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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..5ae6fd2 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #51559 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/51559) diff --git a/old/51559-8.txt b/old/51559-8.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 6ab990d..0000000 --- a/old/51559-8.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,3475 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Fledgling, by Charles Bernard Nordhoff - - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. 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. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - - - - -Title: The Fledgling - - -Author: Charles Bernard Nordhoff - - - -Release Date: March 25, 2016 [eBook #51559] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - - -***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE FLEDGLING*** - - -E-text prepared by MWS, Martin Pettit, and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images generously made -available by Internet Archive/American Libraries -(https://archive.org/details/americana) - - - -Note: Images of the original pages are available through - Internet Archive/American Libraries. See - https://archive.org/details/fledgling00nordrich - - - - - -THE FLEDGLING - -by - -CHARLES BERNARD NORDHOFF - - - - - - - -[Illustration: Logo] - -Boston and New York -Houghton Mifflin Company -The Riverside Press Cambridge -1919 - -Copyright, 1917 and 1918, by the Atlantic Monthly Company -Copyright, 1919, by Charles Bernard Nordhoff -All Rights Reserved - - - - -CONTENTS - - - I. A WATCHER OF THE SKIES 1 - - II. THE FLEDGLING 70 - -III. FULL-FLEDGED 94 - - - - -THE FLEDGLING - - - - -I - -A WATCHER OF THE SKIES - - -_January 22, 1917_ - -We were put on active duty at the front about the first of the year; in -fact, I spent New Year's night in a dugout within pistol-shot of the -Germans. It was quite a celebration, as the French Government had -provided champagne, cakes, and oranges for all, and every one was -feeling in a cheery mood. When dinner was over, each of us chipped in -his day's ration of army wine (about a pint), and with a little brandy, -some oranges, sugar, and a packet of spices I had been commissioned to -get, we brewed a magnificent bowl of hot punch, or mulled wine. First -"The Day of Victory" was toasted, then, "France"; then, with typical -French consideration, "The United States." After that, each man's -family at home received a health; so you may be interested to know that -your health and happiness for 1917 were drunk in a first-class abri by a -crowd of first-class fellows, as all French soldiers are. - -The next day was a typical one, so I will sketch it for you, to give an -idea of how we live and what we do. When the party broke up it was late, -so we turned in at once, in a deep strong dugout, which is safe against -anything short of a direct hit by a very heavy shell. Once or twice, as -I dropped off to sleep, I thought I heard furtive scamperings and -gnawings, but all was quiet until just before daybreak, when we were -awakened by a terrifying scream from a small and inoffensive soldier who -does clerical work in the office of the médecin chef. The poor fellow -has a horror of rats, and usually sleeps with head and toes tightly -bundled up. I flashed on my electric torch at the first scream and -caught a glimpse of an enormous rat--fully the size of a small fox -terrier, I assure you!--streaking it for his hole. The next minute I -made out the unfortunate little soldier holding with both hands one ear, -from which the nocturnal visitor had bitten a large mouthful, while he -did a frantic dance around the floor. First came a titter, then a choked -laugh, and finally the whole dugout howled with uncontrollable mirth, -until the victim wound on his puttees and stalked out, much offended, to -get some iodine for his ear. - -As we had laughed ourselves wide awake, I passed around some cigarettes, -while another fellow went down for a pot of coffee. Dressing consists of -putting on one's shoes, puttees, and tunic--when I feel particularly -sybaritic I take off my necktie at night. - -For once the sun came up in a clear blue sky and shone down frostily on -a clean white world--a metre of snow on the ground, and pines like -Christmas trees. It was wonderfully still: far away on a hillside some -one was chopping wood, and beyond the German lines I could hear a cock -crow. After stopping to ask the telephonist if there were any calls, I -took towel and soap and tooth-brush and walked to the watering trough, -where a stream of icy water runs constantly. As I strolled back, a -thumping explosion came from the trenches--some enthusiast had tossed a -grenade across as a New Year's greeting to the Boche. Retaliatory thumps -followed, and suddenly a machine-gun burst out with its abrupt stutter. -Louder and louder grew the racket as gusts of firing swept up and down -the lines, until a battery of 75's took a hand from the hills half a -mile behind us. _Crack-whang-crack_, they went, like the snapping of -some enormous whip, and I could hear their shells whine viciously -overhead. - -An orderly appeared shortly, to inform me that I must make ready to -take out a few wounded. My load consisted of one poor fellow on a -stretcher, still and invisible under his swathing of blankets, and two -very lively chaps,--each with a leg smashed, but able to sit up and talk -at a great rate. We offered them stretchers, but they were refused with -gay contempt. They hopped forward to their seats, smiling and nodding -good-bye to the stretcher-bearers. Despite my efforts one of them bumped -his wounded leg and a little involuntary gasp escaped him. "Ça pique, -mon vieux," he explained apologetically; "mais ça ne fait rien--allez!" - -At the hospital, several miles back, there was the usual wait for -papers, and as I handed cigarettes to my two plucky passengers, I -explained that hospital book-keeping was tiresome but necessary. -Suddenly the blood-stained blankets on the stretcher moved and a pale, -but calm and quizzical face looked up into mine: "Oh, là là! C'est une -guerre de papier; donnez-moi une cigarette!" You can't down men of this -caliber. - -Just before bedtime another call came from a dressing-station at the -extreme front. It was a thick night, snowing heavily, and black as ink, -and I had to drive three kilometres, without light of any kind, over a -narrow winding road crowded with traffic of every description. How one -does it I can scarcely say. War seems to consist in doing the impossible -by a series of apparent miracles. Ears and eyes must be connected in -some way. Driving in pitchy blackness, straining every sense and calling -every nerve to aid one's eyes, it seems that vision is impaired if ears -are covered. - -At the posts, just behind the lines, where one waits for wounded to come -in from the trenches, I spend idle hours, chatting or playing dominoes. -Our little circle comprises a remarkable variety of types: one hears -French of every patois, from the half-Spanish drawl of the Mediterranean -to the clipped negatives and throaty _r_ of Paris. - -As inventors of racy slang we Americans are miles behind the French. -Your pipe is "Mélanie" (also your sweetheart, for some unknown reason). -One's mess is "la popote," a shrapnel helmet is a "casserole," a -machine-gun is a "moulin à café." Bed is ironically called "plumard"; -and when a bursting shell sends out its spray of buzzing steel, the cry -is "Attention aux mouches!" [Look out for the flies!] Government tobacco -is known, aptly, as "foin" [hay]. If one wants a cigarette, and has a -paper but no tobacco, one extends the paper toward a better-provided -friend saying, "Kindly sign this." And so on. - - -_February 18_ - -I had an interesting day yesterday. The commandant asked for a car--he -is the head medical officer--to visit some posts, and I was lucky -enough to land the job. He is a charming, cultivated man, and made it -very pleasant for his chauffeur. We visited a number of posts, -inspecting new dugout emergency hospitals, and vaccinating the -stretcher-bearers against typhoid--a most amusing process, as these -middle-aged fellows have the same horror of a doctor that a child has of -a dentist. Reluctant was scarcely the word. - -Finally we left the car (at the invitation of the artillery officer) and -walked a couple of miles through the woods to see a new observation -post. The last few hundred yards we made at a sneaking walk, talking -only in whispers, till we came to a ladder that led up into the thick -green of a pine tree. One after another the officers went up, and at -length the gunner beckoned me to climb. Hidden away like a bird's nest -among the fragrant pine-needles, I found a tiny platform, where the -officer handed me his binoculars and pointed to a four-inch hole in the -leafy screen. There right below us were two inconspicuous lines of -trenches, zigzagging across a quiet field, bounded by leafless pollard -willows. It was incredible to think that hundreds of men stood in those -ditches, ever on the alert. At a first glance the countryside looked -strangely peaceful and unhampered--farm-houses here and there, neatly -hedged fields, and, farther back, a village with a white church. Look -closer, though, and you see that the houses are mere shells, with -crumbling walls and shattered windows; the fields are scarred and pitted -with shell-holes, the village is ruined and lifeless, and the belfry of -the church has collapsed. Above all, there is not an animal, not a sign -of life in the fields or on the roads. Not a sound, except the distant -hornet buzzing of an aeroplane. - -On clear days there is a good deal of aeroplane activity in our -section, and one never tires of watching the planes. The German machines -do not bomb us in this district, for some reason unknown to me, but they -try to reconnoiter and observe for artillery fire. It is perfectly -obvious, however, that the French have the mastery of the air, by virtue -of their skillful and courageous pilots and superb fighting machines, -and their superior skill in anti-aircraft fire. To watch a plane at an -altitude of, say, nine thousand feet under shrapnel fire, one would -think the pilot was playing with death; but in reality his occupation is -not so tremendously risky. - -Consider these factors: he is a mile and a half to two miles from the -battery shooting at him, he presents a tiny mark, and his speed is from -eighty to one hundred and twenty-five miles per hour. Above all, he can -twist and turn or change his altitude at will. The gunner must -calculate his altitude and rate of speed, and after the lanyard is -pulled, considerable time elapses before the shell reaches its mark. -Meanwhile, the aviator has probably come down or risen or changed his -course. It is like trying to shoot a twisting snipe with very -slow-burning powder--the odds are all in favor of the snipe. - -All the same, the spectacle never quite loses its thrill. High and -remote against the sky you see the big reconnaissance machine going -steadily on its way, its motor sending a faint drone to your ears. -Keeping it company, darting around it like a pilot-fish around a shark, -is the tiny, formidable appareil de chasse, a mere dot against the blue. - -_Crack! Whang! Boom!_ goes a battery near by, and three white puffs -spring out suddenly around the distant machines, above, behind, below. -Another battery speaks out, another and another, till the sky is filled -with downy balls of smoke. Suddenly the firing ceases, and the big -German aero slants down swiftly toward its base. A sharper droning hits -your ears. There, directly above us, a French fighting machine is -rushing at two hundred kilometres an hour to give battle to the little -Fokker. Close together, wheeling and looping the loop to the rattle of -their mitrailleuses, they disappear into a cloud, and we can only guess -the result. - - -_One day later_ - -I finished the paragraph above just as a wave of rifle and machine-gun -fire rolled along the lines. Running out of the abri to see what the -excitement was about, I saw two French aeros skimming low over the -German trenches--where every one with any kind of a fire-arm was blazing -away at them. Fortunately, neither one was hit, and after a couple of -retaliatory belts, they rose and flew off to the south. The Germans -began to waste shrapnel on the air, and indiscreetly revealed the -location of a battery, which the French promptly bombarded with heavy -guns. Pretty soon all hands were at it--a two-hour Fourth of July. - -I was on the road all day yesterday, afternoon and evening, getting back -to the post at 10 P.M. One of the darkest nights I remember--absolutely -impossible to move without an occasional clandestine flash of my torch. -Far off to the right (twenty or thirty miles) a heavy bombardment was in -progress, the guns making a steady rumble and mutter. I could see a -continuous flicker on the horizon. The French batteries are so craftily -hidden that I pass within a few yards of them without a suspicion. The -other day I was rounding a familiar turn when suddenly, with a -tremendous roar and concussion, a "380" went off close by. The little -ambulance shied across the road and I nearly fell off the seat. Talk -about "death pops"--these big guns give forth a sound that must be heard -to be appreciated. - - -Another break here, as since writing the above we have had a bit of -excitement, in the shape of a raid, or coup de main. In sectors like -ours, during the periods of tranquillity between more important attacks, -an occasional coup de main is necessary in order to get a few prisoners -for information about the enemy. We are warned beforehand to be ready -for it, but do not know exactly when or where. I will tell you the story -of the last one, as related by a slightly wounded but very happy poilu I -brought in beside me. - -"After coffee in the morning," he said, "our battalion commander called -for one platoon of volunteers to make the attack--each volunteer to have -eight days' special leave afterwards. It was hard to choose, as every -one wanted to go--for the 'permission,' and to have a little fun with -the Boches. At noon we were ordered to the first line. Our rifles and -equipment were left behind, each man carrying only a little food, a -canteen of wine, a long knife, and a sack of grenades. Our orders were -to advance the moment the bombardment ceased, take as many prisoners as -possible, and return before the enemy had recovered from his surprise. -At the point of attack the German trench is only twenty yards from -ours--several nights before, they had rolled out a line of portable -wire-entanglements. At 4.30 in the afternoon our 75's began to plough up -the Boche trench and rip their wire to shreds. It was wonderful--along -the line in front of us hundreds of our shells, bursting only twenty -metres off, sent earth and wire and timbers high into the air--while -not one of us, watching so close by, was hurt. - -"At 5.15 the guns ceased firing and the next instant we were over the -parapet, armed with knives, grenades, and a few automatic pistols. After -the racking noise of the bombardment, a strange quiet, a breathless -tranquillity, seemed to oppress us as we ran through the torn wire and -jumped into the smoking ruins of the enemy trench. In front of me there -was no one,--only a couple of bodies,--but to the right and left I could -hear grenades going, so it was evident that a few Germans had not -retreated to the dugouts. Straight ahead I saw a boyau leading to their -second lines, and as I ran into this with my squad, we came on a German -at the turn. His hands were up and he was yelling, 'Kamerad, Kamerad!' -as fast as he knew how. Next minute, down went his hand and he tossed a -grenade into our midst. By luck it struck mud, and the time-fuse gave -us a moment's start. The corporal was killed and my pal, Frétard, who -lies on the stretcher behind, got an éclat through the leg. We did not -make a prisoner of the Boche. - -"The abris of the second line were full of Germans, but all but one were -barricaded. A few grenades persuaded the survivors to come out of this, -with no fight left in them; but how to get into the others? In vain we -invited them to come out for a little visit--till some one shouted, 'The -stove-pipes!' Our barrage fire was now making such a fuss that the -Boches farther back could not use their machine-guns, so we jumped on -top of the dugouts and popped a half-dozen citrons into each chimney. -That made them squeal, mon vieux--oh, là là! But it was time to go -back--our sergeant was shouting to us; so, herding our prisoners ahead, -we made a sprint back to our friends." - -One of the prisoners was wounded, and he was hauled to the hospital by -the chap with whom I share my quarters. I went to have a look at the -German--always an object of curiosity out here. Had to shoulder my way -through a crowd to get there. He lay on a stretcher, poor devil, -hollow-eyed, thin, with a ragged beard--an object of pity, suffering and -afraid for his life. His gray overcoat lay beside him and near it stood -his clumsy hobnailed boots. German or no German, he was a human being in -a bad situation--a peasant obviously, and deadly afraid. - -Suddenly, a half-baked civilian--always the most belligerent -class--reached up and plucked contemptuously at his leg, with an -unpleasant epithet. Then a fine thing happened. A French soldier, lying -near by on a stretcher, severely wounded, raised up his head and looked -sternly at the crowd. "Enough," he said, "he is a Boche, I grant you; -but first of all remember that he is a soldier, wounded and in your -power!" - -We were at lunch yesterday when a friend rushed in to say that an -aeroplane fight was starting, almost directly overhead. A big French -reconnaissance plane was diving for safety, with a Fokker close behind -and German shrapnel bursting all around, when a tiny French fighting -machine appeared far above, plunging down like a falcon on its quarry. -The Fokker turned too late: the Nieuport, rushing downward at one -hundred and fifty miles an hour, looped the loop around the German. Two -bursts of machine-gun fire came down faintly to our ears, and the next -moment it was evident that the German was hit. Slowly at first, the -Fokker began to fall--this way and that, like a leaf falling in still -air, growing larger each moment before our eyes, until it disappeared -behind a hill. High over the lines, scorning burst after burst of -German shrapnel, the tiny Nieuport sailed proudly back and forth, as if -daring any Boche pilot to rise and try his luck. In the thrill of the -superb spectacle, one forgot that the poor chap (a good sportsman, if he -was a German!) had lost his life. - - -_April, 1917_ - -I have met some interesting types lately. One is Jean B----, a sergeant -of infantry. Jean has been about the world a good bit, and when the war -broke out was just finishing a contract in Spain. He promptly came to -France and volunteered, and had only fifteen days of training before -being sent to the front for a big attack. Knowing nothing of military -matters and having distinguished himself in the first day's fighting, he -was made a corporal at once; and next day, when the attack began again, -he and his squad were the first to jump into a section of German -trench. There, abandoned in the hasty retreat, was a brand-new German -machine-gun and forty sacks of ammunition. Jean is a canny boy, and -before the officers had got to where he was, he had his men hide gun and -cartridges in a clump of bushes. - -The French made a gain of about two miles at this point, and owing to -the nature of the ground,--artillery emplacements, and so forth,--the -new lines were nearly a mile apart. Under these conditions, both sides -were constantly making daylight patrols in the broken country between -the trenches; and as Jean's captain was a good judge of men, he let him -take his squad out daily, to do pretty much as he pleased. Pledging his -men to absolute secrecy, Jean had them hide machine-gun and ammunition a -little way in front of the new French lines, and then gave them a brief -drill, in mounting and dismounting the gun, tripod, and so forth. (He -had worked in an ordnance factory, by the way.) Each man carried either -a part of the gun or a few belts of cartridges. - -One morning, just before dawn, they crawled up close to the Germans and -hid themselves in a brushy watercourse--mitrailleuse set up and ready -for action. Presently there were sounds of activity in front, and as day -broke, they made out thirty or forty Germans, who, so far away and out -of sight of the French, were out in the open, working on a new trench. -Jean's men began to get excited and wanted action, but he calmed them, -whispering to be patient. He himself is the most excitable man in the -world--except in emergencies; a jovial type, with black hair and a pair -of merry gray eyes set in a red, weather-beaten face. - -Hour after hour they bided their time, until the Germans, only -seventy-five yards away, assembled in a group for a rest. Lying on his -belly behind the gun, Jean sighted and pulled the lever, spraying lead -into the unfortunate Boches until the last belt of two hundred -cartridges had raced through. Then it was all hands dismount the gun and -retreat at top speed. Sneaking "home" by devious ways, they smiled to -see shells begin to smash into the position they had so lately left. - -At supper that evening (the meal known universally as "la soupe"), the -colonel came strolling down the trench with Jean's subaltern. The -lieutenant nodded and pointed, then called Jean over. - -"Ah," said the colonel, smiling, "so this is the type who was on patrol -this morning--hum. I was in an advanced observation post on the hill -above you and saw the whole affair with my glasses. And how many of -those poor Germans did you kill?" - -"I did not wait to count, my colonel." - -"I will tell you, then; six escaped, out of thirty-eight--most -remarkable rifle-fire I remember seeing. It sounded almost like a -mitrailleuse at work. How many in your patrol? Five? Remarkable! -Remarkable! Eh bien, good day, _sergeant_." - -"He was a type not too severe," remarked the ex-corporal, in telling the -tale; "in short, un bon garçon." - -This is the highest compliment a poilu can pay his officer; in fact, I -once heard an ancient Territorial say it irreverently of Marshal Joffre, -whom he had known in younger days, somewhere in the Orient. - -Jean is at home in several languages, speaking perfectly French, German, -Italian, and Spanish. I usually chat with him in the last, as in it I -get the fine points of his narrative better than in French. His German -was the means of getting him into an adventure such as very few men in -the war have experienced. I cannot, of course, vouch for the truth of -what follows, but I have no reason to doubt his word, and know him to be -capable of any foolhardy rashness. Such a thing would be impossible at -the present time. - -One dark night, shortly after midnight Jean--on a solitary patrol--was -lying just outside the wire, about ten metres from the German trench, -listening to locate the sentries. There was a faint starlight. Suddenly -a whisper came from beyond the wire, a low voice speaking in broken -French. - -"Why do you lie so quiet, my friend? I saw you crawl up and have watched -you ever since. I don't want to shoot you; I am a Bavarian." - -"Good-evening, then," Jean whispered back in his perfect German. - -"So," said the sentry, "you speak our language. Wait a moment, till I -warn the rest of my squad, and I will show you the way through the -wire; there are no officers about at this hour." - -Probably not one man in a thousand would have taken such a chance, but -he did, and ten minutes later was standing in the trench in a German -cloak and fatigue cap (in case of passing officers), chatting amiably -with a much interested group of Bavarian soldiers. They gave him beer, -showed him their dugouts, and arranged a whistle signal for future -visits, before bidding him a regretful good-night. "We are Bavarians," -they said; "we like and admire the French, and fight only because we -must." - -With characteristic good sense, Jean went at once to his captain the -following morning and told him the whole story. The officer knew and -trusted him and said without hesitation, "Go as often as you want, and -keep your ears open." - -So he made many a midnight crawl through the wires, after whistling the -soft signal. He carried with him each time a few litres of wine (a great -luxury to the German soldiers), and in return they took him on long -excursions through their trenches. Once he was in the German third line, -more than a mile back. The sector was a very quiet one, though the -trenches were close together, and one morning a crude arrow dropped into -the French trench, bearing a note to Jean. - -"Get into your dugouts at five this afternoon," it read; "there will be -a bombardment, but no attack, we hope." - -Another time, after a French bombardment, a similar note dropped in: -"Don't send so many torpedoes--shells are all right, but your torpedoes -have ruined some of our best sleeping-places. Remember we are not -Prussians, but Bavarians." - -Jean is just now back from a permission. He went away a reckless, jolly -sort of an adventurer, and has come back sober, serious, and -tremendously in love. He told me a little about it, as we sat together -in my dugout (I have a private one now, with a stove, a tiny window -sticking up discreetly six inches above ground, and pictures on the -walls), and the tale is so typical of war-time France that I can't -resist telling it to you. - -They had carried on quite a correspondence, as godmother and godson, -before the longed-for permission came; and when A----, with her parents, -of course, met him at the train, she seemed like an old friend. She is -charming, as I know from her photograph, and sturdy brown Jean, togged -out in his special permission uniform, with his neat shoes, bright -leather puttees and belt, képi de fantaisie, and gold sergeant's -wound- and service-stripes, looks every inch a soldier of France. -At the end of the second day, he was walking with A---- and could -contain himself no longer. - -"Mademoiselle," he said, "I cannot, as a man of honor, stay here -longer. I love you,--there, I have said it,--but I am penniless, and -after the war shall have only what I can earn. Your father, on the other -hand, is the most important merchant in this district--so you see it -would (even if you were willing) be quite impossible for me to ask for -your hand. I can never thank you enough for your kindness to a poor -soldier; it has given me a glimpse of Paradise." - -That evening, as he sat in his room, trying to make up an excuse to give -the old people for leaving, the girl's mother came in, saying that she -understood he was going, and was much hurt to think that her house had -not pleased him. Then the old gentleman rushed in, radiant with smiling -good humor. - -"But hush, maman," he cried, "I know all. Also I know a man when I see -one. You love our little A----, eh, sergeant? Well, what of it? And you -are poor--well, what of that? When we old ones are gone, she will have -everything--she is all we have, since Louis was killed at the Marne. You -are a type that I love, my boy--out there at the front, helping to push -the Boche out of France; do you suppose I would not rather have you for -a son-in-law than some sacré espèce of a rich embusqué, riding by in his -limousine?" - -Rather superb, I think. - -So, as an engaged man, he is making a poor attempt to be cautious. Also, -he has a frightful case of cafard, that mysterious malady of the -trenches, which is nothing but concentrated homesickness and longing for -the sight of one's women folk, sweethearts, sisters, mothers. A couple -of days ago, he came to me with a brilliant idea. - -"See, Charlot," he said, "I have a scheme. You know Lieutenant P----, -chief of the corps franc--tell him of me, that I can speak German and -can take prisoners, and tell him to ask my captain to detach me for the -next coup de main." - -To understand this, you must know that a coup de main is a raid, made -after a brief artillery preparation, on the enemy trenches, not with the -idea of gaining ground, but simply to get a few prisoners for -information regarding regiments, and so forth. In the French army such -raids are made by special selected companies of each regiment, who have -no routine duty and get eight days' special leave after each raid that -results in prisoners. These men are termed "corps franc." As you can -see, Jean thought this a quick way to get back to his fiancée. - -While we talked, by a freak of luck, who should knock at my door but -Lieutenant P----, chief of our local corps franc, a very good friend and -one I am proud to have. He is the perfect quintessence of a French -subaltern,--twenty-six years old, slight, wiry, and handsome; an -Anglophile in everything relating to sport, as exquisite in dress and -person as Beau Brummell, and as recklessly brave as Morgan's buccaneers. -He has risen from the ranks, wears a gold bracelet, and has every -decoration that a French soldier or officer can get, including the red -ribbon. His Croix de Guerre has seven citations, and he has been five -times wounded. He took to Jean at once, saying that he needed an -interpreter for a raid which was coming in two or three days, and -promised to see the captain about it at once. - -"Better come with us," he said to me, whimsically. "I want to run down -to Paris next week, and if the sergeant here and I don't get a prisoner -or two, it will be because there are none left in the first line. Come -on--you'll see some fun!" - -"But," I said, "what is there in it for me? I'm ruined if I'm caught in -any such escapade, and in any case I get no permission." - -"Oh, we'll fix that. Maybe you'd get a nice little wound like my last -one; and if not, I'm an expert with grenades; I think I could toss one -so you would just get an éclat or two in the legs--good for a week in -Paris." - -I thanked him without enthusiasm and declined. - -The sequel to this came last night as I lay reading in my bunk. The -evening had been absolutely quiet, not a rifle-shot along the trenches, -until suddenly, about 10.30, the batteries set up their sullen thumping, -mingled with the thud of exploding aerial torpedoes. - -To my ears, concentrated artillery fire--not too far off--has a -strangely mournful sound--heavy, dull, and fitful, like a dark -thunderstorm in Dante's hell. The bombardment lasted exactly forty -minutes, then absolute silence except for an occasional pistol-shot (no -one uses rifles in raids), and once more the sudden stammer of a -mitrailleuse. As I lay there, safe in my warm bunk, I thought of gallant -little P---- and jolly old lovelorn Jean, perhaps at that moment -stealing through torn German wire with a brace of prisoners ahead of -them, crouching low each time a star-shell sent up its warning trail of -sparks,--or perhaps-- - -To-morrow, when I go back to the village for two days' rest, I shall -look for them. - - -_April 10, 1917_ - -I am writing this in a new post of ours--a village several kilometres -from the lines, where there are still civilians. As the hospital is very -noisy at night, and one would have to sleep in a barrack, packed in -among the wounded, I have arranged with a motherly old woman (patronne -of the local café) to let me have her spare room. I found an old -cowbell and by an arrangement of strings and hooks have rigged it so -that it can be rung at night from the street below. Talk about luxury! I -have a real bed (about five feet long) with sheets, pillows, and a -featherbed that reaches from feet to waist. When a night call comes, the -bell tinkles, I leap out of bed, pull on breeches and coat and high felt -"arctics," and in three minutes am off. - -As there are no men about, I have been (in odd moments) splitting wood -and moving the heavy beer and wine casks as required--work really far -too heavy for women. The old lady, in return, often invites me in for a -cup of steaming coffee with a dash of schnapps, and to-day she asked me -to a family dinner--a superb civilian meal of ham and boiled potatoes -and home-made choucroute. The latter must be tasted to be appreciated. -She is quite bitter about a branch of the Y.M.C.A.--called Foyer du -Soldat--just opened here, which, with its free movies, papers, and so -forth, has lured away much of her trade. "I pay a heavy license tax," -she says, "and they pay nothing--nothing." - -Useless to try to explain to the good old soul that the innocent must -suffer in order that virtue shall triumph--or in other words, that the -fantassin shall have amusement without beer. I comforted her with the -regrettable truth that her boys will all be back when the novelty is -worn off. - -A great many of the men here are muleteers from the Spanish and Italian -borders. Where the country is hilly and trails constitute the shortest -route to the trenches, the French use a great many pack-mules to carry -up provisions, ammunition, and supplies. A Western packer would be -interested in their methods. Each mule has its master, who packs it, -washes it, feeds it, and on the march walks ahead, leading it by a rope. -The pack-saddles and rigging are wonderful--they must be when one -considers that the mules often carry three hundred pounds twenty miles a -day, and sore backs are unknown. - -A mule's a mule, however, wherever you meet him--these are just the same -"ornery" brutes we have at home. Their effect on the explosive southern -French temperament is sometimes ludicrous. I stopped the other day to -ask the way of a mule-skinner who was limping dejectedly ahead of his -charge--the rest of the train was far ahead. After putting me on the -road, he leaned wearily against a tree and explained that in all the -world there was probably not another mule like his. It had kicked him -yesterday, it had bitten him severely this morning, and just now, while -he adjusted the pack, it had kicked him on the hip, so that in all -likelihood he would limp for life. While he talked, the mule sidled -over, with drooping eyelids and sagging ears, and planted one foot -firmly on the unfortunate Frenchman's toes. The whole thing seemed to -have been done by accident--I could almost see the dotted line of -innocence running from the mule's sleepy eye off into space. Without a -word, the man set his shoulder against the mule, forced its weight off -his foot, and tenderly inspected the injured part. Then, hands on hips, -he regarded the mule with a long stare of dramatic contempt. - -"Wouldst thou kill me, sacré espèce of a camel?" he said at last; "well, -death would be better than this. Come, here I am!" - -The day before yesterday, when I was out at one of our posts on the -front, an Austrian 88 mm. shell fell in a crowd of mules and their -drivers. Fortunately no one was hurt (by one of the freaks of shells), -but three mules were killed by the splinters. That night, with some -misgivings, I tried a steak from the hind-quarter of a five-year-old -mule. _It was bully._ When you come to think of it, a mule is just as -good food as a steer. - -A week ago I was waiting at a front post for some wounded, when a mule -train came by, packed with the huge winged aerial torpedoes so much in -vogue just now. Each mule carried four of these truly formidable things. -As the last mule passed, he slipped on the muddy slope, his feet flew -out, and down he came with a whack, torpedoes and all. You ought to have -seen us scatter,--officers, men, and mule-drivers,--like fragments of a -bursting shell. As the mule showed signs of struggling, we had to rush -back and gingerly remove the load before helping him up. - -These torpedoes play a great part in war nowadays. They are cheap to -manufacture, carry an enormous bursting charge, and--shot out of small -mortar-like guns, into which the steel or wooden "stem" of the torpedo -is inserted--have a range of six or seven hundred yards. On days of -attack you can see them, like huge black birds, soar slowly up from -behind the trenches, hang poised for an instant, and dart down to make -their formidable explosion, which sends clouds of débris, timber, and -dirt, high into the air. Their fragments are very bad--long, thin, -jagged things that come whizzing by and inflict terrible wounds. Many of -them are equipped with "trailers," which outline their course in a -shower of crimson sparks; and on nights of attack the sky is scored with -their fiery trails. - -A night attack is a wonderful thing to see: the steady solemn thunder of -the guns, the sky glaring with star-shells and trails, the trenches -flaming and roaring with bursting shell. It is like a vast natural -phenomenon,--Krakatoa or Mont Pelée,--too vast and cataclysmic to be -man's handiwork; and yet, into the maelstrom of spouting flames, hissing -steel, shattering explosions, insignificant little creatures like you -and me will presently run--offering, with sublime courage, their tender -bodies to be burned and pierced and mangled. To me that is war's one -redeeming feature--it brings out in men a courage that is of the spirit -alone--above all earthly things. - - -_April 23, 1917_ - -I am sitting again in the little post I told you about in my last -letter. The old lady is tidying up the café, the early morning sun is -shining in gayly through the many-paned windows, and outside, along the -picket-line, the mules are squealing and kicking while they have their -morning bath. Pretty soon I shall go out foraging for a brace of eggs, -and with these, a piece of cheese, and some coffee shall make my -déjeuner. - -The local barrack is the only one I have found where one simply cannot -eat, as the cook and his kitchen are unspeakable. Unless he has been -caught out in a shower, he has certainly gone without a bath since the -war started. After a glance at him and at his kitchen even the most -callous poilu rebels. - -We have now, attached to our section as mechanic, a French private who -is rather an unusual type--a rich manufacturer in civil life, who, -through some kink of character, has not risen in the army. He put in a -year in the trenches and then, being middle-aged, was put behind the -lines. He speaks English, is splendidly educated, and has traveled -everywhere, but is too indifferent to public opinion ever to make an -officer, or even a non-com. In his factory he had a packer, earning -seven francs a day, who was also mobilized, and who has now risen to -the rank of lieutenant. Think of the gulf between a poilu and a French -officer, with his authority, his galons and superb red-and-gold hat, and -then consider that this lieutenant's idea of a permission is to go home, -put on his oldest clothes, and spend the seven days working at his old -job of packing and heading barrels. It takes France to produce this sort -of thing. - -The siege warfare to which, owing to strategic reasons, we are reduced -in our part of the lines, with both sides playing the part of besieged -and besiegers, gives rise to a curious unwritten understanding between -ourselves and the enemy. Take the hospital corps, their first-aid posts -and ambulances. The Germans must know perfectly well where the posts -are, but they scarcely ever shell them--not from any humanitarian -reason, but because if they did, the French would promptly blow theirs -to pieces. It is a curious sensation to live in such a place, with the -knowledge that this is the only reason you enjoy your comparative -safety. Likewise our ambulances. I often go over a road in perfectly -plain view of the Boche, only a few hundred yards distant, and though -shells and shrapnel often come my way, I am confident none of them are -aimed at me. The proof of it is that no one has ever taken a pot-shot at -me with rifle or machine-gun, either one of which would be a sure thing -at the range. The other day an officer invited me down to see his newly -completed observatory--a cunningly built, almost invisible stronghold on -the crest of a hill, which commanded a superb view of the trenches and -German territory behind them. It chanced to be an afternoon of unusual -interest. The trenches, about eight hundred yards distant, were spread -like a map beneath us,--a labyrinth of zigzag ditches and boyaux,--all -cunningly laid out on principles which I have been studying. With the -powerful glasses lent me, I could make out the thickets of wire before -the first lines. A heavy bombardment was in progress, and all along the -lines, as far as the eye could see, clouds of smoke and earth were -springing up and settling slowly down. Not a living being was in sight. -Far off to the south, a flock of observation balloons floated -motionless, high in air, like fat, hovering birds. Suddenly the man -beside me, who had been staring through his glasses at a twenty-acre -patch of woods a couple of miles away, gave an excited exclamation. "I -have spotted it--the new battery of heavy guns that has been annoying -us; they were too bold, for once." - -Sure enough, I thought I made out a thin wisp of smoke trailing among -the tree-tops at the south end of the wood. - -The officer muttered a string of cabalistic instructions into his -telephone receiver and motioned me to watch. A minute later, a battery -of French heavy guns behind us began their deep, coughing thumps, -sending enormous shells hurtling overhead with the pulsing rush of an -express train, crescendo and diminuendo. The first shell fell short, -showering the trees with earth and débris--the salvos that followed -obscured the whole wood in clouds of smoke, broken branches, and dust. -Twenty minutes of this before the battery went silent again. A final -tremendous explosion, eclipsing all that had gone before, seemed to -shake the trees to their roots. - -"That will hold them for a while," said my friend exultantly, as he -telephoned the news back to his battery; "we must have hit their -magazine of propelling charges." - -Next day I was sitting at lunch in our mess, distant about three -hundred yards from the observatory, when a series of heavy, racking -explosions made the windows rattle. There is a distinct difference -between the sound of a gun and that of a bursting shell. The first is a -cracking _bang_, or _boum_, as the French say. The latter is a racking, -dwelling roar--drawn out, if such a thing can be said of an explosion. -Shells were bursting somewhere close to us--many of them. When I went -outside I could hear, clear and waspish above the din, the _pinging_ of -splinters whizzing overhead, and the occasional crackle of a lopped-off -branch. After half an hour of this, a man came panting up with the bad -news that the new observatory was completely demolished. There you have -the inner workings of siege-war; the Boches, with uncanny craft, knew of -the observatory, let the French complete it, and might have let it -alone, had it not been instrumental in destroying their battery. That -led them into their indiscreet action, for the French, in retaliation, -promptly wiped off the map the most important German observatory--an -elaborate affair whose exact location they had long known. This time the -Boche did not dare retaliate. And so it goes. - -There is a crack French gun-pointer near here who has brought down seven -enemy planes in the past two months--a remarkable record in this quiet -district. The last one fell close to one of our posts--its two -passengers, German lieutenants, were dead, but scarcely marked by their -drop into a snow-drift. One of them, a handsome young chap, with a -little blond mustache, wore a gold bracelet, and in his pocket was a -letter from his mother, accusing him of being an ungrateful son, who had -only written twice in six months. Rather pathetic. There is a sort of -chivalry in the air service which is a relief in the sordid monotony of -this war. A German plane was crippled a while ago, and had to volplane -down smack into a parade-ground where a French regiment was at drill. -The soldiers rushed out to make prisoners of the two German officers, -who were not a hundred yards up; but the latter, with indomitable -courage, loosed their Spandaus on the crowd, and were promptly riddled -with bullets by the reluctant French. They received a funeral in -accordance with their splendid death. - -The code of the Prussian officer is never to surrender; but of course -all cannot live up to this. In a recent raid, a sergeant I know made a -prisoner of a German captain, who, as they walked to the rear, cursed -his luck in fluent French, saying that he was caught unaware--that an -officer never surrendered, but fought to the end. - -"Stop here, my captain, and let us consider this," said the sergeant -seriously; "there are several articles of your equipment to which my -fancy runs--that watch, for example, those leather puttees, and that fat -purse I saw you change to your hip-pocket. Perhaps I can at once oblige -you and gratify my whim. Suppose you were suddenly to run--a quick shot -would save your honor, and me the trouble of escorting you back to the -rear. And I am an excellent shot, je vous assure." But the German was -not interested. - - -_April 26, 1917_ - -This afternoon the general of the division ordered us to present -ourselves at headquarters at four o'clock. From lunch on there was a -great shaving and haircutting, brushing and pressing of uniforms, and -overhauling of shoes and puttees. Four o'clock found us lined up at the -door of the wonderful old château, and next moment a superb officer, -who spoke English,--of the Oxford variety,--stepped out, introduced -himself all around with charming courtesy, took our names, and ushered -us in. - -The general, a hawk-faced man of sixty, straight and slender as an -arrow, with sparkling dark eyes, stood surrounded by his resplendent -staff. As each name was announced, we walked forward to him, saluted and -bowed, and shook hands. This over, we stepped back and mingled with the -staff officers, who displayed a wonderful trick of making us feel at -home in the first stiffness. Presently orderlies brought in champagne -and glasses, and when every one had his glass in hand the buzz stopped -while the general spoke. - -"Your country, gentlemen," he said, "has done France the honor of -setting aside this day for her. It is fitting that I should ask you -here, in order to tell you how much we appreciate America's friendship, -which you and your comrades have been demonstrating by actions rather -than words. I am an old man, but I tell you my heart beat like a boy's -when the news came that the great Sister Republic--united of old by -ideals of human liberty--had thrown in her lot with ours. I ask you to -drink with me to the future of France and America--the sure future. You -have seen France: our brave women, ready to make any sacrifices for the -motherland; our little soldiers, invincible in their determination. Let -us drink then to France, to America, and to the day of ultimate victory, -which is coming as surely as the sun will rise to-morrow." - -As he ceased, he stepped forward to touch glasses with each of us,--the -invariable French custom,--and next moment a magnificent Chasseur band, -outside on the terrace, crashed into the "Star-Spangled Banner." Quite -thrilling, I assure you. Later, we strolled through the fine old -gardens, chatting with the officers while the band played. The general, -while the most military man imaginable, has a very attractive brusque -affability. We are a good-sized crowd as Americans run, and the French, -who average shorter and stockier, never cease to wonder at our height. -The old chap grabbed three or four of us by the shoulders and lined us -up. - -"Mais vous êtes des gaillards," he said, smiling; "see, I am five or six -centimetres shorter than any of you. But wait, we have a giant or two." - -With that he called over a grinning captain and pulled him back to back -with our biggest man, whom he topped by a full inch. - -"But, my general," laughed the officer, "it is not good to be so -tall--too much of one sticks out of a trench." - -The owner of the château--a stately woman of fifty, proud of her name, -her race, and her country, and an angel from heaven to the sick and poor -for miles around--is an example of the kind of patriotism of which, I -fear, we are in need. Her husband is dead; when the war broke out she -had a daughter and two sons--gallant young officers whose brief lives -had been a constant source of satisfaction and pride to their mother. -The elder was killed at the Marne, and a while ago, the younger, her -special pet, was killed here in an attack. A woman of her kind, to whom -the continuance of an old name was almost a religion, could undergo no -harder experience. At the grave-side she stood erect and dry-eyed, with -a little proud smile on her lips, as her last boy was buried. "Why -should I weep?" she asked some one who would have comforted her; "there -is nothing finer my boys could have done if they had lived out their -lives." Her heart must be very nearly broken in two, but never a sign -does she give; going about among her hospitals and peasant families as -cheerful, interested, even gay, as if her only cares were for others. -There is true courage for you! - -To-day I went to a new post for some sick men, and who should be waiting -for me but my friend Jean, of whom I wrote you before! His company has -been transferred to this place. It was great to see his grinning face -and to chatter Spanish with him. As the sick men had not finished lunch, -Jean asked me to his mess, and we had a jolly meal with his pals. I have -had to give up wine, as it seems to blacken our teeth horribly (all -of us have noticed it, and we can trace it to no other source), -and the Frenchmen can't get over the joke of seeing one drink -water--extraordinary stuff to drink! All right to run under bridges or -for washing purposes, but as a beverage--a quaint American conceit, -handed down no doubt from the red aborigines--les peaux rouges -indigènes--of our continent. Jean admitted that since December, 1914, he -had not tasted water, and no one else could remember the last occasion -when he had tried it. - -As word had just come from the trenches that a wounded man was on the -way in, I got my helmet and we strolled down the boyau to meet the -stretcher-bearers. It was, to me, a new section of the front and very -interesting. The country is broken and hilly, and the lines zigzag about -from crest to valley in the most haphazard way, which really has been -painfully worked out to prevent enfilading fire. There is scarcely any -fighting here, as neither side has anything to gain by an advance, which -would mean giving up their present artillery positions. - -In one place the boyau ran down a steep slope, badly exposed, and Jean -said, "Follow me on the run!" We sprinted for twenty yards, and next -moment, _tat-tat-tat-tat_ came from the Boches, and little spurts of -dust shot up behind us. They can never shoot quickly enough to hurt any -one at this point, Jean said, but after all, "You can't blame a fellow -for trying." - -At the next turn we came on a train of the little grenade donkeys--so -small that they make the tiniest Mexican burro seem a huge clumsy brute. -They do not show above the shallowest trench, and each one carries two -panniers full of grenades. These last are vicious little things of cast -iron, checkered so as to burst into uniform square fragments, and about -the size and shape of lemons. They make an astonishingly loud bang when -they go off, and if close enough, as in a narrow trench, are pretty bad. -At a little distance, of course, they are not very dangerous. In the -trench warfare--raids, infantry attacks, and so forth--they seem to have -supplanted rifles, just as the knife has supplanted the bayonet. - - -_May 11, 1917_ - -Sunday, another lovely day. It is 7 A.M., and already the indefinable -Sunday atmosphere has come over the camp. The shower-baths are open and -strings of men are coming and going with towels on their arms. Under the -trees little groups are shaving and cutting one another's hair, amid -much practical joking and raillery. - -One becomes very fond of the French soldier. Large floods of rhetoric -have been poured out in describing him, and yet nearly every day one -discovers in him new and interesting traits. Let me try to sketch for -you a composite picture of the French infantryman--the fantassin who is -winning the war for France. On the whole, I do not see him as a boy, -but as a sturdy middle-aged man--the father of a family. He is short and -solidly built, with thick calves and heavy shoulders. His round head, on -which the hair is short, crisp, and black, is surmounted by a battered -blue helmet. He wears a long overcoat, looped up and buttoned at the -sides, showing evidence, in several places, of home-made patching. It -was once horizon blue, but has now faded to an ideally protective shade -of blue-green-gray. About his middle is a worn cartridge-belt, and from -either shoulder, their straps crossing on breast and back, hang his -musettes--bags of brown canvas for carrying extra odds and ends, -including everything from a bottle of wine to a dictionary. On his back -is his square pack, an affair of formidable weight, to which he has -lashed his rolled blanket in the form of a horseshoe, points down. -Perched on top of this, he carries his gamelle and quart--the saucepan -and cup which serve for both cooking and eating; and beside them you -perceive with astonishment that he has strapped a large German trench -torpedo--a souvenir for the home folks. From his belt hangs the tin box, -painted horizon-blue, which contains his gasmask, and on the other side -his long slender bayonet rattles against his thigh. - -A large calloused hand, not too clean, holds his shouldered rifle at a -most unmilitary angle. The gun has seen hard service, the wood is -battered, and in places bright steel shows through the bluing; but look -closely and you will see that it is carefully greased, and in the muzzle -a little plug of cloth keeps out dust and moisture. In spite of a load -which would make a burro groan, he walks sturdily, whistling a march -between puffs of a cigarette. Glance at his face. The eyes are dark -gray, deep-set, and twinkling with good humor; they are the clear -decisive eyes of a man who knows what he wants and has set about getting -it. The nose is aquiline, the mouth strong and ironically humorous, the -unshaven chin positive and shapely. It is the face of a breed that has -been settling to type for many centuries, a race old in cultivation and -philosophy. - -What is he in civil life? That is hard to say. A lawyer, a farmer, a -customhouse clerk, a cook--probably a cook; most of them seem to be -cooks, and mighty good ones. Ours at the mess was assistant chef at the -Savoy, in London, and when he has the material (for example a -hind-quarter of mule, a few potatoes, some dandelions, a tin of lobster, -and an egg) he can turn out a dinner hard to equal anywhere--delicious -hors d'oeuvres, superb soup, roast, sauté potatoes, salad, and so on. - -The French soldier's one great joy and privilege is to grumble. Back in -billets where he goes to rest, he spends the whole day at it--hour after -hour, over a bock or a litre of wine, he complains of everything: the -food, the uniforms, the trenches, the artillery, the war itself. To hear -him, one would suppose that France was on the verge of ruin and -disintegration. Let some unwise stranger make the slightest criticism of -France, and watch the change. The poilu takes the floor with a bound. -There is no country like France--no better citizens or braver soldiers -than the French. - -"Dis donc, mon vieux," he ends triumphantly, "where would Europe be now -if it were not for us?" - -To be a French general is a terrible responsibility. Their ears must -burn continually, for every act is criticized, picked to pieces, and -proved a fatal mistake, daily, in a thousand roadside wine-shops. Some -celebrity once remarked, that every French soldier was a potential -general. He knew them; he was right. They are no carping destructive -critics who tear things down but suggest no method of building up. On -the contrary, any chance-met poilu will tell you exactly how any -maneuver or bit of strategy should be carried out--from a trench-raid to -an enveloping movement, which will--he is sure of it!