his face twitching insanely, puckering his fierce eyes.
When the lieutenant spoke of the blur of smoke on
the horizon he sprang round and peered out through
the narrow slit between the wall and the roof. Then
he turned with a cry of panic.
" They are all round us ! Starboard your helm I
West-by -north-west ! "
The ship came round on her new course with a
wallowing roll. The captain peered again through
the observation slit.
Suddenly there was a fearful shock, a deafening
roar, and the slit was vividly illuminated. The
conning-tower had been again struck. The captain
toppled backward on his heels, an object of sickening
horror. The top of his head was gone. The gunnery-
lieutenant sank quietly to his knees and slid over
sideways. The officer at the helm was leaning over
the wheel, motionless and staring. A splinter had
gone through his brain. Lieutenant Bielefeld sprang
to take his place. Three men beside himself, range-
takers and electricians, were left alive in the conning-
tower. They seemed in a stupor, dazed by the shock.
" Telephone to Lieutenant von Waldkirch that
he is now in command ! "
66 NERVES !
An electrician roused himself, attempted to obey,
and reported :
" The communications are broken, Herr Leutnant."
" One of you go and fetch him — he is in the after
fire-control station."
A man wrenched at the lid of the manhole.
" It will not open, Herr Leutnant — it is jammed."
The lieutenant glanced at the observation slit.
The aperture was no longer regular. In front of him
it gaped, behind him it was closed.
" So ! — then we will carry on ! " His face had gone
deathly pale, but his lips were tight -pressed. " Tele-
phone to such guns as you can — independent firing ! "
He himself leaned over to the voice-funnel from the
engine-room. " Wollenmetz ! — Wollenmetz ! "
The reply came in a gush of fluent curses, evidently
roared with full lung-power at the other end and ter-
minating with : " What is it ? "
" Are you all well down there ? " shouted the
lieutenant.
"All well! We have a shell in the engine-room,
the men in the forward stokeholds are all suffocated
— and we have dropped to 100 revolutions — what is
happening with you above ? Tell me for God's sake !
It is hell here ! "
" We carry on— fur Gott und Kaiser /" yelled the
lieutenant in reply.
At the helm, he kept the cruiser steadily on her
new course. Every moment he expected to feel the
shock of more hits but none came. Evidently they
were getting out of range. It seemed curious with
the known lessening of the ship's speed, but there was
NERVES ! 67
the fact. Encouraged, he shouted down the tube to
the engine-room to get all the speed they could.
" We are running out of danger ! " he added cheer-
fully. " Find out what has happened to the ship if
you can — all communications are broken." For a
long time he waited for a reply, but none came. His
shouts down the tube elicited no response. Thus
isolated from the life of the ship of which he was
actually in command he kept on his course, bearing
every now and then a little more to the west in his
fear of the ships towards the north-east. How long
he continued thus he could not tell. Every now and
then he glanced at the clock in front of him. It
marked always the same time. It was broken.
Rolling heavily, the cruiser ran onward, unmolested.
The three men began to converse cheerfully. The
possibility of escape now seemed to them a prob-
ability. The lieutenant also began to indulge the
same hope, but the whereabouts of the ship which
had engaged them worried him.
Suddenly there was a terrific shock, another red
illumination of the slit at the top of the armour -wall,
another tremendous roar. Two men who had been
leaning against the wall fell dead without a scratch.
The impact had killed them. The other man had
sprung to the lid of the manhole, was beating against
it with his fists and screaming like a maniac. Pre-
sently he sank down and hid his face in his hands,
moaning like a terror-stricken child. The lieutenant
ignored him in an agony of apprehension. Were they
overtaken ?
Outside, explosion followed explosion. The floor
68 NERVES !
of the conning-tower listed steeply to starboard, and
with every lift and drop of the vessel the bodies about
his feet slid towards the wall. Suddenly, to his horror,
he saw a wisp of smoke issuing from the voice-tube
leading to the engine-room. What had happened ?
Had they stopped ? As the ship dived down a wave
he tuned himself to sensitiveness. He felt the momen-
tary race of the screws threshing the air, just per-
ceptible. Thank God, they were still moving ! The
succession of detonations outside never ceased. He
could only guess at their effect and the direction from
which the projectiles came. Assuming the enemy
to be still to starboard, he put the helm hard over in
a last despairing effort to run out of range. The
compass card whirled round in the wrong direction !
