CAPTAIN WILLIAM AVERY BISHOP, R.F.C. (LATE CANADIAN CAVALRY).

"Give me the aeroplane I want," said Captain W. A. Bishop, "and I'll go over to Berlin any night—or day—and come back too, with any luck."

It was during a discussion in the mess on the question of air reprisals that Canada's champion airman slipped in the quiet remark; and when a man who has won the V.C., the Military Cross and the D.S.O. with a bar, says he could bomb the German capital it may be taken that he means what he says. He had then brought down nearly fifty German flyers, besides a few balloons.

Born at Owen Sound, Ontario, in 1894, a son of the registrar of Grey County, this stripling received a commission in the Canadian Cavalry in March, 1915, and went to France with a cavalry unit. He was in the trenches in the days when our Cavalry Brigade held a section of the line as infantry. Later, after only one experience of fighting Germans from horseback, he decided that he wanted more excitement and joined the increasing host of airmen.

His headquarters in France as a flying man were until recently in the cosiest of aerodromes, cuddled close up against a small bunch of cool trees, which looked innocent enough from the air. An ancient farm is in the vicinity and the title of the young airman's hut was "The Abode of Love." It is a fitting answer to the Hymn of Hate.

Commanding this squadron of airmen, he brought it to perfection, and none disputed that he was a fitting successor to Captain Ball, the famous English V.C. hero, who was the leader until his death. Every man of the squadron has brought down at least ten Germans and the cheerful group is reputed to have the greatest percentage of flying nerve on the western front.

His best and most daring work, however, has been done when he has been "solo" flying. It is true that he attributes most of his success to "luck," but his comrades know that more than luck is needed to bring an airman safely out of some of the awkward situations in which he has been placed. On the 24th April, 1917, he was climbing slowly against the wind a few miles east of Monchy when he saw an enemy two-seater busily making observations of the Allied line and sending wireless messages to the German headquarters in the rear. He dived at the big machine, firing in bursts from his Lewis gun as he went. But his gun jammed and he was compelled to wheel round, tinkering with the weapon as he flew. In a few moments he had remedied the trouble and banged fifteen more shots at the enemy; but again his gun jammed, and before he could clear it the big German had escaped.

When he got the gun into working order again he flew eastward towards Vitry, hawking the air lanes for other opponents. Before long he observed another two-seater, also on observation work. This time he tried his gun at long range, then rushed at the enemy, firing in bursts as he charged.

The German machine wriggled, flying first one way then another, with the Canadian hanging on at its tail and spouting gusts of bullets at it in short intervals. Hit at last in the fusilage, the German made a dive for earth. Swift on the track of the two-seater came the captain, firing all the way; and when the German machine finally landed in a meadow he finished the remainder of his ammunition drum into it as it lay on the ground. Neither pilot nor observer climbed out. Both had been killed as they sat in the 'bus.

Ten minutes later, after he had recharged his gun, Bishop climbed into the clouds to continue his cruise of the front line. As he rose he saw, away ahead, a British Nieuport being attacked by three Albatross scouts. He flew to his compatriot's assistance, and, coming up from behind, emptied his gun into one of the enemy. The German collapsed and went down like a stone. The Nieuport by this time had started in pursuit of one of the other Albatrosses, which was trying to escape, so Bishop tackled the third. A few buzzing, manœuvring circles, a few bursts from the deadly little gun—and the German was diving steeply to earth. Captain Bishop slid down in his smoking wake and saw him crash, a heap of broken spars and flames.

There is no trick of aircraft that this young Canadian does not know, though he is not a showy flyer. The number of his exploits is endless, and as his squadron moved from one part of the line to another he constantly found new pastures for adventure, new opponents to defeat, more Germans to kill. He has fought German airmen high over the waves of advancing battalions and has heard, as a faint whisper coming up to him, the cheers of his fellow countrymen when he shot down his enemies at their feet. He has chased a German Staff automobile along a dusty road and opened fire on it so that the driver lost his nerve and ditched the car, and the occupants threw their massive dignity to the winds and scrambled for shelter into a dug-out.