--net fifty -thousand prisoners. In last night's coup de main they caught only three -Germans. "Do you know why, my friend? I will tell you. Our artillery cut -the wires all right, and tapped on the front trench. Good. After that -they raised their guns for the barrage, but pouf! the Boches had already -run back to their dugouts in the second or third lines. Had the gunners -made a barrage on the second line from the beginning, the Germans would -have been forced to remain in the first line, and instead of three, we -would have bagged thirty. Oh, well, we get our extra leave anyhow, and -you should have heard them squeal when we dropped grenades down their -stove-pipes!" - -The French infantryman would drive a foreign officer mad until he began -to understand him and appreciate his splendid hidden qualities. The only -thing he does without grumbling is fight; and, after all, when you come -to think of it, that is a rather important part of a soldier's duty. - -An officer wants a new boyau dug--you never _heard_ such grumbling and -groaning and kicking. Finally, a bit put out, he says,-- - -"All right, don't dig it, if you are all sick and tired, and think I -make you work simply to keep you busy. It was only a whim of mine -anyhow--the Boches put up a new machine-gun last night, which enfilades -the old boyau, and when day breaks and you go back to the third lines, -they will doubtless put a dozen of us out of our misery." - -As if by magic the new zigzag trench is dug, and the chances are that -the officer finds a supply of extra-good firewood in his abri next day. - -In an army like France's, one finds many odd birds among the simple -soldiers. I was playing "shinny" (we introduced it and it has become -very popular in our section) the other evening, and, when a soldier took -off his coat, four thousand francs in bills dropped out of the breast -pocket. Another evening, in a café, a roughly dressed soldier stood up -to give us a bit of music--and for an hour the world seemed to stand -still while one of the greatest violinists of France (two years at the -front, twice wounded, Croix de Guerre, with several citations) made us -forget that anything existed except a flood of clear throbbing sound. -It was a rough, drinking crowd--a moment before there had been a -pandemonium of loud voices and clattering plates; but for an hour the -listeners were still as death--not a whisper, not even a hand-clap of -applause. It was, I think, the finest tribute I ever saw paid a -musician. And so it goes: one never knows what variety of man is hidden -beneath the uniform of faded horizon-blue. - - -_June 17, 1917_ - -At last I am free to sit down quietly for a letter to you. It has been a -week of rather frenzied running about--passing examinations, and the -like. I arrived here in the expectation of taking the first boat, -crossing the continent, and seeing you. - -A talk with some American officers changed the whole aspect of affairs -and showed me that, if I was to be of any use, my job was to remain -here. At home, it seems, men are a drug on the market--the rub is to -train them and fit them in. Here, on the other hand, they fairly welcome -healthy young men--and will train us and put us where we will do the -most good, with the least possible delay. Don't let yourself think that -flying over here is unduly hazardous--a skillful pilot (as I hope to be) -has as good a chance of living to a ripe old age as his comrades in the -infantry. Numbers of them have been at it since 1914. The school where I -hope to be is the finest in the world, and the machines are beyond -praise. - - -Since writing the above, I have received my papers of acceptance in the -Foreign Legion, conditional on passing the French physical tests. I have -already passed the tests of the Franco-American Committee. Before -cabling I took all the tests. - - -_Later_ - -I have passed the French examination and am to leave for the school in a -day or two. I have been lucky! - -It was interesting at the Paris recruiting office. I stood in line with -dozens of other recruits for the Foreign Legion--all of us naked as so -many fish, in the dirty corridor, waiting our turns. Each man had a -number: mine was seven--lucky, I think! Finally the orderly shouted, -"Numéro sept," and I separated myself from my jolly polyglot neighbors, -marched to the door, did a demi-tour à gauche, and came to attention -before a colonel, two captains, and a sergeant. - -"Name, Nordhoff, Charles Bernard--born at London, 1887--American -citizen--unmarried--no children--desires to enlist in Foreign Legion for -duration of war--to be detached to the navigating personnel of the -Aviation," read the sergeant, monotonously. In two minutes I had been -weighed, measured, stethoscoped, ears and eyes tested, and passed. - -The colonel looked at me coldly and turned to the captain. - -"Not so bad, this one, hein? He has not the head of a beast." - -I bowed with all the dignity a naked man can muster, and said -respectfully, "Merci, mon colonel." - -"Ah, you speak French," he rejoined with a smile; "good luck, then, my -American." - - - - -II - -THE FLEDGLING - - -Here at Avord there are about seventy-five Americans of every imaginable -sort--sailors, prize-fighters, men of the Foreign Legion, and a good -scattering of University men. As good a fellow as any is H----, formerly -a chauffeur in San Francisco. He is pleasant, jolly, and hard-working, -with an absurdly amiable weakness for "crap-shooting," in which he -indulges at all times, seconded by an American darky who is a pilot -here--and a good one. - -I can hear them as I write, snapping their fingers as the dice roll: -"Come on 'leben--little seben, be good to me! Fifty days--little -Phoebe--fever in the South! Read 'em and weep! Ten francs--let 'er ride. -I'll fade you!" The crap-shooting circle is always either stuffed with -banknotes or reduced to a few sous--which latter predicament is a bit -serious here, where we have to pay eight to ten francs a day to get -sufficient nourishing food. - -We sleep in barracks, about twenty to the room, on cots with straw -mattresses. All days are pretty much alike. At 3 A.M. a funny little -Annamite Chinaman, with betel-blackened teeth, comes softly in and -shakes you by the shoulder in an absurdly deprecating way. You reach for -your tin cup, and he pours out a quarter-litre of fearful but hot -liquid, somewhat resembling coffee. Then a cigarette in bed, amid drowsy -yawns and curses; a pulling on of breeches, golf-stockings, and leather -coats; a picking up of helmets, and a sleepy march to the bureau, under -the wind-gauges, barometers, and the great red balls that show the -passing side (right or left) for the day. - -"Rassemblement! Mettez-vous sur quatre!" barks the adjutant, and off we -go to the field. There till nine, or till the wind becomes too -strong--each man taking his sortie of ten minutes as his name is called. -Back about ten; then a lecture till eleven, a discussion after that, and -the first meal of the day. Sleep afterwards till three or three-thirty; -then a bath, a shave, brush teeth, and clean up in general. At five, -assembly again, the same march, the same lessons till nine; then a meal, -a smoke, and to bed at eleven. - -It has been a bit strenuous this past month, getting accustomed to this -life, which is easy, but absurdly irregular. Up at 3.30 A.M., and never -to bed before 11 P.M. Meals snatched wherever and whenever possible. -Some sleep by day is indispensable, but difficult in a barrack-room with -twenty other men, not all of whom are sleepy. This, together with fleas -and even more unwelcome little nocturnal visitors, has made me rather -irregular in my habits, but now I have got into a sort of régime--four -and a half hours of sleep at night, some sleep every afternoon, and -decent meals. Also I have discovered a sort of chrysanthemum powder, -which, with one of the "anti" lotions, fairly ruins my small attackers. -Baths, thank Heaven! I can get every day--with a sponge and soap. There -is no real hardship about this life--it is simply a matter of -readjusting one's self to new conditions and learning where and what to -eat, how to sleep, how to get laundry done, and so forth. - -This school is superb. I shall have the honor of being one of the last -men in the world trained on the famous Blériot monoplane--obsolete as a -military plane, but the best of all for training, because the most -difficult. In spite of the fact that from the beginning to the end one -is alone, it is said to be the safest of all training, because you -practically learn to fly in the "Penguins" before leaving the ground; -and also because you can fall incredible distances without getting a -bruise. - - -In practically all of the French planes the system of control is the -same. You sit on cushions in a comfortable little chair--well strapped -in, clothed in leathers and helmet. At your left hand are two little -levers, one the mixture, the other the throttle. Your right controls the -manche-à-balai, or cloche--a push forward causes the machine to point -downward (pique) and a pull back makes it rise. Moving it sideways -controls the ailerons, or warps the wings--if you tip left, you move the -cloche right. Your feet rest on a pivoted bar which controls the rudder. - -To rise, you head into the wind, open the throttle (steering with great -care, as a little carelessness here may mean a wrecked wing or a turn -over), and press forward the cloche: you roll easily off; next moment, -as the machine gathers speed, the tail rises, and you pull back the -stick into the position of ligne de vol. Faster and faster you buzz -along,--thirty, thirty-five, forty miles an hour,--until you have flying -speed. Then a slight backward pull on the cloche, and you are in the -air. - -I made my first flight in a small two-place machine of the fighting -type--a Nieuport. It is a new sensation,--one which only a handful of -Americans have experienced,--to take the air at seventy-five or eighty -miles an hour, in one of these little hornets. The handling of them is -incredibly delicate, all the movements of the stick could be covered by -a three-inch circle. A special training is required to pilot them, but -once the knack is acquired they are superb, except for the necessity of -landing at sixty or seventy miles an hour. In the air you can do -anything with them--they will come out of any known evolution or -position. - -Lately I have been making short low flights in a Blériot, and enjoying -it keenly. All I know (a mere beginning) I have learned entirely alone, -and the first time I left the ground, I left it alone. They simply put -you in the successive types of machines, with a brief word of -instruction, and tell you to fly--if you haven't the instinct, you are -soon put out of the school. After your month of preparation in -"Penguins" and "grass-cutters," the first short flight is a great -experience. - -My name was at the end of the list, so for two hours of increasing -tension I watched my mates make their débuts. We were about a dozen, and -there were some bad "crashes" before my turn came. At last the monitor -called me and I was strapped in behind the whirling stick. The monitor -waved his arm, the men holding the tail jumped away, and I opened the -throttle wide, with the manche-à-balai pushed all the way forward. Up -came the tail; I eased back the control bit by bit, until I had her in -ligne de vol, tearing down the field at top speed. Now came the big -moment, mentally rehearsed a hundred times. With a final gulp I gingerly -pulled back the control, half an inch, an inch, an inch and a half. From -a buoyant bounding rush the machine seemed to steady to a glide, swaying -ever so little from side to side. A second later, the rushing green of -grass seemed to cease, and I was horrified to find myself looking down -at the landscape from a vast height whence one could see distant fields -and hangars as if on a map. A gentle push forward on the manche brought -her to ligne de vol again; a little forward, a reduction of gas, a pull -back at the last moment, and I had made my first landing--a beauty, -without a bounce. To-night I may crash, but I have always the memory of -my beginner's luck--landing faultlessly from fully twelve feet! - -Lack of sleep is our main foe--a hard one to combat, as all sorts of -other things develop as its followers; one has simply to learn to sleep -in any odd moments of the day or night. - -I may still "fall down" and be "radiated" to an observation or bombing -plane (which is of course no disgrace); but on the whole I have good -hopes of making a fighting pilot. Flying (on a Blériot monoplane) is by -no means as easy as I had supposed. It took us four weeks to learn to -run one at full speed, _in a straight line_, on the ground. The steering -and handling of the elevators (which regulate height of tail) are -extremely tricky, and many men are thrown out or sent to other schools -(Caudron, Farman, or Voisin) for inaptitude or "crashes" at this stage. - -Then comes the stage of low straightaway flights, when you leave the -ground fast and in correct line of flight, and have to land smoothly. -Make no mistake--landing any kind of an aeroplane is hard, and to land -the fast fighting machines is a very great art, which forty per cent of -picked young men never acquire. They are so heavy for their supporting -area, that the moment they slow down to less than seventy-five or eighty -miles an hour they simply fall off on a wing (or "pancake"). Even a -Blériot requires a good eye and a steady delicate touch and judgment to -land in decent style. You are flying, say, three hundred feet up, and -wish to land. Forward goes your stick, the machine noses down as you cut -the motor. The ground comes rushing up at you until the moment comes -when you think you should "redress"--precisely as a plunging duck levels -before settling among the decoys. If you have gauged it to a nicety, -you skim over the ground a few yards up, gradually losing speed, and -settling at last without a jar or break in the forward motion. If you -redress too late, you turn over (capoter), or else bounce and fall off -on a wing. (I have seen men bounce fifty feet!) If you redress too high, -you lose speed too far above the ground, and either pique into the -ground and turn over, fall flat, or crash on one wing. - -The secret of the whole game of learning to fly is, I believe, never to -get excited. I have seen beginner after beginner smash when he was first -sent up to fly. They run along the ground, pull back the stick, as told, -and a moment later are so astounded to find themselves twenty or thirty -feet off the ground that they can think of nothing but shutting off the -throttle. Many crash down tail first, with controls in climbing position -to the last. If they would simply think,-- - -"Ha, old boy, you're in the air at last--some thrill, but the main -thing now is to stay here a bit and then ease down without a crash. Ease -the stick forward--now we have stopped climbing. Feel that puff--she's -tipping, but a little stick or rudder will stop that. Now pique her -down, and reduce the gas a notch or two. Here comes the -ground--straighten her out; too much, she's climbing again; there, cut -the gas--a little more--there--not a bad landing for the first try." - -Really there is no system in the world like learning alone, but it costs -the Government, I am told, from $30,000 to $40,000 to turn out a -fighting pilot. Three, six, ten machines--costly, delicate things--are -smashed daily in the school. Never a word is said, until a man smashes -one too many, when he is quietly sent to the easier double-command -school of bombardment or observation flying. - -Some of the fellows are in bad shape nervously. Any night in our -barracks you can see a man, sound asleep, sitting up in bed with hands -on a set of imaginary controls, warding off puffs, doing spirals, -landings, and the like. It is odd that it should take such a hold on -their mental lives. - -I enjoy hugely flying the old monoplane, especially when I fly home and -nose her down almost straight for a gorgeous rush at the ground. As you -straighten out, a few yards up, lightly as a seagull, and settle on the -grass, it is a real thrill. - -I have purchased, for twenty-five francs, a beautiful soft -Russia-leather head-and-shoulder gear, lined with splendid silky fur. It -covers everything but one's eyes,--leaving a crack to breathe -through,--and is wonderfully warm and comfortable. - -I have finally finished the Monoplane School, which is the end of -preliminary training. There remain spirals, etc., an altitude, and a few -hundred miles of cross-country flying, before I can obtain my brevet -militaire and have the glory of a pair of small gold wings, one on each -side of my collar. After that I shall have seven days' leave (if I am -lucky), followed by two or three weeks perfectionnement on the type of -machine I shall fly at the front. If I smash nothing from now on, I -shall have practically my choice of "zincs"--a monoplace de chasse, or -anything in the bombing or observation lines. If I break once, I lose my -chasse machine, and so on, down to the most prosaic type of heavy -bomber. Only one compensation in this very wise but severe system--the -worse the pilot, the safer the machine he finally flies. - -In spite of all my hopes, I had the inevitable crash--and in the very -last class of the school. Landing our Blériots is a rather delicate -matter (especially to a beginner), and last week I had the relapse in -landings which so few beginners escape, with the result that I crashed -on my last flight of the morning. I felt pretty low about it, of course, -but on the whole I was not sorry for the experience, which blew up a lot -of false confidence and substituted therefor a new respect for my job -and a renewed keenness to succeed. After that I did better than ever -before, and made a more consistent type of landing. - - -Guynemer, the great French "Ace," has disappeared, and from accounts of -the fight one fears that he is dead. What a loss to France and to the -Allies! the end of a career of unparalleled romantic brilliancy. I shall -never forget one evening in Paris last spring. I was sitting in the Café -de la Paix, under the long awning that fronts the Boulevard des -Capucines. All Paris was buzzing with Guynemer's mighty exploit of the -day before--four German planes in one fight, two of them sent hurtling -down in flames within sixty seconds. It took one back to the old days, -and one foresaw that Guynemer would take his place with the legendary -heroes of France, with Roland and Oliver, Archbishop Turpin, Saint -Louis, and Charles Martel. - -Presently I looked up. A man was standing in the aisle before me--a -slender youth, rather, dressed in the black and silver uniform of a -captain in the French Aviation. Delicately built, of middle height, with -dark tired eyes set in a pale face, he had the look of a haggard boy who -had crowded the experience of a lifetime into a score of years. The -mouth was remarkable in so young a man--mobile and thin-lipped, -expressing dauntless resolution. On his breast the particolored ribbons -of his decorations formed three lines: Croix de Guerre, Médaille -Militaire, Officer of the Legion of Honor, Cross of St. George, English -Military Cross, and others too rare for recognition. - -All about me there arose a murmur of excited interest; chairs were -pushed back and tables moved as the crowd rose to its feet. Cynical -Swiss waiters, with armloads of pink and green drinks, halted agape. A -whisper, collective and distinct, passed along the terrace: "It is -Guynemer!" - -The day before, over the fiery lines, he had done battle for his life; -and this evening, in the gay security of Paris, he received the homage -of the people who adored him. - -He had been looking for a table, but when it became no longer possible -to ignore the stir, he raised his right hand in embarrassed salute and -walked quickly into the café. - -I spent my ten days' leave in a trip to Nice, and used up about half of -it in getting there. - -The trip south was a martyrdom--a long stifling ride to Paris, three -days' wait there for a reserved place to Marseilles, a day and a night -standing up in a corridor from Paris to Marseilles (had to give up my -seat to an unfortunate woman with two youngsters), and twenty-three -hours more in a corridor to get to Cannes. On the whole, the worst -journey I recollect. No stops for meals, so we all nearly starved, till -I finally obtained an armful of bottled beer and some sandwiches. - -I sat down on a trunk in the corridor and nodded off to sleep, only to -be awakened half an hour later by H---- F---- (S----'s cousin), who -stole up with a gesture for silence, and pointed at me with a shake of -his head and a broad grin. It must have been rather a rakish tableau. -On the floor to my left were half a dozen empty bottles; on one end of -the trunk I sat, heavy-eyed and half awake, and beside me, sound asleep, -with her head on my shoulder, was a respectable, very attractive, and -utterly unknown young woman! C'est la guerre! I motioned H---- away and -promptly went to sleep again. - -In Marseilles I had time for the Corniche, to see Monte Cristo's castle, -and eat a bouillabaisse, which I cannot recommend without reserve. With -an enormous floating population of sailors, shipping booming, and -streets ablaze at night, Marseilles seems far away from the war, after -the hushed gloom of nocturnal Paris. - -The trials for my military brevet were by far the most interesting thing -I have done in aviation. On finishing the sixty horse-power Blériot -class, I was told that I would have to do my brevet work on a small -Caudron biplane, as there were no Blériots available. A few short -flights in the Caudron gave me confidence that I could handle it; so one -rather cloudy morning the officer told me to make my official -altitude--which is merely one hour's stay at heights of over seven -thousand feet. I pulled on my great fur combination and fur-lined boots, -adjusted mittens, helmet, and goggles, and stepped into my machine, -number 2887, which the mechanic had been tuning up. "Coupe, plein gaz," -he shouted, above the roar of a score of motors, and gave the stick half -a dozen turns. Then, "Contact reduit"; and as I yelled back, "Contact -reduit," after the old starting formula, he gave a quick half turn to -the blades. Off she went with a roar, all ten cylinders hitting -perfectly, so I motioned him to pull out the blocks from before the -wheels. A quick rush and a turn headed me into the wind, and the next -moment the starter's arm shot forward. - -Old 2887 is a bully 'bus. I was off the ground and heading up in forty -yards. It was rather an occasion for a beginner who had never before -flown over twenty-five hundred feet. The little Caudrons, of course, are -not high-powered, but she climbed splendidly. In ten minutes I was -circling over the camp at thirty-eight hundred feet, and in twenty, I -had reached six thousand, just under the roof of the clouds. There was -only one blue hole through, so up this funnel I climbed in decreasing -circles, till I finally burst out into the gorgeous upper sunlight. At -eight thousand feet I began to float about in a world of utter celestial -loneliness--dazzlingly pure sun, air like the water of a coral atoll, -and beneath me a billowy sea of clouds, stretching away to infinity. -Here and there, from the cloudy prairies, great fantastic mountain -ranges reared themselves; foothills and long divides, vast snowy peaks, -impalpable sisters of Orizaba or Chimborazo, and deep gorges, ever -narrowing, widening, or deepening, across whose shadowy depths drove -ribbons of thin gray mist. - -Once, as I was sailing over a broad cañon, I saw, far off in the south, -a dark moving dot, and knew with a sudden thrill that another man like -myself, astride his gaunt buzzing bird, was exploring and marveling at -this upper dream-world. - -At last the hour was up. I shut off the motor and drove downward in a -series of long easy glides. Going through the clouds, one loses all -sense of balance and direction. It is bizarre and sometimes dangerous. -You plunge out into the old gray world beneath, to find yourself in a -nose-dive, or off on a wing, or upside down--it is all the same in a -cloud. - -The balance of the military trials consists in spirals, and so forth, -and a lot of cross-country flying by map and compass. First you make -two round trips to a place fifty miles away, and then two triangular -trips of about one hundred and fifty miles each. It is very easy, if you -keep your wits about you and have no hard luck. Roads, railroads, -rivers, woods, and canals are the principal guides to follow; towns and -cities you can only recognize by having counted their predecessors, -unless there is some very prominent building, cathedral or factory. A -road, from three thousand feet, shows as a very straight white line, -occasionally making angular turns. A railroad is a dark gray line, -always curving gently when it turns. Canals are ribbons of water, very -straight, between twin lines of trees. And so on. You watch your -compass, to check up the tend of roads and railroads, watch your -altimeter and tachometer (which tells the speed of your engine), and -above all watch always ahead for suitable landing fields, in case of -motor trouble. The wind also must be borne in mind; its direction can be -told from smoke. I was lucky and had no trouble at all. - -At Nice I ran into many Americans, and there were a good many Britishers -about, recovering from the recent severe fighting around Passchendaele. -They are a quiet and agreeable lot--very interesting when they talk -about their work, which is seldom. - -One captain had strolled into some heavy fighting with no weapon but a -heavy cane, and with this, walking astride of a deep narrow enemy -trench, he had killed eight Germans! An Australian captain, with the -rare ribbon of the V.C. on his breast, had gone into a crowded German -dugout with one companion, who was wounded at the first exchange of -bombs. Single-handed, he had bombed out the Boches, taken forty -prisoners back single-handed, and returned to bring out his wounded -brother officer. An epic feat! - - - - -III - -FULL-FLEDGED - - -Soon after my stay at Nice I went for a month to the Combat and -Acrobatic School of Pau, which completes the most dangerous of all the -flying training. A wonderful experience--somersaults, barrel-turns, -corkscrew dives, every conceivable aerial caper, and long flights daily: -skimming the highest peaks of the Pyrenees at three hundred feet above -the snow--trips to Biarritz and along the coast, flying ten feet above -the waves, etc. - -It is hard to say enough in praise of the school at Pau--the hundreds of -splendid machines, the perfect discipline and efficiency, the food, the -barracks, the courteous treatment of pilots by officers and instructors. -We were twenty Americans, in a clean airy barrack, with an Annamite to -make the beds and sweep up. The school covers an enormous area in the -valley of the Gave, just under the Pyrenees, and is ideal for an -aviation center so far as weather conditions go, its one drawback being -that motor-trouble, out of range of the aerodromes, means almost -inevitably a smash. All along the Gave they have the smallest fields and -the highest hedges I ever saw. The climate is superb--like the foothill -climate of California: cool nights, delicious days, wonderful dawns and -sunsets. - -They started us on the eighteen-metre machine, doing vertical spirals, -which are quite a thrill at first. You go to a height of about three -thousand feet, shut off the motor, tilt the machine till the wings are -absolutely vertical, and pull the stick all the way back. When an -aeroplane inclines laterally to over forty-five degrees, the controls -become reversed--the rudder is then the elevator, and the elevator the -rudder, so that, in a vertical spiral, the farther back you pull the -stick, the tighter the spiral becomes. You are at the same time dropping -and whirling in short circles. I once did five turns in losing a -thousand feet of altitude--an unusual number, the monitor told me with -satisfaction. Usually, one loses about three hundred feet to each turn, -but on my first attempt, I lost twenty-one hundred feet in three fourths -of a turn, because I did not pull back enough on the stick. - -After the eighteen-metre spirals we were given a few rides on the -fifteen-metre machine--very small, fast and powerful, but a delicious -thing to handle in the air; and after left and right vertical spirals on -this type, we went to the class of formation-flying, where one is -supposed to learn flying in squadron formation, like wild geese. This is -extremely valuable, but most men take this chance for joy-riding, as -they have petrol for three hours, and are responsible to no one. - -On my first day in this class I found no one at the rendezvous, so I -rose to about four thousand feet, and headed at a hundred miles an hour -for the coast. In thirty-five minutes I was over Biarritz, where my eyes -fairly feasted on the salt water, sparkling blue, and foam-crested. I do -not see how men can live long away from the sea and the mountains. My -motor was running like a clock and as I was beginning to have perfect -confidence in its performance, I came down in a long coast to the -ground, and went rushing across country toward the mountains, skimming a -yard up, across pastures, leaping vertically over high hedges of poplar -trees, booming down the main streets of villages, and behaving like an -idiot generally, from sheer intoxication of limitless speed and power. - -In a few moments I was at the entrance of one of the huge gorges that -pierce the Pyrenees--the sort of place up which the hosts of Charlemagne -were guided by the White Stag: deep and black and winding, with an icy -stream rushing down its depths. Why not? I gave her full gas and whizzed -up between black walls of rock that magnified enormously the motor's -snarl, up and up until there was snow beneath me and ahead I could see -the sun gleaming on the gorgeous ragged peaks. Up and up, nine, ten, -eleven thousand feet, and I was skimming the highest ridges that -separate France and Spain. Imagine rising from a field in Los Angeles, -and twenty-five minutes later flying over the two-mile-high ridges of -Baldy and Sheep Mountain, swooping down to graze the snow, or bounding -into the air with more speed and ease than any bird. - -At last, as my time was nearly up, I headed back for Pau. A few minutes -later, just as I sighted the pygmy groups of hangars, my motor gave -forth a loud bang and a sheet of flame, and several chunks of metal tore -whizzing through the aluminum hood. Automatically, I pulled at the lever -which closes the gasoline flow and tilted the machine forward to keep my -speed. Another bang, accompanied by black smoke. "Holy mackerel!" I -thought; "this is the end of me! Let's see--in case of fire, shut off -petrol, open throttle, and leave the spark on. Then go into a -nose-dive." - -Somehow you can't seem to get very excited at such moments,--everything -seems inevitable,--good or bad luck. I nose-dived, came out at five -thousand feet, killed my propeller, and was gratified to see, on looking -behind, that there was no more smoke. Starting the motor was of course -out of the question, as it would have promptly taken fire; so I shut -off throttle and spark, struck an easy glide, and began an anxious -search for a field. Most of them were no larger than postage-stamps, and -I knew they were hedged by the beastly poplars, but at last I spotted a -long one, in the direction of the wind, though not long enough to afford -more than a bare chance of avoiding a crash. It was the only hope, at -any rate; so down I coasted in glides and serpentines, jockeying to lose -height just over the trees. As luck would have it, I was a few feet low -and had to chance jumping the trees with none too much speed. The -splendid stability of the Nieuport saved me from a wing-slip, and a -moment later I landed with a bang in a ditch, breaking one wheel and -stopping within ten yards of a formidable line of willows. - -I crawled out of my seat and lay down in the long grass to rest, as my -head ached villainously from the too rapid descent. Somehow I dozed off -and was awakened by the friendly tongue of a huge Basque shepherd dog. -His mistress, a pretty Spanish-speaking peasant girl, appeared a minute -later, and her family were very decent to me. After some hot coffee with -brandy, and a piece of goat cheese, I attended to the formalities and -went back to camp. - - -After formation-flying we went to the acrobatic class or "Haute École du -Ciel," where you are taught to put a machine through the wildest kinds -of maneuvers. This is the most dangerous class in any aviation training -in France--many excellent pilots, whose nerves or stomachs would not -stand the acrobatics, rest in the little cemetery at Pau. Wonderful -sport, though, if nature intended one for that sort of thing! The most -dreaded thing one does is the spinning nose-dive, or vrille (gimlet), -which formerly was thought invariably fatal. They have now discovered -that the small, very strong machines will come out of it safely, if the -rudder is put exactly in the middle and the stick pushed forward. - -The instructor in this class was a very dandified lieutenant, in a Bond -Street uniform, and wearing a monocle, who lay in a steamer-chair all -day, gazing up into the sky at the antics of his pupils. Around him -stood assistants with field-glasses, who watched the heavens anxiously, -and would suddenly bark out, "Regardez, mon lieutenant--l'Américain -Thompson en vrille." The lieutenant would then languidly look up at the -machine pointed out (they are distinguished by broad stripes, or -checker-boards, or colors), and, if the "type" up above had done well, -would remark, "Pas mal, celui-là." If some unfortunate plunged into the -ground and killed himself, the officer would rise gracefully from his -chair, flick the dust from his sleeve, and call for the "Black Cat," -his special "taxi." Jumping in with remarkable speed, he rose in a -series of the most breakneck evolutions, and flew to the scene of the -accident. In reality, his pose is the best in the world, as it keeps the -pilots gonflés, that is, courageous and confident, as opposed to -dégonflés, or scared and nervous. - -I was watching all this from the ground, when a monitor unexpectedly -called out, "Nordhoff, Nordhoff!" - -"Present!" I yelled, as I ran toward him. - -"You will take the checker-board," he ordered, "rise to twelve hundred -metres, and do one vrille and two upside-down turns." - -I admit that I had a slight sinking spell as I walked to the machine, a -little thirteen-metre beauty. (Think of it, only thirteen square yards -of supporting surface!) It was all right as soon as I was strapped in -and had the motor going. Up we went, the "Bébé" climbing like a cat, at -incredible speed, while I anxiously repeated, again and again, the -instructions. Two turns of the field gave me my thirty-six hundred feet. -This was no time to hesitate, so, as I reached the required spot, away -from the sun, I shut off the motor, took a long breath, and pulled back -a bit on the stick. Slower and slower she went, until I felt the rather -sickening swaying that comes with a dangerous loss of speed. The moment -had come. Gritting my teeth, I gave her all the left rudder and left -stick, at the same moment pulling the stick all the way back. For an -instant she seemed to hang motionless--then with unbelievable swiftness -plunged whirling downwards. "Remember, keep your eyes inside--don't look -out, whatever happens," I thought, while a great wind tore at my -clothing and whistled through the wires. In a wink of time I had -dropped six hundred feet: so I carefully put the rudder in the exact -center, centered the stick, and pushed it gently forward. At once the -motion grew steadier, the wind seemed to abate, and the next moment I -dared to look out. It was over--I was in a steep glide, right side up, -safe and sound. I had done a vrille and come out of it! A gorgeous -sensation! I loved it, and queerly enough my first bewildered thought -was, "M---- would adore that!" - -Just to show the lieutenant that I was having a good time, I buzzed up -again and did two more vrilles, looking out the whole time at the -panorama of Pyrenees, villages, and river, whirling around with the most -amazing rapidity. Not a thing for bilious or easily dizzy people though, -as it means horses at the walk if you fail to do the right thing at -exactly the right moment. - -After the acrobatics, we went to classes in machine-gun shooting and -combat-flying--very interesting and practical, but not to be talked -about. - -After Pau, I had forty-eight hours' leave in Paris, bought a few things -I needed for the front, and was then sent to a place it is forbidden to -mention, expecting soon to get to flying over the lines. - - -On New Year's morning, as it was snowing hard and there was no flying, I -sat by a cozy fire, in the house of some English people. Curious thing, -running into them here. They are of the tribe of English who wander over -the face of the earth, and make England what she is. The man of the -house is an expert on ----, and has pursued his unusual vocation in -Cuba, Jamaica, Honduras, Guiana, "Portuguese East" and other parts of -Africa, as well as in Ceylon and a few other places I forget. Here he is -now, as expert for the French. His wife and seven children, who speak -French, Portuguese, Spanish, and Zulu, I think, follow him everywhere, -and are everywhere equally at home. I have tea with them after work, -and, needless to say, they are a Godsend in this desolate place. Let us -all pray that next New Year's day we shall be thanking God for a -victorious peace and returning to civilian life, never to put on -uniforms again. The finest uniform of all is the old civilian -suit--brass buttons and gold braid to the contrary. - -For this winter air-work, which is the coldest known occupation, I -think, this is the way we dress. First, heavy flannels and woolen socks. -Over that, a flannel shirt with sleeveless sweater on top, and uniform -breeches and tunic. Boots and spiral puttees (very warm things, if not -put on too tightly) go on next, and over all we pull on a great -combination, or fur-lined "teddy-bear" suit--waterproof canvas outside. -Over our boots we pull fur-lined leather flying boots, reaching half-way -up to our knees. For head-gear, a fur-lined leather cap, and around the -neck, several turns of gray muffler. A variety of mask and a pair of -"triplex" goggles to protect one's face from the icy breeze. With all -this, and heavy fur gloves, one can keep reasonably warm. - -As the 16th of January was the first good flying day for some time, -there was much activity. After lunch I went to the aerodrome just in -time to see the combat patrol come swooping down. An excited crowd was -gathered about the first machine in, and I learned that one of our best -pilots had just been brought down by a German two-seater, and that -H----, a nineteen-year-old American in our sister escadrille here, had -promptly brought the Hun down. I was proud to think that an American had -revenged our comrade. This makes H----'s second German within a week--a -phenomenal record for a beginner. He is an unusual youngster, and -handles a machine beautifully. He seems to have the mixture of dash, -cold nerve, and caution which makes an "ace." - -The German fell ten thousand feet directly over the trenches, but at the -last moment managed to straighten out a bit and crashed two hundred -yards inside his lines. H---- followed him down, and gliding over the -trenches at one hundred feet, saw one German limp out of the wreck and -wave a hand up at the victor. - -Another American boy had quite an exciting time lately when his motor -went dead far inside the enemy lines. Luckily he was high at the time; -so he flattened his glide to the danger-point, praying to be able to -cross into friendly country. Down he came, his "stick" dead, the wind -whistling through the cables, until close ahead he saw a broad belt of -shell-marked desolation, crisscrossed by a maze of meaningless trenches. -The ground was close; automatically he straightened out, avoiding a pair -of huge craters, touched, bumped, crashed into a thicket of wire, and -turned over. A jab at the catch of his belt set him free; but the really -important thing was whether or not he had succeeded in crossing the -German lines. Wisely enough, he crawled to a shell-hole, and from its -shelter began to reconnoiter warily. Muddy figures began to appear from -various holes and ditches, and at length a soldier who, so far as -appearances went, might have belonged to any army, leaned over the edge -of the hole and said something in _French_. Young S---- at that began to -breathe for the first time in at least a quarter of an hour. His -discoverer led him to a spacious dugout where two generals were at -lunch--a wonderful lunch, washed down with beverages forbidden to any -but generals. The great ones made the corporal welcome, laughed -themselves ill over his voluble but wonderful French, plied him with -food and good Scotch whiskey, and sent him home in one of their superb -closed cars. - - -Now that so many young Americans are beginning to fly in France, I fancy -that the people at home must wonder what sort of a time their sons or -brothers are having--how they live, what their work is, and their play. -Most people who have an immediate interest in the war must by now -possess a very fair idea of the military aviation training; but of the -pilot's life at the front I have seen little in print. - -I can speak, of course, only of conditions in the French aviation -service; but when our American squadrons take their places at the front, -the life is bound to be very similar, because experience has taught all -the armies that, to get the best results, pilots should be given a -maximum of liberty and a minimum of routine, outside of their duty, -which consists in but one thing--flying. - -Let us suppose, for example, that an American boy--we will call him -Wilkins, because I never heard of a man named Wilkins flying--has passed -through the schools, done his acrobatics and combat-work, and is waiting -at the great dépôt near Paris for his call to the front. Every day he -scans the list as it is posted, and at last, hurrah! his name is there, -followed by mysterious letters and numbers--G.C. 17, or S.P.A. 501, or -N. 358. He knows, of course, that he will have a single-seater scout, -but the symbols above tell him whether it will be a Spad or a Nieuport -and whether he is to be in a groupe de combat ("traveling circus," the -British call them) or in a permanent fighting unit. - -Wilkins is overjoyed to find he has been given a Spad, and hastens to -pack up, in readiness for his train, which leaves at 6 P.M. When his -order of transport is given him, he finds that his escadrille is -stationed at Robinet d'Essence, in a fairly quiet, though imaginary, -sector. Before leaving the dépôt he has issued to him a fur-lined -teddy-bear suit, fur boots, sweater, fur gloves, and a huge cork safety -helmet, which Wisdom tells him to wear and Common Sense pronounces -impossible. Common Sense wins; so Wilkins gives the thing to the keeper -of the "effets chauds pour pilotes," and retires. - -His flying things stuffed into a duffle-bag, which he has checked -directly through to far-off Robinet, our hero boards the train with -nothing but a light suitcase. He is delirious with joy, for it is long -since he has been to Paris, and at the dépôt discipline has been severe -and luxury scant. Every journey to the front is via Paris, and the -authorities wink a wise and kindly eye at a few hours' stopover. Outside -the station, an hour later, Wilkins is conscious of a sudden odd feeling -of calm, almost of content, which puzzles him until he thinks a bit. -Finally he has it--_this_ is what he is going to fight for, what all the -Allies are fighting for: this pleasant, crowded civilian life; the -dainty Frenchwomen going by on the arms of their permissionnaires, the -fine old buildings, the hum of peaceful pursuits. In the schools and at -the waiting dépôt he had nearly lost sight of real issues; but now it -all comes back. - -At his hotel he calls up Captain X---- of the American Aviation,--an old -friend, who is in Paris on duty,--and is lucky enough to catch him at -his apartment. They dine at the Cercle des Alliés--the old Rothschild -palace, now made into a great military club, where one can see many -interesting men of all the Allied armies lunching and dining together. -Dinner over, they drop in at the Olympia, watch the show a bit, and -greet a multitude of friends who stroll about among the tables. A great -deal of air-gossip goes on: A---- has just bagged another Boche; B----, -poor chap, was shot down two days ago; C---- is a prisoner, badly -wounded. At a table near by, Wilkins, for the first time, sets eyes on -Lufbery, the famous American "ace," his breast a mass of ribbons, his -rather worn face lit up by a pleasant smile as he talks to a French -officer beside him. - -At eleven our young pilot says good-bye to his friend and walks through -the darkened streets to his hotel. What a joy, to sleep in a real bed -again! The train leaves at noon, which will give him time for a late -breakfast and a little shopping in the morning. After the first real -night's sleep in a month, and a light war-time breakfast of omelet, -bacon, broiled kidneys, and coffee, he is on the boulevards again, -searching for a really good pair of goggles, a fur-lined flying cap to -replace the hopeless helmet, and a pair of heavy mittens. Old friends, -in the uniforms of American subalterns, are everywhere; many wear the -stiff-looking wings of the American Flying Corps on their breasts. All -are filled with envy to hear that he is leaving for the front; their -turn will come before long, but meanwhile the wait grows tiresome. - -At length it is train time, and so, hailing a taxi and picking up his -bag on the way, Wilkins heads (let us say) for the Gare de l'Est, -getting there just in time to reserve a place and squeeze into the -dining-car, which is crowded with officers on their way to the front. -These are not the embusqué type of officers which he has been -accustomed to in the schools,--clerkish disciplinarians, insistent on -all the small points of military observance,--but real fighting men and -leaders; grizzled veterans of the Champagne and the Somme, hawk-nosed, -keen-eyed, covered with decorations. - -Back in his compartment, our pilot dozes through the afternoon, until, -just as it has become thoroughly dark, the train halts at Robinet. On -the platform, half a dozen pilots of the escadrille, smart in their -laced boots and black uniforms, are waiting to welcome the newcomer, and -escort him promptly to the mess, where dinner is ready. Dinner over, he -is shown to his room--an officer's billet, with a stove, bathtub, and -other unheard-of luxuries. - -Next morning, one of his new comrades calls for Wilkins, presents him to -the captain, who proves very chic and shows him his machine, which has -just been brought out from the dépôt. The armorer is engaged in fitting -a Vickers gun on it, so Wilkins spends the rest of the day at the -hangar, sighting the gun, adjusting his belt, installing altimeter, -tachometer, and clock. - -An hour before sundown all is ready; so the American climbs into his -seat for a spin, fully aware that many appraising eyes will watch his -maiden performance. Off she goes with a roar, skimming low, over the -field, until her full speed is attained, when the pilot pulls her up in -a beautiful "zoom," banking at the same time to make her climb in a -spiral. Up and up and up, her motor snarling almost musically--and -suddenly she stops, quivers, and plunges downward, spinning. A hundred -yards off the ground she straightens out magically, banks stiffly to the -left, skims the hangars, and disappears. The mechanicians watching, -hands on hips, below, nod to one another in the French way. "Il marche -pas mal, celui-là," they say--high praise from them. - -Wilkins, meanwhile, has flown down the river, to where a target is -anchored in a broad shallow. Over it he tilts up and dives until the -cross hairs in his telescopic sight center on the mark. "Tut-tut-tut," -says the Vickers, and white dashes of foam spring out close to the -canvas. He nods to himself as he turns back toward the aerodrome. - -At dinner there is much talk, as the weather has been good. A---- and -L---- had a stiff fight with a two-place Hun, who escaped miraculously, -leaving their machines riddled with holes. M---- had a landing cable cut -by a bullet; J---- had a panne, and was forced to land uncomfortably -close to the lines. At eight o'clock an orderly comes in with the next -day's schedule: "Wilkins: protection patrol at 8 A.M." - -The French have not the English objection to "talking shop," and over -the coffee the conversation turns to the difficulties of bringing down -Huns and getting them officially counted--"homologue" the French call -it. The great airmen, of course,--men like Bishop, Ball, Nungesser, and -Guynemer,--get their thirty, forty, or fifty Boches; but nevertheless it -is a very considerable feat to get even one, and growing harder every -day. Nearly all the German hack-work--photography, reglage of artillery, -observation, and so forth--is now done by their new two-seaters, very -fast and handy machines and formidable to attack, as they carry four -machine-guns and can shoot in almost any direction. Most of the fighting -must be done in their lines; and far above, their squadrons of Albatross -single-seaters watch ceaselessly for a chance to pounce unseen. - -Add to this the fact that, to get an official count, the falling -Hun must be checked by two independent observers, such as -observation-balloon men, and you can see that it is no easy trick. - -Just before bedtime, the leader of the morning's patrol explains the -matter to Wilkins. The rendezvous is over a near-by village at three -thousand feet. Wilkins is to be last in line on the right wing of the V, -a hundred yards behind the machine ahead of him. Signals are: a wriggle -of the leader's tail means, "Open throttles, we're off"; a sideways -waving of his wings means, "I'm going to attack; stand by"; or, "Easy, I -see a Boche." - -After a not entirely dreamless sleep and a cup of coffee, our hero is at -the hangars at 7.30, helping his mechanic give the "taxi" a final -looking over. At 8 he takes the air and circles over the meeting-place -till the V is formed. Just as he falls into his allotted station the -leader, who has been flying in great circles, throttled down, wriggles -his tail, opens the throttle wide, and heads for the lines, climbing at -a hundred miles an hour. - -Wilkins is so busy keeping his position that he has scarcely time to -feel a thrill or to look about him. Suddenly, from below comes a vicious -growling thud, another, and another: _Hrrrump, hrrrump, hrrrump._ He -strains his head over the side of the fuselage. There below him, and -horribly close, he thinks, dense black balls are springing out--little -spurts of crimson at their hearts. The patrol leader begins to weave -about to avoid the "Archies," banking almost vertically this way and -that in hairpin turns, and poor Wilkins, at the tail end, is working -frantically to keep his place. He has never seen such turns, and makes -the common mistake of not pulling back hard enough when past forty-five -degrees. The result is that he loses height in a side-slip each time, -and gets farther and farther behind his man. - -Meanwhile, far up in the blue, their shark-like bodies and broad short -wings glimmering faintly in the upper sunlight, a patrol of Albatross -monoplaces is watching. Thousands of feet below, close to the trenches, -they see the clumsy photographic biplaces puffing back and forth about -their business. Above these, they see the V of Spads turning and -twisting as they strive to stay above the photographers they are -protecting. But wait, what is wrong with the Spad on the right end of -the V--a beginner surely, for at this rate he will soon lose his patrol? -As if a silent signal had been given, five Albatrosses detach themselves -from the flock, and reducing their motors still more, point their sharp -noses downward, and begin to drift insensibly nearer. - -Wilkins has been having a tough time of it, and at last, in a -three-hundred-foot wing-slip, has lost his comrades altogether, and is -flying erratically here and there, too intent and too new at the game to -watch behind him. Suddenly, two sparks of fire like tiny shooting stars -whizz by him, a long rip appears in the fabric of his lower wing, and -next moment, clear and unmistakable, he hears, "Tut, tut, tut, tut." He -nearly twists his head off, and perceives with horror that five sinister -forms, gray, sharp-snouted, and iron-crossed, are hemming him in, above, -below, behind. His thoughts, which occupy possibly a second and a half, -may be set down roughly as follows: "Five Boche single-seaters--too -many--must beat it--how? Oh, yes--climb in zigzags and circles, heading -for our lines." - -Leaving Wilkins for a moment, I must tell you a curious thing which -shows that men have much in common with dogs. You know how, in his own -yard, a fox-terrier will often put a mastiff to flight--and a -fox-terrier, at that, who fears for his life when he ventures on the -street? The same thing applies to flying--over the German lines you have -a sort of a small, insignificant feeling, look at things -pessimistically, and are apt to let your imagination run too freely. The -minute you are over friendly country, that changes: your chest -immediately expands several inches, you become self-assertive, rude, and -over-confident. Thus Wilkins. - -In a wild series of zooms and half-spirals, to throw off his pursuers' -aim, he reaches his own lines safely, and finds that all but one -Albatross have given up the chase. One of them, possibly a beginner -anxious for laurels, is not to be thrown off; so the American resolves -to have a go at him. - -They are at twelve thousand feet. The German is behind and slightly -below, maneuvering to come up under the Spad's tail. A second's -thought, and Wilkins banks sharply to the left, circles, and dives -before the Boche has realized that it is an air-attack. With the wind -screaming through his struts, he sees the enemy's black-leather helmet -fair on the cross hairs of the telescope, and presses the catch of the -gun. A burst of half a dozen shots, a pull and a heave to avoid -collision. As he rushes past the Albatross, he sees the pilot sink -forward in his seat; the machine veers wildly, begins to dive, to spin. -Good God--he's done it--what luck--poor devil! - -And that night at mess, Wilkins stands champagne for the crowd. - -Young H---- has had another wild time. He ran across a very fast German -two-seater ten miles behind our lines, fought him till they were twenty -miles inside the Boche lines, followed him down to his own aerodrome, -circled at fifty feet in a perfect hail of bullets, killed the Hun -pilot as he walked (or ran) from machine to hangars, riddled the -hangars, rose up, and flew home. - -He shot away over four hundred rounds--a remarkable amount from a -single-seater bus, as the average burst is only five or six shots before -one is forced to maneuver for another aim. - - -On a raw foggy day, in the cozy living-room of our apartment, with a -delicious fire glowing in the stove, and four of the fellows having a -lively game of bridge, one is certainly comfortable--absurdly so. Talk -about the hardships of life on the front! - -The mess is the best I have seen, and very reasonable for these times--a -dollar and a half per day each, including half a bottle of wine, beer, -or mineral water at each meal. A typical dinner might be: excellent -soup, entrée, beefsteak, mashed potatoes, dessert, nuts, figs, salad. -While no man would appreciate an old-fashioned home-type American meal -more than I, one is forced to admit that the French have made a deep -study of cookery and rations designed to keep people in the best shape. -There is a certain balance to their meals--never too much concentrated, -starchy, or bulky food. The variety, considering the times, is really -wonderful. Breakfasts my pal and I cook ourselves, occasionally breaking -out some delicacy such as kidneys en brochette. - -We have an amusing system of fines for various offenses: half a franc if -late for a meal; a franc if over fifteen minutes late; half a franc for -throwing bread at the table; half a franc for breaking a tail-skid (on a -"cuckoo"); a franc for a complete smash; a franc and a half if you hurt -yourself to boot; and so on. A fellow hit a tree a while ago, had a -frightful crash, and broke both his legs. When he leaves the hospital, -the court will decide this precedent and probably impose on him a -ruinous fine. - -Of course no one ever pays a fine without passionate protests; so our -meals are enlivened by much debate. As we have a very clever lawyer and -a law student almost his equal, accuser and accused immediately engage -counsel, and it is intensely entertaining to hear their impassioned -arraignments and appeals to justice and humanity: deathless Gallic -oratory, enriched with quotations, classical allusions, noble gestures; -such stuff as brings the Chamber to its feet, roaring itself hoarse; and -all for a ten-penny fine! - -A good bit of excitement lately, over uniforms. In aviation, one knows, -there is no regulation uniform: each man is supposed to wear the color -and cut of his previous arm. The result is that each airman designs for -himself a creation which he fondly believes is suited to his style of -soldierly beauty--and many of these confections haven't the slightest -connection with any known French or Allied uniform. One may see -dark-blue, light-blue, horizon-blue, black, and khaki; trousers turned -up at the bottom; open-front tunics (like a British officer), and every -variety of hat, footwear, and overcoat. - -I, for instance (being in the Foreign Legion), wear khaki, open-fronted -tunic, a very unmilitary khaki stock necktie, Fox's puttees, and United -States Army boots. Naturally, I have to duck for cover whenever I see -the general loom up in the offing; for he is a rather particular, testy -old gentleman, very military, and can't abide the "fantaisies" of the -aviator tribe. Lately he has caught and severely reprimanded several of -the boys; so I guess that I shall have to have the tailor make certain -unfortunate changes in my garments. - -The weather of late has been wretched for flying. A low, frosty mist -hangs over the countryside; the trees, especially the pines, are -exquisite in their lacy finery of frost. The few days we have of decent -weather are usually interesting, as the Hun ventures over chez nous to -take a few photographs, and with a little luck the boys are able to -surprise him into a running fight. At night, when the tired war-birds -buzz home to roost, a crowd of pilots and mechanics gathers before the -hangars. All gaze anxiously into the northeastern sky. The captain paces -up and down--though he has flown four hours, he will not eat or drink -till he has news of his pilots. Jean is missing, and Charlot, and -Marcel. Night is drawing on--the sky flushes and fades, and faces are -growing just a trifle grave. - -Suddenly a man shouts and points--Jean's mechanician,--and high up in -the darkening east we see three specks--the missing combat patrol. Next -moment the hoarse drone of their motors reaches our ears; the sound -ceases; in great curving glides they descend on the aerodrome. We hear -the hollow whistling of their planes, see them, one after another, clear -the trees at ninety miles an hour, dip, straighten, and rush toward us, -a yard above the grass. A slight bumping jar, a half-stop, and each -motor gives tongue again in short bursts, as the pilots taxi across to -the hangars, snapping the spark on and off. - -Then a grand scamper to crowd around our half-frozen comrades, who -descend stiffly from their "zincs," and tell of their adventures, while -mechanics pull off their fur boots and combinations. Other "mecanos" are -examining the machines for bullet- and shrapnel-holes--often a new wing -is needed, or a new propeller; sometimes a cable is cut half through. -Snatches of talk (unintelligible outside the "fancy") reach one; we, of -course, know only the French, but the R.F.C. stuff is equally cryptic. - -"Spotted him at four thousand eight, 'piqued' on him, got under his -tail, did a chandelle, got in a good rafale, did a glissade, went into a -vrille, and lost so much height I could not catch him again." - -An R.F.C. man would say, "Spotted