The steering-gear had gone.
The ship no longer rose to the seas. She rolled
heavily from side to side in the trough of the waves.
The lieutenant looked around helplessly at the
bodies on the floor, at the wrecked indicators, at the
useless wheel, at the man who rocked to and fro with
his head in his hands. His continuous pitiful moan-
ing exasperated the lieutenant to madness. He drew
his revolver and commanded him, with frenzied
vehemence, to be quiet. The man stared wildly at
the muzzle of the revolver, opened his mouth as
though about to shriek, and collapsed in a dead faint.
The lieutenant turned from him and went to the
observation slit. As the ship lifted clumsily sideways
on a wave he had a view of a dark grey cruiser driving
through the mist, quite close — on the port side !
This was a new unsuspected enemy. Water was
NERVES ! 69
streaming from her decks as she rose buoyantly on
the sea. A string of flags fluttered along a halyard
from her mast. She seemed as normal as a ship on
manoeuvres. Suddenly half a dozen spurts of bright
flame broke from her dark sides. The lieutenant
felt the ship under his feet shiver and stagger in a
deafening roar. Then he felt the weight of his body
heavy against the wall of the conning-tower. He was
lying almost horizontal against that wall. Through
the slit he looked out upon confused water only, in
the place of sea and sky. A great wave rolled straight
towards him, splashed against the conning-tower,
poured through the slit in a torrent. He sprang back
in pitch darkness, fighting with both hands in a last
instinctive struggle for life. The solid floor went
from under him, human hands clutched at his legs,
blindly feeling up his trousers. He kicked — choking
— in a ray less night.
• • . • • • •
Hull-down on the horizon a German battle-cruiser
was reporting a strange vessel that had suddenly
appeared, challenged and received her fire, and then
run back into the midst of British cruisers which had
immediately sunk her. Emden sent disquieting
answers to urgent enquiries.
The great wireless station at Nauen received the
news of another inexplicable disaster.
72 THE AIR SCOUT (1914)
The blow of the enemy had been terrible. The
Army had been smitten in its eyes. It was now only
a blind giant striking at an adversary whose vision
was unimpaired. The entire air-squadron of the
force, rising from its harbourage at the break of day,
had been suddenly assailed by a superior fleet that
dropped out of the clouds upon them. Watchers
from below had seen short lightning flashes stabbing
the grey mist, had heard a sharp outbreak of firing,
had seen phantom aeroplanes rising, circling, swoop-
ing, colliding in thin cloud, had seen the machines
one after another tumble and dive, lapped by flames,
in a sickening rush to earth. Not theirs alone now
lay, crumpled and contorted masses of scrap-iron,
over the country-side, but of theirs none had escaped.
The rear of their battle -line was a picture that his
scouts could report upon at leisure. What lay at
the rear of his ? None knew, but the vehemence of
his fire told that he was pressing his advantage.
The presentiment of defeat lay heavy on the little
group as they disputed on the blame to be allotted
for the catastrophe.
The staff-officer tugged impatiently at his little
grey moustache. His teeth champed at a bit of grass
that was no longer there. In his anxiety he had not
noticed that it had fallen from his mouth.
" I wish those chaps would be quick," he said.
" The General is most anxious to have that flank
cleared up."
" They are being quick, sir," replied the aviator,
with a smile. His keen, thoughtful face showed that
he was not indifferent to the urgency of the situation,
THE AIR SCOUT (1914) 73
but his calm mouth told of nerves that nothing could
shake. Within that green bower lay the one hope of
the Army — its lightest and swiftest monoplane,
damaged in landing the day before, now being re-
paired as fast as skilled hands could do the work.
" You quite understand, don't you ? " said the
staff -officer, repeating himself for the tenth time.
" The General thinks that a movement is in progress
against our right flank. A screen is extending there
which he cannot penetrate. If they are moving a
large force round us he can detach the Sixth Division
to hold them, and with a massed attack he'll crumple
up their left centre which they must have weakened.
He'll repeat Salamanca, that's what he said — I don't
know what happened at Salamanca," he concluded
irritably, " but anyway he daren't move a man till
he's sure. I wish your chaps would get finished."
He looked up into the air above him with a circling
glance. " How many have they got now ? "
" Four, I make it," replied the aviator equably.
