The Mastery of the Air
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William J. Claxton >> The Mastery of the Air
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When the actual flying men are counted in thousands some idea may
be gained of the great organization required for the Corps--the
schools and flying grounds, the training and activities of the
mechanics, the workshops and repair shops, the storage of spare
parts, the motor transport, &c. As in other departments of the
Service, women have come forward and are doing excellent and most
responsible work, especially in the motor-transport section.
A very striking feature of the Corps is the extreme youth of the
members, many of the most daring fighters in the air being mere
boys of twenty.
The Corps has the very pick of the youth and daring and
enterprise of the country. In the days of the old army there
existed certain unwritten laws of precedence as between various
branches of the Service. If such customs still prevail it is
certain that the very newest arm would take pride of place. The
flying man has recaptured some of the glamour and romance which
encircled the knight-errant of old. He breathes the very
atmosphere of dangerous adventure. Life for him is a series of
thrills, any one of which would be sufficient to last the
ordinary humdrum citizen for a lifetime. Small wonder that the
flying man has captured the interest and affection of the people,
and all eyes follow these trim, smart, desperadoes of the air in
their passage through our cities.
As regards the work of the flying man the danger curve seems to
be changing. On the one hand the training is much more severe
and exacting than formerly was the case, and so carries a greater
element of danger. On the other hand on the battle-front
fighting information has in great measure taken the place
of the system of men going up "on their own". They are perhaps
not so liable to meet with a numerical superiority on the part
of enemy machines, which spelt for them almost certain
destruction.
For a long time the policy of silence and secrecy which screened
"the front" from popular gaze kept us in ignorance of the
achievements of our airmen. But finally the voice of the people
prevailed in their demand for more enlightenment. Names of
regiments began to be mentioned in connection with particular
successes. And in the same way the heroes of the R.F.C. and
R.N.A.S. were allowed to reap some of the laurels they deserved.
It began to be recognized that publication of the name of an
airman who had destroyed a Zeppelin, for instance, did not
constitute any vital information to the enemy. In a recent raid
upon London the names of the two airmen, Captain G. H. Hackwill,
R.F.C., and Lieutenant C. C. Banks, R.F.C., who destroyed a
Gotha, were given out in the House of Commons and saluted with
cheers. In the old days the secretist party would have regarded
this publication as a policy which led the nation in the direct
line of "losing the war".
In the annals of the Flying Service, where dare-devilry is taken
as a matter of course and hairbreadth escapes from death are part
of the daily routine, it is difficult to select adventures for
special mention; but the following episodes will give a general
idea of the work of the airman in war.
The great feat of Sub-Lieutenant R. A. J. Warneford, R.N.A.S.,
who single-handed attacked and destroyed a Zeppelin, has already
been referred to in Chapter XIII. Lieutenant Warneford was the
second on the list of airmen who won the coveted Cross, the first
recipient being Second-Lieutenant Barnard Rhodes-Moorhouse, for a
daring and successful bomb-dropping raid upon Courtrai in April,
1915. As has happened in so many cases, the award to Lieutenant
Rhodes-Moorhouse was a posthumous one, the gallant airman having
been mortally wounded during the raid, in spite of which he
managed by flying low to reach his destination and make his
report.
A writer of adventure stories for boys would be hard put to it to
invent any situation more thrilling than that in which
Squadron-Commander Richard Bell Davies, D.S.O., R.N., and Flight
Sub-Lieutenant Gilbert Formby Smylie, R.N., found themselves
while carrying out an air attack upon Ferrijik junction.
Smylie's machine was subjected to such heavy fire that it was
disabled, and the airman was compelled to plane down after
releasing all his bombs but one, which failed to explode. The
moment he alighted he set fire to his machine. Presently Smylie
saw his companion about to descend quite close to the burning
machine. There was infinite danger from the bomb. It was a
question of seconds merely before it must explode. So Smylie
rushed over to the machine, took hasty aim with his revolver, and
exploded the bomb, just before the Commander came within the
danger zone. Meanwhile the enemy had commenced to gather round
the two airmen, whereupon Squadron-Commander Davies coolly took
up the Lieutenant on his machine and flew away with him in safety
back to their lines. Davies, who had already won the D.S.O., was
given the V.C., while his companion in this amazing adventure was
granted the Distinguished Service Cross.
