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Preface First Phase
THUS far the war has been, in the air, a strange one. It has been strange in several ways. People had expected the Blitzkrieg to break in full fury in the west, but as yet no thunderbolt has fallen there. Poland felt its impact and crumpled under the stroke, though conditions there seemed, prima facie, unfavorable for the successful conduct of a lightning war. The course of the conflict has not, in fact, followed the book. There have been a number of surprises. In the operations at sea, for example, it was confidently expected that aircraft, not the submarine, would be the chief danger to maritime commerce. The airplane, we were told, would harry and dragoon belligerent and neutral shipping in the narrow waters into which the busy lanes of ocean traffic converge. Actually, the air arm has not been particularly effective at sea, though British aircraft have taken a hand with some success in hunting the submarine. That, however, had been foreseen.
Certainly the achievements of the German air force in Poland fulfilled the expectations of the most sanguine adherents of the blue sky school. In conjunction with the mechanized ground forces it dominated the situation from the first. The lists were set for a tourney between the old order of warfare and the new. Germany’s strength lay in her possession of the most modern instruments of mechanical destruction. Poland was, in comparison, a nineteenth century Power. Her cavalry was her pride. One could imagine her gallant horsemen galloping with Jeb Stuart or Sheridan in Virginia. Indeed, her great masses of cavalry might have thundered their way to victory in the still more appropriate setting of the medieval era. As it was, they were a sheer anachronism. Confronted by armored cars and tanks, hammered by high explosive from the air, they were only flesh for the slaughter. The twentieth century won all along the line. The Polish defeat was a tragedy, but an inevitable one. In the east, the war in the air was practically decided on the first day. On the morning of September 1, the German bombers made a vigorous attack on all the air bases in western Poland, as well as on strategic railways and junctions. The Polish aircraft, caught in their hangars, were destroyed or seriously damaged. That
first sudden blow, delivered treacherously and without a declaration of war, while the Polish Government thought that negotiations were still possible, crippled the Polish air arm for the rest of the war. A gallant fight was still made by the remnant but the odds against it were too great. In any case the Polish equipment was inferior to the German. Germany had the unquestioned mastery of the air.
At first the methods by which she won it were, apart from the fact that the aggression itself was utterly unjustified, fair enough in themselves. Herr Hitler had announced to the Reichstag on September 1 that he would not war against women and children. He was speaking, it will be noted, less than four weeks before the time when women and children were to be slaughtered and mutilated in Warsaw. “I have ordered my air force,” he said,
“to restrict itself to attacks on military objectives.” Replying to President Roosevelt’s appeal that civilian populations be spared the horrors of air bombardment, he defined his attitude to this question in terms which, coming from another, would have presaged the waging of a humane and chivalrous war: ” ... that it is a humanitarian principle to refrain from the bombing of non-military objectives under all circumstances in connection with military operations, corresponds completely with my own point of view and has been advocated by me before. I, therefore, unconditionally endorse the proposal that the governments taking part in the hostilities now in progress make public a declaration in this
sense. For my own part, I already gave notice in my Reichstag speech of today that the German air force had received the order to restrict its operations to military objectives.” That the German air force did confine itself more or less to military objectives in the opening phase of the war is supported by a certain amount of independent evidence. Mr.
H. C. Greene, the correspondent of the London Daily Telegraph, reported in that journal from Cernauti on September 10 that military objectives such as bridges, roads, railways and aerodromes had been aimed at almost
exclusively, though terrible losses had fallen on the civil population as a result of the attacks. On September 6, Mr. Butler, the Parliamentary UnderSecretary of State for Foreign Affairs, stated in reply to a question in the House of Commons that the information in the British Government’s possession showed that the German bombing attacks had in general been directed against objectives serving a military purpose and not indiscriminately against the civil population; but he also was careful to add that the latter had at the same time suffered heavy casualties. Soon, however, evidence began to accumulate that other than military objectives were being attacked and that, in fact, methods of terrorization were being adopted by the German Luftwaffe.
It is true that one must always accept with caution reports from belligerent sources concerning excesses or outrages committed by the enemy. There is inevitably an element of propaganda in such reports. Further, newspaper correspondents on the spot are apt to be impressed by what is told them and are not in a position usually to know or state the other side of the case. Some of the Polish announcements were certainly examples of exaggeration, excusable, no doubt, but still unreliable. For instance, a communique of September 2 stated that individual farms and farmers had been bombed — a somewhat improbable occurrence. On the other hand, it is even more improbable that the reports from many quarters about the ruthlessness of the German air force were entirely devoid of foundation. We have, in fact, unbiased evidence sufficient to convict without any need for dependence on ex parte testimony.
Unquestionably, there were numerous instances of bombing objectives which by no possibility could be termed military. Among them was that of the village of Tomaszow, which was the victim of “a particularly vicious bombing” according to a message to the Times of September 11 from its special correspondent on the Polish frontier. Other instances were attested by Dr. Oskar Zsolnay, a Hungarian official trade delegate who had been in Lwow and who described in a Budapest paper a large number of bombing raids on that city, nearly all of them directed against non-military
objectives. Some of the most important evidence was supplied by the American Ambassador to Poland, Mr. Biddle, who on September 8 furnished the State Department with particulars of cases in which nonmilitary targets had been attacked: they included his own villa, more than ten miles outside Warsaw, a sanatorium, a refugee train, a hospital train and a hut for Girl Guides.
“It is also evident,” he added, “that the German bombers are releasing the bombs they carry even when they are in doubt as to the identity of their objectives.” Again, on September 13, Mr. Biddle reported that the village to which he had then moved and which was, he said, “a defenseless open village” had been attacked by German bombers. On September 20 the Parliamentary Secretary to the Minister of Information said in the House that reports from the British Ambassador to Poland supported the evidence of Mr. Biddle on the bombing of open towns.
One may perhaps feel some hesitation in accepting without reservation the statement in
the Polish communique of September 15 that the bombardment of open towns by German aircraft had “assumed the character of a systematic destruction of all built-up areas or cities without any connection with military operations,” but there can be no reasonable doubt about the fact that a great number of non-military objectives were bombed. Beyond question many villages were deliberately attacked and a number of them destroyed. In Warsaw itself the Belvedere and Lazienki Palaces, the Seym (Parliament) building, the Soviet and Rumanian Embassies, the Latvian Legation, a number of churches and some hospitals had been wholly or partly demolished from the air even before the intensive bombardment from air and ground began on September 25. The final state of the city was still more tragic. The correspondent of a Danish newspaper who visited it after the surrender reported that scarcely a house was undamaged and in several districts, especially the suburb of Praga, not one house was left standing. The devastation was due in part to artillery fire, but the bombs of the aircraft contributed very materially. Inevitably
the losses suffered by the civil population were heavy in the extreme. It is perfectly clear that if the Germans did in fact attempt to bomb only military objectives, they failed in that attempt most lamentably. The more likely explanation is that no such attempt was made. The city was bombed indiscriminately, subjected, in fact, to a display of Nazi Schrecklichkeit. The destruction was intended as an object lesson. “I should like the gentlemen of London to see what a city looks like when it has been through what Warsaw suffered,” said the German wireless announcer on October 4. “These gentlemen ought to see what might happen in their own country if they persist in their mad warmongering.” The fiction that only military objectives were bombed was kept up in the German reports. A communique issued by the High Command on September 25 stated: “Important military objectives in Warsaw were successfully attacked in power-dives by German aircraft.” It is a sufficient commentary upon this to record that when Warsaw asked for an armistice on September 27, 16,000 soldiers and 20,000 civilians lay wounded in the hospitals. There is little doubt, indeed, that Warsaw was subjected to a bombardment, from ground and air, of which the purpose was psychological, or more bluntly, to terrorize. That particular type of bombardment is nothing new in the practice of German arms. It was tried on many occasions in the Franco-German War of 187071. At Strasbourg, for instance, the civilian quarters of the city were shelled by siege batteries in order to “induce the inhabitants to compel the governor to surrender the fortress.” The effect was simply to stiffen the determination of the garrison and the inhabitants to resist.