" They had ten yesterday. Five were smashed up
this morning. One got winged an hour ago."
At that moment a dirty and perspiring man came
out of the bower and, approaching them, saluted.
" Ready, sir," he said.
" Right. Get her out, then," said the aviator.
" No ! Wait ! " His gaze had gone up to the sky.
" There he comes again."
11 D — n ! " said the staff -officer, staring upwards
also.
High in the air an aeroplane was coming towards
them, parallel with their own battle-line. In the
74 THE AIR SCOUT (1914)
swollen roar of the conflict, the hum of its engine was
inaudible. It seemed to drift onward leisurely enough,
sinking slightly as it approached but well above
effective gun-fire. Tiny white dots of smoke that
sprang into the air below it were a proof of that.
Slowly, as though making a careful examination, it
passed overhead. Suddenly it turned and dropped
still lower, coming back towards them. Something
had awakened suspicion in the men up there. The
reason for that artificial bush became apparent.
The staff-officer gazed at the aeroplane, now rapidly
enlarging itself in his vision, as though mesmerised.
Anxiety for that precious machine under the leaves
paralysed him.
The aviator had turned to look at the gun on the
motor -lorry. The group about it sat in quiet expec-
tation. Its muzzle moved gently, came a little out
of the perpendicular. The aviator looked up again
at the machine drifting overhead. He heard a sudden
heavy detonation on his left and almost simultane-
ously he saw a bright flash appear in the dark body
of the aeroplane. The machine lurched, toppled,
dived, and, falling rapidly, turned bottom up in the
air. A couple of dark figures fell out, raced it in its
rush to the ground. A long minute later it struck
the centre of the field. Flames burst out of a shape-
less wreck. The aviator did not heed it. He ran
towards the bower.
" Quick ! " he cried. " Get her out ! "
Torn down by twenty pairs of eager hands, the
bower fell apart. The little monoplane was run out,
lay like a dragon-fly resting lightly on the earth.
THE AIR SCOUT (1914) 75
The aviator climbed into his seat between the wings,
sent a glance from the compass to the map held open
in its frame, saw that the message bags were ready
to his hand, tested the strap of the field-glasses hang-
ing from his neck with a sharp tug. He was ready.
In front of him two soldier mechanics stood holding
the long blades of the tractor screw. Over there,
beyond the wood, the uproar of the battle mounted
in violent paroxysms each of which surpassed its
predecessor. The tall staff-officer approached and
held out his hand.
"Good-bye — and good luck," he said, "and for
Heaven's sake let us know what's happening on that
flank. Don't wait to get back — drop the message."
He looked at his watch. " It's now twelve — if we
don't know something within an hour it's all over
with our chance. Can you manage it ? "
" I'll try, sir," said the aviator, checking the hour
with a glance at his own clock.
The staff-officer turned an anxious pair of eyes
upward for a swift look into the sky, seemed about
to make a remark and then obviously refrained.
" Good luck ! " was all he could trust himself to say.
The aviator smiled and nodded cheerfully. Then
he ejaculated a sharp order to the mechanics. They
flung the blades of the tractor into revolution. The
machine, emitting a series of riflelike reports, com-
menced to run across the field. The tractor became
a blur.
The woodland appeared to rush towards him and
then suddenly dropped away in a diagonal under-
neath. His eyes on the dial of the barograph, the
76 THE AIR SCOUT (1914)
aviator warped the machine round and set the planes
to an acute angle of elevation. Confident in the
power of his engine he mounted steeply in a spiral.
The record on the dial rose with every second — 100
feet — 200 — 400. In two and a half minutes he had
risen 1000 feet. He cast a swift look below him. He
was still over the field, had a glimpse of a group of
tiny figures clustered in front of the sheds. The rim
of the horizon came up, the earth fell into a great
concavity. It was like looking down into a vast bowl
containing woods and fields and flattened hills.
From the bowl clouds of yellow-grey dust arose like
smoke and out of the dust came a multiplicity of
heavy crashes that detached themselves from a back-
ground of unceasing clatter mingled with one long
rolling thunderous roar.
It was but a hasty glance the aviator threw below
him. Still mounting, his eyes searched the blue air
on a level with himself, above him. The enemy's
three machines where were they ? Far off to his
left a dark speck hung in the sky. He watched it
intently as his machine climbed. It was a biplane.
