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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: High Adventure + A Narrative of Air Fighting in France + +Author: James Norman Hall + +Release Date: February 11, 2008 [EBook #24570] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HIGH ADVENTURE *** + + + + +Produced by Kevin Handy, Irma Spehar and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<h2 style="padding-top: 0em"><span style="font-size: 80%; letter-spacing: 0.25ex">THE</span><br /> +<i>Riverside Library</i></h2> + +<hr class="title" /> +<h1>High Adventure</h1> + +<h2 style="padding-top: 0em"><i>A Narrative of Air Fighting in France</i></h2> + +<p class="center"><i>By</i></p> + +<p class="author">JAMES NORMAN HALL</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 80px; padding-top: 4em"> +<img src="images/titlepage.jpg" width="80" height="91" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<p class="publisher"><small>BOSTON AND NEW YORK</small><br /> +HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY<br /> +<span style="font-size: 70%"><b>The Riverside Press Cambridge</b></span></p> + +<p class="copyright">COPYRIGHT, 1917 AND 1918, BY THE ATLANTIC MONTHLY COMPANY<br /> +COPYRIGHT, 1918, BY JAMES NORMAN HALL<br /><br /> +ALL RIGHTS RESERVED<br /><br /> + +<i>Published June, 1918</i><br /><br /><br /><br /> + +The Riverside Press<br /> +CAMBRIDGE · MASSACHUSETTS<br /> +PRINTED IN THE U.S.A.</p> + + +<p class="dedication">TO<br /> +<span class="smcap">SERGENT-PILOTE DOUGLAS MacMONAGLE</span><br /> +KILLED IN COMBAT NEAR VERDUN<br /> +SEPTEMBER 25, 1917</p> + +<p class="figcenter"><a href="images/frontispiece.jpg"><img src="images/frontispiece_th.jpg" +alt="The Author" title="The Author" /></a></p> + +<p class="caption">THE AUTHOR</p> + + + +<h2><a name="Contents" id="Contents"></a>Contents</h2> + + + +<table summary="table of contents"> +<tr><td class="chapterno"><a href="#I">I.</a></td><td><span class="smcap"><a href="#THE_FRANCO-AMERICAN_CORPS">The Franco-American Corps</a> </span></td><td class="pageno"><a href="#Page_1">1</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="chapterno"><a href="#II">II.</a></td><td><span class="smcap"><a href="#PENGUINS">Penguins</a></span></td><td class="pageno"><a href="#Page_24">24</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="chapterno"><a href="#III">III.</a></td><td><span class="smcap"><a href="#BY_THE_ROUTE_OF_THE_AIR">By the Route of the Air</a></span></td><td class="pageno"><a href="#Page_47">47</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="chapterno"><a href="#IV">IV.</a></td><td><span class="smcap"><a href="#AT_GDE">At G. D. E.</a></span></td><td class="pageno"><a href="#Page_79">79</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="chapterno"><a href="#V">V.</a></td><td><span class="smcap"><a href="#OUR_FIRST_PATROL">Our First Patrol</a></span></td><td class="pageno"><a href="#Page_107">107</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="chapterno"><a href="#VI">VI.</a></td><td><span class="smcap"><a href="#A_BALLOON_ATTACK">A Balloon Attack</a></span></td><td class="pageno"><a href="#Page_144">144</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="chapterno"><a href="#VII">VII.</a></td><td><span class="smcap"><a href="#BROUGHT_DOWN">Brought Down</a></span></td><td class="pageno"><a href="#Page_167">167</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="chapterno"><a href="#VIII">VIII.</a></td><td><span class="smcap"><a href="#ONE_HUNDRED_HOURS">One Hundred Hours</a></span></td><td class="pageno"><a href="#Page_182">182</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="chapterno"><a href="#IX">IX.</a></td><td><a href="#LONELY_AS_A_CLOUD">“<span class="smcap">Lonely as a Cloud</span>”</a></td><td class="pageno"><a href="#Page_200">200</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="chapterno"><a href="#X">X.</a></td><td><a href="#MAIS_OUI_MON_VIEUX">“<span class="smcap">Mais oui, mon vieux!</span>”</a></td><td class="pageno"><a href="#Page_209">209</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="chapterno"><a href="#XI">XI.</a></td><td><span class="smcap"><a href="#THE_CAMOUFLAGED_COWS">The Camouflaged Cows</a></span></td><td class="pageno"><a href="#Page_216">216</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="chapterno"><a href="#XII">XII.</a></td><td><span class="smcap"><a href="#CAFARD">Cafard</a></span></td><td class="pageno"><a href="#Page_226">226</a></td></tr> +<tr><td colspan="2"><span class="smcap"><a href="#FROM_A_LETTER">Letter from a German Prison Camp</a></span></td><td class="pageno"><a href="#Page_233">233</a></td></tr> +</table> + + + +<hr style="margin-bottom: 4em" /> +<h1><a name="HIGH_ADVENTURE" id="HIGH_ADVENTURE"></a>HIGH ADVENTURE</h1> + + + +<h2><a name="I" id="I"></a>I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[1]</a></span></h2> + +<h3><a name="THE_FRANCO-AMERICAN_CORPS" id="THE_FRANCO-AMERICAN_CORPS"></a>THE FRANCO-AMERICAN CORPS</h3> + + +<p><span class="smcap">It</span> was on a cool, starlit evening, early in September, +1916, that I first met Drew of Massachusetts, +and actually began my adventures as +a prospective member of the Escadrille Américaine. +We had sailed from New York by the +same boat, had made our applications for enlistment +in the Foreign Legion on the same +day, without being aware of each other's existence; +and in Paris, while waiting for our papers, +we had gone, every evening, for dinner, to the +same large and gloomy-looking restaurant in +the neighborhood of the Seine.</p> + +<p>As for the restaurant, we frequented it, not +assuredly because of the quality of the food. +We might have dined better and more cheaply +elsewhere. But there was an air of vanished +splendor, of faded magnificence, about the +place which, in the capital of a warring nation,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[2]</a></span> +appealed to both of us. Every evening the +tables were laid with spotless linen and shining +silver. The wineglasses caught the light from +the tarnished chandeliers in little points of +color. At the dinner-hour, a half-dozen ancient +serving-men silently took their places about the +room. There was not a sound to be heard except +the occasional far-off honk of a motor or +the subdued clatter of dishes from the kitchens. +The serving-men, even the tables and the +empty chairs, seemed to be listening, to be +waiting for the guests who never came. Rarely +were there more than a dozen diners-out during +the course of an evening. There was something +mysterious in these elaborate preparations, +and something rather fine about them as +well; but one thought, not without a touch of +sadness, of the old days when there had been +laughter and lights and music, sparkling wines +and brilliant talk, and how those merrymakers +had gone, many of them, long ago to the wars.</p> + +<p>As it happened on this evening, Drew and +I were sitting at adjoining tables. Our common +citizenship was our introduction, and after five +minutes of talk, we learned of our common<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[3]</a></span> +purpose in coming to France. I suppose that +we must have eaten after making this latter +discovery. I vaguely remember seeing our old +waiter hobbling down a long vista of empty +tables on his way to and from the kitchens. +But if we thought of our food at all, it must +have been in a purely mechanical way.</p> + +<p>Drew can talk—by Jove, how the man can +talk!—and he has the faculty of throwing the +glamour of romance over the most commonplace +adventures. Indeed, the difficulty which +I am going to have in writing this narrative is +largely due to this romantic influence of his. I +might have succeeded in writing a plain tale, +for I have kept my diary faithfully, from day +to day, and can set down our adventures, such +as they are, pretty much as they occurred. But +Drew has bewitched me. He does not realize +it, but he is a weaver of spells, and I am so enmeshed +in his moonshine that I doubt if I shall +be able to write of our experiences as they must +appear to those of our comrades in the Franco-American +Corps who remember them only +through the medium of the revealing light of +day.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[4]</a></span></p> + +<p>Not one of these men, I am sure, would confess +to so strange an immediate cause for joining +the aviation service, as that related to me by +Drew, as we sat over our coffee and cigarettes, +on the evening of our first meeting. He had +come to France, he said, with the intention of +joining the <i>Légion Étrangère</i> as an infantryman. +But he changed his mind, a few days after his +arrival in Paris, upon meeting Jackson of the +American Aviation Squadron, who was on +leave after a service of six months at the front. +It was all because of the manner in which Jackson +looked at a Turkish rug. He told him of his +adventures in the most matter-of-fact way. No +heroics, nothing of that sort. He had not a +glimmer of imagination, he said. But he had a +way of looking at the floor which was “irresistible,” +which “fascinated him with the sense of +height.” He saw towns, villages, networks of +trenches, columns of toy troops moving up ribbons +of road—all in the patterns of a Turkish +rug. And the next day, he was at the headquarters +of the Franco-American Corps, in the +Champs Élysées, making application for membership.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[5]</a></span></p> + +<p>It is strange that we should both have come +to France with so little of accurate knowledge of +the corps, of the possibilities for enlistment, and +of the nature of the requirements for the service. +Our knowledge of it, up to the time of sailing, +had been confined to a few brief references +in the press. It was perhaps necessary that its +existence should not be officially recognized in +America, or its furtherance encouraged. But +it seemed to us at that time, that there must +have been actual discouragement on the part of +the Government at Washington. However that +may be, we wondered if others had followed +clues so vague or a call so dimly heard.</p> + +<p>This led to a discussion of our individual aptitudes +for the service, and we made many comforting +discoveries about each other. It is permissible +to reveal them now, for the particular +encouragement of others who, like ourselves at +that time, may be conscious of deficiencies, +and who may think that they have none of +the qualities essential to the successful aviator. +Drew had never been farther from the ground +than the top of the Woolworth building. I had +once taken a trip in a captive balloon. Drew<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[6]</a></span> +knew nothing of motors, and had no more +knowledge of mechanics than would enable him +to wind a watch without breaking the mainspring. +My ignorance in this respect was a fair +match for his.</p> + +<p>We were further handicapped for the French +service by our lack of the language. Indeed, +this seemed to be the most serious obstacle in +the way to success. With a good general knowledge +of the language it seemed probable that +we might be able to overcome our other deficiencies. +Without it, we could see no way to +mastering the mechanical knowledge which we +supposed must be required as a foundation for +the training of a military pilot. In this connection, +it may be well to say that we have both +been handicapped from the beginning. We have +had to learn, through actual experience in the +air, and at risk to life and limb, what many +of our comrades, both French and American, +knew before they had ever climbed into an aeroplane. +But it is equally true that scores of men +become very excellent pilots with little or no +knowledge of the mechanics of the business.</p> + +<p>In so far as Drew and I were concerned, these<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[7]</a></span> +were matters for the future. It was enough for +us at the moment that our applications had +been approved, our papers signed, and that +to-morrow we were leaving for the <i>École d'Aviation +Militaire</i> to begin our training. And so, +after a long evening of pleasant talk and pleasanter +anticipation of coming events, we left +our restaurant and walked together through +the silent streets to the Place de la Concorde. +The great windy square was almost deserted. +The monuments to the lost provinces bulked +large in the dim lamplight. Two disabled soldiers +hobbled across the bridge and disappeared +in the deep shade of the avenue. Their +service had been rendered, their sacrifices +made, months ago. They could look about +them now with a peculiar sense of isolation, and +with, perhaps, a feeling of the futility of the +effort they had made. Our adventures were +all before us. Our hearts were light and our +hopes high. As we stood by the obelisk, talking +over plans for the morrow, we heard, high +overhead, the faint hum of motors, and saw two +lights, one green, one red, moving rapidly across +the sky. A moment later the long, slender finger<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[8]</a></span> +of a searchlight probed among little heaps +of cloud, then, sweeping in a wide arc, revealed +in striking outline the shape of a huge biplane +circling over the sleeping city. It was one of the +night guard of Paris.</p> + +<p>On the following morning, we were at the +Gare des Invalides with our luggage, a long +half-hour before train-time. The luggage was +absurdly bulky. Drew had two enormous suitcases +and a bag, and I a steamer trunk and a +family-size portmanteau. We looked so much +the typical American tourists that we felt +ashamed of ourselves, not because of our nationality, +but because we revealed so plainly, +to all the world military, our non-military antecedents. +We bore the hallmark of fifty years +of neutral aloofness, of fifty years of indifference +to the business of national defense. What +makes the situation amusing as a retrospect is +the fact that we were traveling on third-class +military passes, as befitted our rank as <i>élève-pilotes</i> +and soldiers of the <i>deuxième classe</i>.</p> + +<p>To our great discomfiture, a couple of <i>poilus</i> +volunteered their services in putting our belongings +aboard the train. Then we crowded<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[9]</a></span> +into a third-class carriage filled with soldiers—<i>permissionnaires</i>, +<i>blessés</i>, <i>réformés</i>, men from all +corners of France and her colonies. Their uniforms +were faded and weather-stained with +long service. The stocks of their rifles were +worn smooth and bright with constant usage, +and their packs fairly stowed themselves upon +their backs.</p> + +<p>Drew and I felt uncomfortable in our smart +civilian clothing. We looked too soft, too clean, +too spick-and-span. We did not feel that we +belonged there. But in a whispered conversation +we comforted ourselves with the assurance +that if ever America took her rightful stand +with the Allies, in six months after the event, +hundreds of thousands of American boys +would be lugging packs and rifles with the same +familiarity of use as these French <i>poilus</i>. They +would become equally good soldiers, and soon +would have the same community of experience, +of dangers and hardships shared in common, +which make men comrades and brothers +in fact as well as in theory.</p> + +<p>By the time we had reached our destination +we had persuaded ourselves into a much more<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[10]</a></span> +comfortable frame of mind. There we piled +into a cab, and soon we were rattling over the +cobblestones, down a long, sunlit avenue in the +direction of B——. It was late of a mild afternoon +when we reached the summit of a high +plateau and saw before us the barracks and +hangars of the <i>École d'Aviation</i>. There was not +a breath of air stirring. The sun was just sinking +behind a bank of crimson cloud. The earth +was already in shadow, but high overhead the +light was caught and reflected from the wings +of scores of <i>avions</i> which shone like polished +bronze and silver. We saw the long lines of +Blériot monoplanes, like huge dragon-flies, and +as pretty a sight in the air as heart could wish. +Farther to the left, we recognized Farman biplanes, +floating battleships in comparison with +the Blériots, and twin-motor Caudrons, much +more graceful and alert of movement.</p> + +<p>But, most wonderful of all to us then, we +saw a strange, new <i>avion</i>,—a biplane, small, +trim, with a body like a fish. To see it in flight +was to be convinced for all time that man has +mastered the air, and has outdone the birds in +their own element. Never was swallow more<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[11]</a></span> +consciously joyous in swift flight, never eagle +so bold to take the heights or so quick to reach +them. Drew and I gazed in silent wonder, +our bodies jammed tightly into the cab-window, +and our heads craned upward. We did +not come back to earth until our ancient, +earth-creeping conveyance brought up with a +jerk, and we found ourselves in front of a gate +marked “École d'Aviation Militaire de B——.”</p> + +<p>After we had paid the cabman, we stood in +the road, with our mountain of luggage heaped +about us, waiting for something to happen. A +moment later a window in the administration +building was thrown open and we were greeted +with a loud and not over-musical chorus of</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“Oh, say, can you see by the dawn's early light—”<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>It all came from one throat, belonging to a +chap in leathers, who came down the drive to +give us welcome.</p> + +<p>“Spotted you <i>toute suite</i>” he said. “You can +tell Americans at six hundred yards by their +hats. How's things in the States? Do you think +we're coming in?”</p> + +<p>We gave him the latest budget of home<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[12]</a></span> +news, whereupon he offered to take us over to +the barracks. When he saw our luggage he +grinned.</p> + +<p>“Some equipment, believe me! <i>Attendez un +peu</i> while I commandeer a battalion of Annamites +to help us carry it, and we'll be on our +way.”</p> + +<p>The Annamites, from Indo-China, who are +quartered at the camp for guard and fatigue +duty, came back with him about twenty strong, +and we started in a long procession to the barracks. +Later, we took a vindictive pleasure +in witnessing the beluggaged arrival of other +Americans, for in nine cases out of ten they +came as absurdly over-equipped as did we.</p> + +<p>Our barracks, one of many built on the same +pattern, was a long, low wooden building, +weather-stained without and whitewashed +within. It had accommodation for about forty +beds. One end of the room was very manifestly +American. There was a phonograph on the +table, baseball equipment piled in one corner, +and the walls were covered with cartoons and +pictures clipped from American periodicals. +The other end was as evidently French, in the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[13]</a></span> +frugality and the neatness of its furnishings. +The American end of the room looked more +homelike, but the French end more military. +Near the center, where the two nations joined, +there was a very harmonious blending of these +characteristics.</p> + +<p>Drew and I were delighted with all this. We +were glad that we were not to live in an exclusively +American barracks, for we wanted to +learn French; but more than this, we wanted to +live with Frenchmen on terms of barrack-room +familiarity.</p> + +<p>By the time we had given in our papers at the +captain's office and had passed the hasty preliminary +examination of the medical officer, it +was quite dark. Flying for the day was over, +and lights gleamed cheerily from the barrack-room +windows. As we came down the principal +street of the camp, we heard the strains of +“Waiting for the Robert E. Lee,” to a gramophone +accompaniment, issuing from the <i>chambre +des Américains</i>.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“See them shuffle along,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh, ma honey babe,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hear that music and song.”<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[14]</a></span></div></div> + +<p>It gave us the home feeling at once. Frenchmen +and Americans were singing together, the +Frenchmen in very quaint English, but hitting +off the syncopated time as though they had +been born and brought up to it as we Americans +have.</p> + +<p>Over in one corner, a very informal class +in French-English pronunciation was at work. +Apparently, this was tongue-twisters' night. +“<i>Heureux</i>” was the challenge from the French +side, and “<i>Hooroo</i>” the nearest approach to a +pronunciation on the part of the Americans, +with many more or less remote variations on +this theme. An American, realizing how difficult +it is for a Frenchman to get his tongue +between his teeth, counter-challenged with +“Father, you are withered with age.” The result, +as might have been expected, was a series +of hissing sounds of <i>z</i>, whereupon there was an +answering howl of derision from all the Americans. +Up and down the length of the room +there were little groups of two and three, chatting +together in combinations of Franco-American +which must have caused all deceased professors +of modern languages to spin like midges<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[15]</a></span> +in their graves. And throughout all this before-supper +merriment, one could catch the feeling +of good-comradeship which, so far as my +experience goes, is always prevalent whenever +Frenchmen and Americans are gathered together.</p> + +<p>At the <i>ordinaire</i>, at supper-time, we saw all +of the <i>élève-pilotes</i> of the school, with the exception +of the non-commissioned officers, who +have their own mess. To Drew and me, but +newly come from remote America, it was a +most interesting gathering. There were about +one hundred and twenty-five in all, including +eighteen Americans. The large majority of the +Frenchmen had already been at the front in +other branches of army service. There were +artillerymen, infantrymen, marines,—in training +for the naval air-service,—cavalrymen, all +wearing the uniforms of the arm to which they +originally belonged. No one was dressed in a +uniform which distinguished him as an aviator; +and upon making inquiry, I found that there +is no official dress for this branch of the service. +During his period of training in aviation, +and even after receiving his military brevet, a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[16]</a></span> +pilot continues to wear the dress of his former +service, plus the wings on the collar, and the +star-and-wings insignia on his right breast. +This custom does not make for the fine uniform +appearance of the men of the British Royal +Flying Corps, but it gives a picturesqueness +of effect which is, perhaps, ample recompense. +As for the Americans, they follow individual +tastes, as we learned later. Some of them, with +an eye to color, salute the sun in the red trousers +and black tunic of the artilleryman. Others +choose more sober shades, various French blues, +with the thin orange aviation stripe running +down the seams of the trousers. All this in +reference to the dress uniform. At the camp +most of the men wear leathers, or a combination +of leathers and the gray-blue uniform of +the French <i>poilu</i>, which is issued to all Americans +at the time of their enlistment.</p> + +<p>We had a very excellent supper of soup, followed +by a savory roast of meat, with mashed +potatoes and lentils. Afterward, cheese and +beer. I was slightly discomfited physically on +learning that the beef was horse-meat, but +Drew convinced me that it was absurd to let<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[17]</a></span> +old scruples militate against a healthy appetite. +In 1870 the citizens of France ate <i>ragoût de chat</i> +with relish. Furthermore, the roast was of so +delicious a flavor and so closely resembled the +finest cuts of beef, that it was easy to persuade +one's self that it was beef, after all.</p> + +<p>After the meal, to our great surprise, every +one cleaned his dishes with huge pieces of +bread. Such waste seemed criminal in a country +beleaguered by submarines, in its third +year of war, and largely dependent for its food-supply +on the farm labor of women and children. +We should not have been surprised if it +had been only the Americans who indulged in +this wasteful dish-cleansing process; but the +Frenchmen did it, too. When I remarked upon +this to one of my American comrades, a Frenchman, +sitting opposite, said:—</p> + +<p>“Pardon, monsieur, but I must tell you what +we Frenchmen are. We are very economical +when it is for ourselves, for our own families +and purses, that we are saving. But when it is +the Government which pays the bill, we do not +care. We do not have to pay directly and so +we waste, we throw away. We are so careful at<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[18]</a></span> +home, all of our lives, that this is a little pleasure +for us.”</p> + +<p>I have had this same observation made to me +by so many Frenchmen since that time, that +I believe there must be a good deal of truth +in it.</p> + +<p>After supper, all of the Americans adjourned +for coffee to Ciret's, a little café in the village +which nestles among the hills not far from the +camp. The café itself was like any one of thousands +of French provincial restaurants. There +was a great dingy common room, with a sanded +brick floor, and faded streamers of tricolor +paper festooned in curious patterns from the +smoky ceiling. The kitchen was clean, and +filled with the appetizing odor of good cooking. +Beyond it was another, inner room, “<i>toujours +réservée à mes Américains</i>,” as M. Ciret, the +fat, genial <i>patron</i> continually asserted. Here we +gathered around a large circular table, pipes +and cigarettes were lighted, and, while the +others talked, Drew and I listened and gathered +impressions.</p> + +<p>For a time the conversation did not become +general, and we gathered up odds and ends of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[19]</a></span> +it from all sides. Then it turned to the reasons +which had prompted various members of the +group to come to France, the topic, above all +others, which Drew and I most wanted to hear +discussed. It seemed to me, as I listened, that +we Americans closely resemble the British in +our sensitive fear of any display of fine personal +feeling. We will never learn to examine our +emotions with anything but suspicion. If we +are prompted to a course of action by generous +impulses, we are anxious that others shall not +be let into the secret. And so it was that of all +the reasons given for offering their services to +France, the first and most important was the +last to be acknowledged, and even then it was +admitted by some with a reluctance nearly +akin to shame. There was no man there who +was not ready and willing to give his life, if +necessary, for the Allied cause, because he believed +in it; but the admission could hardly +have been dragged from him by wild horses.</p> + +<p>But the adventure of the life, the peculiar +fascination of it—that was a thing which +might be discussed without reserve, and the +men talked of it with a willingness which was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[20]</a></span> +most gratifying to Drew and me, curious as we +were about the life we were entering. They were +all in the flush of their first enthusiasms. They +were daily enlarging their conceptions of distance +and height and speed. They talked a new +language and were developing a new cast of +mind. They were like children who had grown +up over night, whose horizons had been immeasurably +broadened in the twinkling of an eye. +They were still keenly conscious of the change +which was upon them, for they were but fledgling +aviators. They were just finding their +wings. But as I listened, I thought of the time +which must come soon, when the air, as the sea, +will be filled with stately ships, and how the +air-service will develop its own peculiar type of +men, and build up about them its own laws and +its own traditions.</p> + +<p>As we walked back through the straggling +village street to the camp, I tried to convey to +Drew something of the new vision which had +come to me during the evening. I was aglow +with enthusiasm and hoped to strike an answering +spark from him. But all that I was thinking +and feeling then he had thought and felt long<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[21]</a></span> +before. I am sure that he had already experienced, +in imagination, every thrill, every keen +joy, and every sudden sickening fear which the +life might have in store for him. For this reason +I forgave him for his rather bored manner +of answering to my mood, and the more willingly +because he was full of talk about a strange +illusion which he had had at the restaurant. +During a moment of silence, he had heard a +clatter of hoof-beats in the village street. (I +had heard them too. Some one rode by furiously.) +Well, Drew said that he almost jumped +from his seat, expecting M. Ciret to throw open +the door and shout, “The British are coming!” +He actually believed for a second or two that +it was the year 1775, and that he was sitting in +one of the old roadside inns of Massachusetts. +The illusion was perfect, he said.</p> + +<p>Now, why—etc., etc. At another time I +should have been much interested; but in the +presence of new and splendid realities I could +not summon any enthusiasm for illusions. +Nevertheless, I should have had to listen to him +indefinitely, had it not been for an event which +cut short all conversation and ended our first<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[22]</a></span> +day at the <i>École d'Aviation</i> in a truly spectacular +manner.</p> + +<p>Suddenly we heard the roar of motors just +over the barracks, and, at the same time, the +siren sounded the alarm in a series of prolonged, +wailing shrieks. Some belated pilot was still +in the air. We rushed out to the field just as +the flares were being lighted and placed on the +ground in the shape of an immense T, with +the cross-bar facing in the direction from which +the wind was coming. By this time the hum +of motors was heard at a great distance, but +gradually it increased in volume and soon the +light of the flares revealed the machine circling +rapidly over the <i>piste</i>. I was so much absorbed +in watching it manœuvre for a landing that I +did not see the crowd scattering to safe distances. +I heard many voices shouting frantic +warnings, and so ran for it, but, in my excitement, +directly within the line of descent of the +machine. I heard the wind screaming through +the wires, a terrifying sound to the novice, and +glancing hurriedly over my shoulder, I saw +what appeared to be a monster of gigantic proportions, +almost upon me. It passed within<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[23]</a></span> +three metres of my head and landed just beyond.</p> + +<p>When at last I got to sleep, after a day filled +with interesting incidents, Paul Revere pursued +me relentlessly through the mazes of a +weird and horrible dream. I was on foot, and +shod with lead-soled boots. He was in a huge, +twin-motor Caudron and flying at a terrific +pace, only a few metres from the ground. I can +see him now, as he leaned far out over the hood +of his machine, an aviator's helmet set atilt over +his powdered wig, and his eyes glowing like +coals through his goggles. He was waving two +lighted torches and shouting, “The British are +coming! The British are coming!” in a voice +strangely like Drew's.</p> + + + +<h2><a name="II" id="II"></a>II<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[24]</a></span></h2> + +<h3><a name="PENGUINS" id="PENGUINS"></a>PENGUINS</h3> + + +<p><span class="smcap">Having</span> simple civilian notions as to the +amount of time necessary for dressing, Drew +and I rose with the sound of the bugle on the +following morning. We had promised each +other that we would begin our new life in true +soldier style, and so we reluctantly hurried to +the wash-house, where we shaved in cold water, +washed after a fashion, and then hurried back +to the unheated barrack-room. We felt refreshed, +morally and physically, but our heroic +example seemed to make no impression upon +our fellow aviators, whether French or American. +Indeed, not one of them stirred until ten +minutes before time for the morning <i>appel</i>, +when, there was a sudden upheaval of blankets +down the entire length of the room. It was as +though the patients in a hospital ward had been +inoculated with some wonderful, instantaneous-health-giving +virus. Men were jumping into +boots and trousers at the same time, and running +to and from the wash-house, buttoning<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[25]</a></span> +their shirts and drying their faces as they ran. +It must have taken months of experiment to +perfect the system whereby every one remained +in bed until the last possible moment. They +professed to be very proud of it, but it was +clear that they felt more at ease when Drew +and I, after a week of heroic, early-morning +resolves, abandoned our daily test of courage. +We are all Doctor Johnsons at heart.</p> + +<p>It was a crisp, calm morning—an excellent +day for flying. Already the mechanicians were +bringing out the machines and lining them up +in front of the hangars, in preparation for the +morning work, which began immediately after +<i>appel</i>. Drew and I had received notice that we +were to begin our training at once. Solicitous +fellow countrymen had warned us to take with +us all our flying clothes. We were by no means +to forget our goggles, and the fur-lined boots +which are worn over ordinary boots as a protection +against the cold. Innocently, we obeyed +all instructions to the letter. The absurdity of +our appearance will be appreciated only by air-men. +Novices begin their training, at a Blériot +monoplane school, in Penguins—low-powered<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[26]</a></span> +machines with clipped wings, which are not +capable of leaving the ground. We were dressed +as we would have no occasion to be dressed until +we should be making sustained flights at high +altitudes. Every one, Frenchmen and Americans +alike, had a good laugh at our expense, but +it was one in which we joined right willingly; +and one kind-hearted <i>adjudant-moniteur</i>, in order +to remove what discomfiture we may have +felt, told us, through an interpreter, that he was +sure we would become good air-men. The <i>très +bon pilote</i> could be distinguished, in embryo, +by the way he wore his goggles.</p> + +<p>The beginners' class did not start work with +the others, owing to the fact that the Penguins, +driven by unaccustomed hands, covered a vast +amount of ground in their rolling sorties back +and forth across the field. Therefore Drew and +I had leisure to watch the others, and to see +in operation the entire scheme by means of +which France trains her combat pilots for the +front. Exclusive of the Penguin, there were +seven classes, graded according to their degree +of advancement. These, in their order, were +the rolling class (a second-stage Penguin class,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[27]</a></span> +in which one still kept on the ground, but in +machines of higher speed); the first flying class—short +hops across the field at an altitude of +two or three metres; the second flying class, +where one learned to mount to from thirty to +fifty metres, and to make landings without the +use of the motor; <i>tour de piste</i> (<small>A</small>)—flights +about the aerodrome in a forty-five horse-power +Blériot; <i>tour de piste</i> (<small>B</small>)—similar flights in a +fifty horse-power machine; the spiral class, and +the brevet class.