Scottie, another observer (now a prisoner, poor chap), leaned forward to look at his map while on a reconnaissance. A dainty morsel from an Archie shell hurtled through the air and grazed the back of his neck. He finished the reconnaissance, made out his report, and got the scratch dressed at the hospital. Next day he resumed work; and he was delighted to find himself in the Roll of Honour, under the heading "Wounded." I once heard him explain to a new observer that when flying a close study of the map was a guarantee against losing one's way, one's head—and one's neck.
The Archibald family tree has several branches. Whenever the founder of the family went on the burst he broke out in the form of white puffs, like those thrown from the funnel of a liner when it begins to slow down. The white bursts still seek us out, but the modern Boche A.-A. gunner specialises more in the black variety. The white bursts contain shrapnel, which is cast outwards and upwards; the black ones contain high explosive, which spreads all around.
H.E. has a lesser radius of solid frightfulness than shrapnel, but if it does hit a machine the damage is greater. For vocal frightfulness the black beat the white hollow. If the Titans ever had an epidemic of whooping-cough, and a score of them chorused the symptoms in unison, I should imagine the noise was like the bursting of a black Archie shell.
Then there is the green branch of the family. This is something of a problem. One theory is that the green bursts are for ranging purposes only, another that they contain a special brand of H.E., and a third declares them to be gas shells. All three suggestions may be partly true, for there is certainly more than one brand of green Archie.
First cousin to Archie is the onion, otherwise the flaming rocket. It is fired in a long stream of what look like short rectangles of compressed flame at machines that have been enticed down to a height of 4000 to 6000 feet. It is most impressive as a firework display. There are also colourless phosphorous rockets that describe a wide parabola in their flight.
Within the past month or two we have been entertained at rare intervals by the family ghost. This fascinating and mysterious being appears very suddenly in the form of a pillar of white smoke, stretching to a height of several thousand feet. It is straight, and apparently rigid as far as the top, where it sprays round into a knob. Altogether, it suggests a giant piece of celery. It does not seem to disperse; but if you pass on and look away for a quarter of an hour, you will find on your return that it has faded away as suddenly as it came, after the manner of ghosts. Whether the pillars are intended to distribute gas is uncertain, but it is a curious fact that on the few occasions when we have seen them they have appeared to windward of us.
Like babies and lunatics, Archie has his good and bad days. If low clouds are about and he can only see through the gaps he is not very troublesome. Mist also helps to keep him quiet. He breaks out badly when the sky is a cover of unbroken blue, though the sun sometimes dazzles him, so that he fires amok. From his point of view it is a perfect day when a film of cloud about 20,000 feet above him screens the sky. The high clouds forms a perfect background for anything between it and the ground, and aircraft stand out boldly, like the figures on a Greek vase. On such a day we would willingly change places with the gunners below.
For my part, Archie has given me a fellow-feeling for the birds of the air. I have at times tried light-heartedly to shoot partridges and even pigeons, but if ever again I fire at anything on the wing, sympathy will spoil my aim.
France, October, 1916