Jimmy and Reddy were there with the shove that started the aëroplane rolling; our Aviator Boys were in their places, and away they went. They did not risk any low flight to attract high range guns, but streaked for the clouds from the very start.
Like an arrow, but even speedier, they moved a mile a minute, and, descending, displayed the French colors to check a chance shot from some enterprising cavalryman.
The message delivered, there was a great ado about boots and saddles, and the mounted troops galloped like mad toward the scene of action.
Again rising high, the boys slackened pace that they might watch the progress of the cavalry below, for as swiftly as these seasoned horses might traverse the distance, they were as snails to an aëroplane.
The flyers saw the cavalrymen hurl themselves into the conflict on the plain, and saw men and charging horses go down here and there, and infantrymen everywhere under furious onslaught.
So formidable was the attack of the fresh troops that they won their way to the position where their surrounded comrades were making what they thought to be their last stand against overwhelming odds.
It was, though, at fearful cost, through a bloody lane, and over ground strewn with dead and wounded.
The young airmen themselves had a close call before completing their hazardous journey; a bullet struck the machine, causing it to lurch as though reeling from a blow, and Billy had to throw the wheel hard around to prevent the aëroplane from rolling right over upon its side.
But, diving and swerving, the good craft swept down, while the relief and the relieved regiments rent the air with cheers.
Our Aviator Boys had saved the day!