</p> + +<p>Our reception committee of the day before +volunteered his services as guide, and took us +from one class to another, making comments +upon the nature of the work of each in a bewildering +combination of English and Americanized French. +I understood but little of his +explanation, although later I was able to appreciate +his French translation of some of our +breezy Americanisms. But explanation was, +for the most part, unnecessary. We could see +for ourselves how the prospective pilot advanced +from one class to another, becoming +accustomed to machines of higher and higher +power, “growing his wings” very gradually,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[28]</a></span> +until at last he reached the spiral class, where +he learned to make landings at a given spot +and without the use of his motor, from an altitude +of from eight hundred to one thousand +metres, losing height in volplanes and serpentines. +The final tests for the military brevet +were two cross-country flights of from two hundred +to three hundred kilometres, with landings +during each flight, at three points, two +short voyages of sixty kilometres each, and an +hour flight at a minimum altitude of two thousand +metres.</p> + +<p>With all the activities of the school taking +place at once, we were as excited as two boys +seeing their first three-ring circus. We scarcely +knew which way to turn in our anxiety to miss +nothing. But my chief concern, in anticipation, +had been this: how were English-speaking +<i>élèves-pilotes</i> to overcome the linguistic handicap? +My uneasiness was set at rest on this first +morning, when I saw how neatly most of the +difficulties were overcome. Many of the Americans +had no knowledge of French other than +that which they had acquired since entering +the French service, and this, as I have already<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[29]</a></span> +hinted, had no great utilitarian value. An interpreter +had been provided for them through +the generosity and kindness of the Franco-American +Committee in Paris; but it was impossible +for him to be everywhere at once, and +much was left to their own quickness of understanding +and to the ingenuity of the <i>moniteurs</i>. +The latter, being French, were eloquent with +their gestures. With the additional aid of a +few English phrases which they had acquired +from the Americans, and the simplest kind of +French, they had little difficulty in making +their instructions clear. Both of us felt much +encouraged as we listened, for we could understand +them very well.</p> + +<p>As for the business of flying, as we watched +it from below, it seemed the safest and simplest +thing in the world. The machines left the +ground so easily, and mounted and descended +with such sureness of movement, that I was impatient +to begin my training. I believed that +I could fly at once, after a few minutes of +preliminary instruction, without first going +through with all the tedious rolling along the +ground in low-powered machines. But before<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[30]</a></span> +the morning's work was finished, I revised my +opinion. Accidents began to happen, the first +one when one of the “old family cuckoos,” as +the rolling machines were disdainfully called, +showed a sudden burst of old-time speed and +left the ground in an alarming manner.</p> + +<p>It was evident that the man who was driving +it, taken completely by surprise, had lost +his head, and was working the controls erratically. +First he swooped upward, then dived, +tipping dangerously on one wing. In this sudden +emergency he had quite forgotten his newly +acquired knowledge. I wondered what I would +do in such a strait, when one must think with +the quickness and sureness of instinct. My +heart was in my mouth, for I felt certain that +the man would be killed. As for the others who +were watching, no one appeared to be excited. +A <i>moniteur</i> near me said, “Oh, là là! Il est +perdu!” in a mild voice. The whole affair happened +so quickly that I was not able to think +myself into a similar situation before the end +had come. At the last, the machine made a +quick swoop downward, from a height of about +fifty metres, then careened upward, tipped<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[31]</a></span> +again, and diving sidewise, struck the ground +with a sickening rending crash, the motor going +at full speed. For a moment it stood, tail +in air; then slowly the balance was lost, and it +fell, bottom up, and lay silent.</p> + +<p>An enterprising moving-picture company +would have given a great deal of money to film +that accident. It would have provided a splendid +dramatic climax to a war drama of high +adventure. Civilian audiences would have +watched in breathless, awe-struck silence; but +at a military school of aviation it was a different +matter. “Oh, là là! Il est perdu!” adequately +gauges the degree of emotional interest +taken in the incident. At the time I was surprised +at this apparent callousness, but I understood +it better when I had seen scores of +such accidents occur, and had watched the pilots, +as in this case, crawl out from the wreckage, +and walk sheepishly, and a little shaken, +back to their classes. Although the machines +were usually badly wrecked, the pilots were +rarely severely hurt. The landing chassis of a +Blériot is so strong that it will break the force +of a very heavy fall, and the motor, being in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[32]</a></span> +front, strikes the ground first instead of pinning +the pilot beneath it.</p> + +<p>To anticipate a little, in more than four +months of training at the Blériot school there +was not a single fatality, although as many as +eleven machines were wrecked in the course +of one working day, and rarely less than two +or three. There were so many accidents as to +convince me that Blériot training for novices +is a mistake from the economic point of view. +The up-keep expense is vastly greater than in +double-command biplane schools, where the +student pilot not only learns to fly in a much +more stable machine, but makes all his early +flights in company with a <i>moniteur</i> who has +his own set of controls and may immediately +correct any mistakes in handling. But France +is not guided by questions of expense in her +training of <i>pilotes de chasse</i>, and opinion appears +to be that single-command monoplane +training is to be preferred for the airman who +is to be a combat pilot. Certain it is that men +have greater confidence in themselves when +they learn to fly alone from the beginning; and +the Blériot, which requires the most delicate<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[33]</a></span> +and sensitive handling, offers excellent preliminary +schooling for the Nieuport and Spad, the +fast and high-powered biplanes which are the +<i>avions de chasse</i> above the French lines.</p> + +<p>A spice of interest was added to the morning's +thrills when an American, not to be outdone +by his French compatriot, wrecked a machine +so completely that it seemed incredible +that he could have escaped without serious injury. +But he did, and then we witnessed the +amusing spectacle of an American, who had no +French at all, explaining through the interpreter +just how the accident had happened. I +saw his <i>moniteur</i>, who knew no English, grin in +a relieved kind of way when the American +crawled out from under the wreckage. The +reception committee whispered to me, “This +is Pourquoi, the best bawler-out we've got. +'Pourquoi?' is always his first broadside. Then +he wades in and you can hear him from one end +of the field to the other. <i>Attendez!</i> this is going +to be rich!”</p> + +<p>Both of them started talking at once, the +<i>moniteur</i> in French and the American in English. +Then they turned to the interpreter, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[34]</a></span> +any one witnessing the conversation from a distance +would have thought that he was the culprit. +The American had left the ground with +the wind behind him, a serious fault in an +airman, and he knew it very well.</p> + +<p>“Look here, Pete,” he said; “tell him I know +it was my fault. Tell him I took a Steve Brody. +I wanted to see if the old cuckoo had any pep +in 'er. When I—”</p> + +<p>“Pourquoi? Nom de Dieu! Qu'est-ce que je +vous ai dit? Jamais faire comme ça! Jamais +monter avec le vent en arrière! Jamais! Jamais!”</p> + +<p>The others listened in hilarious silence while +the interpreter turned first to one and then to +the other. “Tell him I took a Steve Brody.” I +wondered if he translated that literally. Steve +took a chance, but it is hardly to be expected +that a Frenchman would know of that daring +gentleman's history. In this connection, I remember +a little talk on caution which was +given to us, later, by an English-speaking <i>moniteur</i>. +It was after rather a serious accident, for +which the spirit of Steve Brody was again responsible.</p> + +<p>“You Americans,” he said, “when you go to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[35]</a></span> +the front you will get the Boche; but let me tell +you, they will kill many of you. Not one or +two; very many.”</p> + +<p>Accidents delayed the work of flying scarcely +at all. As soon as a machine was wrecked, Annamites +appeared on the spot to clear away +the débris and take it to the repair-shops, where +the usable portions were quickly sorted out. +We followed one of these processions in, and +spent an hour watching the work of this other +department of aviation upon which our own +was so entirely dependent. Here machines were +being built as well as repaired. The air vibrated +with the hum of machinery, with the clang of +hammers upon anvils and the roar of motors +in process of being tested.</p> + +<p>There was a small army of women doing work +of many kinds. They were quite apt at it, particularly +in the department where the fine +strong linen cloth which covers the wings was +being sewn together and stretched over the +framework. There were great husky peasant-women +doing the hardest kind of manual labor. +In these latter days of the great world-war, +women are doing everything, surely, with the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[36]</a></span> +one exception of fighting. It is not a pleasant +thing to see them, however strong they may be, +doing the rough, coarse work of men, bearing +great burdens on their backs as though they +were oxen. There must be many now whose +muscles are as hard and whose hands as horny +as those of a stevedore. Several months after +this time, when we were transferred to another +school of aviation, one of the largest in Europe, +we saw women employed on a much larger +scale. They lived in barracks which were no +better than our own,—not so good, in fact,—and +roughed it like common soldiers.</p> + +<p>Toward evening the wind freshened and flying +was brought to a halt. Then the Penguins +were brought from their hangars, and Drew and +I, properly dressed this time, and accompanied +by some of the Americans, went out to the field +for our first sortie. As is usual on such occasions, +there was no dearth of advice. Every +graduate of the Penguin class had a method of +his own for keeping that unmanageable bird +traveling in a direct line, and every one was only +too willing to give us the benefit of his experience. +Finally, out of the welter of suggestions,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[37]</a></span> +one or two points became clear: it was important +that one should give the machine full gas, +and get the tail off the ground. Then, by skillful +handling of the rudder, it might be kept +traveling in the same general direction. But if, +as usually happened, it showed willful tendencies, +and started to turn within its own length, +it was necessary to cut the contact, to prevent +it from whirling so rapidly as to overturn.</p> + +<p>Never have I seen a stranger sight than that +of a swarm of Penguins at work. They looked +like a brood of prehistoric birds of enormous +size, with wings too short for flight. Most unwieldy +birds they were, driven by, or more accurately, +driving beginners in the art of flying; +but they ran along the ground at an amazing +speed, zigzagged this way and that, and whirled +about as if trying to catch their own tails. As +we stood watching them, an accident occurred +which would have been laughable had we not +been too nervous to enjoy it. In a distant part +of the field two machines were rushing wildly +about. There were acres of room in which +they might pass, but after a moment of uncertainty, +they rushed headlong for each other as<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[38]</a></span> +though driven by the hand of fate, and met +head-on, with a great rending of propellers. The +onlookers along the side of the field howled and +pounded each other in an ecstasy of delight, but +Drew and I walked apart for a hasty consultation, +for it was our turn next. We kept rehearsing +the points which we were to remember in +driving a Penguin: full gas and tail up at once. +Through the interpreter, our <i>moniteur</i> explained +very carefully what we were to do, and mounted +the step, to show us, in turn, the proper handling +of the gas <i>manet</i> and of the <i>coupe-contact</i> +button. Then he stepped down and shouted, +“Allez! en route!” with a smile meant to be reassuring.</p> + +<p>I buckled myself in, fastened my helmet, and +nodded to my mechanic.</p> + +<p>“Coupe, plein gaz,” he said.</p> + +<p>“Coupe, plein gaz,” I repeated.</p> + +<p>He gave the propeller a few spins to suck in +the mixture.</p> + +<p>“Contact, reduisez.”</p> + +<p>“Contact, reduisez.”</p> + +<p>Again he spun the propeller, and the motor +took. I pulled back my <i>manet</i>, full gas, and off<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[39]</a></span> +I went at what seemed to me then breakneck +speed. Remembering instructions, I pushed +forward on the lever which governs the elevating +planes, and up went my tail so quickly and +at such an angle that almost instinctively I cut +off my contact. Down dropped my tail again, +and I whirled round in a circle—my first +<i>cheval de bois</i>, as this absurd-looking manœuvre +is called. I had forgotten that I had a rudder. +I was like a man learning to swim, and could +not yet coördinate the movements of my hands +and feet. My bird was purring gently, with the +propeller turning slowly. It seemed thoroughly +domesticated, but I knew that I had but to +pull back on that <i>manet</i> to transform it into a +rampant bird of prey. Before starting again I +looked about me, and there was Drew racing all +over the field. Suddenly he started in my direction +as if the whole force of his will was +turned to the business of running me down. +Luckily he shut off his motor, and by the grace +of the law of inertia came to a halt when he was +within a dozen paces of me.</p> + +<p>We turned our machines tail to tail and +started off in opposite directions, but in a moment<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[40]</a></span> +I was following hard after him. Almost +it seemed that those evil birds had wills of their +own. Drew's turned as though it were angry +at the indignity of being pursued. We missed +each other, but it was a near thing, and, not +being able to think fast enough, I stalled my +motor, and had to await helplessly the assistance +of a mechanic. Far away, at our starting-point, +I could see the Americans waving their +arms and embracing each other in huge delight, +and then I realized why they had all been so +eager to come with us to the field. They had +been through all this. Now they were having +their innings. I could hear them shouting, although +their voices sounded very thin and faint. +“Why don't you come back?” they yelled. +“This way! Here we are! Here's your class!” +They were having the time of their vindictive +lives, and knew very well that we would go +back if we could.</p> + +<p>Finally we began to get the hang of it, and +we did go back, although by circuitous routes. +But we got there, and the <i>moniteur</i> explained +again what we were to do. We were to anticipate +the turn of the machine with the rudder,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[41]</a></span> +just as in sailing a boat. Then we understood +the difficulty. In my next sortie, I fixed my +eye upon the flag at the opposite side of the +field, and reached it without a single <i>cheval de +bois</i>. I could have kissed the Annamite who +was stationed there to turn the machines which +rarely came. I had mastered the Penguin! I +had forced my will upon it, compelled it to do +my bidding! Back across the field I went, +keeping a direct course, and thinking how they +were all watching, the <i>moniteur</i>, doubtless, making +approving comments. I reduced the gas at +the proper time, and taxied triumphantly up +to the starting-point.</p> + +<p>But no one had seen my splendid sortie. +Now that I had arrived, no one paid the least +attention to me. All eyes were turned upward, +and following them with my own, I saw an +airplane outlined against a heaped-up pile of +snow-white cloud. It was moving at tremendous +speed, when suddenly it darted straight +upward, wavered for a second or two, turned +slowly on one wing and fell, nose-down, turning +round and round as it fell, like a scrap of +paper. It was the <i>vrille</i>, the prettiest piece of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[42]</a></span> +aerial acrobatics that one could wish to see. It +was a wonderful, an incredible sight. Only +seven years ago Blériot crossed the English +Channel, and a year earlier the world was astonished +at the exploits of the Wright brothers, +who were making flights, straight-line flights, +of from fifteen to twenty minutes' duration!</p> + +<p>Some one was counting the turns of the <i>vrille</i>. +Six, seven, eight; then the airman came out of +it on an even keel, and, nosing down to gather +speed, looped twice in quick succession. Afterward +he did the <i>retournement</i>, turning completely +over in the air and going back in the opposite +direction; then spiraled down and passed +over our heads at about fifty metres, landing +at the opposite side of the field so beautifully +that it was impossible to know when the machine +touched the ground. The airman taxied +back to the hangars and stopped just in front +of us, while we gathered round to hear the latest +news from the front.</p> + +<p>For he had left the front, this birdman, only +an hour before! I was incredulous at first, for +I still thought of distances in the old way. But +I was soon convinced. Mounted on the hood<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[43]</a></span> +was the competent-looking Vickers machine +gun, with a long belt of cartridges in place, and +on the side of the <i>fuselage</i> were painted the insignia +of an escadrille.</p> + +<p>The pilot was recognized as soon as he removed +his helmet and goggles. He had been +a <i>moniteur</i> at the school in former days, and was +well known to some of the older Americans. He +greeted us all very cordially, in excellent English, +and told us how, on the strength of a hard +morning's work over the lines, he had asked his +captain for an afternoon off that he might visit +his old friends at B——.</p> + +<p>As soon as he had climbed down, those of us +who had never before seen this latest type of +French <i>avion de chasse</i>, crowded round, examining +and admiring with feelings of awe and reverence. +It was a marvelous piece of aero-craftsmanship, +the result of more than two years of +accumulating experience in military aviation. +It was hard to think of it as an inanimate thing, +once having seen it in the air. It seemed living, +intelligent, almost human. I could readily understand +how it is that airmen become attached +to their machines and speak of their fine points,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[44]</a></span> +their little peculiarities of individuality, with +a kind of loving interest, as one might speak of +a fine-spirited horse.</p> + +<p>While the mechanicians were grooming this +one, and replenishing the fuel-tanks, Drew and +I examined it line by line, talking in low tones +which seemed fitting in so splendid a presence. +We climbed the step and looked down into the +compact little car, where the pilot sat in a luxuriously +upholstered seat. There were his compass, +his <i>altimétre</i>, his revolution-counter, his +map in its roller case, with a course pricked out +on it in a red line. Attached to the machine +gun, there was an ingenious contrivance by +means of which he fired it while still keeping a +steady hand on his controls. The gun itself was +fired directly through the propeller by means +of a device which timed the shots. The necessity +for accuracy in this timing device is clear, +when one remembers that the propeller turns +over at a normal rate of between fifteen hundred +and nineteen hundred revolutions per +minute.</p> + +<p>It was with a chastened spirit that I looked +from this splendid fighting 'plane, back to my<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[45]</a></span> +little three-cylinder Penguin, with its absurd +clipped wings and its impudent tail. A moment +ago it had seemed a thing of speed, and the +mastery of it a glorious achievement. I told +Drew what my feeling was as I came racing +back to the starting-point, and how brief my +moment of triumph had been. He answered +me at first in grunts and nods, so that I knew +he was not listening. Presently he began to +talk about romance again, the “romance of +high adventure,” as he called it. “All this”—moving +his arm in a wide gesture—was but an +evidence of man's unconquerable craving for +romance. War itself was a manifestation of it, +gave it scope, relieved the pent-up longings for +it which could not find sufficient outlet in times +of peace. Romance would always be one of the +minor, and sometimes one of the major causes +for war, indirectly of course, but none the less +really; for the craving for it was one reason why +millions of men so readily accepted war at the +hands of the little groups of diplomats who +ruled their destinies.</p> + +<p>Half an hour later, as we stood watching the +little biplane again climbing into the evening<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[46]</a></span> +sky, I understood, in a way, what he was driving +at, and with what keen anticipation he was +looking forward to the time when we too would +know all that there was to know of the joy of +flight. Higher and higher it mounted, now and +then catching the sun on its silver wings in a +flash of light, growing smaller and smaller, until +it vanished in a golden haze, far to the north. +It was then four o'clock. In an hour's time the +pilot would be circling down over his aerodrome +on the Champagne front.</p> + + + +<h2><a name="III" id="III"></a>III<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[47]</a></span></h2> + +<h3><a name="BY_THE_ROUTE_OF_THE_AIR" id="BY_THE_ROUTE_OF_THE_AIR"></a>BY THE ROUTE OF THE AIR</h3> + + +<p><span class="smcap">The</span> winter of 1916-17 was the most prolonged +and bitter that France has known in many +years. It was a trying period to the little group +of Americans assembled at the École Militaire +d'Aviation, eager as they were to complete their +training, and to be ready, when spring should +come, to share in the great offensive, which +they knew would then take place on the Western +front. Aviation is a waiting game at the +best of seasons. In winter it is a series of seemingly +endless delays. Day after day, the plain +on the high plateau overlooking the old city of +V—— was storm-swept, a forlorn and desolate +place as we looked at it from our windows, +watching the flocks of crows as they beat up +against the wind, or as they turned, and were +swept with it, over our barracks, crying and +calling derisively to us as they passed.</p> + +<p>“Birdmen do you call yourselves?” they +seemed to say. “Then come on up; the weather's +fine!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[48]</a></span>”</p> + +<p>Well they knew that we were impostors, +fair-weather fliers, who dared not accept their +challenge.</p> + +<p>It is strange how vague and shadowy my +remembrance is of those long weeks of inactivity, +when we were dependent for employment +and amusement on our own devices. To me +there was a quality of unreality about our life +at B——. Our environment was, no doubt, +partly responsible for this feeling. Although we +were not far distant from Paris,—less than an +hour by train,—the country round about our +camp seemed to be quite cut off from the rest +of the world. With the exception of our Sunday +afternoons of leave, when we joined the +<i>boulevardiers</i> in town, we lived a life as remote +and cloistered as that of some brotherhood of +monks in an inaccessible monastery. That is +how it appeared to me, although here again I +am in danger of making it seem that my own +impressions were those of all the others. This +of course was not true. The spirit of the place +appealed to us, individually, in widely different +ways, and upon some, perhaps, it had no effect +at all.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[49]</a></span></p> + +<p>Sometimes we spent our winter afternoons of +enforced leisure in long walks through country +roads which lay empty to the eye for miles. +They gave one a sense of loneliness which colored +thought, not in any sentimental way, but +in a manner very natural and real. The war was +always in the background of one's musings, and +while we were far removed from actual contact +with it, every depopulated country village +brought to mind the sacrifice which France has +made for the cause of all freedom-loving nations. +Every roadside café, long barren of its +old patronage, was an evidence of the completeness +of the sacrifice. Americans, for the +most part, are of an unconquerably healthy +cast of mind; but there were few of us who could +frequent these places light-heartedly.</p> + +<p>Paris was our emotional storehouse, to use +Kipling's term, during the time we were at +B——. We spent our Sunday afternoons there, +mingling with the crowds on the boulevards, +or, in pleasant weather, sitting outside the +cafés, watching the soldiers of the world go by. +The streets were filled with <i>permissionnaires</i> +from all parts of the Western front, and there<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[50]</a></span> +were many of those despised of all the rest, the +<i>embusqués</i>, as they are called, who hold the +comfortable billets in safe places well back of +the lines. It was very easy to distinguish them +from the men newly arrived from the trenches, +in whose eyes one saw the look of wonder, almost +of unbelief, that there was still a goodly +world to be enjoyed. It was often beyond the +pathetic to see them trying to satisfy their need +for all the wholesome things of life in a brief +seven days of leave; to see the family parties +at the modest restaurants on the side streets, +making merry in a kind of forced way, as if +every one were thinking of the brevity of the +time for such enjoyment.</p> + +<p>Scarcely a week went by without bringing +one or two additional recruits to the Franco-American +Corps. We wondered why they came +so slowly. There must have been thousands of +Americans who would have been, not only willing, +but glad to join us; and yet the opportunities +for doing so had been made widely known. +For those who did come this was the legitimate +by-product of glorious adventure and a training +in aviation not to be surpassed in Europe.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[51]</a></span> +This was to be had by any healthy young +American, almost for the asking; but our numbers +increased very gradually, from fifteen to +twenty-five, until by the spring of 1917 there +were fifty of us at the various aviation schools +of France. Territorially we represented at least +a dozen states, from the Atlantic to the Pacific. +There were rich men's sons and poor men's sons +among our number; the sons of very old families, +and those who neither knew nor cared +what their antecedents were.</p> + +<p>The same was true of our French comrades, +for membership in the French air service is not +based upon wealth or family position or political +influence. The policy of the Government is +as broad and democratic as may be. Men are +chosen because of an aptitude that promises +well, or as a reward for distinguished service +at the front. A few of the French <i>élèves-pilotes</i> +had been officers, but most of them N.C.O.'s +and private soldiers in infantry or artillery +regiments. This very wide latitude in choice +at first seemed “laxitude” to some of us +Americans. But evidently, experience in training +war pilots, and the practical results obtained<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[52]</a></span> +by these men at the front, have been +proof enough to the French authorities of the +folly of setting rigid standards, making hard-and-fast +rules to be met by prospective aviators. +As our own experience increased, we saw +the wisdom of a policy which is more concerned +with a man's courage, his self-reliance, and his +powers of initiative, than with his ability to +work out theoretical problems in aerodynamics.</p> + +<p>There are many French pilots with excellent +records of achievement in war-flying who have +but a sketchy knowledge of motor and aircraft +construction. Some are college-bred men, but +many more have only a common-school education. +It is not at all strange that this should be +the case, for one may have had no technical +training worth mentioning; one may have only +a casual speaking acquaintance with motors, +and a very imperfect idea of why and how one +is able to defy the law of gravity, and yet prove +his worth as a pilot in what is, after all, the best +possible way—by his record at the front.</p> + +<p>A judicious amount of theoretical instruction +is, of course, not wanting in the aviation schools +of France; but its importance is not exaggerated.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[53]</a></span> +We Americans, with our imperfect knowledge +of the language, lost the greater part of this. +The handicap was not a serious one, and I +think I may truthfully say that we kept pace +with our French comrades. The most important +thing was to gain actual flying experience, +and as much of it as possible. Only in this way +can one acquire a sensitive ear for motors, and +an accurate sense of flying speed: the feel of +one's machine in the air. These are of the greatest +importance. Once the pilot has developed +this airman's sixth sense, he need not, and +never does, worry about the scantiness of his +knowledge of the theory of flight.</p> + +<p>Sometimes the winds would die away and the +thick clouds lift, and we would go joyously to +work on a morning of crisp, bright winter +weather. Then we had moments of glorious +revenge upon the crows. They would watch +us from afar, holding noisy indignation meetings +in a row of weather-beaten trees at the far +side of the field. And when some inexperienced +pilot lost control of his machine and came +crashing to earth, they would take the air in a +body, circling over the wreckage, cawing and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[54]</a></span> +jeering with the most evident delight. “The +Oriental Wrecking Company,” as the Annamites +were called, were on the scene almost as +quickly as our enemies the crows. They were +a familiar sight on every working day, chattering +together in their high-pitched gutturals, +as they hauled away the wrecked machines. +They appeared to side with the birds, and must +have thought us the most absurd of men, making +wings for ourselves, and always coming to +grief when we tried to use them.</p> + +<p>We made progress regardless of all this skepticism. +It was necessarily slow, for beginners +at a single-command monoplane school are permitted +to fly only under the most favorable +weather conditions. Even then, old Mother +Earth, who is not kindly disposed toward those +of her children who leave her so jauntily, would +clutch us back to her bosom, whenever we gave +her the slightest opportunity, with an embrace +that was anything but tender. We were inclined +to think rather highly of our own courage +in defying her; and sometimes our vanity +was increased by our <i>moniteurs</i>. After an exciting +misadventure they often gave expression<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[55]</a></span> +to their relief at finding an amateur pilot +still whole, by praising his “presence of mind” +in too generous French fashion.</p> + +<p>We should not have been so proud, I think, +of our own little exploits, had we remembered +those of the pioneers in aviation, so many of +whom lost their lives in experiment with the +first crude types of the heavier-than-air machines. +They were pioneers in the fine and +splendid meaning of the word—men to be +compared in spirit with the old fifteenth-century +navigators. We were but followers, adventuring, +in comparative safety, along a well-defined +trail.</p> + +<p>This, at any rate, was Drew's opinion. He +would never allow me the pleasure of indulging +in any flights of fancy over these trivial adventures +of ours. He would never let me set them +off against “the heroic background” of Paris. +As for Paris, we saw nothing of war there, he +would say, except the lighter side, the homecoming, +leave-enjoying side. We needed to +know more of the horror and the tragedy of it. +We needed to keep that close and intimate to +us as a right perspective for our future adventures.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[56]</a></span> +He believed it to be our duty as aviators +to anticipate every kind of experience which +we might have to meet at the front. His imagination +was abnormally vivid. Once he discussed +the possibility of “falling in flames,” +which is so often the end of an airman's career. +I shall never again be able to take the same +whole-hearted delight in flying that I did before +he was so horribly eloquent upon the subject. +He often speculated upon one's emotions in +falling in a machine damaged beyond the possibility +of control.</p> + +<p>“Now try to imagine it,” he would say: +“your gasoline tanks have been punctured and +half of your <i>fuselage</i> has been shot away. You +believe that there is not the slightest chance +for you to save your life. What are you going +to do—lose your head and give up the game? +No, you've got to attempt the impossible”; +and so on, and so forth.</p> + +<p>I would accuse him of being morbid. Furthermore, +I saw no reason why we should plan for +terrible emergencies which might never arrive. +His answer was that we were military pilots in +training for combat machines. We had no right<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[57]</a></span> +to ignore the grimness of the business ahead of +us. If we did, so much the worse for us when we +should go to the front. But beyond this practical +interest, he had a great curiosity about +the nature of fear, and a great dread of it, too. +He was afraid that in some last adventure, in +which death came slowly enough for him to +recognize it, he might die like a terror-stricken +animal, and not bravely, as a man should.</p> + +<p>We did not often discuss these gruesome possibilities, +although this was not Drew's fault. +I would not listen to him; and so he would +be silent about them until convinced that the +furtherance of our careers as airmen demanded +additional unpleasant imaginings. There was +something of the Hindoo fanatic in him; or perhaps +it was the outcropping of the stern spirit +of his New England forbears. But when he +talked of the pleasant side of the adventures +before us, it was more than compensation for +all the rest. Then he would make me restless +and impatient, for I did not have his faculty of +enjoyment in anticipation. The early period of +training, when we were flying only a few metres +above the ground, seemed endless.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[58]</a></span></p> + +<p>At last came the event which really marked +the beginning of our careers as airmen: the first +<i>tour de piste</i>, the first flight round the aerodrome. +We had talked of this for weeks, but +when at last the day for it came, our enthusiasm +had waned. We were eager to try our wings +and yet afraid to make the start.</p> + +<p>This first <i>tour de piste</i> was always the occasion +for a gathering of the Americans, and +there was the usual assembly present. The +beginners were there to shiver in anticipation +of their own forthcoming trials, and the more +advanced pilots, who had already taken the +leap, to offer gratuitous advice.</p> + +<p>“Now don't try to pull any big league stuff. +Not too much rudder on the turns. Remember +how that Frenchman piled up on the Farman +hangars when he tried to bank the corners.”