When the war broke out the Naval Wing of the Royal Flying Corps had already been separated from the Military Wing, and had become the Royal Naval Air Service. Captain Murray Suéter was Director of the Air Department, and Captain G. M. Paine was Commandant of the Central Flying School. Six officers, all pioneers of the air, held the rank of wing commander, and nineteen held the rank of squadron commander. There were twelve flight commanders, and, with the addition of some few who joined on the 5th and 6th of August, there were ninety-one flight lieutenants, flight sub-lieutenants, and warrant officers. The number of petty officers and men was approximately seven hundred. Some of the officers and men had been appointed for special duties in connexion with gunnery, torpedo work, navigation, wireless telegraphy, and engineering. The duties which fell to the Royal Naval Air Service were naturally more various and more complicated than those which fell to the Royal Flying Corps. The Naval Air Service had to fly seaplanes and airships, as well as aeroplanes. They had made more progress than the Military Wing in fitting wireless telegraphy and in arming aircraft. They had in their possession, when war broke out, thirty-nine aeroplanes and fifty-two seaplanes, of which about half were ready for immediate use. They had also seven airships, of which one, the little Willows airship, may be left out of the reckoning, but of the others, the Parseval, Astra-Torres, and Beta did good work in the war. Some of the aeroplanes and most of the seaplanes were fitted with more powerful engines than any that were used by the Royal Flying Corps. Engines of two hundred horse-power were being installed in Short, Wight, and Sopwith seaplanes, with a view not chiefly to speed but to the carrying of torpedoes. These machines were not successful at first, but experiment was active. Two aeroplanes and one airship had been fitted with machine-guns; petrol incendiary bombs had been tried with success; and gear for the release of bombs was being gradually improved. More important still, wireless telegraphy plants had been set up at the various seaplane stations on the coast, and sixteen seaplanes, operating in connexion with these stations, had been fitted with transmitting apparatus.

These preparations, when they are looked back on across the years of war, may seem tentative and small, but the idea which dominated them is clear enough. Whether war would come soon was doubtful; what was certain was that war, if it did come, would come from the nation which for many long years had boasted of war, preached war, and intended war. The main concern of the Naval Air Service, in co-operation with the navy, was the defence of the East Coast from attack, whether by sea or by air, and the safeguarding of the Channel for the passage of an expeditionary force to the coast of Belgium or France. Other uses for a naval air force were a matter of time and experiment. There was at first no general scheme, prepared in detail, and ready to be put into action, for the offensive employment of naval aircraft, so that the work of the service tended to relapse into defence. Very little had been done to provide for the co-operation of aircraft with the fleet at sea. The Mayfly mishap had left us unsupplied with airships of the necessary power and range for naval reconnaissance, nor were the means at hand to enable seaplanes to do scouting work for the fleet. In December 1912 a design for a specially constructed seaplane-carrying ship had been submitted by the Air Department after consultation with Messrs. Beardmore of Dalmuir, but when the war came no such ship was in existence. The light cruiser H.M.S. Hermes had been adapted for seaplane carrying and had operated with the fleet during the naval manoeuvres of July 1913, but this was no more than a makeshift. The Hermes was refitted and re-commissioned in October 1914 to carry three seaplanes, and at the end of that month was sunk by a torpedo from an enemy submarine on her passage from Dunkirk to Dover.

War is a wonderful stimulant; and many things were done at high pressure, in the early days of August, to increase the resources, in men and material, of the Naval Air Service. The reserve was called up; in addition a certain number of officers were entered direct from civilian life, and were put to school, at Upavon or Eastchurch, to learn their new duties. Thousands of young men were eager to enter the service as pilots, but the training accommodation was wholly inadequate. The Bristol School at Brooklands, the Grahame-White School at Hendon, and the Eastbourne Aviation School were pressed into the service; in addition to these the naval air station at Calshot undertook to make seaplane pilots of some of those who had taken their flying certificates elsewhere. As was to be expected, training under these conditions proved difficult. All efficient machines were wanted for the war, so that machines which had been condemned for use on active service were sometimes employed in training new pilots.

If all those who deserve credit and praise for their part in the war in the air were to be mentioned, their names on the Roll of Honour would be thick as the motes that people the sunbeam. Most of them must be content, and are content, to know that they did their work and served their country. But here and there occurs a name which must not be passed without comment. On the 5th of August 1914 Mr. F. K. McClean, by whose help the first naval air pilots had been trained, joined the Royal Naval Air Service as a flight lieutenant. At the same time he offered to the service his three motor-cars, his motor-boat at Teddington, his yacht Zenaida, with two machines, and his private house at Eastchurch, which was converted into a hospital. A nation which commands the allegiance of such citizens need never fear defeat.

The earliest measure of defence undertaken by the Naval Air Service was the institution of a coastal patrol for the whole of the East Coast, from Kinnaird’s Head, in Aberdeenshire, to Dungeness, between Dover and Hastings. This was ordered by the Admiralty on the 8th of August. The Royal Flying Corps, or rather, such incomplete squadrons of the Royal Flying Corps as were not yet ordered abroad, undertook the northern and southern extremes of this patrol, that is to say, the northern section between the Moray Firth and the Firth of Forth, from Kinnaird’s Head to Fife Ness, and the southern section between the Thames and the coast of Sussex, from the North Foreland to Dungeness. The most vulnerable part of the East Coast, from the Forth to the Thames, or from North Berwick to Clacton, was to be patrolled by the Naval Air Service. But these arrangements were soon altered. Not many days after the outbreak of war the Germans established themselves in Belgium, and it was believed that they would use Belgium as a base for formidable attacks by aircraft on the Thames estuary and London. The forces of the Naval Air Service were therefore concentrated between the Humber and the Thames, from Immingham to Clacton. The Wash was thought to be the most likely landfall for a German airship raiding London. Regular patrols of the coast were carried out in the early days of the war, to report the movements of all enemy ships and aircraft and to detect enemy submarines. But there was not much to report, and it was weary work waiting for the enemy to begin.

The British Expeditionary Force was ready for service abroad, and it fell to the Naval Air Service to watch over its passage across the Channel. A regular patrol between Westgate, close to the North Foreland, and Ostend was maintained by seaplanes, following one another at intervals of two hours. On the 13th of August a temporary seaplane base was established at Ostend under the command of Flight Lieutenant E. T. R. Chambers, but on the 22nd of August, when the expeditionary force was safely landed and the occupation of Ostend by the Germans seemed imminent, the base was withdrawn, and the men and stores were taken back to England. An airship patrol of the Channel undertaken by airships Nos. 3 and 4 (that is to say, by the Astra-Torres and Parseval) began on the 10th of August, and was continued throughout the month. The average time of flight of a seaplane on patrol was about three hours, of an airship about twelve hours, so that the airship, which could slacken its speed and hover, had the advantage in observation. The chart printed on illustrates the patrols carried out by the two airships on the 13th of August 1914. Here are copies of their logs for the day:

’Log of N Airship, 13th August 1914.

7.10 a.m. Ros.37 Passed Sittingbourn.45 Passed Teynham Statio.50 Passed Faversha.20 Passed Canterbur.0 Passed Coastguard Statio.49 Sighted N Airshi.41 Sighted seaplane on starboard quarte.50 p.m. Altered course for Coastguard Statio.25 Coastguard Statio.54 Faversha.4 Sittingbourn.34 Landed.

’Log of N Airship, 13th August 1914.

7.40 a.m. Left Kingsnorth.
9.28 Passed Coastguard Station, shaped course
for Calais.
10.35 Shaped course for Dover.
11.25 Shaped course for Calais.
11.35 Broke one blade of port propeller, rendering
it necessary to change two for new
blades.
12.55 p.m. Proceeded to Calais.
1.40 Shaped course for Dover.
2.12 Course as requisite to arrive at Calais.
2.52 " " " " " " Dover.
3.20 " " " " " " Calais.
4.00 " " " " " " Dover.
4.45 " " " " " " Calais.
5.45 " " " " " " Deal.
7.30 Arrived at Kingsnorth.
7.53 Landed.

It will be seen that the Parseval, which could not fly for a whole day without landing for the replenishment of fuel, plied continually between Dover and Calais, while the Astra-Torres, which was the stronger ship, laid her course far to the east and north-east to search the Channel for the approach of hostile craft.

Once the expeditionary force was safely across the Channel, these routine patrols were discontinued, though both airships and seaplanes continued to make special scouting flights over the North Sea and Channel. The main work of the Royal Naval Air Service continued to be coastguard work. At dawn and at sunset patrols were carried out every possible day, scouting the line of the coast. The group which had its centre at the Isle of Grain was entrusted with the defence of the Thames estuary. They had to report the approach of hostile ships and aircraft, to help our submarines in attack, and to warn friendly craft. They had two sub-stations, at Clacton and Westgate, facing each other across the estuary. The monotony of the life was relieved at times by alarms. In September a seaplane on patrol from Felixstowe sighted a Zeppelin. The news was received with enthusiasm, which was damped a little when it was learned that the pilot was some way out to sea, and that his estimate of his distance from the Zeppelin was sixty miles. On the 17th of November the Admiralty suspected an impending raid by German warships, and ordered that all available aeroplanes and seaplanes should be in the air for the daylight patrol of Thursday, the 19th of November. But even war, as the philosopher remarked, has its seamy side, and the enemy did not appear.

