This reminds me of a story told by a certain famous airman, a little man with a great heart, on whose breast there are the flaring crimson of the French Légion d’Honneur and the crimson and blue of the Distinguished Service Order. I will give you his own words. “I went over the lines with X---- for an observer. He’d never been over the lines before and I must confess that I felt a wee bit shaky as to how he would take it. Luckily we got across without a single shot being fired at us--and then we met a Taube, coming right down wind at about ninety miles, and at about our own level. I looked at X----, who for a time, was too busy watching the other chap coming up to notice me, but finally he turned and smiled, and I knew he was all right. ‘Got the Lewis-gun ready?’ I bawled into his ear. He nodded, and then we cleared the decks for action, so to speak. He put a fresh tray of ammunition on the gun, and got two other trays ready by the side of him, while I had a look at the bombs and grenades, and put the joy-stick about a bit just to see that she was all right. The other chap still kept on, and was only about a hundred yards off when X---- opened fire, zipp-zipp-zipp-zipp, seventy-eight of the little beggars slick into the middle of him. Gave him hell, I can tell you; at all events he didn’t stick it long. Down went the nose of his machine, and he was very soon about a thousand feet beneath us. I loosed off all my bombs, quick as I could, missed every time, had a shot with a grenade and missed again. I must confess I felt a wee bit flurried that morning--and then X---- began. Never laughed so much in all my life. He laid his hands on everything, his hat and his glasses--Government glasses, by the way--and his revolver and spare cartridges. Thank God! There was nothing of mine in the front there.” Not nearly so pleasant, however, was the experience of a certain seaplane pilot, who when flying across the Channel from Belgium to England was forced by engine trouble to come down on to the sea, in the midst of our own mine-fields, very far removed from the track of all shipping. Here he remained for eleven and a half hours, until sighted by a torpedo-boat, which though unable to reach him herself, was able to give warning ashore, so that a small motor-boat succeeded in finding a way through the mines, rescued the pilot, but was forced to abandon the machine.