</p> + +<p>“You'll find it pretty rotten when you go +over the woods. The air currents there are +something scandalous!”</p> + +<p>“Believe me, it's a lot worse over the fort. +Rough? Oh, là là!”</p> + +<p>“And that's where you have to cut your +motor and dive, if you're going to make a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[59]</a></span> +landing without hanging up in the telephone +wires.”</p> + +<p>“When you do come down, don't be afraid +to stick her nose forward. Scare the life out of +you, that drop will, but you may as well get +used to it in the beginning.”</p> + +<p>“But wait till we see them redress! Where's +the Oriental Wrecking Gang?”</p> + +<p>“Don't let that worry you, Drew: pan-caking +isn't too bad. Not in a Blériot. Just like +falling through a shingle roof. Can't hurt yourself +much.”</p> + +<p>“If you do spill, make it a good one. There +hasn't been a decent smash-up to-day.”</p> + +<p>These were the usual comforting assurances. +They did not frighten us much, although there +was just enough truth in the warnings to make +us uneasy. We took our hazing as well as we +could inwardly, and of course with imperturbable +calm outwardly; but, to make a confession, +I was somewhat reluctant to hear the businesslike +“Allez! en route!” of our <i>moniteur</i>.</p> + +<p>When it came, I taxied across to the other +side of the field, turned into the wind, and came +racing back, full motor. It seemed a thing of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[60]</a></span> +tremendous power, that little forty-five-horsepower +Anzani. The roar of it struck awe into +my soul, and I gripped the controls in no very +professional manner. Then, when I had gathered +full ground speed, I eased her off gently, +and up we went, over the class and the assembled +visitors, above the hangars, the lake, the +forest, until, at the halfway point, my altimetre +registered three hundred and fifty metres. +Out of the corner of my eye I saw all the beautiful +countryside spread out beneath me, but +I was too busily occupied to take in the prospect. +I was watching my wings, nervously, in +order to anticipate and counteract the slightest +pitch of the machine. But nothing happened, +and I soon realized that this first grand tour +was not going to be nearly so bad as we had +been led to believe. I began to enjoy it. I even +looked down over the side of the <i>fuselage</i>, although +it was a very hasty glance.</p> + +<p>All the time I was thinking of the rapidly approaching +moment when I should have to come +down. I knew well enough how the descent was +to be made. It was very simple. I had only to +shut off my motor, push forward with my<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[61]</a></span> +“broom-stick,”—the control connected with +the elevating planes,—and then wait and +redress gradually, beginning at from six to +eight metres from the ground. The descent +would be exciting, a little more rapid than +Shooting the Chutes. Only one could not safely +hold on to the sides of the car and await the +splash. That sort of thing had sometimes been +done in aeroplanes, by over-excited pilots. The +results were disastrous, without exception.</p> + +<p>The moment for the decision came. I was +above the fort, otherwise I should not have +known when to dive. At first the sensation was, +I imagine, exactly that of falling, feet foremost; +but after pulling back slightly on the controls, +I felt the machine answer to them, and the uncomfortable +feeling passed. I brought up on +the ground in the usual bumpy manner of the +beginner. Nothing gave way, however, so this +did not spoil the fine rapture of a rare moment. +It was shared—at least it was pleasant to +think so—by my old Annamite friend of the +Penguin experience, who stood by his flag nodding +his head at me. He said, “Beaucoup bon,” +showing his polished black teeth in an approving<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[62]</a></span> +grin. I forgot for the moment that “beaucoup +bon” was his enigmatical comment upon +all occasions, and that he would have grinned +just as broadly had he been dragging me out +from a mass of wreckage.</p> + +<p>Drew came in a few moments later, making +an almost perfect landing. In the evening we +walked to a neighboring village, where we had +a wonderful dinner to celebrate the end of our +apprenticeship. It was a curious feast. We +had little to say to one another, or, better, we +were both afraid to talk. We were under an +enchantment which words would have broken. +After a silent meal, we walked all the way home +without speaking.</p> + +<p>We started off together on our triangles. +That was in April, just passed, so that I have +now brought this casual diary almost up to +date. We were then at the great school of +aviation at A—— in central France, where, for +the first time, we were associated with men in +training for every branch of aviation service, +and became familiar with other types of French +machines. But the brevet tests, which every +pilot must pass before he becomes a military<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[63]</a></span> +aviator, were the same in every department of +the school. The triangles were two cross-country +flights of two hundred kilometres each, +three landings to be made <i>en route</i>, and each +flight to be completed within forty-eight hours. +In addition, there were two short voyages of +sixty kilometres each—these preceded the +triangular tests—and an hour of flight at a +minimum altitude of sixty-five hundred feet.</p> + +<p>The short voyages gave us a delightful foretaste +of what was to come. We did them both +one afternoon, and were at the hangars at five +o'clock on the following morning, ready to +make an early start. A fresh wind was blowing +from the northeast, but the brevet <i>moniteur</i>, +who went up for a short flight to try the air, +came back with the information that it was +quite calm at twenty-five hundred feet. We +might start, he said, as soon as we liked.</p> + +<p>Drew, in his joy, embraced the old woman +who kept a coffee-stall at the hangars, while I +danced a one-step with a mechanician. Neither +of them was surprised at this procedure. They +were accustomed to such emotional outbursts +on the part of aviators who, by the very nature<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[64]</a></span> +of their calling, were always in the depths +of despair or on the farthest jutting peak of +some mountain of delight. Our departure had +been delayed, day after day, for more than a +week, because of the weather. We were so eager +to start that we would willingly have gone off +in a blizzard.</p> + +<p>During the week of waiting we had studied +our map until we knew the location of every +important road and railroad, every forest, river, +canal, and creek within a radius of one hundred +kilometres. We studied it at close range, on a +table, and then on the floor, with the compass-points +properly orientated, so that we might see +all the important landmarks with the birdman's +eye. We knew our course so well, that there +seemed no possibility of our losing direction.</p> + +<p>Our military papers had been given us several +days before. Among these was an official-looking +document to be presented to the mayor +of any town or village near which we might be +compelled to land. It contained an extract from +the law concerning aviators, and the duty toward +them of the civilian and military authorities. +In another was an itemized list of the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[65]</a></span> +amounts which might be exacted by farmers for +damage to growing crops: so much for an <i>atterrissage</i> +in a field of sugar-beets, so much for +wheat, etc. Besides these, we had a book of +detailed instructions as to our duty in case of +emergencies of every conceivable kind—among +others, the course of action to be followed if we +should be compelled to land in an enemy country. +At first sight this seemed an unnecessary +precaution; but we remembered the experience +of one of our French comrades at B——, who +started confidently off on his first cross-country +flight. He lost his way and did not realize +how far astray he had gone until he found himself +under fire from German anti-aircraft batteries +on the Belgian front.</p> + +<p>The most interesting paper of all was our <i>Ordre +de Service</i>, the text of which was as follows:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>It is commanded that the bearer of this Order +report himself at the cities of C—— and R——, +by the route of the air, flying an avion Caudron, +and leaving the École Militaire d'Aviation at +A—— on the 21st of April, 1917, without passenger +on board.</p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 5em">Signed, <span class="smcap">Le Capitaine B——</span></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 11em">Commandant de l'École.</span></p> +</div> + +<p>We read this with feelings which must have<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[66]</a></span> +been nearly akin to those of Columbus on a +memorable day in 1492 when he received his +clearance papers from Cadiz. “By the route of +the air!” How the imagination lingered over +that phrase! We had the better of Columbus +there, although we had to admit that there was +more glamour in the hazard of his adventure +and the uncertainty of his destination.</p> + +<p>Drew was ready first. I helped him into his +fur-lined combination and strapped him to his +seat. A moment later he was off. I watched +him as he gathered height over the aerodrome. +Then, finding that his motor was running satisfactorily, +he struck out in an easterly direction, +his machine growing smaller and smaller until +it vanished in the early morning haze. I followed +immediately afterward, and had a busy +ten minutes, being buffeted this way and +that, until, as the brevet <i>moniteur</i> had foretold, +I reached quiet air at twenty-five hundred +feet.</p> + +<p>This was my first experience in passing from +one air current to another. It was a unique +one, for I was still a little incredulous. I had<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[67]</a></span> +not entirely lost my old boyhood belief that the +wind went all the way up.</p> + +<p>I passed over the old cathedral town of B—— +at fifteen hundred metres. Many a pleasant +afternoon had we spent there, walking through +its narrow, crooked streets, or lounging on the +banks of the canal. The cathedral too was a +favorite haunt. I loved the fine spaciousness +of it. Looking down on it now, it seemed no +larger than a toy cathedral in a toy town, such +as one sees in the shops of Paris. The streets +were empty, for it was not yet seven o'clock. +Strips of shadow crossed them where taller +roofs cut off the sunshine. A toy train, which I +could have put nicely into my fountain-pen +case, was pulling into a station no larger than +a wren's house. The Greeks called their gods +“derisive.” No doubt they realized how small +they looked to them, and how insignificant this +little world of affairs must have appeared from +high Olympus.</p> + +<p>There was a road, a fine straight thoroughfare +converging from the left. It led almost due +southwest. This was my route to C——. I followed +it, climbing steadily until I was at two<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[68]</a></span> +thousand metres. I had never flown so high +before. “Over a mile!” I thought. It seemed +a tremendous altitude. I could see scores of +villages and fine old châteaux, and great +stretches of forest, and miles upon miles of +open country in checkered patterns, just beginning +to show the first fresh green of the early +spring crops. It looked like a world planned and +laid out by the best of Santa Clauses for the +eternal delight of all good children. And for +untold generations only the birds have had the +privilege of seeing and enjoying it from the +wing. Small wonder that they sing. As for +non-musical birds—well, they all sing after +a fashion, and there is no doubt that crows, at +least, are extremely jealous of their prerogative +of flight.</p> + +<p>My biplane was flying itself. I had nothing +to do other than to give occasional attention +to the revolution counter, altimetre, and speed-dial. +The motor was running with perfect regularity. +The propeller was turning over at +twelve hundred revolutions per minute without +the slightest fluctuation. Flying is the simplest +thing in the world, I thought. Why doesn't<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[69]</a></span> +every one travel by route of the air? If people +knew the joy of it, the exhilaration of it, aviation +schools would be overwhelmed with applicants. +Biplanes of the Farman and Voisin +type would make excellent family cars, quite +safe for women to drive. Mothers, busy with +household affairs, could tell their children to +“run out and fly” a Caudron such as I was +driving, and feel not the slightest anxiety about +them. I remembered an imaginative drawing I +had once seen of aerial activity in 1950. Even +house pets were granted the privilege of traveling +by the air route. The artist was not far +wrong except in his date. He should have put +it at 1925. On a fine April morning there +seemed no limit to the realization of such interesting +possibilities.</p> + +<p>I had no more than started on my southwest +course, as it seemed to me, when I saw the +spires and the red-roofed houses of C——, and, +a kilometre or so from the outskirts, the barracks +and hangars of the aviation school where +I was to make the first landing. I reduced the +gas, and, with the motor purring gently, began +a long, gradual descent. It was interesting to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[70]</a></span> +watch the change in the appearance of the +country beneath me as I lost height. Checkerboard +patterns of brown and green grew larger +and larger. Shining threads of silver became +rivers and canals, tiny green shrubs became +trees, individual aspects of houses emerged. +Soon I could see people going about the streets +and laundry-maids hanging out the family +washing in the back gardens. I even came low +enough to witness a minor household tragedy—a +mother vigorously spanking a small boy. +Hearing the whir of my motor, she stopped in +the midst of the process, whereupon the youngster +very naturally took advantage of his opportunity +to cut and run for it. Drew doubted +my veracity when I told him about this. He +called me an aerial eavesdropper and said that +I ought to be ashamed to go buzzing over towns +at such low altitudes, frightening housemaids, +disorganizing domestic penal institutions, and +generally disturbing the privacy of respectable +French citizens. But I was unrepentant, for I +knew that one small boy in France was thinking +of me with joy. To have escaped maternal justice +with the assistance of an aviator would be<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[71]</a></span> +an event of glorious memory to him. How +vastly more worth while such a method of escape, +and how jubilant Tom Sawyer would +have been over such an opportunity when his +horrified warning, “Look behind you, aunt!” +had lost efficacy.</p> + +<p>Drew had been waiting a quarter of an hour, +and came rushing out to meet me as I taxied +across the field. We shook hands as though we +had not seen each other for years. We could +not have been more surprised and delighted if +we had met on another planet after long and +hopeless wanderings in space.</p> + +<p>While I superintended the replenishing of +my fuel and oil tanks he walked excitedly up +and down in front of the hangars. He was an +odd-looking sight in his flying clothes, with a +pair of Meyrowitz goggles set back on his head, +like another set of eyes, gazing at the sky with +an air of wide astonishment. He paid no attention +to my critical comments, but started thinking +aloud as soon as I rejoined him.</p> + +<p>“It was lonely! Yes, by Jove! that was it. +A glorious thing, one's isolation up there; but it +was too profound to be pleasant. A relief to get<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[72]</a></span> +down again, to hear people talk, to feel the solid +earth under one's feet. How did it impress you?”</p> + +<p>This was like Drew. I felt ashamed of the +lightness of my own thoughts, but I had to +tell him of my speculations upon after-the-war +developments in aviation: nurses flying Voisins, +with the cars filled with babies; old men +having after-dinner naps in twenty-three-metre +Nieuports, fitted, for safety, with Sperry +gyroscopes; family parties taking comfortable +outings in gigantic biplanes of the R-6 type; +mothers, as of old, gazing apprehensively at +speed-dials, cautioning fathers about “driving +too fast,” and all of the rest.</p> + +<p>Drew looked at me reprovingly, to be sure, +but he felt the need, just as I did, of an outlet +to his feelings, and so he turned to this kind of +comic relief with the most delightful reluctance. +He quickly lost his reserve, and in the imaginative +spree which followed we went far beyond +the last outposts of absurdity. We laughed over +our own wit until our faces were tired. However, +I will not be explicit about our folly. It +might not be so amusing from a critical point of +view.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[73]</a></span></p> + +<p>After our papers have been viséed at the office +of the commandant, we hurried back to our +machines, eager to be away again. We were to +make our second landing at R——. It was +about seventy kilometres distant and almost +due north. The mere name of the town was an +invitation. Somewhere, in one of the novels of +William J. Locke, may be found this bit of +dialogue:—</p> + +<p>“But, master,” said I, “there is, after all, +color in words. Don't you remember how delighted +you were with the name of a little town +we passed through on the way to Orleans? +R——? You were haunted by it and said it was +like the purple note of an organ.”</p> + +<p>We were haunted by it, too, for we were going +to that very town. We would see it long before +our arrival—a cluster of quaint old houses +lying in the midst of pleasant fields, with roads +curving toward it from the north and south, +as though they were glad to pass through so +delightful a place. Drew was for taking a leisurely +route to the eastward, so that we might +look at some villages which lay some distance +off our course. I wanted to fly by compass in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[74]</a></span> +a direct line, without following my map very +closely. We had planned to fly together, and +were the more eager to do this because of an +argument we had had about the relative speed +of our machines. He was certain that his was +the faster. I knew that, with mine, I could fly +circles around him. As we were not able to +agree on the course, we decided to postpone the +race until we started on the homeward journey. +Therefore, after we had passed over the town, +he waved his hand, bent off to the northeast, +and was soon out of sight.</p> + +<p>I kept straight on, climbing steadily, until +I was again at five thousand feet. As before, my +motor was running perfectly and I had plenty +of leisure to enjoy the always new sensation of +flight and to watch the wide expanse of magnificent +country as it moved slowly past. I let my +mind lie fallow, and every now and then I +would find it hauling out fragments of old +memories which I had forgotten that I possessed.</p> + +<p>I recalled, for the first time in many years, +my earliest interpretations of the meanings of +all the phenomena of the heavens. Two old<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[75]</a></span> +janitor saints had charge of the floor of the +skies. One of them was a jolly old man who +liked boys, and always kept the sky swept +clean and blue. The other took a sour delight +in shirking his duties, so that it might rain and +spoil all our fun. Perhaps it was Drew's sense +of loneliness and helplessness so far from earth, +which made me think of winds and clouds in +friendly human terms. However that may be, +these reveries, hardly worthy of a military airman, +were abruptly broken into.</p> + +<p>All at once, I realized that, while my biplane +was headed due north, I was drifting north and +west. This seemed strange. I puzzled over it +for some time, and then, brilliantly, in the manner +of the novice, deduced the reason: wind. +I was being blown off my course, all the while +comfortably certain that I was flying in a direct +line toward R——. Our <i>moniteurs</i> had +often cautioned us against being comfortably +certain about anything while in the air. It was +our duty to be uncomfortably alert. Wind! I +wonder how many times we had been told to +keep it in mind at all times, whether on the +ground or in the air? And here was I forgetting<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[76]</a></span> +the existence of wind on the very first occasion. +The speed of my machine and the current +of air from the propeller had deceived +me into thinking that I was driving dead into +whatever breeze there was at that altitude. I +discovered that it was blowing out of the east, +therefore I headed a quarter into it, to overcome +the drift, and looked for landmarks.</p> + +<p>I had not long to search. Wisps of mist obstructed +the view, and within ten minutes a +bank of solid cloud cut it off completely. I had +only a vague notion of my location with reference +to my course, but I could not persuade +myself to come down just then. To be flying +in the full splendor of bright April sunshine, +knowing that all the earth was in shadow, gave +me a feeling of exhilaration. For there is no +sensation like that of flight, no isolation so +complete as that of the airman who has above +him only the blue sky, and below, a level floor +of pure white cloud, stretching in an unbroken +expanse toward every horizon. And so I kept +my machine headed northeast, that I might +regain the ground lost before I discovered the +drift northwest. I had made a rough calculation<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[77]</a></span> +of the time required to cover the seventy +kilometres to R—— at the speed at which I +was traveling. The rest I left to Chance, the +godfather of all adventurers.</p> + +<p>He took the initiative, as he so frequently +does with aviators who, in moments of calm +weather, are inclined to forget that they are +still children of earth. The floor of dazzling +white cloud was broken and tumbled into +heaped-up masses which came drifting by at +various altitudes. They were scattered at first +and offered splendid opportunities for aerial +steeplechasing. Then, almost before I was +aware of it, they surrounded me on all sides. +For a few minutes I avoided them by flying in +curves and circles in rapidly vanishing pools of +blue sky. I feared to take my first plunge into +a cloud, for I knew, by report, what an alarming +experience it is to the new pilot.</p> + +<p>The wind was no longer blowing steadily out +of the east. It came in gusts from all points of +the compass. I made a hasty revision of my +opinion as to the calm and tranquil joys of +aviation, thinking what fools men are who willingly +leave the good green earth and trust themselves<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[78]</a></span> +to all the winds of heaven in a frail box +of cloth-covered sticks.</p> + +<p>The last clear space grew smaller and smaller. +I searched for an outlet, but the clouds closed +in and in a moment I was hopelessly lost in a +blanket of cold drenching mist.</p> + +<p>I could hardly see the outlines of my machine +and had no idea of my position with reference +to the earth. In the excitement of this new adventure +I forgot the speed-dial, and it was not +until I heard the air screaming through the +wires that I remembered it. The indicator had +leaped up fifty kilometres an hour above safety +speed, and I realized that I must be traveling +earthward at a terrific pace. The manner of +the descent became clear at the same moment. +As I rolled out of the cloud-bank, I saw the +earth jauntily tilted up on one rim, looking like +a gigantic enlargement of a page out of Peter +Newell's “Slant Book.” I expected to see dogs +and dishpans, baby carriages and ash-barrels +roll out of every house in France, and go clattering +off into space.</p> + + + +<h2><a name="IV" id="IV"></a>IV<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[79]</a></span></h2> + +<h3><a name="AT_GDE" id="AT_GDE"></a>AT G. D. E.</h3> + + +<p><span class="smcap">Somewhere</span> to the north of Paris, in the <i>zone +des armées</i>, there is a village, known to all +aviators in the French service as G. D. E. It +is the village through which pilots who have +completed their training at the aviation schools +pass on their way to the front; and it is here +that I again take up this journal of aerial adventure.</p> + +<p>We are in lodgings, Drew and I, at the Hôtel +de la Bonne Rencontre, which belies its name in +the most villainous fashion. An inn at Rochester +in the days of Henry the Fourth must +have been a fair match for it, and yet there is +something to commend it other than its convenience +to the flying field. Since the early +days of the Escadrille Lafayette, many Americans +have lodged here while awaiting their +orders for active service. As I write, J. B. is +asleep in a bed which has done service for a long +line of them. It is for this reason that he chose +it, in preference to one in a much better state<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[80]</a></span> +of repair which he might have had. And he +has made plans for its purchase after the war. +Madame Rodel is to keep careful record of all +its American occupants, just as she has done in +the past. She is pledged not to repair it beyond +the bare necessity which its uses as a bed may +require, an injunction which it was hardly +necessary to lay upon her, judging by the other +furniture in our apartment. Drew is not sentimental, +but he sometimes carries sentiment to +extremities which appear to me absurd.</p> + +<p>When I attempt to define, even to myself, +the charm of our adventures thus far, I find it +impossible. How, then, make it real to others? +To tell of aerial adventure one needs a new language, +or, at least, a parcel of new adjectives, +sparkling with bright and vivid meaning, as +crisp and fresh as just-minted bank-notes. +They should have no taint of flatness or insipidity. +They should show not the faintest +trace of wear. With them, one might hope, now +and then, to startle the imagination, to set it +running in channels which are strange and delightful +to it. For there is something new under +the sun: aerial adventure; and the most lively<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[81]</a></span> +and unjaded fancy may, at first, need direction +toward the realization of this fact. Soon it will +have a literature of its own, of prose and poetry, +of fiction, biography, memoirs, of history +which will read like the romance it really is. +The essayists will turn to it with joy. And the +poets will discover new aspects of beauty +which have been hidden from them through +the ages; and as men's experience “in the wide +fields of air” increases, epic material which will +tax their most splendid powers.</p> + +<p>This brings me sadly back to my own purpose, +which is, despite many wistful longings +of a more ambitious nature, to write a plain +tale of the adventures of two members—prospective +up to this point—of the Escadrille +Lafayette. To go back to some of those earlier +ones, when we were making our first cross-country +flights, I remember them now with a +delight which, at the time, was not unmixed +with other emotions. Indeed, an aviator, and +a fledgling aviator in particular, often runs the +whole gamut of human feeling during a single +flight. I did in the course of half an hour, reaching +the high C of acute panic as I came tumbling<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[82]</a></span> +out of the first cloud of my aerial experience. +Fortunately, in the air the sense of equilibrium +usually compels one to do the right +thing, and so, after some desperate handling of +my “broom-stick,” as the control is called which +governs ailerons and elevating planes, I soon +had the horizons nicely adjusted again. What +a relief it was! I shut down my motor and commenced +a more gradual descent, for I was lost, +of course, and it seemed wiser to land and make +inquiries than to go cruising over half of France +looking for one among hundreds of picturesque +old towns. There were at least a dozen within +view. Some of them were at least a three hours' +walk distant from each other. But in the air! +I was free to go whither I would, and swiftly.</p> + +<p>After leisurely deliberation I selected one surrounded +by wide fields which appeared to be as +level as a floor. But as I descended the landscape +widened, billowing into hills and folding +into valleys. By sheer good luck, nothing more, +I made a landing without accident. My Caudron +barely missed colliding with a hedge of +fruit trees, rolled down a long incline, and +stopped not ten feet short of a small stream.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[83]</a></span> +The experience taught me the folly of choosing +landing-ground from high altitudes. I needn't +have landed, of course, but I was then so much +an amateur that the buffeting of cross-currents +of air near the ground awed me into it, come +what might. The village was out of sight over +the crest of the hill. However, thinking that +some one must have seen me, I decided to +await developments where I was.</p> + +<p>Very soon I heard a shrill, jubilant shout. +A boy of eight or ten years was running along +the ridge as fast as he could go. Outlined +against the sky, he reminded me of silhouettes +I had seen in Paris shops, of children dancing, +the very embodiment of joy in movement. He +turned and waved to some one behind, whom +I could not see, then came on again, stopping +a short distance away, and looking at me with +an air of awe, which, having been a small boy +myself, I was able to understand and appreciate. +I said, “Bonjour, mon petit,” as cordially +as I could, but he just stood there and +gazed without saying a word. Then the others +began to appear: scores of children, and old +men as well, and women of all ages, some with<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[84]</a></span> +babies in their arms, and young girls. The +whole village came, I am sure. I was mightily +impressed by the haleness of the old men and +women, which one rarely sees in America. +Some of them were evidently well over seventy, +and yet, with one or two exceptions, they had +sound limbs, clear eyes, and healthy complexions. +As for the young girls, many of them were +exceptionally pretty; and the children were +sturdy youngsters, not the wan, thin-legged +little creatures one sees in Paris. In fact, all of +these people appeared to belong to a different +race from that of the Parisians, to come from +finer, more vigorous stock.</p> + +<p>They were very curious, but equally courteous, +and stood in a large circle around my machine, +waiting for me to make my wishes known. +For several minutes I pretended to be busy +attending to dials and valves inside the car. +While trying to screw my courage up to the +point of making a verbless explanation of my +difficulty, some one pushed through the crowd, +and to my great relief began speaking to me. +It was Monsieur the Mayor. As best I could, +I explained that I had lost my way and had<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[85]</a></span> +found it necessary to come down for the purpose +of making inquiries. I knew that it was +awful French, but hoped that it would be intelligible, +in part at least. However, the Mayor +understood not a word, and I knew by the +curious expression in his eyes that he must be +wondering from what weird province I hailed. +After a moment's thought he said, “Vous êtes +Anglais, monsieur?” with a smile of very real +pleasure. I said, “Non, monsieur, Américain.”</p> + +<p>That magic word! What potency it has in +France, the more so at that time, perhaps, for +America had placed herself definitely upon the +side of the Allies only a short time before. I +enjoyed that moment. I might have had the +village for the asking. I willingly accepted the +rôle of ambassador of the American people. +Had it not been for the language barrier, I +think I would have made a speech, for I felt +the generous spirit of Uncle Sam prompting +me to give those fathers and mothers, whose +husbands and sons were at the front, the +promise of our unqualified support. I wanted +to tell them that we were with them now, not +only in sympathy, but with all our resources<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[86]</a></span> +in men and guns and ships and aircraft. I +wanted to convince them of our new understanding +of the significance of the war. Alas! +this was impossible. Instead I gave each one +of an army of small boys the privilege of sitting +in the pilot's seat, and showed them how to +manage the controls.</p> + +<p>The astonishing thing to me was, that while +this village was not twenty kilometres off the +much-frequented air route between C—— and +R——, mine was the first aeroplane which +most of them had seen. During long months +at various aviation schools pilots grow accustomed +to thinking that aircraft are as familiar +a sight to others as to them. But here was +a village, not far distant from several aviation +schools, where an aviator was looked upon +with wonder. To have an American aviator +drop down upon them was an event even in +the history of that ancient village. To have +been that aviator,—well, it was an unforgettable +experience, coming as it did so opportunely +with America's entry into the war. I +shall always have it in the background of memory, +and one day it will be among the pleasantest<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[87]</a></span> +of many pleasant tales which I shall +have in store for my grandchildren.</p> + +<p>However, it is not their potentialities as +memories which endear these adventures now, +but rather it is because they are in such contrast +to any that we had known before. We +are always comparing this new life with the +old, so different in every respect as to seem a +separate existence, almost a previous incarnation.</p> + +<p>Having been set right about my course, I +pushed my biplane to more level ground, with +the willing help of all the boys, started my +motor, and was away again. Their shrill cheers +reached me even above the roar of the motor. +As a lad in a small, Middle-Western town, I +have known the rapture of holding to a balloon +guy-rope at a county fair, until “the +world's most famous aeronaut” shouted, “Let +'er go, boys!” and swung off into space. I kept +his memory green until I had passed the first +age of hero worship. I know that every youngster +in a small village in central France will +so keep mine. Such fame is the only kind worth +having.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[88]</a></span></p> + +<p>A flight of fifteen minutes brought me within +sight of the large white circle which marks the +landing-field at R——. J. B. had not yet arrived. +This was a great disappointment, for +we had planned a race home. I was anxious +about him, too, knowing that the godfather of +all adventurers can be very stern at times, particularly +with his aerial godchildren. I waited +for an hour and then decided to go on alone. +The weather having cleared, the opportunity +was too favorable to be lost. The cloud formations +were the most remarkable that I had +ever seen. I flew around and over and under +them, watching at close hand the play of light +and shade over their great, billowing folds. +Sometimes I skirted them so closely that the +current of air from my propeller raveled out +fragments of shining vapor, which streamed +into the clear spaces like wisps of filmy silk. +I knew that I ought to be savoring this experience, +but for some reason I couldn't. One +usually pays for a fine mood by a sudden and +unaccountable change of feeling which shades +off into a kind of dull, colorless depression.