This patrol work was tedious and, when the winter came, even dangerous; a few pilots were lost and some spent hours adrift on wrecked seaplanes. Here is the report of a December experience of Squadron Commander J. W. Seddon, over the North Sea:

’I have the honour to report as follows on the circumstances of my patrol flight with Leading Mechanic R. L. Hartley in Seaplane N from Grain on Thursday, 17th inst., which ended with the salvage of this seaplane by the Norwegian Steamship Orn, who took us with the seaplane to Holland; and also on the circumstances of our detention at the Hook of Holland and subsequent release, and of the detention of the seaplane at Rotterdam.

’1. Diary of Events.

8.10 a.m. Left Grain. Wind Wly, moderate.

9.0 a.m. Passed over Galloper, continued eastwards
to investigate steamer proceeding eastwards
at high speed.

9.10 a.m. Steamer proved to be s.s. Fulmar of Liverpool.
Turned back for Galloper. Wind
strong Wly.

9.35 a.m. Motor failed suddenly and completely.
Landed, nothing in sight. Sea moderately
bad. Failure due to breakage of
ignition ring, and though several attempts
were made and engine started on
each occasion, a lasting repair could not
be made. As I was not carrying an
anchor seaplane commenced to drift at
about 2 knots through the water E. by
N. (compass).

’I was feeling unwell when I left Grain and consequently was continually ill; Leading Mechanic Hartley also was seasick at first.

’The seaplane commenced to settle on the port main float and about 10.30 the port wing float carried away. Leading Mechanic Hartley moved out of his seat on to the starboard plane.

’The starboard wing float carried away about 11.15 a.m. and the trailing edge of the port lower plane was continually disintegrating.

’About noon, or perhaps 11.30 a.m., the Flushing steamer passed from E. to W., but 7 or 8 miles to the Northward, and did not see our signals.

’From then onwards Hartley was continually moving slightly outwards on the plane to counteract the heel to port, and occasional heavy seas occurring every five or ten minutes accumulated small damages.

’I therefore endeavoured to empty the main tank by overflowing through the gravity tank, but the petrol coming back into my face made me more ill, and after half an hour I could not continue.

’At 2.45 p.m., when I was expecting that a T.B.D. might appear to search for us, we sighted a small steamer to the N. Westward and making more or less towards us (some 6 miles distant). Waiting till she was abeam and only some 2 to 3 miles distant I fired my pistol and also waved. These signals did not appear to be observed at first, but finally she turned towards us about 3.15 p.m. and about 3.30 asked us if we wished to be taken off. This steamer proved to be the s.s. Orn (Captain Rewne). He manoeuvred and lowered a boat and took us aboard about 4.15 p.m.

’I asked the Captain if he could consider salving the seaplane, being worth as she was about L2,000, while the engine alone was worth L600 or L700.

’He promised to try and I went away in the boat again to the seaplane.

’I was not able to board the seaplane myself (going overboard while assisting one of the crew to do so), but this man got on board the seaplane successfully and made the necessary lines fast.

’After some difficulty and damage to the seaplane through insufficient reach of the derrick, she was got on board and the wings folded by 6.0 p.m.; the Orn actually proceeding on her course shortly before this. No other vessels were sighted during these operations. We were picked up about 11 miles east from the Galloper Lightship.

’The Captain of the Orn said he could not put back to England on account of there being no lights, but otherwise would have done so.

’The Captain of the Orn did everything possible for us, supplying us with hot coffee, food, and wine, and myself with dry clothes.

’We arrived in Dutch waters about 3.10 a.m. and anchored off the “Hook".’

After attending to the seaplane and taking all possible steps to secure its release by the Dutch Government, Squadron Commander Seddon was successful in obtaining the release of himself and his companion; on the 20th of December they sailed from Rotterdam for Harwich.

The seaplane patrols had not sufficient range to get into touch with the enemy off his own coasts, as the flying boat patrols almost always did in the later years of the war. Nevertheless, the first six months of coastguard work were of high value. They knit the service together, and produced a large body of skilled and practised pilots who prepared themselves or instructed others for later achievement.

An additional station for seaplane and aeroplane work was established at Scapa Flow to carry out patrols over the fleet. The patrols commenced on the 24th of August 1914 and continued daily in all weathers until the 21st of November, when the machines and hangars were completely wrecked in a gale. On the 27th of August ’Seaplanes Nos. 97 and 156 led the Battle Fleet to sea’. These were both Henri Farman seaplanes. There were also two Short seaplanes and a Sopwith Bat boat. A few more were added in the course of the following weeks, and so zealous and efficient were the mechanics that, with all the wear and tear of the daily patrol, not more than two machines at the most were ever out of action at one time during the first six weeks. Further bases were established during the autumn of 1914 at Newcastle-on-Tyne and Dover, but the lack of serviceable machines curtailed the activities of these stations.

The real dramatic centre of England’s effort in the air was to be found, during these months, not at the coastal stations, but in the training schools and workshops. The progress there made, at first invisible, was so rapid that Captain Suéter was able to say in July 1915 that every machine possessed by the Royal Naval Air Service at the outbreak of the war ‘is now regarded as fit only for a museum’.

The problem of providing seaplanes with a floating base so that they might operate with the fleet at sea became urgent at once. On the 11th of August the Admiralty, realizing the great utility of aerial scouting with the fleet, took over three cross-Channel steamers from the South-Eastern and Chatham Railway Company-the Empress, the Engadine, and the Riviera. The Empress was fitted out to carry machines and stores for the Naval Air Service. The Engadine and the Riviera were structurally altered at Chatham Dockyard, so that they might serve as seaplane-carriers. Later on, in October 1914, the Empress was also converted into a seaplane-carrier, and her work as transport and messenger vessel was taken over by the Princess Victoria.

The whole business of seaplanes was still in the experimental stage, and during the first twelve months of the war there were many disappointments. It was found that the seaplanes, when they were loaded with bombs, could not get off a sea that would hardly distress a picket boat. Proposals for an aerial raid on Wilhelmshaven and the Kiel canal were put forward by the Admiralty on the 13th of August, but the machinery was too imperfect, and the raid did not come off. But on Christmas Day, 1914, when the weather was propitious, a successful raid was carried out, as shall be seen, against Cuxhaven. In the meantime much experimental work was done at high pressure, and a heavy responsibility fell on the technical staff of the Naval Air Service, who had to place definite orders, a year ahead, for engines to be developed and manufactured upon a large scale. In 1915 this policy produced the 225 horse-power Wight tractor, which could fly for seven hours at a speed of seventy knots, carrying a fair weight of bombs, and the 225 horse-power Short tractor, which could carry five hundredweight of explosives over a distance of three hundred miles. Both these machines could face broken water better than the earlier types, though it was not until the flying boat was perfected that the difficulties presented by a moderate sea were at last overcome.

It was an acute disappointment to the Naval Air Service that the enemy fleet at Wilhelmshaven and the enemy dockyards at Kiel should be left so long unmolested. The tendency to find some one to blame for lost opportunities is always strong in England. We are a strenuous and moral people, and we ask for a very formidable blend of virtues in our leaders. We are proud of the bull-dog breed and the traditions of our navy, but we demand from the bull-dog all the subtlety of the fox. We came through the war with credit not chiefly by intelligence but by character. Perhaps the two are never perfectly combined in one man. We know what it is to entrust our good name and our safety to men of stalwart and upright character, whose intelligence may in some points be open to criticism. Fortunately, we do not so well know what it is to trust our ultimate welfare to men of quick intelligence whose character is not above suspicion. The Lords of the Admiralty, like the rest of that great service, are good fighting sailors and good patriots.

What are called the principles of war, though they can be simply stated, are not easy to learn, and can never be learned from books alone. They are the principles of human nature; and who ever learned from books how to deal successfully with his fellows? War, which drives human nature to its last resources, is a great engine of education, teaching no lessons which it does not illustrate, and enforcing all its lessons by bitter penalties. One of the notorious principles of war, familiar to all who have read books about war, is that a merely defensive attitude is a losing attitude. This truth is as true of games and boxing, or of traffic and bargaining, as it is of war. Every successful huckster is thoroughly versed in the doctrine of the initiative, which he knows by instinct and experience, not by the reading of learned treatises. A man who knows what he wants and means to get it is at a great advantage in traffic with another man who is thinking only of self-defence. Every successful boxer is an expert in military science; he tries either to weaken his adversary by repeated assaults on the vital organs, or to knock him out by a stunning blow. He does not call these operations by the learned names of strategy and tactics, but he knows all about them. The most that a book can do, for trader or boxer or soldier, is to quicken perception and prepare the mind for the teaching of experience.

