The new machines were almost ready now and at any time we were to use
them, but in the meantime I was working hard with my Nieuport. One
day at noon, while out alone, I came as near being brought down as
it was possible to be. There were very few machines in the sky, and
about a thousand feet above some clouds I saw three of the Huns. If I
had followed my old tactics, I would have carefully gone far away and
climbed to high above them, then come down from that direction; but I
suppose “familiarity breeds contempt,” and I imagine I was getting a
little careless. Anyway, I had not the patience this time to waste all
of those minutes, so I climbed straight up at them. It meant that I was
going much slower than I would otherwise have been, with the dive. They
were out of a squadron--I could tell by their markings--that I had
often before attacked, and probably before I had seen them they had
seen me.
They let me come on up underneath them, knowing that I would not fire
until I was at very close range. Then, when I was about 100 yards away
and some 100 feet below, the whole three of them turned on me. I did
not even have time to attempt an escape; the whole three were diving
at me at once, all firing. It was an awkward moment, so I pulled
my machine back and fired straight at one of them; then, switching
quickly, I gave a burst to another. By this time the third was down to
my level, so, turning, I faced him and opened fire. He “zoomed” up and
reached several hundred feet above me, from where he dived again. It
was a terrible moment, and I could not think how to escape, as they had
the most favourable positions from which to attack me, and no danger of
anybody worrying them while they were doing it.
Then suddenly I realized that the clouds were only a thousand feet
below me, and even less by this time, as I had been losing height, so
with a kick of my rudder I threw my machine suddenly out of control,
and let it stay out of control until I was enveloped in a soft, white,
fleecy cloud. Here I knew that it was hopeless to try to regain
control, so I waited. I must have gone through the clouds for over
a thousand feet--it seemed years and years. I was terrified that it
might be a thick, thick cloud, all the way down to the ground. However,
suddenly I saw things appearing, and underneath me was the ground. I
was in a spinning nose-dive, but it was easy to recover control, and I
flattened away and flew straight back to the aerodrome. It was a lesson
to me, and, strange to say, the last occasion upon which I had a good
opportunity to try that stunt, as a few days later we went on to the
new machines.
When our first job on the new machines came, it was a great moment for
me. I felt that at last the time had arrived when I could really do
some good work, so went after it with my heart altogether on it.
On our first job we were told we must not cross the lines--only just
stay on them, and chase anything away. You can imagine how pleased I
was, after carefully getting up to the required height, and feeling
this wonderful, new, high-powered machine under me, suddenly to see
an enemy machine on our side. I gave chase, but it slipped across the
lines when I was only half a mile away. I was very much annoyed to be
unable to follow it.
To get on these new machines, after the old ones, made one feel that
all you had to do was to open fire on any old enemy at all--just get
near enough to him to do that--and he was bound to be yours. As a
matter of fact it was almost that easy, and the strenuous days of
fighting that I had experienced on a Nieuport were really gone. The new
job was much less of work and much more of pleasure.
Then my disgust was great when the weather became bad, and stayed that
way for three days. However, by this time I had been able to get my
machine into better order, and was keener for a fight than I had ever
been before.
I went out alone as soon as the weather was fit, and after patrolling
over the enemy territory for several hours I saw one two-seater at a
tremendous height. I could not get quite up to him, but when a thousand
feet underneath, I pulled my machine back until it pointed straight up,
and fired that way. I did this twice, but both times failed to do any
damage. We had then reached so far into enemy territory that I thought
it advisable to return home, so turned and came back. The anti-aircraft
fire seemed to be absolutely nothing to worry about, compared to what
it had been in the slower machine. We were twenty-five miles an hour
faster, and it made a great difference. The shells seemed all to burst
behind me, and far away. I felt that all the risk had gone, and that I
was now in for a real good time in France.
On the 28th of the month I went out in the evening to do a patrol, just
on the German side of the lines. Faithfully I stayed at this place for
over an hour, but then it became more than I could stand, as there was
not a German machine in sight. I decided to take a look in Hunland. I
flew about fifteen miles in before I saw a single German, and then,
well off to one side, there were three of them. I did not care whether
they had seen me or not; all I wanted to do was to get right into the
middle of them and mix it up, so I came straight at them. They had
seen me, however, and one, detaching himself from the rest, came in my
direction. He came straight at me, and we approached head on, both of
us with our engines in front, and both firing two guns. I could see
his bullets streaking by about 5 feet to the left of me, and mine, as
I watched them through my sights, seemed to be making better shooting.
