with rapture at the spectacle of the first fight in the clouds. The
German maneuvered for position and prepared to attack, but our fellow
was too quick for him, and darted into a higher plane. The German tried
to circle round and follow, and so in short spurts they fought for
mastery, firing at each other all the time, the machines swaying and
oscillating violently. The British airman, however, well maintained his
ascendency. Then suddenly there was a pause, the German machine began to
reel, the wounded pilot had lost control, and with a dive the aeroplane
came to earth half a mile away. Our man hovered about for a time, and
then calmly glided away over the German lines to reconnoiter."
Nothing could excel the skill and daring shown by the men of the Royal
Flying Corps. They stop at nothing. Some of their machines have been so
badly damaged by rifle and shell fire that on descending they have had
to be destroyed.
"Fired at constantly both by friend and foe," Sir John French writes,
"and not hesitating to fly in every kind of weather, they have remained
undaunted throughout." The highest praise is bestowed upon
Brigadier-General Sir David Henderson, in command of the Corps, for the
high state of efficiency this young branch of the service has attained.
It has been on its trial, and has already covered itself with glory.
General Joffre, the French Commander-in-Chief, has sent a special
message singling out the British Flying Corps "most particularly" for
his highest eulogies. Several English airmen have already been made
Chevaliers of the Legion of Honor.
That the nervous strain of aerial warfare is severe is shown by
expression in several airmen's letters. Not only have they to fight
their man, but they have to manage their machines at the same time. This
means that if an airman ascends alone he is unable to use a rifle and
must depend for attack on revolver fire only. This is illustrated by a
passage in one of the official reports: "Unfortunately one of our
aviators, who has been particularly active in annoying the enemy by
dropping bombs, was wounded in a duel in the air. Being alone on a
single-seated monoplane, he was not able to use a rifle, and whilst
circling above a German two-seater in an endeavor to get within pistol
shot was hit by the observer of the latter, who was armed with a rifle.
He managed to fly back over our lines, and by great good luck descended
close to a motor ambulance, which at once conveyed him to hospital."
This appears to be only the second instance recorded during the first
two months of the war in which our airmen have suffered mishap, yet
half-a-dozen German machines have been brought down and their navigators
either killed or wounded. Private Harman, King's Royal Rifles, describes
an exciting pursuit in which a German aeroplane was captured. The
British aviator, who had the advantage in speed and was a good revolver
shot, evidently greatly distressed the fugitive, for, surrendered, he
planed down in good order, and on landing was found to be dead.
According to an officer in the Royal Flying Corps the worst aerial
experience in war is to go up as a passenger. "It is 'loathly,'" he
says, "to sit still helplessly and be fired at." In one flight as a
spectator his machine was "shelled and shot at about a hundred times,
but luckily only thirteen shots went through the planes and neither of
us was hit." An interesting account of a battle seen from the clouds is
given in a letter published by _The Times_. "I was up with ---- for an
evening reconnaissance over this huge battle. I bet it will ever be
remembered as the biggest in history. It extends from Compiègne right
away east to Belfort. Can you imagine such a sight? We flew at 5 p.m.
over the line, and at that time the British Army guns (artillery, heavy
and field) all opened fire together. We flew at 5,000 feet and saw a
sight which I hope it will never be my lot to see again. The woods and
hills were literally cut to ribbons all along the south of Laon. It was
marvelous watching hundreds of shells bursting below one to right and
left for miles, and then to see the Germans replying."
Another officer of the Flying Corps describes his impression of the
Battle of Mons, seen from a height of 5,000 feet. British shells were
bursting like little bits of cotton wool over the German batteries. A
German attack developed, and the airman likens the enemy's advance
formation to a "large human tadpole"--a long dense column with the head
spread out in front.