The experience of the war from beginning to end taught the old lesson of the supreme value of the offensive. The lesson was quickly learned and put to the proof by our forces on the western front. The Royal Naval Air Service, from the first, sought every opportunity for offensive action. Raids over enemy centres, for the reasons which have been given, were impossible to carry out except in the best of weather. Offensive action in collaboration with ships of war was impeded by the imperfect structure of the seaplanes and the imperfect arrangements for conveying them to the scene of action. Meantime the public, impressed by the dangers to be feared from the Zeppelin, called chiefly for defence. It has never been easy to instruct even the members of the other services concerning the right use of aircraft in war. When once they were reconciled to our aeroplanes they liked to see them in the air above them, which is the place of all places where our aeroplanes are least useful. It is greatly to the credit of those officers who commanded the Royal Flying Corps and the Royal Naval Air Service that they divined the right doctrine, and practised it, and established it in use, thereby securing for the air force the liberty to use its power to the best advantage.

The best and most highly trained of the naval air units was the first to be sent abroad. This was the Eastchurch squadron, under Wing Commander Samson. Just after the outbreak of war it had been sent to Skegness, to carry out patrol duties. On the 25th of August its commander was summoned to London by the Director of the Air Department, and was ordered to take his squadron on the following morning to Ostend, which had been chosen to serve as an advanced base for reconnaissance. They were to co-operate with a force of marines. Air Commodore Samson, in the reminiscences which he has kindly contributed for the purpose of this history, speaks with enthusiasm of the men and officers under his command.

‘Never once’, he says, ’were we let down by our men, and both in France and the Dardanelles they worked like slaves without a single complaint. It is an absolute fact that during these periods I never had to deal with a single disciplinary offence. They were the very pick of the Royal Naval Air Service.’

The pilots, after receiving their orders, were kept waiting for a day at Eastchurch, to give time for the landing of the Marine Brigade. ’This depressed everybody,’ says Air Commodore Samson, ’as we were all suffering from the fear of the war being over before we could get a chance to take part in it.’ The fear proved groundless.

On the 27th of August there flew over:

Wing Commander C. R. Samson.
Flight Lieutenant S. V. Sippe.
Flight Lieutenant E. Osmond.
Squadron Commander R. B. Davies.
Flight Lieutenant C. F. Beevor.
Squadron Commander E. F. Briggs.
Flight Lieutenant I. H. W. S. Dalrymple-Clarke.
Squadron Commander I. T. Courtney.
Flight Lieutenant H. A. Littleton.
Flight Lieutenant Lord Edward Grosvenor.

An airship (N was flown across by Wing Commander N. F. Usborne, with him Flight Lieutenant W. C. Hicks and Flight Lieutenant E. H. Sparling. Squadron Commander R. H. Clark Hall, Captain Barnby of the Royal Marines, and four junior officers of the Royal Naval Volunteer Reserve were attached for special duties. The motor-cars, lorries, and stores were embarked at Sheerness on board H.M.S. Empress and s.s. Rawcliffe. The machines that were flown over were a various assemblage-three B.E. biplanes, two Sopwith biplanes, two Bleriot monoplanes, one Henri Farman biplane, one Bristol biplane, and a converted Short seaplane fitted with a land undercarriage in place of the floats. Warrant Officer J. G. Brownridge, R.N., was in charge of the repair and upkeep of the aeroplanes. In these early days there were no distinguishing marks on aeroplanes; it was arranged that every machine should fly a Union Jack lashed to one of its struts, but this was not done.

Commander Samson’s Operations in Belgium.]

The whole force arrived in safety, with only one or two minor mishaps. Wing Commander Samson was fired at by rifles as he was coming down, and after landing was stalked by a couple of British marines, who had come to Belgium to shoot Germans and were aching to get to work.

The force remained at Ostend for three days only. There was no artillery except the guns of the ships lying off the port, and the Marine Brigade had only about half a dozen machine-guns. The defence of Ostend against a German attack in force would have been more than difficult. The aeroplanes carried out reconnaissance flights daily over the area between Bruges, Ghent, and Ypres, and, on the suggestion of General Aston, who commanded the Marine Brigade, Wing Commander Samson made a motor-car reconnaissance as far as Thourout and Bruges, in two cars, one of them fitted with a Maxim gun. ‘At Bruges’, says Air Commodore Samson, ’we were received with great enthusiasm, the streets being crowded with people. The popular delusion, which we did not contradict, was that we were the advance party of a large British army. The Civil Guard hastily donned their uniform on our arrival, and turned out briskly, with weapons and valour. They used, we found out later, to be quick-change artists, from uniform to plain clothes, and vice versa, according to the circumstances. Having gained some information in the town, we returned to Ostend. The whole party enjoyed themselves immensely, although some of the more bloodthirsty members were disappointed at not getting a fight. This trip made us consider the question of motor-car operations, and ideas were discussed for armouring the cars.’

On the 30th of August orders came that the Marine Brigade and the aeroplane squadron should return at once to England. It was a depressed party that loaded up the stores and transport on board H.M.S. Empress and the attendant collier. The aeroplanes flew by way of Dunkirk, where there was a slight haze and they landed. Lord Edward Grosvenor made a faulty landing, and crashed his Bleriot beyond all hopes of repair. This accident, which would have been treated as insignificant if it had occurred on the way out, proved important enough to delay the aeroplanes for three days at Dunkirk. During this time General Bidon, who commanded the French troops at Dunkirk, and Mr. Sarel, the British vice-consul, made urgent representations to the British Foreign Office, pleading that the squadron should be permitted, for military and diplomatic reasons, to co-operate with the French. Meantime, two of the aeroplanes carried out a reconnaissance towards Lille and Douai. On the 1st of September a telegram came from the Admiralty ordering that the squadron should remain at Dunkirk, to operate against Zeppelins and enemy aeroplanes, and to carry out reconnaissances as required by the French general. The policy that was now adopted was subsequently explained at greater length in an Admiralty telegram to the French Ministry of Marine:

’The Admiralty considers it extremely important to deny the use of territory within a hundred miles of Dunkirk to German Zeppelins, and to attack by aeroplanes all airships found replenishing there. With your permission the Admiralty wish to take all necessary measures to maintain aerial command of this region. The Admiralty proposes therefore to place thirty or forty naval aeroplanes at Dunkirk or other convenient coast points. In order that these may have a good radius of action they must be able to establish temporary bases forty to fifty miles inland. The Admiralty desires to reinforce officer commanding aeroplanes with fifty to sixty armed motor-cars and two hundred to three hundred men. This small force will operate in conformity with the wishes of the French military authorities, but we hope it may be accorded a free initiative. The immunity of Portsmouth, Chatham, and London from dangerous aerial attack is clearly involved.’

So this little naval force began at once to operate from Dunkirk, carrying out reconnaissances by aeroplane, and using motor-cars for raids on the flank of the German communications. It gave assistance to the French and put heart into the much-tried civil population of Belgium. Most of the work at first was done with motor-cars, for the aeroplanes were few in number.

On the 4th of September Wing Commander Samson, having started out with two cars, one of them fitted with a Maxim gun, heard at Cassel by telephone that six German officers in a motor-car had just passed through Bailleul on their way to Cassel. The steep hill down from Cassel to the plain beneath offered him an excellent point of vantage to lie in wait for them, but he was unwilling to take it, for a fight close to the town would have given the Germans an excuse for pretending that they had been attacked by civilians, and for shooting some of the inhabitants. So he went out to meet them, and engaged them at a range of five hundred yards on the Cassel-Bailleul road. Two of the Germans were wounded, and their car made off to Bailleul. Wing Commander Samson lay in wait for them for almost two hours, in the hope that they would return reinforced to continue the engagement. During this time an old French captain of gendarmes, about sixty-five years of age, with a long-barrelled pistol, arrived in a limousine, accompanied by his wife. He had raised a little army of ten gendarmes, who came up soon after, armed with carbines. Madame and the limousine then retired from the battle-field, while the gallant captain disposed his army behind the hedge to await the return of the enemy. But the enemy did not return; a message from the Bailleul post office told how they had halted only three minutes in Bailleul, and how they and all the other German military cars in Bailleul had gone back post-haste to Lille, leaving behind them a quantity of wine which they had collected from the residents. ‘We had a tremendous reception’, says Air Commodore Samson, ’from the inhabitants of Cassel, who had enjoyed a splendid view of our little engagement from their commanding position on the hill-top. I was pleased that they had seen Germans running away, as it would remove from their minds that 1870 feeling which there is little doubt the Germans still produced in the minds of civilian Frenchmen. This fight gave us a prestige in the villages greater than its result called for. Probably the six German officers reported that they had run up against tremendous odds.’