The unexpectedness, to use no stronger term, of life in the
R.F.C. in war-time is well exemplified by the adventure which
befell Major Rees. The pilot of a "fighter", he saw what he took
to be a party of air machines returning from a bombing
expedition. Proceeding to join them in the character of escort,
Major Rees made the unpleasant discovery that he was just about
to join a little party of ten enemy machines. But so far from
being dismayed, the plucky airman actually gave battle to the
whole ten. One he quickly drove "down and out", as the soldiers
say. Attacked by five others, he damaged two of them and
dispersed the remainder. Not content with this, he gave chase to
two more, and only broke off the engagement when he had received
a wound in the thigh. Then he flew home to make the usual
laconic report.
No record of heroism in the air could be complete without
mention of Captain Ball, who has already figured in these pages.
When awarded the V.C. Captain Ball was already the holder of the
following honours: D.S.0., M.C., Cross of a Chevalier of the
Legion of Honour, and the Russian order of St. George. This
heroic boy of twenty was a giant among a company of giants. Here
follows the official account which accompanied his award:--
"Lieutenant (temporary Captain) ALBERT BALL, D.S.O., M.C., late
Notts and Derby Regiment, and R.F.C.
"For most conspicuous and consistent bravery from April 25 to May
6, 1917, during which period Captain Ball took part in twenty-six
combats in the air and destroyed eleven hostile aeroplanes, drove
down two out of control, and formed several others to land.
"In these combats Captain Ball, flying alone, on one occasion
fought six hostile machines, twice he fought five, and once four.
"While leading two other British aeroplanes he attacked an enemy
formation of eight. On each of these occasions he brought down
at least one enemy.
"Several times his aeroplane was badly damaged, once so severely
that but for the most delicate handling his machine would have
collapsed, as nearly all the control wires had been shot away.
On returning with a damaged machine, he had always to be
restrained from immediately going out on another.
"In all Captain Ball has destroyed forty-three German aeroplanes
and one balloon, and has always displayed most exceptional
courage, determination, and skill."
So great was Captain Ball's skill as a fighter in the air that
for a time he was sent back to England to train new pilots in the
schools. But the need for his services at the front was even
greater, and it jumped with his desires, for the whole tone of
his letters breathes the joy he found in the excitements of
flying and fighting. He declares he is having a "topping
time", and exults in boyish fashion at a coming presentation to
Sir Douglas Haig. It is not too much to say that the whole
empire mourned when Captain Ball finally met his death in the air
near La Bassee in May, 1917.
CHAPTER XXXIX
Aeroplanes in the Great War
"Aeroplanes and airships would have given us an enormous
advantage against the Boers. The difficulty of laying ambushes
and traps for isolated columns--a practice at which the enemy
were peculiarly adept--would have been very much greater. Some
at least of the regrettable reverses which marked the early
stages of the campaign could in all probability have been
avoided."
So wrote Lord Roberts, our veteran field-marshal, in describing
the progress of the Army during recent years. The great soldier
was a man who always looked ahead. After his great and strenuous
career, instead of taking the rest which he had so thoroughly
earned, he spent laborious days travelling up and down the
country, warning the people of danger ahead; exhorting them to
learn to drill and to shoot; thus attempting to lay the
foundation of a great civic army. But his words, alas! fell upon
deaf ears--with results so tragic as hardly to bear dwelling
upon.
But even "Bobs", seer and true prophet as he was, could hardly
have foreseen the swift and dramatic development of war in the
air. He had not long been laid to rest when aeroplanes began to
be talked about, and, what is more important, to be built, not in
hundreds but in thousands. At the time of writing, when we are
well into the fourth year of the war, it seems almost impossible
for the mind to go back to the old standards, and to take in the
statement that the number of machines which accompanied the
original Expeditionary Force to France was eighty! Even if one
were not entirely ignorant of the number and disposition of the
aerial fighting forces over the world-wide battle-ground, the
Defence of the Realm Act would prevent us from making public the
information. But when, more than a year ago, America entered the
war, and talked of building 10,000 aeroplanes, no one gasped.
For even in those days one thought of aeroplanes not in hundreds
but in tens of thousands.