him at forty-eight hundred, dove on -him, got under his tail, did a zoom, got in a good burst, did a -side-slip, went into a spin," etc. I may say that "chandelle" or "zoom" -means a sudden, very steep leap upward (limited in length and steepness -by the power and speed of the machine). Some of our latest machines will -do the most extraordinary feats in this line--things that an old -experienced pilot in America would have to see to believe. A "glissade" -is a wing-slip to the side, and down; a "vrille" is a spinning -nose-dive. - -Among the younger pilots are several who entertain spectators with all -sorts of acrobatic feats over the aerodrome. A fine exhibition of skill -and courage, but foolish at times--especially after a fight, when vital -parts may be dangerously weakened by bullet-holes. Too much acrobacy -strains and weakens the strongest aeroplane. I believe in doing just -enough to keep your hand in, as in fights you are forced to put enough -unusual stresses on your bus. - - -I hope to know very soon whether or not we are to be transferred to the -American army. The long delay has worked hardships on a good many of us, -as of course no pilot could begin to live on the pay we get. The -Franco-American Flying-Corps fund (for which, I believe, we must thank -the splendid generosity of Mr. Vanderbilt) has helped immensely in the -past, but some of the boys are in hard straits now. I hope we shall be -transferred, because the pay will make us self-supporting, and any -American would rather be in United States uniform nowadays, in spite of -the bully way the French treat us, and our liking for our French -comrades, with whom it will be a wrench to part. - -The point regarding our present pay is this: all French aviators are -volunteers, knowing conditions in the air-service beforehand. Before -volunteering, therefore, they arrange for the necessary private funds; -if not available, they keep out of flying. We get two and a half francs -a day (as against five sous in the infantry), but on the other hand, we -are lodged, and forced by tradition to live, like officers. It is fine -for the chap who has a little something coming in privately, but tough -for the one who is temporarily or permanently "broke." - -Our boys are going to do splendid things over here. Everywhere one sees -discipline, efficiency, and organization that make an American's chest -go out. The first slackness (unavoidable at the start of a huge and -unfamiliar job) has completely disappeared. People at home should know -of all this as quickly and as much in detail as expedient: they are -giving their money and their flesh and blood, and prompt and racy news -helps wonderfully to hearten and stimulate those whose duty is at home. - -For myself, there is nowhere and nobody I would rather be at present -than here and a pilot. No man in his senses could say he enjoyed the -war; but as it must be fought out, I would rather be in aviation than -any other branch. A pleasant life, good food, good sleep, and two to -four hours a day in the air. After four hours (in two spells) over the -lines, constantly alert and craning to dodge scandalously accurate -shells and suddenly appearing Boches, panting in the thin air at twenty -thousand feet, the boys are, I think, justified in calling it a day. I -have noticed that the coolest men are a good bit let down after a dogged -machine-gun fight far up in the rarefied air. It may seem soft to an -infantryman--twenty hours of sleep, eating, and loafing; but in reality -the airman should be given an easy time outside of flying. - -I was unfortunate enough to smash a beautiful new machine yesterday. Not -my fault; but it makes one feel rotten to see a bright splendid thing -one has begun to love strewn about the landscape. Some wretched little -wire, or bit of dirt where it was not wanted, made my engine stop dead, -and a forced landing in rough country full of woods and ditches is no -joke. I came whizzing down to the only available field, turned into the -wind, only to see dead ahead a series of hopeless ditches which would -have made a frightful end-over-end crash. Nothing to do but pull her up -a few feet and sail over, risking a loss of speed. I did this, and -"pancaked" fairly gently, but had to hit ploughed ground across the -furrow. The poor "coucou"--my joy and pride--was wrecked, and I climbed, -or rather dropped, out, with nothing worse than a sore head, where the -old bean hit the carlingue. Now all the world looks gray, though our -captain behaved like the splendid chap he is about it: not a word of the -annoyance he must have felt. - -The very finest motors, of course, do stop on occasions. Better luck, I -hope, from now on. - - -As the days go by, I find much that is novel and interesting about the -aerial war, which in reality is quite different from any idea of it that -I had had. I will try to give a rough idea of how the upper war is -carried on. - -The trenches, sometimes visible, often quite invisible from the heights -at which one flies, form the dividing line between us and the Boche. -Behind them, at distances of from seven to fifteen miles, are the -aerodromes--a few acres of tolerably flat land, three or four or half a -dozen hangars (often cleverly camouflaged), barracks, and sheds for -automobiles. Each side, of course, knows pretty well the locations of -the enemy aerodromes. This gives rise to a certain amount of give and -take in the bombing line, which, in the end, accomplishes very little. - -It is a curious fact that in certain sectors the aviator's life is made -miserable by this ceaseless bombing, while in other places a species of -unwritten understanding permits him to sleep, at least, in peace. I have -a friend in a far-off escadrille who has to jump out of bed and dive for -the dugouts nearly every clear night, when the sentry hears the -unmistakable Mercedes hum close overhead, the shutting off of the -motor, and the ominous rush of air as the Huns descend on their mark. He -knows that the Germans get as good as, or better than they give--but the -knowledge does not make up for lost sleep. In my sector, on the other -hand, we could blow the Boche aerodromes to atoms and they could -probably do as much for us, but neither side has started this useless -"strafing." Just before an attack, such bombing might be of military -value; otherwise it only harasses vainly men who need what sleep they -get, and destroys wealth on both sides, like exchanging men in checkers -without profiting in position. I have heard parlor warriors at home say, -"By all means make war as unpleasant as possible--then it won't happen -again." But there is a limit to this, when nothing of tactical value is -accomplished. - -The aerodromes are the headquarters of the different squadrons, each of -which is specialized in some type of work. Military aviation divides -itself into certain groups, requiring different types of machines and -different training for pilot or observer. These groups are day-bombing, -night-bombing, observation, photography, artillery fire-control, and -chasse. I would like to tell you all about the different buses used, but -of course one is not at liberty to do so. In general, bombing-machines -are rather large two-seaters or three-seaters, designed to rise to great -heights, where they are very fast, and capable of carrying heavy loads -for long distances. They are, naturally, well armed, but depend (for -safely carrying out their missions) principally on their speed at -altitudes of eighteen thousand feet or more. Photography, observation, -and artillery control machines, on the other hand, must be fast at lower -altitudes, handy in a fight, and speedy climbers. They are, so far as I -know, always two-seaters, and are really the most important of all -aeroplanes. I believe that all the allied designers should work together -to produce a single uniform type of two-seater--small, quick to -maneuver, and very fast up to fifteen or sixteen thousand feet. Such -machines, flying about their work in small groups, are truly formidable -things for single-seater scouts to attack, as they are nearly as fast -and handy, and have the enormous advantage of being able to shoot -backward as well as forward. With light double-controls for the -machine-gun man or observing officer (who would take a few lessons in -emergency flying), they could not be brought down by killing the -pilot--a most valuable feature. - -The Boches have such machines,--particularly the Rumpler,--which are -tough nuts to crack, even when outnumbered. Two of our boys had a -running fight with a Rumpler recently, and dove at him alternately for -thirty minutes over forty miles of country. Both were nearly brought -down in the process--and they failed to bag the enemy machine, though at -the last they did for the observer. This shows the great value of the -fast two-place bus. I doubt if people at home are aware of the -difficulties of designing a two-seater which one could pronounce, -without hesitation, the best. It must have four major qualities: speed, -climbing ability, diving speed, and handiness. The need of strength, or -high factor of safety, goes without saying. Speed is simply a matter of -power and head resistance, and is comparatively easy to attain alone; -the rub comes in combining with it the requisite climbing power, and -factor of safety. The Germans, in general, seem to believe in a very -heavy, substantial motor, which cuts their climbing to a certain extent, -but gives them a very fast dive. The Allies' machines, I should say, -are slightly faster climbers, but cannot follow a diving Hun. And so it -goes--to have one quality in perfection, another must be sacrificed. - -Last of all come the single-seaters, whose sole purpose is to fight. -Many different types have been tried--monoplanes, biplanes, and -triplanes, with different kinds of fixed and rotary motors. At present -the biplane seems to have it (though I have seen an experimental -monoplane that is a terror), as the monoplane is by nature too weak, and -the triplane (magnificent otherwise!) is too slow in diving for either -attack or escape. - -The work the different groups perform seems to be roughly the same in -the Allied and enemy armies. The day-bombers fly at great heights, -sometimes escorted and protected by single-seaters. The night-bombers -fly fairly low, never escorted. Photographers, observers, and artillery -regulators have a nasty job, as they must fly rather low, constantly -subjected to a galling attention from old Archibald. When their mission -requires it, they are escorted by chasse machines--a job that -single-seater pilots do not pine for, because they often go twenty or -thirty miles into "Bochie," where motor-trouble means a soup diet till -the end of the war; and because, at low altitudes, hovering over a slow -"cuckoo," the anti-aircraft gunners have too good a time. - -The single-seaters may be divided into two classes: the first does -escort work about half the time, the second does nothing but parade up -and down the lines, hunting for trouble. The last are the élite among -airmen. Unfortunately I am not one of them, as they are recruited only -from tried and skillful pilots. As to fighting, there is a good deal of -popular misconception. One imagines picturesque duels to the death, -between A (the great French or English ace) and X (his German -competitor)--the multitude of straining, upturned eyes, the distant -rattle of shots, the flaming spin of the loser. As a matter of fact, a -duel between two monoplaces, handled by pilots of anything like equal -skill, who are _aware of each other's presence_, is not unlikely to end -without bloodshed. Bear in mind that they can shoot only forward, that -the gun must be aimed by aiming the whole machine (to which it is fixed -immovably), and that a twisting, climbing, banking aeroplane, traveling -at over one hundred miles per hour, is no joke to hit in its small -vitals, and you can see that this must be so. - -The truth is, that the vast majority of fights which end in a victory -are between scouts and two-seaters, and that it needs two scouts to -attack one biplace with anything like even chances of winning. Think a -moment. The two-seater is nearly as fast and handy as you are; he can -therefore avoid you and shoot forward almost as well, and in addition, -he has a man astern who can shoot up, sideways, and backwards with most -superior accuracy. This disconcerting individual, it is true, cannot -shoot straight down when the wings are horizontal, but to enable him to -do so, the pilot has only to tilt the machine to the necessary angle. - -Now, suppose two French monoplaces sight an Iron-Crossed two-seater. -Flying at sixteen thousand feet, they see French shrapnel in white puffs -bursting below them at two thousand feet, and several miles away. They -change their course, and presently, dodging in and out among the fleecy -balls, they espy a fast biplace, heavily camouflaged in queer splotches -of green, brown, and violet. Coming nearer, they make out the -crosses--ha, a Boche! Nearer and nearer they come, till they are four -hundred yards behind and six hundred feet above the enemy, who has seen -them and is making tracks for home. Three hundred yards, by the way, is -the closest one may safely approach a machine-gun in the air. At this -point A dives on the Boche to about two hundred and fifty yards, shoots -a short burst, and veers off. The German machine-gunner lets him have a -rafale, but meanwhile B has dived under and behind the enemy's tail. -There he stays, at a fairly safe distance, with his eye on the rudder -above him, ready to anticipate the banks which might enable the gunner -to get in a burst. As soon as A sees that B is beneath the Boche, he -dives and shoots again. The gunner is in a quandary--if he aims at A, B -will slip up and forward, rear his machine into position, and deliver a -possibly deadly burst. If he devotes his attention to B, A will be safe -to make a dive to dangerously close quarters. There you have the theory -of the most common of all attacks--but in reality it is more difficult -than it sounds. The three machines are traveling at great speed, and -constantly twisting, rearing, and diving. It is the easiest thing in the -world to pass another plane, turn to follow it, and see nothing, no -matter how you strain your eyes. In passing, your combined speed might -be roughly _one hundred and twenty yards per second_, and you are both -moving in three dimensions. The object for which you search may be to -the side, ahead, above, below; and every second of your search may be -increasing its distance at enormous speed. - -It is bitterly cold, and I am sitting in our cozy mess-room waiting for -lunch, which is at twelve. A dense fog hangs over the aerodrome, and the -trees are beautifully frosted. - -Just had word that a boy who was at Avord in my time has bagged one of -the "Tangos"--no mean feat. It is the crack escadrille of all -Germany--Albatross DIII's, driven by the pick of the Hun fighting -pilots, and commanded, I believe, by Von Richthofen--the most famous of -German aces. They are a formidable aggregation, recognizable by rings of -tango red around their Iron Crosses, and stripes of the same color along -the fuselage. For a young pilot to bring one of these birds down in one -of his first flights over the lines is a wonderful piece of luck and -skill. - -On days (like to-day) when the weather makes flying impossible, the -fellows sleep late, make a long, luxurious toilet, breakfast, and stroll -down to the hangars, where they potter around their "zincs," feeling -over the wires, adjusting the controls, tinkering their machine-guns, or -perhaps fitting on some sort of new trick sight. Sights are a hobby with -every pilot and nearly every one has different ideas on the subject, -advocating telescopic or open, one or two-eye outfits. Then, if one is -extra careful, he takes out the long belt of cartridges, feels each -bullet to make sure it is tightly crimped in the shell, and pushes and -pulls the shells until all are exactly even. "Jams" are the curse of -this game, and no amount of trouble is too much, if it insures a smooth -working gun. Some jams can be fixed in the air, but others render you -defenseless until you can land. - -Each pilot has his own mechanic, who does nothing but look after his -bus, and is usually a finished comedian in addition to being a crack -mechanic. In truth, I never ran across a more comical, likable, -hard-working crew than the French aviation mechanics. They are mostly -pure Parisian "gamins"--speaking the most extraordinary jargon, in which -everything but the verbs (and half of them) is slang, of the most -picturesque sort. Quick-witted, enormously interested in their work, -intelligent and good-natured, they are the aristocrats of their trade, -and know it. You should see them when they go on leave. Jean or Chariot, -ordinarily the most oily and undignified of men, steps out of the -squadron office arrayed in a superb blue uniform, orange tabs on his -collar, a mirror-like tan belt about his waist--shaven, shorn, shining -with cleanliness, puffing an expensive-looking, gilt-banded cigar. Is it -fancy--or is there a slight condescension in his greeting? Well, it is -natural--you can never hope to look so superbly like a field-marshal. A -little crowd of pals gathers around, for it is just after lunch; and -presently the motorbus draws up with a scream of brakes and a cloud of -dust. The motor has "AV" in big letters on the side, and its driver (not -to be confounded with any mere ambulance or lorry chauffeur) would feel -it a disgrace to travel under forty miles an hour, or to make anything -but the most spectacular of turns and stops. The driver produces a -silver cigarette case, passes it round, takes a weed, taps it on his -wrist, and chaffs the permissionnaire about a new godmother on whom he -is planning to call in Paris. - -Presently the captain steps out of his office; the departing one spins -about, head back and chest out, cigar hidden in his left hand; -"click"--his heels come together magnificently, and up goes his right -hand in a rigid salute. Smiling behind his mustache, our extremely -attractive captain salutes in return, and shakes Chariot's hand warmly, -wishing him a pleasant leave. He is off, and you can picture him -to-morrow strolling with princely nonchalance along the boulevards. What -if he earns but five cents a day--he saves most of that, and his pilot -presents him with a substantial sum every Saturday night, all of which -is put away for the grand splurge, three times a year. - -In Paris, you will recognize the type--well dressed in neat dark blue, -orange collar with the group number on it, fingernails alone showing the -unmistakable traces of his trade, face, eyes and manner registering -interest and alert intelligence. As likely as not you see him on the -terrace of some great café--a wonderfully smart little midinette (his -feminine counterpart) beside him, with shining eyes of pride--and at the -next table a famous general of division, ablaze with the ribbons of half -a dozen orders. - -The "mecanos" dress as nearly like pilots as they dare, and after flying -is over in the evening are apt to appear about the hangars in the -teddy-bear suits and fur boots of the "patron." Some funny things happen -at such times. There is a class of officers, called "officers of -administration," attached to squadrons and groups of aviation, who do -not fly, but look after the office and business end of the équipe. They -are worthy men and do absolutely necessary work, but somehow are not -very swank. - -One day it became known that the revered Guynemer was to visit a certain -escadrille, and naturally all the officers were on fire to shake the -hero's hand--a reminiscence to hand down to their children's children. -The administration officer--a first lieutenant--was late in getting away -from the bureau, and when he got to the field, Guynemer had landed, left -his machine, and gone to have the sacred apéritif of five o'clock. -Meanwhile, the chief comedian of all the mechanics, dressed by chance in -his pilot's combination and boots, and proud to tinker (with reverent -fingers) the famous Spad, had run out to where it stood, filled it with -gas and oil, touched up the magneto, and cleaned a couple of plugs. The -officer, as he came to the hangars, perceived the well-known "taxi," -with the stork on its side, and a furry figure strolling towards him. A -snap of heels, the position of attention, and he was saluting (as he -thought) one of the most glorious figures of France. The comedy -mechanician--taking in the situation at a glance--strolled magnificently -by, with a careless salute and a nod. The officer never inquired who it -was he had saluted--but what a tale to pass around the barrack stove on -winter evenings! Mistaken for Guynemer! Saluted by a two-striper! - -In clothes and get-up the mechanics follow the pilots' lead, but in -language the situation is reversed--we take pride in memorizing, -chuckling over, and using at every opportunity the latest word or phrase -invented by these gifted slangsters. An aeroplane is never "avion" or -"appareil," but "zinc," "taxi," or "coucou." Motor is "moulin"--to start -it, one "turns the mill." In the aviation, one does not eat, one -"pecks." One is not killed--one "breaks one's face," though face is not -the inelegant word in use. Gasoline is "sauce"; to open the throttle, -you "give her the sauce." A motor breakdown is not, as in the automobile -service, a "panne," but a "carafe"--heaven knows why! and so on. - -Life out here is in many ways a contrast to the last six months. Though -only a beginner, a bleu, I am Somebody, through the mere fact of being a -pilot, and most of all a pilote de chasse--a most chic thing to be. I -must dress well, shave daily, wear my hair brushed straight back and -long,--in contrast to all other branches of the army,--have my boots and -belt polished like a mirror, and frequent only the best café in town. -These are, of course, unwritten rules, but sternly lived up to--and I -confess that the return of self-respect, after months of dirt and -barrack life, is not unpleasant. - -Our escadrille, composed of ten French pilots, two Americans, and the -officers, is really a very decent crowd of chaps of good family and -education. Frenchmen of this kind are good fellows and pleasant -companions, differing from us only on certain racial points of outlook -and humor. Among them are two lawyers (with all the French lawyer's -delicate wit, irony, and love of play on words), a large wine-grower (if -you can grow wine), a professional soldier from Morocco, a medical -student, and my room-mate, a most attractive chap, an English -public-school man, whose family are French importers in London. He has -been nearly everywhere, is absolutely bi-lingual, and is the sort of man -who is at home in any kind of company. - -From time to time, of course, some one is brought down, and though I -dislike it intensely, one feels that decency demands one's presence at -the funeral. Elaborate, rather fine ceremony usually, where the Gallic -emotional nature appears at its best. At the last one, for instance, the -captain (brave as a lion, and a man to his finger-tips) was overcome in -the midst of his speech of eulogy and burst into tears. Impossible to an -Anglo-Saxon, but to me there was something very fine in the sight of -this splendid officer, frankly overcome with grief at the loss of one of -his men. When the ceremony is over, each pilot and friend comes to pay -respect to the departed comrade, takes up in turn an implement shaped -like an Indian-club, dips it in holy water, makes a sign with it over -the coffin, draped in the Tri-color, and sprinkles a few drops of water -on the flag. - -At our mess, we have queer little things of glass to rest knife and fork -on, while the dishes are being changed; and last night at dinner, when -the captain's orderly assigned one pilot to a particularly ticklish -mission, an irrepressible American youth who was dining with us picked -up one of these knife-rests (shaped exactly like a holy-water -sprinkler), stood up very solemnly, made the sign over his victim, and -sprinkled a few drops on his head. Amid roars of laughter every one at -the table stood up in turn and did likewise. A harmless joke to us, but -I am not sure of its good taste to a Frenchman. - -If I had known France before the war I could decide better a question -that constantly occurs to me: "Has France grown more religious with -war?" The educated Frenchman is certainly the most intelligent, the most -skeptical, the least inclined to take things on trust of all men, yet on -the whole I am inclined to believe that religious feeling (by no means -orthodox religion) has grown and is growing. In peace times, death seems -a vitally important thing, to be spoken of with awe and to be dreaded, -perhaps as the end of the game, if you chance to be a materialist. - -All that is changed now. You go to Paris on leave, you spend two or -three days delightfully with Bill or Jim or Harry, a very dear friend, -also in on leave from his battery, regiment, or squadron. - -A week later some one runs up to you with a long face. "Bill got crowned -on Thursday," he says; "joined a Boche patrol by mistake and brought -down before he saw the crosses. Poor old cuss." You sigh, thinking of -the pleasant hours you have passed with Bill--your long talks together, -his curious and interesting kinks of outlook, the things which make -personality, make one human being different from another. Somehow your -thoughts don't dwell on his death as they would in peace-times--a week -or a month later your mind has not settled into taking for granted his -non-existence. Next time you visit Paris, you hasten to his former -haunts--half expecting to find him absorbing a bock and expounding his -peculiar philosophy. - -Is there a life after death? Of course there is--you smile a little to -yourself to think you could ever have believed otherwise. This, I am -confident, is common experience nowadays. The belief that individuality -ceases, that death is anything but a quick and not very alarming change, -is too absurd to hold water. It is a comforting thought and gives men -strength to perform duties and bear losses which in ordinary times would -come hard. - - -I have just been made popotier--I don't know what you call it in -English, but it means the individual who attends to the mess: buys -provisions, wine, and so forth, makes out menus, keeps accounts, and -bosses the cook. A doubtful honor, but one of which I am rather proud -when I think that a crowd of French officers have entrusted to me the -sacred rites of the table. I was never much of a gourmet, but what -little I know stands me in good stead. - -To-day was the occasion of the first considerable feast under my -régime--a lunch given by the officers of our squadron to some -distinguished French visitors. The cook and I held long and anxious -consultations and finally turned out a meal on which every one -complimented us: excellent hors d'oeuvres, grilled salmon steaks, roast -veal, asparagus, and salad. A dry Chablis with the fish and some really -good Burgundy with the roast. Not bad for the front, really. - -I give the cook each night enough money for the next day's marketing. -The following evening he tells me the amount of the day's expenses, -which sum I divide by the number present, giving each man's share for -the day. Very simple. - -Since I got my new machine I have become a genuine hangar-loafer. It is -so delicate and complicated that my unfortunate mechanics have to work -practically all the time to keep me going. The only way to get the work -done well is to know about it yourself; and so, against my instincts, I -have been forced for the first time to study the technical and -mechanical side of my bus. - -Some say, "The pilot should never know too much about his machine--it -destroys his dash." Perhaps they are right--certainly a plunge into this -maze of technicalities destroys his sleep--there is an unwholesome -fascination about it: hundreds of delicate and fragile parts, all -synchronized as it were and working together, any one of which, by its -defection, can upset or even wreck the whole fabric. A simple -motor-failure, even in our own lines and at a good altitude, is no joke -in the case of the modern single-seater. Small and enormously heavy for -its wing-surface, it first touches ground at too high a speed for -anything but the longest and smoothest fields. In pannes of this sort, -the pilot usually steps out of the most frightful-looking wreck smiling -and quite unhurt; but you can scarcely imagine the chagrin and -depression one feels at breaking a fine machine. I did it once, and it -made me half sick for a week, though it was not really my fault at all. - -After lunch, instead of taking a nap as one does when on duty at -daybreak, I go to the "bar" to read letters and papers and see friends -from the other squadrons. As I go in the door, five friends in flying -clothes go out. - -"See you in two hours," says Lieutenant D----. "Let's have a poker game; -I've got a patrol now." - -"All right," I say, "I'll be here"--though I'm not very keen on French -poker, which is somewhat different from ours. - -The two hours pass in a wink of time as I lie in a steamer-chair, -reading and reveling in the warm drowsy May afternoon. A sound of -motors, the hollow whistling rush of landing single-seaters, and I -glance out of the door. Here they come, lumbering across the field--but -only four. I get up hastily and run to where the flight-commander is -descending stiffly from his bus. His face is long, as we crowd around. - -"Where's D----?" I ask anxiously. - -"Brought down, I'm afraid," he answers. "We chased some two-seaters -twenty-five miles into the Boche lines, and nine Albatrosses dropped on -us. Got two of them, I think; but after the first mix-up, I lost track -of D----, and he didn't come back with us." - -A melancholy little procession heads for the bar, and while the affair -is being reëxplained, the telephone rings. - -"Lieutenant D---- has been found at X----. He was shot through the -chest, but managed to regain our lines before he died. He was on the -point of landing in a field when he lost consciousness. The machine is -not badly smashed." - -At a near-by table, a dice game, which started after lunch and has been -interrupted to hear the news, continues. I resume my place in my chair -and spread out the Paris "Herald"--unable to focus my mind on the -steamship arrivals or the offensive. Poor old D----! - -We have had lovely weather for the past fortnight--long warm days have -made the trees burst into leaf and covered the meadows with -wild-flowers. The quail have begun to nest--queer little fellows, quite -unlike ours, whose love-song is, "_Whit_, twit, whit," with a strong -emphasis on the first "whit." - -Sometimes, at night, a nightingale, on a tree outside my window, charms -me to wakefulness with his dripping-sweet music. - - -These are strenuous days--I have done nothing but fly, eat, and sleep -for a fortnight. Our "traveling circus" has been living up to its -name--going about from place to place with amazing mobility and speed. I -have lived for a week with no baggage but the little bag I carry in my -plane. It contains one change of light underwear, one pair of socks, -tooth-brush, tooth-paste, tobacco, sponge, soap, towel, shaving things, -mirror, a first-aid kit, and a bottle of eau de cologne. With this I can -weather a few days anywhere until the baggage-trucks catch up. - -Our mobility is marvelous--we can receive our orders at daybreak, -breakfast, and land in a place a hundred miles away in an hour and a -half. Then a little oil and petrol, and we are ready to bounce -something off the local Boche. I could easily write a large calf-bound -volume on nothing but my experiences of the past week--one of the most -strangely fascinating (in retrospect) of my life, though saddened by the -loss of two of our pilots, one an American. - -We had no sooner got to this place than we were sent out on a -patrol--six of us, with a French lieutenant, a special friend of mine, -as flight-commander. None of us had flown before in this sector, and a -young American (S----, of New York) was making his second flight over -the lines. The weather was wretched, thick, low-hanging clouds with a -fine drizzle of rain--visibility almost zero. While mechanics filled the -machine, I pored over my map till I had all necessary landmarks -thoroughly in mind. At last the captain glanced at his watch and -shouted, "En voiture!" - -I climbed into my tiny cockpit, loaded my gun with a snap of the lever, -wiped the sights free of moisture, and sank back in my seat, while my -mechanic adjusted the belt which holds one tight in place. Up went the -captain's hand, and almost with a single roar the six motors started. -One after another we rushed across the field, rose to the low ceiling of -the clouds, and swept back, bunched like a flock of teal. The -flight-commander's head, a black leather dot in his cockpit, turned -swiftly for a glance back. All there and well grouped; so he headed for -the lines, flying so low that we seemed to shave the spires of village -churches. Soon the houses ceased to have roofs--we were over the front. - -A great battle was raging below us--columns of smoke rose from the towns -and the air was rocked and torn by the passage of projectiles. Far and -near the woods were alive with the winking flash of batteries. Soon we -were far into the German lines; deep coughs came from the air about us -as patches of black sprang out. But we were too low and our speed was -too great to be bothered by the Boche gunners. Suddenly the clouds broke -for an instant, and across the blue hole I saw a dozen Albatrosses -driving toward us--German single-seaters, dark ugly brutes with broad -short wings and pointed snouts. Our leader saw them too, and we bounded -upward three hundred feet, turning to meet them. The rest happened so -swiftly that I can scarcely describe it coherently. Out of the tail of -my eye I saw our leader dive on an Albatross, which plunged spinning to -the ground. At the same instant I bounded upward to the clouds and -dropped on a Boche who was attacking a comrade. I could see my gun -spitting streams of luminous bullets into the German's fuselage. But -suddenly swift incandescent sparks began to pour past me, and a glance -backward showed three Albatrosses on my tail. I turned upside down, -pulled back, and did a hairpin turn, rising to get behind them. Not a -German machine was in sight--they had melted away as suddenly as they -came. - -Far off to the south four of our machines were heading back toward the -lines. Feeling very lonely and somewhat de trop, I opened the throttle -wide and headed after them. Just as I caught up, the leader signaled -that he was done for, and glided off, with his propeller stopped. -Praying that he might get safely across to our side, I fell in behind -the second in command. Only four now--who and where was the other? -Anxiously I ranged alongside of each machine for a look at its number. -As I had feared, it was the American--a hot-headed, fearless boy, full -of courage and confidence, but inexperienced and not a skillful pilot. -No word of him since. Did he lose the patrol in a sharp turn and get -brought down by a prowling gang of Albatrosses, or did he have -motor-trouble which forced him to land in the enemy lines? These are the -questions we ask ourselves, hoping for the best. - -An hour after we landed at our field, a telephone message came, saying -that Lieutenant de G---- had landed safely a thousand yards behind the -firing-line, with three balls in his motor. - -The captain sent for me. "Take my motor-car," he said, "and go fetch de -G----. The machine is in plain view on a hill. I am giving you two -mechanics, so do your best to save the instruments and machine-gun. The -Boche artillery will probably drop shells on the machine before -nightfall." - -The trip proved rather a thriller, for at this point the old-fashioned -picture-book trenchless warfare was in full blast. Picking up de G----, -we hid the car in a valley and sneaked forward under an unpleasant fire -of shrapnel and high explosives. The unconcerned infantry reserves, -chaffing and smoking where they lay hidden in fields of ripe wheat, -stiffened our slightly shaky nerves. Poor timid aviators, completely out -of their element--I heaved a sigh of relief that came from the very -soles of my feet when at last our task was done, and with our cargo -safely stowed, we sped out of the valley and back toward the rear. Hats -off to the infantry! - -Next day two of us went patrolling with the captain--a famous "ace" -whose courage and skillful piloting are proverbial and who never asked -one of his men to do a thing he hesitated to do himself. He was -particularly fond of Americans (one of Lufbery's pallbearers), and on -many occasions had done things for me which showed his rare courtesy and -thoughtfulness. None of us dreamed, as he laughed and joked with us at -the breakfast-table, that it was his last day of life. - -The details of this patrol will always be fresh in my mind. We were -flying at about seven thousand feet, the three of us, I on the captain's -right. At six thousand, stretching away into the German lines, there was -a beautiful sea of clouds, white and level and limitless. Far back, a -dozen miles "chez Boche," a flight of Albatrosses crawled across the -sky--a roughly grouped string of dots, for all the world like migrating -wildfowl. Suddenly, about seven or eight miles in, a Hun two-seater -poked his nose above the clouds, rose leisurely into view, and dove -back. I was quite sure that he had not seen us. The captain began at -once to rise, turning at the same time to take advantage of the sun, and -for a few minutes we wove back and forth, edging in till we were nearly -over the spot where the Boche had appeared. At last our patience was -rewarded. The Boche emerged from the clouds, seemed to hesitate an -instant like a timid fish rising from a bed of seaweed, and headed for -the lines, where doubtless he had some reglage or reconnaissance to do. - -Our position was perfect--in the sun and well above the enemy. The -captain banked vertically and plunged like a thunderbolt on the German, -I following a little behind and to one side. At one hundred and fifty -yards, streaks of fire poured from his two guns, and as he dove under -the German's belly I got into range. Dropping vertically at a speed (I -suppose) of two hundred and fifty miles an hour, with the wind screaming -through the wires, I got my sights to bear and pulled the trigger. -Faintly above the furious rush of air, I could hear the stutter of my -gun and see the bullets streaking to their mark. It was over in a wink -of time: as I swerved sharply to the left, I caught a glimpse of the Hun -machine-gunner, in a great yellow helmet and round goggles, frantically -getting his gun to bear on me. A pull-back and I shot up under his tail, -tilted up, and gave him another burst. - -But what was this--as I opened the throttle, the engine sputtered and -died! I dove steeply at once to keep the propeller turning, realizing in -a flash of thought that the long fast dive had made the pressure in my -gasoline tank go down. A turn of the little lever put her on the small -gravity tank called the "nurse"; but no luck--something was wrong with -the valve. Nothing to do but pump by hand, and I pumped like a madman. -Seven miles in the enemy lines and dropping like a stone--I was what the -French call très inquiet. Three thousand feet, two thousand, a -thousand--and I pumped on, visions of a soup-diet and all the tales I -had heard of German scientific food substitutes flashing through my -mind. Five hundred; a splutter from the engine, and at two hundred feet -above a ruined village she burst into her full roar, and I drew a breath -for the first time in the descent. Crossed the lines three hundred feet -up with full throttle and the nose down, and didn't get a bullet-hole! - -I was unable to find the others, and as my petrol was low I went home. -The rest I have from the other pilot. - -The captain apparently had the same trouble as I, for he continued his -dive to about three thousand feet, followed by the other. The German, -when last seen, was diving for the ground, so we shall never know -whether or not we got him. Rising again above the sea of clouds, the -captain attacked the rear man of a patrol of eleven Albatrosses which -passed beneath him. Turning over and over aimlessly, the Hun fell out -of sight into the clouds. At this moment three Boches dove on the -captain from the rear--his machine burst into flames and dove steeply -toward our lines. Our remaining pilot, hopelessly outnumbered, -extricated himself with difficulty and arrived a few minutes after me, -his bus riddled with balls. We found the captain's body, just behind the -firing-line. He had been killed by three bullets, but had retained -consciousness long enough to get to friendly ground before he died. A -splendid officer and a true friend, whom we all mourn sincerely. - - -The past fortnight has been rather stirring for us--constant flying, -plenty of fights, and the usual moving about. One gets used to it in -time, but at first it is a wrench to a man of my conservative nature and -sedentary habits. This time we have struck it rich in a village where -soldiers are still welcome. I have a really charming room in the house -of the principal family--well-to-do people who own the local factory. -Great sunny south windows, running water, and a soft snowy bed, scented -with lavender! A day of rest to-day, as they are installing a new motor -in my "taxi"; so I am planted at a little table, looking out through my -window on a warm peaceful scene of tiled roofs, rustling leaves, and a -delicious sky across which float summery clouds. Not a uniform in sight, -not a sound of a cannon--the war seems an impossible dream. - -The last day at our old field I had a narrow escape. Two of us were -flying together up and down the lines at about four thousand feet. The -other chap had allowed me to get pretty far in the lead, when I spied, -about two thousand feet below me, a strange-looking two-seater, darkly -camouflaged, on which I could see no insignia. I dove on him, but not -headlong, as the English have a machine on similar lines, and it was not -until I was quite close that I made out two tiny black crosses _set in -circles of orange_. By this time the machine-gunner was on the alert, -and just as I was going to give him a burst, _flac, flac, flac_, bullets -began to pass me from behind. Holes suddenly appeared in my wings; in -another moment whoever was shooting would have had me, so I rose steeply -in a sharp turn, saw nothing, turned again and again, and finally, -disappearing in the distance after the two-seater, I made out two little -Pfalz scouts, painted dark green. - -My comrade, who was having engine trouble, saw the whole thing. The -Boche single-seaters were well behind the larger plane they were -protecting,--somehow I missed seeing them,--and when I dove at their pal -they rose up under my tail and let me have it with their four guns. -Only some rotten shooting saved me from being brought down. The hardest -thing for a new pilot to learn is the proper combination of dash and -wariness: neither produces results alone; both are absolutely essential. -One must bear in mind two axioms: first, bring down the enemy; second, -don't get brought down yourself. A disheartening number of young pilots, -full of dash and courage, trained at great expense to their country, get -themselves brought down on their first patrol, simply because they lack -skill and the necessary dash of wariness. A good general does not -ordinarily attack the enemy where he is strongest. - -Our field was deserted: the mechanics were packing to leave, and my -machine--old Slapping Sally--stood mournfully in the corner of a hangar. -I stowed my belongings in the little locker at my side, had her wheeled -out, adjusted my maps, and in five minutes was off on my long trip over -unknown country. Our maps are really marvelous. With the compass to -check up directions of roads, railroads, canals, and rivers, one can -travel hundreds of miles over strange country and never miss a crossroad -or a village. If, however, you allow yourself to become lost for an -instant, you are probably hopelessly lost, with nothing to do but land -and locate yourself on the map. - -When I left, there was a gale of wind blowing, with spits of rain; and -in fifteen minutes, during which I had covered forty miles, the clouds -were scudding past at three hundred feet off the ground, forcing me at -times to jump tall trees on hills. A bit too thick. Seeing a small -aerodrome on my right, I buzzed over and landed, getting a great -reception from the pilots, who had never examined one of the latest -single-seaters. It is really comical, with what awe the pilots of slower -machines regard a scout. They have been filled full of mechanics' -stories about "landing at terrific speed--the slightest false movement -means death," and the like; whereas in reality our machines are the -easiest things in the world to land, once you get the trick. - -In a couple of hours the weather showed signs of improvement, so I shook -hands all round and strapped myself in. To satisfy their interest and -curiosity, I taxied to the far edge of the field, headed into the wind, -rose a yard off the ground, gave her full motor, and held her down to -within thirty yards of the spectators, grouped before a hangar. By this -time Sally was fairly burning the breeze--traveling every yard of her -one hundred and thirty-five miles an hour; and as my hosts began to -scatter, I let her have her head. Up she went in a mighty bound at -forty-five degrees, nine hundred feet in the drawing of a breath. There -I flattened her, reduced the motor, did a couple of "Immelman turns" -(instead of banking, turn upside-down, and pull back), and waved -good-bye. Rather childish, but they were good fellows, and really -interested in what the bus would do. - -All went well as far as Paris, where I had one of the classic Paris -breakdowns, though genuine enough as it chanced. Landed in the suburbs, -got a mechanic to work, and had time for a delicious lunch at a small -workmen's restaurant. Treated myself to a half bottle of sound Medoc and -a villainous cigar with the coffee, and got back just in time to find -them testing my motor. The rest of the trip was uneventful. I arrived -here in the early afternoon and installed myself for the night in these -superb quarters. - -This is the classic hour for French pilots to foregather in excited -groups to expliquer les coups--an expressive phrase for which I can -recall no exact equivalent in English. They (or rather we) spend a full -hour every evening in telling just how it was done, or why it was not -done, and so on, _ad infinitum_. Snatches of characteristic talk reach -your ears--(I will attempt a rough translation). "You poor fish! why -didn't you dive that time they had us _bracketed_?--I had to follow you -and I got an éclat as big as a dinner-plate within a foot of my back." - -"Did you see me get that Boche over the wood? I killed the observer at -the first rafale, rose over the tail, and must have got the pilot then, -for he spun clear down till he crashed." - -"See the tanks ahead of that wave of assault? Funny big crawling things -they looked--that last one must have been en panne--the Boches were -certainly bouncing shells off its back!" - -"Raoul and I found a troop of Boche cavalry on a road--in khaki, I -swear. Thought they were English till we were within one hundred -metres. Then we gave them the spray--funniest thing you ever saw!" - -"Yes--I'll swear I saw some khaki, too. Saw a big column of Boche -infantry and was just going to let 'em have it when I saw horizon-blue -guards. Prisoners, of course." - -You can imagine pages of this sort of thing--every night. At the bar we -have a big sign: "Ici on explique les coups." At the mess, another: -"Défense d'expliquer les coups ici." There are limits. - - -As mess-officer I have been going strong of late--nearly every day one -or two or three "big guns" (grosses huiles, the French call them) of -aviation drop in to lunch or dinner. Down from a patrol at 10.30, and -scarcely out of the machine, when up dashes our cook, knife in one hand -and ladle in the other, fairly boiling over with anxiety. "Commandant -X---- and his staff are coming to lunch--I can't leave the stove--what -on earth shall we do?" - -An hour and a half. Just time for the cyclist to buzz down to the -nearest town for some extra hors d'oeuvres, salad, and half a dozen old -bottles. In the end everything runs off smoothly, and when the white -wine succeeds the red, the usual explication des coups begins--highly -entertaining inside stuff, from which one could cull a whole backstairs -history of French aviation. It has been my privilege to meet many famous -men in this way--great "aces" and great administrators of the flying -arm; men whose names are known wherever European aviators gather. I wish -I could tell you half the drolleries they recount, or reproduce one -quarter of the precise, ironical, story-telling manner of a cultivated -Frenchman. - -A captain who lunched with us to-day, bearer of an historic name, was -recently decorated (somewhat against his will) for forcing a Boche to -land in our lines. The truth is that in the single combat high above the -lines, the captain's motor failed and he coasted for home, maneuvering -wildly to escape the pursuing Hun's bullets. A few kilometres within our -lines the German motor failed also, and down they came together--the -Boche a prisoner, the Frenchman covered with not particularly welcome -glory. Not all our guests knew the story, and one high officer asked the -captain how he maneuvered to drive down the Boche. "Oh, like this," -erratically said the captain, illustrating with frantic motions of an -imaginary stick and rudder. - -"But the Boche--?" inquired the other, puzzled, "how did you get him -down--where was he?" - -"Ah, the Boche; he was _behind_ me," answered the captain. - -Another officer, recently promoted to a very high position in the -aviation, is a genuine character, a "numero" as they say here. He -recently spent many hours in perfecting a trick optical sight, -guaranteed to down a Boche at any range, angle, or speed. He adored his -invention, which, he admitted, would probably end the war when fully -perfected, and grew quite testy when his friends told him the thing was -far too complicated for anything but laboratory use. At last, though he -had reached a non-flying rank and had not flown for months, he installed -the optical wonder on a single-seater and went out over the lines to try -it out. As luck would have it, he fell in with a patrol of eight -Albatrosses, and the fight that followed has become legendary. Boche -after Boche dove on him, riddling his plane with bullets, while the -inventor, in a scientific ecstasy, peered this way and that through his -sight, adjusting set-screws and making hasty mental notes. By a miracle -he was not brought down, and in the end a French patrol came to his -rescue. He had not fired a shot! At lunch the other day some one asked -what sort of a chap this inventor was, and the answer was so exceedingly -French that I will reproduce it word for word: "He detests women and -dogs; he has a wife he adores, and a dog he can't let out of his sight." -A priceless characterization, I think, of a testy yet amiable old -martinet. - -One of my friends here had the luck, several months ago, to force a -Zeppelin to land. A strange and wonderful experience, he says, circling -for an hour and a half about the huge air-monster, which seemed to be -having trouble with its gas. He poured bullets into it until his supply -was exhausted, and headed it off every time it tried to make for the -German lines. All the while it was settling, almost insensibly, and -finally the Hun crew began to throw things out--machine-guns, long belts -of cartridges, provisions, furniture, a motley collection. In the end it -landed intact in our lines--a great catch. The size of the thing is -simply incredible. This one was at least ninety feet through, and I -hesitate to say how many hundred feet long. - -Three more of our boys gone, one of them my most particular pal. Strange -as it seems, I am one of the oldest members of the squadron left. We -buried Harry yesterday. He was the finest type of young French -officer--an aviator since 1913; volunteer at the outbreak of war; taken -prisoner, badly wounded; fourteen months in a German fortress; escaped, -killing three guards, across Germany in the dead of winter, sick and -with an unhealed wound; back on the front, after _ten days_ with his -family, although he need never have been a combatant again. A charming, -cultivated, witty companion, one of the most finished pilots in France, -and a soldier whose only thought was of duty, his loss is a heavy one -for his friends, his family, and his country. For a day and a night he -lay in state in the church of a near-by village, buried in flowers sent -by half the squadrons of France; at his feet his tunic ablaze with -crosses and orders. It was my turn to stand guard the morning his family -arrived, and I was touched by the charming simple piety of the -countryfolk, who came in an unending stream to kneel and say a prayer -for the soul of the departed soldier. Old women with baskets of bread -and cheese on their arms brought pathetic little bouquets; tiny girls of -seven or eight came in solemnly alone, dropped a flower on Harry's -coffin, and knelt to pray on their little bare knees. The French -peasants get something from their church that most of us at home seem to -miss. - -At last the family came--worn out with the long sad journey from their -château in middle France. Harry's mother, slender, aristocratic, and -courageous, had lost her other son a short time before, and I was nearer -tears at her magnificent self-control than if she had surrendered to her -grief. Her bearing throughout the long mass and at the grave-side was -one of the finest and saddest things I have ever seen in my life. Poor -old Harry--I hope he is in a paradise reserved for heroes--for he was -one in the truest sense of the word. - - -I got absolutely lost the other day, for the second time since I have -been on the front. I was flying at about nineteen thousand feet, half a -mile above a lovely sea of clouds. I supposed I was directly over the -front, but in reality there was a gale of wind blowing, drifting me -rapidly "chez Boche." Three thousand feet below, and miles to the -northeast, a patrol of German scouts beat back and forth, a string of -dots, appearing and disappearing among the cloudy peaks and cañons. Too -strong and too far in their lines to attack, I was alternately watching -them and my clock--very cold and bored. Suddenly, straight below me and -heading for home at top speed, I saw a big Hun two-seater, with enormous -black crosses on his wings. - -At such a moment--I confess it frankly--there seem to be two individuals -in me who in a flash of time conclude a heated argument. Says one, -"You're all alone; no one will ever know it if you sail calmly on, -pretending not to see the Boche." - -"See that Boche," says the other; "you're here to get Germans--go after -him." - -"See here," puts in the first, who is very clever at excuses, "time's -nearly up, petrol's low, and there are nine Hun scouts who will drop on -you if you dive on the two-seater." - -"Forget it, you poor weak-kneed boob!" answers number two heatedly. -"Dive on that Hun and be quick about it!" - -So I dived on him, obeying automatically and almost reluctantly the -imperious little voice. With an eye to the machine-gunner in the rear, I -drove down on him almost vertically, getting in a burst point-blank at -his port bow, so to speak. Pushing still farther forward on the stick, I -saw his wheels pass over me like a flash, ten yards up. Pulled the -throttle wide open, but the motor was a second late in catching, so that -when I did an Immelman turn to come up under his tail, I was too far -back and to one side. As I pulled out of the upside-down position, -luminous sparks began to drive past me, and a second later I caught a -glimpse of the goggled Hun observer leaning intently over his cockpit -as he trained his gun on me. - -But beside old Slapping Sally his machine was as a buzzard to a falcon; -in a breath I was under his tail, had reared almost vertically, and was -pouring bullets into his underbody. "You will shoot me up, will you?" I -yelled ferociously--just like a bad boy in a back-yard fight. "Take -that, then--" at which dramatic instant a quart of scalding oil struck -me in the face, half in the eyes, and half in my open mouth. I never saw -the Boche again, and five minutes later, when I had cleaned my eyes out -enough to see dimly, I was totally lost. Keeping just above the clouds -to watch for holes, I was ten long minutes at one hundred and thirty -miles per hour in getting to the lines, at a place I had never seen -before. - -Landed at a strange aerodrome, filled Sally up, and flew home -seventy-five miles by map. As usual, every one had begun the old story -of how I was not a bad chap at bottom, and had many noble qualities -safely hidden away--when I strolled into the bar. Slight sensation as -usual, tinged with a suspicion of mild disappointment. - -Almost with regret, I have turned faithful old Slapping Sally over to a -newly arrived young pilot, and taken a new machine, the last lingering -echo of the dernier cri in fighting single-seaters. I had hoped for one -for some time, and now the captain has allotted me a brand-new one, -fresh from the factory. It is a formidable little monster, squat and -broad-winged, armed to the teeth, with the power of two hundred and -fifty wild horses bellowing out through its exhausts. - -With slight inward trepidations I took it up for a spin after lunch. The -thing is terrific--it fairly hurtles its way up through the air, roaring -and snorting and trembling with its enormous excess of power. Not half -so pleasant as Sally, but a grimly practical little dragon of immense -speed and potential destructiveness. At a couple of thousand feet over -the field, I shut off the motor and dived to try it out. It fairly took -my breath away--behind my goggles my eyes filled with tears; my body -rose up in the safety-belt, refusing to keep pace with the machine's -formidable speed. In a wink, I was close to the ground, straightened -out, and rushing low over the blurred grass at a criminal gait--never -made a faster landing. It is a tribute to man's war-time ingenuity, but, -for pleasure, give me my old machine. - -The psychology of flying would be a curious study, were it not so -difficult to get frankly stated data--uninfluenced by pride, -self-respect, or sense of morale. I only know my own feelings in so far -as they represent the average single-seater pilot. Once in the air, I -am perfectly contented and at home, somewhat bored at times on dull -days, or when very high and cold. On the other hand, I have never been -strapped in a machine to leave the ground, without an underlying slight -nervousness and reluctance; no great matter, and only an instant's -mental struggle to overcome, but enough perhaps to prevent me from -flying the very small and powerful machines, for pleasure, after the -war. I often wonder if other pilots have the same feeling--it's nothing -to be ashamed of, because it does not, in the slightest, prevent one's -doing one's duty, and disappears the moment one is in the air. I can -give you its measure in the fact that I always prefer, when possible, to -make a long journey in my machine, to doing it in the deadly slow -war-time trains. Still, it's a choice of evils. It is hard to give -reasons, but certainly flying is not an enjoyable sport, like riding or -motoring, once the wonder of it has worn off; simply a slightly -disagreeable but marvelously fast means of transport. The wind, the -noise, the impossibility of conversation, the excessive speed--are all -unpleasant features. These are partially redeemed by the never-ceasing -wonder of what one sees. One's other senses are useless in the air, but -what a feast for the eyes! Whole fruitful domains spread out beneath -one, silvery rivers, smoking cities, perhaps a glimpse of the far-off -ragged Alps. And when, at eighteen or twenty thousand feet, above a -white endless sea of clouds, one floats almost unconscious of time and -space in the unearthly sunshine of the Universe, there are moments when -infinite things are very close. - - - -The Riverside Press -CAMBRIDGE . MASSACHUSETTS -U . S . A - - - -***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE FLEDGLING*** - - -******* This file should be named 51559-8.txt or 51559-8.zip ******* - - -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: -http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/5/1/5/5/51559 - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law 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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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 <a -href="http://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you are not -located in the United States, you'll have to check the laws of the -country where you are located before using this ebook.