He suddenly swerved, but I managed to get into a favourable position
behind him in the course of one or two turns, and again opened fire.
This time I was altogether successful, as his machine suddenly burst
into flames. The others had kept well away, and were now escaping as
fast as they could. I did my best to catch one up, and if we had only
been a little higher would have done so, but I felt I was getting too
close to the ground that distance behind the lines, so opening fire
from long range, I shot away about 100 rounds, then turned and headed
toward home. It was my first Hun shot down in this new type of machine,
and the first in the squadron.
Late one evening I went out again in a Nieuport, and got mixed up in a
bad “dog fight.” It lasted for three-quarters of an hour, and during
that whole time I don’t think fifteen seconds went by that I did not
have to turn my machine sharply in one direction or another, or do some
other manœuvre.
While engaging a few machines at the top of the fight, I saw underneath
me a Nieuport, evidently in difficulty in the middle of a lot of Huns,
so with one other of my squadron I started down to him, fighting
all the way and striving for nothing but to frighten the Huns off,
in order that we could get there in time to help our man. He seemed
to be fighting very well, as his machine was turning around to the
left, banking vertically, and turning very quickly. At 12,000 feet we
started this, but by the time we had reached him he was 500 feet from
the ground. I had long ago wondered what was the matter, as he was
going down almost as fast as we could come down to him. I could not
understand why he did not see us, and in some way realize that if he
stayed there a moment we would be down to help him; but instead his
machine kept turning, doing a left-hand spiral, and going down rapidly.
At 1,000 feet from him we managed to frighten away the two Huns, who
were both engaging him. Then, turning to clear the fight, I looked over
my shoulder to see if he was following; but no--he was still in the
spiral. I was afraid, for the moment, that he thought I was another
Hun, so went off to one side for a bit, but he continued spiralling,
and realizing that something was very wrong, I flew back toward him.
Just at that moment his machine spiralled straight into the ground,
a few hundred feet underneath me. I made two or three turns over the
spot, regardless of the fight above me, to determine whether or not
he had been badly hurt, but could not see. I expected, every moment,
some people to come running up and work at the smashed machine to get
him out, but there was no sign of anybody moving. The other Nieuport
that had come down with me was lower than I was, and the idea seemed
to come to both of us, as the country appeared smooth enough, to land
and see what was wrong. We both thought we were well this side of our
own lines, as the trenches could be seen about three-quarters of a
mile to the east of us. Picking out a smooth piece of ground just near
the smashed machine, I came down to glide on to it. Then, hearing the
crackle of rifles and machine guns around, I put my engine on again
and turned away, cursing the people on the ground for firing at me,
thinking all the time it was our own troops making a mistake. I had now
come down to a height of several hundred feet, and suddenly saw German
uniforms in a small hollow in the ground underneath me. It was a narrow
escape, as both of us might have landed there and quietly been taken
prisoners, without ever having a chance to escape.
A few days later I learned that in this particular place the people
holding the line were not in trenches, but in outposts, practically in
the open field, and the line of trenches behind them was the Hindenburg
line, where the Germans evidently intended retreating, when necessary.
Almost every one of my fights in the new machine were successful. Three
of us went out early one Sunday morning, when the sun, shining from
the east on a thick ground-mist, made it very difficult to see. Clouds
were also in the sky, making it impossible to go above 7,000 feet. Our
new type of machines were evidently greatly feared by the Germans,
as the moment we approached the lines, two two-seaters of the enemy,
while just specks in the distance, were obviously signalled to from the
ground, for they immediately dived straight down and did not return.
This happened again fifteen minutes later, when we sighted another of
the artillery machines. They were terrified of this type, and would not
stay to fight us.
Then suddenly I saw four enemy scouts, and at the same moment they saw
us. They approached, obviously with the intention of attacking us,
but when only 300 yards away recognized the machines we were flying,
and turned away quickly. They had been looking for easier prey, and
were not very anxious for battle. We went after them, though, and
owing to our superior speed were able to catch up with them. Into the
middle of them we went, and there followed a merry scrap. One of our
trio, by some misfortune, got mixed up in a bad position, as he was
not seen again, and must have been shot down. The other man’s guns had
both jammed at the beginning of the fight, and he was so furious at
this bad luck that for several minutes he stayed in the fight, just to
bluff the Huns. Then one of them made it a little nasty for him, and
it was necessary to escape. Back to the lines he went, making short
dashes of 100 yards every now and then, two Huns following him all the
way, and firing at him as he went, but owing to pure good flying and
clever manœuvring he was able to avoid even having his machine hit.