</p> + +<p>I passed a twin-motor Caudron going in the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[89]</a></span> +opposite direction. It was fantastically painted, +the wings a bright yellow and the circular +hoods, over the two motors, a fiery red. As it +approached, it looked like some prehistoric bird +with great ravenous eyes. The thing startled +me, not so much because of its weird appearance +as by the mere fact of its being there. +Strangely enough, for a moment it seemed +impossible that I should meet another <i>avion</i>. +Despite a long apprenticeship in aviation, in +these days when one's mind has only begun to +grasp the fact that the mastery of the air has +been accomplished, the sudden presentation of +a bit of evidence sometimes shocks it into a +moment of amazement bordering upon incredulity.</p> + +<p>As I watched the big biplane pass, I was conscious +of a feeling of loneliness. I remembered +what J. B. had said that morning. There <i>was</i> +something unpleasant in the isolation; it made +us look longingly down to earth, wondering +whether we shall ever feel really at home in the +air. I, too, longed for the sound of human +voices, and all that I heard was the roar of the +motor and the swish of the wind through wires<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[90]</a></span> +and struts, sounds which have no human quality +in them, and are no more companionable +than the lapping of the waves to a man adrift +on a raft in mid-ocean. Underlying this feeling, +and no doubt in part responsible for it, +was the knowledge of the fallibility of that +seemingly perfect mechanism which rode so +steadily through the air; of the quick response +that ingenious arrangement of inanimate matter +would make to an eternal and inexorable +law if a few frail wires should part; of the +equally quick, but less phlegmatic response of +another fallible mechanism, capable of registering +horror, capable—it is said—of passing +its past life in review in the space of a few seconds, +and then—capable of becoming equally +inanimate matter.</p> + +<p>Luckily nothing of this sort happened, and +the feeling of loneliness passed the moment I +came in sight of the long rows of barracks, the +hangars and machine shops of the aviation +school. My joy when I saw them can only be +appreciated in full by fellow aviators who remember +the end of their own first long flight. +I had been away for years. I would not have<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[91]</a></span> +been surprised to find great changes. If the +brevet monitor had come hobbling out to meet +me holding an ear trumpet in his withered +hand, the sight would have been quite in +keeping with my own sense of the lapse of +time. However, he approached with his ancient +springy, businesslike step, as I climbed +down from my machine. I swallowed to clear +the passage to my ears, and heard him say, +“Alors ça va?” in a most disappointingly perfunctory +tone of voice.</p> + +<p>I nodded.</p> + +<p>“Where's your biograph?”</p> + +<p>My biograph! It is the altitude-registering +instrument which also marks, on a cross-lined +chart, the time consumed on each lap of an +aerial voyage. My card should have shown +four neat outlines in ink, something like this—</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/curve.jpg" width="500" height="97" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<p style="text-indent: 0em;">one for each stage of my journey, including +the forced landing when I had lost my way. +But having started the mechanism going upon<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[92]</a></span> +leaving A——, I had then forgotten all about it, +so that it had gone on running while my machine +was on the ground as well as during the +time it was in the air. The result was a sketch +of a magnificent mountain range which might +have been drawn by the futurist son, aged five, +of a futurist artist. Silently I handed over the +instrument. The monitor looked at it, and then +at me without comment. But there is an international +language of facial expression, and +his said, unmistakably, “You poor, simple +prune! You choice sample of mouldy American +cheese!”</p> + +<p>J. B. didn't return until the following afternoon. +After leaving me over C——, he had +blown out two spark-plugs. For a while he +limped along on six cylinders, and then landed +in a field three kilometres from the nearest +town. His French, which is worse, if that is +possible, than mine, aroused the suspicions of +a patriot farmer, who collared him as a possible +German spy. Under a bodyguard of two peasants, +armed with hoes, he was marched to a +neighboring château. And then, I should have +thought, he would have had another historical<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[93]</a></span> +illusion,—this time with a French Revolutionary +setting. He says not, however. All his +faculties were concentrated in enjoying this +unusual adventure; and he was wondering +what the outcome of it would be. At the château +he met a fine old gentleman who spoke +English with that nicety of utterance which +only a cultivated Frenchman can achieve. He +had no difficulty in clearing himself. Then he +had dinner in a hall hung with armor and hunting +trophies, was shown to a chamber half as +large as the lounge at the Harvard Club, and +slept in a bed which he got into by means of a +ladder of carved oak. This is a mere outline. +Out of regard for J. B.'s opinions about the +sanctities of his own personal adventures, I refrain +from giving further details.</p> + +<p>These were the usual experiences which +every American pilot has had while on his +brevet flights. As I write I think of scores of +others, for they were of almost daily occurrence.</p> + +<p>Jackson landed—unintentionally, of course—in +a town square and was banqueted by the +Mayor, although he had nearly run him down<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[94]</a></span> +a few hours earlier, and had ruined forever his +reputation as a man of dignified bearing. But +the Mayor was not alone in his forced display +of unseemly haste. Many other townspeople, +long past the nimbleness of youth, rushed for +shelter; and pride goeth before a collision with +a wayward aeroplane. Jackson said the sky +rained hats, market baskets, and wooden shoes +for five minutes after his Blériot had come to +rest on the steps of the <i>bureau de poste</i>. And no +one was hurt.</p> + +<p>Murphy's defective motor provided him with +the names and addresses of every possible and +impossible <i>marraine</i> in the town of Y——, near +which he was compelled to land. While waiting +for the arrival of his mechanician with a +new supply of spark-plugs, he left his monoplane +in a field close by. A path to the place +was worn by the feet of the young women of +the town, whose dearest wish appeared to be to +have an aviator as a <i>filleul</i>. They covered the +wings of his <i>avion</i> with messages in pencil. The +least pointed of these hints were, “Écrivez le +plus tôt possible”; and, “Je voudrais bien un +filleul américain, très gentil, comme vous.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[95]</a></span>”</p> + +<p>Matthews' biplane crashed through the roof +of a camp bakery. If he had practiced this unusual +<i>atterrissage</i> a thousand times he could not +have done it so neatly as at the first attempt. +He followed the motor through to the kitchen +and finally hung suspended a few feet from the +ceiling. The army bread-bakers stared up at +him with faces as white as fear and flour could +make them. The commandant of the camp +rushed in. He asked, “What have you done +with the corpse?” The bread-bakers pointed to +Matthews, who apologized for his bad choice +of landing-ground. He was hardly scratched.</p> + +<p>Mac lost his way in the clouds and landed +near a small village for gasoline and information. +The information he had easily, but gasoline +was scarce. After laborious search through +several neighboring villages he found a supply +and had it carried to the field where his machine +was waiting. Some farmer lads agreed +to hold on to the tail while Mac started the +engine. At the first roar of the rotary motor +they all let loose. The Blériot pushed Mac +contemptuously aside, lifted its tail and rushed +away. He followed it over a level tract of country<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[96]</a></span> +miles in extent, and found it at last in a +ditch, nose down, tail in air, like a duck hunting +bugs in the mud. This story loses nine +tenths of its interest for want of Mac's pungent +method of telling it.</p> + +<p>One of the <i>bona-fide</i> godchildren of Chance +was Millard. The circumstances leading to his +engagement in the French service as a member +of the Franco-American Corps proves this. Millard +was a real human being,—he had no grammar, +no polish, no razor, safety or otherwise, +but likewise no pretense, no “swank.” He was +<i>persona non grata</i> to a few, but the great +majority liked him very much, although they +wondered how in the name of all that is curious +he had ever decided to join the French air service. +Once he told us his history at great length. +He had been a scout in the Philippine service +of the American army. He had been a roustabout +on cattle boats. He had boiled his coffee +down by the stockyards in every sizable town +on every transcontinental railroad in America. +In the spring of 1916 he had employment with +a roofing company which had contracted for a +job in Richmond, Virginia, I think it was. But<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[97]</a></span> +Richmond went “dry” in the State elections; +the roofing job fell through, owing, so Millard +insisted, to the natural and inevitable depression +which follows a dry election. Having lost +his prospective employment as a roofer, what +more natural than that he should turn to this +other high calling?</p> + +<p>He was game. He tried hard and at last +reached his brevet tests. Three times he started +off on triangles. No one expected to see him +return, but he surprised them every time. He +could never find the towns where he was supposed +to land, so he would keep on going till +his gas gave out. Then his machine would +come down of itself, and Millard would crawl +out from under the wreckage and come back +by train.</p> + +<p>“I don't know,” he would say doubtfully, +rubbing his eight-days' growth of beard; “I'm +seeing a lot of France, but this coming-down +business ain't what it's cracked up to be. I can +swing in on the rods of a box car with the train +going hell bent for election, but I guess I'm too +old to learn to fly.”</p> + +<p>The War Office came to this opinion after<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[98]</a></span> +Millard had smashed three machines in three +tries. Wherever he may be now, I am sure that +Chance is still ruling his destiny, and I hope, +with all my heart, benevolently.</p> + +<p>Our final triangle was completed uneventfully. +J. B.'s motor behaved splendidly; I remembered +my biograph at every stage of the +journey, and we were at home again within +three hours. We did our altitude tests and were +then no longer <i>élèves-pilotes</i>, but <i>pilotes aviateurs</i>. +By reason of this distinction we passed +from the rank of soldier of the second class to +that of corporal. At the tailor's shop the wings +and star insignia were sewn upon our collars +and our corporal's stripes upon our sleeves. For +we were proud, as every aviator is proud, who +reaches the end of his apprenticeship and enters +into the dignity of a brevetted military +pilot.</p> + + +<p style="padding-top: 1.5em">Six months have passed since I made the last +entry in my journal. J. B. was asleep in his historic +bed, and I was sitting at a rickety table +writing by candle-light, stopping now and then +to listen to the mutter of guns on the Aisne<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[99]</a></span> +front. It was only at night that we could hear +them, and then not often, the very ghost of +sound, as faint as the beating of the pulses in +one's ears. That was a May evening, and this, +one late in November. I arrived at the Gare du +Nord only a few hours ago. Never before have +I come to Paris with a finer sense of the joy +of living. I walked down the rue Lafayette, +through the rue de Provence, the rue du Havre, +to a little hotel in the vicinity of the Gare Saint-Lazare. +Under ordinary circumstances none of +these streets, nor the people in them, would +have appeared particularly interesting. But +on this occasion—it was the finest walk of my +life. I saw everything with the eyes of the <i>permissionnaire</i>, +and sniffed the odors of roasting +chestnuts, of restaurants, of shops, of people, +never so keenly aware of their numberless +variety.</p> + +<p>After dinner I walked out on the boulevards +from the Madeleine to the Place de la République, +through the maze of narrow streets to the +river, and over the Pont Neuf to Notre Dame. +I was surprised that the spell which Hugo gives +it should have lost none of its old potency for<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[100]</a></span> +me after coming direct from the realities of +modern warfare. If he were writing this journal, +what a story it would be!</p> + +<p>It will be necessary to pass rapidly over the +period between the day when we received our +<i>brevets militaires</i> and that upon which we +started for the front. The event which bulked +largest to us was, of course, the departure on +active service. Preceding it, and next in importance, +was the last phase of our training and +the culmination of it all, at the School of Acrobacy. +Preliminary to our work there, we had a +six weeks' course of instruction, first on the +twin-motor Caudron and then on various +types of the Nieuport biplane. We thought the +Caudron a magnificent machine. We liked the +steady throb of its powerful motors, the enormous +spread of its wings, the slow, ponderous +way it had of answering to the controls. It was +our business to take officer observers for long +trips about the country while they made photographs, +spotted dummy batteries, and perfected +themselves in the wireless code. At that +time the Caudron had almost passed its period +of usefulness at the front, and there was a prospect<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[101]</a></span> +of our being transferred to the yet larger +and more powerful Letord, a three-passenger +biplane carrying two machine gunners besides +the pilot, and from three to five machine guns. +This appealed to us mightily. J. B. was always +talking of the time when he would command +not only a machine, but also a “gang of men.” +However, being Americans, and recruited for +a particular combat corps which flies only single-seater +<i>avions de chasse</i>, we eventually followed +the usual course of training for such +pilots. We passed in turn to the Nieuport biplane, +which compares in speed and grace with +these larger craft as the flight of a swallow with +the movements of a great lazy buzzard. And +now the Nieuport has been surpassed, and almost +entirely supplanted, by the Spad of 140, +180, 200, and 230 horse-power, and we have +transferred our allegiance to each in turn, marveling +at the genius of the French in motor +and aircraft construction.</p> + +<p>At last we were ready for acrobacy. I will +not give an account of the trials by means of +which one's ability as a combat pilot is most +severely tested. This belongs among the pages<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[102]</a></span> +of a textbook rather than in those of a journal +of this kind. But to us who were to undergo +the ordeal,—for it is an ordeal for the untried +pilot,—our typewritten notes on acrobacy +read like the pages of a fascinating romance. +A year or two ago these aerial maneuvers would +have been thought impossible. Now we were +all to do them as a matter of routine training.</p> + +<p>The worst of it was, that our civilian pursuits +offered no criterion upon which to base +forecasts of our ability as acrobats. There was +J. B., for example. He knew a mixed metaphor +when he saw one, for he had had wide experience +with them as an English instructor at +a New England “prep” school. But he had +never done a barrel turn, or anything resembling +it. How was he to know what his reaction +would be to this bewildering maneuver, a series +of rapid, horizontal, corkscrew turns? And to +what use could I put my hazy knowledge of +Massachusetts statutes dealing with neglect +and non-support of family, in that exciting +moment when, for the first time, I should be +whirling earthward in a spinning nose-dive? +Accidents and fatalities were most frequent<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[103]</a></span> +at the school of acrobacy, for the reason that +one could not know, beforehand, whether he +would be able to keep his head, with the earth +gone mad, spinning like a top, standing on one +rim, turning upside down.</p> + +<p>In the end we all mastered it after a fashion, +for the tests are by no means so difficult of accomplishment +as they appear to be. Up to this +time, November 28, 1917, there has been but +one American killed at it in French schools. +We were not all good acrobats. One must have +a knack for it which many of us will never be +able to acquire. The French have it in larger +proportion than do we Americans. I can think +of no sight more pleasing than that of a Spad +in the air, under the control of a skillful French +pilot. Swallows perch in envious silence on the +chimney pots, and the crows caw in sullen despair +from the hedgerows.</p> + +<p>At G. D. E., while awaiting our call to the +front, we perfected ourselves in these maneuvers, +and practiced them in combat and group +flying. There, the restraints of the schools were +removed, for we were supposed to be accomplished +pilots. We flew when and in what manner<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[104]</a></span> +we liked. Sometimes we went out in large +formations, for a long flight; sometimes, in +groups of two or three, we made sham attacks +on villages, or trains, or motor convoys on the +roads. It was forbidden to fly over Paris, and +for this reason we took all the more delight in +doing it. J. B. and I saw it in all its moods: in +the haze of early morning, at midday when the +air had been washed clean by spring rains, in +the soft light of afternoon,—domes, theaters, +temples, spires, streets, parks, the river, bridges, +all of it spread out in magnificent panorama. +We would circle over Montmartre, Neuilly, the +Bois, Saint-Cloud, the Latin Quarter, and then +full speed homeward, listening anxiously to the +sound of our motors until we spiraled safely +down over our aerodrome. Our monitor never +asked questions. He is one of many Frenchmen +whom we shall always remember with gratitude.</p> + +<p>We learned the songs of all motors, the peculiarities +and uses of all types of French <i>avions</i>, +pushers and tractors, single motor and bimotor, +monoplace, biplace, and triplace, monoplane +and biplane. And we mingled with the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[105]</a></span> +pilots of all these many kinds of aircraft. They +were arriving and departing by every train, for +G. D. E. is the dépôt for old pilots from the +front, transferring from one branch of aviation +to another, as well as for new ones fresh +from the schools. In our talks with them, we +became convinced that the air service is forming +its traditions and developing a new type of +mind. It even has an odor, as peculiar to itself +as the smell of the sea to a ship. There are those +who say that it is only a compound of burnt +castor oil and gasoline. One might, with no +more truth, call the odor of a ship a mixture of +tar and stale cooking. But let it pass. It will +be all things to all men; I can sense it as I write, +for it gets into one's clothing, one's hair, one's +very blood.</p> + +<p>We were as happy during those days at +G. D. E. as any one has the right to be. Our +whole duty was to fly, and never was the voice +of Duty heard more gladly. It was hard to keep +in mind the stern purpose behind this seeming +indulgence. At times I remembered Drew's +warning that we were military pilots and had no +right to forget the seriousness of the work before<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[106]</a></span> +us. But he himself often forgot it for days together. +War on the earth may be reasonable +and natural, but in the air it seems the most +senseless folly. How is an airman, who has +just learned a new meaning for the joy of life, +to reconcile himself to the insane business of +killing a fellow aviator who may have just +learned it too? This was a question which we +sometimes put to ourselves in purely Arcadian +moments. We answered it, of course.</p> + +<p>I was sitting at our two-legged table, writing +up my <i>carnet de vol</i>. Suzanne, the maid of all +work at the Bonne Rencontre, was sweeping a +passageway along the center of the room, telling +me, as she worked, about her family. She was +ticking off the names of her brothers and sisters, +when Drew put his head through the doorway.</p> + +<p>“Il y a Pierre,” said Suzanne.</p> + +<p>“We're posted,” said J. B.</p> + +<p>“Et Hélène,” she continued.</p> + +<p>I shall never know the names of the others.</p> + + + +<h2><a name="V" id="V"></a>V<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[107]</a></span></h2> + +<h3><a name="OUR_FIRST_PATROL" id="OUR_FIRST_PATROL"></a>OUR FIRST PATROL</h3> + + +<p><span class="smcap">We</span> got down from the train late in the afternoon +at a village which reminded us, at first +glance, of a boom town in the Far West. Crude +shelters of corrugated iron and rough pine +boards faced each other down the length of one +long street. They looked sadly out of place in +that landscape. They did not have the cheery, +buoyant ugliness of pioneer homes in an unsettled +country, for behind them were the ruins +of the old village, fragments of blackened wall, +stone chimneys filled with accumulations of +rubbish, garden-plots choked with weeds, reminding +us that here was no outpost of a new +civilization, but the desolation of an old one, +fallen upon evil days.</p> + +<p>A large crowd of <i>permissionnaires</i> had left +the train with us. We were not at ease among +these men, many of them well along in middle +life, bent and streaming with perspiration under +their heavy packs. We were much better able +than most of them to carry our belongings, to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[108]</a></span> +endure the fatigue of a long night march to billets +or trenches; and we were waiting for the +motor in which we should ride comfortably to +our aerodrome. There we should sleep in beds, +well housed from the weather, and far out of +the range of shell fire.</p> + +<p>“It isn't fair,” said J. B. “It is going to war +<i>de luxe</i>. These old poilus ought to be the aviators. +But, hang it all! Of course, they couldn't +be. Aviation is a young man's business. It has +to be that way. And you can't have aerodromes +along the front-line trenches.”</p> + +<p>Nevertheless, it did seem very unfair, and +we were uncomfortable among all those infantrymen. +The feeling increased when attention +was called to our branch of the service by the +distant booming of anti-aircraft guns. There +were shouts in the street, “A Boche!” We hurried +to the door of the café where we had been +hiding. Officers were ordering the crowds off +the street. “Hurry along there! Under cover! +Oh, I know that you're brave enough, mon +enfant. It isn't that. He's not to see all these +soldiers here. That's the reason. Allez! Vite!”</p> + +<p>Soldiers were going into dugouts and cellars<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[109]</a></span> +among the ruined houses. Some of them, seeing +us at the door of the café, made pointed remarks +as they passed, grumbling loudly at the +laxity of the air service.</p> + +<p>“It's up there you ought to be, mon vieux, +not here,” one of them said, pointing to the +white <i>éclatements</i>.</p> + +<p>“You see that?” said another. “He's a +Boche, not French, I can tell you that. Where +are your comrades?”</p> + +<p>There was much good-natured chaffing as +well, but through it all I could detect a note of +resentment. I sympathized with their point of +view then as I do now, although I know that +there is no ground for the complaint of laxity. +Here is a German over French territory. Where +are the French aviators? Soldiers forget that +aerial frontiers must be guarded in two dimensions, +and that it is always possible for an +airman to penetrate far into enemy country. +They do not see their own pilots on their long +raids into German territory. Furthermore, +while the outward journey is often accomplished +easily enough, the return home is a different +matter. Telephones are busy from the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[110]</a></span> +moment the lines are crossed, and a hostile +patrol, to say nothing of a lone <i>avion</i>, will be +fortunate if it returns safely.</p> + +<p>But infantrymen are to be forgiven readily +for their outbursts against the aviation service. +They have far more than their share of danger +and death while in the trenches. To have their +brief periods of rest behind the lines broken into +by enemy aircraft—who would blame them +for complaining? And they are often generous +enough with their praise.</p> + +<p>On this occasion there was no bombing. The +German remained at a great height and quickly +turned northward again.</p> + +<p>Dunham and Miller came to meet us. We +had all four been in the schools together, they +preceding us on active service only a couple of +months. Seeing them after this lapse of time, I +was conscious of a change. They were keen +about life at the front, but they talked of their +experiences in a way which gave one a feeling +of tension, a tautness of muscles, a kind of ache +in the throat. It set me to thinking of a conversation +I had had with an old French pilot, +several months before. It came apropos of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[111]</a></span> +nothing. Perhaps he thought that I was sizing +him up, wondering how he could be content +with an instructor's job while the war is in progress. +He said: “I've had five hundred hours +over the lines. You don't know what that +means, not yet. I'm no good any more. It's +strain. Let me give you some advice. Save +your nervous energy. You will need all you +have and more. Above everything else, don't +think at the front. The best pilot is the best +machine.”</p> + +<p>Dunham was talking about patrols.</p> + +<p>“Two a day of two hours each. Occasionally +you will have six hours' flying, but almost never +more than that.”</p> + +<p>“What about voluntary patrols?” Drew +asked. “I don't suppose there is any objection, +is there?”</p> + +<p>Miller pounded Dunham on the back, singing, +“<i>Hi-doo-dedoo-dum-di</i>. What did I tell +you! Do I win?” Then he explained. “We +asked the same question when we came out, +and every other new pilot before us. This voluntary +patrol business is a kind of standing +joke. You think, now, that four hours a day<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[112]</a></span> +over the lines is a light programme. For the +first month or so you will go out on your own +between times. After that, no. Of course, +when they call for a voluntary patrol for some +necessary piece of work, you will volunteer out +of a sense of duty. As I say, you may do as +much flying as you like. But wait. After a +month, or we'll give you six weeks, that will be +no more than you have to do.”</p> + +<p>We were not at all convinced.</p> + +<p>“What do you do with the rest of your +time?”</p> + +<p>“Sleep,” said Dunham. “Read a good deal. +Play some poker or bridge. Walk. But sleep is +the chief amusement. Eight hours used to be +enough for me. Now I can do with ten or +twelve.”</p> + +<p>Drew said: “That's all rot. You fellows are +having it too soft. They ought to put you on +the school régime again.”</p> + +<p>“Let 'em talk, Dunham. They know. J. B. +says it's laziness. Let it go at that. Well, +take it from me, it's contagious. You'll soon +be victims.”</p> + +<p>I dropped out of the conversation in order to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[113]</a></span> +look around me. Drew did all of the questioning, +and thanks to his interest, I got many hints +about our work which came back opportunely, +afterward.</p> + +<p>“Think down to the gunners. That will help +a lot. It's a game after that: your skill against +theirs. I couldn't do it at first, and shell fire +seemed absolutely damnable.”</p> + +<p>“And you want to remember that a chasse +machine is almost never brought down by +anti-aircraft fire. You are too fast for them. +You can fool 'em in a thousand ways.”</p> + +<p>“I had been flying for two weeks before I +saw a Boche. They are not scarce on this sector, +don't worry. I simply couldn't see them. +The others would have scraps. I spent most of +my time trying to keep track of them.”</p> + +<p>“Take my tip, J. B., don't be too anxious to +mix it with the first German you see, because +very likely he will be a Frenchman, and if he +isn't, if he is a good Hun pilot, you'll simply +be meat for him—at first, I mean.”</p> + +<p>“They say that all the Boche aviators on +this front have had several months' experience +in Russia or the Balkans. They train them<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[114]</a></span> +there before they send them to the Western +Front.”</p> + +<p>“Your best chance of being brought down +will come in the first two weeks.”</p> + +<p>“That's comforting.”</p> + +<p>“No, sans blague. Honestly, you'll be almost +helpless. You don't see anything, and +you don't know what it is that you do see. +Here's an example. On one of my first sorties I +happened to look over my shoulder and I saw +five or six Germans in the most beautiful alignment. +And they were all slanting up to dive on +me. I was scared out of my life: went down full +motor, then cut and fell into a vrille. Came out +of that and had another look. There they were +in the same position, only farther away. I +didn't tumble even then, except farther down. +Next time I looked, the five Boches, or six, +whichever it was, had all been raveled out by +the wind. Éclats d'obus.”</p> + +<p>“You may have heard about Franklin's +Boche. He got it during his first combat. He +didn't know that there was a German in the +sky, until he saw the tracer bullets. Then the +machine passed him about thirty metres away.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[115]</a></span> +And he kept going down: may have had motor +trouble. Franklin said that he had never had +such a shock in his life. He dived after him, +spraying all space with his Vickers, and he got +him!”</p> + +<p>“That all depends on the man. In chasse, +unless you are sent out on a definite mission, +protecting photographic machines or avions de +bombardement, you are absolutely on your +own. Your job is to patrol the lines. If a man +is built that way, he can loaf on the job. He +need never have a fight. At two hundred kilometres +an hour, it won't take him very long to +get out of danger. He stays out his two hours +and comes in with some framed-up tale to account +for his disappearance: 'Got lost. Went +off by himself into Germany. Had motor +trouble; gun jammed, and went back to arm it.' +He may even spray a few bullets toward Germany +and call it a combat. Oh, he can find +plenty of excuses, and he can get away with +them.”</p> + +<p>“That's spreading it, Dunham. What about +Huston? is he getting away with it?”</p> + +<p>“Now, don't let's get personal. Very likely<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[116]</a></span> +Huston can't help it. Anyway, it is a matter of +temperament mostly.”</p> + +<p>“Temperament, hell! There's Van, for example. +I happen to know that he has to take +himself by his bootlaces every time he crosses +into Germany. But he sticks it. He has never +played a yellow trick. I hand it to him for +pluck above every other man in the squadron.”</p> + +<p>“What about Talbott and Barry?”</p> + +<p>“Lord! They haven't any nerves. It's no +job for them to do their work well.”</p> + +<p>This conversation continued during the rest +of the journey. The life of a military pilot offers +exceptional opportunities for research in the +matter of personal bravery. Dunham and Miller +agreed that it is a varying quality. Sometimes +one is really without fear; at others only +a sense of shame prevents one from making a +very sad display.</p> + +<p>“Huston is no worse than some of the rest of +us, only he hasn't a sense of shame.”</p> + +<p>“Well, he has the courage to be a coward, +and that is more than you have, son, or I either.”</p> + +<p>Our fellow pilots of the Lafayette Corps were +lounging outside the barracks on our arrival.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[117]</a></span> +They gave us a welcome which did much to remove +our feelings of strangeness; but we knew +that they were only mildly interested in the +news from the schools and were glad when they +let us drop into the background of conversation. +By a happy chance mention was made of +a recent newspaper article of some of the exploits +of the <i>Escadrille</i>, written evidently by a +very imaginative journalist; and from this the +talk passed to the reputation of the Squadron in +America, and the almost fabulous deeds credited +to it by some newspaper correspondents. +One pilot said that he had kept record of the +number of German machines actually reported +as having been brought down by members of +the Corps. I don't remember the number he +gave, but it was an astonishing total. The daily +average was so high, that, granting it to be correct, +America might safely have abandoned her +far-reaching aerial programme. Long before +her first pursuit squadron could be ready for +service, the last of the imperial German air-fleet +would, to quote from the article, have +“crashed in smouldering ruin on the war-devastated +plains of northern France.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[118]</a></span>”</p> + +<p>In this connection I can't forbear quoting +from another, one of the brightest pages in the +journalistic history of the legendary Escadrille +Lafayette. It is an account of a sortie said to +have taken place on the receipt of news of +America's declaration of war.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“Uncle Sam is with us, boys! Come on! Let's +get those fellows!” These were the stirring words +of Captain Georges Thénault, the valiant leader +of the Escadrille Lafayette, upon the morning +when news was received that the United States +of America had declared war upon the rulers of +Potsdam. For the first time in history, the Stars +and Stripes of Old Glory were flung to the breeze +over the camp, in France, of American fighting +men. Inspired by the sight, and spurred to instant +action by the ringing call of their French +captain, this band of aviators from the U.S.A. +sprang into their trim little biplanes. There was +a deafening roar of motors, and soon the last airman +had disappeared in the smoky haze which +hung over the distant battle-lines.</p> + +<p>We cannot follow them on that journey. We +cannot see them as they mount higher and higher +into the morning sky, on their way to meet their +prey. But we may await their return. We may +watch them as they descend to their flying-field, +dropping down to earth, one by one. We may +learn, then, of their adventures on that flight of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[119]</a></span> +death: how, far back of the German lines, they +encountered a formidable battle-squadron of the +enemy, vastly superior to their own in numbers. +Heedless of the risk they swooped down upon +their foe. Lieutenant A—— was attacked by +four enemy planes at the same time. One he sent +hurtling to the ground fifteen thousand feet below. +He caused a second to retire disabled. +Sergeant B—— accounted for another in a running +fight which lasted for more than a quarter of an +hour. Adjutant C——, although his biplane was +riddled with bullets, succeeded, by a clever ruse, +in decoying two pursuers, bent on his destruction, +to the vicinity of a cloud where several of +his comrades were lying in wait for further victims. +A moment later both Germans were seen +to fall earthward, spinning like leaves in that last +terrible dive of death. “These boys are Yankee +aviators. They form the vanguard of America's +aerial forces. We need thousands of others just +like them,” etc.