Exactly the same tactics were employed at Warsaw nearly seventy years later, and the same effect was produced; the morale of the city was unbroken, for it was lack of ammunition and supplies, not loss of courage, which finally made surrender inevitable. Methods of frightfulness defeat their aims when used against a determined people. Herr Hitler announced in his speech on September 19 that the British blockade might force him to make use of a “weapon by which we [Germany] cannot be attacked.” The fresh resort to Schrecklichkeit here foreshadowed, whether it referred to the poison gas or to bacteriological warfare or merely to massed attack from the
air on cities, will not effect its object. On that point there can be no doubt whatever.
The major role which the German air force played in the conquest of Poland is no proof that it will achieve similar successes in the west. Poland was, in comparison with Germany, very weak in the air. That her air force, after the initial losses which it sustained on September 1, was able to resist as well as it did testifies to the gallantry of its personnel. It is the more regrettable that its achievements were magnified by some absurd propaganda. The statement in a communique of September 3 that 64 German machines were brought down on that day for the loss of 11 Polish machines was entirely unbelievable. The announcement a little later that Berlin had been bombed was no less unconvincing. There is no escape from the conclusion, on the known facts, that Poland was wholly outclassed in the air.
The position is and will continue to be a very different one in the west. Here the German air arm is faced with a far harder task. Neither in numbers nor in quality will it be able to claim superiority over the FrancoBritish air strength. Indeed, Air Chief Marshal Sir Cyril Newall stated in an interview in Paris on October 7 that the British and French air forces were already well on the road to establishing their supremacy in the air. Some 2,000 to 3,000 German aircraft are said to have been employed against Poland. The total first line strength at Germany’s disposal in the west may be 4,000 machines or more. The Allies’ effectives are probably as great. In quality of materiel there is probably not much to choose between the opposing combatants, but what little advantage there is should be on the Allies’ side. The German Heinkel, Junkers, Dornier and Henschel bombers are undoubtedly formidable aircraft but they are no better than the Wellingtons, Blenheims, Amiots, and Loire et Oliviers on the other side. No German bomber, so far as is known, carries a bombload so large as that of the latest French heavy bomber, the Farman 223.
The French Morane 406 C and Bloch 151, the British Spitfire and Hawker Hurricane are at least a match, in the fighter class, for the Messerschmitt 109 or 110 and the Heinkel 112. Sir Kingsley Wood, Secretary of State for Air, declared in the House of Commons on October 10 that the latest British fighters were “definitely better than their German counterparts.”
The newest French fighters are also fine machines. The French air force is fortunate in that practically all its equipment is of the latest design and production. At the time of the Munich settlement the French equipment was notoriously unsatisfactory; production had fallen to around 50 machines a month and the flying squadrons were equipped with types which were obsolescent if not obsolete. Now, France has a splendid, modern air force. Her factories are pouring out machines in an increasing flow and the supplies received from America help to swell the volume. The American fighter, the Curtiss P. 36, has already acquitted itself well in action.
It is already evident from the encounters which have taken place that the fighter is the master both of the bomber and of reconnaissance aircraft. That is no surprise to those who followed the air operations in Spain, where — to quote General Duval — “the chasse machine considers the bombing machine incapable of defending itself.” [i] “It is now definitely admitted,” says Captain Didier Poulain, referring to the air fighting in Spain, ” that the bomber is practically without defense against the fight er.”[ii] In Spain the bombers could avoid heavy casualties only by protecting themselves with screens of fighters, says F. A. Fischer von Poturzyn.[iii] “Whether in individual combat or in formation,” says M. C. Rou geron, “the bomber in its present form is no match for the fighter.” [iv] The evidence so far obtainable in the present war confirms that afforded by Spain. When a British bombing formation made an attack on enemy warships in the Helgoland Bight on September 29, five out of the six bombers were shot down according to the German official report, which was not denied on the British side. In the epic encounter of five British bomber-reconnaissance aircraft with fifteen Messerschmitts over the
western front on September 30, three of the former were shot down and a fourth made a forced landing. The fifth managed to reach its own lines after shooting down two German fighters; it had 80 bullet holes in its structure, its ailerons and rudder were damaged, both its petrol tanks were burst, its retractable undercarriage was jammed. The British fighters have been even more successful in their encounters with the German bombers. They shot down 4 out of the 12 or 14 which raided the Firth of Forth on October 16; and on the next day two bombers which approached the English east coast were both engaged and shot down. Out of 12 German bombers which attacked a convoy in the North Sea on October 21, 4 were shot down by British fighters, and 3 more, it was subsequently ascertained, failed to reach Germany. Two more bombers were brought down on October 22 and 28.
The operations in Poland confirmed another lesson of the Spanish civil war — the importance of the air arm as a tactical weapon when used in conjunction with ground forces. In Spain the technique of air support in the assault was successfully developed by the Nationalists. An American officer has described this method from personal observation. Bombing aircraft with small bombs and machine guns would fly in single file
- la cadena, it was called — over the trenches and rake them while the tanks and infantry deployed into assault formation and moved up to the at tack.[v] According to a British officer, General Beauman, the principal tactical lesson of the Spanish civil war — one which will be taken to heart by the great continental armies
— is that aircraft must be used if an at tack is to make headway against modern defensive weapons.[vi] In Poland the same method was adopted in a bigger theatre of war. First, aircraft bombed and machine-gunned the enemy’s positions, then the armored cars and tanks drove home the initial attack, to be followed in turn by the columns of infantry, whose task was immensely lightened by
the preliminary work of the aerial and mechanized spearheads. When the major operations begin on the western front, the use of aircraft to open the way for the ground assault is likely to be a prominent feature of the tactical program.
Another lesson learnt in Spain was the increased effectiveness of the modern anti-aircraft gun as compared with its predecessor of twenty years ago; and here again experience in Poland and on the present western front seems to support the teaching of Spain. The German 88-mm. gun proved itself extraordinarily effective in Spain. Before it arrived, the losses of the Republican bombers from gunfire were almost nil. After its arrival they became severe. “By their anti-aircraft artillery,” writes M. Rougeron, “the Nationalists succeeded in protecting their rear areas,”
the Republican aircraft venturing within range of it only at their peril.[vii] The British 3.7-inch gun is the counterpart of the German 88-mm. gun and is at least as formidable a weapon; the 4.5-inch gun has a still greater range and muzzle velocity, but is fixed whereas the 3.7-inch gun is mobile. Britain, declared Sir Samuel Hoare, the Home Secretary, at Swansea on January 26, 1939, has the most modern and effective types of anti-aircraft guns in the world. Their effectiveness is due largely to the fact they are used in conjunction with the predictor, an instrument which enables its crew, using a telescopic eyepiece, to set it so that it can calculate with great precision the point at which the shell and the flying target will collide in space if level flight is maintained by the latter. The information so calculated is transmitted electrically to a dial on the gun, whose crew can then train their weapon at the indicated spot. Another instrument, the height-finder, is used with the predictor. Altogether, anti-aircraft artillery is today something which cannot be mocked by the pilot as was the “Archie” of the last great war.