Before proceeding to give a few details of the most recent work
of the Royal Flying Corps and Royal Naval Air Service, mention
must be made of the armament of the aeroplane. In the first
place, it should be stated that the war has gradually evolved
three distinct types of flying machine: (1) the
"general-purposes" aeroplane; (2) the giant bomb dropper; (3) the
small single-seater "fighter".
As the description implies, the first machine fills a variety of
roles, and the duties of its pilots grow more manifold as the war
progresses. "Spotting" for the artillery far behind the enemy's
lines; "searching" for ammunition dumps, for new dispositions by
the enemy of men, material, and guns; attacking a convoy or
bodies of troops on the march; sprinkling new trenches with
machine-gun fire, or having a go at an aerodrome--any wild form
of aerial adventure might be included in the diary of the pilot
of a "general-purposes" machine.
It was in order to clear the air for these activities that the
"fighter" came into being, and received its baptism of fire at
the Battle of the Somme. At first the idea of a machine for
fighting only, was ridiculed. Even the Germans, who, in a
military sense, were awake and plotting when other nations were
dozing in the sunshine of peace, did not think ahead and imagine
the aerial duel between groups of aeroplanes armed with
machine-guns. But soon the mastery of the air became of
paramount importance, and so the fighter was evolved. Nobly,
too, did the men of all nations rise to these heroic and
dangerous opportunities. The Germans were the first to boast of
the exploits of their fighting airmen, and to us in Britain the
names of Immelmann and Bolcke were known long before those of
any of our own fighters. The former claimed not far short of a
hundred victims before he was at last brought low in June, 1916.
His letters to his family were published soon after his death,
and do not err on the side of modesty.
On 11th August, 1915, he writes: "There is not much doing here.
Ten minutes after Bolcke and I go up, there is not an enemy
airman to be seen. The English seem to have lost all pleasure in
flying. They come over very, very seldom."
When allowance has been made for German brag, these statements
throw some light upon the standard of British flying at a
comparatively early date in the war. Certainly no German airman
could have made any such complaint a year later. In 1917 the
German airmen were given all the fighting they required and a bit
over.
Certainly a very different picture is presented by the dismal
letters which Fritz sent home during the great Ypres offensive of
August, 1917. In these letters he bewails the fact that one
after another of his batteries is put out of action owing to the
perfect "spotting" of the British airmen, and arrives at the sad
conclusion that Germany has lost her superiority in the air.
An account has already been given of the skill and prowess of
Captain Ball. On his own count--and he was not the type of man
to exaggerate his prowess--he found he had destroyed fifty
machines, although actually he got the credit for forty-one.
This slight discrepancy may be explained by the scrupulous
care which is taken to check the official returns. The air
fighter, though morally certain of the destruction of a certain
enemy aeroplane, has to bring independent witnesses to
substantiate his claim, and when out "on his own" this is no easy
matter. Without this check, though occasionally it acts harshly
towards the pilot, there might be a tendency to exaggerate enemy
losses, owing to the difficulty of distinguishing between an
aeroplane put out of action and one the pilot of which takes a
sensational "nose dive" to get out of danger.
One of the most striking illustrations of the growth of the
aeroplane as a fighting force is afforded by the great increase
in the heights at which they could scout, take photographs, and
fight. In Sir John French's dispatches mention is made of
bomb-dropping from 3000 feet. In these days the aerial
battleground has been extended to anything up to 20,000 feet.
Indeed, so brisk has been the duel between gun and aeroplane,
that nowadays airmen have often to seek the other margin of
safety, and can defy the anti-aircraft guns only by flying so low
as just to escape the ground. The general armament of a
"fighter" consists of a maxim firing through the propeller, and a
Lewis gun at the rear on a revolving gun-ring.
It is pleasant to record that the Allies kept well ahead of the
enemy in their use of aerial photography. Before a great
offensive some thousands of photographs had to be taken of
enemy dispositions by means of cameras built into the aeroplanes.
Plates were found to stand the rough usage better than films, and
not for the first time in the history of mechanics the man beat
the machine, a skilful operator being found superior to the
ingenious automatic plate-fillers which had been devised.