</p></div> + +<p>Stories of this kind have, without doubt, a +certain imaginative appeal. J. B. and I had +often read them, never wholly credulous, of +course, but with feelings of uneasiness. Discounting +them by more than half, we still had +serious doubts of our ability to measure up to +the standard set by our fellow Americans who +had preceded us on active service. We were in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[120]</a></span> +part reassured during our first afternoon at the +front. If these men were the demons on wings +of the newspapers, they took great pains to give +us a different impression.</p> + + +<p style="padding-top: 1.5em">Many of the questions which had long been +accumulating in our minds got themselves answered +during the next few days, while we were +waiting for machines. We knew, in a general +way, what the nature of our work would be. +We knew that the Escadrille Lafayette was one +of four pursuit squadrons occupying hangars on +the same field, and that, together, these formed +what is called a <i>groupe de combat</i>, with a definite +sector of front to cover. We had been told that +combat pilots are “the police of the air,” whose +duty it is to patrol the lines, harass the enemy, +attacking whenever possible, thus giving protection +to their own <i>corps-d'armée</i> aircraft—which +are only incidentally fighting machines—in +their work of reconnaissance, photography, +artillery direction, and the like. But we +did not know how this general theory of combat +is given practical application. When I +think of the depths of our ignorance, to be filled<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[121]</a></span> +in, day by day, with a little additional experience; +of our self-confidence, despite warnings; +of our willingness to leave so much for our +“godfather” Chance to decide, it is with feelings +nearly akin to awe. We awaited our first +patrol almost ready to believe that it would be +our first victorious combat. We had no realization +of the conditions under which aerial +battles are fought. Given good-will, average +ability, and the opportunity, we believed that +the results must be decisive, one way or the +other.</p> + +<p>Much of our enforced leisure was spent at the +bureau of the group, where the pilots gathered +after each sortie to make out their reports. +There we heard accounts of exciting combats, +of victories and narrow escapes, which sounded +like impossible fictions. A few of them may +have been, but not many. They were told simply, +briefly, as a part of the day's work, by men +who no longer thought of their adventures as +being either very remarkable or very interesting. +What, I thought, will seem interesting or +remarkable to them after the war, after such a +life as this? Once an American gave me a hint:<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[122]</a></span> +“I'm going to apply for a job as attendant in a +natural-history museum.”</p> + +<p>Only a few minutes before, these men had +been taking part in aerial battles, attacking infantry +in trenches, or enemy transport on roads +fifteen or twenty kilometres away. And while +they were talking of these things the drone of +motors overhead announced the departure of +other patrols to battle-lines which were only +five minutes distant by the route of the air. +For when weather permitted there was an interlapping +series of patrols flying over the sector +from daylight till dark. The number of these, +and the number of <i>avions</i> in each patrol, varied +as circumstances demanded.</p> + +<p>On one wall of the bureau hung a large-scale +map of the sector, which we examined square +by square with that delight which only the +study of maps can give. Trench-systems, both +French and German, were outlined upon it in +minute detail. It contained other features of a +very interesting nature. On another wall there +was a yet larger map, made of aeroplane photographs +taken at a uniform altitude and so +pieced together that the whole was a complete<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[123]</a></span> +picture of our sector of front. We spent hours +over this one. Every trench, every shell hole, +every splintered tree or fragment of farmhouse +wall stood out clearly. We could identify +machine-gun posts and battery positions. We +could see at a glance the result of months of +fighting; how terribly men had suffered under +a rain of high explosives at this point, how +lightly they had escaped at another; and so we +could follow, with a certain degree of accuracy, +what must have been the infantry actions at +various parts of the line.</p> + +<p>The history of these trench campaigns will +have a forbidding interest to the student of the +future; for, as he reads of the battles on the +Aisne, the Somme, of Verdun and Flanders, he +will have spread out before him photographs of +the battlefields themselves, just as they were at +different phases of the struggle. With a series +of these pictorial records, men will be able to +find the trenches from which their fathers or +grandfathers scrambled with their regiments to +the attack, the wire entanglements which held +up the advance at one point, the shell holes +where they lay under machine-gun fire. And<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[124]</a></span> +often they will see the men themselves as they +advanced through the barrage fire, the sun +glinting on their helmets. It will be a fascinating +study, in a ghastly way; and while such +records exist, the outward meanings, at least, +of modern warfare will not be forgotten.</p> + + +<p style="padding-top: 1.5em">Tiffin, the messroom steward, was standing +by my cot with a lighted candle in his hand. +The furrows in his kindly old face were outlined +in shadow. His bald head gleamed like +the bottom of a yellow bowl. He said, “Beau +temps, monsieur,” put the candle on my table, +and went out, closing the door softly. I looked +at the window square, which was covered with +oiled cloth for want of glass. It was a black +patch showing not a glimmer of light.</p> + +<p>The other pilots were gathering in the messroom, +where a fire was going. Some one started +the phonograph. Fritz Kreisler was playing the +“Chansons sans Paroles.” This was followed by +a song, “Oh, movin' man, don't take ma baby +grand.” It was a strange combination, and to +hear them, at that hour of the morning, before +going out for a first sortie over the lines, gave<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[125]</a></span> +me a “mixed-up” feeling, which it was impossible +to analyze.</p> + +<p>Two patrols were to leave the field at the +same time, one to cover the sector at an altitude +of from two thousand to three thousand metres, +the other, thirty-five hundred to five thousand +metres. J. B. and I were on high patrol. Owing +to our inexperience, it was to be a purely defensive +one between our observation balloons and +the lines. We had still many questions to ask, +but having been so persistently inquisitive for +three days running, we thought it best to wait +for Talbott, who was leading our patrol, to volunteer +his instructions.</p> + +<p>He went to the door to look at the weather. +There were clouds at about three thousand metres, +but the stars were shining through gaps in +them. On the horizon, in the direction of the +lines, there was a broad belt of blue sky. The +wind was blowing into Germany. He came +back yawning. “We'll go up—ho, hum!”—tremendous +yawn—“through a hole before we +reach the river. It's going to be clear presently, +so the higher we go the better.”</p> + +<p>The others yawned sympathetically.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[126]</a></span></p> + +<p>“I don't feel very pugnastic this morning.”</p> + +<p>“It's a crime to send men out at this time of +day—night, rather.”</p> + +<p>More yawns of assent, of protest. J. B. and I +were the only ones fully awake. We had finished +our chocolate and were watching the +clock uneasily, afraid that we should be late +getting started. Ten minutes before patrol +time we went out to the field. The canvas +hangars billowed and flapped, and the wooden +supports creaked with the quiet sound made +by ships at sea. And there was almost the peace +of the sea there, intensified, if anything, by the +distant rumble of heavy cannonading.</p> + +<p>Our Spad biplanes were drawn up in two long +rows, outside the hangars. They were in exact +alignment, wing to wing. Some of them were +clean and new, others discolored with smoke +and oil; among these latter were the ones which +J. B. and I were to fly. Being new pilots we +were given used machines to begin with, and +ours had already seen much service. <i>Fuselage</i> +and wings had many patches over the scars of +old battles, but new motors had been installed,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[127]</a></span> +the bodies overhauled, and they were ready for +further adventures.</p> + +<p>It mattered little to us that they were old. +They were to carry us out to our first air battles; +they were the first <i>avions</i> which we could +call our own, and we loved them in an almost +personal way. Each machine had an Indian +head, the symbol of the Lafayette Corps, +painted on the sides of the <i>fuselage</i>. In addition, +it bore the personal mark of its pilot,—a triangle, +a diamond, a straight band, or an initial,—painted +large so that it could be easily seen and +recognized in the air.</p> + +<p>The mechanicians were getting the motors +<i>en route</i>, arming the machine guns, and giving +a final polish to the glass of the wind-shields. +In a moment every machine was turning over +<i>ralenti</i>, with the purring sound of powerful engines +which gives a voice to one's feeling of excitement +just before patrol time. There was +no more yawning, no languid movement.</p> + +<p>Rodman was buttoning himself into a combination +suit which appeared to add another +six inches to his six feet two. Barry, who was +leading the low patrol, wore a woolen helmet<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[128]</a></span> +which left only his eyes uncovered. I had not +before noticed how they blazed and snapped. +All his energy seemed to be concentrated in +them. Porter wore a leather face-mask, with +a lozenge-shaped breathing-hole, and slanted +openings covered with yellow glass for eyes. +He was the most fiendish-looking demon of +them all. I was glad to turn from him to the +Duke, who wore a <i>passe-montagne</i> of white silk +which fitted him like a bonnet. As he sat in his +machine, adjusting his goggles, he might have +passed for a dear old lady preparing to read a +chapter from the Book of Daniel. The fur of +Dunham's helmet had frayed out, so that it +fitted around the sides of his face and under the +chin like a beard, the kind worn by old-fashioned +sailors.</p> + +<p>The strain of waiting patiently for the start +was trying. The sudden transformation of a +group of typical-looking Americans into monsters +and devotional old ladies gave a moment +of diversion which helped to relieve it.</p> + +<p>I heard Talbott shouting his parting instructions +and remembered that I did not know the +rendezvous. I was already strapped in my<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[129]</a></span> +machine and was about to loosen the fastenings, +when he came over and climbed on the step of +the car.</p> + +<p>“Rendezvous two thousand over field!” he +yelled.</p> + +<p>I nodded.</p> + +<p>“Know me—Big T—wings—fuselage. I'll—turning +right. You and others left. When—see +me start—lines, fall in behind—left. +Remember stick close—patrol. If—get lost, +better—home. Compass southwest. Look carefully—landmarks +going out. Got—straight?”</p> + +<p>I nodded again to show that I understood. +Machines of both patrols were rolling across +the field, a mechanician running along beside +each one. I joined the long line, and taxied +over to the starting-point, where the captain +was superintending the send-off, and turned +into the wind in my turn. As though conscious +of his critical eye, my old veteran Spad lifted +its tail and gathered flying speed with all the +vigor of its youth, and we were soon high above +the hangars, climbing to the rendezvous.</p> + +<p>When we had all assembled, Talbott headed +northeast, the rest of us falling into our places<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[130]</a></span> +behind him. Then I found that, despite the +new motor, my machine was not a rapid climber. +Talbott noticed this and kept me well in +the group, he and the others losing height in +<i>renversements</i> and <i>retournements</i>, diving under +me and climbing up again. It was fascinating +to watch them doing stunts, to observe the +constant changing of positions. Sometimes we +seemed, all of us, to be hanging motionless, +then rising and falling like small boats riding a +heavy swell. Another glance would show one of +them suspended bottom up, falling sidewise, +tipped vertically on a wing, standing on its tail, +as though being blown about by the wind, out +of all control. It is only in the air, when moving +with them, that one can really appreciate the +variety and grace of movement of a flock of +high-powered <i>avions de chasse</i>.</p> + +<p>I was close to Talbott as we reached the cloud-bank. +I saw him in dim silhouette as the mist, +sunlight-filtered, closed around us. Emerging +into the clear, fine air above it, we might have +been looking at early morning from the casement</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i5">“opening on the foam<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of perilous seas, in faëry lands forlorn.”<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[131]</a></span></div></div> + +<p>The sun was just rising, and the floor of cloud +glowed with delicate shades of rose and amethyst +and gold. I saw the others rising through +it at widely scattered points. It was a glorious +sight.</p> + +<p>Then, forming up and turning northward +again, just as we passed over the receding edge +of the cloud-bank, I saw the lines. It was still +dusk on the ground and my first view was that +of thousands of winking lights, the flashes of +guns and of bursting shells. At that time the +Germans were making trials of the French +positions along the Chemin des Dames, and +the artillery fire was unusually heavy.</p> + +<p>The lights soon faded and the long, winding +battle-front emerged from the shadow, a broad +strip of desert land through a fair, green country. +We turned westward along the sector, +several kilometres within the French lines, for +J. B. and I were to have a general view of it all +before we crossed to the other side. The fort of +Malmaison was a minute square, not as large +as a postage-stamp. With thumb and forefinger +I could have spanned the distance between Soissons +and Laon. Clouds of smoke were rising<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[132]</a></span> +from Allemant to Craonne, and these were constantly +added to by infinitesimal puffs in black +and white. I knew that shells of enormous calibre +were wrecking trenches, blasting out huge +craters; and yet not a sound, not the faintest +reverberation of a gun. Here was a sight almost +to make one laugh at man's idea of the importance +of his pygmy wars.</p> + +<p>But the Olympian mood is a fleeting one. I +think of Paradis rising on one elbow out of the +slime where he and his comrades were lying, +waving his hand toward the wide, unspeakable +landscape.</p> + +<p>“What are we, we chaps? And what's all +this here? Nothing at all. All we can see is only +a speck. When one speaks of the whole war, +it's as if you said nothing at all—the words +are strangled. We're here, and we look at it like +blind men.”</p> + +<p>To look down from a height of more than +two miles, on an endless panorama of suffering +and horror, is to have the sense of one's littleness +even more painfully quickened. The best +that the airman can do is to repeat, “We're +here, and we look at it like blind men.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[133]</a></span>”</p> + +<p>We passed on to the point where the line +bends northward, then turned back. I tried to +concentrate my attention on the work of identifying +landmarks. It was useless. One might +as well attempt to study Latin grammar at his +first visit to the Grand Cañon. My thoughts +went wool-gathering. Looking up suddenly, I +found that I was alone.</p> + +<p>To the new pilot the sudden appearance or +disappearance of other <i>avions</i> is a weird thing. +He turns his head for a moment. When he +looks again, his patrol has vanished. Combats +are matters of a few seconds' duration, rarely +of more than two or three minutes. The opportunity +for attack comes almost with the swiftness +of thought and has passed as quickly. +Looking behind me, I was in time to see one +machine tip and dive. Then it, too, vanished +as though it had melted into the air. Shutting +my motor, I started down, swiftly, I thought; +but I had not yet learned to fall vertically, and +the others—I can say almost with truth—were +miles below me. I passed long streamers +of white smoke, crossing and recrossing in the +air. I knew the meaning of these, machine-gun<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[134]</a></span> +tracer bullets. The delicately penciled lines had +not yet frayed out in the wind. I went on down +in a steep spiral, guiding myself by them, and +seeing nothing. At the point where they ended, +I redressed and put on my motor. My altimeter +registered two thousand metres. By a curious +chance, while searching the empty sky, I +saw a live shell passing through the air. It was +just at the second when it reached the top of +its trajectory and started to fall. “Lord!” I +thought, “I have seen a shell, and yet I can't +find my patrol!”</p> + +<p>While coming down I had given no attention +to my direction. I had lost twenty-five hundred +metres in height. The trenches were now +plainly visible, and the brown strip of sterile +country where they lay was vastly broader. +Several times I felt the concussion of shell explosions, +my machine being lifted and then +dropped gently with an uneasy motion. Constantly +searching the air, I gave no thought to +my position with reference to the lines, nor to +the possibility of anti-aircraft fire. Talbott had +said: “Never fly in a straight line for more +than fifteen seconds. Keep changing your direction<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[135]</a></span> +constantly, but be careful not to fly in a +regularly irregular fashion. The German gunners +may let you alone at first, hoping that you +will become careless, or they may be plotting +out your style of flight. Then they make their +calculations and they let you have it. If you +have been careless, they'll put 'em so close, +there'll be no question about the kind of a +scare you will have.”</p> + +<p>There wasn't in my case. I was looking for +my patrol to the exclusion of thought of anything +else. The first shell burst so close that +I lost control of my machine for a moment. +Three others followed, two in front, and one +behind, which I believed had wrecked my tail. +They burst with a terrific rending sound in +clouds of coal-black smoke. A few days before +I had been watching without emotion the +bombardment of a German plane. I had seen +it twisting and turning through the <i>éclatements</i>, +and had heard the shells popping faintly, +with a sound like the bursting of seed-pods in +the sun.</p> + +<p>My feeling was not that of fear, exactly. It +was more like despair. Every airman must<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[136]</a></span> +have known it at one time or another, a sudden +overwhelming realization of the pitilessness of +the forces which men let loose in war. In that +moment one doesn't remember that men have +loosed them. He is alone, and he sees the face +of an utterly evil thing. Miller's advice was, +“Think down to the gunners”; but this is impossible +at first. Once a French captain told +me that he talked to the shells. “I say, 'Bonjour, +mon vieux! Tiens! Comment ça va, toi! +Ah, non! je suis pressé!' or something like that. +It amuses one.”</p> + +<p>This need of some means of humanizing shell +fire is common. Aviators know little of modern +warfare as it touches the infantryman; but in +one respect, at least, they are less fortunate. +They miss the human companionship which +helps a little to mask its ugliness.</p> + +<p>However, it is seldom that one is quite alone, +without the sight of friendly planes near at +hand, and there is a language of signs which, +in a way, fills this need. One may “waggle his +flippers,” or “flap his wings,” to use the common +expressions, and thus communicate with +his comrades. Unfortunately for my ease of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[137]</a></span> +mind, there were no comrades present with +whom I could have conversed in this way. +Miller was within five hundred metres and saw +me all the time, although I didn't know this +until later.</p> + +<p>Talbott's instructions were, “If you get lost, +go home”—somewhat ambiguous. I knew +that my course to the aerodrome was southwest. +At any rate, by flying in that direction I +was certain to land in France. But with German +gunners so keen on the baptism-of-fire +business, I had been turning in every direction, +and the floating disk of my compass was revolving +first to the right, then to the left. In +order to let it settle, I should have to fly straight +for some fixed point for at least half a minute. +Under the circumstances I was not willing to do +this. A compass which would point north immediately +and always would be a heaven-sent +blessing to the inexperienced pilot during his +first few weeks at the front. Mine was saying +North—northwest—west—southwest—south—southeast—east—and +after a moment +of hesitation reading off the points in the +reverse order. The wind was blowing into<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[138]</a></span> +Germany, and unconsciously, in trying to find +a way out of the <i>éclatements</i>, I was getting farther +and farther away from home and coming +within range of additional batteries of hostile +anti-aircraft guns.</p> + +<p>I might have landed at Karlsruhe or Cologne, +had it not been for Miller. My love for concentric +circles of red, white, and blue dates +from the moment when I saw the French +<i>cocarde</i> on his Spad.</p> + +<p>“And if I had been a Hun!” he said, when we +landed at the aerodrome. “Oh, man! you were +fruit salad! Fruit salad, I tell you! I could have +speared you with my eyes shut.”</p> + +<p>I resented the implication of defenselessness. +I said that I was keeping my eyes open, and if +he had been a Hun, the fruit salad might not +have been so palatable as it looked.</p> + +<p>“Tell me this: Did you see me?”</p> + +<p>I thought for a moment, and then said, “Yes.”</p> + +<p>“When?”</p> + +<p>“When you passed over my head.”</p> + +<p>“And twenty seconds before that you would +have been a sieve, if either of us had been a +Boche.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[139]</a></span>”</p> + +<p>I yielded the point to save further argument.</p> + +<p>He had come swooping down fairly suddenly. +When I saw him making his way so saucily +among the <i>éclatements</i> I felt my confidence returning +in increasing waves. I began to use +my head, and found that it was possible to +make the German gunners guess badly. There +was no menace in the sound of shells barking +at a distance, and we were soon clear of all of +them.</p> + +<p>J. B. took me aside the moment I landed. +He had one of his fur boots in his hand and +was wearing the other. He had also lighted the +cork end of his cigarette. To one acquainted +with his magisterial orderliness of mind and +habit, these signs were eloquent.</p> + +<p>“Now, keep this quiet!” he said. “I don't +want the others to know it, but I've just had +the adventure of my life. I attacked a German. +Great Scott! what an opportunity! and +I bungled it through being too eager!”</p> + +<p>“When was this?”</p> + +<p>“Just after the others dove. You remember—”</p> + +<p>I told him, briefly, of my experience, adding,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[140]</a></span> +“And I didn't know there was a German in +sight until I saw the smoke of the tracer +bullets.”</p> + +<p>“Neither did I, only I didn't see even the +smoke.”</p> + +<p>This cheered me immensely. “What! you +didn't—”</p> + +<p>“No. I saw nothing but sky where the others +had disappeared. I was looking for them when +I saw the German. He was about four hundred +metres below me. He couldn't have seen me, +I think, because he kept straight on. I dove, +but didn't open fire until I could have a nearer +view of his black crosses. I wanted to be sure. +I had no idea that I was going so much faster. +The first thing I knew I was right on him. Had +to pull back on my stick to keep from crashing +into him. Up I went and fell into a nose-dive. +When I came out of it there was no sign of the +German, and I hadn't fired a shot!”</p> + +<p>“Did you come home alone?”</p> + +<p>“No; I had the luck to meet the others just +afterward. Now, not a word of this to any +one!”</p> + +<p>But there was no need for secrecy. The near<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[141]</a></span> +combat had been seen by both Talbott and +Porter. At luncheon we both came in for our +share of ragging.</p> + +<p>“You should have seen them following us +down!” said Porter; “like two old rheumatics +going into the subway. We saw them both +when we were taking height again. The scrap +was all over hours before, and they were still a +thousand metres away.”</p> + +<p>“You want to dive vertically. Needn't +worry about your old 'bus. She'll stand it.”</p> + +<p>“Well, the Lord has certainly protected the +innocent to-day!”</p> + +<p>“One of them was wandering off into Germany. +Bill had to waggle Miller to page him.”</p> + +<p>“And there was Drew, going down on that +biplane we were chasing. I've been trying to +think of one wrong thing he might have done +which he didn't do. First he dove with the sun +in his face, when he might have had it at his +back. Then he came all the way in full view, +instead of getting under his tail. Good thing +the mitrailleur was firing at us. After that, +when he had the chance of a lifetime, he fell +into a vrille and scared the life out of the rest<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[142]</a></span> +of us. I thought the gunner had turned on +him. And while we were following him down +to see where he was going to splash, the Boche +got away.”</p> + + +<p style="padding-top: 1.5em">All this happened months ago, but every +trifling incident connected with our first patrol +is still fresh in mind. And twenty years from +now, if I chance to hear the “Chansons sans +Paroles,” or if I hum to myself a few bars of a +ballad, then sure to be long forgotten by the +world at large, “Oh, movin' man, don't take +ma baby grand!” I shall have only to close my +eyes, and wait passively. First Tiffin will come +with the lighted candle: “Beau temps, monsieur.” +I shall hear Talbott shouting, “Rendezvous +two thousand over field. If—get lost—better—home.” +J. B. will rush up smoking +the cork end of a cigarette. “I've just had the +adventure of my life!” And Miller, sitting on +an essence-case, will have lost none of his old +conviction. “Oh, man! you were fruit salad! +Fruit salad, I tell you! I could have speared +you with my eyes shut!”</p> + +<p>And in those days, happily still far off, there<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[143]</a></span> +will be many another old gray-beard with such +memories; unless they are all to wear out their +days uselessly regretting that they are no longer +young, there must be clubs where they may +exchange reminiscences. These need not be +pretentious affairs. Let there be a strong odor +of burnt castor oil and gasoline as you enter the +door; a wide view from the verandas of earth +and sky; maps on the walls; and on the roof +a canvas “pantaloon-leg” to catch the wind. +Nothing else matters very much. There they +will be as happy as any old airman can expect +to be, arguing about the winds and disputing +one another's judgment about the height of +the clouds.</p> + +<p>If you say to one of them, “Tell us something +about the Great War,” as likely as not he will +tell you a pleasant story enough. And the pity +of it will be that, hearing the tale, a young man +will long for another war. Then you must say +to him, “But what about the shell fire? Tell +us something of machines falling in flames.” +Then, if he is an honest old airman whose memory +is still unimpaired, the young one who has +been listening will have sober second thoughts.</p> + + + +<h2><a name="VI" id="VI"></a>VI<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[144]</a></span></h2> + +<h3><a name="A_BALLOON_ATTACK" id="A_BALLOON_ATTACK"></a>A BALLOON ATTACK</h3> + + +<p>“<span class="smcap">I'm</span> looking for two balloonatics,” said Talbott, +as he came into the messroom; “and I +think I've found them.”</p> + +<p>Percy, Talbott's orderly, Tiffin the steward, +Drew, and I were the only occupants of the +room. Percy is an old <i>légionnaire</i>, crippled with +rheumatism. His active service days are over. +Tiffin's working hours are filled with numberless +duties. He makes the beds, and serves +food from three to five times daily to members +of the Escadrille Lafayette. These two being +eliminated, the identity of the balloonatics was +plain.</p> + +<p>“The orders have just come,” Talbott added, +“and I decided that the first men I met after +leaving the bureau would be balloonatics. Virtue +has gone into both of you. Now, if you can +make fire come out of a Boche sausage, you will +have done all that is required. Listen. This is +interesting. The orders are in French, but I +will translate as I read:<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[145]</a></span>—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>On the umteenth day of June, the escadrilles +of Groupe de Combat Blank [that's ours] will +cooperate in an attack on the German observation +balloons along the sector extending from X +to Y. The patrols to be furnished are: (1) two +patrols of protection, of five <i>avions</i> each, by the +escadrilles Spa. 87 and Spa. 12; (2) four patrols +of attack, of three <i>avions</i> each, by the escadrilles +Spa. 124 [that's us], Spa. 93, Spa. 10, and Spa. 12.</p> + +<p>The attack will be organized as follows: on the +day set, weather permitting, the two patrols of +protection will leave the field at 10.30 <small>A.M.</small> The +patrol of Spa. 87 will rendezvous over the village +of N——. The patrol of protection of Spa. 12 +will rendezvous over the village of C——. At +10.45, precisely, they will start for the lines, crossing +at an altitude of thirty-five hundred metres. +The patrol furnished by Spa. 87 will guard the +sector from X to T, between the town of O—— +and the two enemy balloons on that sector. +The patrol furnished by Spa. 12 will guard the +sector from T to Y, between the railway line +and the two enemy balloons on that sector. Immediately +after the attack has been made, these +formations will return to the aerodrome.</p> + +<p>At 10.40 <small>A.M.</small> the four patrols of attack will +leave the field, and will rendezvous as follows. +[Here followed the directions.] At 10.55, precisely, +they will start for the lines, crossing at an +approximate altitude of sixteen hundred metres, +each patrol making in a direct line for the balloon<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[146]</a></span> +assigned to it. Numbers 1 and 2 of each of these +patrols will carry rockets. Number 3 will fly immediately +above them, offering further protection +in case of attack by enemy aircraft. Number 1 +of each patrol will first attack the balloon. If he +fails, number 2 will attack. If number 1 is successful, +number 2 will then attack the observers in +their parachutes. If number 1 fails, and number +2 is successful, number 3 will attack the observers. +The patrol will then proceed to the aerodrome +by the shortest route.</p> + +<p>Squadron commanders will make a return before +noon to-day, of the names of pilots designated +by them for their respective patrols.</p> + +<p>In case of unfavorable weather, squadron commanders +will be informed of the date to which the +attack has been postponed.</p> + +<p>Pilots designated as numbers 1 and 2 of the +patrols of attack will be relieved from the usual +patrol duty from this date. They will employ +their time at rocket shooting. A target will be in +place on the east side of the field from 1.30 <small>P.M.</small> +to-day.</p></div> + +<p>“Are there any remarks?” said Talbott, as +if he had been reading the minutes at a debating-club +meeting.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said J. B. “When is the umteenth +of June?”</p> + +<p>“Ah, mon vieux! that's the question. The<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[147]</a></span> +commandant knows, and he isn't telling. Any +other little thing?”</p> + +<p>I suggested that we would like to know which +of us was to be number 1.</p> + +<p>“That's right. Drew, how would you like +to be the first rocketeer?”</p> + +<p>“I've no objection,” said J. B., grinning as +if the frenzy of balloonaticking had already +got into his blood.</p> + +<p>“Right! that's settled. I'll see your mechanicians +about fitting your machines for rockets. +You can begin practice this afternoon.”</p> + +<p>Percy had been listening with interest to the +conversation.</p> + +<p>“You got some nice job, you boys. But if you +bring him down, there will be a lot of chuckling +in the trenches. You won't hear it, but +they will all be saying, 'Bravo! Épatant!' I've +been there. I've seen it and I know. Does +'em all good to see a sausage brought down. +'There's another one of their eyes knocked +out,' they say.”</p> + +<p>“Percy is right,” said J. B. as we were walking +down the road. “Destroying a balloon is +not a great achievement in itself. Of course,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[148]</a></span> +it's so much equipment gone, so much expense +added to the German war-budget. That is +something. But the effect on the infantrymen +is the important thing. Boche soldiers, thousands +of them, will see one of their balloons +coming down in flame. They will be saying, +'Where are our airmen?' like those old poilus +we met at the station when we first came out. +It's bound to influence morale. Now let's see. +The balloon, we will say, is at sixteen hundred +metres. At that height it can be seen by men +on the ground within a radius of—” and so +forth and so on.</p> + +<p>We figured it out approximately, estimating +the numbers of soldiers, of all branches of service, +who would witness the sight. Multiplying +this number by four, our conclusion was that, +as a result of the expedition, the length of the +war and its outcome might very possibly be +affected. At any rate, there would be such an +ebbing of German morale, and such a flooding +of French, that the way would be opened to a +decisive victory on that front.</p> + +<p>But supposing we should miss our sausage? +J. B. grew thoughtful.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[149]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Have another look at the orders. I don't +remember what the instructions were in case +we both fail.”</p> + +<p>I read, “If number 1 fails and number 2 is +successful, number 3 will attack the observers. +The patrol will then proceed to the aerodrome +by the shortest route.”</p> + +<p>This was plain enough. Allowance could +be made for one failure, but two—the possibility +had not even been considered.</p> + +<p>“By the shortest route.” There was a piece +of sly humor for you. It may have been unconscious, +but we preferred to believe that the +commandant had chuckled as he dictated it. +A sort of afterthought, as much as to say to his +pilots, “Well, you young bucks, you would-be +airmen: thought it would be all sport, eh? +You might have known. It's your own fault. +Now go out and attack those balloons. It's +possible that you may have a scrap or two on +your hands while you are at it. Oh, yes, by +the way, coming home, you'll be down pretty +low. Every Boche machine in the air will have +you at a disadvantage. Better return by the +shortest route.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[150]</a></span>”</p> + +<p>One feature of the programme did not appeal +to us greatly, and this was the attack to be +made on the observers when they had jumped +with their parachutes. It seemed as near the +border line between legitimate warfare and cold-blooded +murder as anything could well be.