master at Eton, he
was called to the Bar, and though he did not practise, he produced a
valuable book on ‘Children and the Law.’ Mr. Garnett had made a special
study of the National Insurance Act, and joined the legal department of
the Commission when it was set up. On the outbreak of war he joined the
R.N.V.R., and did valuable work in mine-sweeping for nearly a year. He
was a son of Dr. William Garnett, the eminent educationalist.

Many other men of high promise have made the great sacrifice. Captain
Keith Lucas, R.F.C., who was killed in a flying accident on October 5,
1916, had already acquired a world-wide reputation as one of the most
promising physiologists of the younger generation. Captain Lucas was
born in 1879, was the son of Francis Robert Lucas, and was educated
at Rugby and Trinity College, Cambridge, of which he became a Fellow
in 1904. He was elected F.R.S. in 1913, and was invited to give the
Croonian lecture to the Royal Society even a year before his election
to it. Before the war he was fully engaged in both teaching and
research work at Cambridge, and was, moreover, one of the directors
of the Cambridge Scientific Instrument Company. But on the outbreak
of war all this was put aside in order that he might devote his rare
instrumental skill and inventiveness to the Flying Services.

Lieutenant Anderson Mann, R.F.C., who lost his life whilst on active
service on August 9, 1916, was twenty-one years of age, and was
educated at Ardvreck, Charterhouse and Trinity College, Cambridge. Mr.
Mann was the best rifle shot of his year in the Public Schools. On the
outbreak of war he was gazetted to the Scottish Rifles, and joined the
R.F.C. in March last. Shortly afterwards he and his pilot distinguished
themselves by bringing down eight German aeroplanes in seven days.
They were each awarded the Military Cross for consistent gallantry
and skill. Mr. Mann was the eldest son of Mr. John Mann, chartered
accountant, of Glasgow and London.

Captain Leslie Charles, R.F.C., who was killed in action on July
30, 1916, was the second son of Mr. and Mrs. R. Stafford Charles,
of Broomfield, Stanmore. He was educated at Stanmore Park, where he
took a Mathematical Scholarship for Harrow. At Harrow he became a
member of the O.T.C. and the Philatelic Club, and was also head of
his house. He left Harrow in July, 1914, and in the following month
received a commission in the Worcestershire Regiment. In May, 1915, he
was sent to Gallipoli, and was present at the battles of June 4-9. He
was subsequently invalided home, and was gazetted Captain on November
20, 1915. Early in 1916 he joined the R.F.C., and took his pilot’s
certificate in April. He left for active service on July 5 and lost his
life in a combat in the air over the German lines.

Second-Lieutenant J. Hampson Dodgshon, who lost his life on October
1, 1916, at the age of twenty-five, was educated at Westminster, and
was a member of the school cadet corps. He joined the H.A.C. in July,
1913, and played Rugby Football for the corps. He went abroad with
the H.A.C. in September, 1914, and spent the first winter of the war
fighting in Flanders and France. He was invalided home, and on his
recovery was gazetted to a commission in the Surrey Yeomanry. He
served for six months in Egypt, and was at the Dardanelles as Assistant
Military Landing Officer. On his return to England he declined a post
as Assistant Equipment Officer in the R.F.C., as he felt he ought to
take a more active part in the war. He obtained his ‘wings’ in August,
and was made an instructor. His commanding officer writes of him: ‘His
memory will be green for ever.’

Captain Brooke-Murray, another heroic officer to lose his life in
action, was educated at Cheltenham College. At school he was a very
good shot, and was in the Cheltenham Bisley Eight of 1908, 1909, and
1910. Entering Sandhurst in September, 1910, he was gazetted to the
A.S.C. in 1911. He went to France in August, 1914, with the first
Expeditionary Force, and took part in all the operations of the 19th
Brigade from Mons to the Marne and Aisne, Ypres and Armentières. From
April to July, 1915, he was adjutant of the advanced Horse Transport,
and from July to October, 1915, he was staff captain, G.H.Q. Afterwards
he became embarkation officer, Marseilles, and officer to the
Divisional Ammunition Park (April to June, 1916). He was then flying
officer observer to the date of his death from wounds received in
action on September 16 in an air combat against three enemy aviators.

