CHAPTER XISOME ANECDOTES
Somewhere in Belgium,Thursday.
“The life of an airman is one of intense idleness interrupted by moments of violent fear.” This remark, originating as it does from a youthful member of the Senior Service describes, more aptly than any other yet penned, the life of the airman under active service conditions. Sometimes there will come a spell of fine weather, and he is kept going hard at it from sunrise to sunset. At other times when the weather is too bad for flying, he has nought else to do but sit round the mess-fire and tell stories.
The memory of those wet days! Men of all sorts and conditions exchanging personal experiences: anecdotes of hair-raising escapes from bursting shrapnel shells, thrilling fights with Air Huns, miraculous evolutions in mid-air, and a thousand and one other subjects dear to the heart of the airman. I will here endeavor to relate several of the best stories that have so far comemy way, but it is impossible to tell more than five per cent. of them, for their name is Legion.
The first story concerns a well-known aerodrome somewhere in Flanders. The pilots of the station, when the weather was too bad for flying, filled up their spare time by playing football; until one day a wag amongst them suggested that a ball should be blown up as tight as possible; taken up in an aeroplane and dropped on the German lines. This suggestion was duly carried out and the first fine day the ball was put aboard a machine going up the Belgian Coast for a reconnaissance trip. Arrived over the town that had been decided upon, it was dropped overboard, with quite accurate aim into the market square. Seeing this dark awesome object falling through the air and taking it for a bomb the Germans took to their heels. Landing on the cobbled pave, it must have bounced nearly twenty feet into the air, then gradually lower and lower, until at last it rolled into a ditch. Then and only then did the Germans reappear, one fat soldier going over to it and giving it a vicious kick.
An instance of aircamaraderiewas that of the Bosche who brought Pégoud down after a fight in mid-air. Hearing that he had been killed, and where he was to be buried, he came over and dropped a wreath on the scene of his burial ground—a pretty compliment that was greatly appreciated.
The story concerning Captain M—— is the most striking of the war. Poor fellow, he has since been killed. It happened one very misty morning. M—— was on a reconnaissance trip. His engine failed and had to come down a good ten miles behind their lines. However, he landed safely, and had just burnt his machine, when he saw three dark figures coming up out of the fog, and taking discretion to be the better part of valor he fled, and hid himself in a ditch hard by. He was there for the whole of a day and a night, and it has since been ascertained that there were close on five thousand Bosches searching for him the whole time. When he found the coast was clear, he crept out of the ditch, and marched off boldly down the road until he met a friendly Belgian peasant; from this chap he wheedled an old suit of clothes, and, thus attired, walked on nearly to Lille. Here he acted somewhat foolishly. He boarded a tramcar bound for the city, not knowing where to ask to be put down. The car was full of Prussian officers. The man came for his fare; and for a moment he was nonplussed. Then he had a brain-wave. Remembering that every town in Belgium possesses a glorified market square, he demandedà la grande place, s’il vous plait, and pulled out a handful of silver coins to pay the man. Such a thing as a silver coin had not been seen in Lille for months, ever sincethe Germans had captured it in fact. Fortunately the Prussians were too much occupied in their own conversation to take any notice ofein schweinhundof a Belgian peasant. Arrived in the city, luck again favored him, and he obtained shelter in a garret for three weeks. Then the police grew suspicious, and late one night he was forced to clear out hurriedly. After leaving the city he had a terrible time. He tramped right across Belgium, always at night, and every moment in fear of his life, feeding on anything he could find, crusts and offal thrown to the pigs, and stale bread thrown away by the German soldiers. Footsore, weary, hungry and exhausted he at last arrived at the Dutch frontier. Here occurred another agonizing wait. Again for a day and a night he lay hidden in a ditch, until late that evening the sentry paused on his beat to light his pipe. This was his opportunity. It was a moonlight night. He dashed across the intervening space. The sentry fired three shots and missed each time. He got across Holland, to a seaport town, stowed himself aboard a fishing smack, got to England and reported himself to the astonished officials at the War Office.
This reminds me of a story told by a certain famous airman, a little man with a great heart, on whose breast there are the flaring crimson of the French Légion d’Honneur and the crimson andblue of the Distinguished Service Order. I will give you his own words. “I went over the lines with X—— for an observer. He’d never been over the lines before and I must confess that I felt a wee bit shaky as to how he would take it. Luckily we got across without a single shot being fired at us—and then we met a Taube, coming right down wind at about ninety miles, and at about our own level. I looked at X——, who for a time, was too busy watching the other chap coming up to notice me, but finally he turned and smiled, and I knew he was all right. ‘Got the Lewis-gun ready?’ I bawled into his ear. He nodded, and then we cleared the decks for action, so to speak. He put a fresh tray of ammunition on the gun, and got two other trays ready by the side of him, while I had a look at the bombs and grenades, and put the joy-stick about a bit just to see that she was all right. The other chap still kept on, and was only about a hundred yards off when X—— opened fire, zipp-zipp-zipp-zipp, seventy-eight of the little beggars slick into the middle of him. Gave him hell, I can tell you; at all events he didn’t stick it long. Down went the nose of his machine, and he was very soon about a thousand feet beneath us. I loosed off all my bombs, quick as I could, missed every time, had a shot with a grenade and missed again. I must confess I felt a wee bit flurried that morning—andthen X—— began. Never laughed so much in all my life. He laid his hands on everything, his hat and his glasses—Government glasses, by the way—and his revolver and spare cartridges. Thank God! There was nothing of mine in the front there.”
Not nearly so pleasant, however, was the experience of a certain seaplane pilot, who when flying across the Channel from Belgium to England was forced by engine trouble to come down on to the sea, in the midst of our own mine-fields, very far removed from the track of all shipping. Here he remained for eleven and a half hours, until sighted by a torpedo-boat, which though unable to reach him herself, was able to give warning ashore, so that a small motor-boat succeeded in finding a way through the mines, rescued the pilot, but was forced to abandon the machine.
Another story concerning Pégoud. The Germans brought Pégoud down, when flying one of the new French machines, that are supposed to have so many wonderful new improvements aboard, and that they’re so secretive about. He didn’t have time to burn it—and the Huns were very keen on learning how the thing flew. So they tackled Pégoud on the subject. He said he was perfectly willing to give them an exhibition himself, but they didn’t care for the idea. “Yes, and when you get up there you’ll fly away back to yourown lines again.” “Very well,” he said; “send two of your men up with revolvers and let them sit one on each side of me, so that I won’t be able to get away.” To this they afterwards agreed, and the first fine morning Pégoud, with the two men sitting on each side of the fuselage, goes up about 10,000 feet. Then one of the Huns began to get impatient. Said he: “I think we’d better go down now.” “That’s all right,” Pégoud answered, “you’re going.” And with that he put his joy-stick down. She went over a good clean loop, and the Bosches went down quicker than they bargained for.