CHAPTER XIISPORT EXTRAORDINARY
Somewhere in the North of France,Monday.
There is an undoubted fascination in being about at sunrise on a clear, fine morning. And especially so when up in the air.
Our day was of this variety. A day when a man’s heart yearns for a moor, a dog, and a gun. For moor we had the long, flat, dreary sandhill and marshes of the Belgian coast; a dog was not needed, and in fact would have been in the way.
And our gun was not of a type particularly well-known or approved of in sporting circles—a “Lewis” machine-gun, fitted above with a tray of forty-seven cartridges.
Our quest was “wild ducks,” an idea as novel as it was entertaining, originating with the padre of the station—a cheery individual, who divided his attention between writing insufferably bad verse, and collecting mess-subscriptions from irritated members.
The sun rose over the sea, lighting the bluesurface with a thousand scintillating rays. The tents of the camps thousands of feet below began to show up against the gray of the earth, and the red flashes of the rifle volleys combined with the white cloud and roar of the belching heavy-gun to complete our picture of the waking world.
But we had not much time to pay attention to these matters, for our minds and eyes were concentrated on the one subject.
From what direction would they first appear? Would they come up to us, or would we have to put “her” down to them? The sun was well up in the sky, and signs of life and movement were beginning to make themselves manifest “down there,” before several tiny black specks appeared on the horizon coming up from the ground behind the marshes at Nieuport.
We brought the aeroplane round, to get the birds between the sun and ourselves, and with the wind at their backs, so as not to be aware of our approach. However, they turned off seawards, and again we had to change our course, until they seemed to be at too great a distance for us ever to get them within gun range. The noise of the racing engine must have reached them on this new tack, for we were now only half-head on to the wind; but of this they took not the slightest notice, keeping on their way a regular and well-ordered flock.
As a matter of fact this could be explained by the reason that birds in that neighborhood must have become so entirely used to the whirr of a passing aeroplane, for as many as a score passed over this same district every fine day.
We now changed our tactics, and brought her round with the sun at our backs, casting a shadow across the path of the moving flock, and a small dull replica which moved in an alarming and amazing manner across field and hedge, house and farm, beneath.
At last we were getting up with them, and to signalize the happy event the padre let off a dozen rounds, which went very far wide of the mark, and only served to divide the flock into two portions, the larger of which continued in a seaward direction.
These we determined to follow, and coming down to 500 feet, opened the engine “full out” to close on 100 miles an hour.
Never before had one realized the wonderful speed which these birds can keep up when on the wing. For with all our great speed we were yet far behind, and every moment drawing nearer to the sea, across which at this extremely low altitude we dare not venture.
Thus it seemed as if we should have to return, defeated and discomforted, to a scoffing, chaffingaudience on the aerodrome, still visible some five miles to the south-east.
However, immediately before reaching the seashore our quarry turned again, and this time along the coast. Then, banking her over to the new direction, we found ourselves “down-wind” with an additional speed at the back of us of 15 m.p.h., which soon began to tell. The padre began to get unduly excited, and succeeded in giving a not unmusical series of “zimms” on the gun; the cartridges falling spent and useless on to the sand-dunes; there were no casualties. Undaunted, we kept on, taking care this time to get nearer up. The enemy were beginning to tire by this time, so putting in a fresh tray of ammunition, our courageous marksman let fly, with excellent results, three of the rearguard speeding headlong down to the earth. The pangs of a not unnatural hunger now beginning to make themselves evident, and finding ourselves some thirty miles from home, we turned her head for home and there eventually arrived, happy and hungry, after having set a new fashion in sporting and aviation circles, and discovered a new form of amusement and speculation for theblaséones, who had deserted their card-tables and cheap French novelettes to welcome us on our return.