Swinging lazily above the field was a captive balloon. At one end of Le Bourget was a line of waiting airplanes. "This is the second; they have already brought down one balloon," remarked the man at my elbow. The hum of a motor caused me to look up. A wide-winged double motor, Caudron, had left the ground and was mounting gracefully above us. Up and up it went, describing a great circle, until it faced the balloon. Everyone caught his breath. The Caudron was rushing straight at the balloon, diving for the attack.
"Now!" cried the crowd. There was a loud crack, a flash, and eight long rockets darted forth leaving behind a fiery trail. The aviator's aim however was wide, and to the disappointment of everyone the darts fell harmlessly to the ground.
Another motor roared far down the field, and a tiny appareil de chasse shot upward like a swallow. "A Nieuport," shouted the crowd as one voice. Eager to atone for his copain's failure, and impatient at his delay in getting out of the way, the tiny biplane tossed and tumbled about in the air like a clown in the circus ring.
"Look! he's looping! he falls! he slips! no, he rights again!" cried a hundred voices as the skilful pilot kept our nerves on edge.
Suddenly he darted into position and for a second hovered uncertain. Then with a dive like that of a dragon-fly, he rushed down to the attack. Again a sheet of flame and a shower of sparks. This time the balloon sagged. The flames crept slowly around its silken envelope. "Touchez!" cried the multitude. Then the balloon burst and fell to the ground a mass of flames. High above the little Nieuport saucily continued its pranks, as though contemptuous of such easy prey.
© U. & U.
Aviators Descending in Parachutes from a Balloon Struck by Incendiary Shells.