The counter-measure to this ruthless exposure of plans was
camouflage. As if by magic-tents, huts, dumps, guns began, as it
were, to sink into the scenery. The magicians were men skilled
in the use of brush and paint-pot, and several leading figures in
the world of art lent their services to the military authorities
as directors of this campaign of concealment. In this connection
it is interesting to note that both Admiralty and War Office took
measures to record the pictorial side of the Great War. Special
commissions were given to a notable band of artists working in
their different "lines". An abiding record of the great struggle
will be afforded by the black-and-white work of Muirhead Bone,
James M'Bey, and Charles Pears; the portraits, landscapes, and
seascapes of Sir John Lavery, Philip Connard, Norman Wilkinson,
and Augustus John, who received his commission from the Canadian
Government.
CHAPTER XL
The Atmosphere and the Barometer
For the discovery of how to find the atmospheric pressure we are
indebted to an Italian named Torricelli, a pupil of Galileo, who
carried out numerous experiments on the atmosphere toward the
close of the sixteenth century.
Torricelli argued that, as air is a fluid, if it had weight it
could be made to balance another fluid of known weight. In his
experiments he found that if a glass tube about 3 feet in length,
open at one end only, and filled with mercury, were placed
vertically with the open end submerged in a cup of mercury, some
of the mercury in the tube descended into the cup, leaving a
column of mercury about 30 inches in height in the tube. From
this it was deduced that the pressure of air on the surface
of the mercury in the cup forced it up the tube to the height Of
30 inches, and this was so because the weight of a column of air
from the cup to the top of the atmosphere was only equal to that
of a column of mercury of the same base and 30 inches high.
Torricelli's experiment can be easily repeated. Take a glass
tube about 3 feet long, closed at one end and open at the other;
fill it as full as possible with mercury. Then close the open
end with the thumb, and invert the tube in a basin of mercury so
that the open end dips beneath the surface. The mercury in the
tube will be found to fall a short distance, and if the height of
the column from the surface of the mercury in the basin be
measured you will find it will be about 30 inches. As the tube
is closed at the top there is no downward pressure of air at that
point, and the space above the mercury in the tube is quite
empty: it forms a VACUUM. This vacuum is generally known as the
TORRICELLIAN VACUUM, after the name of its discoverer.
Suppose, now, a hole be bored through the top of the tube above
the column of mercury, the mercury will immediately fall in the
tube until it stands at the same level as the mercury in the
basin, because the upward pressure of air through the liquid in
the basin would be counterbalanced by the downward pressure of
the air at the top, and the mercury would fall by its own weight.
A few years later Professor Boyle proposed to use the instrument
to measure the height of mountains. He argued that, since the
pressure of the atmosphere balanced a column of mercury 30 inches
high, it followed that if one could find the weight of the
mercury column one would also find the weight of a column of air
standing on a base of the same size, and stretching away
indefinitely into space. It was found that a column of mercury
in a tube having a sectional area of 1 square inch, and a height
of 30 inches, weighed 15 pounds; therefore the weight of the
atmosphere, or air pressure, at sea-level is about 15 pounds to
the square inch. The ordinary mercury barometer is essentially a
Torricellian tube graduated so that the varying heights of the
mercury column can be used as a measure of the varying
atmospheric pressure due to change of weather or due to
alteration of altitude. If we take a mercury barometer up a hill
we will observe that the mercury falls. The weight of atmosphere
being less as we ascend, the column of mercury supported becomes
smaller.
Although the atmosphere has been proved to be over 200 miles
high, it has by no means the same density throughout. Like all
gases, air is subject to the law that the density increases
directly as the pressure, and thus the densest and heaviest
layers are those nearest the sea-level, because the air near the
earth's surface has to support the pressure of all the air above
it. As airmen rise into the highest portions of the atmosphere
the height of the column of air above them decreases, and it
follows that, having a shorter column of air to support, those
portions are less dense than those lower down. So rare does the
atmosphere become, when great altitudes are reached, that at a
height of seven miles breathing is well-nigh impossible, and at
far lower altitudes than this airmen have to be supported by
inhalations of oxygen.
One of the greatest altitudes was reached by two famous
balloonists, Messrs. Coxwell and Glaisher. They were over seven
miles in the air when the latter fell unconscious, and the plucky
aeronauts were only saved by Mr. Coxwell pulling the valve line
with his teeth, as all his limbs were disabled.