Not very long ago, when he was roaming alone, twelve thousand feet high, he heard the stutter of machine-guns from out the clouds, and drove in their direction to find his own juvenile major fighting single-handed against five formidable German battle machines. Down swooped the captain on the tail of the nearest enemy, riddled the pilot and observer with bullets, fought another for a few minutes and sent him also to the ground, dived down, reloading his gun as he went, then up again and blew a third into eternity with a terrific burst of fire; and then, joyfully and with calm happiness, escorted his major home in a merry, zig-zag course which told the watchers of his aerodrome that all was well with the world.

The incident which brought him his Victoria Cross occurred one June day in 1917, when he was working, as usual, independently. He zoomed across No Man's Land, over the German front and support trenches, driving on to where he thought was game worth seeking. The game in this instance was an aerodrome. But as he circled above the enemy hangars at fifteen thousand feet the place seemed to have a strangely deserted appearance. Down he came to within three hundred feet of the hangars to investigate; and the only occupant of the aerodrome proved to be a very nervous gunner who feebly turned a machine-gun on him. The nervous gunner was sent scuttering to cover by a few bursts of fire. Then the disappointed captain turned the nose of his machine upwards, wondering whether he would find any hostile craft waiting for him above the clouds. Through the thin clouds he mounted into the clear spaces above. No enemy was to be seen, nothing but the blue void; and the warm, soft atmosphere was very pleasant that day. The captain was out for adventure. He flew on deeper into the German lines.

Twelve miles from the German front line he looked over the side of his 'plane and saw, basking in the pleasant sunshine, the very thing he had come to smash. It was another German aerodrome, with a number of machines lined up in front of the sheds, ready for a journey.

Bishop counted the machines—one, two, three, four, five, six, seven. Seven new, beautiful bombers all in a row, brass burnished, oiled, a few of the engines running, all ready for a trip into Allied territory—or perhaps to England! It was a very tidy aerodrome and the seven machines on the lawn looked very trim. The captain descended to have a closer look—and the Germans spotted him and raised the alarm; guns began to splash white puffs of shrapnel around him.

Down dived this youngster through the barrage till he was within fifty feet of the ground and then his machine-gun began to spray the German machines and the lawn with bullets. A mechanic, who was trying to start one of the aeroplanes, fell beside the propeller, riddled with shot. Up raced the Canadian then, rising in sharp spirals as fast as his machine could travel. Up after him went a German, throbbing with a desire for revenge. But Bishop was expecting this very thing; and as the German reached sixty feet from the ground he swooped down and around suddenly and fired into the chasing machine at close range. The German 'plane crashed to earth, carrying a dead pilot with it.

Turning swiftly, the captain saw a second Albatross rising. He closed with this one till about 150 yards separated them; then, getting the German full on his sights, he sent a blast of thirty rounds into him. Away went the Albatross, side-slipping into a tree, where it hung a wretched, broken thing.

A third Albatross came up to the combat, while the invader swung over the aerodrome sheds in the midst of a storm of shrapnel from the enemy guns. Bishop cleared the sheds and swept upward a thousand feet, met his third enemy as he mounted and emptied the remainder of his drum of ammunition at him. The Albatross swerved, slid, fluttered and fell to earth within three hundred yards of the spot from which it had mounted but a few moments before.

The invader quickly inserted a new drum and swung round again to where a fourth machine was humming towards him. He took no chances with this antagonist, but opened fire at a fair range as it headed at him.

Already a fifth German was coming out of the blue, trying to sandwich him between it and its fellow. He had no time to waste on the fifth. He kept hammering at the fourth till it also left the fight and planed down to the green sward below, out of control and little better than a wreck.

He faced the fifth—had him, indeed, in a favourable position for ending his career also—when he realized that he had finished his ammunition. That fact saved the life of the German airman. Captain Bishop regretfully raised his empty drum and waved a farewell to this, his latest adversary, and started on his hundred-mile race for home.

The solitary German was soon left behind; but from another aerodrome came four German scouts who had been sent to the rescue of their friends of the now untidy aerodrome. They had seen the latter part of the battle. Though they were about a thousand feet above him they did not attack, but fell behind after following for about a mile.

With his machine slashed almost to ribbons, Bishop made a safe landing near the bunch of green trees beside the ancient farm. That night there was great rejoicing at the "Abode of Love," for the news spread quickly and men came from neighbouring parts of the line to offer congratulations.