</p> -<p>Title: The Fledgling</p> -<p>Author: Charles Bernard Nordhoff</p> -<p>Release Date: March 25, 2016 [eBook #51559]</p> -<p>Language: English</p> -<p>Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1</p> -<p>***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE FLEDGLING***</p> -<p> </p> -<h4>E-text prepared by MWS, Martin Pettit,<br /> - and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team<br /> - (<a href="http://www.pgdp.net">http://www.pgdp.net</a>)<br /> - from page images generously made available by<br /> - Internet Archive/American Libraries<br /> - (<a href="https://archive.org/details/americana">https://archive.org/details/americana</a>)</h4> -<p> </p> -<table border="0" style="background-color: #ccccff;margin: 0 auto;" cellpadding="10"> - <tr> - <td valign="top"> - Note: - </td> - <td> - Images of the original pages are available through - Internet Archive/American Libraries. See - <a href="https://archive.org/details/fledgling00nordrich"> - https://archive.org/details/fledgling00nordrich</a> - </td> - </tr> -</table> -<p> </p> -<hr class="full" /> -<p> </p> -<p> </p> -<p> </p> - -<div class="center"><a name="cover.jpg" id="cover.jpg"></a><img src="images/cover.jpg" alt="cover" /></div> - -<hr /> - -<p class="bold2">THE FLEDGLING</p> - -<hr /> - -<h1>THE FLEDGLING</h1> - -<p class="bold space-above"><i>By</i></p> - -<p class="bold2">CHARLES BERNARD NORDHOFF</p> - -<div class="center space-above"><img src="images/logo.jpg" alt="logo" /></div> - -<p class="bold space-above">BOSTON AND NEW YORK<br />HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY<br /> -<br />The Riverside Press Cambridge<br />1919</p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="center">COPYRIGHT, 1917 AND 1918, BY THE ATLANTIC MONTHLY COMPANY</p> - -<p class="center">COPYRIGHT, 1919, BY CHARLES BERNARD NORDHOFF</p> - -<p class="center">ALL RIGHTS RESERVED</p> - -<hr /> - -<h2>CONTENTS</h2> - -<table summary="CONTENTS"> - <tr> - <td>I.</td> - <td class="left"> <span class="smcap">A Watcher of the Skies</span></td> - <td><a href="#Page_1">1</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>II.</td> - <td class="left"> <span class="smcap">The Fledgling</span></td> - <td><a href="#Page_70">70</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>III.</td> - <td class="left"> <span class="smcap">Full-Fledged</span></td> - <td><a href="#Page_94">94</a></td> - </tr> -</table> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[Pg 1]</a></span></p> - -<p class="bold2">THE FLEDGLING</p> - -<hr /> - -<h2><span>I</span> <span class="smaller">A WATCHER OF THE SKIES</span></h2> - -<h3><i>January 22, 1917</i></h3> - -<p>We were put on active duty at the front about the first of the year; in -fact, I spent New Year's night in a dugout within pistol-shot of the -Germans. It was quite a celebration, as the French Government had -provided champagne, cakes, and oranges for all, and every one was -feeling in a cheery mood. When dinner was over, each of us chipped in -his day's ration of army wine (about a pint), and with a little brandy, -some oranges, sugar, and a packet of spices I had been commissioned to -get, we brewed a magnificent bowl of hot punch, or mulled wine. First -"The Day of Victory" was toasted, then, "France"; then, with typical -<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[Pg 2]</a></span>French consideration, "The United States." After that, each man's -family at home received a health; so you may be interested to know that -your health and happiness for 1917 were drunk in a first-class abri by a -crowd of first-class fellows, as all French soldiers are.</p> - -<p>The next day was a typical one, so I will sketch it for you, to give an -idea of how we live and what we do. When the party broke up it was late, -so we turned in at once, in a deep strong dugout, which is safe against -anything short of a direct hit by a very heavy shell. Once or twice, as -I dropped off to sleep, I thought I heard furtive scamperings and -gnawings, but all was quiet until just before daybreak, when we were -awakened by a terrifying scream from a small and inoffensive soldier who -does clerical work in the office of the médecin chef. The poor fellow -has a horror of rats, and usually sleeps with head and toes tightly -<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</a></span>bundled up. I flashed on my electric torch at the first scream and -caught a glimpse of an enormous rat—fully the size of a small fox -terrier, I assure you!—streaking it for his hole. The next minute I -made out the unfortunate little soldier holding with both hands one ear, -from which the nocturnal visitor had bitten a large mouthful, while he -did a frantic dance around the floor. First came a titter, then a choked -laugh, and finally the whole dugout howled with uncontrollable mirth, -until the victim wound on his puttees and stalked out, much offended, to -get some iodine for his ear.</p> - -<p>As we had laughed ourselves wide awake, I passed around some cigarettes, -while another fellow went down for a pot of coffee. Dressing consists of -putting on one's shoes, puttees, and tunic—when I feel particularly -sybaritic I take off my necktie at night.</p> - -<p>For once the sun came up in a clear blue sky and shone down frostily on -<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</a></span>a clean white world—a metre of snow on the ground, and pines like -Christmas trees. It was wonderfully still: far away on a hillside some -one was chopping wood, and beyond the German lines I could hear a cock -crow. After stopping to ask the telephonist if there were any calls, I -took towel and soap and tooth-brush and walked to the watering trough, -where a stream of icy water runs constantly. As I strolled back, a -thumping explosion came from the trenches—some enthusiast had tossed a -grenade across as a New Year's greeting to the Boche. Retaliatory thumps -followed, and suddenly a machine-gun burst out with its abrupt stutter. -Louder and louder grew the racket as gusts of firing swept up and down -the lines, until a battery of 75's took a hand from the hills half a -mile behind us. <i>Crack-whang-crack</i>, they went, like the snapping of -some enormous whip, and I could hear their shells whine viciously -overhead.</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</a></span></p><p>An orderly appeared shortly, to inform me that I must make ready to -take out a few wounded. My load consisted of one poor fellow on a -stretcher, still and invisible under his swathing of blankets, and two -very lively chaps,—each with a leg smashed, but able to sit up and talk -at a great rate. We offered them stretchers, but they were refused with -gay contempt. They hopped forward to their seats, smiling and nodding -good-bye to the stretcher-bearers. Despite my efforts one of them bumped -his wounded leg and a little involuntary gasp escaped him. "Ça pique, -mon vieux," he explained apologetically; "mais ça ne fait rien—allez!"</p> - -<p>At the hospital, several miles back, there was the usual wait for -papers, and as I handed cigarettes to my two plucky passengers, I -explained that hospital book-keeping was tiresome but necessary. -Suddenly the blood-stained blankets on the stretcher moved and a pale, -but calm<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</a></span> and quizzical face looked up into mine: "Oh, là là! C'est une -guerre de papier; donnez-moi une cigarette!" You can't down men of this -caliber.</p> - -<p>Just before bedtime another call came from a dressing-station at the -extreme front. It was a thick night, snowing heavily, and black as ink, -and I had to drive three kilometres, without light of any kind, over a -narrow winding road crowded with traffic of every description. How one -does it I can scarcely say. War seems to consist in doing the impossible -by a series of apparent miracles. Ears and eyes must be connected in -some way. Driving in pitchy blackness, straining every sense and calling -every nerve to aid one's eyes, it seems that vision is impaired if ears -are covered.</p> - -<p>At the posts, just behind the lines, where one waits for wounded to come -in from the trenches, I spend idle hours, chatting or playing dominoes. -Our little circle comprises a remarkable variety of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span> types: one hears -French of every patois, from the half-Spanish drawl of the Mediterranean -to the clipped negatives and throaty <i>r</i> of Paris.</p> - -<p>As inventors of racy slang we Americans are miles behind the French. -Your pipe is "Mélanie" (also your sweetheart, for some unknown reason). -One's mess is "la popote," a shrapnel helmet is a "casserole," a -machine-gun is a "moulin à café." Bed is ironically called "plumard"; -and when a bursting shell sends out its spray of buzzing steel, the cry -is "Attention aux mouches!" [Look out for the flies!] Government tobacco -is known, aptly, as "foin" [hay]. If one wants a cigarette, and has a -paper but no tobacco, one extends the paper toward a better-provided -friend saying, "Kindly sign this." And so on.</p> - -<h3><i>February 18</i></h3> - -<p>I had an interesting day yesterday. The commandant asked for a car—he -is the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</a></span> head medical officer—to visit some posts, and I was lucky -enough to land the job. He is a charming, cultivated man, and made it -very pleasant for his chauffeur. We visited a number of posts, -inspecting new dugout emergency hospitals, and vaccinating the -stretcher-bearers against typhoid—a most amusing process, as these -middle-aged fellows have the same horror of a doctor that a child has of -a dentist. Reluctant was scarcely the word.</p> - -<p>Finally we left the car (at the invitation of the artillery officer) and -walked a couple of miles through the woods to see a new observation -post. The last few hundred yards we made at a sneaking walk, talking -only in whispers, till we came to a ladder that led up into the thick -green of a pine tree. One after another the officers went up, and at -length the gunner beckoned me to climb. Hidden away like a bird's nest -among the fragrant pine-needles, I found a tiny platform, where<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span> the -officer handed me his binoculars and pointed to a four-inch hole in the -leafy screen. There right below us were two inconspicuous lines of -trenches, zigzagging across a quiet field, bounded by leafless pollard -willows. It was incredible to think that hundreds of men stood in those -ditches, ever on the alert. At a first glance the countryside looked -strangely peaceful and unhampered—farm-houses here and there, neatly -hedged fields, and, farther back, a village with a white church. Look -closer, though, and you see that the houses are mere shells, with -crumbling walls and shattered windows; the fields are scarred and pitted -with shell-holes, the village is ruined and lifeless, and the belfry of -the church has collapsed. Above all, there is not an animal, not a sign -of life in the fields or on the roads. Not a sound, except the distant -hornet buzzing of an aeroplane.</p> - -<p>On clear days there is a good deal of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span> aeroplane activity in our -section, and one never tires of watching the planes. The German machines -do not bomb us in this district, for some reason unknown to me, but they -try to reconnoiter and observe for artillery fire. It is perfectly -obvious, however, that the French have the mastery of the air, by virtue -of their skillful and courageous pilots and superb fighting machines, -and their superior skill in anti-aircraft fire. To watch a plane at an -altitude of, say, nine thousand feet under shrapnel fire, one would -think the pilot was playing with death; but in reality his occupation is -not so tremendously risky.</p> - -<p>Consider these factors: he is a mile and a half to two miles from the -battery shooting at him, he presents a tiny mark, and his speed is from -eighty to one hundred and twenty-five miles per hour. Above all, he can -twist and turn or change his altitude at will. The gunner must<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span> -calculate his altitude and rate of speed, and after the lanyard is -pulled, considerable time elapses before the shell reaches its mark. -Meanwhile, the aviator has probably come down or risen or changed his -course. It is like trying to shoot a twisting snipe with very -slow-burning powder—the odds are all in favor of the snipe.</p> - -<p>All the same, the spectacle never quite loses its thrill. High and -remote against the sky you see the big reconnaissance machine going -steadily on its way, its motor sending a faint drone to your ears. -Keeping it company, darting around it like a pilot-fish around a shark, -is the tiny, formidable appareil de chasse, a mere dot against the blue.</p> - -<p><i>Crack! Whang! Boom!</i> goes a battery near by, and three white puffs -spring out suddenly around the distant machines, above, behind, below. -Another battery speaks out, another and another, till the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span> sky is filled -with downy balls of smoke. Suddenly the firing ceases, and the big -German aero slants down swiftly toward its base. A sharper droning hits -your ears. There, directly above us, a French fighting machine is -rushing at two hundred kilometres an hour to give battle to the little -Fokker. Close together, wheeling and looping the loop to the rattle of -their mitrailleuses, they disappear into a cloud, and we can only guess -the result.</p> - -<h3><i>One day later</i></h3> - -<p>I finished the paragraph above just as a wave of rifle and machine-gun -fire rolled along the lines. Running out of the abri to see what the -excitement was about, I saw two French aeros skimming low over the -German trenches—where every one with any kind of a fire-arm was blazing -away at them. Fortunately, neither one was hit, and after a couple of -retaliatory belts, they rose and flew off to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span> the south. The Germans -began to waste shrapnel on the air, and indiscreetly revealed the -location of a battery, which the French promptly bombarded with heavy -guns. Pretty soon all hands were at it—a two-hour Fourth of July.</p> - -<p>I was on the road all day yesterday, afternoon and evening, getting back -to the post at 10 <span class="smaller">P.M.</span> One of the darkest nights I remember—absolutely -impossible to move without an occasional clandestine flash of my torch. -Far off to the right (twenty or thirty miles) a heavy bombardment was in -progress, the guns making a steady rumble and mutter. I could see a -continuous flicker on the horizon. The French batteries are so craftily -hidden that I pass within a few yards of them without a suspicion. The -other day I was rounding a familiar turn when suddenly, with a -tremendous roar and concussion, a "380" went off close by. The little -ambulance shied across the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span> road and I nearly fell off the seat. Talk -about "death pops"—these big guns give forth a sound that must be heard -to be appreciated.</p> - -<p class="space-above">Another break here, as since writing the above we have had a bit of -excitement, in the shape of a raid, or coup de main. In sectors like -ours, during the periods of tranquillity between more important attacks, -an occasional coup de main is necessary in order to get a few prisoners -for information about the enemy. We are warned beforehand to be ready -for it, but do not know exactly when or where. I will tell you the story -of the last one, as related by a slightly wounded but very happy poilu I -brought in beside me.</p> - -<p>"After coffee in the morning," he said, "our battalion commander called -for one platoon of volunteers to make the attack—each volunteer to have -eight<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span> days' special leave afterwards. It was hard to choose, as every -one wanted to go—for the 'permission,' and to have a little fun with -the Boches. At noon we were ordered to the first line. Our rifles and -equipment were left behind, each man carrying only a little food, a -canteen of wine, a long knife, and a sack of grenades. Our orders were -to advance the moment the bombardment ceased, take as many prisoners as -possible, and return before the enemy had recovered from his surprise. -At the point of attack the German trench is only twenty yards from -ours—several nights before, they had rolled out a line of portable -wire-entanglements. At 4.30 in the afternoon our 75's began to plough up -the Boche trench and rip their wire to shreds. It was wonderful—along -the line in front of us hundreds of our shells, bursting only twenty -metres off, sent earth and wire and timbers high into the air—while -not<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span> one of us, watching so close by, was hurt.</p> - -<p>"At 5.15 the guns ceased firing and the next instant we were over the -parapet, armed with knives, grenades, and a few automatic pistols. After -the racking noise of the bombardment, a strange quiet, a breathless -tranquillity, seemed to oppress us as we ran through the torn wire and -jumped into the smoking ruins of the enemy trench. In front of me there -was no one,—only a couple of bodies,—but to the right and left I could -hear grenades going, so it was evident that a few Germans had not -retreated to the dugouts. Straight ahead I saw a boyau leading to their -second lines, and as I ran into this with my squad, we came on a German -at the turn. His hands were up and he was yelling, 'Kamerad, Kamerad!' -as fast as he knew how. Next minute, down went his hand and he tossed a -grenade into our midst. By luck it struck<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span> mud, and the time-fuse gave -us a moment's start. The corporal was killed and my pal, Frétard, who -lies on the stretcher behind, got an éclat through the leg. We did not -make a prisoner of the Boche.</p> - -<p>"The abris of the second line were full of Germans, but all but one were -barricaded. A few grenades persuaded the survivors to come out of this, -with no fight left in them; but how to get into the others? In vain we -invited them to come out for a little visit—till some one shouted, 'The -stove-pipes!' Our barrage fire was now making such a fuss that the -Boches farther back could not use their machine-guns, so we jumped on -top of the dugouts and popped a half-dozen citrons into each chimney. -That made them squeal, mon vieux—oh, là là! But it was time to go -back—our sergeant was shouting to us; so, herding our prisoners ahead, -we made a sprint back to our friends."</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span></p><p>One of the prisoners was wounded, and he was hauled to the hospital by -the chap with whom I share my quarters. I went to have a look at the -German—always an object of curiosity out here. Had to shoulder my way -through a crowd to get there. He lay on a stretcher, poor devil, -hollow-eyed, thin, with a ragged beard—an object of pity, suffering and -afraid for his life. His gray overcoat lay beside him and near it stood -his clumsy hobnailed boots. German or no German, he was a human being in -a bad situation—a peasant obviously, and deadly afraid.</p> - -<p>Suddenly, a half-baked civilian—always the most belligerent -class—reached up and plucked contemptuously at his leg, with an -unpleasant epithet. Then a fine thing happened. A French soldier, lying -near by on a stretcher, severely wounded, raised up his head and looked -sternly at the crowd. "Enough," he said, "he is a Boche, I grant you; -but first of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span> all remember that he is a soldier, wounded and in your -power!"</p> - -<p>We were at lunch yesterday when a friend rushed in to say that an -aeroplane fight was starting, almost directly overhead. A big French -reconnaissance plane was diving for safety, with a Fokker close behind -and German shrapnel bursting all around, when a tiny French fighting -machine appeared far above, plunging down like a falcon on its quarry. -The Fokker turned too late: the Nieuport, rushing downward at one -hundred and fifty miles an hour, looped the loop around the German. Two -bursts of machine-gun fire came down faintly to our ears, and the next -moment it was evident that the German was hit. Slowly at first, the -Fokker began to fall—this way and that, like a leaf falling in still -air, growing larger each moment before our eyes, until it disappeared -behind a hill. High over the lines, scorning burst after burst<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span> of -German shrapnel, the tiny Nieuport sailed proudly back and forth, as if -daring any Boche pilot to rise and try his luck. In the thrill of the -superb spectacle, one forgot that the poor chap (a good sportsman, if he -was a German!) had lost his life.</p> - -<h3><i>April, 1917</i></h3> - -<p>I have met some interesting types lately. One is Jean B——, a sergeant -of infantry. Jean has been about the world a good bit, and when the war -broke out was just finishing a contract in Spain. He promptly came to -France and volunteered, and had only fifteen days of training before -being sent to the front for a big attack. Knowing nothing of military -matters and having distinguished himself in the first day's fighting, he -was made a corporal at once; and next day, when the attack began again, -he and his squad were the first to jump into a section<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span> of German -trench. There, abandoned in the hasty retreat, was a brand-new German -machine-gun and forty sacks of ammunition. Jean is a canny boy, and -before the officers had got to where he was, he had his men hide gun and -cartridges in a clump of bushes.</p> - -<p>The French made a gain of about two miles at this point, and owing to -the nature of the ground,—artillery emplacements, and so forth,—the -new lines were nearly a mile apart. Under these conditions, both sides -were constantly making daylight patrols in the broken country between -the trenches; and as Jean's captain was a good judge of men, he let him -take his squad out daily, to do pretty much as he pleased. Pledging his -men to absolute secrecy, Jean had them hide machine-gun and ammunition a -little way in front of the new French lines, and then gave them a brief -drill, in mounting and dismounting the gun, tripod, and so<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span> forth. (He -had worked in an ordnance factory, by the way.) Each man carried either -a part of the gun or a few belts of cartridges.</p> - -<p>One morning, just before dawn, they crawled up close to the Germans and -hid themselves in a brushy watercourse—mitrailleuse set up and ready -for action. Presently there were sounds of activity in front, and as day -broke, they made out thirty or forty Germans, who, so far away and out -of sight of the French, were out in the open, working on a new trench. -Jean's men began to get excited and wanted action, but he calmed them, -whispering to be patient. He himself is the most excitable man in the -world—except in emergencies; a jovial type, with black hair and a pair -of merry gray eyes set in a red, weather-beaten face.</p> - -<p>Hour after hour they bided their time, until the Germans, only -seventy-five yards away, assembled in a group for a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span> rest. Lying on his -belly behind the gun, Jean sighted and pulled the lever, spraying lead -into the unfortunate Boches until the last belt of two hundred -cartridges had raced through. Then it was all hands dismount the gun and -retreat at top speed. Sneaking "home" by devious ways, they smiled to -see shells begin to smash into the position they had so lately left.</p> - -<p>At supper that evening (the meal known universally as "la soupe"), the -colonel came strolling down the trench with Jean's subaltern. The -lieutenant nodded and pointed, then called Jean over.</p> - -<p>"Ah," said the colonel, smiling, "so this is the type who was on patrol -this morning—hum. I was in an advanced observation post on the hill -above you and saw the whole affair with my glasses. And how many of -those poor Germans did you kill?"</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span></p><p>"I did not wait to count, my colonel."</p> - -<p>"I will tell you, then; six escaped, out of thirty-eight—most -remarkable rifle-fire I remember seeing. It sounded almost like a -mitrailleuse at work. How many in your patrol? Five? Remarkable! -Remarkable! Eh bien, good day, <i>sergeant</i>."</p> - -<p>"He was a type not too severe," remarked the ex-corporal, in telling the -tale; "in short, un bon garçon."</p> - -<p>This is the highest compliment a poilu can pay his officer; in fact, I -once heard an ancient Territorial say it irreverently of Marshal Joffre, -whom he had known in younger days, somewhere in the Orient.</p> - -<p>Jean is at home in several languages, speaking perfectly French, German, -Italian, and Spanish. I usually chat with him in the last, as in it I -get the fine points of his narrative better than in French. His German -was the means of getting him into an adventure such as very few men in -the war have experienced. I <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span>cannot, of course, vouch for the truth of -what follows, but I have no reason to doubt his word, and know him to be -capable of any foolhardy rashness. Such a thing would be impossible at -the present time.</p> - -<p>One dark night, shortly after midnight Jean—on a solitary patrol—was -lying just outside the wire, about ten metres from the German trench, -listening to locate the sentries. There was a faint starlight. Suddenly -a whisper came from beyond the wire, a low voice speaking in broken -French.</p> - -<p>"Why do you lie so quiet, my friend? I saw you crawl up and have watched -you ever since. I don't want to shoot you; I am a Bavarian."</p> - -<p>"Good-evening, then," Jean whispered back in his perfect German.</p> - -<p>"So," said the sentry, "you speak our language. Wait a moment, till I -warn the rest of my squad, and I will show<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span> you the way through the -wire; there are no officers about at this hour."</p> - -<p>Probably not one man in a thousand would have taken such a chance, but -he did, and ten minutes later was standing in the trench in a German -cloak and fatigue cap (in case of passing officers), chatting amiably -with a much interested group of Bavarian soldiers. They gave him beer, -showed him their dugouts, and arranged a whistle signal for future -visits, before bidding him a regretful good-night. "We are Bavarians," -they said; "we like and admire the French, and fight only because we -must."</p> - -<p>With characteristic good sense, Jean went at once to his captain the -following morning and told him the whole story. The officer knew and -trusted him and said without hesitation, "Go as often as you want, and -keep your ears open."</p> - -<p>So he made many a midnight crawl through the wires, after whistling the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span> -soft signal. He carried with him each time a few litres of wine (a great -luxury to the German soldiers), and in return they took him on long -excursions through their trenches. Once he was in the German third line, -more than a mile back. The sector was a very quiet one, though the -trenches were close together, and one morning a crude arrow dropped into -the French trench, bearing a note to Jean.</p> - -<p>"Get into your dugouts at five this afternoon," it read; "there will be -a bombardment, but no attack, we hope."</p> - -<p>Another time, after a French bombardment, a similar note dropped in: -"Don't send so many torpedoes—shells are all right, but your torpedoes -have ruined some of our best sleeping-places. Remember we are not -Prussians, but Bavarians."</p> - -<p>Jean is just now back from a permission. He went away a reckless, jolly -sort of an adventurer, and has come back sober,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span> serious, and -tremendously in love. He told me a little about it, as we sat together -in my dugout (I have a private one now, with a stove, a tiny window -sticking up discreetly six inches above ground, and pictures on the -walls), and the tale is so typical of war-time France that I can't -resist telling it to you.</p> - -<p>They had carried on quite a correspondence, as godmother and godson, -before the longed-for permission came; and when A——, with her parents, -of course, met him at the train, she seemed like an old friend. She is -charming, as I know from her photograph, and sturdy brown Jean, togged -out in his special permission uniform, with his neat shoes, bright -leather puttees and belt, képi de fantaisie, and gold sergeant's wound- -and service-stripes, looks every inch a soldier of France. At the end of -the second day, he was walking with A—— and could contain himself no -longer.</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span></p><p>"Mademoiselle," he said, "I cannot, as a man of honor, stay here -longer. I love you,—there, I have said it,—but I am penniless, and -after the war shall have only what I can earn. Your father, on the other -hand, is the most important merchant in this district—so you see it -would (even if you were willing) be quite impossible for me to ask for -your hand. I can never thank you enough for your kindness to a poor -soldier; it has given me a glimpse of Paradise."</p> - -<p>That evening, as he sat in his room, trying to make up an excuse to give -the old people for leaving, the girl's mother came in, saying that she -understood he was going, and was much hurt to think that her house had -not pleased him. Then the old gentleman rushed in, radiant with smiling -good humor.</p> - -<p>"But hush, maman," he cried, "I know all. Also I know a man when I see -one. You love our little A——, eh, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span>sergeant? Well, what of it? And you -are poor—well, what of that? When we old ones are gone, she will have -everything—she is all we have, since Louis was killed at the Marne. You -are a type that I love, my boy—out there at the front, helping to push -the Boche out of France; do you suppose I would not rather have you for -a son-in-law than some sacré espèce of a rich embusqué, riding by in his -limousine?"</p> - -<p>Rather superb, I think.</p> - -<p>So, as an engaged man, he is making a poor attempt to be cautious. Also, -he has a frightful case of cafard, that mysterious malady of the -trenches, which is nothing but concentrated homesickness and longing for -the sight of one's women folk, sweethearts, sisters, mothers. A couple -of days ago, he came to me with a brilliant idea.</p> - -<p>"See, Charlot," he said, "I have a scheme. You know Lieutenant P——, -chief of the corps franc—tell him of me,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span> that I can speak German and -can take prisoners, and tell him to ask my captain to detach me for the -next coup de main."</p> - -<p>To understand this, you must know that a coup de main is a raid, made -after a brief artillery preparation, on the enemy trenches, not with the -idea of gaining ground, but simply to get a few prisoners for -information regarding regiments, and so forth. In the French army such -raids are made by special selected companies of each regiment, who have -no routine duty and get eight days' special leave after each raid that -results in prisoners. These men are termed "corps franc." As you can -see, Jean thought this a quick way to get back to his fiancée.</p> - -<p>While we talked, by a freak of luck, who should knock at my door but -Lieutenant P——, chief of our local corps franc, a very good friend and -one I am proud to have. He is the perfect quintessence of a French -subaltern,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span>—twenty-six years old, slight, wiry, and handsome; an -Anglophile in everything relating to sport, as exquisite in dress and -person as Beau Brummell, and as recklessly brave as Morgan's buccaneers. -He has risen from the ranks, wears a gold bracelet, and has every -decoration that a French soldier or officer can get, including the red -ribbon. His Croix de Guerre has seven citations, and he has been five -times wounded. He took to Jean at once, saying that he needed an -interpreter for a raid which was coming in two or three days, and -promised to see the captain about it at once.</p> - -<p>"Better come with us," he said to me, whimsically. "I want to run down -to Paris next week, and if the sergeant here and I don't get a prisoner -or two, it will be because there are none left in the first line. Come -on—you'll see some fun!"</p> - -<p>"But," I said, "what is there in it for me? I'm ruined if I'm caught in -any such<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span> escapade, and in any case I get no permission."</p> - -<p>"Oh, we'll fix that. Maybe you'd get a nice little wound like my last -one; and if not, I'm an expert with grenades; I think I could toss one -so you would just get an éclat or two in the legs—good for a week in -Paris."</p> - -<p>I thanked him without enthusiasm and declined.</p> - -<p>The sequel to this came last night as I lay reading in my bunk. The -evening had been absolutely quiet, not a rifle-shot along the trenches, -until suddenly, about 10.30, the batteries set up their sullen thumping, -mingled with the thud of exploding aerial torpedoes.</p> - -<p>To my ears, concentrated artillery fire—not too far off—has a -strangely mournful sound—heavy, dull, and fitful, like a dark -thunderstorm in Dante's hell. The bombardment lasted exactly forty -minutes, then absolute silence except for an<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span> occasional pistol-shot (no -one uses rifles in raids), and once more the sudden stammer of a -mitrailleuse. As I lay there, safe in my warm bunk, I thought of gallant -little P—— and jolly old lovelorn Jean, perhaps at that moment -stealing through torn German wire with a brace of prisoners ahead of -them, crouching low each time a star-shell sent up its warning trail of -sparks,—or perhaps—</p> - -<p>To-morrow, when I go back to the village for two days' rest, I shall -look for them.</p> - -<h3><i>April 10, 1917</i></h3> - -<p>I am writing this in a new post of ours—a village several kilometres -from the lines, where there are still civilians. As the hospital is very -noisy at night, and one would have to sleep in a barrack, packed in -among the wounded, I have arranged with a motherly old woman (patronne -of the local café) to let me<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span> have her spare room. I found an old -cowbell and by an arrangement of strings and hooks have rigged it so -that it can be rung at night from the street below. Talk about luxury! I -have a real bed (about five feet long) with sheets, pillows, and a -featherbed that reaches from feet to waist. When a night call comes, the -bell tinkles, I leap out of bed, pull on breeches and coat and high felt -"arctics," and in three minutes am off.</p> - -<p>As there are no men about, I have been (in odd moments) splitting wood -and moving the heavy beer and wine casks as required—work really far -too heavy for women. The old lady, in return, often invites me in for a -cup of steaming coffee with a dash of schnapps, and to-day she asked me -to a family dinner—a superb civilian meal of ham and boiled potatoes -and home-made choucroute. The latter must be tasted to be appreciated. -She is quite bitter about a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span> branch of the Y.M.C.A.—called Foyer du -Soldat—just opened here, which, with its free movies, papers, and so -forth, has lured away much of her trade. "I pay a heavy license tax," -she says, "and they pay nothing—nothing."</p> - -<p>Useless to try to explain to the good old soul that the innocent must -suffer in order that virtue shall triumph—or in other words, that the -fantassin shall have amusement without beer. I comforted her with the -regrettable truth that her boys will all be back when the novelty is -worn off.</p> - -<p>A great many of the men here are muleteers from the Spanish and Italian -borders. Where the country is hilly and trails constitute the shortest -route to the trenches, the French use a great many pack-mules to carry -up provisions, ammunition, and supplies. A Western packer would be -interested in their methods. Each mule has its master, who packs it,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span> -washes it, feeds it, and on the march walks ahead, leading it by a rope. -The pack-saddles and rigging are wonderful—they must be when one -considers that the mules often carry three hundred pounds twenty miles a -day, and sore backs are unknown.</p> - -<p>A mule's a mule, however, wherever you meet him—these are just the same -"ornery" brutes we have at home. Their effect on the explosive southern -French temperament is sometimes ludicrous. I stopped the other day to -ask the way of a mule-skinner who was limping dejectedly ahead of his -charge—the rest of the train was far ahead. After putting me on the -road, he leaned wearily against a tree and explained that in all the -world there was probably not another mule like his. It had kicked him -yesterday, it had bitten him severely this morning, and just now, while -he adjusted the pack, it had kicked him on the hip, so that in all<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span> -likelihood he would limp for life. While he talked, the mule sidled -over, with drooping eyelids and sagging ears, and planted one foot -firmly on the unfortunate Frenchman's toes. The whole thing seemed to -have been done by accident—I could almost see the dotted line of -innocence running from the mule's sleepy eye off into space. Without a -word, the man set his shoulder against the mule, forced its weight off -his foot, and tenderly inspected the injured part. Then, hands on hips, -he regarded the mule with a long stare of dramatic contempt.</p> - -<p>"Wouldst thou kill me, sacré espèce of a camel?" he said at last; "well, -death would be better than this. Come, here I am!"</p> - -<p>The day before yesterday, when I was out at one of our posts on the -front, an Austrian 88 mm. shell fell in a crowd of mules and their -drivers. Fortunately no one was hurt (by one of the freaks of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span> shells), -but three mules were killed by the splinters. That night, with some -misgivings, I tried a steak from the hind-quarter of a five-year-old -mule. <i>It was bully.</i> When you come to think of it, a mule is just as -good food as a steer.</p> - -<p>A week ago I was waiting at a front post for some wounded, when a mule -train came by, packed with the huge winged aerial torpedoes so much in -vogue just now. Each mule carried four of these truly formidable things. -As the last mule passed, he slipped on the muddy slope, his feet flew -out, and down he came with a whack, torpedoes and all. You ought to have -seen us scatter,—officers, men, and mule-drivers,—like fragments of a -bursting shell. As the mule showed signs of struggling, we had to rush -back and gingerly remove the load before helping him up.</p> - -<p>These torpedoes play a great part in war nowadays. They are cheap to -<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span>manufacture, carry an enormous bursting charge, and—shot out of small -mortar-like guns, into which the steel or wooden "stem" of the torpedo -is inserted—have a range of six or seven hundred yards. On days of -attack you can see them, like huge black birds, soar slowly up from -behind the trenches, hang poised for an instant, and dart down to make -their formidable explosion, which sends clouds of débris, timber, and -dirt, high into the air. Their fragments are very bad—long, thin, -jagged things that come whizzing by and inflict terrible wounds. Many of -them are equipped with "trailers," which outline their course in a -shower of crimson sparks; and on nights of attack the sky is scored with -their fiery trails.</p> - -<p>A night attack is a wonderful thing to see: the steady solemn thunder of -the guns, the sky glaring with star-shells and trails, the trenches -flaming and roaring with bursting shell. It is like a vast <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span>natural -phenomenon,—Krakatoa or Mont Pelée,—too vast and cataclysmic to be -man's handiwork; and yet, into the maelstrom of spouting flames, hissing -steel, shattering explosions, insignificant little creatures like you -and me will presently run—offering, with sublime courage, their tender -bodies to be burned and pierced and mangled. To me that is war's one -redeeming feature—it brings out in men a courage that is of the spirit -alone—above all earthly things.</p> - -<h3><i>April 23, 1917</i></h3> - -<p>I am sitting again in the little post I told you about in my last -letter. The old lady is tidying up the café, the early morning sun is -shining in gayly through the many-paned windows, and outside, along the -picket-line, the mules are squealing and kicking while they have their -morning bath. Pretty soon I shall go out foraging for a brace of eggs, -and with<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span> these, a piece of cheese, and some coffee shall make my -déjeuner.</p> - -<p>The local barrack is the only one I have found where one simply cannot -eat, as the cook and his kitchen are unspeakable. Unless he has been -caught out in a shower, he has certainly gone without a bath since the -war started. After a glance at him and at his kitchen even the most -callous poilu rebels.</p> - -<p>We have now, attached to our section as mechanic, a French private who -is rather an unusual type—a rich manufacturer in civil life, who, -through some kink of character, has not risen in the army. He put in a -year in the trenches and then, being middle-aged, was put behind the -lines. He speaks English, is splendidly educated, and has traveled -everywhere, but is too indifferent to public opinion ever to make an -officer, or even a non-com. In his factory he had a packer, earning -seven francs a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span> day, who was also mobilized, and who has now risen to -the rank of lieutenant. Think of the gulf between a poilu and a French -officer, with his authority, his galons and superb red-and-gold hat, and -then consider that this lieutenant's idea of a permission is to go home, -put on his oldest clothes, and spend the seven days working at his old -job of packing and heading barrels. It takes France to produce this sort -of thing.</p> - -<p>The siege warfare to which, owing to strategic reasons, we are reduced -in our part of the lines, with both sides playing the part of besieged -and besiegers, gives rise to a curious unwritten understanding between -ourselves and the enemy. Take the hospital corps, their first-aid posts -and ambulances. The Germans must know perfectly well where the posts -are, but they scarcely ever shell them—not from any humanitarian -reason, but because if they did, the French would<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span> promptly blow theirs -to pieces. It is a curious sensation to live in such a place, with the -knowledge that this is the only reason you enjoy your comparative -safety. Likewise our ambulances. I often go over a road in perfectly -plain view of the Boche, only a few hundred yards distant, and though -shells and shrapnel often come my way, I am confident none of them are -aimed at me. The proof of it is that no one has ever taken a pot-shot at -me with rifle or machine-gun, either one of which would be a sure thing -at the range. The other day an officer invited me down to see his newly -completed observatory—a cunningly built, almost invisible stronghold on -the crest of a hill, which commanded a superb view of the trenches and -German territory behind them. It chanced to be an afternoon of unusual -interest. The trenches, about eight hundred yards distant, were spread -like a map beneath us,—a labyrinth of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span> zigzag ditches and boyaux,—all -cunningly laid out on principles which I have been studying. With the -powerful glasses lent me, I could make out the thickets of wire before -the first lines. A heavy bombardment was in progress, and all along the -lines, as far as the eye could see, clouds of smoke and earth were -springing up and settling slowly down. Not a living being was in sight. -Far off to the south, a flock of observation balloons floated -motionless, high in air, like fat, hovering birds. Suddenly the man -beside me, who had been staring through his glasses at a twenty-acre -patch of woods a couple of miles away, gave an excited exclamation. "I -have spotted it—the new battery of heavy guns that has been annoying -us; they were too bold, for once."</p> - -<p>Sure enough, I thought I made out a thin wisp of smoke trailing among -the tree-tops at the south end of the wood.</p> - -<p>The officer muttered a string of <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span>cabalistic instructions into his -telephone receiver and motioned me to watch. A minute later, a battery -of French heavy guns behind us began their deep, coughing thumps, -sending enormous shells hurtling overhead with the pulsing rush of an -express train, crescendo and diminuendo. The first shell fell short, -showering the trees with earth and débris—the salvos that followed -obscured the whole wood in clouds of smoke, broken branches, and dust. -Twenty minutes of this before the battery went silent again. A final -tremendous explosion, eclipsing all that had gone before, seemed to -shake the trees to their roots.</p> - -<p>"That will hold them for a while," said my friend exultantly, as he -telephoned the news back to his battery; "we must have hit their -magazine of propelling charges."</p> - -<p>Next day I was sitting at lunch in our mess, distant about three -hundred<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span> yards from the observatory, when a series of heavy, racking -explosions made the windows rattle. There is a distinct difference -between the sound of a gun and that of a bursting shell. The first is a -cracking <i>bang</i>, or <i>boum</i>, as the French say. The latter is a racking, -dwelling roar—drawn out, if such a thing can be said of an explosion. -Shells were bursting somewhere close to us—many of them. When I went -outside I could hear, clear and waspish above the din, the <i>pinging</i> of -splinters whizzing overhead, and the occasional crackle of a lopped-off -branch. After half an hour of this, a man came panting up with the bad -news that the new observatory was completely demolished. There you have -the inner workings of siege-war; the Boches, with uncanny craft, knew of -the observatory, let the French complete it, and might have let it -alone, had it not been instrumental in destroying their battery. That -led<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span> them into their indiscreet action, for the French, in retaliation, -promptly wiped off the map the most important German observatory—an -elaborate affair whose exact location they had long known. This time the -Boche did not dare retaliate. And so it goes.</p> - -<p>There is a crack French gun-pointer near here who has brought down seven -enemy planes in the past two months—a remarkable record in this quiet -district. The last one fell close to one of our posts—its two -passengers, German lieutenants, were dead, but scarcely marked by their -drop into a snow-drift. One of them, a handsome young chap, with a -little blond mustache, wore a gold bracelet, and in his pocket was a -letter from his mother, accusing him of being an ungrateful son, who had -only written twice in six months. Rather pathetic. There is a sort of -chivalry in the air service which is a relief in the sordid<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span> monotony of -this war. A German plane was crippled a while ago, and had to volplane -down smack into a parade-ground where a French regiment was at drill. -The soldiers rushed out to make prisoners of the two German officers, -who were not a hundred yards up; but the latter, with indomitable -courage, loosed their Spandaus on the crowd, and were promptly riddled -with bullets by the reluctant French. They received a funeral in -accordance with their splendid death.</p> - -<p>The code of the Prussian officer is never to surrender; but of course -all cannot live up to this. In a recent raid, a sergeant I know made a -prisoner of a German captain, who, as they walked to the rear, cursed -his luck in fluent French, saying that he was caught unaware—that an -officer never surrendered, but fought to the end.</p> - -<p>"Stop here, my captain, and let us<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span> consider this," said the sergeant -seriously; "there are several articles of your equipment to which my -fancy runs—that watch, for example, those leather puttees, and that fat -purse I saw you change to your hip-pocket. Perhaps I can at once oblige -you and gratify my whim. Suppose you were suddenly to run—a quick shot -would save your honor, and me the trouble of escorting you back to the -rear. And I am an excellent shot, je vous assure." But the German was -not interested.</p> - -<h3><i>April 26, 1917</i></h3> - -<p>This afternoon the general of the division ordered us to present -ourselves at headquarters at four o'clock. From lunch on there was a -great shaving and haircutting, brushing and pressing of uniforms, and -overhauling of shoes and puttees. Four o'clock found us lined up at the -door of the wonderful old château, and next moment a superb officer, -who<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span> spoke English,—of the Oxford variety,—stepped out, introduced -himself all around with charming courtesy, took our names, and ushered -us in.</p> - -<p>The general, a hawk-faced man of sixty, straight and slender as an -arrow, with sparkling dark eyes, stood surrounded by his resplendent -staff. As each name was announced, we walked forward to him, saluted and -bowed, and shook hands. This over, we stepped back and mingled with the -staff officers, who displayed a wonderful trick of making us feel at -home in the first stiffness. Presently orderlies brought in champagne -and glasses, and when every one had his glass in hand the buzz stopped -while the general spoke.</p> - -<p>"Your country, gentlemen," he said, "has done France the honor of -setting aside this day for her. It is fitting that I should ask you -here, in order to tell you how much we appreciate America's<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span> friendship, -which you and your comrades have been demonstrating by actions rather -than words. I am an old man, but I tell you my heart beat like a boy's -when the news came that the great Sister Republic—united of old by -ideals of human liberty—had thrown in her lot with ours. I ask you to -drink with me to the future of France and America—the sure future. You -have seen France: our brave women, ready to make any sacrifices for the -motherland; our little soldiers, invincible in their determination. Let -us drink then to France, to America, and to the day of ultimate victory, -which is coming as surely as the sun will rise to-morrow."</p> - -<p>As he ceased, he stepped forward to touch glasses with each of us,—the -invariable French custom,—and next moment a magnificent Chasseur band, -outside on the terrace, crashed into the "Star-Spangled Banner." Quite -thrilling,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span> I assure you. Later, we strolled through the fine old -gardens, chatting with the officers while the band played. The general, -while the most military man imaginable, has a very attractive brusque -affability. We are a good-sized crowd as Americans run, and the French, -who average shorter and stockier, never cease to wonder at our height. -The old chap grabbed three or four of us by the shoulders and lined us -up.</p> - -<p>"Mais vous êtes des gaillards," he said, smiling; "see, I am five or six -centimetres shorter than any of you. But wait, we have a giant or two."</p> - -<p>With that he called over a grinning captain and pulled him back to back -with our biggest man, whom he topped by a full inch.</p> - -<p>"But, my general," laughed the officer, "it is not good to be so -tall—too much of one sticks out of a trench."</p> - -<p>The owner of the château—a stately<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span> woman of fifty, proud of her name, -her race, and her country, and an angel from heaven to the sick and poor -for miles around—is an example of the kind of patriotism of which, I -fear, we are in need. Her husband is dead; when the war broke out she -had a daughter and two sons—gallant young officers whose brief lives -had been a constant source of satisfaction and pride to their mother. -The elder was killed at the Marne, and a while ago, the younger, her -special pet, was killed here in an attack. A woman of her kind, to whom -the continuance of an old name was almost a religion, could undergo no -harder experience. At the grave-side she stood erect and dry-eyed, with -a little proud smile on her lips, as her last boy was buried. "Why -should I weep?" she asked some one who would have comforted her; "there -is nothing finer my boys could have done if they had lived out their -lives." Her heart must<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span> be very nearly broken in two, but never a sign -does she give; going about among her hospitals and peasant families as -cheerful, interested, even gay, as if her only cares were for others. -There is true courage for you!</p> - -<p>To-day I went to a new post for some sick men, and who should be waiting -for me but my friend Jean, of whom I wrote you before! His company has -been transferred to this place. It was great to see his grinning face -and to chatter Spanish with him. As the sick men had not finished lunch, -Jean asked me to his mess, and we had a jolly meal with his pals. I have -had to give up wine, as it seems to blacken our teeth horribly (all of -us have noticed it, and we can trace it to no other source), and the -Frenchmen can't get over the joke of seeing one drink -water—extraordinary stuff to drink! All right to run under bridges or -for washing purposes, but as a beverage—a quaint <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span>American conceit, -handed down no doubt from the red aborigines—les peaux rouges -indigènes—of our continent. Jean admitted that since December, 1914, he -had not tasted water, and no one else could remember the last occasion -when he had tried it.</p> - -<p>As word had just come from the trenches that a wounded man was on the -way in, I got my helmet and we strolled down the boyau to meet the -stretcher-bearers. It was, to me, a new section of the front and very -interesting. The country is broken and hilly, and the lines zigzag about -from crest to valley in the most haphazard way, which really has been -painfully worked out to prevent enfilading fire. There is scarcely any -fighting here, as neither side has anything to gain by an advance, which -would mean giving up their present artillery positions.</p> - -<p>In one place the boyau ran down a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span> steep slope, badly exposed, and Jean -said, "Follow me on the run!" We sprinted for twenty yards, and next -moment, <i>tat-tat-tat-tat</i> came from the Boches, and little spurts of -dust shot up behind us. They can never shoot quickly enough to hurt any -one at this point, Jean said, but after all, "You can't blame a fellow -for trying."