</p> + +<p>“You are armed with a machine-gun. He +may have an automatic pistol. It will require +from five to ten minutes for him to reach the +ground after he has jumped. You can come +down on him like a stone. Well, it's your job, +thank the Lord! not mine,” said Drew.</p> + +<p>It was my job, but I insisted that he would +be an accomplice. In destroying the balloon, +he would force me to attack the observers. +When I asked Talbott if this feature of the attack +could be eliminated he said:—</p> + +<p>“Certainly. I have instructions from the +commandant touching on this point. In case +any pilot objects to attacking the observers +with machine-gun fire, he is to strew their parachutes +with autumn leaves and such field-flowers +as the season affords. Now, listen! +What difference, ethically, is there, between attacking +one observation officer in a parachute,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[151]</a></span> +and dropping a ton of bombs on a train-load of +soldiers? And to kill the observers is really more +important than to destroy the balloon. If you +are going to be a military pilot, for the love of +Pete and Alf be one!”</p> + +<p>He was right, of course, but that didn't +make the prospect any the more pleasant.</p> + +<p>The large map at the bureau now had greater +interest for us than ever. The German balloons +along the sector were marked in pictorially, +with an ink line, representing the cable, running +from the basket of each one down to the +exact spot on the map from which they were +launched. Under one of these, “Spa. 124” +was printed, neatly, in red ink. It was the +farthest distant from our lines of the four to +be attacked, and about ten kilometres within +German-held territory. The cable ran to the +outskirts of a village situated on a railroad and +a small stream. The location of enemy aviation +fields was also shown pictorially, each one +represented by a minute sketch, very carefully +made, of an Albatross biplane. We noticed +that there were several aerodromes not far +distant from our balloon.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[152]</a></span></p> + +<p>After a survey of the map, the commandant's +afterthought, “by the shortest route,” +was not so needless as it appeared at first. +The German positions were in a salient, a large +corner, the line turning almost at right angles. +We could cross them from the south, attack +our balloon, and then, if we wished, return to +French territory on the west side of the salient.</p> + +<p>“We may miss some heavy shelling. If we +double on our tracks going home, they will be +expecting us, of course; whereas, if we go out +on the west side, we will pass over batteries +which didn't see us come in. If there should +happen to be an east wind, there will be another +reason in favor of the plan. The commandant +is a shrewd soldier. It may have been his way +of saying that the longest way round is the +shortest way home.”</p> + +<p>Our Spads were ready after luncheon. A +large square of tin had been fastened over the +fabric of each lower wing, under the rocket +fittings, to prevent danger of fire from sparks. +Racks for six rockets, three on a side, had been +fastened to the struts. The rockets were tipped +with sharp steel points to insure their pricking<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[153]</a></span> +the silk balloon envelope. The batteries for +igniting them were connected with a button +inside the car, within easy reach of the pilot. +Lieutenant Verdane, our French second-in-command, +was to supervise our practice on +the field. We were glad of this. If we failed +to “spear our sausage,” it would not be through +lack of efficient instruction. He explained to +Drew how the thing was to be done. He was +to come on the balloon into the wind, and +preferably not more than four hundred metres +above it. He was to let it pass from view under +the wing; then, when he judged that he was +directly over it, to reduce his motor and dive +vertically, placing the bag within the line of his +two circular sights, holding it there until the +bag just filled the circle. At that second he +would be about 250 metres distant from it, and +it was then that the rockets should be fired.</p> + +<p>The instructions were simple enough, but in +practicing on the target we found that they +were not so easy to carry out. It was hard to +judge accurately the moment for diving. Sometimes +we overshot the target, but more often +we were short of it. Owing to the angle at which<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[154]</a></span> +the rockets were mounted on the struts, it was +very important that the dive should be vertical.</p> + +<p>One morning, the attack could have been +made with every chance of success. Drew and +I left the aerodrome a few minutes before +sunrise for a trial flight, that we might give +our motors a thorough testing. We climbed +through a heavy mist which lay along the +ground like water, filling every fold and hollow, +flowing up the hillsides, submerging everything +but the crests of the highest hills. The tops of +the twin spires of S—— cathedral were all that +could be seen of the town. Beyond, the long +chain of heights where the first-line trenches +were rose just clear of the mist, which glowed +blood-red as the sun came up.</p> + +<p>The balloons were already up, hanging above +the dense cloud of vapor, elongated planets +drifting in space. The observers were directing +the fire of their batteries to those positions +which stood revealed. Shells were also exploding +on lower ground, for we saw the mist billow upward +time after time with the force of mighty +concussions, and slowly settle again. It was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[155]</a></span> +an awe-inspiring sight. We might have been +watching the last battle of the last war that +could ever be, with the world still fighting on, +bitterly, blindly, gradually sinking from sight +in a sea of blood. I have never seen anything +to equal that spectacle of an artillery battle +in the mists.</p> + +<p>Conditions were ideal for the attack. We +could have gone to the objective, fired our +rockets, and made our return, without once +having been seen from the ground. It was an +opportunity made in heaven, an Allied heaven. +“But the infantry would not have seen it,” +said J. B.; which was true. Not that we cared +to do the thing in a spectacular fashion. We +were thinking of that decisive effect upon +morale.</p> + +<p>Two hours later we were pitching pennies in +one of the hangars, when Talbott came across +the field, followed solemnly by Whiskey and +Soda, the lion mascots of the Escadrille Lafayette.</p> + +<p>“What's the date, anybody know?” he +asked, very casually.</p> + +<p>J. B. is an agile-minded youth.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[156]</a></span></p> + +<p>“It isn't the umteenth by any chance?”</p> + +<p>“Right the first time.” He looked at his +watch. “It is now ten past ten. You have +half an hour. Better get your rockets attached. +How are your motors—all right?”</p> + +<p>This was one way of breaking the news, and +the best one, I think. If we had been told the +night before, we should have slept badly.</p> + +<p>The two patrols of protection left the field +exactly on schedule time. At 10.35, Irving, +Drew, and I were strapped in our machines, +waiting, with our motors turning <i>ralenti</i>, for +Talbott's signal to start.</p> + +<p>He was romping with Whiskey. “Atta boy, +Whiskey! Eat 'em up! Atta ole lion!”</p> + +<p>As a squadron leader Talbott has many virtues, +but the most important of them all is his +casualness. And he is so sincere and natural +in it. He has no conception of the dramatic possibilities +of a situation—something to be profoundly +thankful for in the commander of an +<i>escadrille de chasse</i>. Situations are dramatic +enough, tense enough, without one's taking +thought of the fact. He might have stood there, +watch in hand, counting off the seconds. He<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[157]</a></span> +might have said, “Remember, we're all counting +on you. Don't let us down. You've got to +get that balloon!” Instead of that, he glanced +at his watch as if he had just remembered us.</p> + +<p>“All right; run along, you sausage-spearers. +We're having lunch at twelve. That will give +you time to wash up after you get back.”</p> + +<p>Miller, of course, had to have a parting shot. +He had been in hiding somewhere until the +last moment. Then he came rushing up with a +toothbrush and a safety-razor case. He stood +waving them as I taxied around into the wind. +His purpose was to remind me of the possibility +of landing with a <i>panne de moteur</i> in Germany, +and the need I would then have of my toilet +articles.</p> + +<p>At 10.54, J. B. came slanting down over me, +then pulled up in <i>ligne de vol</i>, and went straight +for the lines. I fell in behind him at about one +hundred metres distance. Irving was two hundred +metres higher. Before we left the field +he said: “You are not to think about Germans. +That's my job. I'll warn you if I see that +we are going to be attacked. Go straight for +the balloon. If you don't see me come down<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[158]</a></span> +and signal, you will know that there is no +danger.”</p> + +<p>The French artillery were giving splendid +coöperation. I saw clusters of shell-explosions +on the ground. The gunners were carrying +out their part of the programme, which was to +register on enemy anti-aircraft batteries as we +passed over them. They must have made good +practice. Anti-aircraft fire was feeble, and, such +of it as there was, very wild.</p> + +<p>We came within view of the railway line +which runs from the German lines to a large +town, their most important distributing center +on the sector. Following it along with my eyes +to the halfway point, I saw the red roofs of the +village which we had so often looked at from a +distance. Our balloon was in its usual place. +It looked like a yellow plum, and no larger than +one; but ripe, ready to be plucked.</p> + +<p>A burst of flame far to the left attracted my +attention, and almost at the same moment, one +to the right. Ribbons of fire flapped upward +in clouds of black oily smoke. Drew signaled +with his joy-stick, and I knew what he meant: +“Hooray! two down! It's our turn next!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[159]</a></span>” +But we were still three or four minutes away. +That was unfortunate, for a balloon can be +drawn down with amazing speed.</p> + +<p>A rocket sailed into the air and burst in a +point of greenish white light, dazzling in its +brilliancy, even in the full light of day. Immediately +after this two white objects, so small +as to be hardly visible, floated earthward: the +parachutes of the observers. They had jumped. +The balloon disappeared from view behind +Drew's machine. It was being drawn down, +of course, as fast as the motor could wind up +the cable. It was an exciting moment for us. +We were coming on at two hundred kilometres +an hour, racing against time and very +little time at that. “Sheridan, only five miles +away,” could not have been more eager for his +journey's end. Our throttles were wide open, +the engines developing their highest capacity +for power.</p> + +<p>I swerved out to one side for another glimpse +of the target: it was almost on the ground, and +directly under us. Drew made a steep virage +and dived. I started after him in a tight spiral, +to look for the observers; but they had both<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[160]</a></span> +disappeared. The balloon was swaying from +side to side under the tension of the cable. It +was hard to keep it in view. I lost it under my +wing. Tipping up on the other side, I saw +Drew release his rockets. They spurted out in +long wavering lines of smoke. He missed. +The balloon lay close to the ground, looking +larger, riper than ever. The sight of its smooth, +sleek surface was the most tantalizing of invitations. +Letting it pass under me again, I waited +for a second or two, then shut down the motor, +and pushed forward on the control-stick until +I was falling vertically. Standing upright on +the rudder-bar, I felt the tugging of the shoulder-straps. +Getting the bag well within the +sights, I held it there until it just filled the +circle. Then I pushed the button.</p> + + +<p style="padding-top: 1.5em">Although it was only eight o'clock, both Drew +and I were in bed; for we were both very tired, +it was a chilly evening, and we had no fire. +An oil lamp was on the table between the two +cots. Drew was sitting propped up, his fur +coat rolled into a bundle for a back-rest. He +had a sweater, tied by the sleeves, around his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[161]</a></span> +shoulders. His hands were clasped around his +blanketed knees, and his breath, rising in a +cloud of luminous steam,—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“Like pious incense from a censer old,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Seemed taking flight for heaven without a death.”<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>And yet, “pious” is hardly the word. J. B. was +swearing, drawing from a choice reserve of picturesque +epithets which I did not know that he +possessed. I regret the necessity of omitting +some of them.</p> + +<p>“I don't see how I could have missed it! +Why, I didn't turn to look for at least thirty +seconds. I was that sure that I had brought it +down. Then I banked and nearly fell out of my +seat when I saw it there. I redressed at four +hundred metres. I couldn't have been more +than one hundred metres away when I fired the +rockets.”</p> + +<p>“What did you do then?”</p> + +<p>“Circled around, waiting for you. I had the +balloon in sight all the while you were diving. +It was a great sight to watch from below, +particularly when you let go your rockets. +I'll never forget it, never. But, Lord! Without<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[162]</a></span> +the climax! Artistically, it was an awful +fizzle.”</p> + +<p>There was no denying this. A balloon bonfire +was the only possible conclusion to the adventure, +and we both failed at lighting it. I, +too, redressed when very close to the bag, +and made a steep bank in order to escape the +burst of flame from the ignited gas. The rockets +leaped out, with a fine, blood-stirring roar. +The mere sound ought to have been enough to +make any balloon collapse. But when I turned, +there it was, intact, a super-Brobdingnagian +pumpkin, seen at close view, and still ripe, still +ready for plucking. If I live to one hundred +years, I shall never have a greater surprise or a +more bitter disappointment.</p> + +<p>There was no leisure for brooding over it +then. My altimeter registered only two hundred +and fifty metres, and the French lines were +far distant. If the motor failed I should have to +land in German territory. Any fate but that. +Nevertheless, I felt in the pocket of my combination, +to be sure that my box of matches was +safely in place. We were cautioned always to +carry them where they could be quickly got at<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[163]</a></span> +in case of a forced landing in enemy country. +An airman must destroy his machine in such +an event. But my Spad did not mean to end +its career so ingloriously. The motor ran beautifully, +hitting on every cylinder. We climbed +from two hundred and fifty metres to three +hundred and fifty, four hundred and fifty, and +on steadily upward. In the vicinity of the balloon, +machine-gun fire from the ground had +been fairly heavy; but I was soon out of range, +and saw the tracer bullets, like swarms of blue +bubbles, curving downward again at the end +of their trajectory.</p> + +<p>No machines, either French or German, were +in sight. Irving had disappeared some time before +we reached the balloon. I had not seen +Drew from the moment when he fired his rockets. +He waited until he made sure that I was +following, then started for the west side of the +salient. I did not see him, because of my interest +in those clouds of blue bubbles which were +rising with anything but bubble-like tranquillity. +When I was clear of them, I set my course +westward and parallel with the enemy lines to +the south.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[164]</a></span></p> + +<p>I had never flown so low, so far in German +territory. The temptation to forget precaution +and to make a leisurely survey of the +ground beneath was hard to resist. It was not +wholly resisted, in fact. Anti-aircraft fire was +again feeble and badly ranged. The shells burst +far behind and above, for I was much too low +to offer an easy target. This gave me a dangerous +sense of safety, and so I tipped up on one +side, then on the other, examining the roads, +searching the ruins of villages, the trenches, the +shell-marked ground. I saw no living thing; +brute or human; nothing but endless, inconceivable +desolation.</p> + +<p>The foolishness of that close scrutiny alone, +without the protection of other <i>avions</i>, I realize +now much better than I did then. Unless flying +at six thousand metres or above,—when +he is comparatively safe from attack,—a pilot +may never relax his vigilance for thirty seconds +together. He must look behind him, below, +above, constantly. All aviators learn this eventually, +but in the case of many new pilots the +knowledge comes too late to be of service. I +thought this was to be my experience, when,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[165]</a></span> +looking up, I saw five combat machines bearing +down upon me. Had they been enemy planes +my chances would have been very small, for +they were close at hand before I saw them. +The old French aviator, worn out by his five +hundred hours of flight over the trenches, said, +“Save your nervous energy.” I exhausted a +three-months reserve in as many seconds. The +suspense, luckily, was hardly longer than that. +It passed when the patrol leader, followed by +the others, pulled up in <i>ligne de vol</i>, about one +hundred metres above me, showing their French +<i>cocardes</i>. It was the group of protection of +Spa. 87. At the time I saw Drew, a quarter +of a mile away. As he turned, the sunlight +glinted along his rocket-tubes.</p> + +<p>A crowded hour of glorious life it seems now, +although I was not of this opinion at the time. +In reality, we were absent barely forty minutes. +Climbing out of my machine at the aerodrome, +I looked at my watch. A quarter to twelve. +Laignier, the sergeant mechanician, was sitting +in a sunny corner of the hangar, reading the +“Matin,” just as I had left him.</p> + +<p>Lieutenant Talbott's only comment was:<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[166]</a></span> +“Don't let it worry you. Better luck next time. +The group bagged two out of four, and Irving +knocked down a Boche who was trying to get +at you. That isn't bad for half an hour's work.”</p> + +<p>But the decisive effect on morale which was +to result from our wholesale destruction of balloons +was diminished by half. We had forced +ours down, but it bobbed up again very soon afterward. +The one-o'clock patrol saw it, higher, +Miller said, than it had ever been. It was Miller, +by the way, who looked in on us at nine o'clock +the same evening. The lamp was out.</p> + +<p>“Asleep?”</p> + +<p>Neither of us was, but we didn't answer. +He closed the door, then reopened it.</p> + +<p>“It's laziness, that's what it is. They ought +to put you on school régime again.”</p> + +<p>He had one more afterthought. Looking in +a third time, he said,—</p> + +<p>“How about it, you little old human dynamos; +are you getting rusty?”</p> + + + +<h2><a name="VII" id="VII"></a>VII<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[167]</a></span></h2> + +<h3><a name="BROUGHT_DOWN" id="BROUGHT_DOWN"></a>BROUGHT DOWN</h3> + + +<p><span class="smcap">The</span> preceding chapters of this journal have +been written to little purpose if it has not been +made clear that Drew and I, like most pilots +during the first weeks of service at the front, +were worth little to the Allied cause. We were +warned often enough that the road to efficiency +in military aviation is a long and dangerous one. +We were given much excellent advice by aviators +who knew what they were talking about. +Much of this we solicited, in fact, and then +proceeded to disregard it item by item. Eager +to get results, we plunged into our work with +the valor of ignorance, the result being that +Drew was shot down in one of his first encounters, +escaping with his life by one of those more +than miracles for which there is no explanation. +That I did not fare as badly or worse is due +solely to the indulgence of that godfather of +ours, already mentioned, who watched over my +first flights while in a mood beneficently pro-Ally.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[168]</a></span></p> + +<p>Drew's adventure followed soon after our +first patrol, when he had the near combat +with the two-seater. Luckily, on that occasion, +both the German pilot and his machine-gunner +were taken completely off their guard. Not +only did he attack with the sun squarely in his +face, but he went down in a long, gradual dive, +in full view of the gunner, who could not have +asked for a better target. But the man was +asleep, and this gave J. B. a dangerous contempt +for all gunners of enemy nationality.</p> + +<p>Lieutenant Talbott cautioned him. “You +have been lucky, but don't get it into your head +that this sort of thing happens often. Now, I'm +going to give you a standing order. You are +not to attack again, neither of you are to think +of attacking, during your first month here. As +likely as not it would be your luck the next time +to meet an old pilot. If you did, I wouldn't +give much for your chances. He would outmaneuver +you in a minute. You will go out on +patrol with the others, of course; it's the only +way to learn to fight. But if you get lost, go +back to our balloons and stay there until it is +time to go home.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[169]</a></span>”</p> + +<p>Neither of us obeyed this order, and, as it +happened, Drew was the one to suffer. A group +of American officers visited the squadron one +afternoon. In courtesy to our guests, it was +decided to send out all the pilots for an additional +patrol, to show them how the thing was +done. Twelve machines were in readiness for +the sortie, which was set for seven o'clock, the +last one of the day. We were to meet at three +thousand metres, and then to divide forces, +one patrol to cover the east half of the sector +and one the west.</p> + +<p>We got away beautifully, with the exception +of Drew, who had motor-trouble and was five +minutes late in starting. With his permission +I insert here his own account of the adventure—a +letter written while he was in hospital.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>No doubt you are wondering what happened, +listening, meanwhile, to many I-told-you-so explanations +from the others. This will be hard on +you, but bear up, son. It might not be a bad plan +to listen, with the understanding as well as with +the ear, to some expert advice on how to bag the +Hun. To quote the prophetic Miller, “I'm telling +you this for your own good.”</p> + +<p>I gave my name and the number of the escadrille<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[170]</a></span> +to the medical officer at the <i>poste de secours</i>. +He said he would 'phone the captain at once, so +that you must know before this, that I have been +amazingly lucky. I fell the greater part of two +miles—count 'em, two!—before I actually regained +control, only to lose it again. I fainted +while still several hundred feet from the ground; +but more of this later. Couldn't sleep last night. +Had a fever and my brain went on a spree, taking +advantage of my helplessness. I just lay in bed +and watched it function. Besides, there was a great +artillery racket all night long. It appeared to be +coming from our sector, so you must have heard +it as well. This hospital is not very far back and +we get the full orchestral effect of heavy firing. +The result is that I am dead tired to-day. I believe +I can sleep for a week.</p> + +<p>They have given me a bed in the officers' ward—me, +a corporal. It is because I am an American, +of course. Wish there was some way of showing +one's appreciation for so much kindness. My +neighbor on the left is a <i>chasseur</i> captain. A hand-grenade +exploded in his face. He will go through +life horribly disfigured. An old padre, with two +machine-gun bullets in his hip, is on the other side. +He is very patient, but sometimes the pain is +a little too much for him. To a Frenchman, “Oh, +là, là!” is an expression for every conceivable kind +of emotion. In the future it will mean unbearable +physical pain to me. Our orderlies are two <i>poilus</i>, +long past military age. They are as gentle and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[171]</a></span> +thoughtful as the nurses themselves. One of them +brought me lemonade all night long. Worth while +getting wounded just to have something taste so +good.</p> + + +<p style="padding-top: 1.5em">I meant to finish this letter a week ago, but +haven't felt up to it. Quite perky this morning, +so I'll go on with the tale of my “heroic combat.” +Only, first, tell me how that absurd account of it +got into the “Herald”? I hope Talbott knows +that I was not foolish enough to attack six Germans +single-handed. If he doesn't, please enlighten +him. His opinion of my common sense +must be low enough, as it is.</p> + +<p>We were to meet over S—— at three thousand +metres, you remember, and to cover the sector +at five thousand until dusk. I was late in getting +away, and by the time I reached the rendezvous +you had all gone. There wasn't a chasse machine +in sight. I ought to have gone back to the balloons +as Talbott advised, but thought it would be easy +to pick you up later, so went on alone after I had +got some height. Crossed the lines at thirty-five +hundred metres, and finally got up to four thousand, +which was the best I could do with my rebuilt +engine. The Huns started shelling, but +there were only a few of them that barked. I +went down the lines for a quarter of an hour, +meeting two Sopwiths and a Letord, but no Spads. +You were almost certain to be higher than I, but +my old packet was doing its best at four thousand,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[172]</a></span> +and getting overheated with the exertion. Had to +throttle down and <i>pique</i> several times to cool off.</p> + +<p>Then I saw you—at least I thought it was you—about +four kilometres inside the German lines. +I counted six machines, well grouped, one a good +deal higher than the others and one several hundred +metres below them. The pilot on top was +doing beautiful <i>renversements</i> and an occasional +barrel-turn, in Barry's manner. I was so certain +it was our patrol that I started over at once, to +join you. It was getting dusk and I lost sight of +the machine lowest down for a few seconds. +Without my knowing it, he was approaching at +exactly my altitude. You know how difficult it +is to see a machine in that position. Suddenly he +loomed up in front of me like an express train, +as you have seen them approach from the depths +of a moving-picture screen, only ten times faster; +and he was firing as he came. I realized my awful +mistake, of course. His tracer bullets were going +by on the left side, but he corrected his aim, and +my motor seemed to be eating them up. I banked +to the right, and was about to cut my motor and +dive, when I felt a smashing blow in the left +shoulder. A sickening sensation and a very peculiar +one, not at all what I thought it might feel +like to be hit with a bullet. I believed that it +came from the German in front of me. But it +couldn't have, for he was still approaching when +I was hit, and I have learned here that the bullet +entered from behind.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[173]</a></span></p> + +<p>This is the history of less than a minute I'm +giving you. It seemed much longer than that, +but I don't suppose it was. I tried to shut down +the motor, but couldn't manage it because my +left arm was gone. I really believed that it had +been blown off into space until I glanced down +and saw that it was still there. But for any service +it was to me, I might just as well have lost it. +There was a vacant period of ten or fifteen seconds +which I can't fill in. After that I knew that +I was falling, with my motor going full speed. +It was a helpless realization. My brain refused +to act. I could do nothing. Finally, I did have +one clear thought, “Am I on fire?” This cut +right through the fog, brought me up broad +awake. I was falling almost vertically, in a sort +of half <i>vrille</i>. No machine but a Spad could have +stood the strain. The Huns were following me +and were not far away, judging by the sound of +their guns. I fully expected to feel another bullet +or two boring its way through. One did cut the +skin of my right leg, although I didn't know this +until I reached the hospital. Perhaps it was well +that I did fall out of control, for the firing soon +stopped, the Germans thinking, and with reason, +that they had bagged me. Some proud Boche +airman is wearing an iron cross on my account. +Perhaps the whole crew of dare-devils has been +decorated. However, no unseemly sarcasm. We +would pounce on a lonely Hun just as quickly. +There is no chivalry in war in these modern days.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[174]</a></span></p> + +<p>I pulled out of the spin, got the broom-stick +between my knees, reached over, and shut down +the motor with my right hand. The propeller +stopped dead. I didn't much care, being very +drowsy and tired. The worst of it was that I +couldn't get my breath. I was gasping as though +I had been hit in the pit of the stomach. Then +I lost control again and started falling. It was +awful! I was almost ready to give up. I believe +that I said, out loud, “I'm going to be killed. +This is my last sortie.” At any rate, I thought it. +Made one last effort and came out in <i>ligne de vol</i>, +as nearly as I could judge, about one hundred +and fifty metres from the ground. It was an ugly-looking +place for landing, trenches and shell-holes +everywhere. I was wondering in a vague way +whether they were French or German, when I fell +into the most restful sleep I've ever had in my life.</p> + +<p>I have no recollection of the crash, not the +slightest. I might have fallen as gently as a leaf. +That is one thing to be thankful for among a good +many others. When I came to, it was at once, +completely. I knew that I was on a stretcher and +remembered immediately exactly what had happened. +My heart was going pit-a-pat, pit-a-pat, +and I could hardly breathe, but I had no sensation +of pain except in my chest. This made me +think that I had broken every bone in my body. +I tried moving first one leg, then the other, then +my arms, my head, my body. No trouble at all, +except with my left arm and side.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[175]</a></span></p> + +<p>I accepted the miracle without attempting to +explain it, for I had something more important +to wonder about: who had the handles of my +stretcher? The first thing I did was to open my +eyes, but I was bleeding from a scratch on the +forehead and saw only a red blur. I wiped them +dry with my sleeve and looked again. The broad +back in front of me was covered with mud. Impossible +to distinguish the color of the tunic. But +the shrapnel helmet above it was—French! I +was in French hands. If ever I live long enough +in one place, so that I may gather a few possessions +and make a home for myself, on one wall of +my living-room I will have a bust-length portrait, +rear view, of a French <i>brancardier</i>, mud-covered +back and battered tin hat.</p> + +<p>Do you remember our walk with Ménault in +the rain, and the <i>déjeuner</i> at the restaurant where +they made such wonderful omelettes? I am sure +that you will recall the occasion, although you +may have forgotten the conversation. I have +not forgotten one remark of Ménault's apropos +of talk about risks. If a man were willing, he said, +to stake everything for it, he would accumulate +an experience of fifteen or twenty minutes which +would compensate him, a thousand times over, +for all the hazard. “And if you live to be old,” +he said quaintly, “you can never be bored with +life. You will have something, always, very pleasant +to think about.” I mention this in connection +with my discovery that I was not in German<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[176]</a></span> +hands. I have had five minutes of perfect happiness +without any background—no thought of +yesterday or to-morrow—to spoil it.</p> + +<p>I said, “Bonjour, messieurs,” in a gurgling +voice. The man in front turned his head sidewise +and said,—</p> + +<p>“Tiens! Ça va, monsieur l'aviateur?”</p> + +<p>The other one said, “Ah, mon vieux!” You +know the inflection they give this expression, particularly +when it means, “This is something wonderful!” +He added that they had seen the combat +and my fall, and little expected to find the pilot +living, to say nothing of speaking. I hoped that +they would go on talking, but I was being carried +along a trench; they had to lift me shoulder-high +at every turn, and needed all their energy. The +Germans were shelling the lines. Several fell +fairly close, and they brought me down a long +flight of wooden steps into a dugout to wait until +the worst of it should be over. While waiting, they +told me that I had fallen just within the first-line +trenches, at a spot where a slight rise in ground +hid me from sight of the enemy. Otherwise, +they might have had a bad time rescuing me. +My Spad was completely wrecked. It fell squarely +into a trench, the wings breaking the force of the +fall. Before reaching the ground, I turned, they +said, and was making straight for Germany. +Fifty metres higher, and I would have come down +in No Man's Land.</p> + +<p>For a long time we listened in silence to the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[177]</a></span> +subdued <i>crr-ump</i>, <i>crr-ump</i>, of the shells. Sometimes +showers of earth pattered down the stairway, +and we would hear the high-pitched, droning +<i>V-z-z-z</i> of pieces of shell-casing as they +whizzed over the opening. One of them would +say, “Not far, that one”; or, “He's looking for +some one, that fellow,” in a voice without a hint +of emotion. Then, long silences and other deep, +earth-shaking rumbles.</p> + +<p>They asked me, several times, if I was suffering, +and offered to go on to the <i>poste de secours</i> if +I wanted them to. It was not heavy bombardment, +but it would be safer to wait for a little while. +I told them that I was ready to go on at any time, +but not to hurry on my account; I was quite +comfortable.</p> + +<p>The light glimmering down the stairway faded +out and we were in complete darkness. My +brain was amazingly clear. It registered every +trifling impression. I wish it might always be so +intensely awake and active. There seemed to be +four of us in the dugout; the two <i>brancardiers</i>, +and this second self of mine, as curious as an +eavesdropper at a keyhole, listening intently to +everything, and then turning to whisper to me. +The <i>brancardiers</i> repeated the same comments +after every explosion. I thought: “They have +been saying this to each other for over three +years. It has become automatic. They will never +be able to stop.” I was feverish, perhaps. If it +was fever, it burned away any illusions I may have<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[178]</a></span> +had of modern warfare from the infantryman's +viewpoint. I know that there is no glamour in it +for them; that it has long since become a deadly +monotony, an endless repetition of the same kinds +of horror and suffering, a boredom more terrible +than death itself, which is repeating itself in the +same ways, day after day and month after month. +It isn't often that an aviator has the chance I've +had. It would be a good thing if they were to send +us into the trenches for twenty-four hours, every +few months. It would make us keener fighters, +more eager to do our utmost to bring the war to +an end for the sake of those <i>poilus</i>.