Then, on looking back from the lines, he saw the fight going on some
distance over, and realizing that I was alone in the middle of it he
came back all that way, without either of his guns in working order.
I referred to this in an earlier part of my book, and I still think
it one of the bravest deeds I have ever heard of, as he had a hard
time getting back to me, and then also in escaping a second time. He
returned to the aerodrome, landed, had his guns fixed, and immediately
hastened out again in the hope he would be able to help me.
[Illustration:
Canadian Official Photograph
Remains of a Hun Two-seater, brought down in flames.]
I, for my part, was having the time of my life. The rattle of my two
machine guns was too much for the Huns, altogether. They did not like
it at all. I was above the whole lot of them, the original four having
been joined by three others now, and they were trying to separate
enough so that one or two of their number could get to one side, then
climb up and get on top of me. But the moment one of them would begin
to go over to one side I would begin to climb, until I would point my
nose in his direction, and, flying at wonderful speed, shoot across
there, opening fire with rough aim, and down he would dive under the
rest. This actually went on for fifteen minutes, during which time
another of the enemy came along, and seeing only one British machine in
all those Huns, felt safe in attacking me. I opened fire on him with my
two guns, and the rattle of them again was sufficient. He did not even
return the fire, but dived down and got under the other seven.
After this had gone on about ten minutes, I realized that actually
to bring them down I must do better shooting, so picking out the one
which was higher than the rest, I concentrated on him and got within
50 yards of him, when I opened fire. He immediately turned over on
his back, righted himself, turned over on his back again, and then
fell completely out of control. The others I was unable to get, but
continued in the fight in the hope that I would be more successful.
Out of the corner of my eye I could see a heavy thunderstorm coming up
from the direction of the aerodrome. I had to keep my mind on this, as
I realized that it was a matter of judging just how long I could keep
up the fight before I must make a break for it. At last I decided I
had better go, so after a final survey of my “docile children,” who
seemed to be just sitting under my thumb, I picked out the two or three
highest ones and pointed my nose in their direction, on which they
dropped down obediently. Then, seizing the opportunity, I dashed away
and escaped. They must have been very furious indeed and it must have
been bad for the morale of the German infantrymen and gunners on the
ground to look up and see one British machine on top of all these Huns,
holding them absolutely under his dominion. I reached the aerodrome ten
minutes before the thunderstorm broke.
Bad weather then held again for over a week, and it was impossible to
fly at all. The evening that it cleared up I was leading my patrol--all
of us on the new machines--when I sighted eight of the enemy two miles
the other side of the lines. It was just a half-hour before dark, and
the light was very bad. I put my engine full on, and headed in their
direction. My machine being slightly faster than the remainder of my
patrol, I managed to get a bit ahead of them, and carefully picking
out the leader of the enemy formation, opened on him. After I had fired
about twenty rounds, he turned completely around and headed under me.
I turned my sights on to another of his formation, and tried to catch
him. Then, over my shoulder, I suddenly saw the machine I had first
fired at burst into flames in a most extraordinary way. It happened
quite near two of the rest of my patrol, and incidentally rather
frightened them, as the machine, which had been smoking slightly,
suddenly burst into the whitest flame and fell to the ground, like
a ball of livid fire. The man had evidently not been killed, as the
machine was not falling out of control, but diving almost vertically
toward the ground. Several times, out of the corner of my eye, I
glanced at it as it still fell. Probably it was the bad light that
made the flames show so white, but the glare was seen for twenty miles
around by people on the ground.
I then made an acquaintance whom I grew to know quite well during the
next week or so. It was a silver machine, with small black crosses on
it. The pilot had carefully painted his machine, as the silver had been
put on to represent the scales of a fish, and covered his planes as
well as the body of his machine. During this fight he caused me a lot
of worry. Several times I was just able to concentrate on one or two
others, when this flying fish would butt in, and force me to a great
deal of manœuvring to escape him. Over and over again, while under me,
he would pull up his nose and open fire. I would then point my nose
down and open back at him, and he would turn away. This was his one
weakness--he would not come head on; so I tried that bluff whenever he
began to fire at me.
It was well that I knew this during the fights which followed in the
next week. In the middle of this fight both of my guns suddenly jammed,
and I could not get them to work. I struggled with them, all the time
manœuvring around so that I would not be hit myself. One of the enemy,
besides the silver man, had noticed that my guns would not fire, and
the two of them came at me and came right up close on one occasion.