CHAPTER XLI
How an Airman Knows what Height he Reaches
One of the first questions the visitor to an aerodrome, when
watching the altitude tests, asks is: "How is it known that the
airman has risen to a height of so many feet?" Does he guess at
the distance he is above the earth?
If this were so, then it is very evident that there would be
great difficulty in awarding a prize to a number of competitors
each trying to ascend higher than his rivals.
No; the pilot does not guess at his flying height, but he finds
it by a height-recording instrument called the BAROGRAPH.
In the last chapter we saw how the ordinary mercurial barometer
can be used to ascertain fairly accurately the height of
mountains. But the airman does not take a mercurial barometer
up with him. There is for his use another form of barometer much
more suited to his purpose, namely, the barograph, which is
really a development of the aneroid barometer.
The aneroid barometer (Gr. a, not; neros, moist) is so called
because it requires neither mercury, glycerine, water, nor any
other liquid in its construction. It consists essentially of a
small, flat, metallic box made of elastic metal, and from which
the air has been partially exhausted. In the interior there is
an ingenious arrangement of springs and levers, which respond to
atmospheric pressure, and the depression or elevation of the
surface is registered by an index on the dial. As the pressure
of the atmosphere increases, the sides of the box are squeezed in
by the weight of the air, while with a decrease of pressure they
are pressed out again by the springs. By means of a suitable
adjustment the pointer on the dial responds to these movements.
It is moved in one direction for increase of air pressure, and in
the opposite for decreased pressure. The positions of the
figures on the dial are originally obtained by numerous
comparisons with a standard mercurial barometer, and the scale is
graduated to correspond with the mercurial barometer.
From the illustration here given you will notice the pointer and
scale of the "A. G" aero-barograph, which is used by many of
our leading airmen, and which, as we have said, is a development
of the aneroid barometer. The need of a self-registering scale
to a pilot who is competing in an altitude test, or who is trying
to establish a height record, is self-evident. He need not
interfere with the instrument in the slightest; it records and
tells its own story. There is in use a pocket barograph which
weighs only 1 pound, and registers up to 4000 feet.
It is claimed for the "A. G." barograph that it is the most
precise instrument of its kind. Its advantages are that it is
quite portable--it measures only 6 1/4 inches in length, 3 1/2
inches in width, and 2 1/2 inches in depth, with a total weight
of only 14 pounds--and that it is exceptionally accurate and
strong. Some idea of the labour involved in its construction may
be gathered from the fact that this small and
insignificant-looking instrument, fitted in its aluminium case,
costs over L8.
CHAPTER XLII
How an Airman finds his Way
In the early days of aviation we frequently heard of an aviator
losing his way, and being compelled to descend some miles from
his required destination. There are on record various instances
where airmen have lost their way when flying over the sea, and
have drifted so far from land that they have been drowned. One
of the most notable of such disasters was that which occurred to
Mr. Hamel in 1914, when he was trying to cross the English
Channel. It is presumed that this unfortunate pilot lost his
bearings in a fog, and that an, accident to his machine, or
a shortage of petrol, caused him to fall in the sea.
There are several reasons why air pilots go out of their course,
even though they are supplied with most efficient compasses. One
cause of misdirection is the prevalence of a strong side wind.
Suppose, for example, an airman intended to fly from Harwich to
Amsterdam. A glance at the map will show that the latter place
is almost due east of Harwich. We will assume that when the
pilot leaves Earth at Harwich the wind is blowing to the east;
that is, behind his back.
Now, however strong a wind may be, and in whatever direction it
blows, it always appears to be blowing full in a pilot's face.
Of course this is due to the fact that the rush of the machine
through the air "makes a wind", as we say. Much the same sort of
thing is experienced on a bicycle; when out cycling we very
generally seem to have a "head" wind.
Suppose during his journey a very strong side wind sprang,up over
the North Sea. The pilot would still keep steering his craft due
east, and it must be remembered that when well out at sea there
would be no familiar landmarks to guide him, so that he would
have to rely solely on his compass. It is highly probable that
he would not feel the change of wind at all, but it is even more
probable that when land was ultimately reached he would be dozens
of miles from his required landing-place.
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