</p> + +<p>The dressing-station was in a very deep dugout, +lighted by candles. At a table in the center of the +room the medical officer was working over a man +with a terribly crushed leg. Several others were +sitting or lying along the wall, awaiting their +turn. They watched every movement he made in +an apprehensive, animal way, and so did I. They +put me on the table next, although it was not my +turn. I protested, but the doctor paid no attention. +“Aviateur américain,” again. It's a pity +that Frenchmen can't treat us Americans as though +we belong here.</p> + +<p>As soon as the doctor had finished with me, my +stretcher was fastened to a two-wheeled carrier +and we started down a cobbled road to the ambulance +station. I was light-headed and don't remember +much of that part of the journey. Had +to take refuge in another dugout when the Huns<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[179]</a></span> +dropped a shell on an ammunition-dump in a +village through which we were to pass. There +was a deafening banging and booming for a long +time, and when we did go through the town it +was on the run. The whole place was in flames +and small-arms ammunition still exploding. I +remember seeing a long column of soldiers going +at the double in the opposite direction, and they +were in full marching order.</p> + +<p>Well, this is the end of the tale; all of it, at any +rate, in which you would be interested. It was +one o'clock in the morning before I got between +cool, clean sheets, and I was wounded about a +quarter past eight. I have been tired ever since.</p> + +<p>There is another aviator here, a Frenchman, +who broke his jaw and both legs in a fall while +returning from a night bombardment. His bed is +across the aisle from mine; he has a formidable-looking +apparatus fastened on his head and under +his chin, to hold his jaw firm until the bones knit. +He is forbidden to talk, but breaks the rule whenever +the nurse leaves the ward. He speaks a little +English and has told me a delightful story about +the origin of aerial combat. A French pilot, a +friend of his, he says, attached to a certain army +group during August and September, 1914, often +met a German aviator during his reconnaissance +patrols. In those Arcadian days, fighting in the +air was a development for the future, and these +two pilots exchanged greetings, not cordially, +perhaps, but courteously: a wave of the hand, as<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[180]</a></span> +much as to say, “We are enemies, but we need +not forget the civilities.” Then they both went +about their work of spotting batteries, watching +for movements of troops, etc. One morning the +German failed to return the salute. The Frenchman +thought little of this, and greeted him in the +customary manner at their next meeting. To his +surprise, the Boche shook his fist at him in the +most blustering and caddish way. There was no +mistaking the insult. They had passed not fifty +metres from each other, and the Frenchman distinctly +saw the closed fist. He was saddened by +the incident, for he had hoped that some of the +ancient courtesies of war would survive in the +aerial branch of the service, at least. It angered +him too; therefore, on his next reconnaissance, +he ignored the German. Evidently the Boche +air-squadrons were being Prussianized. The enemy +pilot approached very closely and threw a +missile at him. He could not be sure what it was, +as the object went wide of the mark; but he was so +incensed that he made a <i>virage</i>, and drawing a +small flask from his pocket, hurled it at his boorish +antagonist. The flask contained some excellent +port, he said, but he was repaid for the loss in +seeing it crash on the exhaust-pipe of the enemy +machine.</p> + +<p>This marked the end of courtesy and the beginning +of active hostilities in the air. They were +soon shooting at each other with rifles, automatic +pistols, and at last with machine guns. Later<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[181]</a></span> +developments we know about. The night bombarder +has been telling me this yarn in serial +form. When the nurse is present, he illustrates +the last chapter by means of gestures. I am ready +to believe everything but the incident about the +port. That doesn't sound plausible. A Frenchman +would have thrown his watch before making +such a sacrifice!</p></div> + + + +<h2><a name="VIII" id="VIII"></a>VIII<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[182]</a></span></h2> + +<h3><a name="ONE_HUNDRED_HOURS" id="ONE_HUNDRED_HOURS"></a>ONE HUNDRED HOURS</h3> + + +<p><span class="smcap">A little</span> more than a year after our first meeting +in the Paris restaurant which has so many +pleasant memories for us, Drew completed his +first one hundred hours of flight over the lines, +an event in the life of an airman which calls for +a celebration of some sort. Therefore, having +been granted leave for the afternoon, the two +of us came into the old French town of Bar-le-Duc, +by the toy train which wanders down +from the Verdun sector. We had dinner in one +of those homelike little places where the food +is served by the proprietor himself. On this +occasion it was served hurriedly, and the bill +presented promptly at eight o'clock. Our host +was very sorry, but “les sales Boches, vous +savez, messieurs?” They had come the night +before: a dozen houses destroyed, women and +children killed and maimed. With a full moon +to guide them, they would be sure to return +to-night. “Ah, cette guerre! Quand sera-t-elle +finie?” He offered us a refuge until our train<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[183]</a></span> +should leave. Usually, he said, he played +solitaire while waiting for the Germans, but +with houses tumbling about one's ears, he +much preferred company. “And my wife and +I are old people. She is very deaf, heureusement. +She hears nothing.”</p> + +<p>J. B. declined the invitation. “A brave way +that would be to finish our evening!” he said +as we walked down the silent street. “I wanted +to say, 'Monsieur, I have just finished my first +one hundred hours of flight at the front.' But +he wouldn't have known what that means.”</p> + +<p>I said, “No, he wouldn't have known.” +Then we had no further talk for about two +hours. A few soldiers, late arrivals, were prowling +about in the shadow of the houses, searching +for food and a warm kitchen where they +might eat it. Some insistent ones pounded on +the door of a restaurant far in the distance.</p> + +<p>“Dites donc, patron! Nous avons faim, nom +de Dieu! Est-ce-que tout le monde est mort ici?”</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">“Only a host of phantom listeners,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That dwelt in the lone house then,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Stood listening in the quiet of the moonlight<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To that voice from the world of men.”<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[184]</a></span></div></div> + +<p>It was that kind of silence, profound, tense, +ghostlike. We walked through street after +street, from one end of the town to the other, +and saw only one light, a faint glimmer which +came from a slit of a cellar window almost on +the level of the pavement. We were curious, +no doubt. At any rate, we looked in. A woman +was sitting on a cot bed with her arms around +two little children. They were snuggled up +against her and both fast asleep; but she was +sitting very erect, in a strained, listening attitude, +staring straight before her. Since that +night we have believed, both of us, that if wars +can be won only by haphazard night bombardments +of towns where there are women and +children, then they had far better be lost.</p> + +<p>But I am writing a journal of high adventure +of a cleaner kind, in which all the resources in +skill and cleverness of one set of men are pitted +against those of another set. We have no bomb-dropping +to do, and there are but few women +and children living in the territory over which +we fly. One hundred hours is not a great while +as time is measured on the ground, but in +terms of combat patrols, the one hundredth<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[185]</a></span> +part of it has held more of an adventure in the +true meaning of the word than we have had +during the whole of our lives previously.</p> + +<p>At first we were far too busy learning the rudiments +of combat to keep an accurate record +of flying time. We thought our aeroplane clocks +convenient pieces of equipment rather than +necessary ones. I remember coming down from +my first air battle and the breathless account +I gave of it at the bureau, breathless and vague. +Lieutenant Talbott listened quietly, making +out the <i>compte rendu</i> as I talked. When I had +finished, he emphasized the haziness of my answers +to his questions by quoting them: “Region: +'You know, that big wood!' Time: 'This +morning, of course!' Rounds fired: 'Oh, a +lot!'” etc.</p> + +<p>Not until we had been flying for a month or +more did we learn how to make the right use +of our clocks and of our eyes while in the air. +We listened with amazement to after-patrol +talk at the mess. We learned more of what +actually happened on our sorties, after they +were over than while they were in progress. +All of the older pilots missed seeing nothing<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[186]</a></span> +which there was to see. They reported the numbers +of the enemy planes encountered, the +types, where seen and when. They spotted +batteries, trains in stations back of the enemy +lines, gave the hour precisely, reported any activity +on the roads. In moments of exasperation +Drew would say, “I think they are stringing +us! This is all a put-up job!” Certainly +this did appear to be the case at first. For we +were air-blind. We saw little of the activity +all around us, and details on the ground had no +significance. How were we to take thought of +time and place and altitude, note the peculiarities +of enemy machines, count their numbers, +and store all this information away in memory +at the moment of combat? This was a great +problem.</p> + +<p>“What I need,” J. B. used to say, “is a traveling +private secretary. I'll do the fighting and +he can keep the diary.”</p> + +<p>I needed one, too, a man air-wise and battle-wise, +who could calmly take note of my clock, +altimeter, temperature and pressure dials, identify +exactly the locality on my map, count the +numbers of the enemy, estimate their approximate<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[187]</a></span> +altitude,—all this when the air was +criss-crossed with streamers of smoke from +machine-gun tracer bullets, and opposing aircraft +were maneuvering for position, diving +and firing at each other, spiraling, nose-spinning, +wing-slipping, climbing, in a confusing +intermingling of tricolor cocards and black +crosses.</p> + +<p>We made gradual progress, the result being +that our patrols became a hundred-fold more +fascinating, sometimes, in fact, too much so. +It was important that we should be able to +read the ground, but more important still to +remember that what was happening there was +only of secondary concern to us. Often we became +absorbed in watching what was taking +place below us, to the exclusion of any thought +of aerial activity, our chances for attack or of +being attacked. The view, from the air, of a +heavy bombardment, or of an infantry attack +under cover of barrage fires, is a truly terrible +spectacle, and in the air one has a feeling of +detachment which is not easily overcome.</p> + +<p>Yet it must be overcome, as I have said, +and cannot say too many times for the benefit<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[188]</a></span> +of any young airman who may read this journal. +During an offensive the air swarms with +planes. They are at all altitudes, from the lowest +artillery <i>réglage</i> machines at a few hundreds +of metres, to the highest <i>avions de chasse</i> at six +thousand meters and above. <i>Réglage</i>, photographic, +and reconnaissance planes have their +particular work to do. They defend themselves +as best they can, but almost never attack. +Combat <i>avions</i>, on the other hand; are always +looking for victims. They are the ones chiefly +dangerous to the unwary pursuit pilot.</p> + +<p>Drew's first official victory came as the result +of a one-sided battle with an Albatross +single-seater, whose pilot evidently did not +know there was an enemy within miles of him. +No more did J. B. for that matter. “It was +pure accident,” he told me afterward. He had +gone from Rheims to the Argonne forest without +meeting a single German. “And I didn't +want to meet one; for it was Thanksgiving Day. +It has associations for me, you know. I'm a +New Englander.” It is not possible to convince +him that it has any real significance for +men who were not born on the North Atlantic<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[189]</a></span> +seaboard. Well, all the way he had been +humming</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“Over the river and through the wood<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To grandfather's house we go,”<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p style="text-indent: 0em">to himself. It is easy to understand why he +didn't want to meet a German. He must +have been in a curiously mixed frame of mind. +He covered the sector again and passed over +Rheims, going northeast. Then he saw the +Albatross; “and if you had been standing on +one of the towers of the cathedral you would +have seen a very unequal battle.” The German +was about two kilometres inside his own +lines, and at least a thousand metres below. +Drew had every advantage.</p> + +<p>“He didn't see me until I opened fire, and +then, as it happened, it was too late. My gun +didn't jam!”</p> + +<p>The German started falling out of control, +Drew following him down until he lost sight of +him in making a <i>virage</i>.</p> + +<p>I leaned against the canvas wall of a hangar, +registering incredulity. Three times out of +seven, to make a conservative estimate, we +fight inconclusive battles because of faulty<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[190]</a></span> +machine guns or defective ammunition. The +ammunition, most of it that is bad, comes from +America.</p> + +<p>While Drew was giving me the details, an +orderly from the bureau brought word that an +enemy machine had just been reported shot +down on our sector. It was Drew's Albatross, +but he nearly lost official credit for having destroyed +it, because he did not know exactly the +hour when the combat occurred. His watch +was broken and he had neglected asking for +another before starting. He judged the time +of the attack, approximately, as two-thirty, +and the infantry observers, reporting the result, +gave it as twenty minutes to three. The +region in both cases coincided exactly, however, +and, fortunately, Drew's was the only combat +which had taken place in that vicinity during +the afternoon.</p> + +<p>For an hour after his return he was very +happy. He had won his first victory, always +the hardest to gain, and had been complimented +by the commandant, by Lieutenant Nungesser, +the <i>Roi des Aces</i>, and by other French and American +pilots. There is no petty jealousy among<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[191]</a></span> +airmen, and in our group the <i>esprit de corps</i> is +unusually fine. Rivalry is keen, but each +squadron takes almost as much pride in the +work of the other squadrons as it does in its +own.</p> + +<p>The details of the result were horrible. The +Albatross broke up two thousand metres from +the ground, one wing falling within the French +lines. Drew knew what it meant to be wounded +and falling out of control. But his Spad held +together. He had a chance for his life. Supposing +the German to have been merely +wounded—An airman's joy in victory is a +short-lived one.</p> + +<p>Nevertheless, a curious change takes place +in his attitude toward his work, as the months +pass. I can best describe it in terms of Drew's +experience and my own. We came to the front +feeling deeply sorry for ourselves, and for all +airmen of whatever nationality, whose lives +were to be snuffed out in their promising beginnings. +I used to play “The Minstrel Boy to +the War Has Gone” on a tin flute, and Drew +wrote poetry. While we were waiting for our +first machine, he composed “The Airman's<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[192]</a></span> +Rendezvous,” written in the manner of Alan +Seeger's poem.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“And I in the wide fields of air<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Must keep with him my rendezvous.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It may be I shall meet him there<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When clouds, like sheep, move slowly through<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The pathless meadows of the sky<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And their cool shadows go beneath,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I have a rendezvous with Death<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Some summer noon of white and blue.”<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>There is more of it, in the same manner, all +of which he read me in a husky voice. I, too, +was ready to weep at our untimely fate. The +strange thing is that his prophecy came so very +near being true. He had the first draft of the +poem in his breast-pocket when wounded, and +has kept the gory relic to remind him—not +that he needs reminding—of the airy manner +in which he canceled what ought to have been +a <i>bona-fide</i> appointment.</p> + +<p>I do not mean to reflect in any way upon +Alan Seeger's beautiful poem. Who can doubt +that it is a sincere, as well as a perfect, expression +of a mood common to all young soldiers? +Drew was just as sincere in writing his verses, +and I put all the feeling I could into my tin-whistle<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[193]</a></span> +interpretation of “The Minstrel Boy.” +What I want to make clear is, that a soldier's +moods of self-pity are fleeting ones, and if he +lives, he outgrows them.</p> + +<p>Imagination is an especial curse to an airman, +particularly if it takes a gloomy or morbid turn. +We used to write “To whom it may concern” +letters before going out on patrol, in which we +left directions for the notification of our relatives +and the disposal of our personal effects in +case of death. Then we would climb into our +machines thinking, “This may be our last +sortie. We may be dead in an hour, in half an +hour, in twenty minutes.” We planned splendidly +spectacular ways in which we were to be +brought down, always omitting one, however, +the most horrible as well as the most common,—in +flames. Thank Fortune, we have outgrown +this second and belated period of adolescence +and can now take a healthy interest in +our work.</p> + +<p>Now, an inevitable part of the daily routine +is to be shelled, persistently, methodically, and +often accurately shelled. Our interest in this +may, I suppose, be called healthy, inasmuch as<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[194]</a></span> +it would be decidedly unhealthy to become indifferent +to the activities of the German anti-aircraft +gunners. It would be far-fetched to +say that any airman ever looks forward zestfully +to the business of being shot at with one +hundred and fives; and seventy-fives, if they +are well placed, are unpleasant enough. After +one hundred hours of it, we have learned to +assume that attitude of contemptuous toleration +which is the manner common to all <i>pilotes +de chasse</i>. We know that the chances of a direct +hit are almost negligible, and that we have all +the blue dome of the heavens in which to +maneuver.</p> + +<p>Furthermore, we have learned many little +tricks by means of which we can keep the +gunners guessing. By way of illustration, we +are patrolling, let us say, at thirty-five hundred +metres, crossing and recrossing the lines, following +the patrol leader, who has his motor +throttled down so that we may keep well in +formation. The guns may be silent for the +moment, but we know well enough what the +gunners are doing. We know exactly where +some of the batteries are, and the approximate<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[195]</a></span> +location of all of them along the sector; and we +know, from earlier experience, when we come +within range of each individual battery. Presently +one of them begins firing in bursts of +four shells. If their first estimate of our range +has been an accurate one, if they place them +uncomfortably close, so that we can hear, all +too well, above the roar of our motors, the rending +<i>Gr-r-rOW</i>, <i>Gr-r-rOW</i>, of the shells as they +explode, we sail calmly—to all outward appearances—on, +maneuvering very little. The +gunners, seeing that we are not disturbed, will +alter their ranges, four times out of five, which +is exactly what we want them to do.</p> + +<p>The next bursts will be hundreds of metres +below or above us, whereupon we show signs +of great uneasiness, and the gunners, thinking +they have our altitude, begin to fire like demons. +We employ our well-earned immunity in preparing +for the next series of batteries, or in +thinking of the cost to Germany, at one hundred +francs a shot, of all this futile shelling. +Drew, in particular, loves this cost-accounting +business, and I must admit that much pleasure +may be had in it, after patrol. They rarely fire<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[196]</a></span> +less than fifty shells at us during a two-hour +patrol. Making a low general average, the number +is nearer one hundred and fifty. On our +present front, where aerial activity is fairly +brisk and the sector is a large one, three or four +hundred shells are wasted upon us often before +we have been out an hour.</p> + +<p>We have memories of all the good batteries +from Flanders to the Vosges Mountains. Battery +after battery, we make their acquaintance +along the entire sector, wherever we go. Many +of them, of course, are mobile, so that we never +lose the sport of searching for them. Only a +few days ago we located one of this kind which +came into action in the open by the side of a +road. First we saw the flashes and then the +shell-bursts in the same cadence. We tipped up +and fired at him in bursts of twenty to thirty +rounds, which is the only way airmen have of +passing the time of day with their friends, the +enemy anti-aircraft gunners, who ignore the art +of <i>camouflage</i>.</p> + +<p>But we can converse with them, after a +fashion, even though we do not know their +exact position. It will be long before this chapter<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[197]</a></span> +of my journal is in print. Having given no +indication of the date of writing, I may say, +without indiscretion, that we are again on the +Champagne front. We have a wholesome respect +for one battery here, a respect it has +justly earned by shooting which is really remarkable. +We talk of this battery, which is +east of Rheims and not far distant from Nogent +l'Abbesse, and take professional pride in keeping +its gunners in ignorance of their fine marksmanship. +We signal them their bad shots—which +are better than the good ones of most of +the batteries on the sector—by doing stunts, +a barrel turn, a loop, two or three turns of a +<i>vrille</i>.</p> + +<p>As for their good shots, they are often so very +good that we are forced into acrobacy of a +wholly individual kind. Our <i>avions</i> have received +many scars from their shells. Between +forty-five hundred and five thousand metres, +their bursts have been so close under us that +we have been lifted by the concussions and set +down violently again at the bottom of the vacuum; +and this on a clear day when a <i>chasse</i> +machine is almost invisible at that height, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[198]</a></span> +despite its speed of two hundred kilometres +an hour. On a gray day, when we are flying +between twenty-five hundred and three thousand +metres beneath a film of cloud, they repay +the honor we do them by our acrobatic +turns. They bracket us, put barrages between +us and our own lines, give us more trouble than +all the other batteries on the sector combined.</p> + +<p>For this reason it is all the more humiliating +to be forced to land with motor trouble, just +at the moment when they are paying off some +old scores. This happened to Drew while I +have been writing up my journal. Coming out +of a tonneau in answer to three <i>coups</i> from the +battery, his propeller stopped dead. By planing +flatly (the wind was dead ahead, and the +area back of the first lines there is a wide one, +crossed by many intersecting lines of trenches) +he got well over them and chose a field as level +as a billiard table for landing-ground. In the +very center of it, however, there was one post, +a small worm-eaten thing, of the color of the +dead grass around it. He hit it, just as he was +setting his Spad on the ground, the only post +in a field acres wide, and it tore a piece of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[199]</a></span> +fabric from one of his lower wings. No doubt +the crack battery has been given credit for disabling +an enemy plane. The honor, such as it +is, belongs to our aerial godfather, among whose +lesser vices may be included that of practical +joking.</p> + +<p>The remnants of the post were immediately +confiscated for firewood by some <i>poilus</i> who +were living in a dugout near by.</p> + + + +<h2><a name="IX" id="IX"></a>IX<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[200]</a></span></h2> + +<h3>“<a name="LONELY_AS_A_CLOUD" id="LONELY_AS_A_CLOUD"></a>LONELY AS A CLOUD”</h3> + + +<p><span class="smcap">The</span> French attack which has been in preparation +for the past month is to begin at dawn to-morrow. +It has been hard, waiting, but it must +have been a great deal worse for the infantrymen +who are billeted in all of the surrounding +villages. They are moving up to-night to the +first lines, for these are the shock troops who +are to lead the attack. They are chiefly regiments +of Chasseurs—small men in stature, +but clean, hard, well-knit—splendid types. +They talk of the attack confidently. It is an +inspiration to listen to them. Hundreds of +them have visited our aerodrome during the +past week, mainly, I think, for a glimpse of +Whiskey and Soda, our lions, who are known +to French soldiers from one end of the line to +the other. Whiskey is almost full-grown, and +Soda about the size of a wild cat. They have +the freedom of the camp and run about everywhere.</p> + +<p>The guns are thundering at a terrific rate,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[201]</a></span> +the concussions shaking our barracks and +rattling the dishes on the table. In the messroom +the gramophone is playing, “I'm going +'way back home and have a wonderful time.” +Music at the front is sometimes a doubtful +blessing.</p> + +<p>We are keyed up, some of us, rather nervous +in anticipation of to-morrow. Porter is trying +to give Irving a light from his own cigarette. +Irving, who doesn't know the meaning of +nerves, asks him who in hell he is waving at. +Poor old Porter! His usefulness as a combat +pilot has long past, but he hangs on, doing the +best he can. He should have been sent to the +rear months ago.</p> + +<p>The first phase of the battle is over. The +French have taken eleven thousand prisoners, +and have driven the enemy from all the hills +down to the low ground along the canal. For +the most part, we have been too high above +them to see the infantry actions; but knowing +the plans and the objectives beforehand, we +have been able to follow, quite closely, the +progress of the battle.</p> + +<p>It opened on a wet morning with the clouds<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[202]</a></span> +very low. We were to have gone on patrol +immediately the attack commenced, but this +was impossible. About nine o'clock the rain +stopped, and Rodman and Davis were sent out +to learn weather conditions over the lines. They +came back with the report that flying was possible +at two hundred metres. This was too low +an altitude to serve any useful purpose, and +the commandant gave us orders to stand by.</p> + +<p>About noon the clouds began to break up, +and both high and low patrols prepared to leave +the ground. Drew, Dunham, and I were on +high patrol, with Lieutenant Barry leading. +Our orders were to go up through the clouds, +using them as cover for making surprise attacks +upon enemy <i>réglage</i> machines. We were also to +attack any enemy formations sighted within +three kilometres of their old first lines. The +clouds soon disappeared and so we climbed to +forty-five hundred metres and lay in wait for +combat patrols.</p> + +<p>Barry sighted one and signaled. Before I +had placed it, he dived, almost full motor, I +believe, for he dropped like a stone. We went +down on his tail and saw him attack the topmost<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[203]</a></span> +of three Albatross single-seaters. The +other two dived at once, far into their own lines. +Dunham, Drew, and I took long shots at them, +but they were far outside effective range. The +topmost German made a feeble effort to maneuver +for position. Barry made a <i>renversement</i> +with the utmost nicety of judgment and came +out of it about thirty metres behind and above +the Albatross. He fired about twenty shots, +when the German began falling out of control, +spinning round and round, then diving straight, +then past the vertical, so that we could see the +silver under-surface of his wings and tail, spinning +again until we lost sight of him.<a name="FNanchor_1_1" id="FNanchor_1_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a></p> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_1_1" id="Footnote_1_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_1"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> This combat was seen from the ground, and Barry's +victory was confirmed before we returned to the field.</p></div> + +<p>Lieutenant Talbott joined us as we were +taking our height again. He took command of +the patrol and Barry went off hunting by himself, +as he likes best to do. There were planes +everywhere, of both nationalities. Mounting to +four thousand metres within our own lines, we +crossed over again, and at that moment I saw +a Letord, a three-passenger <i>réglage</i> machine, +burst into flames and fall. There was no time +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[204]</a></span>either to watch or to think of this horrible sight. +We encountered a patrol of five Albatross planes +almost on our level. Talbott dived at once. I +was behind him and picked a German who was +spiraling either upward or downward, for a few +seconds I was not sure which. It was upward. +He was climbing to offer combat. This was +disconcerting. It always is to a green pilot. +If your foe is running, you may be sure he is +at least as badly rattled as you are. If he is a +single-seater and climbing, you may be equally +certain that he is not a novice, and that he has +plenty of sand. Otherwise he would not accept +battle at a disadvantage in the hope of having +his inning next.</p> + +<p>I was foolish enough to begin firing while +still about three hundred metres distant. My +opponent ungraciously offered the poorest kind +of a target, getting out of the range of my +sights by some very skillful maneuvering. I +didn't want him to think that he had an inexperienced +pilot to deal with. Therefore, judging +my distance very carefully, I did a <i>renversement</i> +in the Lieutenant Barry fashion. But it +was not so well done. Instead of coming out<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[205]</a></span> +of it above and behind the German, when I +pulled up in <i>ligne de vol</i> I was under him!</p> + +<p>I don't know exactly what happened then, +but the next moment I was falling in a <i>vrille</i> +(spinning nose dive) and heard the well-known +crackling sound of machine-gun fire. I kept +on falling in a <i>vrille</i>, thinking this would give +the German the poorest possible target.<a name="FNanchor_2_2" id="FNanchor_2_2"></a><a href="#Footnote_2_2" class="fnanchor">[2]</a></p> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_2_2" id="Footnote_2_2"></a><a href="#FNanchor_2_2"><span class="label">[2]</span></a> A mistake which many new pilots make. In a <i>vrille</i>, the +machine spins pretty nearly on its own axis, and although +it is turning, a skillful pilot above it can keep it fairly well +within the line of his sights.</p></div> + +<p>Pulling up in <i>ligne de vol</i> I looked over my +shoulder again. The German had lost sight of +me for a moment in the swiftness of his dive, +but evidently he saw me just before I pulled +out of the <i>vrille</i>. He was turning up for another +shot, in exactly the same position in which I +had last seen him. And he was very close, not +more than fifty metres distant.</p> + +<p>I believed, of course, that I was lost; and why +that German didn't bag me remains a mystery. +Heaven knows I gave him opportunity enough! +In the end, by the merciful intervention of +Chance, our godfather, I escaped. I have said +that the sky had cleared. But there was one +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[206]</a></span>strand of cloud left, not very broad, not very +long; but a refuge,—oh! what a welcome +refuge! It was right in my path and I tumbled +into it, literally, head over heels. I came skidding +out, but pulled up, put on my motor, +and climbed back at once; and I kept turning +round and round in it for several minutes. If +the German had waited, he must have seen me +raveling it out like a cat tangled in a ball of +cotton. I thought that he was waiting. I even +expected him to come nosing into it, in search +of me. In that case there would have been a +glorious smash, for there wasn't room for two +of us. I almost hoped that he would try this. +If I couldn't bag a German with my gun, the +next best thing was to run into him and so be +gathered to my fathers while he was being +gathered to his. There was no crash, and taking +sudden resolution, I dived vertically out of +the cloud, head over shoulder, expecting to see +my relentless foe. He was nowhere in sight.</p> + +<p>In that wild tumble, and while chasing my +tail in the cloud, I lost my bearings. The compass, +which was mounted on a swinging holder, +had been tilted upside down. It stuck in that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[207]</a></span> +position. I could not get it loose. I had fallen +to six hundred metres, so that I could not get a +large view of the landscape. Under the continuous +bombardment the air was filled with smoke, +and through it nothing looked familiar. I knew +the direction of our lines by the position of the +sun, but I was in a suspicious mood. My motor, +which I had praised to the heavens to the other +pilots, had let me down at a critical moment. +The sun might be ready to play some fantastic +trick. I had to steer by it, although I was uneasy +until I came within sight of our observation +balloons. I identified them as French by +sailing close to one of them so that I could see +the tricolor pennant floating out from a cord +on the bag.</p> + +<p>Then, being safe, I put my old Spad through +every antic we two had ever done together. +The observers in the balloons must have +thought me crazy, a pilot running amuck from +aerial shell shock. I had discovered a new +meaning for that “grand and glorious feeling” +which is so often the subject of Briggs's cartoons.</p> + +<p>Looking at my watch I received the same old<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[208]</a></span> +start of surprise upon learning how much of +wisdom one may accumulate in a half-hour of +aerial adventure. I had still an hour and a half +to get through with before I could go home with +a clear conscience. Therefore, taking height +again, I went cautiously, gingerly, watchfully, +toward the lines.</p> + + + +<h2><a name="X" id="X"></a>X<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[209]</a></span></h2> + +<h3>“<a name="MAIS_OUI_MON_VIEUX" id="MAIS_OUI_MON_VIEUX"></a>MAIS OUI, MON VIEUX!”