The Royal Naval Air Service has lost a valuable officer by the death
in a flying accident of Squadron-Commander Dalrymple Clarke. Before
joining the R.N.A.S., in 1913, he was in business in London, and prior
to that he was an officer of cavalry. After joining the R.N.A.S.,
he was stationed for some time at Eastchurch, and quickly showed
that he was not only a very fine pilot, but had the gift of studying
his machine’s peculiarities and reporting thereon in a manner which
made his tests of high value to the Service. From Eastchurch he was
transferred to the Central Flying School, under Commodore (then
Captain) Godfrey Paine, R.N., and was appointed an instructor. There
he did much useful work, and was responsible for the training of many
pilots who have since distinguished themselves on active service. Later
on he was appointed to experimental work, and carried out many tests
which produced far-reaching results, not only as regards aeroplanes,
but also concerning engines, bomb-dropping, and various scientific
adjuncts to aircraft.

Another loss to the Royal Naval Air Service and the country came with
the death of Flight-Lieutenant Charles Walter Graham, R.N., D.S.O.,
who was awarded the D.S.O. for his services on December 14, 1915,
when, with Flight-Sub-Lieutenant A. S. Ince as observer and gunner, he
attacked and destroyed a German seaplane off the Belgian coast.

The Royal Flying Corps lost another most promising officer with the
death in action of Captain J. O. Cooper, R.F.C., previously reported
missing, now stated to have fallen in action. He was twenty years of
age, and was the youngest son of Lady Cooper, of Ossemsley Manor,
Christchurch, Hampshire. Educated at Lockers Park and Harrow, he
returned from Australia for the war. He joined the R.F.C. and got his
commission in January, 1915. Captain Cooper was considered by all
who knew him one of the most promising men in the R.F.C., and if he
had been spared would, it is said, have led a squadron before he was
twenty-one.

Further loss came with the death in action of Lieutenant Ian
Macdonnell, R.F.C. He obtained his brevet from the Royal Aero Club as
a pilot in December, 1913, after passing through the Bristol School of
Flying at Brooklands. Soon after the outbreak of war he was gazetted
a lieutenant in his father’s regiment, Lord Strathcona’s Horse. In
March, 1915, he became A.D.C. to Brigadier-General J. E. B. Seely,
C.B., D.S.O., commanding the Canadian Cavalry Brigade, and served
with them in the trenches, including the battle of Festubert, till he
became attached, on probation, to the R.F.C. in September, 1915. He was
gazetted flying officer on November 6 of the same year. He met with a
serious accident through the failure of his engine in December, 1915.
His observer was killed and he himself more or less seriously injured.
He reported for duty with the R.F.C. on May 18, 1916. His major in the
R.F.C. wrote that he was very skilful, full of daring and gallantry.
He was a grandson of Lieutenant-Colonel J. T. Campbell, a Crimean
veteran, and his father belonged to a Cadet family of the Macdonnells
of Glengarry, which have given so many officers to the Empire.

In the case of another gallant officer, Second-Lieutenant L. C. Kidd,
death followed quickly upon brilliant achievements. Shortly before
his death he was awarded the Military Cross. He took his pilot’s
certificate at Hendon before the war, and was tea-planting in Ceylon
when war was declared. He returned as soon as possible, and was at once
given a commission in the R.F.C., and, after a short period of home
training, went to the front in February, 1916. Since then, with two
short intervals of leave, he had been flying continuously at the front.

Amongst other names on the Roll of Honour we would mention
Second-Lieutenant J. S. Mitchell, Second-Lieutenant Aubrey F. A.
Patterson, Second-Lieutenant Robert Shirley Osmaston, M.C., and
Lieutenant Edward Carre.

Second-Lieutenant J. S. Mitchell, R.F.C., was the only son of Colonel
and Mrs. Mitchell, of Sandygate, Wath-on-Dearne, Rotherham. He was
educated at Bramcote School, Scarborough, and Rugby, leaving there
in July, 1914. He went for a tour to Australia and Canada, returning
in July, 1915, when he began to work on munitions at Sheffield. In
January, 1916, he applied for a commission in the R.F.C., and was
gazetted in June, being appointed a Flying Officer on September 4.
He died abroad of injuries accidentally received on October 5, aged
twenty.