Evidently the anti-aircraft guns, though rather terrifying, do very
little damage. Airmen have had shells burst all round them for a long
time without being hurt. Of course they are careful to fly at a high
altitude. When struck by shrapnel, however, an aeroplane (one witness
says) "just crumples up like a broken egg." On the other hand, bombs
dropped from aeroplanes do great damage, if properly directed. A petrol
bomb was dropped by an English airman at night into a German bivouac
with alarming results, and another thrown at a cavalry column struck an
ammunition wagon and killed fifteen men. A French airman wiped out a
cavalry troop with a bomb, and the effect of the steel arrows used by
French aviators is known to be damaging. The German bombs thrown by
Zeppelins and Taube aeroplanes on Antwerp and Paris do not appear to
have much disturbed either the property or equanimity of the
inhabitants. So far as aerial excursions are concerned the most
brilliant exploit is undoubtedly that of Flight-Lieutenant C.H. Collet,
of the Naval Wing of the British Flying Corps, who, with a fleet of five
aeroplanes swept across the German frontier and, hovering over
Düsseldorf, dropped three bombs with unerring effect upon the Zeppelin
sheds.
Bomb-dropping, however, has not been indulged in to any great extent by
either of the combatants, and the chief use to which air machines have
been put is that of scouting. The Germans use them largely for range
finding, and they seem to prove a very accurate guide to the gunners.
"We were advancing on the German right and doing splendidly," writes
Private Boardman (Bradford) "when we saw an aeroplane hover right over
our heads, and by some signaling give the German artillery the range.
The aviator had hardly gone when we were riddled with shot and shell." A
sergeant of the 21st Lancers says the signaling is done by dropping a
kind of silver ball or disc from the aeroplanes, and the Germans watch
for this and locate our position to a nicety at once.
As scouts--and that, meantime, is the real practical purpose of
aeroplanes in war--the British aviators have done wonders. Their
machines are lighter and faster than those of the Germans, and as they
make a daily average of nine reconnaissance flights of over 100 miles
each it will be understood that they keep the Intelligence Department
well supplied with accurate information of the enemy's movements.
French airmen are particularly daring both in reconnaissance and in
flight, and the well-known M. Védrines, whose achievements are familiar
to English people, has already brought down three German aeroplanes. In
one encounter he fought in a Blériot machine carrying a mitrailleuse,
and the enemy dropped, riddled with bullets. So completely have some of
the aeroplanes been perforated, without mishap, says the _Daily
Telegraph's_ war correspondent, that the pilots have found a new game.
Each evening after their flights they count the number of bullet holes
in their machine, marking each with a circle in red chalk, so that none
may be included in the next day's total. The record appears to be
thirty-seven holes in one day, and the pilot in question claims to be
the "record man du monde."
Zeppelins have not maintained their reputation in this war. One sailed
over Sir John French's headquarters and indicated the position to the
enemy, but they are no match for the swift and agile aeroplanes. A
wounded dispatch carrier saw one English and two French machines attack
a Zeppelin and bring it down instantly. A half hour's fight with another
is recorded; among the captured passengers in this, according to a
soldier's letter, was a boy of nine. Private Drury, Coldstream Guards,
saw one huge German aeroplane brought to earth, three of its officers
being killed by rifle fire and one badly injured.
There is something strange, mysterious, and insubstantial about the war
in the air that the soldiers do not yet feel or comprehend. Often the
feverish activity of aircraft at a high altitude is known only to a very
few practised observers. A gentle purring in the air and the scarcely
audible ping-pong of distant revolver shots may represent a fierce duel
in the clouds, and often the soldiers are unaware of the presence of a
hostile airman until the projectiles aimed at them burst in the
trenches. One evening, a graphic official message states, the atmosphere
was so still and clear that only those specially on the lookout detected
the enemy's aeroplanes, and when the bombs burst "the puffs of smoke
from the detonating shell hung in the air for minutes on end like balls
of fleecy cottonwool before they slowly expanded and were dissipated."
Of course, the tactics adopted for dealing with hostile aircraft are to
attack them instantly with one or more British machines, and as in this
respect the British Flying Corps has established an individual
ascendency, Sir John French proudly declares that "something in the
direction of the mastery of the air has already been gained."