</p> - -<p>At the next turn we came on a train of the little grenade donkeys—so -small that they make the tiniest Mexican burro seem a huge clumsy brute. -They do not show above the shallowest trench, and each one carries two -panniers full of grenades. These last are vicious little things of cast -iron, checkered so as to burst into uniform square fragments, and about -the size and shape of lemons. They make an astonishingly loud bang when -they go off, and if close enough, as in a narrow trench, are pretty bad. -At a little distance, of course, they are not very<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span> dangerous. In the -trench warfare—raids, infantry attacks, and so forth—they seem to have -supplanted rifles, just as the knife has supplanted the bayonet.</p> - -<h3><i>May 11, 1917</i></h3> - -<p>Sunday, another lovely day. It is 7 <span class="smaller">A.M.</span>, and already the indefinable -Sunday atmosphere has come over the camp. The shower-baths are open and -strings of men are coming and going with towels on their arms. Under the -trees little groups are shaving and cutting one another's hair, amid -much practical joking and raillery.</p> - -<p>One becomes very fond of the French soldier. Large floods of rhetoric -have been poured out in describing him, and yet nearly every day one -discovers in him new and interesting traits. Let me try to sketch for -you a composite picture of the French infantryman—the fantassin who is -winning the war for<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span> France. On the whole, I do not see him as a boy, -but as a sturdy middle-aged man—the father of a family. He is short and -solidly built, with thick calves and heavy shoulders. His round head, on -which the hair is short, crisp, and black, is surmounted by a battered -blue helmet. He wears a long overcoat, looped up and buttoned at the -sides, showing evidence, in several places, of home-made patching. It -was once horizon blue, but has now faded to an ideally protective shade -of blue-green-gray. About his middle is a worn cartridge-belt, and from -either shoulder, their straps crossing on breast and back, hang his -musettes—bags of brown canvas for carrying extra odds and ends, -including everything from a bottle of wine to a dictionary. On his back -is his square pack, an affair of formidable weight, to which he has -lashed his rolled blanket in the form of a horseshoe, points down. -Perched on top of this,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span> he carries his gamelle and quart—the saucepan -and cup which serve for both cooking and eating; and beside them you -perceive with astonishment that he has strapped a large German trench -torpedo—a souvenir for the home folks. From his belt hangs the tin box, -painted horizon-blue, which contains his gasmask, and on the other side -his long slender bayonet rattles against his thigh.</p> - -<p>A large calloused hand, not too clean, holds his shouldered rifle at a -most unmilitary angle. The gun has seen hard service, the wood is -battered, and in places bright steel shows through the bluing; but look -closely and you will see that it is carefully greased, and in the muzzle -a little plug of cloth keeps out dust and moisture. In spite of a load -which would make a burro groan, he walks sturdily, whistling a march -between puffs of a cigarette. Glance at his face. The eyes are dark -gray, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span>deep-set, and twinkling with good humor; they are the clear -decisive eyes of a man who knows what he wants and has set about getting -it. The nose is aquiline, the mouth strong and ironically humorous, the -unshaven chin positive and shapely. It is the face of a breed that has -been settling to type for many centuries, a race old in cultivation and -philosophy.</p> - -<p>What is he in civil life? That is hard to say. A lawyer, a farmer, a -customhouse clerk, a cook—probably a cook; most of them seem to be -cooks, and mighty good ones. Ours at the mess was assistant chef at the -Savoy, in London, and when he has the material (for example a -hind-quarter of mule, a few potatoes, some dandelions, a tin of lobster, -and an egg) he can turn out a dinner hard to equal anywhere—delicious -hors d'œuvres, superb soup, roast, sauté potatoes, salad, and so on.</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span></p><p>The French soldier's one great joy and privilege is to grumble. Back in -billets where he goes to rest, he spends the whole day at it—hour after -hour, over a bock or a litre of wine, he complains of everything: the -food, the uniforms, the trenches, the artillery, the war itself. To hear -him, one would suppose that France was on the verge of ruin and -disintegration. Let some unwise stranger make the slightest criticism of -France, and watch the change. The poilu takes the floor with a bound. -There is no country like France—no better citizens or braver soldiers -than the French.</p> - -<p>"Dis donc, mon vieux," he ends triumphantly, "where would Europe be now -if it were not for us?"</p> - -<p>To be a French general is a terrible responsibility. Their ears must -burn continually, for every act is criticized, picked to pieces, and -proved a fatal mistake,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span> daily, in a thousand roadside wine-shops. Some -celebrity once remarked, that every French soldier was a potential -general. He knew them; he was right. They are no carping destructive -critics who tear things down but suggest no method of building up. On -the contrary, any chance-met poilu will tell you exactly how any -maneuver or bit of strategy should be carried out—from a trench-raid to -an enveloping movement, which will—he is sure of it!—net fifty -thousand prisoners. In last night's coup de main they caught only three -Germans. "Do you know why, my friend? I will tell you. Our artillery cut -the wires all right, and tapped on the front trench. Good. After that -they raised their guns for the barrage, but pouf! the Boches had already -run back to their dugouts in the second or third lines. Had the gunners -made a barrage on the second line from the beginning, the Germans would -have been<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span> forced to remain in the first line, and instead of three, we -would have bagged thirty. Oh, well, we get our extra leave anyhow, and -you should have heard them squeal when we dropped grenades down their -stove-pipes!"</p> - -<p>The French infantryman would drive a foreign officer mad until he began -to understand him and appreciate his splendid hidden qualities. The only -thing he does without grumbling is fight; and, after all, when you come -to think of it, that is a rather important part of a soldier's duty.</p> - -<p>An officer wants a new boyau dug—you never <i>heard</i> such grumbling and -groaning and kicking. Finally, a bit put out, he says,—</p> - -<p>"All right, don't dig it, if you are all sick and tired, and think I -make you work simply to keep you busy. It was only a whim of mine -anyhow—the Boches put up a new machine-gun last<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span> night, which enfilades -the old boyau, and when day breaks and you go back to the third lines, -they will doubtless put a dozen of us out of our misery."</p> - -<p>As if by magic the new zigzag trench is dug, and the chances are that -the officer finds a supply of extra-good firewood in his abri next day.</p> - -<p>In an army like France's, one finds many odd birds among the simple -soldiers. I was playing "shinny" (we introduced it and it has become -very popular in our section) the other evening, and, when a soldier took -off his coat, four thousand francs in bills dropped out of the breast -pocket. Another evening, in a café, a roughly dressed soldier stood up -to give us a bit of music—and for an hour the world seemed to stand -still while one of the greatest violinists of France (two years at the -front, twice wounded, Croix de Guerre, with several citations) made us -forget that anything<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span> existed except a flood of clear throbbing sound. -It was a rough, drinking crowd—a moment before there had been a -pandemonium of loud voices and clattering plates; but for an hour the -listeners were still as death—not a whisper, not even a hand-clap of -applause. It was, I think, the finest tribute I ever saw paid a -musician. And so it goes: one never knows what variety of man is hidden -beneath the uniform of faded horizon-blue.</p> - -<h3><i>June 17, 1917</i></h3> - -<p>At last I am free to sit down quietly for a letter to you. It has been a -week of rather frenzied running about—passing examinations, and the -like. I arrived here in the expectation of taking the first boat, -crossing the continent, and seeing you.</p> - -<p>A talk with some American officers changed the whole aspect of affairs -and showed me that, if I was to be of any use,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span> my job was to remain -here. At home, it seems, men are a drug on the market—the rub is to -train them and fit them in. Here, on the other hand, they fairly welcome -healthy young men—and will train us and put us where we will do the -most good, with the least possible delay. Don't let yourself think that -flying over here is unduly hazardous—a skillful pilot (as I hope to be) -has as good a chance of living to a ripe old age as his comrades in the -infantry. Numbers of them have been at it since 1914. The school where I -hope to be is the finest in the world, and the machines are beyond -praise.</p> - -<p class="space-above">Since writing the above, I have received my papers of acceptance in the -Foreign Legion, conditional on passing the French physical tests. I have -already passed the tests of the Franco-American Committee. Before -cabling I took all the tests.</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span></p> - -<h3><i>Later</i></h3> - -<p>I have passed the French examination and am to leave for the school in a -day or two. I have been lucky!</p> - -<p>It was interesting at the Paris recruiting office. I stood in line with -dozens of other recruits for the Foreign Legion—all of us naked as so -many fish, in the dirty corridor, waiting our turns. Each man had a -number: mine was seven—lucky, I think! Finally the orderly shouted, -"Numéro sept," and I separated myself from my jolly polyglot neighbors, -marched to the door, did a demi-tour à gauche, and came to attention -before a colonel, two captains, and a sergeant.</p> - -<p>"Name, Nordhoff, Charles Bernard—born at London, 1887—American -citizen—unmarried—no children—desires to enlist in Foreign Legion for -duration of war—to be detached to the navigating personnel of the -Aviation," read the sergeant, monotonously. In two minutes<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span> I had been -weighed, measured, stethoscoped, ears and eyes tested, and passed.</p> - -<p>The colonel looked at me coldly and turned to the captain.</p> - -<p>"Not so bad, this one, hein? He has not the head of a beast."</p> - -<p>I bowed with all the dignity a naked man can muster, and said -respectfully, "Merci, mon colonel."</p> - -<p>"Ah, you speak French," he rejoined with a smile; "good luck, then, my -American."</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>II</span> <span class="smaller">THE FLEDGLING</span></h2> - -<p>Here at Avord there are about seventy-five Americans of every imaginable -sort—sailors, prize-fighters, men of the Foreign Legion, and a good -scattering of University men. As good a fellow as any is H——, formerly -a chauffeur in San Francisco. He is pleasant, jolly, and hard-working, -with an absurdly amiable weakness for "crap-shooting," in which he -indulges at all times, seconded by an American darky who is a pilot -here—and a good one.</p> - -<p>I can hear them as I write, snapping their fingers as the dice roll: -"Come on 'leben—little seben, be good to me! Fifty days—little -Phœbe—fever in the South! Read 'em and weep! Ten francs—let 'er -ride. I'll fade you!" The crap-shooting circle is always either<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span> stuffed -with banknotes or reduced to a few sous—which latter predicament is a -bit serious here, where we have to pay eight to ten francs a day to get -sufficient nourishing food.</p> - -<p>We sleep in barracks, about twenty to the room, on cots with straw -mattresses. All days are pretty much alike. At 3 <span class="smaller">A.M.</span> a funny little -Annamite Chinaman, with betel-blackened teeth, comes softly in and -shakes you by the shoulder in an absurdly deprecating way. You reach for -your tin cup, and he pours out a quarter-litre of fearful but hot -liquid, somewhat resembling coffee. Then a cigarette in bed, amid drowsy -yawns and curses; a pulling on of breeches, golf-stockings, and leather -coats; a picking up of helmets, and a sleepy march to the bureau, under -the wind-gauges, barometers, and the great red balls that show the -passing side (right or left) for the day.</p> - -<p>"Rassemblement! Mettez-vous sur<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span> quatre!" barks the adjutant, and off we -go to the field. There till nine, or till the wind becomes too -strong—each man taking his sortie of ten minutes as his name is called. -Back about ten; then a lecture till eleven, a discussion after that, and -the first meal of the day. Sleep afterwards till three or three-thirty; -then a bath, a shave, brush teeth, and clean up in general. At five, -assembly again, the same march, the same lessons till nine; then a meal, -a smoke, and to bed at eleven.</p> - -<p>It has been a bit strenuous this past month, getting accustomed to this -life, which is easy, but absurdly irregular. Up at 3.30 <span class="smaller">A.M.</span>, and never -to bed before 11 <span class="smaller">P.M.</span> Meals snatched wherever and whenever possible. -Some sleep by day is indispensable, but difficult in a barrack-room with -twenty other men, not all of whom are sleepy. This, together with fleas -and even more unwelcome little<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span> nocturnal visitors, has made me rather -irregular in my habits, but now I have got into a sort of régime—four -and a half hours of sleep at night, some sleep every afternoon, and -decent meals. Also I have discovered a sort of chrysanthemum powder, -which, with one of the "anti" lotions, fairly ruins my small attackers. -Baths, thank Heaven! I can get every day—with a sponge and soap. There -is no real hardship about this life—it is simply a matter of -readjusting one's self to new conditions and learning where and what to -eat, how to sleep, how to get laundry done, and so forth.</p> - -<p>This school is superb. I shall have the honor of being one of the last -men in the world trained on the famous Blériot monoplane—obsolete as a -military plane, but the best of all for training, because the most -difficult. In spite of the fact that from the beginning to the end one -is alone, it is said to be the safest of all training,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span> because you -practically learn to fly in the "Penguins" before leaving the ground; -and also because you can fall incredible distances without getting a -bruise.</p> - -<p class="space-above">In practically all of the French planes the system of control is the -same. You sit on cushions in a comfortable little chair—well strapped -in, clothed in leathers and helmet. At your left hand are two little -levers, one the mixture, the other the throttle. Your right controls the -manche-à-balai, or cloche—a push forward causes the machine to point -downward (pique) and a pull back makes it rise. Moving it sideways -controls the ailerons, or warps the wings—if you tip left, you move the -cloche right. Your feet rest on a pivoted bar which controls the rudder.</p> - -<p>To rise, you head into the wind, open the throttle (steering with great -care, as a little carelessness here may mean a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span> wrecked wing or a turn -over), and press forward the cloche: you roll easily off; next moment, -as the machine gathers speed, the tail rises, and you pull back the -stick into the position of ligne de vol. Faster and faster you buzz -along,—thirty, thirty-five, forty miles an hour,—until you have flying -speed. Then a slight backward pull on the cloche, and you are in the -air.</p> - -<p>I made my first flight in a small two-place machine of the fighting -type—a Nieuport. It is a new sensation,—one which only a handful of -Americans have experienced,—to take the air at seventy-five or eighty -miles an hour, in one of these little hornets. The handling of them is -incredibly delicate, all the movements of the stick could be covered by -a three-inch circle. A special training is required to pilot them, but -once the knack is acquired they are superb, except for the necessity of -landing at sixty or seventy<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span> miles an hour. In the air you can do -anything with them—they will come out of any known evolution or -position.</p> - -<p>Lately I have been making short low flights in a Blériot, and enjoying -it keenly. All I know (a mere beginning) I have learned entirely alone, -and the first time I left the ground, I left it alone. They simply put -you in the successive types of machines, with a brief word of -instruction, and tell you to fly—if you haven't the instinct, you are -soon put out of the school. After your month of preparation in -"Penguins" and "grass-cutters," the first short flight is a great -experience.</p> - -<p>My name was at the end of the list, so for two hours of increasing -tension I watched my mates make their débuts. We were about a dozen, and -there were some bad "crashes" before my turn came. At last the monitor -called me and I was strapped in behind the whirling stick. The monitor -waved his arm,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span> the men holding the tail jumped away, and I opened the -throttle wide, with the manche-à-balai pushed all the way forward. Up -came the tail; I eased back the control bit by bit, until I had her in -ligne de vol, tearing down the field at top speed. Now came the big -moment, mentally rehearsed a hundred times. With a final gulp I gingerly -pulled back the control, half an inch, an inch, an inch and a half. From -a buoyant bounding rush the machine seemed to steady to a glide, swaying -ever so little from side to side. A second later, the rushing green of -grass seemed to cease, and I was horrified to find myself looking down -at the landscape from a vast height whence one could see distant fields -and hangars as if on a map. A gentle push forward on the manche brought -her to ligne de vol again; a little forward, a reduction of gas, a pull -back at the last moment, and I had made my first landing—a beauty,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span> -without a bounce. To-night I may crash, but I have always the memory of -my beginner's luck—landing faultlessly from fully twelve feet!</p> - -<p>Lack of sleep is our main foe—a hard one to combat, as all sorts of -other things develop as its followers; one has simply to learn to sleep -in any odd moments of the day or night.</p> - -<p>I may still "fall down" and be "radiated" to an observation or bombing -plane (which is of course no disgrace); but on the whole I have good -hopes of making a fighting pilot. Flying (on a Blériot monoplane) is by -no means as easy as I had supposed. It took us four weeks to learn to -run one at full speed, <i>in a straight line</i>, on the ground. The steering -and handling of the elevators (which regulate height of tail) are -extremely tricky, and many men are thrown out or sent to other schools -(Caudron, Farman, or Voisin) for inaptitude or "crashes" at this stage.</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span></p><p>Then comes the stage of low straightaway flights, when you leave the -ground fast and in correct line of flight, and have to land smoothly. -Make no mistake—landing any kind of an aeroplane is hard, and to land -the fast fighting machines is a very great art, which forty per cent of -picked young men never acquire. They are so heavy for their supporting -area, that the moment they slow down to less than seventy-five or eighty -miles an hour they simply fall off on a wing (or "pancake"). Even a -Blériot requires a good eye and a steady delicate touch and judgment to -land in decent style. You are flying, say, three hundred feet up, and -wish to land. Forward goes your stick, the machine noses down as you cut -the motor. The ground comes rushing up at you until the moment comes -when you think you should "redress"—precisely as a plunging duck levels -before settling among the decoys.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span> If you have gauged it to a nicety, -you skim over the ground a few yards up, gradually losing speed, and -settling at last without a jar or break in the forward motion. If you -redress too late, you turn over (capoter), or else bounce and fall off -on a wing. (I have seen men bounce fifty feet!) If you redress too high, -you lose speed too far above the ground, and either pique into the -ground and turn over, fall flat, or crash on one wing.</p> - -<p>The secret of the whole game of learning to fly is, I believe, never to -get excited. I have seen beginner after beginner smash when he was first -sent up to fly. They run along the ground, pull back the stick, as told, -and a moment later are so astounded to find themselves twenty or thirty -feet off the ground that they can think of nothing but shutting off the -throttle. Many crash down tail first, with controls in climbing position -to the last. If they would simply think,—</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span></p><p>"Ha, old boy, you're in the air at last—some thrill, but the main -thing now is to stay here a bit and then ease down without a crash. Ease -the stick forward—now we have stopped climbing. Feel that puff—she's -tipping, but a little stick or rudder will stop that. Now pique her -down, and reduce the gas a notch or two. Here comes the -ground—straighten her out; too much, she's climbing again; there, cut -the gas—a little more—there—not a bad landing for the first try."</p> - -<p>Really there is no system in the world like learning alone, but it costs -the Government, I am told, from $30,000 to $40,000 to turn out a -fighting pilot. Three, six, ten machines—costly, delicate things—are -smashed daily in the school. Never a word is said, until a man smashes -one too many, when he is quietly sent to the easier double-command -school of bombardment or observation flying.</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span></p><p>Some of the fellows are in bad shape nervously. Any night in our -barracks you can see a man, sound asleep, sitting up in bed with hands -on a set of imaginary controls, warding off puffs, doing spirals, -landings, and the like. It is odd that it should take such a hold on -their mental lives.</p> - -<p>I enjoy hugely flying the old monoplane, especially when I fly home and -nose her down almost straight for a gorgeous rush at the ground. As you -straighten out, a few yards up, lightly as a seagull, and settle on the -grass, it is a real thrill.</p> - -<p>I have purchased, for twenty-five francs, a beautiful soft -Russia-leather head-and-shoulder gear, lined with splendid silky fur. It -covers everything but one's eyes,—leaving a crack to breathe -through,—and is wonderfully warm and comfortable.</p> - -<p>I have finally finished the Monoplane<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span> School, which is the end of -preliminary training. There remain spirals, etc., an altitude, and a few -hundred miles of cross-country flying, before I can obtain my brevet -militaire and have the glory of a pair of small gold wings, one on each -side of my collar. After that I shall have seven days' leave (if I am -lucky), followed by two or three weeks perfectionnement on the type of -machine I shall fly at the front. If I smash nothing from now on, I -shall have practically my choice of "zincs"—a monoplace de chasse, or -anything in the bombing or observation lines. If I break once, I lose my -chasse machine, and so on, down to the most prosaic type of heavy -bomber. Only one compensation in this very wise but severe system—the -worse the pilot, the safer the machine he finally flies.</p> - -<p>In spite of all my hopes, I had the inevitable crash—and in the very -last class of the school. Landing our Blériots<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span> is a rather delicate -matter (especially to a beginner), and last week I had the relapse in -landings which so few beginners escape, with the result that I crashed -on my last flight of the morning. I felt pretty low about it, of course, -but on the whole I was not sorry for the experience, which blew up a lot -of false confidence and substituted therefor a new respect for my job -and a renewed keenness to succeed. After that I did better than ever -before, and made a more consistent type of landing.</p> - -<p class="space-above">Guynemer, the great French "Ace," has disappeared, and from accounts of -the fight one fears that he is dead. What a loss to France and to the -Allies! the end of a career of unparalleled romantic brilliancy. I shall -never forget one evening in Paris last spring. I was sitting in the Café -de la Paix, under the long awning that fronts the Boulevard des -Capucines.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span> All Paris was buzzing with Guynemer's mighty exploit of the -day before—four German planes in one fight, two of them sent hurtling -down in flames within sixty seconds. It took one back to the old days, -and one foresaw that Guynemer would take his place with the legendary -heroes of France, with Roland and Oliver, Archbishop Turpin, Saint -Louis, and Charles Martel.</p> - -<p>Presently I looked up. A man was standing in the aisle before me—a -slender youth, rather, dressed in the black and silver uniform of a -captain in the French Aviation. Delicately built, of middle height, with -dark tired eyes set in a pale face, he had the look of a haggard boy who -had crowded the experience of a lifetime into a score of years. The -mouth was remarkable in so young a man—mobile and thin-lipped, -expressing dauntless resolution. On his breast the particolored ribbons<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span> -of his decorations formed three lines: Croix de Guerre, Médaille -Militaire, Officer of the Legion of Honor, Cross of St. George, English -Military Cross, and others too rare for recognition.</p> - -<p>All about me there arose a murmur of excited interest; chairs were -pushed back and tables moved as the crowd rose to its feet. Cynical -Swiss waiters, with armloads of pink and green drinks, halted agape. A -whisper, collective and distinct, passed along the terrace: "It is -Guynemer!"</p> - -<p>The day before, over the fiery lines, he had done battle for his life; -and this evening, in the gay security of Paris, he received the homage -of the people who adored him.</p> - -<p>He had been looking for a table, but when it became no longer possible -to ignore the stir, he raised his right hand in embarrassed salute and -walked quickly into the café.</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span></p><p>I spent my ten days' leave in a trip to Nice, and used up about half of -it in getting there.</p> - -<p>The trip south was a martyrdom—a long stifling ride to Paris, three -days' wait there for a reserved place to Marseilles, a day and a night -standing up in a corridor from Paris to Marseilles (had to give up my -seat to an unfortunate woman with two youngsters), and twenty-three -hours more in a corridor to get to Cannes. On the whole, the worst -journey I recollect. No stops for meals, so we all nearly starved, till -I finally obtained an armful of bottled beer and some sandwiches.</p> - -<p>I sat down on a trunk in the corridor and nodded off to sleep, only to -be awakened half an hour later by H—— F—— (S——'s cousin), who -stole up with a gesture for silence, and pointed at me with a shake of -his head and a broad grin. It must have been rather a rakish <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span>tableau. -On the floor to my left were half a dozen empty bottles; on one end of -the trunk I sat, heavy-eyed and half awake, and beside me, sound asleep, -with her head on my shoulder, was a respectable, very attractive, and -utterly unknown young woman! C'est la guerre! I motioned H——away and -promptly went to sleep again.</p> - -<p>In Marseilles I had time for the Corniche, to see Monte Cristo's castle, -and eat a bouillabaisse, which I cannot recommend without reserve. With -an enormous floating population of sailors, shipping booming, and -streets ablaze at night, Marseilles seems far away from the war, after -the hushed gloom of nocturnal Paris.</p> - -<p>The trials for my military brevet were by far the most interesting thing -I have done in aviation. On finishing the sixty horse-power Blériot -class, I was told that I would have to do my brevet work on a small -Caudron biplane, as there were<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span> no Blériots available. A few short -flights in the Caudron gave me confidence that I could handle it; so one -rather cloudy morning the officer told me to make my official -altitude—which is merely one hour's stay at heights of over seven -thousand feet. I pulled on my great fur combination and fur-lined boots, -adjusted mittens, helmet, and goggles, and stepped into my machine, -number 2887, which the mechanic had been tuning up. "Coupe, plein gaz," -he shouted, above the roar of a score of motors, and gave the stick half -a dozen turns. Then, "Contact reduit"; and as I yelled back, "Contact -reduit," after the old starting formula, he gave a quick half turn to -the blades. Off she went with a roar, all ten cylinders hitting -perfectly, so I motioned him to pull out the blocks from before the -wheels. A quick rush and a turn headed me into the wind, and the next -moment the starter's arm shot forward.</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span></p><p>Old 2887 is a bully 'bus. I was off the ground and heading up in forty -yards. It was rather an occasion for a beginner who had never before -flown over twenty-five hundred feet. The little Caudrons, of course, are -not high-powered, but she climbed splendidly. In ten minutes I was -circling over the camp at thirty-eight hundred feet, and in twenty, I -had reached six thousand, just under the roof of the clouds. There was -only one blue hole through, so up this funnel I climbed in decreasing -circles, till I finally burst out into the gorgeous upper sunlight. At -eight thousand feet I began to float about in a world of utter celestial -loneliness—dazzlingly pure sun, air like the water of a coral atoll, -and beneath me a billowy sea of clouds, stretching away to infinity. -Here and there, from the cloudy prairies, great fantastic mountain -ranges reared themselves; foothills and long divides, vast snowy peaks, -impalpable sisters of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span> Orizaba or Chimborazo, and deep gorges, ever -narrowing, widening, or deepening, across whose shadowy depths drove -ribbons of thin gray mist.</p> - -<p>Once, as I was sailing over a broad cañon, I saw, far off in the south, -a dark moving dot, and knew with a sudden thrill that another man like -myself, astride his gaunt buzzing bird, was exploring and marveling at -this upper dream-world.</p> - -<p>At last the hour was up. I shut off the motor and drove downward in a -series of long easy glides. Going through the clouds, one loses all -sense of balance and direction. It is bizarre and sometimes dangerous. -You plunge out into the old gray world beneath, to find yourself in a -nose-dive, or off on a wing, or upside down—it is all the same in a -cloud.</p> - -<p>The balance of the military trials consists in spirals, and so forth, -and a lot of cross-country flying by map and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span> compass. First you make -two round trips to a place fifty miles away, and then two triangular -trips of about one hundred and fifty miles each. It is very easy, if you -keep your wits about you and have no hard luck. Roads, railroads, -rivers, woods, and canals are the principal guides to follow; towns and -cities you can only recognize by having counted their predecessors, -unless there is some very prominent building, cathedral or factory. A -road, from three thousand feet, shows as a very straight white line, -occasionally making angular turns. A railroad is a dark gray line, -always curving gently when it turns. Canals are ribbons of water, very -straight, between twin lines of trees. And so on. You watch your -compass, to check up the tend of roads and railroads, watch your -altimeter and tachometer (which tells the speed of your engine), and -above all watch always ahead for suitable landing fields, in case<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span> of -motor trouble. The wind also must be borne in mind; its direction can be -told from smoke. I was lucky and had no trouble at all.</p> - -<p>At Nice I ran into many Americans, and there were a good many Britishers -about, recovering from the recent severe fighting around Passchendaele. -They are a quiet and agreeable lot—very interesting when they talk -about their work, which is seldom.</p> - -<p>One captain had strolled into some heavy fighting with no weapon but a -heavy cane, and with this, walking astride of a deep narrow enemy -trench, he had killed eight Germans! An Australian captain, with the -rare ribbon of the V.C. on his breast, had gone into a crowded German -dugout with one companion, who was wounded at the first exchange of -bombs. Single-handed, he had bombed out the Boches, taken forty -prisoners back single-handed, and returned to bring out his wounded -brother officer. An epic feat!</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>III</span> <span class="smaller">FULL-FLEDGED</span></h2> - -<p>Soon after my stay at Nice I went for a month to the Combat and -Acrobatic School of Pau, which completes the most dangerous of all the -flying training. A wonderful experience—somersaults, barrel-turns, -corkscrew dives, every conceivable aerial caper, and long flights daily: -skimming the highest peaks of the Pyrenees at three hundred feet above -the snow—trips to Biarritz and along the coast, flying ten feet above -the waves, etc.</p> - -<p>It is hard to say enough in praise of the school at Pau—the hundreds of -splendid machines, the perfect discipline and efficiency, the food, the -barracks, the courteous treatment of pilots by officers and instructors. -We were twenty<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span> Americans, in a clean airy barrack, with an Annamite to -make the beds and sweep up. The school covers an enormous area in the -valley of the Gave, just under the Pyrenees, and is ideal for an -aviation center so far as weather conditions go, its one drawback being -that motor-trouble, out of range of the aerodromes, means almost -inevitably a smash. All along the Gave they have the smallest fields and -the highest hedges I ever saw. The climate is superb—like the foothill -climate of California: cool nights, delicious days, wonderful dawns and -sunsets.</p> - -<p>They started us on the eighteen-metre machine, doing vertical spirals, -which are quite a thrill at first. You go to a height of about three -thousand feet, shut off the motor, tilt the machine till the wings are -absolutely vertical, and pull the stick all the way back. When an -aeroplane inclines laterally to over forty-five degrees, the controls -become reversed—the rudder<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span> is then the elevator, and the elevator the -rudder, so that, in a vertical spiral, the farther back you pull the -stick, the tighter the spiral becomes. You are at the same time dropping -and whirling in short circles. I once did five turns in losing a -thousand feet of altitude—an unusual number, the monitor told me with -satisfaction. Usually, one loses about three hundred feet to each turn, -but on my first attempt, I lost twenty-one hundred feet in three fourths -of a turn, because I did not pull back enough on the stick.</p> - -<p>After the eighteen-metre spirals we were given a few rides on the -fifteen-metre machine—very small, fast and powerful, but a delicious -thing to handle in the air; and after left and right vertical spirals on -this type, we went to the class of formation-flying, where one is -supposed to learn flying in squadron formation, like wild geese. This is -extremely valuable, but most men take<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span> this chance for joy-riding, as -they have petrol for three hours, and are responsible to no one.</p> - -<p>On my first day in this class I found no one at the rendezvous, so I -rose to about four thousand feet, and headed at a hundred miles an hour -for the coast. In thirty-five minutes I was over Biarritz, where my eyes -fairly feasted on the salt water, sparkling blue, and foam-crested. I do -not see how men can live long away from the sea and the mountains. My -motor was running like a clock and as I was beginning to have perfect -confidence in its performance, I came down in a long coast to the -ground, and went rushing across country toward the mountains, skimming a -yard up, across pastures, leaping vertically over high hedges of poplar -trees, booming down the main streets of villages, and behaving like an -idiot generally, from sheer intoxication of limitless speed and power.</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span></p><p>In a few moments I was at the entrance of one of the huge gorges that -pierce the Pyrenees—the sort of place up which the hosts of Charlemagne -were guided by the White Stag: deep and black and winding, with an icy -stream rushing down its depths. Why not? I gave her full gas and whizzed -up between black walls of rock that magnified enormously the motor's -snarl, up and up until there was snow beneath me and ahead I could see -the sun gleaming on the gorgeous ragged peaks. Up and up, nine, ten, -eleven thousand feet, and I was skimming the highest ridges that -separate France and Spain. Imagine rising from a field in Los Angeles, -and twenty-five minutes later flying over the two-mile-high ridges of -Baldy and Sheep Mountain, swooping down to graze the snow, or bounding -into the air with more speed and ease than any bird.</p> - -<p>At last, as my time was nearly up, I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span> headed back for Pau. A few minutes -later, just as I sighted the pygmy groups of hangars, my motor gave -forth a loud bang and a sheet of flame, and several chunks of metal tore -whizzing through the aluminum hood. Automatically, I pulled at the lever -which closes the gasoline flow and tilted the machine forward to keep my -speed. Another bang, accompanied by black smoke. "Holy mackerel!" I -thought; "this is the end of me! Let's see—in case of fire, shut off -petrol, open throttle, and leave the spark on. Then go into a -nose-dive."</p> - -<p>Somehow you can't seem to get very excited at such moments,—everything -seems inevitable,—good or bad luck. I nose-dived, came out at five -thousand feet, killed my propeller, and was gratified to see, on looking -behind, that there was no more smoke. Starting the motor was of course -out of the question, as it would have promptly taken fire; so I shut<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span> -off throttle and spark, struck an easy glide, and began an anxious -search for a field. Most of them were no larger than postage-stamps, and -I knew they were hedged by the beastly poplars, but at last I spotted a -long one, in the direction of the wind, though not long enough to afford -more than a bare chance of avoiding a crash. It was the only hope, at -any rate; so down I coasted in glides and serpentines, jockeying to lose -height just over the trees. As luck would have it, I was a few feet low -and had to chance jumping the trees with none too much speed. The -splendid stability of the Nieuport saved me from a wing-slip, and a -moment later I landed with a bang in a ditch, breaking one wheel and -stopping within ten yards of a formidable line of willows.</p> - -<p>I crawled out of my seat and lay down in the long grass to rest, as my -head ached villainously from the too rapid descent. Somehow I dozed off -and was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span> awakened by the friendly tongue of a huge Basque shepherd dog. -His mistress, a pretty Spanish-speaking peasant girl, appeared a minute -later, and her family were very decent to me. After some hot coffee with -brandy, and a piece of goat cheese, I attended to the formalities and -went back to camp.</p> - -<p class="space-above">After formation-flying we went to the acrobatic class or "Haute École du -Ciel," where you are taught to put a machine through the wildest kinds -of maneuvers. This is the most dangerous class in any aviation training -in France—many excellent pilots, whose nerves or stomachs would not -stand the acrobatics, rest in the little cemetery at Pau. Wonderful -sport, though, if nature intended one for that sort of thing! The most -dreaded thing one does is the spinning nose-dive, or vrille (gimlet), -which formerly was thought invariably fatal. They have now<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span> discovered -that the small, very strong machines will come out of it safely, if the -rudder is put exactly in the middle and the stick pushed forward.</p> - -<p>The instructor in this class was a very dandified lieutenant, in a Bond -Street uniform, and wearing a monocle, who lay in a steamer-chair all -day, gazing up into the sky at the antics of his pupils. Around him -stood assistants with field-glasses, who watched the heavens anxiously, -and would suddenly bark out, "Regardez, mon lieutenant—l'Américain -Thompson en vrille." The lieutenant would then languidly look up at the -machine pointed out (they are distinguished by broad stripes, or -checker-boards, or colors), and, if the "type" up above had done well, -would remark, "Pas mal, celui-là." If some unfortunate plunged into the -ground and killed himself, the officer would rise gracefully from his -chair, flick the dust from his sleeve,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span> and call for the "Black Cat," -his special "taxi." Jumping in with remarkable speed, he rose in a -series of the most breakneck evolutions, and flew to the scene of the -accident. In reality, his pose is the best in the world, as it keeps the -pilots gonflés, that is, courageous and confident, as opposed to -dégonflés, or scared and nervous.</p> - -<p>I was watching all this from the ground, when a monitor unexpectedly -called out, "Nordhoff, Nordhoff!"</p> - -<p>"Present!" I yelled, as I ran toward him.</p> - -<p>"You will take the checker-board," he ordered, "rise to twelve hundred -metres, and do one vrille and two upside-down turns."</p> - -<p>I admit that I had a slight sinking spell as I walked to the machine, a -little thirteen-metre beauty. (Think of it, only thirteen square yards -of supporting surface!) It was all right as soon as I was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span> strapped in -and had the motor going. Up we went, the "Bébé" climbing like a cat, at -incredible speed, while I anxiously repeated, again and again, the -instructions. Two turns of the field gave me my thirty-six hundred feet. -This was no time to hesitate, so, as I reached the required spot, away -from the sun, I shut off the motor, took a long breath, and pulled back -a bit on the stick. Slower and slower she went, until I felt the rather -sickening swaying that comes with a dangerous loss of speed. The moment -had come. Gritting my teeth, I gave her all the left rudder and left -stick, at the same moment pulling the stick all the way back. For an -instant she seemed to hang motionless—then with unbelievable swiftness -plunged whirling downwards. "Remember, keep your eyes inside—don't look -out, whatever happens," I thought, while a great wind tore at my -clothing and whistled through the wires. In a wink of time I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span> had -dropped six hundred feet: so I carefully put the rudder in the exact -center, centered the stick, and pushed it gently forward. At once the -motion grew steadier, the wind seemed to abate, and the next moment I -dared to look out. It was over—I was in a steep glide, right side up, -safe and sound. I had done a vrille and come out of it! A gorgeous -sensation! I loved it, and queerly enough my first bewildered thought -was, "M—— would adore that!"</p> - -<p>Just to show the lieutenant that I was having a good time, I buzzed up -again and did two more vrilles, looking out the whole time at the -panorama of Pyrenees, villages, and river, whirling around with the most -amazing rapidity. Not a thing for bilious or easily dizzy people though, -as it means horses at the walk if you fail to do the right thing at -exactly the right moment.</p> - -<p>After the acrobatics, we went to classes<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span> in machine-gun shooting and -combat-flying—very interesting and practical, but not to be talked -about.</p> - -<p>After Pau, I had forty-eight hours' leave in Paris, bought a few things -I needed for the front, and was then sent to a place it is forbidden to -mention, expecting soon to get to flying over the lines.</p> - -<p class="space-above">On New Year's morning, as it was snowing hard and there was no flying, I -sat by a cozy fire, in the house of some English people. Curious thing, -running into them here. They are of the tribe of English who wander over -the face of the earth, and make England what she is. The man of the -house is an expert on ——, and has pursued his unusual vocation in -Cuba, Jamaica, Honduras, Guiana, "Portuguese East" and other parts of -Africa, as well as in Ceylon and a few other places I forget. Here he is -now, as <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span>expert for the French. His wife and seven children, who speak -French, Portuguese, Spanish, and Zulu, I think, follow him everywhere, -and are everywhere equally at home. I have tea with them after work, -and, needless to say, they are a Godsend in this desolate place. Let us -all pray that next New Year's day we shall be thanking God for a -victorious peace and returning to civilian life, never to put on -uniforms again. The finest uniform of all is the old civilian -suit—brass buttons and gold braid to the contrary.</p> - -<p>For this winter air-work, which is the coldest known occupation, I -think, this is the way we dress. First, heavy flannels and woolen socks. -Over that, a flannel shirt with sleeveless sweater on top, and uniform -breeches and tunic. Boots and spiral puttees (very warm things, if not -put on too tightly) go on next, and over all we pull on a great -combination, or fur-lined "teddy-bear" suit—waterproof<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span> canvas outside. -Over our boots we pull fur-lined leather flying boots, reaching half-way -up to our knees. For head-gear, a fur-lined leather cap, and around the -neck, several turns of gray muffler. A variety of mask and a pair of -"triplex" goggles to protect one's face from the icy breeze. With all -this, and heavy fur gloves, one can keep reasonably warm.</p> - -<p>As the 16th of January was the first good flying day for some time, -there was much activity. After lunch I went to the aerodrome just in -time to see the combat patrol come swooping down. An excited crowd was -gathered about the first machine in, and I learned that one of our best -pilots had just been brought down by a German two-seater, and that -H——, a nineteen-year-old American in our sister escadrille here, had -promptly brought the Hun down. I was proud to think that an American had -revenged our comrade. This makes H——'s second German<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span> within a week—a -phenomenal record for a beginner. He is an unusual youngster, and -handles a machine beautifully. He seems to have the mixture of dash, -cold nerve, and caution which makes an "ace."</p> - -<p>The German fell ten thousand feet directly over the trenches, but at the -last moment managed to straighten out a bit and crashed two hundred -yards inside his lines. H—— followed him down, and gliding over the -trenches at one hundred feet, saw one German limp out of the wreck and -wave a hand up at the victor.</p> - -<p>Another American boy had quite an exciting time lately when his motor -went dead far inside the enemy lines. Luckily he was high at the time; -so he flattened his glide to the danger-point, praying to be able to -cross into friendly country. Down he came, his "stick" dead, the wind -whistling through the cables, until close ahead he saw a broad<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span> belt of -shell-marked desolation, crisscrossed by a maze of meaningless trenches. -The ground was close; automatically he straightened out, avoiding a pair -of huge craters, touched, bumped, crashed into a thicket of wire, and -turned over. A jab at the catch of his belt set him free; but the really -important thing was whether or not he had succeeded in crossing the -German lines. Wisely enough, he crawled to a shell-hole, and from its -shelter began to reconnoiter warily. Muddy figures began to appear from -various holes and ditches, and at length a soldier who, so far as -appearances went, might have belonged to any army, leaned over the edge -of the hole and said something in <i>French</i>. Young S—— at that began to -breathe for the first time in at least a quarter of an hour. His -discoverer led him to a spacious dugout where two generals were at -lunch—a wonderful lunch, washed down with beverages <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span>forbidden to any -but generals. The great ones made the corporal welcome, laughed -themselves ill over his voluble but wonderful French, plied him with -food and good Scotch whiskey, and sent him home in one of their superb -closed cars.</p> - -<p class="space-above">Now that so many young Americans are beginning to fly in France, I fancy -that the people at home must wonder what sort of a time their sons or -brothers are having—how they live, what their work is, and their play. -Most people who have an immediate interest in the war must by now -possess a very fair idea of the military aviation training; but of the -pilot's life at the front I have seen little in print.</p> - -<p>I can speak, of course, only of conditions in the French aviation -service; but when our American squadrons take their places at the front, -the life is bound to be very similar, because experience<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span> has taught all -the armies that, to get the best results, pilots should be given a -maximum of liberty and a minimum of routine, outside of their duty, -which consists in but one thing—flying.</p> - -<p>Let us suppose, for example, that an American boy—we will call him -Wilkins, because I never heard of a man named Wilkins flying—has passed -through the schools, done his acrobatics and combat-work, and is waiting -at the great dépôt near Paris for his call to the front. Every day he -scans the list as it is posted, and at last, hurrah! his name is there, -followed by mysterious letters and numbers—G.C. 17, or S.P.A. 501, or -N. 358. He knows, of course, that he will have a single-seater scout, -but the symbols above tell him whether it will be a Spad or a Nieuport -and whether he is to be in a groupe de combat ("traveling circus," the -British call them) or in a permanent fighting unit.</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span></p><p>Wilkins is overjoyed to find he has been given a Spad, and hastens to -pack up, in readiness for his train, which leaves at 6 <span class="smaller">P.M.</span> When his -order of transport is given him, he finds that his escadrille is -stationed at Robinet d'Essence, in a fairly quiet, though imaginary, -sector. Before leaving the dépôt he has issued to him a fur-lined -teddy-bear suit, fur boots, sweater, fur gloves, and a huge cork safety -helmet, which Wisdom tells him to wear and Common Sense pronounces -impossible. Common Sense wins; so Wilkins gives the thing to the keeper -of the "effets chauds pour pilotes," and retires.</p> - -<p>His flying things stuffed into a duffle-bag, which he has checked -directly through to far-off Robinet, our hero boards the train with -nothing but a light suitcase. He is delirious with joy, for it is long -since he has been to Paris, and at the dépôt discipline has been severe -and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span> luxury scant. Every journey to the front is via Paris, and the -authorities wink a wise and kindly eye at a few hours' stopover. Outside -the station, an hour later, Wilkins is conscious of a sudden odd feeling -of calm, almost of content, which puzzles him until he thinks a bit. -Finally he has it—<i>this</i> is what he is going to fight for, what all the -Allies are fighting for: this pleasant, crowded civilian life; the -dainty Frenchwomen going by on the arms of their permissionnaires, the -fine old buildings, the hum of peaceful pursuits. In the schools and at -the waiting dépôt he had nearly lost sight of real issues; but now it -all comes back.</p> - -<p>At his hotel he calls up Captain X——of the American Aviation,—an old -friend, who is in Paris on duty,—and is lucky enough to catch him at -his apartment. They dine at the Cercle des Alliés—the old Rothschild -palace, now made into a great military club,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span> where one can see many -interesting men of all the Allied armies lunching and dining together. -Dinner over, they drop in at the Olympia, watch the show a bit, and -greet a multitude of friends who stroll about among the tables. A great -deal of air-gossip goes on: A——has just bagged another Boche; B——, -poor chap, was shot down two days ago; C—— is a prisoner, badly -wounded. At a table near by, Wilkins, for the first time, sets eyes on -Lufbery, the famous American "ace," his breast a mass of ribbons, his -rather worn face lit up by a pleasant smile as he talks to a French -officer beside him.</p> - -<p>At eleven our young pilot says good-bye to his friend and walks through -the darkened streets to his hotel. What a joy, to sleep in a real bed -again! The train leaves at noon, which will give him time for a late -breakfast and a little shopping in the morning. After the first<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span> real -night's sleep in a month, and a light war-time breakfast of omelet, -bacon, broiled kidneys, and coffee, he is on the boulevards again, -searching for a really good pair of goggles, a fur-lined flying cap to -replace the hopeless helmet, and a pair of heavy mittens. Old friends, -in the uniforms of American subalterns, are everywhere; many wear the -stiff-looking wings of the American Flying Corps on their breasts. All -are filled with envy to hear that he is leaving for the front; their -turn will come before long, but meanwhile the wait grows tiresome.</p> - -<p>At length it is train time, and so, hailing a taxi and picking up his -bag on the way, Wilkins heads (let us say) for the Gare de l'Est, -getting there just in time to reserve a place and squeeze into the -dining-car, which is crowded with officers on their way to the front. -These are not the embusqué type of officers which he has been -accustomed<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span> to in the schools,—clerkish disciplinarians, insistent on -all the small points of military observance,—but real fighting men and -leaders; grizzled veterans of the Champagne and the Somme, hawk-nosed, -keen-eyed, covered with decorations.</p> - -<p>Back in his compartment, our pilot dozes through the afternoon, until, -just as it has become thoroughly dark, the train halts at Robinet. On -the platform, half a dozen pilots of the escadrille, smart in their -laced boots and black uniforms, are waiting to welcome the newcomer, and -escort him promptly to the mess, where dinner is ready. Dinner over, he -is shown to his room—an officer's billet, with a stove, bathtub, and -other unheard-of luxuries.</p> - -<p>Next morning, one of his new comrades calls for Wilkins, presents him to -the captain, who proves very chic and shows him his machine, which has -just<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span> been brought out from the dépôt. The armorer is engaged in fitting -a Vickers gun on it, so Wilkins spends the rest of the day at the -hangar, sighting the gun, adjusting his belt, installing altimeter, -tachometer, and clock.</p> - -<p>An hour before sundown all is ready; so the American climbs into his -seat for a spin, fully aware that many appraising eyes will watch his -maiden performance. Off she goes with a roar, skimming low, over the -field, until her full speed is attained, when the pilot pulls her up in -a beautiful "zoom," banking at the same time to make her climb in a -spiral. Up and up and up, her motor snarling almost musically—and -suddenly she stops, quivers, and plunges downward, spinning. A hundred -yards off the ground she straightens out magically, banks stiffly to the -left, skims the hangars, and disappears. The mechanicians watching, -hands on hips, below,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span> nod to one another in the French way. "Il marche -pas mal, celui-là," they say—high praise from them.</p> - -<p>Wilkins, meanwhile, has flown down the river, to where a target is -anchored in a broad shallow. Over it he tilts up and dives until the -cross hairs in his telescopic sight center on the mark. "Tut-tut-tut," -says the Vickers, and white dashes of foam spring out close to the -canvas. He nods to himself as he turns back toward the aerodrome.</p> - -<p>At dinner there is much talk, as the weather has been good. A—— and -L—— had a stiff fight with a two-place Hun, who escaped miraculously, -leaving their machines riddled with holes. M—— had a landing cable cut -by a bullet; J——had a panne, and was forced to land uncomfortably -close to the lines. At eight o'clock an orderly comes in with the next -day's schedule: "Wilkins: protection patrol at 8 <span class="smaller">A.M.