Naval anti-aircraft gunnery has been improved to at least a corresponding degree. When introducing the Navy Estimates in the House of Commons on March 16, 1939, Mr. Shakespeare, the Parliamentary Secretary to the
Admiralty, told his audience that if he had the choice between being in a battleship which was being bombed and in the aircraft which was bombing it, he would choose the former every time. His words were borne out on September 26 by the result of an attack by about twenty German aircraft on a squadron of British capital ships, with an aircraft carrier and destroyers, in the North Sea. Not a single hit was scored by the aircraft, not a single casualty caused on the warships; the attack was beaten off without difficulty and two of the aircraft were shot down. The Germans claimed that an aircraft carrier — subsequently stated to be the Ark Royal — was destroyed, that a battleship was badly damaged, and that no loss was sustained by the German aircraft, which returned safely to their base. There was no truth in any of these statements. Again on October 9 German aircraft made both level and dive bombing attacks on British warships in the North Sea, but scored no hits and inflicted no casualties. Two of the bombers, one with a wounded man on board, made forced landings on the same day in Denmark, and a third in Norwegian waters. The presumption is that all three had been damaged by the warships’ fire. The effectiveness of the German antiaircraft guns had already been demonstrated during the raid of September 4 by British bombers against the German fleet at Wilhelmshaven and Brunsbuttel; it was claimed by the German and not denied in the British official report that five of the twelve attacking bombers were brought down by the antiaircraft batteries. On this occasion, however, the raiders had something to show for their losses, for they scored a direct hit with a heavy bomb upon a German battleship.
The greatly increased strength of the active defense, in the air and on the ground, has doubtless been one reason why there has been a certain shyness about beginning the long-range raiding attacks which had been expected. Against well-defended areas such raids must be, by day, very perilous adventures. The raiders are certain to be forced to pay heavily for any successes they may achieve. They have to run the gauntlet of the outer gun zone, the zone of the interceptor aircraft, and then the inner gun zone, before they can reach their objective, and they have to clear the same hurdles on their homeward run. By night the chances of the bombers’
coming through are better; but even then they will probably find their task no light one. Blinded by the searchlights, they will be a fairly easy mark for the interceptors, and in clear weather the anti-aircraft guns should be able also to claim some victims. When they do get through they will then have to find their objectives — and this will often be difficult. The “blackout” is now so effective that there is little apparent difference, from the air, between the built-up areas and the open countryside. Night-flying raiders groping for a particular factory or military establishment will probably have to plaster the whole area with bombs in which the objective is supposed to be. That is a costly method of trying to hit a target, costly in petrol as well as in high explosive. Most of the bombs would probably fall on empty ground. Even if London as a whole were the objective, the odds are, as Major General Foulkes has pointed out, that only one bomb in ten, on the average, would hit a building, for 90 percent of the whole area is open space. “In the area within fifteen miles of Charing Cross, containing a population of eight and a half millions, the odds against a bomb falling within fifty feet of any particular spot is two and a half millions to one.”[viii]
The indiscriminate bombing which such a method of trying to hit a given objective would involve is hardly a practice which either side will be eager to initiate. Not only would the effect upon neutral opinion be unfavorable to the belligerent who began it, but the result would inevitably be to stiffen the determination of the nation which figured as the first victim of such an attack. Moreover, the belligerents in the west are too evenly matched in the air to make it safe for the one to expect the other not to make a strong counteroffensive. Even if the initial stroke were confined strictly to military objectives, the reply to it might not be similarly restricted. Perhaps — one cannot tell — it was for this reason that the French and British air forces refrained from trying to smash up the German troop concentrations and the trains carrying men and materiel from Poland to the west.
The very fact that bombing raids into the interior of the enemy country had been begun might be the signal for resort to la guerre totale in the air, with all its horrors. That may come yet, but one harbors a faint hope that behind the reluctance to begin long-distance raiding attacks there may be, as a conscious or subconscious influence, the idea that bombing should be confined to the zones of active operations and their immediate vicinity. Some vague suggestions for an agreement to limit bombing in this way were indeed put forward by Herr Hitler in 1935 and 1936. In any case, it is evident — whatever be the reason — that neither side has desired to be the first to bomb objectives far behind the other’s lines.
Long-range raids there have been, but their purpose has been primarily reconnaissance and secondarily the distribution of literature, not of high explosive. Some surprise has been expressed that the first task of the British Air Force should have been to disseminate propaganda in this way; but, in fact, it is not in the least a novel task either for the British or other air services. Raids for such a purpose were frequent in the last great war. The Germans, for instance, dropped leaflets among the Indian troops in France in November 1914, urging them to revolt; the flaw in the plan was that the language used was Hindi, whereas the particular troops to whom the appeal was made spoke Urdu. Attempts to seduce the Senegalese troops in Gallipoli were similarly made by the GermanoTurkish air force in October 1915. French airmen, on their side, dropped leaflets on many occasions, notably in May 1915, to inform the German people of Italy’s participation in the war on the Franco-British side. British aircraft dropped an enormous number of notes during 1917 and 1918. America’s entry into the war was made known in this way, as was also President Wilson’s message to Congress early in 1918. So great was the effect of this propaganda that Field Marshal Hindenburg thought it necessary to issue a proclamation in September 1918, urging the people to pay no attention to “leaflets intended to kill the soul.”
The recent flights made into Germany by the Royal Air Force for reconnaissance and the distribution of leaflets (dropped in the form of
“bricks” which broke up in the air) were carried out at a great height and encountered very little opposition. That these raids are, from the German point of view, anything but a joke, is evident from the severe penalties threatened against any inhabitants found reading the leaflets. How great will be the effect of such propaganda it is impossible as yet to say. It may well be that in retrospect it will be seen as no less important than if an equivalent weight of bombs had been dropped. The British flights had another effect, too. They demonstrated beyond possibility of doubt that all northern, western and even central Germany lay within the range of British aircraft. They showed the true value of Field Marshal Goring’s assurance that if an enemy machine crossed the German frontier it would be at once brought down.
The demonstration of Britain’s ability to carry the war into Germany contributed, no doubt, to the latter’s hesitation to launch air attacks upon Britain in the early days of the war. Whatever the cause, the thunderclap for which all ears were straining was not heard. The result was something of an anticlimax. The whole country had braced itself for the worst. Measures of passive defense had been organized on a colossal scale. Millions of children, invalids and expectant mothers had been evacuated from the danger areas on or before the outbreak of war. Hundreds of thousands of hospital beds had been earmarked for air raid casualties. Doctors, nurses, air raid wardens, auxiliary firemen, decontamination squads, dispatch riders were all standing by and waiting for their services to be needed. And then, lo and behold — nothing happened. People began to ask: Will nothing happen at all? That question has not been answered yet. But it may be answered at any time. Devastating air attacks may have been launched on London and other cities before these words appear in print. They may be simultaneous with a great thrust on the western front, the object being to pin down in England fighter squadrons which would otherwise be available for reenforcing the units in France. If the Maginot Line is to be smothered by high explosive bombs, preparing the way for an onset by giant tanks, all
the fighter aircraft which can possibly be assembled by the Allies will be needed to beat off the German bombers and their escorting fighters.
Whether the raiders come to London and Paris or not, whether they cause destruction on a widespread scale or not, they cannot decide the issue of the war. That will be decided by sea power. Admiral Mahan’s doctrine that the belligerent who holds command of the sea can never be beaten in the end will again be proved true. Air power cannot prevail against sea power, regardless of the methods of Schrecklichkeit it uses. And the result must be the same whether it comes soon or late. Germany will be beaten; the only question is how long it will take. The collapse of Germany may come sooner than any man could now surely predict; it may come within the three years for which the British Government is laying its plans; or perhaps we may have to wait until grass has long been growing in the streets of Hamburg.