XIII
TOMMY AND HIS RATIONS
A medical officer at the front declares that the British Expeditionary
Force is, without doubt, the "best fed Army that has ever taken the
field." That is a sweeping statement, but it is true. It is confirmed
over and over again in the letters of Tommy Atkins. It is acknowledged
by the French. Even the most sullen German prisoners agree with it.
There has been universal praise for the quality and abundance of the
food, and the general arrangements for the comfort of the British
soldier.
One French description of the feeding says that the English troops "live
like fighting cocks," another marvels at "the stupendous pieces of meat,
and bread heavy with butter and jam," a third speaks of the "amazing
Tommees" who "carry everything in their pockets and forget nothing at
all." And so on.
But the most remarkable tribute of all to the perfect working of the
transport and supply service is that given by the British officers and
men themselves. Captain Guy Edwards, Coldstream Guards, says: "They have
fed our troops wonderfully regularly and well up to the present; we have
had no sickness at all, and every one is in splendid spirits." In
another letter an officer refers to the generosity of the rations. "In
addition to meat and bread (or biscuit)," he says, "we get 1/4lb. jam,
1/4lb. bacon, 3oz. cheese, tea, etc., while the horses have had a good
supply of oats and hay." During the whole of the long retreat from Mons,
says an officer of the Berkshires, "there was only one day when we
missed our jam rations!"
And it is the same with the men. Here are some brief extracts from their
letters:
Private ----, 20th Field Ambulance:
"Our food supply is magnificent. We have everything we want and
food to spare. Bacon and tomatoes is a common breakfast for us."
Driver Finch: "I am in the best of health, with the feeding and the
open-air life. The stars have been our covering for the last few
weeks."
Sergeant, Infantry Regiment: "The arrangements are very good--no
worry or hitch anywhere; it is all wonderful."
Cavalryman: "We live splendidly, being even able to supplement our
generous rations with eggs, milk and vegetables as we go through
the villages."
Gunner: "Having the time of my life."
Of course, the exigencies of war may not always permit of the perfect
working of the supply machine. Already there have been many hardships to
be endured. Incessant fighting does not give the men time for proper
meals, sleep is either cut out altogether or reduced to an occasional
couple of hours, heavy rains bring wet clothing and wetter resting
places, boots wear out with prolonged marching, and men have to go for
days and even weeks unwashed, unshaven, and without even a chance of
getting out of their clothes for a single hour.
The officers suffer just as much as the men. After a fortnight or three
weeks at the front one cavalry officer wrote that he "had not taken his
clothes off since he left the Curragh." "For five days," another says,
"I never took off my boots, even to sleep, and for two days I did not
even wash my hands or face. For three days and nights I got just four
hours' sleep. The want of sleep was the one thing we felt." Sleep,
indeed, is just the last thing the officers get. Brigadier-General Sir
Philip Chetwode outlines his daily program as "work from 4 a.m. to 11
p.m., then writing and preparations until 4 a.m. again." To make matters
worse just at the start of the famous cavalry charge which brought Sir
Philip such distinction, his pack-horse bolted into the German lines
carrying all his luggage, and leaving him nothing but a toothbrush!
One of the Dorsets' officers reports that "owing to the continuous
fighting the 'evening meal' has become conspicuous by its absence," but
in spite of having carried a 1lb. tin of compressed beef and a few
biscuits about with them for several days they are all "most beastly fit
on it." "No one seems any the worse, and I feel all the fitter," writes
an officer of a Highland Regiment, "after long marches in the rain going
to bed as wet as a Scotch mist."
The men are just as cheerful as their officers. "You can't expect a
blooming Ritz Hotel in the firing line," is how a jocular Cockney puts
it. An artilleryman says they would fare sumptuously if it weren't for
the German shells at meal times: "one shell, for instance, shattered our
old porridge pot before we'd had a spoonful out of it!" Lieutenant
Jardine, a son of Sir John Jardine, M.P., relates this same incident.
Gunner Prince, R.F.A., has a little joke about the sleeping quarters:
"Just going to bed. Did I say bed? I mean under the gun with an overcoat
for a blanket." There is no sort of grumbling at all. As Lieutenant
Stringer, of the 5th Lancers, expresses it, the A.S.C. "manage things
very well, and our motto is 'always merry and bright.'"
