Part 29
“We continued to patrol our beat, and I was keeping my place so well I began to look about a bit. After one of these gazing spells, I was startled to discover that the three leading machines of our formation were missing. Apparently they had disappeared into nothingness. I looked around hastily, and then discovered them underneath me, diving rapidly. I didn’t know just what they were diving at, but I dived, too. Long before I got down to them, however, they had been in a short engagement half a mile below me, and had succeeded in frightening off an enemy artillery machine which had been doing wireless observation work. It was a large white German two-seater, and I learned after we landed that it was a well-known machine and was commonly called ‘the flying pig.’ Our patrol leader had to put up with a lot of teasing that night because he had attacked the ‘pig.’ It seems that it worked every day on this part of the front, was very old, had a very bad pilot and a very poor observer to protect him.
“It was a sort of point of honor in the squadron that the decrepit old ‘pig’ should not actually be shot down. It was considered fair sport, however, to frighten it. Whenever our machines approached, the ‘pig’ would begin a series of clumsy turns and ludicrous maneuvers, and would open a frightened fire from ridiculously long ranges. The observer was a very bad shot and never succeeded in hitting any of our machines, so attacking this particular German was always regarded more as a joke than a serious part of warfare. The idea was only to frighten the ‘pig,’ but our patrol leader had made such a determined dash at him the first day we went over that he never appeared again. For months the patrol leader was chided for playing such a nasty trick upon a harmless old Hun.”
As Colonel Bishop’s story is that of one thrilling and perilous adventure following fast upon another, it is impossible to give his career in detail or recount even the chief of his many engagements. The fight in which he won the Military Cross is a good illustration of the clear judgment and fearlessness which characterized his exploits in general.
The Allies had been preparing for the great offensive that began with the battle of Arras, and for a week in advance of the date set for the initiative (April 9th, 1917) the airmen had been carrying out orders to keep the sky free from prying eyes of men in planes and to attack and destroy enemy observation balloons. The balloons flew from the same places every day because there were batteries of anti-aircraft guns stationed below that area. Bishop was assigned to the destruction of a particularly annoying balloon that went up daily in contempt of scouting planes. The balloon, because of cloudy weather, did not go up the first day after the assignment. The character of the fighting may be determined from the fact that in two days, April 6 and 7, the Allies lost twenty-eight machines as against fifteen German machines accounted for. But, says Bishop, “We considered this a small price to pay for the amount of work accomplished and the number of machines engaged (every class of machine was thrown into the clearing process) coupled with the fact that all our work was done within the German lines.”
HOW HE WON THE MILITARY CROSS
“My own experiences on the seventh of April brought me my first decoration—the Military Cross. The thrills were all condensed into a period of two minutes for me. In that time I was fortunate enough to shoot down an enemy machine and destroy the ‘sausage’ I had started for two days before. This should have been excitement enough, but I added to it by coming within fifteen feet of being taken a German prisoner and becoming an unwilling guest of the Huns for the ‘duration.’
“I was ordered after my particular balloon and had climbed to about 5,000 feet before heading for the lines. On my way there I had to pass over one of our own observation balloons. I don’t know what it was that attracted my attention, but looking down I saw what appeared to be two men descending in parachutes. A moment later the balloon below me burst into flames. I saw the enemy machine which had set it on fire engaged with some of ours, but as I had definite orders to proceed straight to the lines and destroy the hostile balloon which had been allotted to me, I was unable to join in the fighting.
“Just about this time an amusing incident was in progress at our aerodrome. A Colonel of the Corps was telephoning my squadron commander, informing him that one of our balloons had just been destroyed.
“Well, if it is any consolation, young Bishop, of my squadron, has just gone over to get one of theirs,’ replied my commander.
“‘Good God,’ said the Colonel, ‘I hope he has not made a mistake in the balloon and set ours on fire.’
[Illustration:
© _Western Newspaper Union._
Colonel Bishop Inspecting a Lewis Aircraft Gun]
“At this moment I was serenely sailing over the enemy trenches keeping a sharp lookout for some sign of my own balloon. After flying five miles over the lines I discovered it and circled around as a preliminary to diving down upon it. But just then I heard the rattle of machine guns directly behind me and saw bullet holes appear as if by magic in the wings of my machine. I pulled back as if to loop, sending the nose of my machine straight up into the air. As I did so the enemy scout shot by underneath me. I stood on my tail for a moment or two, then let the machine drop back, put her nose down and dived after the Hun, opening fire straight behind him at very close range. He continued to dive away with increasing speed and later was reported to have crashed just under where the combat had taken place. This victory I put down entirely to luck. The man flew directly in line with my gun and it would have been impossible to have missed him.