In the course of the next few weeks there were many such adventures. On the 5th of September, the eve of the battle of the Marne, General Bidon reported that the Germans, who had occupied Lille in force, were about to leave, and that he intended to send some infantry, supported by a squadron of cavalry at Bailleul, to capture the transport wagons which were likely to be left behind. He asked for some motor-cars to escort the infantry back from Lille. Wing Commander Samson, having borrowed from the French two machine-guns (he had only one of his own) and four French artillerymen, started off early on the morning of the 6th of September, with four motor-cars (three of them armed with machine-guns), six officers, ten of his own men, and the four Frenchmen. An aeroplane, flown by Flight Lieutenant Dalrymple-Clarke, was detailed to escort them, with instructions to fly well ahead and to come down low and fire a Very light if any of the enemy were sighted. In the outskirts of Lille the party learned that the Germans, two thousand infantry and eighty cavalry, had left Lille that morning, so they went on into the big square where the Prefecture stands. The square was packed with people. The rest shall be told in Air Commodore Samson’s own words:

’We got through the crowd, and took the cars into the courtyard, lining them up abreast facing the square. The gendarmes at my request kept the roadway in front of the building clear of the populace, so that we were afforded a clear exit in case we had a fight, although I did not much look forward to one with this seething crowd of civilians in the way. Practically the whole of Lille appeared to be here; they were most enthusiastic, cheering, singing, and shouting out, Vive l’Angleterre! I did everything I could to impress the people with our discipline and military behaviour, placing four of my men as sentries in a line behind the railings, and one man standing by each machine-gun. Our sentries stood like Guardsmen, and even when beautiful French girls came on the scene, and sponged their faces and brushed the dust off their clothes, they stood like lumps of granite. Leaving Davies in charge of the party, I went inside to see the Prefect. He was pleased to see us, and said that our arrival had reassured the town to a most extraordinary extent, demonstrating to the people that they were not entirely at the mercy of the enemy. He then told me of the brutal treatment he had received at the hands of the Germans, showing the marks made on his throat by the fingers of a German lieutenant who had nearly throttled him. They had gone so far as to lead him out to hang him from a balcony, and he said he had only been saved from this terrible fate by the coolness of his secretary, who told the German that the Prefect du Nord was one of the chief officials in France, and that his murder was a serious matter, not lightly to be undertaken. The Prefect gave me the German officer’s name, and said, “If ever you come across him, do not let him go”. I promised I would not. The Prefect then went on to say that the Germans had been quite worried over the fight at Cassel, and they had got the idea into their heads that there was a large force of English round about Cassel. Two German officers had been wounded in the fight, one seriously and the other only slightly. There were, he said, about fifty French and some few English wounded in the town; they had been left there by the Germans, and if I signed a proclamation to say I had taken the town they could be evacuated to Dunkirk, otherwise the town would be held responsible. I therefore made out and signed the following Proclamation:

To the Authorities of the City of Lille.

I have this day occupied Lille with an armed English and French Force.

’C. R. Samson,
’Commander, R.N.
Officer in Command of English
Force at Dunkirk.

I added the latter sentence in order to impress upon the Germans that there was a large force at Dunkirk. This proclamation the Prefect ordered to be immediately printed and posted all over the town. I remained at the Hotel de Ville until late in the afternoon, and as by then it was found out that the Germans had not left any transports behind, and that there was no chance of any French troops being sent to Lille, I reluctantly decided that I ought to return to Dunkirk. We had an ovation on our return journey through the streets, and our cars were full of flowers, chocolate, cigarettes, &c.; the dense crowds cheered themselves hoarse, and one felt rather as I imagined a Roman General used to feel on being given a Triumph. The only mishap was when an excitable individual threw a bottle of beer at me which smashed the screen and gave me a severe blow on the jaw; I fancy he must have had German sympathies.

’On our return to Dunkirk the French General, Bidon, was most complimentary concerning our expedition, which he considered had been of great value.’

The fight at Cassel had inspired the people of the district with a plenary belief in the powers of the little English force. A few days later, while Commander Samson was on a reconnaissance near Armentieres, he was stopped by an excited civilian in a motor-car who offered to conduct him to a place where he might kill some Germans. The Germans, it appeared, were from two to three thousand in number, with two batteries of artillery, and were going from Lille to Douai. ‘Personally’, says Air Commodore Samson, ’I thought about two thousand Germans rather a tough proposition for four Englishmen and one unreliable old Maxim, and I regretted that we could not carry out the slaughter he desired. He was very crest-fallen, and said, “But I will come too".’

The motor-car work was daily gaining in importance; what was needed was a stronger force and armoured cars. Two of the cars were fitted with improvised armour made of boiler-plate at the Forges et Chantiers de France, the big shipbuilding firm of Dunkirk, and application was made to the home authorities for a larger force of marines and specially designed armoured cars. The First Lord of the Admiralty (Mr. Winston Churchill) and the Director of the Air Department (Captain Murray Suéter) were quick to support any enterprise that showed life and promise; on the 8th of September there arrived a reinforcement of 250 marines under Major Armstrong, most of them reservists and pensioners, but stout men when it came to a fight. Further, Wing Commander Samson got into touch with Captain Goldsmith, of the General Headquarters Intelligence Department, and, by his efforts, was put in control of the gendarmes in the villages of the zone where he was operating. The aeroplanes daily watched the movements of German troops along the roads, and the motor-cars, assisted sometimes by the infantry, carried out sweeps and drives, to surround parties of German horsemen or cyclists. There were some fights. On the 13th of September there was a brush with some German cavalry patrols, on the Albert road, just outside the town of Doullens. ‘We got out of the cars’, says Air Commodore Samson, ’and opened fire with rifles at about five hundred yards range. We hit five of them. Three were killed, and one was picked up severely wounded. We took him to a hospital in Doullens, where he died without recovering consciousness. It rather made me feel a brute seeing this poor fellow dying, and War seemed a beastly business. He was a rather half-starved looking fellow, and looked as if he had been on short rations for a long time. It was rather a repugnant job searching him whilst he was passing away from this life, but it had to be done. Goldsmith, who could read German, found from his papers that he belonged to the First Squadron of the 26th Dragoons, Wurtemberg. He had a little child’s atlas with which to find his way about the country, and the map of France was about three inches square, with only the names of half a dozen towns on it.’

The Naval Air Service now looked about for an advanced inland base, with an aerodrome, for their aeroplane and motor-car reconnaissances. They found one at the village of Morbecque, about three miles south of Hazebrouck, and just north of the forest of Nieppe. There, on the 19th of September, they established the headquarters of the unit. Most of the officers and men were housed in an old chateau by the favour of Madame la Baronne de la Grange, who had shown a fine example to her villagers by remaining on duty, and had so impressed the Germans that they left the village untouched. Two aeroplanes and six armoured cars and lorries were the equipment of headquarters, and what in the navy is called the lower deck personnel numbered 187 marines and 31 naval ratings. Most of the work continued to be done by the motor-cars. Some of the lorries were armoured with boiler-plate by the shipbuilding firm at Dunkirk, and new armoured cars began to arrive in driblets from England. A cyclist force was raised from the marines, and a number of French boys who knew the country well were embodied in a boy scout unit. The main idea of these preparations was to organize attacks on the German lines of communication in the zone of country between Lille and Valenciennes. The troops for this purpose were to consist of a brigade of French territorial infantry with a squadron of Algerian cavalry, popularly known as ‘Goumiers’, and a battery of the famous ‘Soixante-quinze’ field guns. The Royal Naval Air Service were to operate, with as big a force of armoured cars as possible, under the French general in command. On the 22nd of September the French troops occupied Douai. The cars made a reconnaissance to Aniche, between Douai and Valenciennes, and there had a sharp engagement in the streets with German cavalry. Two days later they had a stiff fight at Orchies, where a French territorial regiment, detached to guard the route between Lille and Douai, was being heavily attacked by two German battalions. The cars helped to extricate the French troops and covered their retirement to Douai. But the German forces in this northern territory were being reinforced strongly, and reconnaissance by road became difficult. When Wing Commander Samson, on the day after the fight at Aniche, was required to make a reconnaissance to Cantin, a village three or four miles to the south of Douai along the Cambrai road, he started off in a Talbot touring car with Sub-Lieutenant Lord Annesley and Lieutenant F. R. Samson. They had two rifles, ten rounds of ammunition, and three automatic pistols. ’It appeared perfectly evident’, he says, ’that between us and Cantin there were not only the German guns, but plenty of German infantry. I must confess that the three of us did not at all relish the idea of ambling into the whole German Army and the local von Kluck in a touring car, but the job had to be carried out to keep up our good name and the reputation of the R.N.A.S.’