Notes
[i] “Les Lemons de la Guerre d’Espagne.” Paris: Plon, 1938, p. 154.
[ii] Journal of the Royal United Services Institution, August 1938, p. 582.
[iii] “Luftmacht.” Heidelberg: Vowinckel, 1938, p. 85.
[iv] “L’Aviation de Bombardement,” I. 36.
M “The Aeroplane’s Role in Battle in Spain,” by Brig. Gen. H. J. Reilly, in The Aeroplane, April 29, 1939.
[vi] Brig. Gen. A. B. Beauman: “A Short Outline of Modern Tactics.” London: Rees, 1939, p. 46.
[vii] “Les Enseignements Aeriens de la Guerre d’Espagne,” 1939, p. 105.
[vill] “Commonsense and A.R.P.” London: Pearson, 1939, p. 32.
Second Phase
ONE lesson taught by the second phase of the air operations in the
present European war [i] is that superior strength on the land and in the air can produce a decision far more quickly than in the days before the air was conquered. This was the lesson taught by the German triumphs in Norway, Holland, Belgium and France. It was taught, too, more clumsily, by the Russians in Finland. Even if a belligerent makes almost every possible tactical error in land operations, predominance in the air will enable him to blind and overwhelm an opponent whose air arm is inadequate and whose army, even though well directed and, indeed, superior in fighting quality, is numerically inferior.
Such, at least, was the lesson of the mid-winter campaign in Finland.
In the air, as on land, Russia had an immense superiority of strength. Finland had probably less than 100 first-line planes; her total strength in serviceable aircraft can hardly have exceeded 150. What Russia’s firstline strength was is uncertain, but it was undoubtedly immense. The esti
mate of “Max Werner,” [ii] 10,000 to 12,000 first-line aircraft, was certainly excessive; that of M. Laurent Eynac,[iii] 3000 aircraft, was probably too low. M. Pierre Cot placed the figure at 4500-5000 machines,
and General Sikorski at 5000, with an equal number in reserve.[iv] The figure of 4200 to 4500 was suggested in 1938 in a French publication[v] and was probably not far wrong. In the fighting in the Karelian Isthmus on February 15, 1940, more than 500 machines were reported to have been in the air, and on a later day in February at least 1000 were flying in all the Finnish theatre.
The Russian machines were on the whole of poor quality. The I-16 singleseater fighter had a maximum speed of only 248 miles per hour and a comparatively poor armament.
The standard bomber, the S.B., had a top speed of no more than 250 miles per hour and a range of only 620 miles. Another bomber, the Ts.Kb.26, had a range of 1300 miles, with a similar maximum speed. Both would have been shot to pieces by modern fighters. The quality of the Finns’ aircraft was not, however, much better. Their machines were a scratch collection. The fighters were largely Bristol Bulldogs, long discarded in Great Britain. Better machines were gradually acquired. Gladiator fighters and Blenheim bombers were obtained from Britain and a number of modern aircraft were also supplied from France and the United States. Altogether, 101 planes were sent from Brit ain during the war, as well as 15,700 aircraft bombs.[vi] By the end of the war Finland had probably more and certainly better aircraft than she had had at the beginning. She was still, however, woefully inferior to Russia in the air.
How ruthlessly Russia exploited her superior strength is notorious. It is true that the Red Army Command issued at the beginning of March 1940 a categorical denial of the charges that the air arm had bombed non-military objectives and machine-gunned civilians. The evidence in support of the charges is too strong. Photographs of the destruction wrought at Helsinki, Viipuri, Hanko and other places were published in many newspa pers.[vii] The verdict of Sir Walter Citrine, who, with Mr. Philip Noel Baker and Mr. John Downie, visited Finland in January 1940, on behalf of the National Council of Labor, is quite uncompromising. He and his colleagues most certainly had no bias against Russia and their condemnation of her acts is accordingly the more impressive. Of Turku (Aabo) he wrote that “by far the vaster proportion of the damage was utterly without military importance” and that “it was certain that the bombing was indiscriminate.”[viii] Of the destruction of Hanko he wrote: “It seemed diabolical to me that a country which only a couple of years ago was denouncing to the world the German and Italian bombing in Spain should now be resorting to this means of trying to terrorise the Finnish
people.”[ix]
So flagrant were the Soviet attacks on hospitals that the Finnish medical authorities abandoned the use of the Red Cross as a protective emblem. Before they did so it was reported that a couple of Russian prisoners captured in the Isthmus protested against being taken to a Red Cross hospi tal. “That,” they said, “is the kind of house our airmen bomb.” [x] Some terrible photographs of the devastation caused by bombs in the hospital at Rovaniemi, where the operating theatre and a ward were hit, five nurses and many patients being killed, were published in a British news paper.[xi]
The ruthless bombing undoubtedly had its effect. A well-known war correspondent, who followed the operations in Finland, has stated that “Russia’s air supremacy was really the deciding factor.” The advantages which it gave were, he states, that it prevented all counter-bombing by the. Finnish air force; it allowed the Russian aircraft to observe all that occurred on the other side; it stopped the flow of Finnish munitions and food to the front; and, above all, it deprived the exhausted Finnish sol diers of rest.[xii]
It is nevertheless open to question whether the Soviet authority in the air would have sufficed to quell the Finnish resistance except in combination with a vast superiority on the ground. It was the “Russian steamroller” below that made the assault from above so effective. All that one can say as a result of the campaign in Finland is that predominant air power plus predominant land power is decisive today in war, in circumstances in which sea power cannot be brought into play. There is not sufficient evidence that the first without the second would have succeeded in forcing Finland to capitulate.
Meanwhile in the western theatre of war the strange lull in the air which marked the first phase of the conflict continued. The fact that no attempt was made on either side to carry the war into the enemy’s country during the first eight months of hostilities was the cause of surprise and bewilderment alike in Britain and in Germany. In Britain, it had been expected that terrific attacks would be made on London. In Germany, it was expected that they would be made against Berlin. Referring to the British declaration of war, Dr. Goebbels said in a speech at Poznan on 19 January, 1940: “One would have expected that on the afternoon of that very day their much-vaunted bombers would have appeared over Berlin.” In both capitals a measure of relief was felt that the bombing had not started at zero hour — or before it.
What was still more extraordinary was the failure of the Luftwaffe, on one side, and of the British and French air forces, on the other, to interfere with the great troop concentrations which took place in September 1939 and thereafter. As long ago as 1927 Lord Thomson, the former Secretary of State for Air, had written that “should such a calamity as another world war occur, hostilities will begin at once, there will be no breathing space of ten days or a fortnight for mobilization... . In these circumstances the embarkation of the British Expeditionary Force would have been hampered, if not prevented, and a number of our warships would have been disabled before they could put to sea.”[xiii] Yet the British Expeditionary Force of 1939 had been able to embark, to cross to France, to disembark there and to move up to the line, without let or hindrance. There might have been no German air force whatever for all that that great army, moving with its impedimenta, knew about it in September 1939, or in the following months when reenforcements for it crossed to France.
A still greater surprise, to the well-informed, was the abstention of the British and French bombers from interfering with the huge concentration of
the German forces in the west. Britain had sent a strong “Advanced Air Striking Force” to France in the first days of the war; and the French had their striking force, too. Neither struck. Division after division moved from the east to the west of Germany. They did so in perfect peace.
