The heavier machine fell through the air like a wounded bird. Flames broke out, for as is always the case when shot down over enemy trenches, the German aviator ignited his gasoline tank that the machine might be destroyed rather than be of use to the French.
Sanderson, shooting southward after his brief conflict, was not untouched. The tauben on duty had fired on him. A bullet had plowed a furrow across one of his shoulders, and he felt a trickle of blood into his shoe from a scratch above his left ankle.
But greater than these personal hurts was another discovery he made. A bullet had severed a metal stability control. By all the rules of aviation he should have lost control of his aeroplane and come down in a fatal smash.
Sanderson did not lose his head. He was quite aware, when the rod snapped, that death rode at his shoulder. He seized the broken stay and held on, steering with his other hand. This called for all the strength he possessed; for if an automobile traveling fifty miles an hour needs muscle as well as skill at the wheel, how much more does an aeroplane pilot need strength in handling his machine traveling at twice that speed!
The American, still slanting downward, crossed above the French trenches, aiming to descend in a not-far-distant field, a little out of the line of fire, where repairs could be made. Fate, however, had more in store for him. A whirling squall of wind suddenly caught his Nieuport, and he felt the tail of the machine go down and the nose shoot up.
He was caught in the fatal perte de vitesse.
There are two ways in which the aviator may know when he is approaching the danger point of "loss of speed"—by closely watching the speed indicator and by feeling the controls. The moment the controls become lifeless and have no resistance the pilot must act instantly to regain his momentum.
But situated as Sanderson was, he had no chance to save himself. The vrille was on before he could as much as think. His aeroplane was suddenly descending in a whirlpool—spinning like a match in a basin.
The Nieuport was making the corner of one wing a pivot and was revolving about it—the first turn slowly, but each succeeding turn increasing in speed.
Sanderson whispered the one word "Belinda" as he looked out and saw that he was less than a thousand feet above ground and approaching it at an alarming rate of speed. He had shut off the motor the instant of the alarm, or the Nieuport would have folded up like a book.