The Germans were in force, as he expected, and after a brisk engagement he returned to Douai. The Douai operations, which were to have been an attack on the German lines of communication, now became a defence of Douai against the Germans. By the 29th of September Douai was virtually in a state of siege, and it became a question whether the French troops could be extricated. On the afternoon of the 1st of October the end came. By that time the Germans had got into the town and were firing at the Hotel de Ville from the housetops. ’A shouting mob of cyclists and infantry’, says Air Commodore Samson, ’rushed into the courtyard of the Hotel de Ville, yelling out that we were surrounded, and the Germans had taken the Pont d’Esquerchin. I went to General Plantey and said that the only thing to do was to recapture the bridge and drive the Germans away from that sector. He agreed, and said that if I would lead the way with my cars he would follow with what of the troops he could get to fight. There was no doubt that if we did not do something a wholesale surrender was certain. I strongly objected to being mixed up in that. I felt certain that if we could only start a fight the morale would improve and that we would have every chance of extricating the whole force from its predicament. I led out our cars therefore from the Hotel de Ville, and forcing our way through crowds of infantry and civilians we reached a corner where I found about four hundred Infantry. I implored, and swore, and ordered them to follow us against the enemy, but only one came, jumping on to the step of the last car. From this corner a straight street four hundred yards long led to a bridge over the canal, which bridge was held by the Germans. As we went along this road I certainly thought that here was the end of our little party, and I felt very guilty at bringing Armstrong, Coode, and the other fine fellows to death for no purpose except to keep up the Pride of the Service. The fact that the infantry would not come on after us made us very fierce, and I am certain, speaking for myself, that this feeling of anger made us far braver than we had felt at first. I took the cars to the head of the bridge and then halted them, and we opened fire along the roadways which ran on both sides of the canal and along the road ahead of us. I ordered the marines out of the cars on to the roadway, and told them to keep up a hot fire on the Germans who were on the opposite bank. Going myself with one marine on to the bridge I saw some Huns on board two barges which were alongside the far bank, and emptied my magazine at them. I can remember to this day the sound one of their bullets made as it hit the girder alongside my face. We were so excited that I am afraid our fire was very wild, but it made up for lack of accuracy by its volume, our three machine-guns firing like mad. We kept up this game for about five minutes, when I saw the Germans clearing off in all directions. I ordered, “Cease fire”, and ordered all on board the cars. I then led the cars at full speed along the main Henin-Lietard road, intending to get to the position we had held in the morning, as from there we could cover the retreat of the French and command the approaches to the Pont d’Esquerchin.... I knew that in front of us there was a double trench across the road, and which entailed cars stopping and reversing to get through in the gap left between the two trenches. Just short of this obstacle was a side road leading to Beaumont. I determined, if we met the enemy at the trench, to hold the corner at the side road as long as we could, hoping that the Infantry would follow on. This side road would be the line of approach of the cavalry division reported close to Beaumont. On arriving at the corner we encountered a very heavy fire coming from the trench and the high ground close to it. It would have been useless to have attempted to go on against that volume of fire, so we stopped at the corner, where we got some shelter from a cottage, and opened fire with the machine-guns from the two armoured cars, whilst the rest of us lay down on the road and kept up a hot fire with rifles.

’We held out at the corner for nearly fifteen minutes until the Germans opened fire with field guns from Le Polygone; the situation then got too hot, as shrapnel was bursting all round us, and the cottage was quickly demolished by high explosives. I therefore gave the order to retire, and we jumped on board the cars and went along the Cuincy-Esquerchin road. After we had put a mile between us and the corner I halted to see how we had fared. Our casualties now consisted of eight men wounded. All the cars had many bullet-marks, but no serious damage had been done to them, except one of the armoured cars had a bullet through its radiator, causing it to lose practically all its water. We only had about 200 rounds of ammunition left, and were running pretty short of petrol, otherwise all was well with us.... I considered that we had done everything we could to open a line of retreat for the infantry, and that we had held out at the corner as long as was possible. As it happened we had cleared the way for the French, as the general got 2,500 infantry out of the town across the Pont d’Esquerchin and keeping close to the canal bank he had got them well clear of the Huns without firing a shot, whilst we were fighting them at the corner. I am afraid that a good number remained in the town and were captured. General Plantey was kind enough to write to say that if it had not been for the English cars who had opened the door he could not have extricated his force.

’Just short of Beaumont I came across the cavalry division. I went up to the General, who was a fine martial figure surrounded by an escort of Cuirassiers with steel breast-plates. After I had told him what had happened, I said that there was every probability of the Douai Force having surrendered, but there was a chance of them having got out whilst we were holding the cross-roads. He was complimentary about our performance and said we had done all we could. He recommended that I should return to Morbecque and report to General Aston. He said that he was not pushing on any farther, but was going to retire to Beaumont. I therefore went through Beaumont to Bethune and back to Morbecque, where we were received as if we had risen from the dead. Briggs told me that they had fully expected never to see us again. I went to bed after telephoning to General Paris, who had relieved General Aston in command of the Marines. General Paris sent the following report to the Admiralty: “Commander Samson and all ranks appear to have behaved very gallantly in difficult circumstances, and I consider his action was perfectly correct."’

These motor-car operations were no part of the war in the air. But they were carried out by the Royal Naval Air Service, and they illustrate the immense diversity of business which was undertaken by that service during the course of the war. Off the coast of Cornwall or over the rivers of West Africa, in raids on German cities or in expeditions to assist beleaguered Allies, the Naval Air Service were incessantly active on the fringe of things. They were sailors and adventurers by tradition; they adapted themselves to circumstance, and made the best of what they found. Their courage put new heart into desperate men, and their humanity (the greatest tradition of the British navy) added lustre to their courage. The half-witted pedantry of the German doctrine and practice of war, which uses brutality as a protective mask for cowardice, was far from them. It was against that doctrine and practice, as against an alien enemy, that they fought; and only those who have been guilty of inhuman practices have ever had cause to complain of their cruelty.

Beyond the usual reconnaissances not very much work was done in the air from headquarters. The available aeroplanes were few, and there were many calls on them. Nominally the Dunkirk force was to consist of three squadrons of twelve machines each, but in these early days two or three machines were, often the most that a squadron could muster. On the 3rd of September Squadron Commander E. L. Gerrard arrived at Ostend with three additional machines intended to operate from Antwerp against airship sheds in Germany. These machines remained at Ostend, pegged down under the lee of the sand dunes, while Squadron Commander Gerrard went by road to Antwerp to find an aerodrome and to arrange for the proposed raid. On the 12th of September a violent squall came up from the west and caught the machines, uprooting or breaking the stakes to which they were secured. The machines turned cartwheels along the sands and were totally wrecked. The party returned to Dunkirk to refit, and as the attack on the Zeppelin sheds in Germany was reckoned to be of the first importance, Wing Commander Samson, who was ordered to take charge of the flight, had to give up three of the best machines he had.

It was believed at that time that Antwerp would not fall. When the British army was moved north from the Aisne to Ypres, the original idea of the Allied strategy was resuscitated. That idea had been to take the offensive in Belgium and to repel the German advance or to make a flank attack on it. But the German blow had been too heavy and too quick for this plan to develop, and in the effort to save Paris the British army had been driven far southwards into France. Paris was saved at the Marne, and now that the Germans had entrenched themselves in a corner of France it was hoped that an attack upon their communications would compel them to retreat. Again the Germans were beforehand. When things came to a standstill on the Aisne, they concentrated a large force in Belgium to make a push for the Channel ports. The British naval division, arriving at Antwerp on the 5th of October, could do no more than delay the fall of Antwerp by a few days. The Seventh Division of the British army, under Sir Henry Rawlinson, which was disembarked at Ostend and Zeebrugge on the 6th of October, found that its task was not an assault on the German flank but the defence of the Channel ports from a furious German assault.

Nevertheless, the Naval Air Service carried on. Two attacks were made on the airship sheds at Duesseldorf and Cologne. The earlier of these was made on the 22nd of September by four aeroplanes, two for each place. There was a thick mist extending from the river Roer to some miles east of the Rhine, and only Flight Lieutenant Collet succeeded in finding his objective. He glided down at Duesseldorf from a height of 6,000 feet, the last 1,500 feet through the mist, and came in sight of the shed when he was a quarter of a mile from it at a height of 400 feet. One of his bombs fell short; the others probably hit the shed, but failed to explode. Germans ran in all directions. All four machines were back in Antwerp by one o’clock in the afternoon.