“The extraordinary thing,” wrote Mr. E. Coleston Shephard, “is that while they held the initial command of the air in the west, the French and British Air Forces did not attempt to prevent the swift transfer of troops by concentrated bombing on railway junctions, roads and aerodromes up to a hundred miles or more behind the German lines.
The bombing fleets had been built for just such a purpose.” [xiv] Not until after the end of the war shall we know, probably, the full reasons for the strange quiescence in the air in its early stages. Prima facie it appears as if each side lost a golden opportunity. It is evident that none of the belligerents was inclined to initiate air attack upon the enemy’s territory. Why each of them held back is not entirely clear, though many different reasons could be suggested for the mutual restraint. At the back of all the reasons there was, one must surmise, the working of the balance of air power. Each feared the other’s riposte.
In a speech at the Rheinmetal-Borsig armament factory on September 9, 1939, Field Marshal Goring said: “If the British aeroplanes fly at tremendous heights at night and drop their ridiculous propaganda in German territory, I have nothing against it. But take care if the leaflets are replaced by one bomb. Then reprisals will follow as in Poland.” (Later, the propaganda film, “Baptism of Fire,” was made in Germany to show what this threat of frightfulness meant in practice.) “We shall return blow for blow,” said M. Daladier on November 30. “If the destructive fury of the enemy falls upon our villages we shall strike back at him with the same harshness.” When in a raid upon Scapa Flow on March 16, 1940, bombs were dropped on Orkney Mainland and one civilian was killed and seven were wounded, the Royal Air Force promptly retaliated, on March 19, by bombing the German air base at Hornum in the island of Sylt. About three months earlier the German official news agency had alleged
that bombs had been dropped on Hornum and another small town in Sylt (Rantum). This was at once denied by the British Air Ministry, and a similar denial was issued on February 10, 1940, when it was again alleged in Germany that Hornum and Rantum had been attacked. Not until after the invasion of Norway was Sylt again bombed; the aerodrome at Westerland was heavily raided on the night of April 23-24. That the raid was not intended to mark a departure from the general policy was implied in the Air Ministry’s announcement that it (as well as the raid on Aalborg aerodrome in Denmark) was directed “against air bases available to the enemy for use in the invasion of Norway.”
Norway itself was not included in the unexpressed ban, and that unfortunate country experienced the full measure of German Schrecklichkeit from the air. Not only towns like Namsos, Aandalsnes, Elverum and Stenkjer, but many villages were largely destroyed, and peaceable inhabitants were machine-gunned on various occasions. The Germans had a marked superiority in the air and exploited it to the full. It was, indeed, that superiority which forced the Allies to abandon the idea of capturing Trondheim. “Intense and continuous bombing of the bases at Aandalsnes and Namsos prevented the landing of any large reinforcements,” said Mr. Churchill in the House of Commons on May 8, 1940, “and even of artillery for the infantry already landed, and of many supplies. It was therefore necessary to withdraw the troops or leave them to be destroyed by overwhelming forces.” It was Germany’s superiority in the air which brought Britain’s intervention in Central Norway to a premature and unsatisfactory end, and it was the same superiority which deterred the Allies from taking the initiative in raiding military objectives in Germany. There were hundreds of objectives there simply shrieking for attention from their long-range bombers. There were the oil-fuel installations, for instance. Yet it was not until May 17 that any attempt was made to destroy these vital sources of Germany’s armed strength. On that night British bombers attacked the petrol storage tanks at Hamburg and Bremen; they repeated the
operation on later occasions and included the tanks at Hannover also, for luck, and by the end of September the oil refineries at Hamburg, Bremen and Hannover had been bombed no less than 36, 31 and 19 times respectively. The Germans at once complained that the Royal Air Force had killed 29 people and injured 51 in the raid on Hamburg. Possibly they had, but then civilians are likely to suffer if they are in the vicinity of military targets. In subsequent communiques the German High Command charged the British Air Force with making “random attacks” on non-military objectives. That allegation was only to be expected; it was a good opening for propaganda. What is quite certain is that British airmen did not deliberately attack noncombatants. They aimed solely at military objectives.
The policy of waiting before carrying the war into Germany was defended by Mr. Churchill in a speech at Manchester on January 27, 1940. He asked, Ought we to have begun bombing? No, he said, our policy was right. We were not as well prepared as Germany. We were now much better organized and stronger in defences than at the beginning of the war. There had been, he said, a great advance in the protection of the civil population and in the punishment which would be inflicted upon the raiders. There were others who took a different view, but the question was a very difficult one.
Many prominent people were far from satisfied with Britain’s policy of restraint. Mr. Amery and Mr. Duff Cooper, both out of office at the time but soon to become ministers again, pleaded in public for the adoption of much sterner methods. The view of the aeronautical world was reflected in The Aeroplane, which kept hammering away at the same point. Why on earth, the editor, Mr. Colston Shephard, asked in effect, were we not hitting at Germany’s strength at its source and bombing Dessau, Bremen, Rostock and Oranienburg, where dozens of new aeroplanes were being produced every week to be used against us? Lord Trenchard, the greatest figure in British military aviation, added his powerful support to their plea. In the House of Lords on May 8, 1940, he asked why we waited, and said that if it was because we had promised not to bomb “open towns,” this meant that Germany need not
retain any defences at home. Nobody, he added, wanted to kill civilians, but the British people would not shrink from facing whatever risk was necessary to bring the war to a successful conclusion. “Make no mistake about it,” he said. “When it suits Germany’s book she will hit open towns and all, mercilessly and thoroughly. Why should we await her convenience before striking at German military might in Germany?”
Lord Trenchard’s words were prophetic. It suited Germany’s book to begin bombing the homelands of the western Allies in the second week of May, when she attacked Holland, where a whole district of Rotterdam was practically wiped out, and Belgium, where the cities of Tournai, Louvain, Nivelles and Namur were savagely bombed. German bombers also attacked aerodromes and railway stations at a large number of French towns Nancy, Lyon, Lille, Colmar, Luxeuil, Pontoise, Bethune, Lens, Hazebrouck, Abbeville and Laon. Some 44 bombs were dropped, too, by a German aircraft in a wood in Kent where they did no damage; they were probably jettisoned. The Allies on their side bombed aerodromes, troop concentrations, mechanized columns on the move, bridges, and roads behind the German lines. The war in the air was thus carried for the first time into the enemy’s country.
Since then the incursions of the Royal Air Force into Germany and of the Luftwaffe into Britain have steadily increased in frequency and vigor. Those of the British airmen have been aimed exclusively at impairing Germany’s military strength. Oil refineries, synthetic oil plants and petrol storage depots have been among the chief targets. Not only in western Germany but also as far away as at Leuna in central Germany, at Politz (near Stettin) on the Baltic, and at Regensburg on the Danube have Germany’s oil fuel installations been raided with damaging effect. Other objectives of importance for the German war effort have also been attacked unremittingly. The aircraft factories in which the Focke-Wulf, Dornier, Fieseler, Junkers, Gotha and Messerschmitt machines are constructed or assembled have been bombed. So have the aero-engine works of the B.M.W. and Daimler-Benz firms. The great Fokker factory at Amsterdam
was heavily raided as soon as it had been brought into operation for German purposes. The rail and canal communications of western Germany have been repeatedly bombed. The great railway centre of Hamm, which serves as a clearing house for the whole of the goods traffic of western Germany, was attacked no less than sixty times in the three months which ended on September 30. The aqueduct of the Dortmund-Ems canal, which carries the equivalent of 400 train-loads daily and serves as the chief link between the Rhineland and northwest and central Germany, has been put out of action, repaired, and put out of action again. The naval dockyards and ports of Hamburg, Bremen, Wilhelmshaven, Kiel and Cuxhaven have been the objectives of recurrent attacks.