</span>"</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span></p><p>The French have not the English objection to "talking shop," and over -the coffee the conversation turns to the difficulties of bringing down -Huns and getting them officially counted—"homologue" the French call -it. The great airmen, of course,—men like Bishop, Ball, Nungesser, and -Guynemer,—get their thirty, forty, or fifty Boches; but nevertheless it -is a very considerable feat to get even one, and growing harder every -day. Nearly all the German hack-work—photography, reglage of artillery, -observation, and so forth—is now done by their new two-seaters, very -fast and handy machines and formidable to attack, as they carry four -machine-guns and can shoot in almost any direction. Most of the fighting -must be done in their lines; and far above, their squadrons of Albatross -single-seaters watch ceaselessly for a chance to pounce unseen.</p> - -<p>Add to this the fact that, to get an<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span> official count, the falling Hun -must be checked by two independent observers, such as -observation-balloon men, and you can see that it is no easy trick.</p> - -<p>Just before bedtime, the leader of the morning's patrol explains the -matter to Wilkins. The rendezvous is over a near-by village at three -thousand feet. Wilkins is to be last in line on the right wing of the V, -a hundred yards behind the machine ahead of him. Signals are: a wriggle -of the leader's tail means, "Open throttles, we're off"; a sideways -waving of his wings means, "I'm going to attack; stand by"; or, "Easy, I -see a Boche."</p> - -<p>After a not entirely dreamless sleep and a cup of coffee, our hero is at -the hangars at 7.30, helping his mechanic give the "taxi" a final -looking over. At 8 he takes the air and circles over the meeting-place -till the V is formed. Just as he falls into his allotted station the -leader, who has been flying in great <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span>circles, throttled down, wriggles -his tail, opens the throttle wide, and heads for the lines, climbing at -a hundred miles an hour.</p> - -<p>Wilkins is so busy keeping his position that he has scarcely time to -feel a thrill or to look about him. Suddenly, from below comes a vicious -growling thud, another, and another: <i>Hrrrump, hrrrump, hrrrump.</i> He -strains his head over the side of the fuselage. There below him, and -horribly close, he thinks, dense black balls are springing out—little -spurts of crimson at their hearts. The patrol leader begins to weave -about to avoid the "Archies," banking almost vertically this way and -that in hairpin turns, and poor Wilkins, at the tail end, is working -frantically to keep his place. He has never seen such turns, and makes -the common mistake of not pulling back hard enough when past forty-five -degrees. The result is that he loses height in a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span> side-slip each time, -and gets farther and farther behind his man.</p> - -<p>Meanwhile, far up in the blue, their shark-like bodies and broad short -wings glimmering faintly in the upper sunlight, a patrol of Albatross -monoplaces is watching. Thousands of feet below, close to the trenches, -they see the clumsy photographic biplaces puffing back and forth about -their business. Above these, they see the V of Spads turning and -twisting as they strive to stay above the photographers they are -protecting. But wait, what is wrong with the Spad on the right end of -the V—a beginner surely, for at this rate he will soon lose his patrol? -As if a silent signal had been given, five Albatrosses detach themselves -from the flock, and reducing their motors still more, point their sharp -noses downward, and begin to drift insensibly nearer.</p> - -<p>Wilkins has been having a tough time of it, and at last, in a -three-hundred-foot<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span> wing-slip, has lost his comrades altogether, and is -flying erratically here and there, too intent and too new at the game to -watch behind him. Suddenly, two sparks of fire like tiny shooting stars -whizz by him, a long rip appears in the fabric of his lower wing, and -next moment, clear and unmistakable, he hears, "Tut, tut, tut, tut." He -nearly twists his head off, and perceives with horror that five sinister -forms, gray, sharp-snouted, and iron-crossed, are hemming him in, above, -below, behind. His thoughts, which occupy possibly a second and a half, -may be set down roughly as follows: "Five Boche single-seaters—too -many—must beat it—how? Oh, yes—climb in zigzags and circles, heading -for our lines."</p> - -<p>Leaving Wilkins for a moment, I must tell you a curious thing which -shows that men have much in common with dogs. You know how, in his own -yard, a fox-terrier will often put a mastiff to flight<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span>—and a -fox-terrier, at that, who fears for his life when he ventures on the -street? The same thing applies to flying—over the German lines you have -a sort of a small, insignificant feeling, look at things -pessimistically, and are apt to let your imagination run too freely. The -minute you are over friendly country, that changes: your chest -immediately expands several inches, you become self-assertive, rude, and -over-confident. Thus Wilkins.</p> - -<p>In a wild series of zooms and half-spirals, to throw off his pursuers' -aim, he reaches his own lines safely, and finds that all but one -Albatross have given up the chase. One of them, possibly a beginner -anxious for laurels, is not to be thrown off; so the American resolves -to have a go at him.</p> - -<p>They are at twelve thousand feet. The German is behind and slightly -below, maneuvering to come up under the Spad's<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span> tail. A second's -thought, and Wilkins banks sharply to the left, circles, and dives -before the Boche has realized that it is an air-attack. With the wind -screaming through his struts, he sees the enemy's black-leather helmet -fair on the cross hairs of the telescope, and presses the catch of the -gun. A burst of half a dozen shots, a pull and a heave to avoid -collision. As he rushes past the Albatross, he sees the pilot sink -forward in his seat; the machine veers wildly, begins to dive, to spin. -Good God—he's done it—what luck—poor devil!</p> - -<p>And that night at mess, Wilkins stands champagne for the crowd.</p> - -<p>Young H—— has had another wild time. He ran across a very fast German -two-seater ten miles behind our lines, fought him till they were twenty -miles inside the Boche lines, followed him down to his own aerodrome, -circled at fifty feet in a perfect hail of bullets, killed<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span> the Hun -pilot as he walked (or ran) from machine to hangars, riddled the -hangars, rose up, and flew home.</p> - -<p>He shot away over four hundred rounds—a remarkable amount from a -single-seater bus, as the average burst is only five or six shots before -one is forced to maneuver for another aim.</p> - -<p class="space-above">On a raw foggy day, in the cozy living-room of our apartment, with a -delicious fire glowing in the stove, and four of the fellows having a -lively game of bridge, one is certainly comfortable—absurdly so. Talk -about the hardships of life on the front!</p> - -<p>The mess is the best I have seen, and very reasonable for these times—a -dollar and a half per day each, including half a bottle of wine, beer, -or mineral water at each meal. A typical dinner might be: excellent -soup, entrée, beefsteak, mashed potatoes, dessert, nuts, figs, salad. -While<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span> no man would appreciate an old-fashioned home-type American meal -more than I, one is forced to admit that the French have made a deep -study of cookery and rations designed to keep people in the best shape. -There is a certain balance to their meals—never too much concentrated, -starchy, or bulky food. The variety, considering the times, is really -wonderful. Breakfasts my pal and I cook ourselves, occasionally breaking -out some delicacy such as kidneys en brochette.</p> - -<p>We have an amusing system of fines for various offenses: half a franc if -late for a meal; a franc if over fifteen minutes late; half a franc for -throwing bread at the table; half a franc for breaking a tail-skid (on a -"cuckoo"); a franc for a complete smash; a franc and a half if you hurt -yourself to boot; and so on. A fellow hit a tree a while ago, had a -frightful crash, and broke both his legs. When he leaves the hospital, -the court will decide this<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span> precedent and probably impose on him a -ruinous fine.</p> - -<p>Of course no one ever pays a fine without passionate protests; so our -meals are enlivened by much debate. As we have a very clever lawyer and -a law student almost his equal, accuser and accused immediately engage -counsel, and it is intensely entertaining to hear their impassioned -arraignments and appeals to justice and humanity: deathless Gallic -oratory, enriched with quotations, classical allusions, noble gestures; -such stuff as brings the Chamber to its feet, roaring itself hoarse; and -all for a ten-penny fine!</p> - -<p>A good bit of excitement lately, over uniforms. In aviation, one knows, -there is no regulation uniform: each man is supposed to wear the color -and cut of his previous arm. The result is that each airman designs for -himself a creation which he fondly believes is suited to his style of -soldierly beauty—and many of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span> these confections haven't the slightest -connection with any known French or Allied uniform. One may see -dark-blue, light-blue, horizon-blue, black, and khaki; trousers turned -up at the bottom; open-front tunics (like a British officer), and every -variety of hat, footwear, and overcoat.</p> - -<p>I, for instance (being in the Foreign Legion), wear khaki, open-fronted -tunic, a very unmilitary khaki stock necktie, Fox's puttees, and United -States Army boots. Naturally, I have to duck for cover whenever I see -the general loom up in the offing; for he is a rather particular, testy -old gentleman, very military, and can't abide the "fantaisies" of the -aviator tribe. Lately he has caught and severely reprimanded several of -the boys; so I guess that I shall have to have the tailor make certain -unfortunate changes in my garments.</p> - -<p>The weather of late has been wretched<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span> for flying. A low, frosty mist -hangs over the countryside; the trees, especially the pines, are -exquisite in their lacy finery of frost. The few days we have of decent -weather are usually interesting, as the Hun ventures over chez nous to -take a few photographs, and with a little luck the boys are able to -surprise him into a running fight. At night, when the tired war-birds -buzz home to roost, a crowd of pilots and mechanics gathers before the -hangars. All gaze anxiously into the northeastern sky. The captain paces -up and down—though he has flown four hours, he will not eat or drink -till he has news of his pilots. Jean is missing, and Charlot, and -Marcel. Night is drawing on—the sky flushes and fades, and faces are -growing just a trifle grave.</p> - -<p>Suddenly a man shouts and points—Jean's mechanician,—and high up in -the darkening east we see three specks—the missing combat patrol. Next -moment<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span> the hoarse drone of their motors reaches our ears; the sound -ceases; in great curving glides they descend on the aerodrome. We hear -the hollow whistling of their planes, see them, one after another, clear -the trees at ninety miles an hour, dip, straighten, and rush toward us, -a yard above the grass. A slight bumping jar, a half-stop, and each -motor gives tongue again in short bursts, as the pilots taxi across to -the hangars, snapping the spark on and off.</p> - -<p>Then a grand scamper to crowd around our half-frozen comrades, who -descend stiffly from their "zincs," and tell of their adventures, while -mechanics pull off their fur boots and combinations. Other "mecanos" are -examining the machines for bullet- and shrapnel-holes—often a new wing -is needed, or a new propeller; sometimes a cable is cut half through. -Snatches of talk (unintelligible outside the "fancy") reach one; we, of -course,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span> know only the French, but the R.F.C. stuff is equally cryptic.</p> - -<p>"Spotted him at four thousand eight, 'piqued' on him, got under his -tail, did a chandelle, got in a good rafale, did a glissade, went into a -vrille, and lost so much height I could not catch him again."</p> - -<p>An R.F.C. man would say, "Spotted him at forty-eight hundred, dove on -him, got under his tail, did a zoom, got in a good burst, did a -side-slip, went into a spin," etc. I may say that "chandelle" or "zoom" -means a sudden, very steep leap upward (limited in length and steepness -by the power and speed of the machine). Some of our latest machines will -do the most extraordinary feats in this line—things that an old -experienced pilot in America would have to see to believe. A "glissade" -is a wing-slip to the side, and down; a "vrille" is a spinning -nose-dive.</p> - -<p>Among the younger pilots are several who entertain spectators with all -sorts<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span> of acrobatic feats over the aerodrome. A fine exhibition of skill -and courage, but foolish at times—especially after a fight, when vital -parts may be dangerously weakened by bullet-holes. Too much acrobacy -strains and weakens the strongest aeroplane. I believe in doing just -enough to keep your hand in, as in fights you are forced to put enough -unusual stresses on your bus.</p> - -<p class="space-above">I hope to know very soon whether or not we are to be transferred to the -American army. The long delay has worked hardships on a good many of us, -as of course no pilot could begin to live on the pay we get. The -Franco-American Flying-Corps fund (for which, I believe, we must thank -the splendid generosity of Mr. Vanderbilt) has helped immensely in the -past, but some of the boys are in hard straits now. I hope we shall be -transferred, because the pay will make us <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span>self-supporting, and any -American would rather be in United States uniform nowadays, in spite of -the bully way the French treat us, and our liking for our French -comrades, with whom it will be a wrench to part.</p> - -<p>The point regarding our present pay is this: all French aviators are -volunteers, knowing conditions in the air-service beforehand. Before -volunteering, therefore, they arrange for the necessary private funds; -if not available, they keep out of flying. We get two and a half francs -a day (as against five sous in the infantry), but on the other hand, we -are lodged, and forced by tradition to live, like officers. It is fine -for the chap who has a little something coming in privately, but tough -for the one who is temporarily or permanently "broke."</p> - -<p>Our boys are going to do splendid things over here. Everywhere one sees -discipline, efficiency, and organization<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span> that make an American's chest -go out. The first slackness (unavoidable at the start of a huge and -unfamiliar job) has completely disappeared. People at home should know -of all this as quickly and as much in detail as expedient: they are -giving their money and their flesh and blood, and prompt and racy news -helps wonderfully to hearten and stimulate those whose duty is at home.</p> - -<p>For myself, there is nowhere and nobody I would rather be at present -than here and a pilot. No man in his senses could say he enjoyed the -war; but as it must be fought out, I would rather be in aviation than -any other branch. A pleasant life, good food, good sleep, and two to -four hours a day in the air. After four hours (in two spells) over the -lines, constantly alert and craning to dodge scandalously accurate -shells and suddenly appearing Boches, panting in the thin air at twenty -thousand feet, the boys<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span> are, I think, justified in calling it a day. I -have noticed that the coolest men are a good bit let down after a dogged -machine-gun fight far up in the rarefied air. It may seem soft to an -infantryman—twenty hours of sleep, eating, and loafing; but in reality -the airman should be given an easy time outside of flying.</p> - -<p>I was unfortunate enough to smash a beautiful new machine yesterday. Not -my fault; but it makes one feel rotten to see a bright splendid thing -one has begun to love strewn about the landscape. Some wretched little -wire, or bit of dirt where it was not wanted, made my engine stop dead, -and a forced landing in rough country full of woods and ditches is no -joke. I came whizzing down to the only available field, turned into the -wind, only to see dead ahead a series of hopeless ditches which would -have made a frightful end-over-end crash. Nothing to do but pull her up -a few feet and sail over,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span> risking a loss of speed. I did this, and -"pancaked" fairly gently, but had to hit ploughed ground across the -furrow. The poor "coucou"—my joy and pride—was wrecked, and I climbed, -or rather dropped, out, with nothing worse than a sore head, where the -old bean hit the carlingue. Now all the world looks gray, though our -captain behaved like the splendid chap he is about it: not a word of the -annoyance he must have felt.</p> - -<p>The very finest motors, of course, do stop on occasions. Better luck, I -hope, from now on.</p> - -<p class="space-above">As the days go by, I find much that is novel and interesting about the -aerial war, which in reality is quite different from any idea of it that -I had had. I will try to give a rough idea of how the upper war is -carried on.</p> - -<p>The trenches, sometimes visible, often quite invisible from the heights -at<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span> which one flies, form the dividing line between us and the Boche. -Behind them, at distances of from seven to fifteen miles, are the -aerodromes—a few acres of tolerably flat land, three or four or half a -dozen hangars (often cleverly camouflaged), barracks, and sheds for -automobiles. Each side, of course, knows pretty well the locations of -the enemy aerodromes. This gives rise to a certain amount of give and -take in the bombing line, which, in the end, accomplishes very little.</p> - -<p>It is a curious fact that in certain sectors the aviator's life is made -miserable by this ceaseless bombing, while in other places a species of -unwritten understanding permits him to sleep, at least, in peace. I have -a friend in a far-off escadrille who has to jump out of bed and dive for -the dugouts nearly every clear night, when the sentry hears the -unmistakable Mercedes hum close <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span>overhead, the shutting off of the -motor, and the ominous rush of air as the Huns descend on their mark. He -knows that the Germans get as good as, or better than they give—but the -knowledge does not make up for lost sleep. In my sector, on the other -hand, we could blow the Boche aerodromes to atoms and they could -probably do as much for us, but neither side has started this useless -"strafing." Just before an attack, such bombing might be of military -value; otherwise it only harasses vainly men who need what sleep they -get, and destroys wealth on both sides, like exchanging men in checkers -without profiting in position. I have heard parlor warriors at home say, -"By all means make war as unpleasant as possible—then it won't happen -again." But there is a limit to this, when nothing of tactical value is -accomplished.</p> - -<p>The aerodromes are the headquarters<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span> of the different squadrons, each of -which is specialized in some type of work. Military aviation divides -itself into certain groups, requiring different types of machines and -different training for pilot or observer. These groups are day-bombing, -night-bombing, observation, photography, artillery fire-control, and -chasse. I would like to tell you all about the different buses used, but -of course one is not at liberty to do so. In general, bombing-machines -are rather large two-seaters or three-seaters, designed to rise to great -heights, where they are very fast, and capable of carrying heavy loads -for long distances. They are, naturally, well armed, but depend (for -safely carrying out their missions) principally on their speed at -altitudes of eighteen thousand feet or more. Photography, observation, -and artillery control machines, on the other hand, must be fast at lower -altitudes, handy in a fight, and speedy climbers.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span> They are, so far as I -know, always two-seaters, and are really the most important of all -aeroplanes. I believe that all the allied designers should work together -to produce a single uniform type of two-seater—small, quick to -maneuver, and very fast up to fifteen or sixteen thousand feet. Such -machines, flying about their work in small groups, are truly formidable -things for single-seater scouts to attack, as they are nearly as fast -and handy, and have the enormous advantage of being able to shoot -backward as well as forward. With light double-controls for the -machine-gun man or observing officer (who would take a few lessons in -emergency flying), they could not be brought down by killing the -pilot—a most valuable feature.</p> - -<p>The Boches have such machines,—particularly the Rumpler,—which are -tough nuts to crack, even when outnumbered. Two of our boys had a -<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span>running fight with a Rumpler recently, and dove at him alternately for -thirty minutes over forty miles of country. Both were nearly brought -down in the process—and they failed to bag the enemy machine, though at -the last they did for the observer. This shows the great value of the -fast two-place bus. I doubt if people at home are aware of the -difficulties of designing a two-seater which one could pronounce, -without hesitation, the best. It must have four major qualities: speed, -climbing ability, diving speed, and handiness. The need of strength, or -high factor of safety, goes without saying. Speed is simply a matter of -power and head resistance, and is comparatively easy to attain alone; -the rub comes in combining with it the requisite climbing power, and -factor of safety. The Germans, in general, seem to believe in a very -heavy, substantial motor, which cuts their climbing to a certain extent, -but<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span> gives them a very fast dive. The Allies' machines, I should say, -are slightly faster climbers, but cannot follow a diving Hun. And so it -goes—to have one quality in perfection, another must be sacrificed.</p> - -<p>Last of all come the single-seaters, whose sole purpose is to fight. -Many different types have been tried—monoplanes, biplanes, and -triplanes, with different kinds of fixed and rotary motors. At present -the biplane seems to have it (though I have seen an experimental -monoplane that is a terror), as the monoplane is by nature too weak, and -the triplane (magnificent otherwise!) is too slow in diving for either -attack or escape.</p> - -<p>The work the different groups perform seems to be roughly the same in -the Allied and enemy armies. The day-bombers fly at great heights, -sometimes escorted and protected by single-seaters. The night-bombers -fly fairly low, never escorted. Photographers, observers, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span> artillery -regulators have a nasty job, as they must fly rather low, constantly -subjected to a galling attention from old Archibald. When their mission -requires it, they are escorted by chasse machines—a job that -single-seater pilots do not pine for, because they often go twenty or -thirty miles into "Bochie," where motor-trouble means a soup diet till -the end of the war; and because, at low altitudes, hovering over a slow -"cuckoo," the anti-aircraft gunners have too good a time.</p> - -<p>The single-seaters may be divided into two classes: the first does -escort work about half the time, the second does nothing but parade up -and down the lines, hunting for trouble. The last are the élite among -airmen. Unfortunately I am not one of them, as they are recruited only -from tried and skillful pilots. As to fighting, there is a good deal of -popular misconception. One imagines picturesque duels to the death, -between A (the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span> great French or English ace) and X (his German -competitor)—the multitude of straining, upturned eyes, the distant -rattle of shots, the flaming spin of the loser. As a matter of fact, a -duel between two monoplaces, handled by pilots of anything like equal -skill, who are <i>aware of each other's presence</i>, is not unlikely to end -without bloodshed. Bear in mind that they can shoot only forward, that -the gun must be aimed by aiming the whole machine (to which it is fixed -immovably), and that a twisting, climbing, banking aeroplane, traveling -at over one hundred miles per hour, is no joke to hit in its small -vitals, and you can see that this must be so.</p> - -<p>The truth is, that the vast majority of fights which end in a victory -are between scouts and two-seaters, and that it needs two scouts to -attack one biplace with anything like even chances of winning. Think a -moment. The <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span>two-seater is nearly as fast and handy as you are; he can -therefore avoid you and shoot forward almost as well, and in addition, -he has a man astern who can shoot up, sideways, and backwards with most -superior accuracy. This disconcerting individual, it is true, cannot -shoot straight down when the wings are horizontal, but to enable him to -do so, the pilot has only to tilt the machine to the necessary angle.</p> - -<p>Now, suppose two French monoplaces sight an Iron-Crossed two-seater. -Flying at sixteen thousand feet, they see French shrapnel in white puffs -bursting below them at two thousand feet, and several miles away. They -change their course, and presently, dodging in and out among the fleecy -balls, they espy a fast biplace, heavily camouflaged in queer splotches -of green, brown, and violet. Coming nearer, they make out the -crosses—ha, a Boche! Nearer and nearer they come, till they are four -hundred yards behind<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span> and six hundred feet above the enemy, who has seen -them and is making tracks for home. Three hundred yards, by the way, is -the closest one may safely approach a machine-gun in the air. At this -point A dives on the Boche to about two hundred and fifty yards, shoots -a short burst, and veers off. The German machine-gunner lets him have a -rafale, but meanwhile B has dived under and behind the enemy's tail. -There he stays, at a fairly safe distance, with his eye on the rudder -above him, ready to anticipate the banks which might enable the gunner -to get in a burst. As soon as A sees that B is beneath the Boche, he -dives and shoots again. The gunner is in a quandary—if he aims at A, B -will slip up and forward, rear his machine into position, and deliver a -possibly deadly burst. If he devotes his attention to B, A will be safe -to make a dive to dangerously close quarters. There you have the theory -of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span> the most common of all attacks—but in reality it is more difficult -than it sounds. The three machines are traveling at great speed, and -constantly twisting, rearing, and diving. It is the easiest thing in the -world to pass another plane, turn to follow it, and see nothing, no -matter how you strain your eyes. In passing, your combined speed might -be roughly <i>one hundred and twenty yards per second</i>, and you are both -moving in three dimensions. The object for which you search may be to -the side, ahead, above, below; and every second of your search may be -increasing its distance at enormous speed.</p> - -<p>It is bitterly cold, and I am sitting in our cozy mess-room waiting for -lunch, which is at twelve. A dense fog hangs over the aerodrome, and the -trees are beautifully frosted.</p> - -<p>Just had word that a boy who was at Avord in my time has bagged one of -the "Tangos"—no mean feat. It is the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span> crack escadrille of all -Germany—Albatross DIII's, driven by the pick of the Hun fighting -pilots, and commanded, I believe, by Von Richthofen—the most famous of -German aces. They are a formidable aggregation, recognizable by rings of -tango red around their Iron Crosses, and stripes of the same color along -the fuselage. For a young pilot to bring one of these birds down in one -of his first flights over the lines is a wonderful piece of luck and -skill.</p> - -<p>On days (like to-day) when the weather makes flying impossible, the -fellows sleep late, make a long, luxurious toilet, breakfast, and stroll -down to the hangars, where they potter around their "zincs," feeling -over the wires, adjusting the controls, tinkering their machine-guns, or -perhaps fitting on some sort of new trick sight. Sights are a hobby with -every pilot and nearly every one has different ideas on the subject, -advocating telescopic or<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span> open, one or two-eye outfits. Then, if one is -extra careful, he takes out the long belt of cartridges, feels each -bullet to make sure it is tightly crimped in the shell, and pushes and -pulls the shells until all are exactly even. "Jams" are the curse of -this game, and no amount of trouble is too much, if it insures a smooth -working gun. Some jams can be fixed in the air, but others render you -defenseless until you can land.</p> - -<p>Each pilot has his own mechanic, who does nothing but look after his -bus, and is usually a finished comedian in addition to being a crack -mechanic. In truth, I never ran across a more comical, likable, -hard-working crew than the French aviation mechanics. They are mostly -pure Parisian "gamins"—speaking the most extraordinary jargon, in which -everything but the verbs (and half of them) is slang, of the most -picturesque sort. Quick-witted, enormously interested in their<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span> work, -intelligent and good-natured, they are the aristocrats of their trade, -and know it. You should see them when they go on leave. Jean or Chariot, -ordinarily the most oily and undignified of men, steps out of the -squadron office arrayed in a superb blue uniform, orange tabs on his -collar, a mirror-like tan belt about his waist—shaven, shorn, shining -with cleanliness, puffing an expensive-looking, gilt-banded cigar. Is it -fancy—or is there a slight condescension in his greeting? Well, it is -natural—you can never hope to look so superbly like a field-marshal. A -little crowd of pals gathers around, for it is just after lunch; and -presently the motorbus draws up with a scream of brakes and a cloud of -dust. The motor has "AV" in big letters on the side, and its driver (not -to be confounded with any mere ambulance or lorry chauffeur) would feel -it a disgrace to travel under forty miles an hour, or to make anything -but the most<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span> spectacular of turns and stops. The driver produces a -silver cigarette case, passes it round, takes a weed, taps it on his -wrist, and chaffs the permissionnaire about a new godmother on whom he -is planning to call in Paris.</p> - -<p>Presently the captain steps out of his office; the departing one spins -about, head back and chest out, cigar hidden in his left hand; -"click"—his heels come together magnificently, and up goes his right -hand in a rigid salute. Smiling behind his mustache, our extremely -attractive captain salutes in return, and shakes Chariot's hand warmly, -wishing him a pleasant leave. He is off, and you can picture him -to-morrow strolling with princely nonchalance along the boulevards. What -if he earns but five cents a day—he saves most of that, and his pilot -presents him with a substantial sum every Saturday night, all of which -is put away for the grand splurge, three times a year.</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span></p><p>In Paris, you will recognize the type—well dressed in neat dark blue, -orange collar with the group number on it, fingernails alone showing the -unmistakable traces of his trade, face, eyes and manner registering -interest and alert intelligence. As likely as not you see him on the -terrace of some great café—a wonderfully smart little midinette (his -feminine counterpart) beside him, with shining eyes of pride—and at the -next table a famous general of division, ablaze with the ribbons of half -a dozen orders.</p> - -<p>The "mecanos" dress as nearly like pilots as they dare, and after flying -is over in the evening are apt to appear about the hangars in the -teddy-bear suits and fur boots of the "patron." Some funny things happen -at such times. There is a class of officers, called "officers of -administration," attached to squadrons and groups of aviation, who do -not fly, but look after the office and business end<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span> of the équipe. They -are worthy men and do absolutely necessary work, but somehow are not -very swank.</p> - -<p>One day it became known that the revered Guynemer was to visit a certain -escadrille, and naturally all the officers were on fire to shake the -hero's hand—a reminiscence to hand down to their children's children. -The administration officer—a first lieutenant—was late in getting away -from the bureau, and when he got to the field, Guynemer had landed, left -his machine, and gone to have the sacred apéritif of five o'clock. -Meanwhile, the chief comedian of all the mechanics, dressed by chance in -his pilot's combination and boots, and proud to tinker (with reverent -fingers) the famous Spad, had run out to where it stood, filled it with -gas and oil, touched up the magneto, and cleaned a couple of plugs. The -officer, as he came to the hangars, perceived the well-known "taxi," -with the stork on its<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span> side, and a furry figure strolling towards him. A -snap of heels, the position of attention, and he was saluting (as he -thought) one of the most glorious figures of France. The comedy -mechanician—taking in the situation at a glance—strolled magnificently -by, with a careless salute and a nod. The officer never inquired who it -was he had saluted—but what a tale to pass around the barrack stove on -winter evenings! Mistaken for Guynemer! Saluted by a two-striper!</p> - -<p>In clothes and get-up the mechanics follow the pilots' lead, but in -language the situation is reversed—we take pride in memorizing, -chuckling over, and using at every opportunity the latest word or phrase -invented by these gifted slangsters. An aeroplane is never "avion" or -"appareil," but "zinc," "taxi," or "coucou." Motor is "moulin"—to start -it, one "turns the mill." In the aviation, one does not eat, one -"pecks." One is not<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span> killed—one "breaks one's face," though face is not -the inelegant word in use. Gasoline is "sauce"; to open the throttle, -you "give her the sauce." A motor breakdown is not, as in the automobile -service, a "panne," but a "carafe"—heaven knows why! and so on.</p> - -<p>Life out here is in many ways a contrast to the last six months. Though -only a beginner, a bleu, I am Somebody, through the mere fact of being a -pilot, and most of all a pilote de chasse—a most chic thing to be. I -must dress well, shave daily, wear my hair brushed straight back and -long,—in contrast to all other branches of the army,—have my boots and -belt polished like a mirror, and frequent only the best café in town. -These are, of course, unwritten rules, but sternly lived up to—and I -confess that the return of self-respect, after months of dirt and -barrack life, is not unpleasant.</p> - -<p>Our escadrille, composed of ten French<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span> pilots, two Americans, and the -officers, is really a very decent crowd of chaps of good family and -education. Frenchmen of this kind are good fellows and pleasant -companions, differing from us only on certain racial points of outlook -and humor. Among them are two lawyers (with all the French lawyer's -delicate wit, irony, and love of play on words), a large wine-grower (if -you can grow wine), a professional soldier from Morocco, a medical -student, and my room-mate, a most attractive chap, an English -public-school man, whose family are French importers in London. He has -been nearly everywhere, is absolutely bi-lingual, and is the sort of man -who is at home in any kind of company.</p> - -<p>From time to time, of course, some one is brought down, and though I -dislike it intensely, one feels that decency demands one's presence at -the funeral. Elaborate, rather fine ceremony usually,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span> where the Gallic -emotional nature appears at its best. At the last one, for instance, the -captain (brave as a lion, and a man to his finger-tips) was overcome in -the midst of his speech of eulogy and burst into tears. Impossible to an -Anglo-Saxon, but to me there was something very fine in the sight of -this splendid officer, frankly overcome with grief at the loss of one of -his men. When the ceremony is over, each pilot and friend comes to pay -respect to the departed comrade, takes up in turn an implement shaped -like an Indian-club, dips it in holy water, makes a sign with it over -the coffin, draped in the Tri-color, and sprinkles a few drops of water -on the flag.</p> - -<p>At our mess, we have queer little things of glass to rest knife and fork -on, while the dishes are being changed; and last night at dinner, when -the captain's orderly assigned one pilot to a particularly ticklish -mission, an irrepressible <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span>American youth who was dining with us picked -up one of these knife-rests (shaped exactly like a holy-water -sprinkler), stood up very solemnly, made the sign over his victim, and -sprinkled a few drops on his head. Amid roars of laughter every one at -the table stood up in turn and did likewise. A harmless joke to us, but -I am not sure of its good taste to a Frenchman.</p> - -<p>If I had known France before the war I could decide better a question -that constantly occurs to me: "Has France grown more religious with -war?" The educated Frenchman is certainly the most intelligent, the most -skeptical, the least inclined to take things on trust of all men, yet on -the whole I am inclined to believe that religious feeling (by no means -orthodox religion) has grown and is growing. In peace times, death seems -a vitally important thing, to be spoken of with awe and to be dreaded, -perhaps as the end of the game, if you chance to be a materialist.</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span></p><p>All that is changed now. You go to Paris on leave, you spend two or -three days delightfully with Bill or Jim or Harry, a very dear friend, -also in on leave from his battery, regiment, or squadron.</p> - -<p>A week later some one runs up to you with a long face. "Bill got crowned -on Thursday," he says; "joined a Boche patrol by mistake and brought -down before he saw the crosses. Poor old cuss." You sigh, thinking of -the pleasant hours you have passed with Bill—your long talks together, -his curious and interesting kinks of outlook, the things which make -personality, make one human being different from another. Somehow your -thoughts don't dwell on his death as they would in peace-times—a week -or a month later your mind has not settled into taking for granted his -non-existence. Next time you visit Paris, you hasten to his former -haunts—half expecting to find him <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span>absorbing a bock and expounding his -peculiar philosophy.</p> - -<p>Is there a life after death? Of course there is—you smile a little to -yourself to think you could ever have believed otherwise. This, I am -confident, is common experience nowadays. The belief that individuality -ceases, that death is anything but a quick and not very alarming change, -is too absurd to hold water. It is a comforting thought and gives men -strength to perform duties and bear losses which in ordinary times would -come hard.</p> - -<p class="space-above">I have just been made popotier—I don't know what you call it in -English, but it means the individual who attends to the mess: buys -provisions, wine, and so forth, makes out menus, keeps accounts, and -bosses the cook. A doubtful honor, but one of which I am rather proud -when I think that a crowd of French officers<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span> have entrusted to me the -sacred rites of the table. I was never much of a gourmet, but what -little I know stands me in good stead.</p> - -<p>To-day was the occasion of the first considerable feast under my -régime—a lunch given by the officers of our squadron to some -distinguished French visitors. The cook and I held long and anxious -consultations and finally turned out a meal on which every one -complimented us: excellent hors d'œuvres, grilled salmon steaks, -roast veal, asparagus, and salad. A dry Chablis with the fish and some -really good Burgundy with the roast. Not bad for the front, really.</p> - -<p>I give the cook each night enough money for the next day's marketing. -The following evening he tells me the amount of the day's expenses, -which sum I divide by the number present, giving each man's share for -the day. Very simple.</p> - -<p>Since I got my new machine I have<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span> become a genuine hangar-loafer. It is -so delicate and complicated that my unfortunate mechanics have to work -practically all the time to keep me going. The only way to get the work -done well is to know about it yourself; and so, against my instincts, I -have been forced for the first time to study the technical and -mechanical side of my bus.</p> - -<p>Some say, "The pilot should never know too much about his machine—it -destroys his dash." Perhaps they are right—certainly a plunge into this -maze of technicalities destroys his sleep—there is an unwholesome -fascination about it: hundreds of delicate and fragile parts, all -synchronized as it were and working together, any one of which, by its -defection, can upset or even wreck the whole fabric. A simple -motor-failure, even in our own lines and at a good altitude, is no joke -in the case of the modern single-seater. Small and enormously heavy for<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span> -its wing-surface, it first touches ground at too high a speed for -anything but the longest and smoothest fields. In pannes of this sort, -the pilot usually steps out of the most frightful-looking wreck smiling -and quite unhurt; but you can scarcely imagine the chagrin and -depression one feels at breaking a fine machine. I did it once, and it -made me half sick for a week, though it was not really my fault at all.</p> - -<p>After lunch, instead of taking a nap as one does when on duty at -daybreak, I go to the "bar" to read letters and papers and see friends -from the other squadrons. As I go in the door, five friends in flying -clothes go out.</p> - -<p>"See you in two hours," says Lieutenant D——. "Let's have a poker game; -I've got a patrol now."</p> - -<p>"All right," I say, "I'll be here"—though I'm not very keen on French -poker, which is somewhat different from ours.</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span></p><p>The two hours pass in a wink of time as I lie in a steamer-chair, -reading and reveling in the warm drowsy May afternoon. A sound of -motors, the hollow whistling rush of landing single-seaters, and I -glance out of the door. Here they come, lumbering across the field—but -only four. I get up hastily and run to where the flight-commander is -descending stiffly from his bus. His face is long, as we crowd around.</p> - -<p>"Where's D——?" I ask anxiously.</p> - -<p>"Brought down, I'm afraid," he answers. "We chased some two-seaters -twenty-five miles into the Boche lines, and nine Albatrosses dropped on -us. Got two of them, I think; but after the first mix-up, I lost track -of D——, and he didn't come back with us."</p> - -<p>A melancholy little procession heads for the bar, and while the affair -is being reëxplained, the telephone rings.</p> - -<p>"Lieutenant D—— has been found<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span> at X——. He was shot through the -chest, but managed to regain our lines before he died. He was on the -point of landing in a field when he lost consciousness. The machine is -not badly smashed."</p> - -<p>At a near-by table, a dice game, which started after lunch and has been -interrupted to hear the news, continues. I resume my place in my chair -and spread out the Paris "Herald"—unable to focus my mind on the -steamship arrivals or the offensive. Poor old D——!</p> - -<p>We have had lovely weather for the past fortnight—long warm days have -made the trees burst into leaf and covered the meadows with -wild-flowers. The quail have begun to nest—queer little fellows, quite -unlike ours, whose love-song is, "<i>Whit</i>, twit, whit," with a strong -emphasis on the first "whit."</p> - -<p>Sometimes, at night, a nightingale, on a tree outside my window, charms<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</a></span> -me to wakefulness with his dripping-sweet music.</p> - -<p class="space-above">These are strenuous days—I have done nothing but fly, eat, and sleep -for a fortnight. Our "traveling circus" has been living up to its -name—going about from place to place with amazing mobility and speed. I -have lived for a week with no baggage but the little bag I carry in my -plane. It contains one change of light underwear, one pair of socks, -tooth-brush, tooth-paste, tobacco, sponge, soap, towel, shaving things, -mirror, a first-aid kit, and a bottle of eau de cologne. With this I can -weather a few days anywhere until the baggage-trucks catch up.</p> - -<p>Our mobility is marvelous—we can receive our orders at daybreak, -breakfast, and land in a place a hundred miles away in an hour and a -half. Then a little oil and petrol, and we are ready to bounce<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span> -something off the local Boche. I could easily write a large calf-bound -volume on nothing but my experiences of the past week—one of the most -strangely fascinating (in retrospect) of my life, though saddened by the -loss of two of our pilots, one an American.</p> - -<p>We had no sooner got to this place than we were sent out on a -patrol—six of us, with a French lieutenant, a special friend of mine, -as flight-commander. None of us had flown before in this sector, and a -young American (S——, of New York) was making his second flight over -the lines. The weather was wretched, thick, low-hanging clouds with a -fine drizzle of rain—visibility almost zero. While mechanics filled the -machine, I pored over my map till I had all necessary landmarks -thoroughly in mind. At last the captain glanced at his watch and -shouted, "En voiture!"</p> - -<p>I climbed into my tiny cockpit, loaded<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span> my gun with a snap of the lever, -wiped the sights free of moisture, and sank back in my seat, while my -mechanic adjusted the belt which holds one tight in place. Up went the -captain's hand, and almost with a single roar the six motors started. -One after another we rushed across the field, rose to the low ceiling of -the clouds, and swept back, bunched like a flock of teal. The -flight-commander's head, a black leather dot in his cockpit, turned -swiftly for a glance back. All there and well grouped; so he headed for -the lines, flying so low that we seemed to shave the spires of village -churches. Soon the houses ceased to have roofs—we were over the front.</p> - -<p>A great battle was raging below us—columns of smoke rose from the towns -and the air was rocked and torn by the passage of projectiles. Far and -near the woods were alive with the winking flash of batteries. Soon we -were far into the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span> German lines; deep coughs came from the air about us -as patches of black sprang out. But we were too low and our speed was -too great to be bothered by the Boche gunners. Suddenly the clouds broke -for an instant, and across the blue hole I saw a dozen Albatrosses -driving toward us—German single-seaters, dark ugly brutes with broad -short wings and pointed snouts. Our leader saw them too, and we bounded -upward three hundred feet, turning to meet them. The rest happened so -swiftly that I can scarcely describe it coherently. Out of the tail of -my eye I saw our leader dive on an Albatross, which plunged spinning to -the ground. At the same instant I bounded upward to the clouds and -dropped on a Boche who was attacking a comrade. I could see my gun -spitting streams of luminous bullets into the German's fuselage. But -suddenly swift incandescent sparks began to pour past me, and a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span> glance -backward showed three Albatrosses on my tail. I turned upside down, -pulled back, and did a hairpin turn, rising to get behind them. Not a -German machine was in sight—they had melted away as suddenly as they -came.</p> - -<p>Far off to the south four of our machines were heading back toward the -lines. Feeling very lonely and somewhat de trop, I opened the throttle -wide and headed after them. Just as I caught up, the leader signaled -that he was done for, and glided off, with his propeller stopped. -Praying that he might get safely across to our side, I fell in behind -the second in command. Only four now—who and where was the other? -Anxiously I ranged alongside of each machine for a look at its number. -As I had feared, it was the American—a hot-headed, fearless boy, full -of courage and confidence, but inexperienced and not a skillful pilot. -No word of him since. Did he lose the patrol<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span> in a sharp turn and get -brought down by a prowling gang of Albatrosses, or did he have -motor-trouble which forced him to land in the enemy lines? These are the -questions we ask ourselves, hoping for the best.</p> - -<p>An hour after we landed at our field, a telephone message came, saying -that Lieutenant de G—— had landed safely a thousand yards behind the -firing-line, with three balls in his motor.</p> - -<p>The captain sent for me. "Take my motor-car," he said, "and go fetch de -G——. The machine is in plain view on a hill. I am giving you two -mechanics, so do your best to save the instruments and machine-gun. The -Boche artillery will probably drop shells on the machine before -nightfall."</p> - -<p>The trip proved rather a thriller, for at this point the old-fashioned -picture-book trenchless warfare was in full blast. Picking up de G——, -we hid the car in a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span> valley and sneaked forward under an unpleasant fire -of shrapnel and high explosives. The unconcerned infantry reserves, -chaffing and smoking where they lay hidden in fields of ripe wheat, -stiffened our slightly shaky nerves. Poor timid aviators, completely out -of their element—I heaved a sigh of relief that came from the very -soles of my feet when at last our task was done, and with our cargo -safely stowed, we sped out of the valley and back toward the rear. Hats -off to the infantry!</p> - -<p>Next day two of us went patrolling with the captain—a famous "ace" -whose courage and skillful piloting are proverbial and who never asked -one of his men to do a thing he hesitated to do himself. He was -particularly fond of Americans (one of Lufbery's pallbearers), and on -many occasions had done things for me which showed his rare courtesy and -thoughtfulness. None of us<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span> dreamed, as he laughed and joked with us at -the breakfast-table, that it was his last day of life.</p> - -<p>The details of this patrol will always be fresh in my mind. We were -flying at about seven thousand feet, the three of us, I on the captain's -right. At six thousand, stretching away into the German lines, there was -a beautiful sea of clouds, white and level and limitless. Far back, a -dozen miles "chez Boche," a flight of Albatrosses crawled across the -sky—a roughly grouped string of dots, for all the world like migrating -wildfowl. Suddenly, about seven or eight miles in, a Hun two-seater -poked his nose above the clouds, rose leisurely into view, and dove -back. I was quite sure that he had not seen us. The captain began at -once to rise, turning at the same time to take advantage of the sun, and -for a few minutes we wove back and forth, edging in till we were nearly -over the spot<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</a></span> where the Boche had appeared. At last our patience was -rewarded. The Boche emerged from the clouds, seemed to hesitate an -instant like a timid fish rising from a bed of seaweed, and headed for -the lines, where doubtless he had some reglage or reconnaissance to do.</p> - -<p>Our position was perfect—in the sun and well above the enemy. The -captain banked vertically and plunged like a thunderbolt on the German, -I following a little behind and to one side. At one hundred and fifty -yards, streaks of fire poured from his two guns, and as he dove under -the German's belly I got into range. Dropping vertically at a speed (I -suppose) of two hundred and fifty miles an hour, with the wind screaming -through the wires, I got my sights to bear and pulled the trigger. -Faintly above the furious rush of air, I could hear the stutter of my -gun and see the bullets streaking to their mark. It was over in a wink<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</a></span> -of time: as I swerved sharply to the left, I caught a glimpse of the Hun -machine-gunner, in a great yellow helmet and round goggles, frantically -getting his gun to bear on me. A pull-back and I shot up under his tail, -tilted up, and gave him another burst.</p> - -<p>But what was this—as I opened the throttle, the engine sputtered and -died! I dove steeply at once to keep the propeller turning, realizing in -a flash of thought that the long fast dive had made the pressure in my -gasoline tank go down. A turn of the little lever put her on the small -gravity tank called the "nurse"; but no luck—something was wrong with -the valve. Nothing to do but pump by hand, and I pumped like a madman. -Seven miles in the enemy lines and dropping like a stone—I was what the -French call très inquiet. Three thousand feet, two thousand, a -thousand—and I pumped on, visions of a soup-diet<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</a></span> and all the tales I -had heard of German scientific food substitutes flashing through my -mind. Five hundred; a splutter from the engine, and at two hundred feet -above a ruined village she burst into her full roar, and I drew a breath -for the first time in the descent. Crossed the lines three hundred feet -up with full throttle and the nose down, and didn't get a bullet-hole!</p> - -<p>I was unable to find the others, and as my petrol was low I went home. -The rest I have from the other pilot.</p> - -<p>The captain apparently had the same trouble as I, for he continued his -dive to about three thousand feet, followed by the other. The German, -when last seen, was diving for the ground, so we shall never know -whether or not we got him. Rising again above the sea of clouds, the -captain attacked the rear man of a patrol of eleven Albatrosses which -passed beneath him. Turning over and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</a></span> over aimlessly, the Hun fell out -of sight into the clouds. At this moment three Boches dove on the -captain from the rear—his machine burst into flames and dove steeply -toward our lines. Our remaining pilot, hopelessly outnumbered, -extricated himself with difficulty and arrived a few minutes after me, -his bus riddled with balls. We found the captain's body, just behind the -firing-line. He had been killed by three bullets, but had retained -consciousness long enough to get to friendly ground before he died. A -splendid officer and a true friend, whom we all mourn sincerely.</p> - -<p class="space-above">The past fortnight has been rather stirring for us—constant flying, -plenty of fights, and the usual moving about. One gets used to it in -time, but at first it is a wrench to a man of my conservative nature and -sedentary habits. This time we have struck it rich in a village where<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</a></span> -soldiers are still welcome. I have a really charming room in the house -of the principal family—well-to-do people who own the local factory. -Great sunny south windows, running water, and a soft snowy bed, scented -with lavender! A day of rest to-day, as they are installing a new motor -in my "taxi"; so I am planted at a little table, looking out through my -window on a warm peaceful scene of tiled roofs, rustling leaves, and a -delicious sky across which float summery clouds. Not a uniform in sight, -not a sound of a cannon—the war seems an impossible dream.