The second and more successful attack was made on the 8th of October, during the evacuation of Antwerp. Antwerp was being bombarded, the panic-stricken retreat of the population had begun, but the Naval Air Service stuck to its aerodrome, and carried out the first notable air-raid of the war. On the 7th of October the machines at Antwerp had been taken out of their shed and planted in the middle of the aerodrome, to avoid damage by splinters if the shed should be hit by a shell. On the forenoon of the 8th the weather was misty, so Squadron Commander Spenser Grey and Flight Lieutenant Marix spent the time in tuning up their Sopwith Tabloid machines. In the afternoon there was no improvement in the weather, but if an attack was to be made from Antwerp it was important to start, for the Germans were about to enter the city. Flight Lieutenant Marix, starting at 1.30 p.m., flew to Duesseldorf, dived at the shed, and let go his bombs at a height of 600 feet. The destruction was complete. The roof fell in within thirty seconds and flames rose to a height of 500 feet, showing that an inflated Zeppelin must have been inside. The aeroplane was damaged by a heavy rifle- and shell-fire, but Lieutenant Marix managed to get back to within twenty miles of Antwerp, and to return to the city by the aid of a bicycle which he borrowed from a peasant. Squadron Commander Spenser Grey, starting at 1.20 p.m., flew to Cologne, where he found a thick mist and failed to locate the airship sheds. He dropped his bombs on the main railway station in the middle of the town, and got back to Antwerp at 4.45 p.m. At six o’clock the general evacuation of Antwerp was ordered, and the officers of the Naval Air Service succeeded in reaching Ostend by noon on the following day. The transport and stores had preceded them. Since the 3rd of October Wing Commander Samson’s force had been employed in assisting the naval division at Antwerp. Some seventy motor omnibuses, taken off the streets of the cities of England, and driven by their civilian drivers, who made up in cheerfulness and skill for what they lacked in military science, had been employed to carry the stores of the naval division, and were escorted by the armoured cars. Their stay in Antwerp was brief. Where once the Germans had succeeded in bringing their big guns within range the end was certain. ‘I used to find the streets of Antwerp’, says Air Commodore Samson, ’a most depressing sight, thronged as they were with Belgians; beautifully dressed ladies were apparently carrying on their usual life, shopping and promenading as if the siege was a minor affair.’ The people of a great commercial city are slow to realize the facts of war. When the realization comes it comes with panic swiftness. The crowd of refugees which hurried by all roads out of Antwerp during the night of the 9th of October bound for anywhere, and fleeing from the destroyers of Louvain, was one of the most disheartening spectacles of the war. There were some bright spots in the prevailing darkness. One of these was General Sir Henry Rawlinson, of the Seventh Division, who took over the command at Ostend. ’I came into contact continuously with him for the next month,’ says Air Commodore Samson, ’and I never saw him down-hearted once, even in the worst periods at Ypres. I never left his presence without feeling that we were bound to win: he was worth an Army Corps by himself.’ The English nurses, who had two omnibus loads of wounded, are another luminous memory of that awful night. ’They were a splendid advertisement for the English race; absolutely unperturbed, calm and competent, amidst the surrounding mob of panic-stricken people. They impressed me more than I can say. Their one job was to get their wounded charges safe to Ostend, and that they would do it was evident to the most casual observer.’

The evacuation of Antwerp put an end to all plans for a British offensive in Belgium. Ostend was crowded with refugees, and the streets were full of distressing scenes. The harbour railway station was a seething mass of humanity attempting to get on board the few steamers that went to England. The British forces, and with them the Royal Naval Air Service, retreated by stages. Aérodromes were occupied successively at Thourout, Ypres, and, on the 15th of October, Poperinghe. On this same date Zeebrugge and Ostend fell into the hands of the Germans. ‘During the last three weeks’, says Air Commodore Samson, ’we had been always on the go, without a home, without any idea where we were going to next, without food sometimes, without adequate transport, and yet we had kept going because all ranks had pulled their pound and a bit over.’

Thus ended the Belgian adventure of the Naval Air Service. It had been good while it lasted. If a force of five thousand skilled and fit men, with armoured cars and aeroplanes, had been available for these operations, the German communications might have been seriously disordered. Some critics condemn all such adventures as ‘side-shows’. They may be right; but it is always to be remembered that the national character is seen at its best in solitary adventures of this kind, and that the British Empire, from the first, was built up by side-shows-many of them unauthorized by the Government. The experience of this war, and of former wars, proves only that these enterprises lose a great part of their value if they are timidly designed or half-heartedly executed. To condemn them out and out is to prefer the German plan of empire, which depends wholly on central initiative and central control, to the sporadic energy of the British Empire, which can never be killed by a blow aimed at the centre, for its life is in every part. Military theory, based as it is chiefly on the great campaigns of continental conquerors, has so impressed some of its British students that they forget their own nature, renounce their pride, and cheapen their dearest possessions.

The overseas work of the Naval Air Service during the closing months of 1914, from the battle of Ypres onwards, can be briefly stated. It consisted of help given to the British army, reconnaissances and attacks carried out along the occupied coast of Belgium, and two great air-raids.

During the battle of Ypres one naval aeroplane was working for the First Army Corps. Reconnaissances were carried out daily by the few available machines. Squadron Commander Davies on three occasions attacked German machines in the air; they escaped by planing down to behind their own lines. Flight Lieutenant Collet, whose aeroplane had been wrecked, flew as observer to Squadron Commander Davies, and reported the positions of six new German batteries. Flight Lieutenant Pierse, in an old inefficient machine which climbed badly, made many flights along the coast, and was wounded by shrapnel in the air over Antwerp.

Meantime, on the 31st of October, a seaplane base was established at Dunkirk in the works of the shipbuilding company, which occupied a part of the harbour. Under Squadron Commander J. W. Seddon the seaplanes did some good work; they located enemy guns, dropped heavy bombs on Bruges railway station, co-operated with the ships’ guns in the bombardment of the coast, kept a look-out for German submarines, and reported on the enemy defences.

This base at Dunkirk remained an active centre for our seaplane and aeroplane work throughout the war, and did much to defeat the German plans. The possession of the coast of Flanders had a twofold value for the Germans; it served to safeguard the right flank of their invading army and it provided them with a base both for their submarine campaign and for occasional attacks on the naval forces which held the Dover Straits. There can be no doubt that it was part of their plan to take permanent possession of the Belgian coast. It is not easy to understand why, before the war, when Zeebrugge and Ostend were made into fortified harbours, a clause was inserted in the contractors’ orders that the mole at Zeebrugge should be fit to carry hundred-ton guns and to withstand heavy gun recoil; also, that the Zeebrugge and Ostend locks and basins should be capable of accommodating a flotilla of torpedo-boats. These things were not done in the interests of England, nor had the Belgian Government any reason to fear naval aggression from the west. The plans which had this beginning were developed and completed during the first two years of the German occupation. Bruges, which was joined by canals both to Zeebrugge and Ostend, became the naval headquarters of the German forces, the base for submarines and torpedo-craft, and the centre for construction and repair. Everything was organized on a solid basis, as if to endure; yet at some time during the third year of the war the enemy must have begun to feel doubtful whether he could keep his hold on the Belgian coast. About thirty miles along the coast from Ostend, and forty or more miles from Zeebrugge, lay the port of Dunkirk, occupied in strength by the navies of France and Great Britain, and by the Royal Naval Air Service. Dunkirk was a thorn in the side of the Germans. The docks and harbours at Bruges, Zeebrugge, and Ostend were incessantly bombed from the air. Ships and works were seriously damaged, but the effect on the morale of the German forces was even more considerable. Repeated alarms, which sent all hands to take shelter in dug-outs, interfered with the work of every day. In the main basin at Bruges, and alongside the Zeebrugge mole, shelters, jutting out over the water, were provided for submarines and destroyers. The respect felt by the Germans for the menace of Dunkirk is perhaps best witnessed by the fierce nightly attacks from the air which they made on the town during the later period of the war. Admiral Sir Reginald Bacon, who commanded the Dover Patrol from April 1915 Until the end of 1917, speaks of these as ‘the martyrdom of Dunkirk’. A great many of the houses in the town were levelled with the ground. Yet the inhabitants, knowing that they were maintaining a force which gave as good as it got, went about their daily business cheerful and unperturbed. They were rewarded in the end. When, after the armistice, the last German submarine came through the lock-gates at Zeebrugge, with her crew fallen in on the fore superstructure, her captain called for three cheers,-’As that’s the last you’ll see of Flanders.’ The cheers were given very heartily-an involuntary tribute to the four years’ work of the naval services at Dunkirk.

All these things were yet to come when the third of the naval aeroplane raids into enemy territory was made on the 21st of November 1914. This, the successful attack on the Zeppelin sheds at Friedrichshafen, Lake Constance, was planned and executed to perfection. Lieutenant Pemberton Billing, of the Royal Naval Volunteer Reserve, left England on the 21st of October under Admiralty instructions. He arrived at Belfort on the 24th and, by the courtesy of the French general in command, obtained permission to use the aerodrome within the fortifications and its large dirigible shed as the starting-point for a raid. German spies were believed to be at work in Belfort, so arrangements were made for the machines to be brought into the place by road transport at night, and for their pilots to be boarded and lodged, during the whole of their stay, in the dirigible shed. Having completed these preliminaries, Lieutenant Billing carried out discreet inquiries which enabled him to draw up a chart of the proposed route, a complete plan of the Zeppelin factory, and a draft of instructions for the proposed raid.