Indeed, the whole of Germany’s industrial and economic system has been seriously affected by the incessant blows rained upon it by the Royal Air Force. These have ranged as far afield as Pilsen, in Czechoslovakia, where the great Skoda armament works were successfully bombed on the night of October 27 — a feat eclipsed by the British Bomber Command four days later, when oil plants and military objectives at Naples were attacked by aircraft starting from England.
So great, indeed, was the effect of those blows that the menace to the effectiveness of Germany’s war machinery was already becoming evident in the summer. Something had to be done to bring the activities of the British bombers to an end. The obvious course was, if possible, to invade and overrun Britain just as France and the other victims of Germany’s armed might had been invaded and overrun, or, if that was not possible, at least to drive the British Air Force out of the sky. Invasion was the solution — preferably by sea, land and air; but by air alone, if the other alternatives could not be achieved. So in the autumn of the year all the necessary preparations were put in hand for loosing a combined attack upon southeast England and, as a preliminary to that attack, for overwhelming the Royal Air Force in that corner of the country. There is reason to believe that first one and then another date was fixed for the launching of the grand assault. The first was in midAugust. To gain command of the air, an essential
condition for the success of the invasion by sea and land forces, a mass attack was launched against the air bases in southern England on August 15. A veritable armada of bombers and fighters came over the coast. The bombers were largely Junkers 87 dive-bombers, “Stukas,” as they are called, the machines which, in combination with mechanized columns and tanks, had enabled the Germans to smash their way through northern France in May and June. There were thousands of these machines in the Luftwaffe, and thousands more of the Junkers 52 troop-carrier, which had also played a prominent part in Germany’s successes, notably in Norway and Holland. The stage was never reached at which the Ju-52’s could be used against Britain. The Ju-87’s were used — and the tale was a sorry one for their pilots and crews.
Already the dive-bombers had been handled roughly by the Spitfires, Hurricanes and Defiants of the Royal Air Force over the beaches of Dunkirk. When they ventured over the English coast they suffered more severely still. Nine of them were shot down in a few minutes by a Spitfire squadron near Southampton on August 13, but it was on August 15 that they were veritably massacred. On that day the Luftwaffe lost 180 aircraft over and around southern England; the slaughter of the Stukas really sealed the fate of the first project of invasion.
The August plan had come to naught. The next attempt was more carefully planned. It was fixed, apparently, for mid-September. Early in that month the Germans began to concentrate barges, shipping and light naval forces in the ports along the Dutch, Belgian and northern French coasts, with the intention of making a sudden dash across the English Channel. The Royal Air Force foiled that plan, too. It struck again and again at the concentrations of light craft, first at the mouth of the Scheldt and at Ostend, then, when they were moved westward, at Dunkirk, Calais, Boulogne and Le Havre, and finally even at Lorient in the Bay of Biscay. One particular onslaught was a veritable disaster for the would-be invaders. It coincided with a dress-rehearsal for the invasion; on that night the barges were packed with fully equipped troops, who were caught unawares by the
British bombers. Many were killed, many drowned, others burnt by the blazing oil which covered the sea after incendiary bombs had been dropped and the tanks of the barges had been set on fire. To that disaster in the tidewater was added another, which befell the Luftwaffe about the same time. On September 15 a second mass attack was made on southern England in the air and routed even more decisively than that of a month before. The definitely confirmed losses of German aircraft on that day amounted to 185; it is highly probable that in reality not less than 232 machines were destroyed. No such destruction of
aircraft in one day has been known in the annals of war. It was undoubtedly the inability of the German air force to penetrate the British defence by day which inspired the savage attacks by night upon London and other cities in Britain. Those attacks were a confession of failure. The Luftwaffe had not been trained for night operations. It was in this respect both technically and professionally far inferior to the Royal Air Force. The latter, as a result in part of the “leaflet raids” carried out during the winter of 1939-40, knew the darkened face of Germany as well as it knew that of England. Its personnel was highly skilled in night flying. Its materiel was, for this purpose, superior to Germany’s. The pilots and bomb-aimers had been trained to a pitch not even approached by those of the Luftwaffe. Precision of aim was inculcated and practised. Long periods were spent in the search for and exact location of targets. If the designated objective could not be found, and if no alternative target could be bombed with reasonable precision, no attack was launched. Bombs cost money and it is folly to dump them where they can do no harm. Frequently a full bomb-load has been brought home because it could not be dropped on a military objective. There is nothing of blind or indiscriminate bombing in the work of the Royal Air Force. A similar statement cannot be made of the Luftwaffe, as those who, like the present writer, reside in the outskirts of London far from any military objective, and whose houses have suffered from the incompetence — it was that, probably, rather than malice — of the German airmen, have practical reason for affirming without any hesitation whatever. While these words are being written, the callous, ham-fisted bombing of
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fölolvasta nekik.
Baltay házánál ki- s bejárt a sok vendég, még a cselédek közt is közszájon forgott a hires történet s midőn Imre úrfi hazajött Keszthelyről, hol addig tanult, hogy már az iskolából is kifogyott, András maga maradván az úrfival, addig kérte, hogy a fiú Kisfaludyt neki könyv nélkül elmondá.
András az öreg úr aranyos mentéjének gombjaival vesződött, Imre pedig egyre-másra mondá a sok verset, és csak annyi időt vett, míg az öreg egy-egy könyüt eldörgölt a képén, vagy a lelkes ifjúnak arczát nézé, s az öreg cseléd gyönyörködött benne, hisz a jó mag nem szóródott ki az útra, hanem a jó földben szépen megeredvén, erős hajtásokat kezdett ereszteni.
– Nincsen több? – kérdi András, midőn a fiú megnyugvás végett megállt.
– Még felét sem mondám el.
– Hej, kedves úrfi, már hol fér el a fejében az a tenger sok tanulság?9)
– Ott, a hol a többi, András bácsi, – válaszol a fiú, – ne mondjak már többet?
– Majd lemegyünk a kertbe, – kedves úrfi, – mikor az öreg úr a délutáni álmot aluszsza, ott majd nem háborgat senki, – ott aztán elhallgatom estig! – mondja András, az aranyos mentét a szomszédterembe czipelvén, hanem midőn ő az egyik ajtón bement, mintha a másik éppen akkor záródott volna, – már majdnem azt gondolta András, hogy az öreg úr hallgatózott; de aztán azt hitte András, hogy a nagyságos úr nem állta volna meg szó nélkül a dolgot: mert még mindig jobb szerette, ha a fiú a fára mászott, mint ha könyvet látott a kezében.
András nem sokáig tünődött, mert hisz az is meglehet, hogy nyitva volt az ajtó, s mikor ő az egyiket kinyitotta, akkor a másik becsapódott, tehát nincs miért tovább firtatni a dolgot; hanem mivel mi bizonyosan tudjuk, hogy az öreg Baltay csakugyan a szobában
volt, azt is megmondhatjuk, hogy az öreg régóta hallgatózott, s ámbár néhányszor már megsokalta a szavalást, és be akart nyitni a szobába, mégis mindannyiszor valami hátrahúzta, s utóbb maga sem bánta, hogy a gyermek nem fárad ki, sőt jól esett neki, hogy András a gyereket bámulja, – tehát nem zavarta őket, hanem midőn hallotta, hogy légyottra rendelte András a fiút, ő is eltávozott.