“I proceeded now to dive for the balloon, but having had so much warning, it had been pulled down to the ground. I would have been justified in going home when I saw this, for our orders were not to go under 1,000 feet after the sausages. But I was just a bit peevish with this particular balloon, and to a certain extent my blood was up. So I decided to attack the ungainly monster in its ‘bed.’ I dived straight for it and when about 500 feet from the ground, opened fire. Nothing happened. So I continued to dive and fire rapid bursts until I was only fifty feet above the bag. Still there were no signs of it catching fire. I then turned my machine gun on the balloon crew who were working frantically on the ground. They scattered and ran all about the field. Meantime a ‘flaming onion’ battery was attempting to pelt me with those unsavory missiles, so I whirled upon them with a burst of twenty rounds or more. One of the onions had flared within a hundred yards of me.”
“SUDDENLY MY ENGINE HAD FAILED”
“This was all very exciting, but suddenly, with a feeling of faintness, I realized that my engine had failed. I thought that again, as during my first fight, the engine had oiled up from the steep diving I had done. It seemed but a moment before that I was coming down at a speed that must have been nearly 200 miles an hour. But I had lost it all in turning my machine upon the people on the ground.
“There was no doubt in my mind this time as to just where I was, and there appeared no alternative but to land and give myself up. Underneath me was a large open field with a single tree in it. I glided down, intending to strike the tree with one wing just at the moment of landing, thus damaging the machine so it would be of little use to the Huns, without injuring myself.
A MIRACULOUS RECOVERY
“I was within fifteen feet of the ground, absolutely sick at heart with the uselessness of it all, my thoughts having turned to home and the worry they would all feel when I was reported in the list of the missing, when without warning one of my nine cylinders gave a kick. Then a second one miraculously came to life, and in another moment the old engine—the best old engine in all the world—had picked up with a roar on all the nine cylinders. Once again the whole world changed for me. In less time than it takes to tell it I was tearing away for home at a hundred miles an hour. My greatest safety from attack now lay in keeping close to the ground, and this I did. The ‘Archies’ cannot fire when you are so close to earth, and few pilots would have risked a dive at me at the altitude which I maintained. The machine guns on the ground rattled rather spitefully several times, but worried me not at all. I had had my narrow squeak for this day and nothing could stop me now.
“I even had time to glance back over my shoulder, and there, to my great joy, I saw a cloud of smoke and flames rising from my erstwhile _bête noir_—the sausage. We afterward learned it was completely destroyed.
“It was a strange thing to be skimming along just above the ground in enemy territory. From time to time I would come on groups of Huns who would attempt to fire on me with rifles and pistols, but I would dart at them and they would immediately scatter and run for cover. I flew so low that when I would come to a clump of trees I would have to pull my nose straight up toward the sky and ‘zoom’ over them. Most of the Germans were so startled to see me right in their midst, as it were, they either forgot to fire or fired so badly as to insure my absolute safety. Crossing the three lines of German trenches was not so comfortable, but by zigzagging and quick dodging I negotiated them safely and climbed away to our aerodrome. There I found that no bullets had passed very close to me, although my wingtips were fairly perforated.
“That evening I was delighted to get congratulations not only from my Colonel, but my Brigadier as well, supplemented later by a wire from the General commanding the Flying Corps. This I proudly sent home the same evening in a letter.”
“LIKE SHOOTING CLAY PIGEONS”
There seems to be a general feeling among airmen that theirs is not a business or profession, but a game. Colonel Bishop declares that it did not seem to him to be killing a man to bring down a machine; “it was more as if I were destroying a mechanical target, with no human being in it. Once or twice the idea that a live man had been piloting the machine would occur to me, and it would worry me a bit. My sleep would be spoiled perhaps for a night. I did not relish the idea of killing even Germans, yet, when in a combat in the air, it seemed more like any other kind of sport, and to shoot down a machine was very much the same as if one were shooting down clay pigeons. One has the great satisfaction of feeling that he had hit the target and brought it down; that one was victorious again.” The fascination that such a game has for the airman is easily understood.