It appeared to be drifting away from him, engaged
in a reconnaissance of their left flank, he decided.
At any rate as yet they seemed not to have perceived
him. The others were not visible. He shot a glance
at the barograph — 3000 feet. He had been climbing
for five and a half minutes. Almost immediately he
saw a trail of smoke ascending with incredible velocity
in the air a little below him to his right. The trail
finished abruptly in a vivid flash, a burst of white
smoke and a violent detonation. The monoplane
THE AIR SCOUT (1914) 77
rocked from side to side in the sudden disturbance
of the air but continued to climb. A second later a
similar trial ended in an explosion at a level with
him on his left. He saw a gash appear suddenly in
the fabric of one of his planes, and the needle of the
barograph switch back 50 feet with a jerk. Then
the altitude record mounted again steadily — 3250 —
3500 — 4000. The noise of the battle diminished as
he rose, dropped to a point where it was all but
obscured by the roar of his own engine. Below him
the smoke trails leaped up at him and burst viciously
in vain.
Four thousand five hundred — he glanced at the
hostile biplane to his left and saw that it hung larger
in the sky. Even in the moment for which he watched
it it dilated. It was approaching at top speed. He
was discovered, pursued. Instantly he turned off
to his right and raced across the battlefield in the
direction of the threatening flank. As he did so, he
perceived another aeroplane rising from the enemy's
lines. It climbed swiftly in bold swoops and then
shot off towards him in a great upward slant. Two !
Where was the third ? He failed to discover it and
held on his course.
His direction was at an angle across the battlefield
which took him towards the enemy's left flank rather
than to their own right. As he sped over it, he looked
down upon a broad miles -long belt of yellow-grey
dust that rose raggedly into the air, and was spotted
with an innumerable multitude of white puffs that
renewed themselves as fast as they were dissipated.
In many places these puffs congregated thickly and,
78 THE AIR SCOUT (1914)
as they broke, linked themselves with others until
they floated like little narrow clouds in the air below
him. As he looked down into the great concavity
of the earth he seemed to be over some enormous
smoking fissure in a crater whose circumference was
the horizon. The rumble and roar which ascended
from it assisted the illusion. Tiny sparks of flame
darted and flickered in the fumes of that inferno,
and here and there flashed a number of glittering
points, the reflection of the sun from advancing
bayonets. To distinguish men was impossible, but
in occasional rifts in the dust curtain he could make
out brown patches of varying size, and, over to his left,
on the enemy's side, similar though darker patches.
He could permit himself no sustained scrutiny of
the scene below him for the management of the
machine began to claim all his attention. Even at
that great height above the battle, the air on that
windless day, shaken and riven by the unceasing
concussions of the massed artillery of two armies,
was full of flaws. The needle of the barograph
flickered, oscillated violently in leaps to and fro.
The monoplane, tilted dangerously, now on one side,
now on the other, in eddies of the tortured atmo-
sphere, slid downward dizzily ere it could be brought
up to climb a bank of air. It needed strong arms
at the controls, a quick brain and nerves of perfect
tone to keep her upon the appointed course. Glancing
back, the aviator saw that the flight of the nearer of
the two hostile machines, the one which had risen from
the enemy's lines and was now approaching him on
his left, was similarly erratic.
THE AIR SCOUT (1914) 79
An overpowering heat, as from a vast open furnace,
arose from the battlefield below. It was the heat
from thousands of explosions, renewed incessantly
and sustained over many hours. Stifling gusts blew
on to the aviator's face, carrying with them a peculiar
smell of burning cloth. With these gusts the roar
of the battle seemed to leap up to him. The air was
oppressive despite the speed at which he clove it,
highly charged with electricity, heavy with the
menace of a storm. Yet no cloud broke the monotony
of the blue sky. The machine raced onward, was
now crossing the battle lines of the enemy's left flank.
Suddenly he heard a faint rattle behind him. The
hostile aeroplane, realising that it had failed to head
him off, was firing furiously. He felt the machine
shiver under a quick succession of hard raps. In-
stinctively, he pressed upon his accelerator, and,
with a touch on the warping lever, the machine shot
forward at terrific speed. The raps ceased. He
turned his head and saw his enemy rapidly diminish
in size behind him, saw that the other aeroplane, the
one he had seen first, had fallen far in rear. A con-
fident smile came on the tight lips of the aviator.