Second-Lieutenant Aubrey F. A. Patterson, R.F.C., who is unofficially
reported as having died of wounds while a prisoner of war in Germany,
was born in 1895. He was the youngest son of Mr. and Mrs. W. R.
Patterson, of 40 Cleveland Square, Hyde Park. Educated at Berkhamsted
and Eastbourne College, he distinguished himself as an athlete, and won
the swimming championship at Eastbourne when he was sixteen. Within
a few days of the commencement of the war he enlisted in the H.A.C.,
and went out to France at the end of 1914. Returning invalided to
England in 1915, he was appointed to a commission in the West Yorkshire
Regiment, and was subsequently attached to the R.F.C. He went back to
the front in 1916, and became actively engaged in bombing operations,
in which he did ‘excellent work.’ He was brought down on September 17
by a numerous German squadron, and died of his wounds at Osnabrück.

Second-Lieutenant Robert Shirley Osmaston, M.C., was the son of Mr.
and Mrs. Francis P. Osmaston, of Stoneshill, Limpsfield, and grandson
of Mr. John Osmaston, late of Osmaston Manor, Derby. He was born in
1894, and educated at Earleywood Preparatory School, Ascot, and
Winchester College (Kingsgate House), where he gained the gold medal
for gymnastics in 1912. He had a short course of agricultural training
after leaving Winchester, and when the war broke out enlisted as a
private in the U.P.S. Brigade. In May, 1915, he obtained his commission
in the Royal Sussex Regiment, and went to the front on December
1, 1915. Early this year (1916) he was an instructor of Lewis gun
training, and later acting-adjutant of his brigade, and was attached to
brigade head quarters learning staff work. In April he conducted a raid
into the enemy trenches very successfully and without any casualties,
and was shortly afterwards awarded the Military Cross. In July he
transferred to the R.F.C., and served as observer till he was killed.

Lieutenant Edward Mervyn Carre, R.F.C., who was killed in October,
1916, aged twenty-two, was the youngest son of the Rev. Arthur A. Carre
and Mrs. Carre, of the Rectory, Smarden, Kent. Educated at Christ’s
Hospital from 1903 to 1910, he left as Deputy Grecian and entered the
College of the Resurrection, Mirfield, and in 1912 matriculated at
Leeds University, whence he obtained an Honour Degree in Classics. On
the outbreak of war he joined the Artists’ Rifles, and served abroad,
receiving a commission in the Lincolnshire Regiment in March, 1915.
Being promoted Lieutenant, he was transferred to the R.F.C. in May,
1916. His commanding officer writes: ‘We are all very sorry to lose
your son. He has done very good work since joining the squadron, and
was really one of my best observers.’ His eldest brother, Maurice
Tennant Carre, Australian Infantry, was killed at Lone Pine on
September 2, 1915. Two remaining brothers, Captain M. H. Carre, M.C.,
and Second-Lieutenant G. T. Carre, are serving in the Royal West Kent
Regiment, and have both been twice wounded.

The Roll of Honour grows as the days pass. Hero follows hero. To give
the names of all who have made the supreme sacrifice is impossible;
neither can we hope to find fitting words of gratitude and praise.




CHAPTER XXXV

CONCLUSION


In November, 1916, the famous French aviator, Lieutenant Guynemer,
brought down his twenty-first enemy machine, thus establishing a new
world’s record for aerial warfare. The duel was fought at an altitude
of over two miles, after a chase of about forty-four miles, and was of
a most dramatic nature.

Suddenly Lieutenant Guynemer, whilst flying many miles behind the
German lines, sighted a German squadron of two observation aeroplanes
with an escort of two fighting machines heading for the French lines.
There was nothing to prevent Lieutenant Guynemer giving immediate
battle, except the fact that in the event of being forced to land he
would fall within the German lines and be taken prisoner. He therefore
took refuge behind some friendly clouds until the German squadron
passed ahead of him, and then started the pursuit from behind,
closing up sufficiently so that if he should be seen by the German
anti-aircraft gunners from below he would be taken for one of the
escorting German aeroplanes. For several miles he kept up the pursuit,
concealing himself as much as possible from the German machines by
keeping behind the clouds.

Then, when the French lines at last appeared below him, he emerged in
full view and began the fight. The German machine nearest him chanced
to be an observation ‘plane, and, darting down on it, he opened his
machine-gun fire at an altitude of about 12,000 feet, or just two
miles. With unerring aim he killed the observer with his third bullet,
and with the tenth the pilot likewise shot out from the machine, the
‘plane at the same time beginning its whirling giddy course down
towards the French lines. Although the machine was the second one
Guynemer had brought down that day, he at once started after the
other three, but they, in the meantime, had all disappeared, having
apparently turned back at his very first shot. Without further ado
Lieutenant Guynemer started in search of his victims, and succeeded in
locating the machine in the ravine of Mocourt.