Pipára gyujtott az öreg, föl s alá járkált a szobában, a fiúnak jövendőjéről gondolkozott, s ez volt a legelső eset, hogy a fiunak eszét sem feledte ki s nagy megelégedésére szolgált, hogy András megbámulja a gyermeket, tehát föltette magában, hogy a délutáni alvást elengedi s ő maga is elsompolyog utánuk a kertbe.
Mielőtt oda mennénk, álljunk meg egy szóra.
Sokféle alakban jött már le a földre a nyomoruság, de ha visszagondolunk a jelenből az elmult tíz esztendőre, bátran azt mondhatjuk, hogy a «nagyságos és tekintetes» nyavalyában sinylődött a nemzet.
Elátkozott ember volt, ki a tekintetes uraságig föl nem vergődhetett, – és boldogtalan volt a leány, ki egy tekintetes urat nem foghatott, pedig végtére már annyi volt az ügyvéd, orvos, mérnök, hogy a hol a verebeket akarták kővel dobálni, ott is a tekintetes ügyvéd urat találta el a kő.
Még a falusi kutya is úgy elfajzott, hogy nem a koldust vagy a zsidót ugatta meg, hanem azt a boldogtalant, ki a tekintetes czímig föl nem vergődhetett s még a legélhetetlenebb czigány is azt mondogatta, ha megharagudott: nem is tekintetes, hanem nemzsetes.
A gyöngeség végtére nyavalyává fajult, s jaj volt a cselédnek, ha a tekintetes czímet meg nem szokta, – végtére cselédfogadáskor valóságos leczkét adtak a cselédnek csupa titulusból.
A kenyér megfogyhatott a háznál, – kértek a szomszédból, vagy néha koplalással győztek, csak a tekintetességből nem engedtek alább, s még a házaló zsidóval is könnyebben megalkudtak, ha egy
czimmel fölebb beszélt, ámbár eközben a rőföt mindig kurtábban ereszté.
Fölment az ifjú úr a tanodába, nem azért, hogy ott fölszedjen a tudományból, de hogy elkószálja az esztendőt; mert az édes mama rég megsugta neki, hogy akár tanul, akár nem, azért itthon mégis tekintetes úr lesz.
Midőn a tanár tüdőfáradtig lármázott, addig hortyogott az úrfi; pedig ha nem alszik, még akaratlanul is ragadt volna rá valami, s jó hasznát veheté, mikorra csakugyan már belenőtt a tekintetes czímbe; de a vagyon otthon rettentően megfogyott, mert a tíz esztendő alatt az ujjnyi széles szalag tenyérnyire nőtt meg s ez a kis külömbség először a rétet, azután a buzaföldet ette meg, s ámbár a sok mosott szalag és tekintetes czím mind megvan, de a rétet és buzaföldet a szomszédéhoz mérték, és az úrfi hiába vakarja a fejét, mert biz abban sincsen, pedig ugyan jó volna a jó tanács, mert a tekintetes titulust nem lehet betálalni, s a mellett fölkopik az álla.
Persze, most már az ifjú úr is belátja, hogy jobb lett volna valamit tanulni; de már késő és szégyen tanuláshoz fogni; tehát megkisérti a tekintetes czímet, mi hasznát lehetne még venni. – Házról-házra kujtorog most, atyafiságba keveredik az egész világgal, és minden ismerőstől kölcsön kér, a mennyit adnak. Korhely pajtások közt hűséges jó barát, jó pénzért bolondnak is beáll – ennyi maradt meg a régi vagyonból: – tekintetes úr most.
Szomorú kép, – sokkal rongyosabb, mint mutogatni kivánná az ember, és jaj annak, kit az apai és anyai gőg idáig vitt; pedig számosan vannak még a józanabbaknak szomorú például.
Baltay féltette a fiút, de midőn az eleven eszű gyermeknek előmenetelét látta, végig gondolt terjedt birtokain s neve becsülete mellé, azt gondolá, nem rosszul illenék, ha a fiút okos embernek mondaná mindenki.
Ebéd alatt engedékenyebb volt, mint máskor, és eltűrte, hogy a gyermek a maga eszéből beszéljen valamit, s föltette, hogy délután nem alszik, ha kínjára esik is, hanem lemegy a kertbe.
Az álom oda nehezkedett a szempillákra, Baltay mindenkép erőlködött, hogy elverje a megszokott vendéget, de az végtére is erősebb volt, s az öreg úr a zsölleszékben uzsonnáig aludt.
András az alatt a lugasban üldögélt, s a fiú egyre-másra mondta a sok történetet, s már az uzsonna-idő is elérkezett, mikor az öreg úr kidörgölvén szemeiből az álmot, a kövér fűben oldalt került a lugasnak, s már messziről hallgatta, mikor a fiú javában mondta a verset:
A magyarnak már szokása, Hogy a jussát nem hagyja; De ha vele bánni tudnak, Az ingét is odadja
András két könyökére dülve hallgatta a fiút, az öreg úr pedig mindinkább közelgetett, s édes örömmel telt meg, hogy a fiú már is mennyit összetanult.
Baltay szerette volna a fiút összeölelgetni, de ezt szégyenlette András előtt; hanem elment a kertnek csavargó utain, szüntelen a verseket mondogatván, melyek emlékéből többé ki nem mosódának.
Szivén találta az egyszerű kis versszak, s ő nem kérdezvén igaz urát, megtanulta, és szinte vágyott az alkalomra, hogy illő módon elmondhassa, s e buzgóságban annyira ment, hogy valóban megéhezte az alkalmat, hogy az ingét is odaadhassa; csak már jőne valaki és kérje.
Nem kellett sokáig várakozni, az 1809-diki fölkelést kezdték mindenfelől sürgölni, s a büszke magyarnak jól esett, hogy a megyei alispán díszes környezettel őt is megkereste, hogy a vagyonához képest részt vegyen a haza védelmében.
A szomszédos megyék vegyes küldöttségben egyesültek az erőt felkölteni, s a többi közt őrnagyi ruhában látjuk Kisfaludyt, kinek neve éppen ezen időben szaladta meg az országot.
Baltay előtt bemutattaték a küldöttség, hanem ez a bemutatás oly futólag történt, hogy a nevek közül a Kisfaludy név Baltayt éppen nem érinté, annál inkább, mert az alispán nem annyira az írót, mint az őrnagyot mutatá be, ki éppen most vette a parancsot, hogy a nádor mellett segédtisztképen foglalkozzék.
Az alispán a háborúra vitte a beszédet.
– Megint közelít a franczia; – kezdi az alispán.
– De hegedűszóval csak nem fogadjuk őket! – mondja Baltay.
– Attól függ, – okoskodik az alispán, – hogy a nemzet milyen erőt fejt ki.
– A ki eleven, az az ellenség elé megy!
– A megye reméli, hogy nagysád hazafiúi áldozatát nem vonja meg, – itt van a nádori levél, melynek szavai szerint ő fensége érettünk jót állt, tehát megvárja, hogy szavát ő is beválthassa.
– Beváltjuk, alispán úr, – mondja lelkesülten az öreg, –háromszáz lovam van, – mindenikre ülhet egy ember, – írja fel alispán uram…
Az alispán írta.
– Ezeknek persze enni való is kell, – tehát enni valóval is én látom el őket, – írja fel alispán úr ezt is.
Az alispán írta.
A mennyi készpénz a pénztárban van, megszámláljuk, – azt is odaadom, – írja föl alispán uram a többi után.
Az alispán már sokallani kezdé a dolgot.
– Zabom is termett bőven, hála istennek, – hagyunk vetni valót, a többit el lehet vinni a katonák után, ezt is írja fel a tekintetes alispán úr.