</h3> + + +<p><span class="smcap">The</span> “grand and glorious feeling” is one of the +finest compensations for this uncertain life in +the air. One has it every time he turns from the +lines toward—home! It comes in richer glow, +if hazardous work has been done, after moments +of strain, uncertainty, when the result of +a combat sways back and forth; and it gushes +up like a fountain, when, after making a forced +landing in what appears to be enemy territory, +you find yourself among friends.</p> + +<p>Late this afternoon we started, four of us, +with Davis as leader, to make the usual two-hour +sortie over the lines. No Germans were +sighted, and after an uneventful half-hour, +Davis, who is always springing these surprises, +decided to stalk them in their lairs. The clouds +were at the right altitude for this, and there +were gaps in them over which we could hover, +examining roads, railroads, villages, cantonments. +The danger of attack was negligible. +We could easily escape any large hostile patrol<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[210]</a></span> +by dodging into the clouds. But the wind was +unfavorable for such a reconnaissance. It was +blowing into Germany. We would have it dead +against us on the journey home.</p> + +<p>We played about for a half-hour, blown by a +strong wind farther into Germany than we +knew. We walked down the main street of a +village where we saw a large crowd of German +soldiers, spraying bullets among them, then +climbed into the clouds before a shot could be +fired at us. Later we nearly attacked a hospital, +mistaking it for an aviation field. It was +housed in <i>bessonneau</i> hangars, and had none of +the marks of a hospital excepting a large red +cross in the middle of the field. Fortunately +we saw this before any of us had fired, and +passed on over it at a low altitude to attack a +train. There is a good deal of excitement in an +expedition of this kind, and soldiers themselves +say that surprise sorties from the air have a +demoralizing effect upon troops. But as a form +of sport, there is little to be said for it. It is too +unfair. For this reason, among others, I was +glad when Davis turned homeward.</p> + +<p>While coming back I climbed to five thousand<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[211]</a></span> +metres, far above the others, and lagged a +long way behind them. This was a direct violation +of patrol discipline, and the result was, +that while cruising leisurely along, with motor +throttled down, watching the swift changes of +light over a wide expanse of cloud, I lost sight +of the group. Then came the inevitable feeling +of loneliness, and the swift realization that it +was growing late and that I was still far within +enemy country.</p> + +<p>I held a southerly course, estimating, as I +flew, the velocity of the wind which had carried +us into Germany, and judging from this estimate +the length of time I should need to reach +our lines. When satisfied that I had gone far +enough, I started down. Below the clouds it +was almost night, so dark that I could not be +sure of my location. In the distance I saw a +large building, brilliantly lighted. This was +evidence enough that I was a good way from +the lines. Unshielded windows were never to +be seen near the front. I spiraled slowly down +over this building, examining, as well as I could, +the ground behind it, and decided to risk a +landing. A blind chance and blind luck attended<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[212]</a></span> +it. In broad day, Drew hit the only +post in a field five hundred metres wide. At +night, a very dark night, I missed colliding +with an enormous factory chimney (a matter of +inches), glided over a line of telegraph wires, +passed at a few metres' height over a field littered +with huge piles of sugar beets, and settled, +<i>comme une fleur</i>, in a little cleared space which +I could never have judged accurately had I +known what I was doing.</p> + +<p>Shadowy figures came running toward me. +Forgetting, in the joy of so fortunate a landing, +my anxiety of a moment before, I shouted out, +“Bonsoir, messieurs!” Then I heard some one +say, “Ich glaube—” losing the rest of it in the +sound of tramping feet and an undercurrent of +low, guttural murmurs. In a moment my Spad +was surrounded by a widening circle of round +hats, German infantrymen's hats.</p> + +<p>Here was the ignoble end to my career as an +airman. I was a prisoner, a prisoner because of +my own folly, because I had dallied along like +a silly girl, to “look at the pretty clouds.” I +saw in front of me a long captivity embittered +by this thought. Not only this: my Spad was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[213]</a></span> +intact. The German authorities would examine +it, use it. Some German pilot might fly with it +over the lines, attack other French machines +with my gun, my ammunition!</p> + +<p>Not if I could help it! They stood there, +those soldiers, gaping, muttering among themselves, +waiting, I thought, for an officer to tell +them what to do. I took off my leather gloves, +then my silk ones under them, and these I +washed about in the oil under my feet. Then, +as quietly as possible, I reached for my box of +matches.</p> + +<p>“Qu'est-ce-que vous faites là? Allez! Vite!”</p> + +<p>A tramping of feet again, and a sea of round +hats bobbing up and down and vanishing in +the gloom. Then I heard a cheery “Ça va, +monsieur? Pas de mal?” By way of answer I +lighted a match and held it out, torch fashion. +The light glistened on a round, red face and a +long French bayonet. Finally I said, “Vous êtes +Français, monsieur?” in a weak, watery voice.</p> + +<p>“Mais oui, mon vieux! Mais oui!” this rather +testily. He didn't understand at first that I +thought myself in Germany. “Do I look like a +Boche?<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[214]</a></span>”</p> + +<p>Then I explained, and I have never heard a +Frenchman laugh more heartily. Then he explained +and I laughed, not so heartily, a great +deal more foolishly.</p> + +<p>I may not give my location precisely. But I +shall be disclosing no military secrets in saying +that I am not in Germany. I am not even in +the French war-zone. I am closer to Paris than +I am to the enemy first-line trenches. In a little +while the sergeant with the round red face and +the long French bayonet, whose guest I am for +the night, will join me here. If he were an +American, to the manner born and bred, and if +he knew the cartoons of that man Briggs, he +might greet me in this fashion:—</p> + +<p>“When you have been on patrol a long way +behind the enemy lines, shooting up towns and +camps and railway trains like a pack of aerial +cowboys; when, on your way home, you have +deliberately disobeyed orders and loafed a long +way behind the other members of your group +in order to watch the pretty sunset, and, as a +punishment for this æsthetic indulgence, have +been overtaken by darkness and compelled to +land in strange country, only to have your<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[215]</a></span> +machine immediately surrounded by German +soldiers; then, having taken the desperate resolve +that they shall not have possession of +your old battle-scarred <i>avion</i> as well as of your +person, when you are about to touch a match +to it, if the light glistens on a long French bayonet +and you learn that the German soldiers +have been prisoners since the battle of the +Somme, and have just finished their day's work +at harvesting beets to be used in making sugar +for French <i>poilus</i>—Oh, BOY! Ain't it a +GRAND AND GLORYUS FEELING?”</p> + +<p>To which I would reply in his own memorable +words,—</p> + +<p>“Mais oui, mon vieux! Mais <span class="smcap">Oui</span>!”</p> + + + +<h2><a name="XI" id="XI"></a>XI<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[216]</a></span></h2> + +<h3><a name="THE_CAMOUFLAGED_COWS" id="THE_CAMOUFLAGED_COWS"></a>THE CAMOUFLAGED COWS</h3> + + +<p><span class="smcap">Nancy</span>, a moonlight night, and “les sales +Boches encore.” I have been out on the balcony +of this old hotel, a famous tourist resort +before the war, watching the bombardment +and listening to the deep throb of the motors of +German Gothas. They have dropped their +bombs without doing any serious damage. +Therefore, I may return in peace to my huge +bare room, to write, while it is still fresh in +mind, “The Adventure of the Camouflaged +Cows.”</p> + +<p>For the past ten days I have been attached—it +is only a temporary transfer—to a +French <i>escadrille</i> of which Manning, an American, +is a member. The <i>escadrille</i> had just been +sent to a quiet part of the front for two weeks' +<i>repos</i>, but the day after my arrival orders came +to fly to Belfort, for special duty.</p> + +<p>Belfort! On the other side of the Vosges +Mountains, with the Rhine Valley, the Alps, +within view, within easy flying distance! And<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[217]</a></span> +for special duty. It is a vague order which may +mean anything. We discussed its probable +meaning for us, while we were pricking out our +course on our maps.</p> + +<p>“Protection of bombardment <i>avions</i>” was André's +guess. “Night combat” was Raynaud's. +Every one laughed at this last hazard. “You +see?” he said, appealing to me, the newcomer. +“They think I am big fool. But wait.” Then, +breaking into French, in order to express himself +more fluently: “It is coming soon, <i>chasse +de nuit</i>. It is not at all impossible. One can +see at night, a moonlight night, very clearly +from the air. They are black shadows, the +other <i>avions</i> which you pass, but often, when +the moonlight strikes their wings, they flash +like silver. We must have searchlights, of +course; then, when one sees those shadows, +those great black Gothas, <i>vite! la lumière!</i> +Pop-pop-pop-pop-pop! C'est fini!”</p> + +<p>The discussion of the possibility or impossibility +of night combat continued warmly. The +majority of opinion was unfavorable to it: a +useless waste of gasoline; the results would +not pay for the wear and tear upon valuable<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[218]</a></span> +fighting planes. Raynaud was not to be persuaded. +“Wait and see,” he said. There was a +reminiscent thrill in his voice, for he is an old +night bombarding pilot. He remembered with +longing, I think, his romantic night voyages, +the moonlight falling softly on the roofs of +towns, the rivers like ribbons of silver, the forests +patches of black shadow. “Really, it is +an adventure, a night bombardment.”</p> + +<p>“But how about your objectives?” I asked. +“At night you can never be sure of hitting them, +and, well, you know what happens in French +towns.”</p> + +<p>“It is why I asked for my transfer to <i>chasse</i>,” +he told me afterward. “But the Germans, the +blond beasts! Do they care? Nancy, Belfort, +Châlons, Epernay, Rheims, Soissons, Paris,—all +our beautiful towns! I am a fool! We must +pay them back, the Huns! Let the innocent +suffer with the guilty!”</p> + +<p>He became a combat pilot because he had +not the courage of his conviction.</p> + +<p>We started in flights of five machines, following +the Marne and the Marne Canal to Bar-le-Duc, +then across country to Toul, where we<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[219]</a></span> +landed to fill our fuel tanks. Having bestowed +many favors upon me for a remarkably long +period, our aerial godfather decided that I had +been taking my good fortune too much for +granted. Therefore, he broke my tail skid for +me as I was making what I thought a beautiful +<i>atterrissage</i>. It was late in the afternoon, so the +others went on without me, the captain giving +orders that I should join them, weather permitting, +the next day.</p> + +<p>“Follow the Moselle until you lose it in +the mountains. Then pick up the road which +leads over the Ballon d'Alsace. You can't miss +it.”</p> + +<p>I did, nevertheless, and as always, when lost, +through my own fault. I followed the Moselle +easily enough until it disappeared in small +branching streams in the heart of the mountains. +Then, being certain of my direction, I +followed an irregular course, looking down from +a great height upon scores of little mountain +villages, untouched by war. After weeks of +flying over the desolation of more northerly +sectors of the front, this little indulgence seemed +to me quite a legitimate one.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[220]</a></span></p> + +<p>But my Spad (I was always flying tired old +<i>avions</i> in those days, the discards of older +pilots) began to show signs of fatigue. The +pressure went down. Neither motor nor hand +pump would function, the engine began to gasp, +and, although I instantly switched on to my +reserve tank, it expired with shuddering coughs. +The propeller, after making a few spins in the +reverse direction, stopped dead.</p> + +<p>I had been in a most comfortable frame of +mind all the way, for a long cross-country aerial +journey, well behind the zone of fire, is a welcome +relaxation after combat patrols. It is +odd how quickly one's attitude toward rugged, +beautiful country changes, when one is faced +with the necessity of finding landing-ground +there. The steep ravines yawn like mouths. +The peaks of the mountains are teeth—ragged, +sinister-looking teeth. Being at five thousand +metres I had ample time in which to make a +choice—ample time, too, for wondering if, +by a miscalculation, I had crossed the trench +lines, which in that region are hardly visible +from the air.</p> + +<p>I searched anxiously for a wide valley where<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[221]</a></span> +it would be possible to land in safety. While +still three thousand metres from the ground I +found one. Not only a field. There were <i>bessonneau</i> +hangars on it. An aerodrome! A moment +of joy,—“but German, perhaps!”—followed +by another of anxiety. It was quickly +relieved by the sight of a French reconnaissance +plane spiraling down for a landing. I landed, +too, and found that I was only a ten-minutes' +flight from my destination.</p> + + +<p style="padding-top: 1.5em">With other work to do, I did not finish the +story of my adventure with the camouflaged +cows, and I am wondering now why I thought +it such a corking one. The cows had something +to do with it. We were returning from Belfort +to Verdun when I met them. Our special duty +had been to furnish aerial protection to the +King of Italy, who was visiting the French lines +in the Vosges. This done we started northward +again. Over the highest of the mountains my +motor pump failed as before. I got well past +the mountains before the essence in my reserve +tank gave out. Then I planed as flatly as possible, +searching for another aviation field.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[222]</a></span> +There were none to be found in this region, +rough, hilly country, much of it covered with +forests. I chose a miniature sugar-loaf mountain +for landing-ground. It appeared to be free +from obstacles, and the summit, which was pasture +and ploughed land, seemed wide enough to +settle on.</p> + +<p>I got the direction of the wind from the +smoke blowing from the chimneys of a near-by +village, and turned into it. As I approached, +the hill loomed more and more steeply in front +of me. I had to pull up at a climbing angle to +keep from nosing into the side of it. About this +time I saw the cows, dozens of them, grazing +over the whole place. Their natural <i>camouflage</i> +of browns and whites and reds prevented my +seeing them earlier. Making spectacular <i>virages</i>, +I missed collisions by the length of a +match-stick. At the summit of the hill, my +wheels touched ground for the first time, and +I bounded on, going through a three-strand +wire fence and taking off a post without any +appreciable decrease in speed. Passing between +two large apple trees, I took limbs from each +of them, losing my wings in doing so. My landing<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[223]</a></span> +chassis was intact and my Spad went on +down the reverse slope—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“Like an embodied joy, whose race is just begun.”<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>After crashing through a thicket of brush and +small trees, I came to rest, both in body and in +mind, against a stone wall. There was nothing +left of my machine but the seat. Unscathed, I +looked back along the wreckage-strewn path, +like a man who has been riding a whirlwind in +a wicker chair.</p> + +<p>Now, I have never yet made a forced landing +in strange country without having the mayor of +the nearest village appear on the scene very +soon afterward. I am beginning to believe that +the mayors of all French towns sit on the roofs +of their houses, field-glasses in hand, searching +the sky for wayward aviators, and when they +see one landing, they rush to the spot on foot, +on horseback, in old-fashioned family phaetons, +by means of whatever conveyance most likely to +increase expedition their municipality affords.</p> + +<p>The mayor of V.-sur-I. came on foot, for he +had not far to go. Indeed, had there been one +more cow browsing between the apple trees,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[224]</a></span> +I should have made a last <i>virage</i> to the left, in +which case I should have piled up against a +summer pavilion in the mayor's garden. Like +all French mayors of my experience, he was a +courteous, big-hearted gentleman.</p> + +<p>After getting his breath,—he was a fleshy +man, and had run all the way from his house,—he +said, “Now, my boy, what can I do for you?”</p> + +<p>First he placed a guard around the wreckage +of my machine; then we had tea in the summer +pavilion, where I explained the reason for my +sudden visit. While I was telling him the story, +I noticed that every window of the house, which +stood at one end of the garden, was crowded +with children's heads. War orphans, I guessed. +Either that or the children of a large family of +sons at the front. He was the kind of man who +would take them all into his own home.</p> + +<p>Having frightened his cows,—they must +have given cottage cheese for a week afterward,—destroyed +his fences, broken his apple trees, +accepted his hospitality, I had the amazing +nerve to borrow money from him. I had no +choice in the matter, for I was a long way from +Verdun, with only eighty centimes in my pocket.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[225]</a></span> +Had there been time I would have walked +rather than ask him for the loan. He granted it +gladly, and insisted upon giving me double the +amount which I required.</p> + +<p>I promised to go back some day for a visit. +First I will do acrobacy over the church steeple, +and then, if the cows are not in the pasture, I +am going to land, <i>comme une fleur</i>, as we airmen +say, on that hill.</p> + + + +<h2><a name="XII" id="XII"></a>XII<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[226]</a></span></h2> + +<h3><a name="CAFARD" id="CAFARD"></a>CAFARD</h3> + + +<p><span class="smcap">It</span> is mid-January, snowing, blowing, the thermometer +below zero. We have done no flying +for five days. We have read our most recent +magazines from cover to cover, including the +advertisements, many of which we find more +interesting, better written, than the stories. We +have played our latest phonograph record for +the five hundred and ninety-eighth time. Now +we are hugging our one stove, which is no larger +than a length of good American stove-pipe, in +the absurd hope of getting a fleeting promise +of heat.</p> + +<p>Boredom, insufferable boredom. There is no +American expression—there will be soon, no +doubt—for this disease which claims so many +victims from the Channel coast to the borders +of Switzerland. The British have it without +giving it a name. They say “Fed up and far +from home.” The more inventive French call +it “Cafard.”</p> + +<p>Our outlook upon life is warped, or, to use a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[227]</a></span> +more seasonable expression, frozen. We are not +ourselves. We make sarcastic remarks about +one another. We hold up for ridicule individual +peculiarities of individuality. Some one, tiring +of this form of indoor sports, starts the phonograph +again.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Wind, wind, wind (the crank)<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Kr-r-r-r-r-r-r (the needle on the disk)<br /></span> +<span class="i0">La-dee-dum, dee-doodle, di-dee-day (the orchestral introduction)<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i6">Sometimes when I feel sad<br /></span> +<span class="i6">And things look blue,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">I wish the boy I had<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Was one like you—<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>“For the love of Pete! Shut off that damn +silly thing!”</p> + +<p>“I admire your taste, Irving!”</p> + +<p>“Can it!”</p> + +<p>“Well, what will you have, then?”</p> + +<p>“Play that Russian thing, the 'Danse des +Buffons.'”</p> + +<p>“Don't play anything.”</p> + +<p>“Lord! I wish some one would send us some +new records.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, instead of knitted wristers—what?”</p> + +<p>“And mufflers.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[228]</a></span>”</p> + +<p>“Talking about wristers, how many pair do +you think I've received? Eight!”</p> + +<p>“You try to head 'em off. Doesn't do any +good. They keep coming just the same.”</p> + +<p>“It's because they are easy to make. Working +wristers and mufflers is a method of dodging +the knitting draft.”</p> + +<p>“Well, now, I call that gratitude! You don't +deserve to have any friends.”</p> + +<p>“Isn't it the truth? Have you ever known +of a soldier or an aviator who wore wristers?”</p> + +<p>“I give mine to my mechanician. He sends +them home, and his wife unravels the yarn and +makes sweaters for the youngsters.”</p> + +<p>“Think of the waste energy. Harness up the +wrist-power and you could keep three aircraft +factories going day and night.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, well, if it amuses the women, what's +the difference?”</p> + +<p>“That's not the way to look at it. They +ought to be doing something useful.”</p> + +<p>“Plenty of them are; don't forget that, old +son.”</p> + +<p>“Anybody got anything to read?”</p> + +<p>“Now, if they would send us more books<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[229]</a></span>—”</p> + +<p>“And magazines—”</p> + +<p>“Two weeks ago, Blake, you were wishing +they wouldn't send so many.”</p> + +<p>“What of it? We were having fine weather +then.”</p> + +<p>“There ought to be some system about sending +parcels to the front.”</p> + +<p>“The Germans have it, they say. Soldier +wants a book, on engineering, for example, or a +history, or an anthology of recent poetry. Gets +it at once through Government channels.”</p> + +<p>“Say what you like about the Boches, they +don't know the meaning of waste energy.”</p> + +<p>“But you can't have method and efficiency +in a democracy.”</p> + +<p>“There you go! Same old fallacy!”</p> + +<p>“No fallacy about it! Efficiency and personal +freedom don't go together. They never +have and they never will.”</p> + +<p>“And what does our personal freedom +amount to? When you get down to brass tacks, +personal freedom is a mighty poor name for it, +speaking for four fifths of the population.”</p> + +<p>“Germany doesn't want it, our brand, and +we can't force it on her.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[230]</a></span>”</p> + +<p>“And without it, she has a mighty good +chance of winning this war—”</p> + +<p>When the talk begins with the uselessness of +wristers, shifts from that to democratic inefficiency, +and from that to the probability of +<i>Deutschland über Alles</i>, you may be certain of +the diagnosis. The disease is <i>cafard</i>.</p> + +<p>The sound of a motor-car approaching. Dunham +rushes to the window and then swears, +remembering our greased-cloth window panes.</p> + +<p>“Go and see who it is, Tiffin, will you? Hope +it's the mail orderly.”</p> + +<p>Tiffin goes on outpost and reports three +civilians approaching.</p> + +<p>“Now, who can they be, I wonder?”</p> + +<p>“Newspaper men probably.”</p> + +<p>“Good Lord! I hope not.”</p> + +<p>“Another American mission.”</p> + +<p>“That's my guess, too.”</p> + +<p>Rodman is right. It is another American +mission coming to “study conditions” at the +front.</p> + +<p>“But unofficially, gentlemen, quite unofficially,” +says Mr. A., its head, a tall, melancholy-looking +man, with a deep, bell-like voice.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[231]</a></span> +Mr. B., the second member of the mission, is in +direct contrast, a birdlike little man, who twitters +about the room, from group to group.</p> + +<p>“Oh! If you boys only knew how <i>splendid</i> +you are! How much we in America—You are +our <i>first</i> representatives at the front, you know. +You are the vanguard of the <i>millions</i> who—” +etc.</p> + +<p>Miller looks at me solemnly. His eyes are +saying, “How long, O Lord, how long!”</p> + +<p>Mr. C., the third member, is a silent man. +He has keen, deep-set eyes. “There,” we say, +“is the brain of the mission.”</p> + +<p>Tea is served very informally. Mr. A. is +restless. He has something on his mind. Presently +he turns to Lieutenant Talbott.</p> + +<p>“May I say a few words to your squadron?”</p> + +<p>“Certainly,” says Talbott, glancing at us +uneasily.</p> + +<p>Mr. A. rises, steps behind his chair, clears +his throat, and looks down the table where ten +pilots,—the others are taking a constitutional +in the country,—caught in négligée attire by +the unexpected visitors, are sitting in attitudes +of polite attention.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[232]</a></span></p> + +<p>“My friends—” the deep, bell-like voice. +In fancy, I hear a great shifting of chairs, and +following the melancholy eyes with my own, +over the heads of my ten fellow pilots, beyond +the limits of our poor little messroom, I see a +long vista of polished shirt fronts, a diminishing +track of snowy linen, shimmering wineglasses, +shining silver.</p> + +<p>“My friends, believe me when I say that this +occasion is one of the proudest and happiest of +my life. I am standing within sound of the +guns which for three—long—years have been +battering at the bulwarks of civilization. I hear +them, as I utter these words, and I look into the +faces of a little group of Americans who, day +after day, and week after week” (increasing +emphasis) “have been facing those guns for the +honor and glory of democratic institutions” +(rising inflection).</p> + +<p>“We in America have heard them, faintly, +perhaps, yet unmistakably, and now I come to +tell you, in the words of that glorious old war +song, 'We are coming, Father Woodrow, ONE +HUN-DRED MIL-LION strong!'”</p> + +<p>We listen through to the end, and Lieutenant<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[233]</a></span> +Talbott, in his official capacity, begins to applaud. +The rest of us join in timidly, self-consciously. +I am surprised to find how awkwardly +we do it. We have almost forgotten how +to clap our hands! My sense of the spirit of +place changes suddenly. I am in America. I +am my old self there, with different thoughts, +different emotions. I see everything from my +old point of view. I am like a man who has forgotten +his identity. I do not recover my old, or, +better, my new one, until our guests have gone.</p> + + +<h3 style="padding-top: 2em"><a name="FROM_A_LETTER" id="FROM_A_LETTER"></a>FROM A LETTER RECEIVED IN BOSTON,<br /> +OCTOBER 1, 1918</h3> + +<p class="right"> +<span class="smcap">Offiziers-Kriegsgefangenen Lager,<br /> +Karlsruhe, Baden, Deutschland</span><br /> +<span style="padding-right: 5em"><i>July 27, 1918</i></span> +</p> + +<p>I've been wondering about the ultimate +fate of my poor old “High Adventure” story, +whether it was published without those long +promised concluding chapters which I really +should have sent on had I not had the misfortune +to be taken prisoner. I hope the book has +been published, incomplete as it is. Not that I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[234]</a></span> +am particularly proud of it as a piece of literature!</p> + +<p>I told you briefly, on my card, how I happened +to be taken prisoner. We were a patrol +of three and attacked a German formation at +some distance behind their lines. I was diving +vertically on an Albatross when my upper +right plane gave way under the strain. Fortunately, +the structure of the wing did not +break. It was only the fabric covering it, +which ripped off in great strips. I immediately +turned toward our lines and should have +reached them, I believe, even in my crippled +condition; but by that time I was very low +and under a heavy fire from the ground. A +German anti-air craft battery made a direct +hit on my motor. It was a terrific smash and +almost knocked the motor out of the frame. +My machine went down in a spin and I had +another of those moments of intense fear common +to the experience of aviators. Well, by +Jove! I hardly know how I managed it, but I +kept from crashing nose down. I struck the +ground at an angle of about 30 degrees, the +motor, which was just hanging on, spilled out,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[235]</a></span> +and I went skidding along, with the fuselage of +the machine, the landing chassis having been +snapped off as though the braces were so +many toothpicks. One of my ankles was +broken and the other one sprained, and my +poor old nose received and withstood a severe +contact with my wind-shield. I've been in +hospital ever since until a week ago, when I +was sent to this temporary camp to await assignment +to a permanent one. I now hobble +about fairly well with the help of a stick, although +I am to be a lame duck for several +months to come, I believe.</p> + +<p>Needless to say, the lot of a prisoner of war +is not a happy one. The hardest part of it is, +of course, the loss of personal liberty. Oh! I +shall know how to appreciate that when I have +it again. But we are well treated here. Our +quarters are comfortable and pleasant, and +the food as good as we have any right to expect. +My own experience as a prisoner of war +and that of all the Frenchmen and Englishmen +here with whom I have talked, leads me to believe +that some of those tales of escaped or exchanged +prisoners must have been highly imaginative.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[236]</a></span> +Not that we are enjoying all the +comforts of home. On the contrary, a fifteen-cent +lunch at a Child's restaurant would seem a +feast to me, and a piece of milk chocolate—are +there such luxuries as chocolate in the +world? But for prisoners, I for one, up to this +point, have no complaint to make with respect +to our treatment. We have a splendid little +library here which British and French officers +who have preceded us have collected. I didn't +realize, until I saw it, how book-hungry I was. +Now I'm cramming history, biography, essays, +novels. I know that I'm not reading +with any judgment but I'll soon settle down +to a more profitable enjoyment of my leisure. +Yesterday and to-day I've been reading “The +Spoils of Poynton,” by Henry James. It is absurd +to try cramming these. I've been longing +for this opportunity to read Henry James, +knowing that he was Joseph Conrad's master. +“The Spoils of Poynton” has given me a foretaste +of the pleasure I'm to have. A prisoner +of war has his compensations. Here I've come +out of the turmoil of a life of the most intense +nervous excitement, a life lived day to day<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[237]</a></span> +with no thought of to-morrow, into this other +life of unlimited bookish leisure.</p> + +<p>We are like monks in a convent. We're almost +entirely out of touch with the outside +world. We hear rumors of what is taking place +at the front, and now and then get a budget of +stale news from newly arrived prisoners. But +for all this we are so completely out of it all +that it seems as though the war must have +come to an end. Until now this cloistered life +has been very pleasant. I've had time to think +and to make plans for a future which, comparatively +speaking, seems assured. One has +periods of restlessness, of course. When these +come I console myself as best I may. Even for +prisoners of war there are possibilities for quite +interesting adventure, adventure in companionship. +Thrown into such intimate relationships +as we are here, and under these peculiar +circumstances, we make rather surprising discoveries +about ourselves and about each other. +There are obvious superficial effects which I +can trace back to causes quite easily. But +there are others which have me guessing. By +Jove! this is an interesting place! Conrad<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[238]</a></span> +would find material here which would set him +to work at once. I can imagine how he would +revel in it.</p> + +<p>Well, I'm getting to be a very wise man. +I'm deeply learned in many kinds, or, better, +phases, of human psychology and I'm increasing +my fund of knowledge every day. Therefore, +I've decided that, when the war is over, +I'll be no more a wanderer. I'll settle down in +Boston for nine months out of the year and +create deathless literature. And for vacations, +I've already planned the first one, which is to +be a three months' jaunt by aeroplane up and +down the United States east and west, north +and south. You will see the possibilities of adventure +in a trip of this sort. By limiting myself +somewhat as to itinerary I can do the +thing. I've found just the man here to share +the journey with, an American in the British +Air Force. He is enthusiastic about the plan. +If only I can keep him from getting married +for a year or so after getting home!</p> + +<p>I had a very interesting experience, immediately +after being taken prisoner on May 7th. I +was taken by some German aviators to their<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[239]</a></span> +aerodrome and had lunch with them before I +was sent on to the hospital. Some of them +spoke English and some of them French, so +that there was no difficulty in conversing. I +was suffering a good deal from my twisted +ankles and had to be guarded in my remarks +because of the danger of disclosing military +information; but they were a fine lot of fellows. +They respected my reticence, and did all they +could to make me comfortable. It was with +pilots from this squadron that we had been +fighting only an hour or so before. One of +their number had been killed in the combat by +one of the boys who was flying with me. I sat +beside the fellow whom I was attacking when +my wing broke. I was right “on his tail,” as +we airmen say, when the accident occurred, +and had just opened fire. Talking over the +combat with him in their pleasant quarters, I +was heartily glad that my affair ended as it +did. I asked them to tell me frankly if they +did not feel rather bitterly toward me as one of +an enemy patrol which had shot down a comrade +of theirs. They seemed to be surprised +that I had any suspicions on this score. We<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[240]</a></span> +had “a fair fight in an open field.” Why +should there be any bitterness about the result. +One of them said to me, “Hauptmann, +you'll find that we Germans are enemies of a +country in war, but never of the individual.” +My experience thus far leads me to believe +that this is true. There have been a few exceptions, +but they were uneducated common +soldiers. Bitterness toward America there +certainly is everywhere, and an intense hatred +of President Wilson quite equal in degree +and kind to the hatred in America of the +emperor....</p> + +<p style="text-align: right; margin-right: 10%"><span class="smcap">Norman Hall.</span></p> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of High Adventure, by James Norman Hall + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HIGH ADVENTURE *** + +***** This file should be named 24570-h.htm or 24570-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/2/4/5/7/24570/ + +Produced by Kevin Handy, Irma Spehar and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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