Meantime the French had themselves been meditating a raid on Friedrichshafen, and the Governor of Belfort had received some valuable reports on the factory and the prevailing weather conditions. After some discussion it was decided that as Zeppelins were intended to assist in the destruction of the British fleet, the Royal Naval Air Service should be privileged to pay the first visit, but that this privilege should lapse if the visit were not paid within thirty days.

In the season of late autumn, when the barometer is high and the air calm, the whole of the Swiss plateau and the Rhine valley bordering it is often plunged in a thick mist which reaches to a height of about 3,000 feet. Above this sea of mist the air is clear and the flight of an aeroplane safe and easy. The course chosen from Belfort to Lake Constance, a distance of about 125 miles, was bent, like an elbow at an obtuse angle, round the northern border of Switzerland, so that Swiss neutrality should not be violated. It lay over country much of which is wooded and sparsely inhabited-first from Belfort to Muelhausen, thence over the Black Forest and some groups of wooded peaks to a point north of Schaffhausen. Here the prescribed course was to bend southwards, between the two arms of Lake Constance which stretch to the north-west, and when once the lake was reached the objective would be full in view.

On the 28th of October Lieutenant Pemberton Billing returned to England to collect men and machines. A squadron of four Avros, with 80 horse-power Gnome engines, had already been formed at Manchester under Squadron Commander P. Shepherd. The four pilots were:

Squadron Commander E. F. Briggs.
Flight Commander J. T. Babington.
Flight Lieutenant S. V. Sippe.
Flight Sub-Lieutenant R. P. Cannon.

There were eleven air mechanics. The machines and stores were shipped at Southampton for Le Havre and arrived in Belfort by night on the 13th of November. When he reached Belfort, Squadron Commander Shepherd fell ill; moreover, the weather was bad, with a falling barometer and a strong easterly wind. At last, on Saturday, the 21st of November, conditions improved and the raid took place. At half-past nine in the morning the four machines were lined up on the western side of the aerodrome to undergo engine tests and bomb-release tests. They were then dispatched, at intervals of five minutes, Squadron Commander Briggs, on machine 873, being followed by Flight Commander Babington on machine 875, and Flight Lieutenant Sippe on machine 874. Sub-Lieutenant Cannon’s machine failed to rise and broke its tail skid. The other three reached Friedrichshafen about noon, almost together, and wrought havoc on the Zeppelin works. Squadron Commander Briggs was brought down by machine-gun fire, which riddled his petrol tank. The other two returned in safety.

Two accounts of this raid shall be quoted, one from the air, the other from the ground. Here is Flight Lieutenant Sippe’s log:

Attack on Friedrichshafen, 21st November 1914.

’9.55 a.m. Left Belfort. Shaped course for Basle,
following Nos. 873 and 875.

10.25 a.m. Arrived Basle, passed to north, observed
N going away to south, overtook
N. N several miles to starboard.
Followed Rhine at height of
about 5,000 feet, keeping to north.

11 a.m. Above clouds in Rhine Valley. N
passed across and took up position ahead
and about a mile to port. Continued
to Schaffhausen, when suddenly lost
sight of 873. N about two miles
astern and about same height.

11.30 a.m. Arrived extreme end of lake and came
down to within 10 feet of water. Continued
at this height over lake, passing
Constance at a very low altitude, as
considered less likelihood of being seen.
Crossed lake and hugged north shore
until five miles from objective. Started
climb and reached 1,200 feet. Observed
twelve or fourteen shrapnels
bursting slightly north of Friedrichshafen.
Presumed these were directed
against N.

11.55 a.m. When half a mile from sheds put machine
into dive, and came down to 700 feet.
Observed men lined up to right of shed,
number estimated 300-500. Dropped
one bomb in enclosure to put gunners
off aim, and, when in correct position,
two into works and shed. The fourth
bomb failed to release. During this
time very heavy fire, mitrailleuse and
rifle, was being kept up, and shells were
being very rapidly fired. Dived and
flew north until out of range of guns,
then turned back to waterside shed to
try and release fourth bomb. Bomb
would not release; was fired on by two
machine guns (probably mitrailleuse),
dived down to surface of lake and made
good my escape.

1.50 p.m. Arrived Belfort.’

The other account was given by a Swiss engineer who saw the raid from an hotel near the Zeppelin sheds. He counted nine bombs which fell in an area of 700 square yards round the works and sheds, and he said the earth and debris were thrown up to a height of 25 feet. Each machine had four twenty-pound bombs; one of Flight Lieutenant Sippe’s bombs, as has been seen, failed to release. That leaves two bombs of the twelve to be accounted for; these fell on the sheds themselves, one greatly damaging a Zeppelin, the other destroying the gas-works, which exploded and sent up gigantic flames in the sky. The bombs made the town tremble; the military officers lost their heads and gave contradictory orders to the troops. The mitrailleuse section, however, kept cool, and fired from 200 to 250 shots before Squadron Commander Briggs was brought down. The three British biplanes crossed, recrossed, and circled at such a speed over Friedrichshafen that many onlookers thought there were six of them. Squadron Commander Briggs was attacked and injured after landing; when captured by the military he was nearly fainting, and was transported to the large Weingarten hospital at Friedrichshafen, where he was tended with every care. In fact the local officers regarded him with admiration, much as the British public regarded Captain von Mueller of the Emden.

The damage done was severe, and now that the horse was stolen the German authorities took every care to lock the stable door. A great network construction was built above the sheds. The Bavarian regiments and the night sentinels were doubled; the number of mitrailleuses and anti-aircraft guns was much increased. Five powerful searchlights were installed on the hills around the town and were kept at work all night. Two additional gun-boats were stationed in front of the floating shed. At eight o’clock every evening all the lights of the town were put out. Every civilian was compelled to carry a passport, and no foreigners were allowed to approach. The Zeppelin sheds were not attacked again, but all the men and all the material required for these additional defences were kept out of the war by the four hours’ adventure of three British pilots. So true it is that the best defence is attack.

The pilots deserve all praise for their admirable navigation, and the machines must not be forgotten. There have since been many longer and greater raids, but this flight of 250 miles, into gunfire, across enemy country, in the frail little Avrò with its humble horse-power, can compare as an achievement with the best of them, and some part of the credit must be spared for those who planned it and for those who tended and prepared the machines. The men on the ground, or in the engine-room, or in the racing stable, who have no part in the excitement and renown of action, are the invisible creators of victory.

Shortly after the raid the Swiss Government complained that the British aviators had flown over Swiss territory, and had thereby violated Swiss neutrality. Flight Lieutenant Sippe’s log, which has been quoted above, certainly gives some ground for this contention. The British Foreign Office, in their reply, said that instructions had been given to the British aviators not to fly over Swiss territory, that it was not their intention to do so, and that it had been the belief of the Foreign Office that they had not done so. The British Government assured the Swiss Government that if Swiss neutrality had been violated it had been by inadvertence, and expressed their great regret that any British aeroplanes should have flown over any part of Swiss territory. At the same time the British Government were careful to point out that the International Congress of 1910 had failed to come to any agreement as to the recognition of territory in the air, and that Great Britain’s desire to respect the wishes of the Swiss Government should not be taken as an admission ’that Great Britain is necessarily bound in all cases to respect a doctrine which, however it may be viewed by herself, is not accepted and may not be acted upon by other Powers’. This point of law has since been settled. The International Air Convention of 1921, which has been signed by the Allied Powers, sets forth in its first article ’that every Power has complete and exclusive sovereignty over the air space above its territory’.