Bishop brought down his fortieth enemy plane six miles within the enemy lines, and escaped in spite of a hail of shells from anti-aircraft guns for five miles of the return trip, his machine being fairly well riddled; and, one day just at that time, his cup of happiness filled and overflowed with the award of the Victoria Cross.
DODGING “JACK DEATH”
A German Aviator’s Perils and Escapes On An Observation Tour
In the early days of the war, the value of the flying machine as a weapon was not by any means appreciated. It was used for observation and bomb-dropping purposes almost exclusively. The Germans were the first to realize its possibilities as a gunning as well as bombing or spying craft. They began carrying rifles and pistols with which to pot enemy aviators, and the chivalry of the air, so excellent a feature of the initial period, disappeared, for, necessarily the Allied aviators were not slow to follow the lead. It was, however, in the early stage, September, 1914, that the duel occurred of which the following is an account. The narrative was written by the German aviator, the chief figure in the adventure.
The story, the truth of which is unquestioned, was published originally in the Berlin _Tageblatt_ from which the New York _Evening Post_ made the translation. It is of special interest as a report of one of the first, if not the first of the armed encounters between belligerent planes.
OBSERVING THE RETREAT OF THE BRITISH
God be thanked! After a veritable Odyssey I am at last joined again this noon to my division. To be sure, my wanderings were not much to be wondered at, for, during my absence, my troop had advanced about sixty-five kilometers in a southwesterly direction. All the more joyfully, however, was I greeted on all sides, for I had already been given up after an absence of more than four days; and, indeed, I myself wondered, as I made my report to my commander, that Jack Death had so allowed me to slip through his fingers.
On the morning of the 6th of September, I had ascended from D—— with the commission to report the positions of the enemy at S—— and F—— and to make charts of the opposing forces which I observed. First Lieut. K—— went with me as a guest on the flight, and my brave biplane soon bore us at an altitude of about 800 meters above the hostile positions, which were repeatedly sketched and photographed from aloft. As we had expected, we were soon the objective of a lively bombardment, and several times I felt a trembling of the machine, already well known to me, a sign that a shot had struck one of the wings. After a three hours’ flight we were able to give our report at the office of the General Staff of the —— army at M——, and earned for it the warmest praise and half of a broiled chicken and an excellent Havana.
As I was making my “Kiste” ready for flight again in the afternoon, with the help of several drivers of the General Staff auto—that is to say, refilling the benzine tank and carefully patching with linen the places where shots had pierced—I counted four of them, one in the body and three in the wings—a Bavarian officer of the General Staff informed me that he would be glad to observe the retreat of the English along the great military road toward M——. I prepared the machine at once, and ascended at about four o’clock in the afternoon with Major G——, the aforementioned General Staff officer.
Following the road, it was at once obvious that the retreat of the English was a disorderly one, absolutely without plan, that it had apparently occurred to the troops to reach the fortified positions at Paris as soon as possible, and there to make their stand.
At Paris! My flying companion shouted something into my face. Although the noise of the motor drowned it out, I believed that I nevertheless understood what he meant. I glanced at the benzine indicator. I had sufficient fuel. Then I held a direct course to the south, and after a period of about half an hour we saw ahead of us in the gray distance, far, far below, the gray, immeasurable sea of stone that was the chief city of France. At a speed of a hundred kilometers an hour we rushed toward it. It became clearer and plainer. The chain of forts, St. Denis, Montmartre, stood out; from the haze there raised itself the filigree framework of the Eiffel tower. And now—now we hover over the mellow panorama of Paris.
THE “CONQUEROR” AT PARIS
There lay the white church of Sacré Cœur, there the Gare du Nord, from which the French thought to leave for across the Rhine; there Notre Dame, there the old “Boul Mich,” the Boulevard St. Michel, in the Latin Quarter, where I Bohemianized so long as an art student, and over which I now flew as a conqueror. Unprotected beneath me lay the heart of the enemy, the proud glittering Babel of the Seine. The thought of everything hateful, always attached to the great city, was swallowed up; an emotion of possession, of power, alone remained. And doubly joyful we felt ourselves. Doubly conquerors! In a great circle I swept over the sea of houses. In the streets raised itself a murmuring of the people, whom the bold “German bird” astonished, who cannot understand how the Germans are turning the French discovery to their own service more cleverly and advantageously than the French themselves.
