COMING HOME TO ROOST

Dominion, Volume 8, Issue 2515, 17 July 1915, Page 14

COMING HOME TO ROOST

f, « ; : TWIUGfIT WATCH OF THE BRITISH FLYERS BRAVE MEN WHO NEVER RETURN -i.Tlie United Press of America recently published in New York the following article by its correspondent with the Army, Mr. • William G. Shepherd, describing t|io oycliing ritual of the British Flying Corps on. War Service.] Headquarters of tho British Army, . Northern France. _ I stood out on tho flying ground at dusk this evening with a scoro of General French's young flying men, and "saw tho chickens como homo to roost." Of all the tense hours on the flying grounds the one hour of twilight, and dusk, before nightfall,, is the hour that tugs hardest at tho nerves of the British flying men. Wherever a, flying man may be, taking tea or coffee in the cafo of somo.near-by village, reading in his quarters, or engaged in oilier pastimes that occupy him and his comrades when they .are ■ not in the air, you will see a. certain nervousness and distraction. come-over-him about sunset. 'Soon' ho will still himself, and you will find him. sometimes before darkness begins to fall, on his own particular flying field —waiting. . ' I walked out of town, early this evening, with two flying men who had invited me to watch the evening roosting. "I've got a couple of pals . who've -been.-up in 'the sky all the afternoon," explained one of tho flyers to me. "I want to see whether 'they've come in of not." . ■ "Yes," assented the other young Englishman, "there four fellows from my mess who went out this afternoon, \ud one rather wants to know they're in before dark, don't you see?" Winging Home. Wlien we. got. to the field, we found thirty or more of the young, litho Britishers who make; up General French's flying squad at this particular place in. the fighting zone. They stood about in knots, chatting, cutting nervously at the grass with their canes, or sitting in the lee of the hangars to protect themselves from the cold fifty-mile-an-hour wind. I noticed that; with all their seeming idleness and preoccupation their sharp, trained glances were raking the evening skies. "There's ——, I thmk," said .one young fellow. I followed his gaze and what I saw was a dot in the sky no larger than the head' of a pin. "No. I think that's ," said another youth. < "Right you are," said the first one. "I was mistaken." How he knew he was mistaken I couldn't, understand. Neither could the; flying men explain to mo how they had developed the ability to distinguish one aeroplane from another. They have simply developed it, and that's all. The aeroplanes are all as 'like as two pins; •hut there's something in the individual flying of. a man, or it may be ether waves of telepathy that one flying man ill tho air can send to a mate on thoground; that helps the flyers to tell one speck in the air from another. The sppt grew bigger. Suddenly the machine tilted: and spiraled down dizzily. Within a minute or two it had alighted and two heavily-furred young .Britishers-climbed,from it. One after another the spots appeared in the sky, were recognised as or . The machines alighted, or I—— climbed out, and came over to join ' our group. One Still Missing. • "Wlio'isn't in yet?" was always the question they asked. Safe themselves from the battle line, wlierc the daily shrapnel had broken about them, they ; weror as curious and anxious as wo for tho safe return of the chaps who, as yet, were not 'lucky enough to be 'in' for .the evening 'roosting.'" At last all were in but one. Night- was almost upon us. 'A' man in: an -aeroplane must see . the grass', •when he alights; there's a clover little throw of the lever, which lie must give •at the last moment, that,will bring him to earth lightly instead of in a smash. "He's a young fellow, and a new flyer,!?-explained an officer to me, "and ■I'm rather worried about him." ; "Better get out the flares," he saidr* to an attendant. " The flares are white lights that are placed about the / field when a flyer is benighted; by them ho can trace his way through the night sky to his own flying field,- and, - with difficulty, can measure his low height from 'the-ground at that last ticklish moment before landing, i "Suppose the young flyer didn't come back. Where might he be?" ' This wasn't any ordinary peace-time flying meet; this was war-time. He might be a wreck of broken bones and bleeding flesh'. Men had been trying to kill him all the afternoon; they-had been shooting at him like hunters shooting at a bird; they had hunted him in packs; if he had gone near the trenches it was certain that, a thousand German rifles /had potted at him; he might be a prisoner in the Gprman lines, for if his engine had stopped: at tlio wrong time lie had,been forced to come down. | All the Chickens Home. ! jW& were waiting for a man . who might be dead. There were tho soldiers setting out.the flares and getting ready ; to light'them. No one \was 6peaking now. _ j" "That's him," said an officer. ."Yes," answered three or four of the young men'.at once. Y "Where?" Tasked. I "Can't see him yet, but that's his propeller," explained l one of my friends. ' Their trained ears had caught the lium of the aeroplane engine long before I could hear it. ' Soon lie came into view; it was almost dark and the aeroplane, loomed largo when I caught tho first glimpse of it. It settled down on to tho 'fiold,.twoyoung fellows piled out of it, clumsily on account of many clothes, and walked over to us. | ■ "Who isn't ill?"; asked one of them. "Everybody's here," said tho captain'. "Good," said the young fellow, for Jf w]iom we had all been waiting. Then we all dispersed. Every ,"chicken." had come home to "roost." "Have you ever waited out there for a fellow who didn't come?"'l aeked tho captain. . "Several,. times," _ he said simply. "And the worst of it is," he added, in his quiet English way, "that you never know "what has become of the man who doesn't como home."—Exchange Special.