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.