– Isten ugyse, sok lesz, – mondja az alispán, – ennyit nem kívánunk.
– Alispán úr! – mondja Baltay, – ki van rám vetve, hogy mennyit adjak?
– Nincsen olyan törvény, mely e tekintetben kényszeríthetné nagysádat.
– Én is azt gondoltam, – teszi hozzá Baltay – mivel nem parancsolták, hát annyit adok, a mennyi tőlem kitelhetik.
– Ennyi mégis sok lesz, nagyságos uram!
– Én meg azt mondom, hogy nem sok, – szép szóért többet megteszen az ember, mint erőszakért, mert:
A magyarnak már szokása, Hogy a jussát nem hagyja; De ha vele bánni tudnak, Az ingét is odadja
Meghatotta a környezetet a háziúrnak lelkesedése, s egymás kezét szorongaták a küldöttség tagjai, Kisfaludy pedig egy ablakmélyedésbe húzódva kinézett a szabadba, lelkét beárnyékozta egy édes érzelem, hisz élő tanuja most, hogy lelkes gondolatai mint terjednek szét, s a lelkesülés órájában a szorongó honfi kebel az ő szavainak segedelméhez menekül.
Andrásnak éppen akkor dolga volt a teremben s midőn Baltay az alispánnak rendre számolá az adományt, szerette volna a nagyságos úrnak kezét megcsókolni s a mint az úr egyik ajánlatát a másik után tette, azonképen gondolá ő is, hogy most a jobb kezét, most meg a balt csókolná meg, s mikor az úr az adományokból még sem fogyott ki, azt gondolja András, hogy még a lábát is megcsókolná, végre midőn a versekhez ért az öreg, nem talált egyéb megcsókolni valót, mint azt a nyomot, a hova az öreg úr letenné a lábát.
Becsületet hozott a szakácsné a házra, mert a vendégeket illendően ellátta, s midőn a vendégek elbúcsúzának, András az udvaron csinált rendet az előljáró kocsik közt, s hol az őrnagynak szürke köpönyegét látta, kiváló gondoskodással nézett meg mindent, hogy az utazónak kényelméből mi se hiányozzék.
Imre még ekkor nem vett részt a nagyobbak társaságában, mert a régi házaknál a gyereknek nem engednek szót az öregebbek között, hanem András úgy intézte a dolgot, hogy Imre kéznél legyen, midőn a vendégek kocsikra ülnek.
– Csak itt maradjon az úrfi, – mondja András Imrének, – jól vigyázzon, messziről is megismerheti, kopasz feje van, egyik sem hasonlít hozzá, nem is tudom, mitől kopaszkodott volna meg a többi!… okoskodik András,… ahun a!… most már jőnek.
– Csak közelről megláthassam! – sóvárog a remegő fiú.
– Mindjárt meglátjuk, úrfi! – biztatja András az érkezők felé nézve, kik közül éppen Kisfaludy vált ki legelőször, s rögtön a kocsi felé tartott.
András annyira meglepeték, hogy hirtelenében nem tudott szólni, hanem a karjába kapaszkodó fiút könyökével érinté, s midőn Kisfaludy a kocsihoz ért, s a hágcsón fölkapaszkodék, András oldalt súgja a meglepett fiúhoz:
– Most nyuljon a ruhájához!
– Már érintettem! – felelt a fiú kegyelettel, ifjú lelkesedésében érezvén a boldogságot, mi az ilyen nagy embernek közelségéből kiárad.
Kisfaludy leült, de a mint hirtelen elhelyezkedék, meglátta a lelkes arczú fiút, ki egészen rábámult, s e tekintetet nem tudta kérdés nélkül kiállni.
– Kié ez a szép fiú?
– Én Baltay Imre vagyok! – felel a gyermek elpirulva.
– Kedves fiam, – kövesse bátyja nyomdokait, – mondja Kisfaludy a még gyermek ifjúnak kezet nyujtva, ki azért egész félénkséggel nyult.
– Csókolja meg! – mondja hirtelen az öreg András, úgy hogy Kisfaludy is megértette. Kisfaludy későn akarta visszahúzni kezét; de már akkor az ifjúnak ajkai érinték, éppen midőn azt mondja Kisfaludy egészen tréfálva:
– Kedves fiam, – talán püspöknek nézett?
– Kisfaludy Sándornak csókoltam kezet! – magyarázza a gyermek kisugárzó arczczal, – mi a költőre sem téveszté el a hatást, s e sajátszerű tiszteletadót beszámolá a kegyeletnek, a mi olyan jutalom, hogy aranynyal fölmérni még eddig nem tudták.
A költő fölvoná a fiút a hágcsóra, homlokát megcsókolá, s egy pillantást váltva még vele, a többi után indult, de még a távolból is néhányszor visszaintegetett.
A mint a vendégek elmentek, Imre a kertbe ment el, Baltay pedig Andrással maradt a nagy udvaron, hol növendék fák bokrosíták meg a térséget, s az uraság szívesen elbabrált az új hajtású fák közt, melyeknek nagy részét maga ültetgette.
– No, András, elfáradt kend? kérdi az uraság.
– Ilyen embereknek szívesen szolgál az ember, akár meddig volnának itt.
– Szeretem, hogy nem kerülték el a házat, – jegyzi meg az úr, –nagy örömöm telt bennük; hanem az a katona, az az őrnagy nagyon szótalan ember.
– Pedig annak legtöbb elbeszélni valója volna, ha megszólamlanék.
– Tapasztalt ember lehet, – hagyá helybe Baltay, nem gondolván az igazi okra, hanem az elválási körülményekre czélozva mondja, –láttam, Imrét megcsókolta.
– Szép becsület az ifiúrnak, hanem meg is érdemlette, –bizonykolá András, – legalább olyant mond, a mit nem úgy súgnak neki.
– Hallja kend András, – most az a fiú már tanítja kendet? – tréfála az öreg.
– Nojsz az még nem nagy csoda, nagyságos uram, – én rólam könnyen lemosta egy zápor az iskolaport, hanem azt tartom, más is tanult már attól valamit. – Az öreg elvörösödött, hanem megint összeszedte magát, hisz legbizalmasabb embere előtt nincs mit eltagadni, tehát azt mondja:
– Észrevette kend, mikor a lugasnál a gyereket hallgattam?
– Már messziről láttam, – s a mit akkor hallott nagyságos uram, tudom, nem feledte el.
– Azt is hallotta kend?
– Jobban megörültem neki, mintha lakodalomba hívnának.
– Biz az, hallja kend, olyan mondás, hogy megtanulhatja az ember, akárki csinálta.
– Én megmondom, ki csinálta.
– No ugyan ki?
– Az az őrnagy, ki az úrfit megcsókolta, – Kisfaludy Sándor a neve.
– De bánom, hogy ezt előbb nem tudtam! – kiált föl Baltay, fejét megcsóválva, – már mégis szerettem volna megkérdezni, hogy ehhez a vershez van-e még több?
– No még mennyi! nagyságos uram, – Imre úrfi mindjárt elmondja könyv nélkül.
– Mit gondol kend, András, – én kérdezzek ilyent a gyerektől?
– Jobb lesz most elkezdeni, nagyságos uram, mert ha ez a gyerek úgy elhalad, a hogy most megindult, – véli András – attól félek, majd messze maradunk el tőle.
Baltay addig gondolkodott, hogy Andrást még sem tudta letorkolni; hanem rászánta magát, hogy ha nem tanul is a fiatalabbtól, de legalább meghallgatja, mit tud?
