Farther south there was great peril too. The cavalry had been driven out of Hollebeke, and had fallen back on the Ypres-Armentières road, where there was heavy fighting. The line of the Third Corps had been broken, but the rent had been repaired by the gallantry of the Somerset Light Infantry. Reserves were called up, and were stationed at Neuve Eglise, about three miles south-west of Messines. With these reserves came the first infantry Territorial regiment to take the field—the London Scottish.
North of Zandevoorde there was also great danger of disaster. A battalion of the Royal Welsh Fusiliers found the troops on their right pushed back by sheer weight of numbers, and they themselves exposed to a most galling fire from machine guns on their flank. Their losses were terrible, but still they held on, and when the fight was over the battalion had almost ceased to exist. The Royal Scots Fusiliers suffered in like manner; but they and the remnant of the Yorkshires, bunched together into one battalion, held their trenches until dark. The Allied line was pushed back to the verge of Gheluvelt, and when night fell it seemed as though the Kaiser had spoken the truth when he declared, "Ypres will be mine by 1st November."
During the fighting around Ypres the Royal Flying Corps did splendid service. A Daily News correspondent tells of one young flying man who seemed to make a perfect hobby of his work. The following account of his doings will give you an excellent idea of how airmen direct the fire of guns. "From dawn to sunset," says the correspondent, "this young officer is up and about, doing the most wonderful things with the utmost coolness. The other morning, up ahead of the lark, he volplaned[69] from a great height right in the midst of the German lines, as though he meant to make a brief morning call for breakfast. The Germans were too astonished for the moment to do anything but gasp and gape at him, though he was easily within range. He impudently stopped his engine, dropped half a dozen 'puffs' (as our Tommies call the aeroplane bombs) into a cavalry cluster, waved his hand, and off and above he went again.
"Hundreds of rifle shots whirred around him as he fled; two of them struck him; and three minutes later he was down in the British lines once more, with blood trickling through the rents in his tunic. He was patched up and bandaged, had a good, hearty lunch, and before teatime he was up again in one of his mad frolics in the air. 'Surely you've had enough for one day,' said General ——; 'have a rest at least until to-morrow. We don't want to lose these matinée performances of yours; they're too fine for anything.' But the young aviator jammed his armoured helmet on his head, and said he couldn't resist making a flight, because it was great fun, and kept him fit. So off he went again.
"That afternoon he excelled himself. There was a well-screened German battery which was doing nasty work from behind a slight rise at the back of the enemy's trenches. This was the airman's quarry. Up and up he went in quick, climbing spirals, and when he was at a height of 2,000 feet he poised for a spell to spot the lurking-place of the battery. When he had discovered it he, flew above it, and signalled to our gunners to drop their shells immediately below him. They fired; the shells fell some distance to the right. He next signalled to the range-finders to swing their guns more to the left. Again they fired, but the shells went too far. A third time he signalled, and the first of our shells that fell in the new direction wrecked the limber of the foremost German gun, smashing up horses and men alike. Good! Instantly the airman indicated that the range had been found, and then shell after shell burst over and among the battery which had been flogging us so mercilessly earlier in the day. In five minutes all that was left of it broke away from the cunning screen which masked it, and fled across country. The general, who had been watching the affair through his field glasses, cried, 'Splendid! Magnificent! The best show I've ever witnessed. That man must have a heart of steel in a body of iron.' When the daring aviator descended the general warmly congratulated him, and shook him by the hand. 'You're almost too good to last,' he said. The airman only laughed."
An Admiral of the Air. Photo, Cribb.
Wing-Commander C. R. Samson, R.N. See page [74].
In the account of the fighting round Ypres nothing has been said of our artillery. Sir John French thus writes concerning it: "I cannot speak too highly of the valuable services rendered by the Royal Artillery throughout the battle." He also tells us that, though the enemy brought up guns of great range and power, our artillery overmastered them. Splendid work was done by a number of young artillery officers, who in the most gallant manner pressed forward in the vicinity of the firing line in order to direct their guns at the right targets, and at the right moment. Here is a story which illustrates the skill and courage of these young officers.