</p> - -<p>The last day at our old field I had a narrow escape. Two of us were -flying together up and down the lines at about four thousand feet. The -other chap had allowed me to get pretty far in the lead, when I spied, -about two thousand feet below me, a strange-looking two-seater, darkly -camouflaged, on which I could see<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</a></span> no insignia. I dove on him, but not -headlong, as the English have a machine on similar lines, and it was not -until I was quite close that I made out two tiny black crosses <i>set in -circles of orange</i>. By this time the machine-gunner was on the alert, -and just as I was going to give him a burst, <i>flac, flac, flac</i>, bullets -began to pass me from behind. Holes suddenly appeared in my wings; in -another moment whoever was shooting would have had me, so I rose steeply -in a sharp turn, saw nothing, turned again and again, and finally, -disappearing in the distance after the two-seater, I made out two little -Pfalz scouts, painted dark green.</p> - -<p>My comrade, who was having engine trouble, saw the whole thing. The -Boche single-seaters were well behind the larger plane they were -protecting,—somehow I missed seeing them,—and when I dove at their pal -they rose up under my tail and let me have it with their four guns.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</a></span> -Only some rotten shooting saved me from being brought down. The hardest -thing for a new pilot to learn is the proper combination of dash and -wariness: neither produces results alone; both are absolutely essential. -One must bear in mind two axioms: first, bring down the enemy; second, -don't get brought down yourself. A disheartening number of young pilots, -full of dash and courage, trained at great expense to their country, get -themselves brought down on their first patrol, simply because they lack -skill and the necessary dash of wariness. A good general does not -ordinarily attack the enemy where he is strongest.</p> - -<p>Our field was deserted: the mechanics were packing to leave, and my -machine—old Slapping Sally—stood mournfully in the corner of a hangar. -I stowed my belongings in the little locker at my side, had her wheeled -out, adjusted my maps, and in five minutes was off on my long<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</a></span> trip over -unknown country. Our maps are really marvelous. With the compass to -check up directions of roads, railroads, canals, and rivers, one can -travel hundreds of miles over strange country and never miss a crossroad -or a village. If, however, you allow yourself to become lost for an -instant, you are probably hopelessly lost, with nothing to do but land -and locate yourself on the map.</p> - -<p>When I left, there was a gale of wind blowing, with spits of rain; and -in fifteen minutes, during which I had covered forty miles, the clouds -were scudding past at three hundred feet off the ground, forcing me at -times to jump tall trees on hills. A bit too thick. Seeing a small -aerodrome on my right, I buzzed over and landed, getting a great -reception from the pilots, who had never examined one of the latest -single-seaters. It is really comical, with what awe the pilots of slower -machines regard a scout. They<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</a></span> have been filled full of mechanics' -stories about "landing at terrific speed—the slightest false movement -means death," and the like; whereas in reality our machines are the -easiest things in the world to land, once you get the trick.</p> - -<p>In a couple of hours the weather showed signs of improvement, so I shook -hands all round and strapped myself in. To satisfy their interest and -curiosity, I taxied to the far edge of the field, headed into the wind, -rose a yard off the ground, gave her full motor, and held her down to -within thirty yards of the spectators, grouped before a hangar. By this -time Sally was fairly burning the breeze—traveling every yard of her -one hundred and thirty-five miles an hour; and as my hosts began to -scatter, I let her have her head. Up she went in a mighty bound at -forty-five degrees, nine hundred feet in the drawing of a breath. There -I flattened her, reduced the motor, did a couple of <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</a></span>"Immelman turns" -(instead of banking, turn upside-down, and pull back), and waved -good-bye. Rather childish, but they were good fellows, and really -interested in what the bus would do.</p> - -<p>All went well as far as Paris, where I had one of the classic Paris -breakdowns, though genuine enough as it chanced. Landed in the suburbs, -got a mechanic to work, and had time for a delicious lunch at a small -workmen's restaurant. Treated myself to a half bottle of sound Medoc and -a villainous cigar with the coffee, and got back just in time to find -them testing my motor. The rest of the trip was uneventful. I arrived -here in the early afternoon and installed myself for the night in these -superb quarters.</p> - -<p>This is the classic hour for French pilots to foregather in excited -groups to expliquer les coups—an expressive phrase for which I can -recall no exact equivalent in English. They (or rather<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</a></span> we) spend a full -hour every evening in telling just how it was done, or why it was not -done, and so on, <i>ad infinitum</i>. Snatches of characteristic talk reach -your ears—(I will attempt a rough translation). "You poor fish! why -didn't you dive that time they had us <i>bracketed</i>?—I had to follow you -and I got an éclat as big as a dinner-plate within a foot of my back."</p> - -<p>"Did you see me get that Boche over the wood? I killed the observer at -the first rafale, rose over the tail, and must have got the pilot then, -for he spun clear down till he crashed."</p> - -<p>"See the tanks ahead of that wave of assault? Funny big crawling things -they looked—that last one must have been en panne—the Boches were -certainly bouncing shells off its back!"</p> - -<p>"Raoul and I found a troop of Boche cavalry on a road—in khaki, I -swear. Thought they were English till we were<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</a></span> within one hundred -metres. Then we gave them the spray—funniest thing you ever saw!"</p> - -<p>"Yes—I'll swear I saw some khaki, too. Saw a big column of Boche -infantry and was just going to let 'em have it when I saw horizon-blue -guards. Prisoners, of course."</p> - -<p>You can imagine pages of this sort of thing—every night. At the bar we -have a big sign: "Ici on explique les coups." At the mess, another: -"Défense d'expliquer les coups ici." There are limits.</p> - -<p class="space-above">As mess-officer I have been going strong of late—nearly every day one -or two or three "big guns" (grosses huiles, the French call them) of -aviation drop in to lunch or dinner. Down from a patrol at 10.30, and -scarcely out of the machine, when up dashes our cook, knife in one hand -and ladle in the other, fairly boiling over with anxiety. "Commandant<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</a></span> -X—— and his staff are coming to lunch—I can't leave the stove—what -on earth shall we do?"</p> - -<p>An hour and a half. Just time for the cyclist to buzz down to the -nearest town for some extra hors d'œuvres, salad, and half a dozen -old bottles. In the end everything runs off smoothly, and when the white -wine succeeds the red, the usual explication des coups begins—highly -entertaining inside stuff, from which one could cull a whole backstairs -history of French aviation. It has been my privilege to meet many famous -men in this way—great "aces" and great administrators of the flying -arm; men whose names are known wherever European aviators gather. I wish -I could tell you half the drolleries they recount, or reproduce one -quarter of the precise, ironical, story-telling manner of a cultivated -Frenchman.</p> - -<p>A captain who lunched with us <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</a></span>to-day, bearer of an historic name, was -recently decorated (somewhat against his will) for forcing a Boche to -land in our lines. The truth is that in the single combat high above the -lines, the captain's motor failed and he coasted for home, maneuvering -wildly to escape the pursuing Hun's bullets. A few kilometres within our -lines the German motor failed also, and down they came together—the -Boche a prisoner, the Frenchman covered with not particularly welcome -glory. Not all our guests knew the story, and one high officer asked the -captain how he maneuvered to drive down the Boche. "Oh, like this," -erratically said the captain, illustrating with frantic motions of an -imaginary stick and rudder.</p> - -<p>"But the Boche—?" inquired the other, puzzled, "how did you get him -down—where was he?"</p> - -<p>"Ah, the Boche; he was <i>behind</i> me," answered the captain.</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</a></span></p><p>Another officer, recently promoted to a very high position in the -aviation, is a genuine character, a "numero" as they say here. He -recently spent many hours in perfecting a trick optical sight, -guaranteed to down a Boche at any range, angle, or speed. He adored his -invention, which, he admitted, would probably end the war when fully -perfected, and grew quite testy when his friends told him the thing was -far too complicated for anything but laboratory use. At last, though he -had reached a non-flying rank and had not flown for months, he installed -the optical wonder on a single-seater and went out over the lines to try -it out. As luck would have it, he fell in with a patrol of eight -Albatrosses, and the fight that followed has become legendary. Boche -after Boche dove on him, riddling his plane with bullets, while the -inventor, in a scientific ecstasy, peered this way and that through his -sight, adjusting<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</a></span> set-screws and making hasty mental notes. By a miracle -he was not brought down, and in the end a French patrol came to his -rescue. He had not fired a shot! At lunch the other day some one asked -what sort of a chap this inventor was, and the answer was so exceedingly -French that I will reproduce it word for word: "He detests women and -dogs; he has a wife he adores, and a dog he can't let out of his sight." -A priceless characterization, I think, of a testy yet amiable old -martinet.</p> - -<p>One of my friends here had the luck, several months ago, to force a -Zeppelin to land. A strange and wonderful experience, he says, circling -for an hour and a half about the huge air-monster, which seemed to be -having trouble with its gas. He poured bullets into it until his supply -was exhausted, and headed it off every time it tried to make for the -German lines. All the while it was settling,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</a></span> almost insensibly, and -finally the Hun crew began to throw things out—machine-guns, long belts -of cartridges, provisions, furniture, a motley collection. In the end it -landed intact in our lines—a great catch. The size of the thing is -simply incredible. This one was at least ninety feet through, and I -hesitate to say how many hundred feet long.</p> - -<p>Three more of our boys gone, one of them my most particular pal. Strange -as it seems, I am one of the oldest members of the squadron left. We -buried Harry yesterday. He was the finest type of young French -officer—an aviator since 1913; volunteer at the outbreak of war; taken -prisoner, badly wounded; fourteen months in a German fortress; escaped, -killing three guards, across Germany in the dead of winter, sick and -with an unhealed wound; back on the front, after <i>ten days</i> with his -family, although he need never have been a combatant again.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</a></span> A charming, -cultivated, witty companion, one of the most finished pilots in France, -and a soldier whose only thought was of duty, his loss is a heavy one -for his friends, his family, and his country. For a day and a night he -lay in state in the church of a near-by village, buried in flowers sent -by half the squadrons of France; at his feet his tunic ablaze with -crosses and orders. It was my turn to stand guard the morning his family -arrived, and I was touched by the charming simple piety of the -countryfolk, who came in an unending stream to kneel and say a prayer -for the soul of the departed soldier. Old women with baskets of bread -and cheese on their arms brought pathetic little bouquets; tiny girls of -seven or eight came in solemnly alone, dropped a flower on Harry's -coffin, and knelt to pray on their little bare knees. The French -peasants get something from their church that most of us at home seem to -miss.</p> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</a></span></p><p>At last the family came—worn out with the long sad journey from their -château in middle France. Harry's mother, slender, aristocratic, and -courageous, had lost her other son a short time before, and I was nearer -tears at her magnificent self-control than if she had surrendered to her -grief. Her bearing throughout the long mass and at the grave-side was -one of the finest and saddest things I have ever seen in my life. Poor -old Harry—I hope he is in a paradise reserved for heroes—for he was -one in the truest sense of the word.</p> - -<p class="space-above">I got absolutely lost the other day, for the second time since I have -been on the front. I was flying at about nineteen thousand feet, half a -mile above a lovely sea of clouds. I supposed I was directly over the -front, but in reality there was a gale of wind blowing, drifting me -rapidly "chez Boche." Three thousand<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</a></span> feet below, and miles to the -northeast, a patrol of German scouts beat back and forth, a string of -dots, appearing and disappearing among the cloudy peaks and cañons. Too -strong and too far in their lines to attack, I was alternately watching -them and my clock—very cold and bored. Suddenly, straight below me and -heading for home at top speed, I saw a big Hun two-seater, with enormous -black crosses on his wings.</p> - -<p>At such a moment—I confess it frankly—there seem to be two individuals -in me who in a flash of time conclude a heated argument. Says one, -"You're all alone; no one will ever know it if you sail calmly on, -pretending not to see the Boche."</p> - -<p>"See that Boche," says the other; "you're here to get Germans—go after -him."</p> - -<p>"See here," puts in the first, who is very clever at excuses, "time's -nearly<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</a></span> up, petrol's low, and there are nine Hun scouts who will drop on -you if you dive on the two-seater."</p> - -<p>"Forget it, you poor weak-kneed boob!" answers number two heatedly. -"Dive on that Hun and be quick about it!"</p> - -<p>So I dived on him, obeying automatically and almost reluctantly the -imperious little voice. With an eye to the machine-gunner in the rear, I -drove down on him almost vertically, getting in a burst point-blank at -his port bow, so to speak. Pushing still farther forward on the stick, I -saw his wheels pass over me like a flash, ten yards up. Pulled the -throttle wide open, but the motor was a second late in catching, so that -when I did an Immelman turn to come up under his tail, I was too far -back and to one side. As I pulled out of the upside-down position, -luminous sparks began to drive past me, and a second later I caught a -glimpse of the goggled Hun observer<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</a></span> leaning intently over his cockpit -as he trained his gun on me.</p> - -<p>But beside old Slapping Sally his machine was as a buzzard to a falcon; -in a breath I was under his tail, had reared almost vertically, and was -pouring bullets into his underbody. "You will shoot me up, will you?" I -yelled ferociously—just like a bad boy in a back-yard fight. "Take -that, then—" at which dramatic instant a quart of scalding oil struck -me in the face, half in the eyes, and half in my open mouth. I never saw -the Boche again, and five minutes later, when I had cleaned my eyes out -enough to see dimly, I was totally lost. Keeping just above the clouds -to watch for holes, I was ten long minutes at one hundred and thirty -miles per hour in getting to the lines, at a place I had never seen -before.</p> - -<p>Landed at a strange aerodrome, filled Sally up, and flew home -seventy-five<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</a></span> miles by map. As usual, every one had begun the old story -of how I was not a bad chap at bottom, and had many noble qualities -safely hidden away—when I strolled into the bar. Slight sensation as -usual, tinged with a suspicion of mild disappointment.</p> - -<p>Almost with regret, I have turned faithful old Slapping Sally over to a -newly arrived young pilot, and taken a new machine, the last lingering -echo of the dernier cri in fighting single-seaters. I had hoped for one -for some time, and now the captain has allotted me a brand-new one, -fresh from the factory. It is a formidable little monster, squat and -broad-winged, armed to the teeth, with the power of two hundred and -fifty wild horses bellowing out through its exhausts.</p> - -<p>With slight inward trepidations I took it up for a spin after lunch. The -thing is terrific—it fairly hurtles its way up through the air, roaring -and snorting and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</a></span> trembling with its enormous excess of power. Not half -so pleasant as Sally, but a grimly practical little dragon of immense -speed and potential destructiveness. At a couple of thousand feet over -the field, I shut off the motor and dived to try it out. It fairly took -my breath away—behind my goggles my eyes filled with tears; my body -rose up in the safety-belt, refusing to keep pace with the machine's -formidable speed. In a wink, I was close to the ground, straightened -out, and rushing low over the blurred grass at a criminal gait—never -made a faster landing. It is a tribute to man's war-time ingenuity, but, -for pleasure, give me my old machine.</p> - -<p>The psychology of flying would be a curious study, were it not so -difficult to get frankly stated data—uninfluenced by pride, -self-respect, or sense of morale. I only know my own feelings in so far -as they represent the average single-seater<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</a></span> pilot. Once in the air, I -am perfectly contented and at home, somewhat bored at times on dull -days, or when very high and cold. On the other hand, I have never been -strapped in a machine to leave the ground, without an underlying slight -nervousness and reluctance; no great matter, and only an instant's -mental struggle to overcome, but enough perhaps to prevent me from -flying the very small and powerful machines, for pleasure, after the -war. I often wonder if other pilots have the same feeling—it's nothing -to be ashamed of, because it does not, in the slightest, prevent one's -doing one's duty, and disappears the moment one is in the air. I can -give you its measure in the fact that I always prefer, when possible, to -make a long journey in my machine, to doing it in the deadly slow -war-time trains. Still, it's a choice of evils. It is hard to give -reasons, but certainly flying is not an enjoyable sport, like<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</a></span> riding or -motoring, once the wonder of it has worn off; simply a slightly -disagreeable but marvelously fast means of transport. The wind, the -noise, the impossibility of conversation, the excessive speed—are all -unpleasant features. These are partially redeemed by the never-ceasing -wonder of what one sees. One's other senses are useless in the air, but -what a feast for the eyes! Whole fruitful domains spread out beneath -one, silvery rivers, smoking cities, perhaps a glimpse of the far-off -ragged Alps. And when, at eighteen or twenty thousand feet, above a -white endless sea of clouds, one floats almost unconscious of time and -space in the unearthly sunshine of the Universe, there are moments when -infinite things are very close.</p> - -<p> </p> -<hr /> - -<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</a></span></p> - -<p class="center">The Riverside Press<br />CAMBRIDGE . MASSACHUSETTS<br />U . S . A</p> - -<p> </p> -<p> </p> -<hr class="full" /> -<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE FLEDGLING***</p> -<p>******* This file should be named 51559-h.htm or 51559-h.zip *******</p> -<p>This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:<br /> -<a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/5/1/5/5/51559">http://www.gutenberg.org/5/1/5/5/51559</a></p> -<p> -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed.</p> - -<p>Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law 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. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part -of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm -concept and trademark. 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Thus, we do not -necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper -edition.</p> - -<p>Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search -facility: www.gutenberg.org</p> - -<p>This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, -including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to -subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks.</p> - -</body> -</html> - diff --git a/old/51559-h/images/cover.jpg b/old/51559-h/images/cover.jpg Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 1ca5986..0000000 --- a/old/51559-h/images/cover.jpg +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/51559-h/images/logo.jpg b/old/51559-h/images/logo.jpg Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index fead975..0000000 --- a/old/51559-h/images/logo.jpg +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/51559.txt b/old/51559.txt deleted file mode 100644 index fc307c4..0000000 --- a/old/51559.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,3475 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Fledgling, by Charles Bernard Nordhoff - - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. 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. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - - - - -Title: The Fledgling - - -Author: Charles Bernard Nordhoff - - - -Release Date: March 25, 2016 [eBook #51559] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) - - -***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE FLEDGLING*** - - -E-text prepared by MWS, Martin Pettit, and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images generously made -available by Internet Archive/American Libraries -(https://archive.org/details/americana) - - - -Note: Images of the original pages are available through - Internet Archive/American Libraries. See - https://archive.org/details/fledgling00nordrich - - - - - -THE FLEDGLING - -by - -CHARLES BERNARD NORDHOFF - - - - - - - -[Illustration: Logo] - -Boston and New York -Houghton Mifflin Company -The Riverside Press Cambridge -1919 - -Copyright, 1917 and 1918, by the Atlantic Monthly Company -Copyright, 1919, by Charles Bernard Nordhoff -All Rights Reserved - - - - -CONTENTS - - - I. A WATCHER OF THE SKIES 1 - - II. THE FLEDGLING 70 - -III. FULL-FLEDGED 94 - - - - -THE FLEDGLING - - - - -I - -A WATCHER OF THE SKIES - - -_January 22, 1917_ - -We were put on active duty at the front about the first of the year; in -fact, I spent New Year's night in a dugout within pistol-shot of the -Germans. It was quite a celebration, as the French Government had -provided champagne, cakes, and oranges for all, and every one was -feeling in a cheery mood. When dinner was over, each of us chipped in -his day's ration of army wine (about a pint), and with a little brandy, -some oranges, sugar, and a packet of spices I had been commissioned to -get, we brewed a magnificent bowl of hot punch, or mulled wine. First -"The Day of Victory" was toasted, then, "France"; then, with typical -French consideration, "The United States." After that, each man's -family at home received a health; so you may be interested to know that -your health and happiness for 1917 were drunk in a first-class abri by a -crowd of first-class fellows, as all French soldiers are. - -The next day was a typical one, so I will sketch it for you, to give an -idea of how we live and what we do. When the party broke up it was late, -so we turned in at once, in a deep strong dugout, which is safe against -anything short of a direct hit by a very heavy shell. Once or twice, as -I dropped off to sleep, I thought I heard furtive scamperings and -gnawings, but all was quiet until just before daybreak, when we were -awakened by a terrifying scream from a small and inoffensive soldier who -does clerical work in the office of the medecin chef. The poor fellow -has a horror of rats, and usually sleeps with head and toes tightly -bundled up. I flashed on my electric torch at the first scream and -caught a glimpse of an enormous rat--fully the size of a small fox -terrier, I assure you!--streaking it for his hole. The next minute I -made out the unfortunate little soldier holding with both hands one ear, -from which the nocturnal visitor had bitten a large mouthful, while he -did a frantic dance around the floor. First came a titter, then a choked -laugh, and finally the whole dugout howled with uncontrollable mirth, -until the victim wound on his puttees and stalked out, much offended, to -get some iodine for his ear. - -As we had laughed ourselves wide awake, I passed around some cigarettes, -while another fellow went down for a pot of coffee. Dressing consists of -putting on one's shoes, puttees, and tunic--when I feel particularly -sybaritic I take off my necktie at night. - -For once the sun came up in a clear blue sky and shone down frostily on -a clean white world--a metre of snow on the ground, and pines like -Christmas trees. It was wonderfully still: far away on a hillside some -one was chopping wood, and beyond the German lines I could hear a cock -crow. After stopping to ask the telephonist if there were any calls, I -took towel and soap and tooth-brush and walked to the watering trough, -where a stream of icy water runs constantly. As I strolled back, a -thumping explosion came from the trenches--some enthusiast had tossed a -grenade across as a New Year's greeting to the Boche. Retaliatory thumps -followed, and suddenly a machine-gun burst out with its abrupt stutter. -Louder and louder grew the racket as gusts of firing swept up and down -the lines, until a battery of 75's took a hand from the hills half a -mile behind us. _Crack-whang-crack_, they went, like the snapping of -some enormous whip, and I could hear their shells whine viciously -overhead. - -An orderly appeared shortly, to inform me that I must make ready to -take out a few wounded. My load consisted of one poor fellow on a -stretcher, still and invisible under his swathing of blankets, and two -very lively chaps,--each with a leg smashed, but able to sit up and talk -at a great rate. We offered them stretchers, but they were refused with -gay contempt. They hopped forward to their seats, smiling and nodding -good-bye to the stretcher-bearers. Despite my efforts one of them bumped -his wounded leg and a little involuntary gasp escaped him. "Ca pique, -mon vieux," he explained apologetically; "mais ca ne fait rien--allez!" - -At the hospital, several miles back, there was the usual wait for -papers, and as I handed cigarettes to my two plucky passengers, I -explained that hospital book-keeping was tiresome but necessary. -Suddenly the blood-stained blankets on the stretcher moved and a pale, -but calm and quizzical face looked up into mine: "Oh, la la! C'est une -guerre de papier; donnez-moi une cigarette!" You can't down men of this -caliber. - -Just before bedtime another call came from a dressing-station at the -extreme front. It was a thick night, snowing heavily, and black as ink, -and I had to drive three kilometres, without light of any kind, over a -narrow winding road crowded with traffic of every description. How one -does it I can scarcely say. War seems to consist in doing the impossible -by a series of apparent miracles. Ears and eyes must be connected in -some way. Driving in pitchy blackness, straining every sense and calling -every nerve to aid one's eyes, it seems that vision is impaired if ears -are covered. - -At the posts, just behind the lines, where one waits for wounded to come -in from the trenches, I spend idle hours, chatting or playing dominoes. -Our little circle comprises a remarkable variety of types: one hears -French of every patois, from the half-Spanish drawl of the Mediterranean -to the clipped negatives and throaty _r_ of Paris. - -As inventors of racy slang we Americans are miles behind the French. -Your pipe is "Melanie" (also your sweetheart, for some unknown reason). -One's mess is "la popote," a shrapnel helmet is a "casserole," a -machine-gun is a "moulin a cafe." Bed is ironically called "plumard"; -and when a bursting shell sends out its spray of buzzing steel, the cry -is "Attention aux mouches!" [Look out for the flies!] Government tobacco -is known, aptly, as "foin" [hay]. If one wants a cigarette, and has a -paper but no tobacco, one extends the paper toward a better-provided -friend saying, "Kindly sign this." And so on. - - -_February 18_ - -I had an interesting day yesterday. The commandant asked for a car--he -is the head medical officer--to visit some posts, and I was lucky -enough to land the job. He is a charming, cultivated man, and made it -very pleasant for his chauffeur. We visited a number of posts, -inspecting new dugout emergency hospitals, and vaccinating the -stretcher-bearers against typhoid--a most amusing process, as these -middle-aged fellows have the same horror of a doctor that a child has of -a dentist. Reluctant was scarcely the word. - -Finally we left the car (at the invitation of the artillery officer) and -walked a couple of miles through the woods to see a new observation -post. The last few hundred yards we made at a sneaking walk, talking -only in whispers, till we came to a ladder that led up into the thick -green of a pine tree. One after another the officers went up, and at -length the gunner beckoned me to climb. Hidden away like a bird's nest -among the fragrant pine-needles, I found a tiny platform, where the -officer handed me his binoculars and pointed to a four-inch hole in the -leafy screen. There right below us were two inconspicuous lines of -trenches, zigzagging across a quiet field, bounded by leafless pollard -willows. It was incredible to think that hundreds of men stood in those -ditches, ever on the alert. At a first glance the countryside looked -strangely peaceful and unhampered--farm-houses here and there, neatly -hedged fields, and, farther back, a village with a white church. Look -closer, though, and you see that the houses are mere shells, with -crumbling walls and shattered windows; the fields are scarred and pitted -with shell-holes, the village is ruined and lifeless, and the belfry of -the church has collapsed. Above all, there is not an animal, not a sign -of life in the fields or on the roads. Not a sound, except the distant -hornet buzzing of an aeroplane. - -On clear days there is a good deal of aeroplane activity in our -section, and one never tires of watching the planes. The German machines -do not bomb us in this district, for some reason unknown to me, but they -try to reconnoiter and observe for artillery fire. It is perfectly -obvious, however, that the French have the mastery of the air, by virtue -of their skillful and courageous pilots and superb fighting machines, -and their superior skill in anti-aircraft fire. To watch a plane at an -altitude of, say, nine thousand feet under shrapnel fire, one would -think the pilot was playing with death; but in reality his occupation is -not so tremendously risky. - -Consider these factors: he is a mile and a half to two miles from the -battery shooting at him, he presents a tiny mark, and his speed is from -eighty to one hundred and twenty-five miles per hour. Above all, he can -twist and turn or change his altitude at will. The gunner must -calculate his altitude and rate of speed, and after the lanyard is -pulled, considerable time elapses before the shell reaches its mark. -Meanwhile, the aviator has probably come down or risen or changed his -course. It is like trying to shoot a twisting snipe with very -slow-burning powder--the odds are all in favor of the snipe. - -All the same, the spectacle never quite loses its thrill. High and -remote against the sky you see the big reconnaissance machine going -steadily on its way, its motor sending a faint drone to your ears. -Keeping it company, darting around it like a pilot-fish around a shark, -is the tiny, formidable appareil de chasse, a mere dot against the blue. - -_Crack! Whang! Boom!_ goes a battery near by, and three white puffs -spring out suddenly around the distant machines, above, behind, below. -Another battery speaks out, another and another, till the sky is filled -with downy balls of smoke. Suddenly the firing ceases, and the big -German aero slants down swiftly toward its base. A sharper droning hits -your ears. There, directly above us, a French fighting machine is -rushing at two hundred kilometres an hour to give battle to the little -Fokker. Close together, wheeling and looping the loop to the rattle of -their mitrailleuses, they disappear into a cloud, and we can only guess -the result. - - -_One day later_ - -I finished the paragraph above just as a wave of rifle and machine-gun -fire rolled along the lines. Running out of the abri to see what the -excitement was about, I saw two French aeros skimming low over the -German trenches--where every one with any kind of a fire-arm was blazing -away at them. Fortunately, neither one was hit, and after a couple of -retaliatory belts, they rose and flew off to the south. The Germans -began to waste shrapnel on the air, and indiscreetly revealed the -location of a battery, which the French promptly bombarded with heavy -guns. Pretty soon all hands were at it--a two-hour Fourth of July. - -I was on the road all day yesterday, afternoon and evening, getting back -to the post at 10 P.M. One of the darkest nights I remember--absolutely -impossible to move without an occasional clandestine flash of my torch. -Far off to the right (twenty or thirty miles) a heavy bombardment was in -progress, the guns making a steady rumble and mutter. I could see a -continuous flicker on the horizon. The French batteries are so craftily -hidden that I pass within a few yards of them without a suspicion. The -other day I was rounding a familiar turn when suddenly, with a -tremendous roar and concussion, a "380" went off close by. The little -ambulance shied across the road and I nearly fell off the seat. Talk -about "death pops"--these big guns give forth a sound that must be heard -to be appreciated. - - -Another break here, as since writing the above we have had a bit of -excitement, in the shape of a raid, or coup de main. In sectors like -ours, during the periods of tranquillity between more important attacks, -an occasional coup de main is necessary in order to get a few prisoners -for information about the enemy. We are warned beforehand to be ready -for it, but do not know exactly when or where. I will tell you the story -of the last one, as related by a slightly wounded but very happy poilu I -brought in beside me. - -"After coffee in the morning," he said, "our battalion commander called -for one platoon of volunteers to make the attack--each volunteer to have -eight days' special leave afterwards. It was hard to choose, as every -one wanted to go--for the 'permission,' and to have a little fun with -the Boches. At noon we were ordered to the first line. Our rifles and -equipment were left behind, each man carrying only a little food, a -canteen of wine, a long knife, and a sack of grenades. Our orders were -to advance the moment the bombardment ceased, take as many prisoners as -possible, and return before the enemy had recovered from his surprise. -At the point of attack the German trench is only twenty yards from -ours--several nights before, they had rolled out a line of portable -wire-entanglements. At 4.30 in the afternoon our 75's began to plough up -the Boche trench and rip their wire to shreds. It was wonderful--along -the line in front of us hundreds of our shells, bursting only twenty -metres off, sent earth and wire and timbers high into the air--while -not one of us, watching so close by, was hurt. - -"At 5.15 the guns ceased firing and the next instant we were over the -parapet, armed with knives, grenades, and a few automatic pistols. After -the racking noise of the bombardment, a strange quiet, a breathless -tranquillity, seemed to oppress us as we ran through the torn wire and -jumped into the smoking ruins of the enemy trench. In front of me there -was no one,--only a couple of bodies,--but to the right and left I could -hear grenades going, so it was evident that a few Germans had not -retreated to the dugouts. Straight ahead I saw a boyau leading to their -second lines, and as I ran into this with my squad, we came on a German -at the turn. His hands were up and he was yelling, 'Kamerad, Kamerad!' -as fast as he knew how. Next minute, down went his hand and he tossed a -grenade into our midst. By luck it struck mud, and the time-fuse gave -us a moment's start. The corporal was killed and my pal, Fretard, who -lies on the stretcher behind, got an eclat through the leg. We did not -make a prisoner of the Boche. - -"The abris of the second line were full of Germans, but all but one were -barricaded. A few grenades persuaded the survivors to come out of this, -with no fight left in them; but how to get into the others? In vain we -invited them to come out for a little visit--till some one shouted, 'The -stove-pipes!' Our barrage fire was now making such a fuss that the -Boches farther back could not use their machine-guns, so we jumped on -top of the dugouts and popped a half-dozen citrons into each chimney. -That made them squeal, mon vieux--oh, la la! But it was time to go -back--our sergeant was shouting to us; so, herding our prisoners ahead, -we made a sprint back to our friends." - -One of the prisoners was wounded, and he was hauled to the hospital by -the chap with whom I share my quarters. I went to have a look at the -German--always an object of curiosity out here. Had to shoulder my way -through a crowd to get there. He lay on a stretcher, poor devil, -hollow-eyed, thin, with a ragged beard--an object of pity, suffering and -afraid for his life. His gray overcoat lay beside him and near it stood -his clumsy hobnailed boots. German or no German, he was a human being in -a bad situation--a peasant obviously, and deadly afraid. - -Suddenly, a half-baked civilian--always the most belligerent -class--reached up and plucked contemptuously at his leg, with an -unpleasant epithet. Then a fine thing happened. A French soldier, lying -near by on a stretcher, severely wounded, raised up his head and looked -sternly at the crowd. "Enough," he said, "he is a Boche, I grant you; -but first of all remember that he is a soldier, wounded and in your -power!" - -We were at lunch yesterday when a friend rushed in to say that an -aeroplane fight was starting, almost directly overhead. A big French -reconnaissance plane was diving for safety, with a Fokker close behind -and German shrapnel bursting all around, when a tiny French fighting -machine appeared far above, plunging down like a falcon on its quarry. -The Fokker turned too late: the Nieuport, rushing downward at one -hundred and fifty miles an hour, looped the loop around the German. Two -bursts of machine-gun fire came down faintly to our ears, and the next -moment it was evident that the German was hit. Slowly at first, the -Fokker began to fall--this way and that, like a leaf falling in still -air, growing larger each moment before our eyes, until it disappeared -behind a hill. High over the lines, scorning burst after burst of -German shrapnel, the tiny Nieuport sailed proudly back and forth, as if -daring any Boche pilot to rise and try his luck. In the thrill of the -superb spectacle, one forgot that the poor chap (a good sportsman, if he -was a German!) had lost his life. - - -_April, 1917_ - -I have met some interesting types lately. One is Jean B----, a sergeant -of infantry. Jean has been about the world a good bit, and when the war -broke out was just finishing a contract in Spain. He promptly came to -France and volunteered, and had only fifteen days of training before -being sent to the front for a big attack. Knowing nothing of military -matters and having distinguished himself in the first day's fighting, he -was made a corporal at once; and next day, when the attack began again, -he and his squad were the first to jump into a section of German -trench. There, abandoned in the hasty retreat, was a brand-new German -machine-gun and forty sacks of ammunition. Jean is a canny boy, and -before the officers had got to where he was, he had his men hide gun and -cartridges in a clump of bushes. - -The French made a gain of about two miles at this point, and owing to -the nature of the ground,--artillery emplacements, and so forth,--the -new lines were nearly a mile apart. Under these conditions, both sides -were constantly making daylight patrols in the broken country between -the trenches; and as Jean's captain was a good judge of men, he let him -take his squad out daily, to do pretty much as he pleased. Pledging his -men to absolute secrecy, Jean had them hide machine-gun and ammunition a -little way in front of the new French lines, and then gave them a brief -drill, in mounting and dismounting the gun, tripod, and so forth. (He -had worked in an ordnance factory, by the way.) Each man carried either -a part of the gun or a few belts of cartridges. - -One morning, just before dawn, they crawled up close to the Germans and -hid themselves in a brushy watercourse--mitrailleuse set up and ready -for action. Presently there were sounds of activity in front, and as day -broke, they made out thirty or forty Germans, who, so far away and out -of sight of the French, were out in the open, working on a new trench. -Jean's men began to get excited and wanted action, but he calmed them, -whispering to be patient. He himself is the most excitable man in the -world--except in emergencies; a jovial type, with black hair and a pair -of merry gray eyes set in a red, weather-beaten face. - -Hour after hour they bided their time, until the Germans, only -seventy-five yards away, assembled in a group for a rest. Lying on his -belly behind the gun, Jean sighted and pulled the lever, spraying lead -into the unfortunate Boches until the last belt of two hundred -cartridges had raced through. Then it was all hands dismount the gun and -retreat at top speed. Sneaking "home" by devious ways, they smiled to -see shells begin to smash into the position they had so lately left. - -At supper that evening (the meal known universally as "la soupe"), the -colonel came strolling down the trench with Jean's subaltern. The -lieutenant nodded and pointed, then called Jean over. - -"Ah," said the colonel, smiling, "so this is the type who was on patrol -this morning--hum. I was in an advanced observation post on the hill -above you and saw the whole affair with my glasses. And how many of -those poor Germans did you kill?" - -"I did not wait to count, my colonel." - -"I will tell you, then; six escaped, out of thirty-eight--most -remarkable rifle-fire I remember seeing. It sounded almost like a -mitrailleuse at work. How many in your patrol? Five? Remarkable! -Remarkable! Eh bien, good day, _sergeant_." - -"He was a type not too severe," remarked the ex-corporal, in telling the -tale; "in short, un bon garcon." - -This is the highest compliment a poilu can pay his officer; in fact, I -once heard an ancient Territorial say it irreverently of Marshal Joffre, -whom he had known in younger days, somewhere in the Orient. - -Jean is at home in several languages, speaking perfectly French, German, -Italian, and Spanish. I usually chat with him in the last, as in it I -get the fine points of his narrative better than in French. His German -was the means of getting him into an adventure such as very few men in -the war have experienced. I cannot, of course, vouch for the truth of -what follows, but I have no reason to doubt his word, and know him to be -capable of any foolhardy rashness. Such a thing would be impossible at -the present time. - -One dark night, shortly after midnight Jean--on a solitary patrol--was -lying just outside the wire, about ten metres from the German trench, -listening to locate the sentries. There was a faint starlight. Suddenly -a whisper came from beyond the wire, a low voice speaking in broken -French. - -"Why do you lie so quiet, my friend? I saw you crawl up and have watched -you ever since. I don't want to shoot you; I am a Bavarian." - -"Good-evening, then," Jean whispered back in his perfect German. - -"So," said the sentry, "you speak our language. Wait a moment, till I -warn the rest of my squad, and I will show you the way through the -wire; there are no officers about at this hour." - -Probably not one man in a thousand would have taken such a chance, but -he did, and ten minutes later was standing in the trench in a German -cloak and fatigue cap (in case of passing officers), chatting amiably -with a much interested group of Bavarian soldiers. They gave him beer, -showed him their dugouts, and arranged a whistle signal for future -visits, before bidding him a regretful good-night. "We are Bavarians," -they said; "we like and admire the French, and fight only because we -must." - -With characteristic good sense, Jean went at once to his captain the -following morning and told him the whole story. The officer knew and -trusted him and said without hesitation, "Go as often as you want, and -keep your ears open." - -So he made many a midnight crawl through the wires, after whistling the -soft signal. He carried with him each time a few litres of wine (a great -luxury to the German soldiers), and in return they took him on long -excursions through their trenches. Once he was in the German third line, -more than a mile back. The sector was a very quiet one, though the -trenches were close together, and one morning a crude arrow dropped into -the French trench, bearing a note to Jean. - -"Get into your dugouts at five this afternoon," it read; "there will be -a bombardment, but no attack, we hope." - -Another time, after a French bombardment, a similar note dropped in: -"Don't send so many torpedoes--shells are all right, but your torpedoes -have ruined some of our best sleeping-places. Remember we are not -Prussians, but Bavarians." - -Jean is just now back from a permission. He went away a reckless, jolly -sort of an adventurer, and has come back sober, serious, and -tremendously in love. He told me a little about it, as we sat together -in my dugout (I have a private one now, with a stove, a tiny window -sticking up discreetly six inches above ground, and pictures on the -walls), and the tale is so typical of war-time France that I can't -resist telling it to you. - -They had carried on quite a correspondence, as godmother and godson, -before the longed-for permission came; and when A----, with her parents, -of course, met him at the train, she seemed like an old friend. She is -charming, as I know from her photograph, and sturdy brown Jean, togged -out in his special permission uniform, with his neat shoes, bright -leather puttees and belt, kepi de fantaisie, and gold sergeant's -wound- and service-stripes, looks every inch a soldier of France. -At the end of the second day, he was walking with A---- and could -contain himself no longer. - -"Mademoiselle," he said, "I cannot, as a man of honor, stay here -longer. I love you,--there, I have said it,--but I am penniless, and -after the war shall have only what I can earn. Your father, on the other -hand, is the most important merchant in this district--so you see it -would (even if you were willing) be quite impossible for me to ask for -your hand. I can never thank you enough for your kindness to a poor -soldier; it has given me a glimpse of Paradise." - -That evening, as he sat in his room, trying to make up an excuse to give -the old people for leaving, the girl's mother came in, saying that she -understood he was going, and was much hurt to think that her house had -not pleased him. Then the old gentleman rushed in, radiant with smiling -good humor. - -"But hush, maman," he cried, "I know all. Also I know a man when I see -one. You love our little A----, eh, sergeant? Well, what of it? And you -are poor--well, what of that? When we old ones are gone, she will have -everything--she is all we have, since Louis was killed at the Marne. You -are a type that I love, my boy--out there at the front, helping to push -the Boche out of France; do you suppose I would not rather have you for -a son-in-law than some sacre espece of a rich embusque, riding by in his -limousine?" - -Rather superb, I think. - -So, as an engaged man, he is making a poor attempt to be cautious. Also, -he has a frightful case of cafard, that mysterious malady of the -trenches, which is nothing but concentrated homesickness and longing for -the sight of one's women folk, sweethearts, sisters, mothers. A couple -of days ago, he came to me with a brilliant idea. - -"See, Charlot," he said, "I have a scheme. You know Lieutenant P----, -chief of the corps franc--tell him of me, that I can speak German and -can take prisoners, and tell him to ask my captain to detach me for the -next coup de main." - -To understand this, you must know that a coup de main is a raid, made -after a brief artillery preparation, on the enemy trenches, not with the -idea of gaining ground, but simply to get a few prisoners for -information regarding regiments, and so forth. In the French army such -raids are made by special selected companies of each regiment, who have -no routine duty and get eight days' special leave after each raid that -results in prisoners. These men are termed "corps franc." As you can -see, Jean thought this a quick way to get back to his fiancee. - -While we talked, by a freak of luck, who should knock at my door but -Lieutenant P----, chief of our local corps franc, a very good friend and -one I am proud to have. He is the perfect quintessence of a French -subaltern,--twenty-six years old, slight, wiry, and handsome; an -Anglophile in everything relating to sport, as exquisite in dress and -person as Beau Brummell, and as recklessly brave as Morgan's buccaneers. -He has risen from the ranks, wears a gold bracelet, and has every -decoration that a French soldier or officer can get, including the red -ribbon. His Croix de Guerre has seven citations, and he has been five -times wounded. He took to Jean at once, saying that he needed an -interpreter for a raid which was coming in two or three days, and -promised to see the captain about it at once. - -"Better come with us," he said to me, whimsically. "I want to run down -to Paris next week, and if the sergeant here and I don't get a prisoner -or two, it will be because there are none left in the first line. Come -on--you'll see some fun!" - -"But," I said, "what is there in it for me? I'm ruined if I'm caught in -any such escapade, and in any case I get no permission." - -"Oh, we'll fix that. Maybe you'd get a nice little wound like my last -one; and if not, I'm an expert with grenades; I think I could toss one -so you would just get an eclat or two in the legs--good for a week in -Paris." - -I thanked him without enthusiasm and declined. - -The sequel to this came last night as I lay reading in my bunk. The -evening had been absolutely quiet, not a rifle-shot along the trenches, -until suddenly, about 10.30, the batteries set up their sullen thumping, -mingled with the thud of exploding aerial torpedoes. - -To my ears, concentrated artillery fire--not too far off--has a -strangely mournful sound--heavy, dull, and fitful, like a dark -thunderstorm in Dante's hell. The bombardment lasted exactly forty -minutes, then absolute silence except for an occasional pistol-shot (no -one uses rifles in raids), and once more the sudden stammer of a -mitrailleuse. As I lay there, safe in my warm bunk, I thought of gallant -little P---- and jolly old lovelorn Jean, perhaps at that moment -stealing through torn German wire with a brace of prisoners ahead of -them, crouching low each time a star-shell sent up its warning trail of -sparks,--or perhaps-- - -To-morrow, when I go back to the village for two days' rest, I shall -look for them. - - -_April 10, 1917_ - -I am writing this in a new post of ours--a village several kilometres -from the lines, where there are still civilians. As the hospital is very -noisy at night, and one would have to sleep in a barrack, packed in -among the wounded, I have arranged with a motherly old woman (patronne -of the local cafe) to let me have her spare room. I found an old -cowbell and by an arrangement of strings and hooks have rigged it so -that it can be rung at night from the street below. Talk about luxury! I -have a real bed (about five feet long) with sheets, pillows, and a -featherbed that reaches from feet to waist. When a night call comes, the -bell tinkles, I leap out of bed, pull on breeches and coat and high felt -"arctics," and in three minutes am off. - -As there are no men about, I have been (in odd moments) splitting wood -and moving the heavy beer and wine casks as required--work really far -too heavy for women. The old lady, in return, often invites me in for a -cup of steaming coffee with a dash of schnapps, and to-day she asked me -to a family dinner--a superb civilian meal of ham and boiled potatoes -and home-made choucroute. The latter must be tasted to be appreciated. -She is quite bitter about a branch of the Y.M.C.A.