He could outpace them both.
He was now above the enemy's left flank — a little
to the right of the spot that the Commander-in-Chief
had designated as the object of his possible attack.
The scout switched off his engine and commenced to
drop along a slant towards the centre of the enemy's
position. With the sudden silencing of his engine
the roar of the battle came up at him in a crash and
stayed there. He glanced at the time — 12.13 — and
78 THE AIR SCOUT (1914)
as they broke, linked themselves with others until
they floated like little narrow clouds in the air below
him. As he looked down into the great concavity
of the earth he seemed to be over some enormous
smoking fissure in a crater whose circumference was
the horizon. The rumble and roar which ascended
from it assisted the illusion. Tiny sparks of flame
darted and flickered in the fumes of that inferno,
and here and there flashed a number of glittering
points, the reflection of the sun from advancing
bayonets. To distinguish men was impossible, but
in occasional rifts in the dust curtain he could make
out brown patches of varying size, and, over to his left,
on the enemy's side, similar though darker patches.
He could permit himself no sustained scrutiny of
the scene below him for the management of the
machine began to claim all his attention. Even at
that great height above the battle, the air on that
windless day, shaken and riven by the unceasing
concussions of the massed artillery of two armies,
was full of flaws. The needle of the barograph
flickered, oscillated violently in leaps to and fro.
The monoplane, tilted dangerously, now on one side,
now on the other, in eddies of the tortured atmo-
sphere, slid downward dizzily ere it could be brought
up to climb a bank of air. It needed strong arms
at the controls, a quick brain and nerves of perfect
tone to keep her upon the appointed course. Glancing
back, the aviator saw that the flight of the nearer of
the two hostile machines, the one which had risen from
the enemy's lines and was now approaching him on
his left, was similarly erratic.
THE AIR SCOUT (1914) 79
An overpowering heat, as from a vast open furnace,
arose from the battlefield below. It was the heat
from thousands of explosions, renewed incessantly
and sustained over many hours. Stifling gusts blew
on to the aviator's face, carrying with them a peculiar
smell of burning cloth. With these gusts the roar
of the battle seemed to leap up to him. The air was
oppressive despite the speed at which he clove it,
highly charged with electricity, heavy with the
menace of a storm. Yet no cloud broke the monotony
of the blue sky. The machine raced onward, was
now crossing the battle lines of the enemy's left flank.
Suddenly he heard a faint rattle behind him. The
hostile aeroplane, realising that it had failed to head
him off, was firing furiously. He felt the machine
shiver under a quick succession of hard raps. In-
stinctively, he pressed upon his accelerator, and,
with a touch on the warping lever, the machine shot
forward at terrific speed. The raps ceased. He
turned his head and saw his enemy rapidly diminish
in size behind him, saw that the other aeroplane, the
one he had seen first, had fallen far in rear. A con-
fident smile came on the tight lips of the aviator.
He could outpace them both.
He was now above the enemy's left flank — a little
to the right of the spot that the Commander-in-Chief
had designated as the object of his possible attack.
The scout switched off his engine and commenced to
drop along a slant towards the centre of the enemy's
position. With the sudden silencing of his engine
the roar of the battle came up at him in a crash and
stayed there. He glanced at the time — 12.13 — and
80 THE AIR SCOUT (1914)
gave himself a limit of two minutes in which to re-
connoitre. For the moment he ignored his adversaries
in the air. As he gazed down through the transparent
panel between his feet, his glasses to his eyes, the
ground that slid away under him appeared to be
subjected to a constantly increasing magnification.
Fields, houses, roads grew momentarily more distinct.
Without taking his gaze from the scene below the
aviator checked the drop of his machine and drove
forward. Quickly his trained eye took in the details
of the ground, the position and approximate numbers
of the men that he saw massed in dark patches here
and there. Over a long stretch of the position the
enemy's line was obviously thinner. The country
behind it was empty of troops. The General's in-
tuition was correct. The enemy had weakened his left
centre. Point Number One was settled. Now what
had he done with the troops he had withdrawn ?
As the aviator turned his machine to reconnoitre
in the new direction, he was surprised to see the
hostile aeroplane between him and his objective.
Absorbed in his scrutiny of the ground, he had all
but forgotten it. It was slightly higher than him-
self and about half a mile distant. He could not