Amongst British aviators who continue to add to their victories mention
must again be made of Flight-Commander Ball, to whose Distinguished
Service Order a second bar—the first time such an honour has been
conferred—was added in November, 1916. Each passing day brings further
evidence of heroic deeds.

On November 29 hostile airships again made a raid over England under
the cover of night, but with dire results for the enemy. Two German
airships were brought down. An official communication stated that a
number of hostile airships approached the north-east coast of England
between ten and eleven o’clock. Bombs were dropped on various places
in Yorkshire and Durham, but the damage was slight. One airship was
attacked by an aeroplane of the Royal Flying Corps and brought down
in flames in the sea off the coast of Durham at 11.45 p.m. Another
airship crossed into the North Midland Counties and dropped some bombs
at various places. On her return journey she was repeatedly attacked by
aeroplanes of the Royal Flying Corps and by guns. She appeared to have
been damaged, for the last part of her journey was made at very slow
speed, and she was unable to reach the coast before day was breaking.
Near the Norfolk coast she apparently succeeded in effecting repairs,
and, after passing through gunfire from the land defences, which claim
to have made a hit, proceeded east at a high speed and at an altitude
of over 8,000 feet, when she was attacked nine miles out at sea by four
machines of the Royal Naval Air Service, while gunfire was opened from
an armed trawler. The airship was brought down in flames at 6.45 a.m.

One eye-witness has stated that it was just after daybreak when from
the east coast a German airship was seen, travelling slowly from the
west. As she passed over the coast the sound of heavy firing was heard,
and soon, over a low bank of mist some distance out to sea, a great
burst of flame was seen and the stricken raider fell blazing into the
sea. A little later a British airman flew in from the sea and descended
on the coast. He was given a tremendous ovation. Townspeople carried
him shoulder high through streets crowded with cheering people, while
sirens of shipping shrieked triumphantly.

‘The defence was extraordinarily powerful,’ said an official report of
the raid issued in Berlin. Such praise from the enemy speaks volumes!

At noon on the following day a German aeroplane managed to reach London
and drop bombs. But the fate of this raider also was sealed. On its
return journey if fell a victim to our gallant French Allies.

Who can now doubt that supremacy in the air is with the Entente?
Whether in dealing with raiders by night or enemy machines on the
western battle-front by day, our heroic allied aviators have proved
their superiority.

The names of the heroic naval aviators who brought down the German
airship in the manner described are Flight-Sub-Lieutenant E. L.
Pulling, Flight-Lieutenant E. Cadbury, and Flight-Lieutenant G. W.
R. Fane. The first named officer has been awarded the Distinguished
Service Order. His age at the time of his heroic deed was twenty-six
years. He was formerly in the Government wireless service, and he
received his commission in the Royal Naval Air Service on August 21,
1915. Tireless energy and boundless enthusiasm, combined with great
courage, mark him out as an aviator of high promise.

Flight-Lieutenant Egbert Cadbury was twenty-three years of age at the
time of receiving the Distinguished Service Cross. At the outbreak of
war he left Trinity College, Cambridge, where he was studying for the
law, and joined the _Zarifa_ as an A.B., the vessel being a converted
yacht manned mostly by Cambridge men. After nearly a year at sea he
entered the R.N.A.S., gained his pilot’s certificate, and was stationed
on the East Coast. He is the youngest son of Mr. George Cadbury.

Flight-Lieutenant Fane joined the Royal Naval Air Service in July,
1915, as a Flight-Sub-Lieutenant. He came straight from Charterhouse
and was only nineteen years of age at the time of being decorated. His
fellow-airmen speak of him as a pilot of remarkable skill and courage.


In February, 1917, whilst these pages were in proof, it was announced
that the first of the officers named above, Flight-Lieutenant E. L.
Pulling, D.S.O., had made the ‘supreme sacrifice.’

  Another body!—Oh, new limbs are ready,
  Free, pure, instinct with soul through every nerve.


_Printed by Jarrold & Sons, Ltd., Norwich, England_


Transcriber’s Notes
Page 72—changed contritributor to contributor
Page 157—changed Decenber to December
Page 217—changed achines to machines





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