saw a torpedo boat.' On the next day, let's see.... Oh, yes.... 'Saw two German destroyers, and raced back to our ship, and British ships sped after the Germans.'

"A day or so later I had run in with two German machines. It chanced that there was a wind blowing about 30 knots, and I was merely out scouting, and did not carry a gun. The two enemy ships were joined by a third, and then they gained sufficient courage to come a bit close. They shot away my aileron control, and we were in a very bad way. For twenty minutes we were continually under fire, and below there was a heavy swell. It really was only through knowing how scared is the enemy flyer when you go for him that I am here to-night. I let the enemy planes get nearer and nearer to me, and by the time they were ready for firing I dived at one of them. This so upset the poise of the three machines that they turned tail and swung around to come at me. They made huge circles to get on my flanks again. All this took time, and during it I was getting nearer and nearer my base. Now and again the enemy machines were like too many cooks and the broth; they nearly crashed into each other. This also upset their nerves. Incidentally, when you are in the air, only the other machine appears to be moving, and you seem perfectly still. My escape is due in part to the arrival of one of our fighting seaplanes. A German is desperately afraid of them, unless there are four Germans to one Britisher. When they saw this fighting Britisher coming they did not take long to get away. They knew who the flyer was, too, for a man's style in the air is always characteristic. They had heard of this flyer before. So they turned tail, and I got back with a machine out of order. 'The Prussian code of politeness,' we call it when they retire with two or three machines against one of ours. It is the respect that they show for our fighting seaplanes. Of course, this does not detract from the confidence we have in our superiority."

I heard also that seaplanes have been called upon to serve at all sorts of tasks on the dismal briny. On one occasion a senior naval officer of an English port received word that neutrals were out in boats, and that they had no water or food. Their steamship had been torpedoed, and their last message by wireless had been caught by the British. The naval officer despatched a seaplane with bread and water, and the pilot delivered it, with other trifling necessities.

One of the most beautiful sights that meets the eye of a seaplane pilot is when he comes on the scouting parties of British warships. They are never at a standstill, and to keep moving and in the same place they all make a wonderful circle at full speed, with one vessel in the centre. That ship is to receive the message or whatever is brought by the seaplane, which in the event of calm weather lands on the water and sometimes sends off one of her officers to talk to those aboard the vessel protected by the ring of speeding grey warcraft.

II. OVER THE NORTH SEA IN A SEAPLANE

To have an accurate conception of some of the experiences of a seaplane pilot of the Royal Naval Air Service, I took advantage of an opportunity to go aloft over the North Sea.

"Come with me, and we'll get you togged out for the ride," said the gunnery lieutenant. He was a Canadian, who had lived many years in Rochester, N. Y., and it was he who remembered that I would need something warmer than the clothes I wore.

In the room to which he conducted me were many different styles of air garb. He picked down a hat and coat of black leather, observing that they would serve the purpose.

The morning sun shed a yellowish glow on the dancing sea, and the wind was blowing at the rate of 32 knots. It was agreed by all that there would be an excellent view from the aircraft as the day was clear. By the time the gunnery lieutenant and I reached the ways on which the great seaplane rested, men in overalls, begrimed with oil and dirt, were testing the engine. As the great propeller spun round, coats ballooned out with the rush of air, and the noise was such that one could hardly hear one's own efforts to shout. It was a sound which filled you with awe. The propeller was stopped after a few minutes, and the mechanicians shot up the sides of the craft, and punched oil and gasolene into the places where it was needed. Young officers in naval uniforms stood around the machine—all are usually interested in a departing seaplane. Not far from us were many immense sheds in which were some of the newest types of England's youngest branch of the Navy. There were aircraft there which bespoke the inventive genius of the Briton, and the confidence of the young pilots inspired you with pleasure—it was a confidence that they could beat the enemy at one to two.

Presently the chief mechanician announced to the pilot that all was well, and the man who was to take me above the North Sea, attired in his uniform and a thick white woollen scarf, climbed up the seaplane's port side. He signalled to me to follow, showing the places for me to put my feet. The climb was more difficult than I had imagined, and a literal faux pas might not have aided the flying ability of the machine.

There was no lashing the passenger to a seat in the plane. The place in which I sat would not have cramped three men, the pilot being in front. There was a loose leather seat cover atop a wooden box as the only sign of comfort.

"Make the best of it," said the pilot. With that, he turned on a switch, and the propeller whirred a warning of departure to the clouds. It was a parting shot to ascertain that the engines were in trim, and after the engine had been stopped the craft was wheeled out into the waters of the bay, and then again the propeller rent the air with a burring noise which is surprising even if you are more or less prepared for it.

For the first few seconds we apparently swung along on the water's surface, then skimmed along, the floats at the sides of the plane bobbing on the slightly crested sea. It was only a matter of less than a minute before I realised that we were rising in the air between sky and water, and with amazing speed we soared, and soon were 300 feet in the air. Still our aircraft climbed and climbed. The ocean, which had been beating on the sands now outside, seemed peaceful and green. The town which I thought had such winding streets when I walked through them now looked as if it had been laid out by a landscape architect. Up, up we travelled, and the higher we were the more deceptive was the North Sea.

Through, or, at least, far above, the opening to the port the pilot steered the seaplane, and far down in the sea I saw a strip of dusky something pushing a white speck before it. The pilot signalled for me to look down. It was then that I realised that this funny little thing was a British submarine going out to sea. The pilot bellowed something; but I could only see that he was shouting, no sound coming to me above the din of the propeller. We steered straight out to sea, and miles away I saw a grey speck—a warship prowling over the lonely depths.

After listening to stories of pilots who have been tossed on the bosom of the waters for twenty and thirty hours, the thought of the hardships these pilots have to undergo came vividly to me. I thought of how I might feel if a dozen anti-aircraft guns made us their target. Behind us the town now had almost disappeared. The officer kept the nose of his machine towards France, and I thought, as we sped on, of the young officer who had an appointment for dinner with his fiancée, and who had descended in the wrong territory only a week