Just as they did this I managed to get my guns to work, and opened
fire, sending the second man down out of control. Old “Silversides,”
however, had been too wily even to get near the range of my guns, and
did nothing but cause me a lot of worry. It was getting dark now, and
time to break off the fight, so I decided to escape. Once again the
silver fellow came butting in. Every time I would turn toward the
lines, he would come at me and open fire. I would dart across his
sights, giving him a hard shot, then suddenly turn as if I were going
to fire at him. He would turn the nose of his machine away immediately,
and I would have a chance again to make a dart for the front. In this
way I managed to reach the lines, where he left me. I then returned
home, with two more machines to my credit.
The next machine I got was the fortieth aeroplane I had brought down,
and, counting my two balloons, my forty-second victory. I had gone
out in the morning, about half-past eight, and there did not seem to
be many aeroplanes in the sky. I saw a single-seater some distance in
toward Germany, and went in after him. He was, however, no picnic. The
pilot was one of the very best. Several times we almost got shots at
each other, but never a good one. Finally, I opened fire at random, and
was greatly surprised to see him go into a spinning dive, but it looked
suspicious, and I watched. A little below me he regained control. I
dived vertically after him, but was diving too fast, so shot right by
him, and he turned away and tried to escape, diving in the opposite
direction. I had a second dive after him, but he again went into a
spin, even before I had opened fire, and continued spinning straight
into the clouds, where I lost him. I had the comfort, however, of
knowing that he was not very happy in that spin, as all the time he was
going down I was rattling away at him with my guns.
Fifteen minutes later I brought down that fortieth machine. I had seen
a two-seater at a tremendous height above me, just a speck in the
sky. I was not sure at the moment whether he was British or German,
and decided, as there was nothing more interesting, to fly in his
direction. He was about two miles our side of the lines, and I imagine
now that he was busy taking photographs. When I was about a mile away
he saw me, and headed for home. I was still 2,000 feet underneath him,
and, owing to climbing, was not approaching very fast. However, he did
the thing I wished for most of all--he put his nose down to lose height
and gain more speed. I was much faster than he was, so I flew level. In
a few minutes he had reached my level, and was still losing height. We
were now four or five miles inside his own lines, and I was also losing
height slightly to gain greater speed. Finally, I managed to get partly
into the blind spot underneath his tail, and was rather amused at the
observer firing away merrily all the time at me, even when he could
hardly see me. I decided to stay there for a minute, in the hope that
his gun would jam, or something of that sort happen. Then I proposed
to dash in and finish him off at close range. But we travelled on
another two miles without anything happening, and had now come down to
6,000 feet. It was getting too low for my liking, and we were too far
from home, so opening my machine full out I shot in to 75 yards from
him, and fired. One burst did the trick, and he began falling in every
conceivable sort of way. I rather hoped he would go into flames or
fall to pieces, but nothing of that sort occurred, and finally, in a
spinning nose-dive, he crashed into a field.
Then I had one of the nastiest times of my life--the return trip home.
At 6,000 feet I started. Every anti-aircraft gun in the neighbourhood
opened fire at me, and they did some wonderful shooting that day.
Everywhere I turned there seemed to be huge shells bursting. Several
times I heard the little “plank” as they hit my machine in some place,
and once quite a large piece struck a plane. I decided that I would
lose still more height, in order to come home at a tremendous pace,
but in my excitement had forgotten which way the wind was blowing, and
have later decided that that was why I was such an easy mark. I was
going straight into the teeth of a forty-mile gale, and consequently my
speed was much slower than I thought it was. The “Archie” people seemed
to have gone mad, or anxious to use up all the ammunition they had in
France; anyway, the air was black with bursting shells, and after I had
finally reached the lines I looked back, and for five miles could see
a path of black smoke from the shells which had been fired at me. They
must have fired 500 in all, but luckily I was still intact.
One day, just at this time, I had truly a wonderful surprise. It had
been a very rainy day, and as there was no flying I went over to lunch
with a cousin of mine, who was stationed only three miles away. After
luncheon I returned, and upon seeing my new squadron commander went up
to speak to him. He told me that the General in command of the Flying
Corps had been trying to get me on the telephone, and said he wanted
to speak to me when I came in. I could not imagine why so important a
person as the General should want to speak to little “me,” but rang
him up. My cup of happiness overflowed when he told me that he wanted
to be the first to congratulate me upon being awarded the Victoria
Cross.