Occasionally, when there is a lull in the operations, the men dine
gloriously. Stories are told of gargantuan feeds--of majestic stews that
can be scented even in the German lines. Occasionally, too, there is the
capture of a banquet prepared for the enemy's officers as the following
message from the _Standard_ illustrates: "A small party of our cavalry
were out on reconnaissance work, scouring woods and searching the
countryside. Just about dusk a hail of bullets came upon our party from
a small spinney of fir trees on the side of a hill. We instantly wheeled
off as if we were retreating, but, in fact, we merely pretended to
retire and galloped round across plowed land to the other side of the
spinney, fired on the men, and they mounted their horses and flew like
lightning out of their 'supper room.' They left a finely cooked repast
of beef-steaks, onions and fried potatoes all ready and done to a turn,
with about fifty bottles of Pilsner lager beer, which was an acceptable
relish to our meal. Ten of our men gave chase and returned for an
excellent feed."
Another amusing capture is that of an enterprising Tommy who possessed
himself of a German officer's bearskin, a cap, helmet, and Jaeger
sleeping bag. He is now regarded as the "toff of the regiment." The
luxury of a bath was indulged in by a company of Berkshires at one
encampment. Forty wine barrels nearly full of water were discovered
here, and the thirsty men were about to drink it when their officer
stopped them. "Well," said one, "if it's not good enough to drink it'll
do to wash in," and with one accord they stripped and jumped into the
barrels! Nothing has been more notable than Tommy's desire for
cleanliness and tidiness. It is something fine and healthy about the
British soldier. One wounded man, driven up to a hospital, limped with
difficulty to a barber's shop for a shave before he would enter the
building. "I couldn't face the doctors and nurses looking like I was,"
he told the ambulance attendant.
Of all the soldiers' wants the most imperative appears to be the
harmless necessary cigarette. All their letters clamor for tobacco in
that form. "We can't get a decent smoke here," says one writer. An army
airman "simply craves for cigarettes and matches." From a cavalryman
comes the appeal that a few boxes of cigarettes and some thick chocolate
would be luxuries. "Just fancy," to quote from another letter, "one
cigarette among ten of us--hardly one puff a-piece."
In the French hospitals the wounded men are being treated with the
greatest kindness, and during convalescence are being loaded with
luxuries. "Spoilt darlings," one Scottish nurse in Paris says about
them, "but who could help spoiling them?" They are so happy and
cheerful, so grateful for every little service, so eager to return to
the firing line in order to "get the war over and done with." "We've
promised to be home by Christmas," they say, "and that turkey and
plum-pudding will be spoilt if we don't turn up."
Home by Christmas! That is Tommy Atkins' idea of a "Non-stop run to
Berlin"--the facetious notice he printed in chalk on the troop trains at
Boulogne as, singing "It's a long way to Tipperary," he rolled away to
the greatest battles that have ever seared the face of Europe.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote A: Extract from _The Times_ report of the German Emperor's
Army Orders, dated Headquarters, Aix-la-Chapelle, August 19th, 1914.]
[Footnote B: Copyright Chappell & Co., Ltd., 41 East 34th St., New
York.]
[Footnote C: _Daily Express_, Sept. 25th, 1914.]
[Footnote D: The Irish Guards were created entirely on the initiative of
Queen Victoria, and as a recognition of the fine achievements of "Her
brave Irish" in the South African War.]
[Footnote E: Gunner Batey, Royal Garrison Artillery, writes of a
comrade, Gunner Spencer Mann: "He seems in his glory during the
fighting. He fears nothing, and is always shouting, 'Into them, lads:
the sooner we get through, the sooner we'll get home.'"]
[Footnote F: "The German officers are a rum lot," writes Sergeant W.
Holmes; "they lead from the rear all the time."]
[Footnote G: "When they are working hardest their rations would not do
for a tom-tit," says Sergeant J. Baker.]
[Footnote H: This letter was written to the son of a London vicar, and
published in _The Times_, Sept. 12th, 1914.]
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