The fourth raid into enemy territory, this time by seaplanes, was carried out on Christmas Day of 1914. How deeply the threat of the Zeppelins had impressed the public imagination and the minds of those who were responsible for the Royal Naval Air Service may be seen by this-that all four naval raids were directed against Zeppelin sheds. This fourth raid, though it did not succeed in destroying any German airship, achieved some useful observation, and had the incidental advantage that it brought the navy into conflict with Zeppelins, and diminished the portentous respect in which they had been held. Two naval officers, famous by their achievements in the war-Commodore R. J. B. Keyes and Commodore R. Y. Tyrwhitt-were in command of the supporting force. Two light cruisers, with eight destroyers of the Third Flotilla, sailed from Harwich for the Bight of Heligoland at 5.0 a.m. on Thursday, the 24th of December, escorting the three seaplane-carriers, each with three seaplanes aboard. The air was clear and the sea calm, but it was bitterly cold. The Arethusa, preceded by a screen of four destroyers, led the way; she was followed, at intervals of one and a half cables, or 300 yards, by the Engadine and Riviera. A mile behind, with a similar screen of four destroyers, came the Undaunted, followed by the Empress. Two destroyers and ten submarines, under the command of Commodore Keyes, co-operated with this force, to fend off the attacks of hostile ships and to pick up the aviators on their return. The purpose of the raid was to destroy the airship sheds at Cuxhaven, but the Admiralty were eager to get such information as might be obtainable without detriment to this purpose, and the seaplanes were instructed to report, if possible, on the numbers and classes of ships inside the basin at Wilhelmshaven, or anchored in the Schillig Roads (that is, the estuary of Wilhelmshaven), or in the mouth of the Elbe. The little fleet made straight for the Bight and reached a position some twelve miles north of Heligoland by 6.0 a.m. on Christmas morning. No time was lost in getting the machines out; seven of the nine got away soon after 7.0 a.m., the other two could not get off the water, and were hoisted in again. Then the supporting force cruised for some hours off Heligoland to await the return of the machines. At a very early hour in the morning it had become evident from the agitated condition of the German wireless that the presence of the squadron had been discovered, but they were not attacked by enemy ships of war. A ship was seen approaching from between Heligoland and the mainland, but she turned back before she could be identified. At 7.35 a.m. a Zeppelin was seen about ten miles distant, coming from the direction of Heligoland, and at 7.55 a hostile seaplane from the same direction. The seaplane attacked the squadron and dropped four bombs, which were not bad shots, but failed to hit. The squadron replied with anti-aircraft guns, maxims, and rifles. When the Zeppelin was within 11,000 yards, fire was opened on her with 6-inch guns and shrapnel shell at extreme elevation. The Undaunted burst several shells fairly close to her; she retreated to Heligoland and was not seen again. Soon after ten o’clock three of the British raiding seaplanes, having returned from the raid, were sighted and recovered, but the cruisers continued to await the return of the remaining four. A second Zeppelin and several hostile seaplanes now approached from the southward; all dropped bombs without success. The British seaplanes, it was known, carried fuel sufficient only for a three-hours’ flight; when they had been gone for four and a half hours it was evident that they were not likely to be in the air, so the cruiser and destroyer squadron, after searching the waters of the Frisian coast, reluctantly shaped its course for home. Commodore Tyrwhitt, in his report of the encounter with the German aircraft, remarks that both Zeppelins practised the same method of attack, namely, to get behind the line of ships and to drop their bombs on the fore and aft line. Their speed was great, but they seemed to suffer from one disability which made them clumsy to handle. ‘It was repeatedly noted’, he says, ’that the Zeppelins, when altering course, invariably “wore”, and did not appear to be able to turn head to wind. This made them ridiculously easy to avoid in spite of their speed, which was surprising.’ That is to say, the Zeppelins did not tack. Perhaps it was their policy to maintain rapid movement, so as not to present a stationary target. To alter their course in the eye of the wind they fell off from the wind and, after presenting their stern to it, came up on the other side. ‘The seaplane attacks’, the commodore adds, ’were of a much more active nature, but they do not appear to have discovered the art of hitting.’ German seaplanes, when they approached end on, were very like British seaplanes, so the order was given to wait for a bomb to be dropped before opening fire. This order caused ‘considerable merriment’ among the ships’ companies. ’I am quite convinced’, says Commodore Tyrwhitt, ’that, given ordinary sea-room, our ships have nothing to fear from seaplanes and Zeppelins.’

For eight hours, in perfect weather, the British squadron occupied German waters just off the principal German naval ports. The Germans knew the composition of the British force, and as visibility was extraordinarily good they must have known also that there were no supports; but their navy made no attempt to interfere with the British ships.

Three of the four missing pilots returned, and were picked up by submarine E 11, close to Norderney Gat. They were there attacked by a hostile airship; the submarine, as soon as it had taken the pilots on board, was forced to dive, and the machines were abandoned. The missing pilot, Flight Commander F. E. T. Hewlett, had engine failure, and came down on the sea near a Dutch trawler; he was picked up and detained for a time in Holland. The Cuxhaven sheds were not located, but the German naval ports were pretty thoroughly surveyed, and a good deal of damage was done by bomb-dropping. Seaplane N, piloted by Flight Commander C. F. Kilner, with Lieutenant Erskine Childers as observer, flew over the Schillig Roads, and reported, lying at anchor there, seven battleships of the Deutschland and Braunschweig classes, three battle cruisers, apparently the Seydlitz, Moltke, and Von der Tann, one four-funnelled cruiser, probably the Roon, two old light cruisers of the Frauenlob and Bremen classes, ten destroyers, one large two-funnelled merchantman or liner, and three ships which appeared to be colliers. Anti-aircraft guns, firing shrapnel, were used against the seaplane and very nearly scored a direct hit. On issuing from the Roads the officers in the seaplane saw a large number of ships in the northern part of the fairway of the Weser, and two destroyers east of Wangeroog. As a result of this reconnaissance a part of the German fleet was moved from Cuxhaven to various places farther up the Kiel canal.

The day before the Cuxhaven raid the Germans made their first raid over England, and dropped their first bomb on English soil. The air raids over England during the war were many and serious; they were an important and characteristic part of the German plan of campaign, and their story must be told separately. They began with a curious timid little adventure. On the 21st of December a German aeroplane made its appearance above Dover; it dropped a bomb which was aimed, no doubt, at some part of the harbour, but fell harmlessly in the sea. The aeroplane then went home. Three days later, on the 24th, a single aeroplane again dropped a bomb, this time on English soil near Dover. This was the prelude to a formidable series of air raids, which, however, were not made in strength till well on in the following year.

The close of the year 1914, and of the first five months of the war, saw the German assault on the European commonwealth held, though not vanquished. If the German plans had succeeded, the war would have been over before the coming of the new year. The failure of these plans was inevitably a longer business. The best-informed judges, from Lord Kitchener downwards, recognized that this was not a war which could be ended at a blow. A great nation does not so readily give up the dreams on which it has been fed for the better part of a hundred years. The German people had been educated for the war, taught to regard the war as their brightest hope, to concentrate their imagination on what it might do for them, and to devote their energies to carrying it through. The movement of so great a mass of opinion and zeal, when once it has begun, is not soon reversed. Germany settled down to the business of winning the war. The Germans had had some partial successes, in the destruction of a Russian army at Tannenberg, and of a British squadron at Coronel. They began to realize the immensity of their task, but they still believed that they could perform it, and that if they could not beat down the opposing forces, they could wear them down.

Month by month, as the war continued, it spread, and involved nation after nation. In the first summer Japan came in, and in the first autumn, Turkey. As the number of Germany’s enemies increased, so did the tale of Great Britain’s responsibilities. British troops, during the course of the war, fought upon every front, against every one of the Powers allied to Germany; British help in men, or money or material, was given to every one of Germany’s enemies. Already in August 1914 British naval and military forces were operating in Togoland, in the Cameroons, and at Dar-es-Salaam in German East Africa. By November Basra, in the Persian Gulf, was occupied, and the Mesopotamian campaign had begun. In addition to all these new burdens, the anxieties of administration in many countries, and especially in Egypt, which owed allegiance to the Sultan, were increased tenfold by the war. Those who had pleased themselves with the fancy that Great Britain is an island were rudely undeceived.

Aircraft had proved their utility, or rather their necessity, in the campaign on the western front; they were not less needed in all these distant theatres. In uncivilized or thinly peopled countries a single squadron of aeroplanes may save the work of whole battalions of infantry. The great problem of the first year of the war was a problem of manufacture and training, the problem, indeed, of the creation of values. With the instruments that we had at the outbreak of war we had done all that we could, and more than all that we had promised; but what we had achieved, at the best, was something very like a deadlock. The war, if it was to be won, could only be won in the workshop and the training-school. These places are not much in the public eye; but it was in these places that the nation prepared itself for the decisive struggle. The New Army, and an air force that ultimately numbered not hundreds but tens of thousands, emerged from the discipline of preparation. The process took time; months and even years passed before its results were apparent. But some account of it must be given at this point in the story if the events of the later years of the war in the air are to be made intelligible or credible.

The greatest creation of all, the temper of the new force, was not so much a creation as a discovery. Good machines and trained men, however great their number, are not enough to win a war. War is a social affair, and wars are won by well-knit societies. The community of habits and ideas which unites civilized mankind is too loose a bond for this purpose; it has too much in it of mere love of comfort and ease and diversion. Patriotism will go farther, but for the making of a first-class fighting force patriotism is not enough. A narrower and tighter loyalty and a closer companionship are needed, as every regiment knows, before men will cheerfully go to meet the ultimate realities of war. They must live together and work together and think together. Their society must be governed by a high and exacting code, imposed by consent, as the creed of all. The creation, or the tended growth, of such a society, that is to say, of the new air force, was one of the miracles of the war. The recruits of the air were young, some of them no more than boys. Their training lasted only a few months. They put their home life behind them, or kept it only as a fortifying memory, and threw themselves with fervour and abandon into the work to be done. Pride in their squadron became a part of their religion. The demands made upon them, which, it might reasonably have been believed, were greater than human nature can endure, were taken by them as a matter of course; they fulfilled them, and went beyond. They were not a melancholy company; they had something of the lightness of the element in which they moved. Indeed, it would be difficult to find, in the world’s history, any body of fighters who, for sheer gaiety and zest, could hold a candle to them. They have opened up a new vista for their country and for mankind. Their story, if it could ever be fully and truly written, is the Epic of Youth.