THE RETURN FROM PARIS
For nearly an hour we had been flying in swoops and had been shot at vainly from here and there below us, when there approached in extremely rapid flight from the direction of Juvisy a French monoplane. Since it was much faster than my biplane, I must turn and seek to escape, while the major made ready my rifle and reached for his revolver. The monoplane came steadily closer and closer; I sought to reach an altitude of 2,000 meters, in order to reach the protecting clouds, but my pursuer, on whom we constantly kept an eye, climbed more rapidly than we. And came always closer and closer. And suddenly I saw at a distance of only about 500 meters still a second biplane, attempting to block my way.
Now it was time to act. In an instant my companion had grasped the situation. I darted at the flyer before us; then a turn—the major raised the rifle to his cheek. Once, twice, thrice, he fired. Then the hostile machine, now beside us, and hardly a hundred meters away, quivered and then fell like a stone. Our other pursuer had in the meantime reached a position almost over us, and was shooting at us with revolvers. One bullet struck in the body close beside the fuel controller. Then, however, impenetrable mist enfolded us protectingly; and the clouds separated us from the enemy, the sound of whose motor grew ever more distant.
When we came out again from the sea of clouds, it was toward seven o’clock. In order to get our position, we descended, but suddenly there began to burst before us and behind us and beside us roaring shrapnel shells. I found myself still always over hostile positions and exposed to French artillery. “The devil to pay again!” Ever madder grew the fire! I noticed that the machine received blow after blow, but held cold-bloodedly to my course; at the time, it did not come into my mind at all that these little pointed pieces of steel meant death and destruction. Something in mankind remains untouched by knowledge and logic!
There—suddenly before me, a yellow-white burst of flame! The machine bounds upward; at the same time the major shrinks together, blood runs from his shoulder, the wiring of one of the wings is shattered. To be sure, the motor still booms and thunders as before, but the propeller fails. An exploding grenade had knocked it to pieces, torn one of the wings to shreds, and smashed the major’s shoulder. Steeply my machine sinks to the ground. By calling up all my power, I succeed in getting the machine into a gliding flight, and I throw the biplane down into the tops of the forest trees. I crash through the branches and tree crowns. I strike heavily, and know no more what goes on around me.
When I wake again from my unconsciousness, I find Major G. lying beside me on the ground, in the midst of a group of Landwehr men. German outposts had recognized me as a friend, and had forced their way into the woods, although only in small numbers, to protect me. Major G. had suffered a severe injury to his shoulder, which made it necessary to transfer him to the nearest field hospital. I, however, had only sustained a bruise on my leg, and after the application of an emergency bandage remained with the outpost, later to find my way, by all possible—and some impossible—means of transportation, back to my troop.
WARNEFORD’S TRIUMPH
The Brilliant Exploit That Marked the First “Down” of a “Zepp” by Airplane
The air raids on the coast towns of England were regarded as the most brutally wanton of the cowardly “frightfulness” tactics of the Germans employed against England. The killing of non-combatants, chiefly women and children, and the destruction of private property were the only material results of those raids, but the moral indignation of the world was aroused. After a period of suspension of this sort of warfare the Germans once more, in June, 1915, began raiding the East and Northeast Coast, the most serious of any that had happened being the raid of June 6.
The raiders sailed over a town on the East Coast during the night and bombed it at their leisure. One large drapery house was struck and was completely wrecked, the entire building—a somewhat old one—collapsing. Adjoining these premises, with only a narrow roadway between, there was one of the most beautiful Norman churches in England. The church was wholly uninjured save a few of the panes in the glass windows. A rumor was spread over the country, and was generally believed, that a large number of girls and women “lived in” on the draper’s premises, and were killed when the house was struck. This rumor was false. The drapery firm had ceased to house its attendants on the premises for a couple of years before the raid. Some working-class streets were very badly damaged, a number of houses destroyed, and many people injured. It was one of the peculiarities of this raid that, unlike results from most of the others, all the people injured were struck while indoors. The total casualties here were twenty-four killed, about sixty seriously injured, and a larger number slightly injured.
The outrage was quickly avenged by a young British naval airman, Flight Sub-Lieutenant R. A. J. Warneford, in one of the most brilliant aerial exploits of the war—the first Zeppelin brought down by an aeroplane.