ZEPPELINS ATTACK LONDON—BATTLES IN THE AIR

England's insularity disappeared on the night of May 31, 1915. The isolation by sea which had kept her immune from attack since the days of the Normans failed to save London from the Zeppelin. After ten months of war the British capital looked upon its dead for the first time. Four children, one woman, and one man were killed. An old apple woman died of fright. There were numerous fires, only three of which assumed serious proportions and these were extinguished by the fire department after a few hours.

London's initial glimpse of a Zeppelin was obtained about 11.30 p. m., when the theatre section was filled with homeward bound throngs. The lights attracted the raiders to this district, where a half dozen bombs were dropped. No sooner had the first of the missiles fallen than antiaircraft guns began to open a bombardment from many directions. Searchlights mounted at advantageous points threw their narrow pencils of light into the skies. The people in different sections of the city caught a fleeting glance of a huge airship that floated sullenly along, like some bird of prey from out of the past—a new pterodactyl that instead of seizing its victims dropped death upon them.

One shell fell in Trafalgar Square. The Zeppelins passed over the Houses of Parliament, Westminster, and other famous buildings, but apparently did not have their location well in mind as these noted monuments escaped harm.

But the Zeppelins had come. And they left scars which greeted Londoners the following morning to prove that the raid was not a bad dream which would disappear with the morning mists. In addition to the four persons killed, seventy others were injured, some of whom suffered the loss of limbs and other injuries that incapacitated them. Immediately there was a cry for revenge. Some of the newspapers advocated reprisals upon German cities. This the government refused to do and steadfastly adhered to a policy of war upon fortified places and armed men alone. Rioting took place in many districts where Germans were numerous. Shops and homes were looted. Every German who appeared in the streets, or any person who looked like one, was liable to attack. A number of aliens were badly handled. The public declared a spontaneous boycott upon every person having a name that seemed to be of German origin. There was a united movement to obtain some reparation for the Zeppelin raids. But the results were only trifling and the indignation died down with the passing days, British calmness soon succeeding the excitement of a moment.

Italian frontier towns became the goal of Austrian airmen on June 1, 1915. A half dozen persons were killed or injured and there was some property damaged. With warm weather and good flying conditions raids were in order every day.

On June 3, 1915, British aviators made a successful attack upon German airship sheds at Evere, Belgium. The same day French machines bombarded the headquarters of the crown prince in the Argonne, with what results never was definitely established, although there were reports that several high officers had been killed.

It was made known in London on June 3, 1915, that Great Britain and Germany had agreed to a plan for the protection of public buildings from air raids. According to this agreement hospitals, churches, museums, and similar buildings were to have large white crosses marked upon their roofs. Both governments pledged themselves to respect these crosses. Much importance was attached to the idea at the time, but its effects were disappointing. The marks either were not readily perceivable from an aeroplane or the pilots did not trouble themselves too much about the crosses. Public buildings continued to suffer.

On the night of June 4, 1915, German dirigibles attacked towns at the mouth of the Humber, the port and shipping of Hardwich, in England. There were some casualties and considerable property loss, but the British Government would not make public the extent of the damage as the places attacked were of naval importance. Calais, on the French coast was raided the next day by two German airmen. There was one casualty. England's east coast was visited by Zeppelins on the night of June 6, 1915, twenty-four persons being killed and forty hurt. There was much damage, all details of which were suppressed.

Just after the break of day on June 7, 1915, a British monoplane was returning from a scouting trip over Belgium. At the same hour a Zeppelin flew homeward from the English coast. The two met between Ghent and Brussels. Four persons had been killed and forty injured during the night at Yarmouth and other near-by towns on the East channel coast. Raids had been frequent of late and the British pilot sensed the fact that this Zeppelin was one of the dreaded visitors. He was several miles away when the big aircraft hove into view. Uncertain for a few minutes how to proceed, he rose until he was two thousand feet above the Zeppelin. His maneuver was not appreciated at first, or the Zeppelin crew did not see him. There was no attempt either to flee or give battle.

But as the monoplane drew nearer it was sighted and a combat followed such as never was seen before. Sub-Lieutenant R. A. J. Warneford, a young Canadian who had not reached twenty-one years of age, matched his pygmy machine against the great aerial dreadnought. The fight started at a height of 6,000 feet. Lieutenant Warneford released his first bomb when about 1,000 feet above the Zeppelin. He saw it strike the airbag and disappear, followed by a puff of smoke. Because of the sectional arrangement this did not disable the airship. The Lieutenant circled off and again approached the Zeppelin. Every gun was trained upon him that could be brought to bear. The wings of his machine were shattered many times, but he kept on fighting. When once more above the enemy craft, he released another bomb. It also struck the Zeppelin, but appeared to glance off.

The antagonists resorted to every conceivable ruse, one to escape, the other to bring down its quarry. All efforts of the Zeppelin commander to reach the height of his antagonist were defeated. His lone enemy kept above him. The battle varied from an altitude of 6,000 to 10,000 feet. Three other bombs struck the airship, and each time there was the telltale wisp of smoke.

The Zeppelin was mortally injured. Her commander turned to earth for refuge. Seeing this, Lieutenant Warneford came nearer. He had but one bomb left. Descending to within a few hundred feet of the airship, while its machine guns played upon him, he released this remaining bomb. It struck the Zeppelin amidship. There was a flash, a roar, and a great burst of smoke as the vanquished craft exploded and plunged nose downward. The rush of air caused by the explosion upset the equilibrium of the victorious machine, which dropped toward the ground and turned completely over before its pilot could regain control. The presence of mind which he showed at this juncture, was one of the most remarkable features of this remarkable conflict.

The young Canadian pilot righted his machine in time to see the Zeppelin end its career. Like a flaming comet it fell upon the convent of Le Grand Beguinage de Sainte Elizabeth, located in Mont Saint Amand, a suburb of Ghent. This convent was used as an orphanage. The burning airship set fire to several buildings, causing the death of two sisters and two children. The twenty-eight men aboard were killed. Accounts from Amsterdam a day or two later gave a vivid description of the charred remnants of the machine, the burned convent buildings, and the victims all piled together.

Lieutenant Warneford saw the Zeppelin fall and knew that its raiding days were over. Then he discovered that his own machine was in trouble. In another moment he realized the impossibility of returning to the British lines, and was compelled to volplane toward earth, cutting off his driving power. Descending in a soft field, he found that his motor was out of order. Thirty precious minutes were spent repairing the damage. It took him as long again to get his machine started, a task not often accomplished by one man. But he sailed serenely home and brought the news of his strange victory.

Within twenty-four hours Lieutenant Warneford was the hero of the world. His name and achievement had been flashed to the four corners of the earth. Every newspaper rang with acclaim for the boyish aviator who had shown that one man of skill and daring was a match for the huge Zeppelin. It was the old story of David and Goliath, of the Roman youth who bested the Gaul, of Drake's improvised fleet against the Armada. The lieutenant was called to London and presented with the Victoria Cross by King George, who thanked him in the name of the British Empire for adding another laurel to the long list of its honors. A day or two later President PoincarÉ received him in Paris and pinned the Legion of Honor cross upon his breast.

But this same week saw the climax of this war romance—a tragic ending to a war epic. Lieutenant Warneford was practicing with a new French machine at Versailles. He either lost control or the motor failed him. It dropped to earth, killing the pilot and an American newspaper correspondent who was in the observer's seat. This sudden end to a career so brilliant, the cutting off of a future so promising, cast a pall over the minds of both the French and British airmen. The body of Lieutenant Warneford lay in state at the French capital and afterward in London, where every honor was shown his memory.[Back to Contents]