--called Foyer du -Soldat--just opened here, which, with its free movies, papers, and so -forth, has lured away much of her trade. "I pay a heavy license tax," -she says, "and they pay nothing--nothing." - -Useless to try to explain to the good old soul that the innocent must -suffer in order that virtue shall triumph--or in other words, that the -fantassin shall have amusement without beer. I comforted her with the -regrettable truth that her boys will all be back when the novelty is -worn off. - -A great many of the men here are muleteers from the Spanish and Italian -borders. Where the country is hilly and trails constitute the shortest -route to the trenches, the French use a great many pack-mules to carry -up provisions, ammunition, and supplies. A Western packer would be -interested in their methods. Each mule has its master, who packs it, -washes it, feeds it, and on the march walks ahead, leading it by a rope. -The pack-saddles and rigging are wonderful--they must be when one -considers that the mules often carry three hundred pounds twenty miles a -day, and sore backs are unknown. - -A mule's a mule, however, wherever you meet him--these are just the same -"ornery" brutes we have at home. Their effect on the explosive southern -French temperament is sometimes ludicrous. I stopped the other day to -ask the way of a mule-skinner who was limping dejectedly ahead of his -charge--the rest of the train was far ahead. After putting me on the -road, he leaned wearily against a tree and explained that in all the -world there was probably not another mule like his. It had kicked him -yesterday, it had bitten him severely this morning, and just now, while -he adjusted the pack, it had kicked him on the hip, so that in all -likelihood he would limp for life. While he talked, the mule sidled -over, with drooping eyelids and sagging ears, and planted one foot -firmly on the unfortunate Frenchman's toes. The whole thing seemed to -have been done by accident--I could almost see the dotted line of -innocence running from the mule's sleepy eye off into space. Without a -word, the man set his shoulder against the mule, forced its weight off -his foot, and tenderly inspected the injured part. Then, hands on hips, -he regarded the mule with a long stare of dramatic contempt. - -"Wouldst thou kill me, sacre espece of a camel?" he said at last; "well, -death would be better than this. Come, here I am!" - -The day before yesterday, when I was out at one of our posts on the -front, an Austrian 88 mm. shell fell in a crowd of mules and their -drivers. Fortunately no one was hurt (by one of the freaks of shells), -but three mules were killed by the splinters. That night, with some -misgivings, I tried a steak from the hind-quarter of a five-year-old -mule. _It was bully._ When you come to think of it, a mule is just as -good food as a steer. - -A week ago I was waiting at a front post for some wounded, when a mule -train came by, packed with the huge winged aerial torpedoes so much in -vogue just now. Each mule carried four of these truly formidable things. -As the last mule passed, he slipped on the muddy slope, his feet flew -out, and down he came with a whack, torpedoes and all. You ought to have -seen us scatter,--officers, men, and mule-drivers,--like fragments of a -bursting shell. As the mule showed signs of struggling, we had to rush -back and gingerly remove the load before helping him up. - -These torpedoes play a great part in war nowadays. They are cheap to -manufacture, carry an enormous bursting charge, and--shot out of small -mortar-like guns, into which the steel or wooden "stem" of the torpedo -is inserted--have a range of six or seven hundred yards. On days of -attack you can see them, like huge black birds, soar slowly up from -behind the trenches, hang poised for an instant, and dart down to make -their formidable explosion, which sends clouds of debris, timber, and -dirt, high into the air. Their fragments are very bad--long, thin, -jagged things that come whizzing by and inflict terrible wounds. Many of -them are equipped with "trailers," which outline their course in a -shower of crimson sparks; and on nights of attack the sky is scored with -their fiery trails. - -A night attack is a wonderful thing to see: the steady solemn thunder of -the guns, the sky glaring with star-shells and trails, the trenches -flaming and roaring with bursting shell. It is like a vast natural -phenomenon,--Krakatoa or Mont Pelee,--too vast and cataclysmic to be -man's handiwork; and yet, into the maelstrom of spouting flames, hissing -steel, shattering explosions, insignificant little creatures like you -and me will presently run--offering, with sublime courage, their tender -bodies to be burned and pierced and mangled. To me that is war's one -redeeming feature--it brings out in men a courage that is of the spirit -alone--above all earthly things. - - -_April 23, 1917_ - -I am sitting again in the little post I told you about in my last -letter. The old lady is tidying up the cafe, the early morning sun is -shining in gayly through the many-paned windows, and outside, along the -picket-line, the mules are squealing and kicking while they have their -morning bath. Pretty soon I shall go out foraging for a brace of eggs, -and with these, a piece of cheese, and some coffee shall make my -dejeuner. - -The local barrack is the only one I have found where one simply cannot -eat, as the cook and his kitchen are unspeakable. Unless he has been -caught out in a shower, he has certainly gone without a bath since the -war started. After a glance at him and at his kitchen even the most -callous poilu rebels. - -We have now, attached to our section as mechanic, a French private who -is rather an unusual type--a rich manufacturer in civil life, who, -through some kink of character, has not risen in the army. He put in a -year in the trenches and then, being middle-aged, was put behind the -lines. He speaks English, is splendidly educated, and has traveled -everywhere, but is too indifferent to public opinion ever to make an -officer, or even a non-com. In his factory he had a packer, earning -seven francs a day, who was also mobilized, and who has now risen to -the rank of lieutenant. Think of the gulf between a poilu and a French -officer, with his authority, his galons and superb red-and-gold hat, and -then consider that this lieutenant's idea of a permission is to go home, -put on his oldest clothes, and spend the seven days working at his old -job of packing and heading barrels. It takes France to produce this sort -of thing. - -The siege warfare to which, owing to strategic reasons, we are reduced -in our part of the lines, with both sides playing the part of besieged -and besiegers, gives rise to a curious unwritten understanding between -ourselves and the enemy. Take the hospital corps, their first-aid posts -and ambulances. The Germans must know perfectly well where the posts -are, but they scarcely ever shell them--not from any humanitarian -reason, but because if they did, the French would promptly blow theirs -to pieces. It is a curious sensation to live in such a place, with the -knowledge that this is the only reason you enjoy your comparative -safety. Likewise our ambulances. I often go over a road in perfectly -plain view of the Boche, only a few hundred yards distant, and though -shells and shrapnel often come my way, I am confident none of them are -aimed at me. The proof of it is that no one has ever taken a pot-shot at -me with rifle or machine-gun, either one of which would be a sure thing -at the range. The other day an officer invited me down to see his newly -completed observatory--a cunningly built, almost invisible stronghold on -the crest of a hill, which commanded a superb view of the trenches and -German territory behind them. It chanced to be an afternoon of unusual -interest. The trenches, about eight hundred yards distant, were spread -like a map beneath us,--a labyrinth of zigzag ditches and boyaux,--all -cunningly laid out on principles which I have been studying. With the -powerful glasses lent me, I could make out the thickets of wire before -the first lines. A heavy bombardment was in progress, and all along the -lines, as far as the eye could see, clouds of smoke and earth were -springing up and settling slowly down. Not a living being was in sight. -Far off to the south, a flock of observation balloons floated -motionless, high in air, like fat, hovering birds. Suddenly the man -beside me, who had been staring through his glasses at a twenty-acre -patch of woods a couple of miles away, gave an excited exclamation. "I -have spotted it--the new battery of heavy guns that has been annoying -us; they were too bold, for once." - -Sure enough, I thought I made out a thin wisp of smoke trailing among -the tree-tops at the south end of the wood. - -The officer muttered a string of cabalistic instructions into his -telephone receiver and motioned me to watch. A minute later, a battery -of French heavy guns behind us began their deep, coughing thumps, -sending enormous shells hurtling overhead with the pulsing rush of an -express train, crescendo and diminuendo. The first shell fell short, -showering the trees with earth and debris--the salvos that followed -obscured the whole wood in clouds of smoke, broken branches, and dust. -Twenty minutes of this before the battery went silent again. A final -tremendous explosion, eclipsing all that had gone before, seemed to -shake the trees to their roots. - -"That will hold them for a while," said my friend exultantly, as he -telephoned the news back to his battery; "we must have hit their -magazine of propelling charges." - -Next day I was sitting at lunch in our mess, distant about three -hundred yards from the observatory, when a series of heavy, racking -explosions made the windows rattle. There is a distinct difference -between the sound of a gun and that of a bursting shell. The first is a -cracking _bang_, or _boum_, as the French say. The latter is a racking, -dwelling roar--drawn out, if such a thing can be said of an explosion. -Shells were bursting somewhere close to us--many of them. When I went -outside I could hear, clear and waspish above the din, the _pinging_ of -splinters whizzing overhead, and the occasional crackle of a lopped-off -branch. After half an hour of this, a man came panting up with the bad -news that the new observatory was completely demolished. There you have -the inner workings of siege-war; the Boches, with uncanny craft, knew of -the observatory, let the French complete it, and might have let it -alone, had it not been instrumental in destroying their battery. That -led them into their indiscreet action, for the French, in retaliation, -promptly wiped off the map the most important German observatory--an -elaborate affair whose exact location they had long known. This time the -Boche did not dare retaliate. And so it goes. - -There is a crack French gun-pointer near here who has brought down seven -enemy planes in the past two months--a remarkable record in this quiet -district. The last one fell close to one of our posts--its two -passengers, German lieutenants, were dead, but scarcely marked by their -drop into a snow-drift. One of them, a handsome young chap, with a -little blond mustache, wore a gold bracelet, and in his pocket was a -letter from his mother, accusing him of being an ungrateful son, who had -only written twice in six months. Rather pathetic. There is a sort of -chivalry in the air service which is a relief in the sordid monotony of -this war. A German plane was crippled a while ago, and had to volplane -down smack into a parade-ground where a French regiment was at drill. -The soldiers rushed out to make prisoners of the two German officers, -who were not a hundred yards up; but the latter, with indomitable -courage, loosed their Spandaus on the crowd, and were promptly riddled -with bullets by the reluctant French. They received a funeral in -accordance with their splendid death. - -The code of the Prussian officer is never to surrender; but of course -all cannot live up to this. In a recent raid, a sergeant I know made a -prisoner of a German captain, who, as they walked to the rear, cursed -his luck in fluent French, saying that he was caught unaware--that an -officer never surrendered, but fought to the end. - -"Stop here, my captain, and let us consider this," said the sergeant -seriously; "there are several articles of your equipment to which my -fancy runs--that watch, for example, those leather puttees, and that fat -purse I saw you change to your hip-pocket. Perhaps I can at once oblige -you and gratify my whim. Suppose you were suddenly to run--a quick shot -would save your honor, and me the trouble of escorting you back to the -rear. And I am an excellent shot, je vous assure." But the German was -not interested. - - -_April 26, 1917_ - -This afternoon the general of the division ordered us to present -ourselves at headquarters at four o'clock. From lunch on there was a -great shaving and haircutting, brushing and pressing of uniforms, and -overhauling of shoes and puttees. Four o'clock found us lined up at the -door of the wonderful old chateau, and next moment a superb officer, -who spoke English,--of the Oxford variety,--stepped out, introduced -himself all around with charming courtesy, took our names, and ushered -us in. - -The general, a hawk-faced man of sixty, straight and slender as an -arrow, with sparkling dark eyes, stood surrounded by his resplendent -staff. As each name was announced, we walked forward to him, saluted and -bowed, and shook hands. This over, we stepped back and mingled with the -staff officers, who displayed a wonderful trick of making us feel at -home in the first stiffness. Presently orderlies brought in champagne -and glasses, and when every one had his glass in hand the buzz stopped -while the general spoke. - -"Your country, gentlemen," he said, "has done France the honor of -setting aside this day for her. It is fitting that I should ask you -here, in order to tell you how much we appreciate America's friendship, -which you and your comrades have been demonstrating by actions rather -than words. I am an old man, but I tell you my heart beat like a boy's -when the news came that the great Sister Republic--united of old by -ideals of human liberty--had thrown in her lot with ours. I ask you to -drink with me to the future of France and America--the sure future. You -have seen France: our brave women, ready to make any sacrifices for the -motherland; our little soldiers, invincible in their determination. Let -us drink then to France, to America, and to the day of ultimate victory, -which is coming as surely as the sun will rise to-morrow." - -As he ceased, he stepped forward to touch glasses with each of us,--the -invariable French custom,--and next moment a magnificent Chasseur band, -outside on the terrace, crashed into the "Star-Spangled Banner." Quite -thrilling, I assure you. Later, we strolled through the fine old -gardens, chatting with the officers while the band played. The general, -while the most military man imaginable, has a very attractive brusque -affability. We are a good-sized crowd as Americans run, and the French, -who average shorter and stockier, never cease to wonder at our height. -The old chap grabbed three or four of us by the shoulders and lined us -up. - -"Mais vous etes des gaillards," he said, smiling; "see, I am five or six -centimetres shorter than any of you. But wait, we have a giant or two." - -With that he called over a grinning captain and pulled him back to back -with our biggest man, whom he topped by a full inch. - -"But, my general," laughed the officer, "it is not good to be so -tall--too much of one sticks out of a trench." - -The owner of the chateau--a stately woman of fifty, proud of her name, -her race, and her country, and an angel from heaven to the sick and poor -for miles around--is an example of the kind of patriotism of which, I -fear, we are in need. Her husband is dead; when the war broke out she -had a daughter and two sons--gallant young officers whose brief lives -had been a constant source of satisfaction and pride to their mother. -The elder was killed at the Marne, and a while ago, the younger, her -special pet, was killed here in an attack. A woman of her kind, to whom -the continuance of an old name was almost a religion, could undergo no -harder experience. At the grave-side she stood erect and dry-eyed, with -a little proud smile on her lips, as her last boy was buried. "Why -should I weep?" she asked some one who would have comforted her; "there -is nothing finer my boys could have done if they had lived out their -lives." Her heart must be very nearly broken in two, but never a sign -does she give; going about among her hospitals and peasant families as -cheerful, interested, even gay, as if her only cares were for others. -There is true courage for you! - -To-day I went to a new post for some sick men, and who should be waiting -for me but my friend Jean, of whom I wrote you before! His company has -been transferred to this place. It was great to see his grinning face -and to chatter Spanish with him. As the sick men had not finished lunch, -Jean asked me to his mess, and we had a jolly meal with his pals. I have -had to give up wine, as it seems to blacken our teeth horribly (all -of us have noticed it, and we can trace it to no other source), -and the Frenchmen can't get over the joke of seeing one drink -water--extraordinary stuff to drink! All right to run under bridges or -for washing purposes, but as a beverage--a quaint American conceit, -handed down no doubt from the red aborigines--les peaux rouges -indigenes--of our continent. Jean admitted that since December, 1914, he -had not tasted water, and no one else could remember the last occasion -when he had tried it. - -As word had just come from the trenches that a wounded man was on the -way in, I got my helmet and we strolled down the boyau to meet the -stretcher-bearers. It was, to me, a new section of the front and very -interesting. The country is broken and hilly, and the lines zigzag about -from crest to valley in the most haphazard way, which really has been -painfully worked out to prevent enfilading fire. There is scarcely any -fighting here, as neither side has anything to gain by an advance, which -would mean giving up their present artillery positions. - -In one place the boyau ran down a steep slope, badly exposed, and Jean -said, "Follow me on the run!" We sprinted for twenty yards, and next -moment, _tat-tat-tat-tat_ came from the Boches, and little spurts of -dust shot up behind us. They can never shoot quickly enough to hurt any -one at this point, Jean said, but after all, "You can't blame a fellow -for trying." - -At the next turn we came on a train of the little grenade donkeys--so -small that they make the tiniest Mexican burro seem a huge clumsy brute. -They do not show above the shallowest trench, and each one carries two -panniers full of grenades. These last are vicious little things of cast -iron, checkered so as to burst into uniform square fragments, and about -the size and shape of lemons. They make an astonishingly loud bang when -they go off, and if close enough, as in a narrow trench, are pretty bad. -At a little distance, of course, they are not very dangerous. In the -trench warfare--raids, infantry attacks, and so forth--they seem to have -supplanted rifles, just as the knife has supplanted the bayonet. - - -_May 11, 1917_ - -Sunday, another lovely day. It is 7 A.M., and already the indefinable -Sunday atmosphere has come over the camp. The shower-baths are open and -strings of men are coming and going with towels on their arms. Under the -trees little groups are shaving and cutting one another's hair, amid -much practical joking and raillery. - -One becomes very fond of the French soldier. Large floods of rhetoric -have been poured out in describing him, and yet nearly every day one -discovers in him new and interesting traits. Let me try to sketch for -you a composite picture of the French infantryman--the fantassin who is -winning the war for France. On the whole, I do not see him as a boy, -but as a sturdy middle-aged man--the father of a family. He is short and -solidly built, with thick calves and heavy shoulders. His round head, on -which the hair is short, crisp, and black, is surmounted by a battered -blue helmet. He wears a long overcoat, looped up and buttoned at the -sides, showing evidence, in several places, of home-made patching. It -was once horizon blue, but has now faded to an ideally protective shade -of blue-green-gray. About his middle is a worn cartridge-belt, and from -either shoulder, their straps crossing on breast and back, hang his -musettes--bags of brown canvas for carrying extra odds and ends, -including everything from a bottle of wine to a dictionary. On his back -is his square pack, an affair of formidable weight, to which he has -lashed his rolled blanket in the form of a horseshoe, points down. -Perched on top of this, he carries his gamelle and quart--the saucepan -and cup which serve for both cooking and eating; and beside them you -perceive with astonishment that he has strapped a large German trench -torpedo--a souvenir for the home folks. From his belt hangs the tin box, -painted horizon-blue, which contains his gasmask, and on the other side -his long slender bayonet rattles against his thigh. - -A large calloused hand, not too clean, holds his shouldered rifle at a -most unmilitary angle. The gun has seen hard service, the wood is -battered, and in places bright steel shows through the bluing; but look -closely and you will see that it is carefully greased, and in the muzzle -a little plug of cloth keeps out dust and moisture. In spite of a load -which would make a burro groan, he walks sturdily, whistling a march -between puffs of a cigarette. Glance at his face. The eyes are dark -gray, deep-set, and twinkling with good humor; they are the clear -decisive eyes of a man who knows what he wants and has set about getting -it. The nose is aquiline, the mouth strong and ironically humorous, the -unshaven chin positive and shapely. It is the face of a breed that has -been settling to type for many centuries, a race old in cultivation and -philosophy. - -What is he in civil life? That is hard to say. A lawyer, a farmer, a -customhouse clerk, a cook--probably a cook; most of them seem to be -cooks, and mighty good ones. Ours at the mess was assistant chef at the -Savoy, in London, and when he has the material (for example a -hind-quarter of mule, a few potatoes, some dandelions, a tin of lobster, -and an egg) he can turn out a dinner hard to equal anywhere--delicious -hors d'oeuvres, superb soup, roast, saute potatoes, salad, and so on. - -The French soldier's one great joy and privilege is to grumble. Back in -billets where he goes to rest, he spends the whole day at it--hour after -hour, over a bock or a litre of wine, he complains of everything: the -food, the uniforms, the trenches, the artillery, the war itself. To hear -him, one would suppose that France was on the verge of ruin and -disintegration. Let some unwise stranger make the slightest criticism of -France, and watch the change. The poilu takes the floor with a bound. -There is no country like France--no better citizens or braver soldiers -than the French. - -"Dis donc, mon vieux," he ends triumphantly, "where would Europe be now -if it were not for us?" - -To be a French general is a terrible responsibility. Their ears must -burn continually, for every act is criticized, picked to pieces, and -proved a fatal mistake, daily, in a thousand roadside wine-shops. Some -celebrity once remarked, that every French soldier was a potential -general. He knew them; he was right. They are no carping destructive -critics who tear things down but suggest no method of building up. On -the contrary, any chance-met poilu will tell you exactly how any -maneuver or bit of strategy should be carried out--from a trench-raid to -an enveloping movement, which will--he is sure of it!--net fifty -thousand prisoners. In last night's coup de main they caught only three -Germans. "Do you know why, my friend? I will tell you. Our artillery cut -the wires all right, and tapped on the front trench. Good. After that -they raised their guns for the barrage, but pouf! the Boches had already -run back to their dugouts in the second or third lines. Had the gunners -made a barrage on the second line from the beginning, the Germans would -have been forced to remain in the first line, and instead of three, we -would have bagged thirty. Oh, well, we get our extra leave anyhow, and -you should have heard them squeal when we dropped grenades down their -stove-pipes!" - -The French infantryman would drive a foreign officer mad until he began -to understand him and appreciate his splendid hidden qualities. The only -thing he does without grumbling is fight; and, after all, when you come -to think of it, that is a rather important part of a soldier's duty. - -An officer wants a new boyau dug--you never _heard_ such grumbling and -groaning and kicking. Finally, a bit put out, he says,-- - -"All right, don't dig it, if you are all sick and tired, and think I -make you work simply to keep you busy. It was only a whim of mine -anyhow--the Boches put up a new machine-gun last night, which enfilades -the old boyau, and when day breaks and you go back to the third lines, -they will doubtless put a dozen of us out of our misery." - -As if by magic the new zigzag trench is dug, and the chances are that -the officer finds a supply of extra-good firewood in his abri next day. - -In an army like France's, one finds many odd birds among the simple -soldiers. I was playing "shinny" (we introduced it and it has become -very popular in our section) the other evening, and, when a soldier took -off his coat, four thousand francs in bills dropped out of the breast -pocket. Another evening, in a cafe, a roughly dressed soldier stood up -to give us a bit of music--and for an hour the world seemed to stand -still while one of the greatest violinists of France (two years at the -front, twice wounded, Croix de Guerre, with several citations) made us -forget that anything existed except a flood of clear throbbing sound. -It was a rough, drinking crowd--a moment before there had been a -pandemonium of loud voices and clattering plates; but for an hour the -listeners were still as death--not a whisper, not even a hand-clap of -applause. It was, I think, the finest tribute I ever saw paid a -musician. And so it goes: one never knows what variety of man is hidden -beneath the uniform of faded horizon-blue. - - -_June 17, 1917_ - -At last I am free to sit down quietly for a letter to you. It has been a -week of rather frenzied running about--passing examinations, and the -like. I arrived here in the expectation of taking the first boat, -crossing the continent, and seeing you. - -A talk with some American officers changed the whole aspect of affairs -and showed me that, if I was to be of any use, my job was to remain -here. At home, it seems, men are a drug on the market--the rub is to -train them and fit them in. Here, on the other hand, they fairly welcome -healthy young men--and will train us and put us where we will do the -most good, with the least possible delay. Don't let yourself think that -flying over here is unduly hazardous--a skillful pilot (as I hope to be) -has as good a chance of living to a ripe old age as his comrades in the -infantry. Numbers of them have been at it since 1914. The school where I -hope to be is the finest in the world, and the machines are beyond -praise. - - -Since writing the above, I have received my papers of acceptance in the -Foreign Legion, conditional on passing the French physical tests. I have -already passed the tests of the Franco-American Committee. Before -cabling I took all the tests. - - -_Later_ - -I have passed the French examination and am to leave for the school in a -day or two. I have been lucky! - -It was interesting at the Paris recruiting office. I stood in line with -dozens of other recruits for the Foreign Legion--all of us naked as so -many fish, in the dirty corridor, waiting our turns. Each man had a -number: mine was seven--lucky, I think! Finally the orderly shouted, -"Numero sept," and I separated myself from my jolly polyglot neighbors, -marched to the door, did a demi-tour a gauche, and came to attention -before a colonel, two captains, and a sergeant. - -"Name, Nordhoff, Charles Bernard--born at London, 1887--American -citizen--unmarried--no children--desires to enlist in Foreign Legion for -duration of war--to be detached to the navigating personnel of the -Aviation," read the sergeant, monotonously. In two minutes I had been -weighed, measured, stethoscoped, ears and eyes tested, and passed. - -The colonel looked at me coldly and turned to the captain. - -"Not so bad, this one, hein? He has not the head of a beast." - -I bowed with all the dignity a naked man can muster, and said -respectfully, "Merci, mon colonel." - -"Ah, you speak French," he rejoined with a smile; "good luck, then, my -American." - - - - -II - -THE FLEDGLING - - -Here at Avord there are about seventy-five Americans of every imaginable -sort--sailors, prize-fighters, men of the Foreign Legion, and a good -scattering of University men. As good a fellow as any is H----, formerly -a chauffeur in San Francisco. He is pleasant, jolly, and hard-working, -with an absurdly amiable weakness for "crap-shooting," in which he -indulges at all times, seconded by an American darky who is a pilot -here--and a good one. - -I can hear them as I write, snapping their fingers as the dice roll: -"Come on 'leben--little seben, be good to me! Fifty days--little -Phoebe--fever in the South! Read 'em and weep! Ten francs--let 'er ride. -I'll fade you!" The crap-shooting circle is always either stuffed with -banknotes or reduced to a few sous--which latter predicament is a bit -serious here, where we have to pay eight to ten francs a day to get -sufficient nourishing food. - -We sleep in barracks, about twenty to the room, on cots with straw -mattresses. All days are pretty much alike. At 3 A.M. a funny little -Annamite Chinaman, with betel-blackened teeth, comes softly in and -shakes you by the shoulder in an absurdly deprecating way. You reach for -your tin cup, and he pours out a quarter-litre of fearful but hot -liquid, somewhat resembling coffee. Then a cigarette in bed, amid drowsy -yawns and curses; a pulling on of breeches, golf-stockings, and leather -coats; a picking up of helmets, and a sleepy march to the bureau, under -the wind-gauges, barometers, and the great red balls that show the -passing side (right or left) for the day. - -"Rassemblement! Mettez-vous sur quatre!" barks the adjutant, and off we -go to the field. There till nine, or till the wind becomes too -strong--each man taking his sortie of ten minutes as his name is called. -Back about ten; then a lecture till eleven, a discussion after that, and -the first meal of the day. Sleep afterwards till three or three-thirty; -then a bath, a shave, brush teeth, and clean up in general. At five, -assembly again, the same march, the same lessons till nine; then a meal, -a smoke, and to bed at eleven. - -It has been a bit strenuous this past month, getting accustomed to this -life, which is easy, but absurdly irregular. Up at 3.30 A.M., and never -to bed before 11 P.M. Meals snatched wherever and whenever possible. -Some sleep by day is indispensable, but difficult in a barrack-room with -twenty other men, not all of whom are sleepy. This, together with fleas -and even more unwelcome little nocturnal visitors, has made me rather -irregular in my habits, but now I have got into a sort of regime--four -and a half hours of sleep at night, some sleep every afternoon, and -decent meals. Also I have discovered a sort of chrysanthemum powder, -which, with one of the "anti" lotions, fairly ruins my small attackers. -Baths, thank Heaven! I can get every day--with a sponge and soap. There -is no real hardship about this life--it is simply a matter of -readjusting one's self to new conditions and learning where and what to -eat, how to sleep, how to get laundry done, and so forth. - -This school is superb. I shall have the honor of being one of the last -men in the world trained on the famous Bleriot monoplane--obsolete as a -military plane, but the best of all for training, because the most -difficult. In spite of the fact that from the beginning to the end one -is alone, it is said to be the safest of all training, because you -practically learn to fly in the "Penguins" before leaving the ground; -and also because you can fall incredible distances without getting a -bruise. - - -In practically all of the French planes the system of control is the -same. You sit on cushions in a comfortable little chair--well strapped -in, clothed in leathers and helmet. At your left hand are two little -levers, one the mixture, the other the throttle. Your right controls the -manche-a-balai, or cloche--a push forward causes the machine to point -downward (pique) and a pull back makes it rise. Moving it sideways -controls the ailerons, or warps the wings--if you tip left, you move the -cloche right. Your feet rest on a pivoted bar which controls the rudder. - -To rise, you head into the wind, open the throttle (steering with great -care, as a little carelessness here may mean a wrecked wing or a turn -over), and press forward the cloche: you roll easily off; next moment, -as the machine gathers speed, the tail rises, and you pull back the -stick into the position of ligne de vol. Faster and faster you buzz -along,--thirty, thirty-five, forty miles an hour,--until you have flying -speed. Then a slight backward pull on the cloche, and you are in the -air. - -I made my first flight in a small two-place machine of the fighting -type--a Nieuport. It is a new sensation,--one which only a handful of -Americans have experienced,--to take the air at seventy-five or eighty -miles an hour, in one of these little hornets. The handling of them is -incredibly delicate, all the movements of the stick could be covered by -a three-inch circle. A special training is required to pilot them, but -once the knack is acquired they are superb, except for the necessity of -landing at sixty or seventy miles an hour. In the air you can do -anything with them--they will come out of any known evolution or -position. - -Lately I have been making short low flights in a Bleriot, and enjoying -it keenly. All I know (a mere beginning) I have learned entirely alone, -and the first time I left the ground, I left it alone. They simply put -you in the successive types of machines, with a brief word of -instruction, and tell you to fly--if you haven't the instinct, you are -soon put out of the school. After your month of preparation in -"Penguins" and "grass-cutters," the first short flight is a great -experience. - -My name was at the end of the list, so for two hours of increasing -tension I watched my mates make their debuts. We were about a dozen, and -there were some bad "crashes" before my turn came. At last the monitor -called me and I was strapped in behind the whirling stick. The monitor -waved his arm, the men holding the tail jumped away, and I opened the -throttle wide, with the manche-a-balai pushed all the way forward. Up -came the tail; I eased back the control bit by bit, until I had her in -ligne de vol, tearing down the field at top speed. Now came the big -moment, mentally rehearsed a hundred times. With a final gulp I gingerly -pulled back the control, half an inch, an inch, an inch and a half. From -a buoyant bounding rush the machine seemed to steady to a glide, swaying -ever so little from side to side. A second later, the rushing green of -grass seemed to cease, and I was horrified to find myself looking down -at the landscape from a vast height whence one could see distant fields -and hangars as if on a map. A gentle push forward on the manche brought -her to ligne de vol again; a little forward, a reduction of gas, a pull -back at the last moment, and I had made my first landing--a beauty, -without a bounce. To-night I may crash, but I have always the memory of -my beginner's luck--landing faultlessly from fully twelve feet! - -Lack of sleep is our main foe--a hard one to combat, as all sorts of -other things develop as its followers; one has simply to learn to sleep -in any odd moments of the day or night. - -I may still "fall down" and be "radiated" to an observation or bombing -plane (which is of course no disgrace); but on the whole I have good -hopes of making a fighting pilot. Flying (on a Bleriot monoplane) is by -no means as easy as I had supposed. It took us four weeks to learn to -run one at full speed, _in a straight line_, on the ground. The steering -and handling of the elevators (which regulate height of tail) are -extremely tricky, and many men are thrown out or sent to other schools -(Caudron, Farman, or Voisin) for inaptitude or "crashes" at this stage. - -Then comes the stage of low straightaway flights, when you leave the -ground fast and in correct line of flight, and have to land smoothly. -Make no mistake--landing any kind of an aeroplane is hard, and to land -the fast fighting machines is a very great art, which forty per cent of -picked young men never acquire. They are so heavy for their supporting -area, that the moment they slow down to less than seventy-five or eighty -miles an hour they simply fall off on a wing (or "pancake"). Even a -Bleriot requires a good eye and a steady delicate touch and judgment to -land in decent style. You are flying, say, three hundred feet up, and -wish to land. Forward goes your stick, the machine noses down as you cut -the motor. The ground comes rushing up at you until the moment comes -when you think you should "redress"--precisely as a plunging duck levels -before settling among the decoys. If you have gauged it to a nicety, -you skim over the ground a few yards up, gradually losing speed, and -settling at last without a jar or break in the forward motion. If you -redress too late, you turn over (capoter), or else bounce and fall off -on a wing. (I have seen men bounce fifty feet!) If you redress too high, -you lose speed too far above the ground, and either pique into the -ground and turn over, fall flat, or crash on one wing. - -The secret of the whole game of learning to fly is, I believe, never to -get excited. I have seen beginner after beginner smash when he was first -sent up to fly. They run along the ground, pull back the stick, as told, -and a moment later are so astounded to find themselves twenty or thirty -feet off the ground that they can think of nothing but shutting off the -throttle. Many crash down tail first, with controls in climbing position -to the last. If they would simply think,-- - -"Ha, old boy, you're in the air at last--some thrill, but the main -thing now is to stay here a bit and then ease down without a crash. Ease -the stick forward--now we have stopped climbing. Feel that puff--she's -tipping, but a little stick or rudder will stop that. Now pique her -down, and reduce the gas a notch or two. Here comes the -ground--straighten her out; too much, she's climbing again; there, cut -the gas--a little more--there--not a bad landing for the first try." - -Really there is no system in the world like learning alone, but it costs -the Government, I am told, from $30,000 to $40,000 to turn out a -fighting pilot. Three, six, ten machines--costly, delicate things--are -smashed daily in the school. Never a word is said, until a man smashes -one too many, when he is quietly sent to the easier double-command -school of bombardment or observation flying. - -Some of the fellows are in bad shape nervously. Any night in our -barracks you can see a man, sound asleep, sitting up in bed with hands -on a set of imaginary controls, warding off puffs, doing spirals, -landings, and the like. It is odd that it should take such a hold on -their mental lives. - -I enjoy hugely flying the old monoplane, especially when I fly home and -nose her down almost straight for a gorgeous rush at the ground. As you -straighten out, a few yards up, lightly as a seagull, and settle on the -grass, it is a real thrill. - -I have purchased, for twenty-five francs, a beautiful soft -Russia-leather head-and-shoulder gear, lined with splendid silky fur. It -covers everything but one's eyes,--leaving a crack to breathe -through,--and is wonderfully warm and comfortable. - -I have finally finished the Monoplane School, which is the end of -preliminary training. There remain spirals, etc., an altitude, and a few -hundred miles of cross-country flying, before I can obtain my brevet -militaire and have the glory of a pair of small gold wings, one on each -side of my collar. After that I shall have seven days' leave (if I am -lucky), followed by two or three weeks perfectionnement on the type of -machine I shall fly at the front. If I smash nothing from now on, I -shall have practically my choice of "zincs"--a monoplace de chasse, or -anything in the bombing or observation lines. If I break once, I lose my -chasse machine, and so on, down to the most prosaic type of heavy -bomber. Only one compensation in this very wise but severe system--the -worse the pilot, the safer the machine he finally flies. - -In spite of all my hopes, I had the inevitable crash--and in the very -last class of the school. Landing our Bleriots is a rather delicate -matter (especially to a beginner), and last week I had the relapse in -landings which so few beginners escape, with the result that I crashed -on my last flight of the morning. I felt pretty low about it, of course, -but on the whole I was not sorry for the experience, which blew up a lot -of false confidence and substituted therefor a new respect for my job -and a renewed keenness to succeed. After that I did better than ever -before, and made a more consistent type of landing. - - -Guynemer, the great French "Ace," has disappeared, and from accounts of -the fight one fears that he is dead. What a loss to France and to the -Allies! the end of a career of unparalleled romantic brilliancy. I shall -never forget one evening in Paris last spring. I was sitting in the Cafe -de la Paix, under the long awning that fronts the Boulevard des -Capucines. All Paris was buzzing with Guynemer's mighty exploit of the -day before--four German planes in one fight, two of them sent hurtling -down in flames within sixty seconds. It took one back to the old days, -and one foresaw that Guynemer would take his place with the legendary -heroes of France, with Roland and Oliver, Archbishop Turpin, Saint -Louis, and Charles Martel. - -Presently I looked up. A man was standing in the aisle before me--a -slender youth, rather, dressed in the black and silver uniform of a -captain in the French Aviation. Delicately built, of middle height, with -dark tired eyes set in a pale face, he had the look of a haggard boy who -had crowded the experience of a lifetime into a score of years. The -mouth was remarkable in so young a man--mobile and thin-lipped, -expressing dauntless resolution. On his breast the particolored ribbons -of his decorations formed three lines: Croix de Guerre, Medaille -Militaire, Officer of the Legion of Honor, Cross of St. George, English -Military Cross, and others too rare for recognition. - -All about me there arose a murmur of excited interest; chairs were -pushed back and tables moved as the crowd rose to its feet. Cynical -Swiss waiters, with armloads of pink and green drinks, halted agape. A -whisper, collective and distinct, passed along the terrace: "It is -Guynemer!" - -The day before, over the fiery lines, he had done battle for his life; -and this evening, in the gay security of Paris, he received the homage -of the people who adored him. - -He had been looking for a table, but when it became no longer possible -to ignore the stir, he raised his right hand in embarrassed salute and -walked quickly into the cafe. - -I spent my ten days' leave in a trip to Nice, and used up about half of -it in getting there. - -The trip south was a martyrdom--a long stifling ride to Paris, three -days' wait there for a reserved place to Marseilles, a day and a night -standing up in a corridor from Paris to Marseilles (had to give up my -seat to an unfortunate woman with two youngsters), and twenty-three -hours more in a corridor to get to Cannes. On the whole, the worst -journey I recollect. No stops for meals, so we all nearly starved, till -I finally obtained an armful of bottled beer and some sandwiches. - -I sat down on a trunk in the corridor and nodded off to sleep, only to -be awakened half an hour later by H---- F---- (S----'s cousin), who -stole up with a gesture for silence, and pointed at me with a shake of -his head and a broad grin. It must have been rather a rakish tableau. -On the floor to my left were half a dozen empty bottles; on one end of -the trunk I sat, heavy-eyed and half awake, and beside me, sound asleep, -with her head on my shoulder, was a respectable, very attractive, and -utterly unknown young woman! C'est la guerre! I motioned H---- away and -promptly went to sleep again. - -In Marseilles I had time for the Corniche, to see Monte Cristo's castle, -and eat a bouillabaisse, which I cannot recommend without reserve. With -an enormous floating population of sailors, shipping booming, and -streets ablaze at night, Marseilles seems far away from the war, after -the hushed gloom of nocturnal Paris. - -The trials for my military brevet were by far the most interesting thing -I have done in aviation. On finishing the sixty horse-power Bleriot -class, I was told that I would have to do my brevet work on a small -Caudron biplane, as there were no Bleriots available. A few short -flights in the Caudron gave me confidence that I could handle it; so one -rather cloudy morning the officer told me to make my official -altitude--which is merely one hour's stay at heights of over seven -thousand feet. I pulled on my great fur combination and fur-lined boots, -adjusted mittens, helmet, and goggles, and stepped into my machine, -number 2887, which the mechanic had been tuning up. "Coupe, plein gaz," -he shouted, above the roar of a score of motors, and gave the stick half -a dozen turns. Then, "Contact reduit"; and as I yelled back, "Contact -reduit," after the old starting formula, he gave a quick half turn to -the blades. Off she went with a roar, all ten cylinders hitting -perfectly, so I motioned him to pull out the blocks from before the -wheels. A quick rush and a turn headed me into the wind, and the next -moment the starter's arm shot forward. - -Old 2887 is a bully 'bus. I was off the ground and heading up in forty -yards. It was rather an occasion for a beginner who had never before -flown over twenty-five hundred feet. The little Caudrons, of course, are -not high-powered, but she climbed splendidly. In ten minutes I was -circling over the camp at thirty-eight hundred feet, and in twenty, I -had reached six thousand, just under the roof of the clouds. There was -only one blue hole through, so up this funnel I climbed in decreasing -circles, till I finally burst out into the gorgeous upper sunlight. At -eight thousand feet I began to float about in a world of utter celestial -loneliness--dazzlingly pure sun, air like the water of a coral atoll, -and beneath me a billowy sea of clouds, stretching away to infinity. -Here and there, from the cloudy prairies, great fantastic mountain -ranges reared themselves; foothills and long divides, vast snowy peaks, -impalpable sisters of Orizaba or Chimborazo, and deep gorges, ever -narrowing, widening, or deepening, across whose shadowy depths drove -ribbons of thin gray mist. - -Once, as I was sailing over a broad canyon, I saw, far off in the south, -a dark moving dot, and knew with a sudden thrill that another man like -myself, astride his gaunt buzzing bird, was exploring and marveling at -this upper dream-world. - -At last the hour was up. I shut off the motor and drove downward in a -series of long easy glides. Going through the clouds, one loses all -sense of balance and direction. It is bizarre and sometimes dangerous. -You plunge out into the old gray world beneath, to find yourself in a -nose-dive, or off on a wing, or upside down--it is all the same in a -cloud. - -The balance of the military trials consists in spirals, and so forth, -and a lot of cross-country flying by map and compass. First you make -two round trips to a place fifty miles away, and then two triangular -trips of about one hundred and fifty miles each. It is very easy, if you -keep your wits about you and have no hard luck. Roads, railroads, -rivers, woods, and canals are the principal guides to follow; towns and -cities you can only recognize by having counted their predecessors, -unless there is some very prominent building, cathedral or factory. A -road, from three thousand feet, shows as a very straight white line, -occasionally making angular turns. A railroad is a dark gray line, -always curving gently when it turns. Canals are ribbons of water, very -straight, between twin lines of trees. And so on. You watch your -compass, to check up the tend of roads and railroads, watch your -altimeter and tachometer (which tells the speed of your engine), and -above all watch always ahead for suitable landing fields, in case of -motor trouble. The wind also must be borne in mind; its direction can be -told from smoke. I was lucky and had no trouble at all. - -At Nice I ran into many Americans, and there were a good many Britishers -about, recovering from the recent severe fighting around Passchendaele. -They are a quiet and agreeable lot--very interesting when they talk -about their work, which is seldom. - -One captain had strolled into some heavy fighting with no weapon but a -heavy cane, and with this, walking astride of a deep narrow enemy -trench, he had killed eight Germans! An Australian captain, with the -rare ribbon of the V.C. on his breast, had gone into a crowded German -dugout with one companion, who was wounded at the first exchange of -bombs. Single-handed, he had bombed out the Boches, taken forty -prisoners back single-handed, and returned to bring out his wounded -brother officer. An epic feat! - - - - -III - -FULL-FLEDGED - - -Soon after my stay at Nice I went for a month to the Combat and -Acrobatic School of Pau, which completes the most dangerous of all the -flying training. A wonderful experience--somersaults, barrel-turns, -corkscrew dives, every conceivable aerial caper, and long flights daily: -skimming the highest peaks of the Pyrenees at three hundred feet above -the snow--trips to Biarritz and along the coast, flying ten feet above -the waves, etc. - -It is hard to say enough in praise of the school at Pau--the hundreds of -splendid machines, the perfect discipline and efficiency, the food, the -barracks, the courteous treatment of pilots by officers and instructors. -We were twenty Americans, in a clean airy barrack, with an Annamite to -make the beds and sweep up. The school covers an enormous area in the -valley of the Gave, just under the Pyrenees, and is ideal for an -aviation center so far as weather conditions go, its one drawback being -that motor-trouble, out of range of the aerodromes, means almost -inevitably a smash. All along the Gave they have the smallest fields and -the highest hedges I ever saw. The climate is superb--like the foothill -climate of California: cool nights, delicious days, wonderful dawns and -sunsets. - -They started us on the eighteen-metre machine, doing vertical spirals, -which are quite a thrill at first. You go to a height of about three -thousand feet, shut off the motor, tilt the machine till the wings are -absolutely vertical, and pull the stick all the way back. When an -aeroplane inclines laterally to over forty-five degrees, the controls -become reversed--the rudder is then the elevator, and the elevator the -rudder, so that, in a vertical spiral, the farther back you pull the -stick, the tighter the spiral becomes. You are at the same time dropping -and whirling in short circles. I once did five turns in losing a -thousand feet of altitude--an unusual number, the monitor told me with -satisfaction. Usually, one loses about three hundred feet to each turn, -but on my first attempt, I lost twenty-one hundred feet in three fourths -of a turn, because I did not pull back enough on the stick. - -After the eighteen-metre spirals we were given a few rides on the -fifteen-metre machine--very small, fast and powerful, but a delicious -thing to handle in the air; and after left and right vertical spirals on -this type, we went to the class of formation-flying, where one is -supposed to learn flying in squadron formation, like wild geese. This is -extremely valuable, but most men take this chance for joy-riding, as -they have petrol for three hours, and are responsible to no one. - -On my first day in this class I found no one at the rendezvous, so I -rose to about four thousand feet, and headed at a hundred miles an hour -for the coast. In thirty-five minutes I was over Biarritz, where my eyes -fairly feasted on the salt water, sparkling blue, and foam-crested. I do -not see how men can live long away from the sea and the mountains. My -motor was running like a clock and as I was beginning to have perfect -confidence in its performance, I came down in a long coast to the -ground, and went rushing across country toward the mountains, skimming a -yard up, across pastures, leaping vertically over high hedges of poplar -trees, booming down the main streets of villages, and behaving like an -idiot generally, from sheer intoxication of limitless speed and power. - -In a few moments I was at the entrance of one of the huge gorges that -pierce the Pyrenees--the sort of place up which the hosts of Charlemagne -were guided by the White Stag: deep and black and winding, with an icy -stream rushing down its depths. Why not? I gave her full gas and whizzed -up between black walls of rock that magnified enormously the motor's -snarl, up and up until there was snow beneath me and ahead I could see -the sun gleaming on the gorgeous ragged peaks. Up and up, nine, ten, -eleven thousand feet, and I was skimming the highest ridges that -separate France and Spain. Imagine rising from a field in Los Angeles, -and twenty-five minutes later flying over the two-mile-high ridges of -Baldy and Sheep Mountain, swooping down to graze the snow, or bounding -into the air with more speed and ease than any bird. - -At last, as my time was nearly up, I headed back for Pau. A few minutes -later, just as I sighted the pygmy groups of hangars, my motor gave -forth a loud bang and a sheet of flame, and several chunks of metal tore -whizzing through the aluminum hood. Automatically, I pulled at the lever -which closes the gasoline flow and tilted the machine forward to keep my -speed. Another bang, accompanied by black smoke. "Holy mackerel!" I -thought; "this is the end of me! Let's see--in case of fire, shut off -petrol, open throttle, and leave the spark on. Then go into a -nose-dive." - -Somehow you can't seem to get very excited at such moments,--everything -seems inevitable,--good or bad luck. I nose-dived, came out at five -thousand feet, killed my propeller, and was gratified to see, on looking -behind, that there was no more smoke. Starting the motor was of course -out of the question, as it would have promptly taken fire; so I shut -off throttle and spark, struck an easy glide, and began an anxious -search for a field. Most of them were no larger than postage-stamps, and -I knew they were hedged by the beastly poplars, but at last I spotted a -long one, in the direction of the wind, though not long enough to afford -more than a bare chance of avoiding a crash. It was the only hope, at -any rate; so down I coasted in glides and serpentines, jockeying to lose -height just over the trees. As luck would have it, I was a few feet low -and had to chance jumping the trees with none too much speed. The -splendid stability of the Nieuport saved me from a wing-slip, and a -moment later I landed with a bang in a ditch, breaking one wheel and -stopping within ten yards of a formidable line of willows. - -I crawled out of my seat and lay down in the long grass to rest, as my -head ached villainously from the too rapid descent. Somehow I dozed off -and was awakened by the friendly tongue of a huge Basque shepherd dog. -His mistress, a pretty Spanish-speaking peasant girl, appeared a minute -later, and her family were very decent to me. After some hot coffee with -brandy, and a piece of goat cheese, I attended to the formalities and -went back to camp. - - -After formation-flying we went to the acrobatic class or "Haute Ecole du -Ciel," where you are taught to put a machine through the wildest kinds -of maneuvers. This is the most dangerous class in any aviation training -in France--many excellent pilots, whose nerves or stomachs would not -stand the acrobatics, rest in the little cemetery at Pau. Wonderful -sport, though, if nature intended one for that sort of thing! The most -dreaded thing one does is the spinning nose-dive, or vrille (gimlet), -which formerly was thought invariably fatal. They have now discovered -that the small, very strong machines will come out of it safely, if the -rudder is put exactly in the middle and the stick pushed forward. - -The instructor in this class was a very dandified lieutenant, in a Bond -Street uniform, and wearing a monocle, who lay in a steamer-chair all -day, gazing up into the sky at the antics of his pupils. Around him -stood assistants with field-glasses, who watched the heavens anxiously, -and would suddenly bark out, "Regardez, mon lieutenant--l'Americain -Thompson en vrille." The lieutenant would then languidly look up at the -machine pointed out (they are distinguished by broad stripes, or -checker-boards, or colors), and, if the "type" up above had done well, -would remark, "Pas mal, celui-la." If some unfortunate plunged into the -ground and killed himself, the officer would rise gracefully from his -chair, flick the dust from his sleeve, and call for the "Black Cat," -his special "taxi." Jumping in with remarkable speed, he rose in a -series of the most breakneck evolutions, and flew to the scene of the -accident. In reality, his pose is the best in the world, as it keeps the -pilots gonfles, that is, courageous and confident, as opposed to -degonfles, or scared and nervous. - -I was watching all this from the ground, when a monitor unexpectedly -called out, "Nordhoff, Nordhoff!" - -"Present!" I yelled, as I ran toward him. - -"You will take the checker-board," he ordered, "rise to twelve hundred -metres, and do one vrille and two upside-down turns." - -I admit that I had a slight sinking spell as I walked to the machine, a -little thirteen-metre beauty. (Think of it, only thirteen square yards -of supporting surface!) It was all right as soon as I was strapped in -and had the motor going. Up we went, the "Bebe" climbing like a cat, at -incredible speed, while I anxiously repeated, again and again, the -instructions. Two turns of the field gave me my thirty-six hundred feet. -This was no time to hesitate, so, as I reached the required spot, away -from the sun, I shut off the motor, took a long breath, and pulled back -a bit on the stick. Slower and slower she went, until I felt the rather -sickening swaying that comes with a dangerous loss of speed. The moment -had come. Gritting my teeth, I gave her all the left rudder and left -stick, at the same moment pulling the stick all the way back. For an -instant she seemed to hang motionless--then with unbelievable swiftness -plunged whirling downwards. "Remember, keep your eyes inside--don't look -out, whatever happens," I thought, while a great wind tore at my -clothing and whistled through the wires. In a wink of time I had -dropped six hundred feet: so I carefully put the rudder in the exact -center, centered the stick, and pushed it gently forward. At once the -motion grew steadier, the wind seemed to abate, and the next moment I -dared to look out. It was over--I was in a steep glide, right side up, -safe and sound. I had done a vrille and come out of it! A gorgeous -sensation! I loved it, and queerly enough my first bewildered thought -was, "M---- would adore that!" - -Just to show the lieutenant that I was having a good time, I buzzed up -again and did two more vrilles, looking out the whole time at the -panorama of Pyrenees, villages, and river, whirling around with the most -amazing rapidity. Not a thing for bilious or easily dizzy people though, -as it means horses at the walk if you fail to do the right thing at -exactly the right moment. - -After the acrobatics, we went to classes in machine-gun shooting and -combat-flying--very interesting and practical, but not to be talked -about. - -After Pau, I had forty-eight hours' leave in Paris, bought a few things -I needed for the front, and was then sent to a place it is forbidden to -mention, expecting soon to get to flying over the lines. - - -On New Year's morning, as it was snowing hard and there was no flying, I -sat by a cozy fire, in the house of some English people. Curious thing, -running into them here. They are of the tribe of English who wander over -the face of the earth, and make England what she is. The man of the -house is an expert on ----, and has pursued his unusual vocation in -Cuba, Jamaica, Honduras, Guiana, "Portuguese East" and other parts of -Africa, as well as in Ceylon and a few other places I forget. Here he is -now, as expert for the French. His wife and seven children, who speak -French, Portuguese, Spanish, and Zulu, I think, follow him everywhere, -and are everywhere equally at home. I have tea with them after work, -and, needless to say, they are a Godsend in this desolate place. Let us -all pray that next New Year's day we shall be thanking God for a -victorious peace and returning to civilian life, never to put on -uniforms again. The finest uniform of all is the old civilian -suit--brass buttons and gold braid to the contrary. - -For this winter air-work, which is the coldest known occupation, I -think, this is the way we dress. First, heavy flannels and woolen socks. -Over that, a flannel shirt with sleeveless sweater on top, and uniform -breeches and tunic. Boots and spiral puttees (very warm things, if not -put on too tightly) go on next, and over all we pull on a great -combination, or fur-lined "teddy-bear" suit--waterproof canvas outside. -Over our boots we pull fur-lined leather flying boots, reaching half-way -up to our knees. For head-gear, a fur-lined leather cap, and around the -neck, several turns of gray muffler. A variety of mask and a pair of -"triplex" goggles to protect one's face from the icy breeze. With all -this, and heavy fur gloves, one can keep reasonably warm. - -As the 16th of January was the first good flying day for some time, -there was much activity. After lunch I went to the aerodrome just in -time to see the combat patrol come swooping down. An excited crowd was -gathered about the first machine in, and I learned that one of our best -pilots had just been brought down by a German two-seater, and that -H----, a nineteen-year-old American in our sister escadrille here, had -promptly brought the Hun down. I was proud to think that an American had -revenged our comrade. This makes H----'s second German within a week--a -phenomenal record for a beginner. He is an unusual youngster, and -handles a machine beautifully. He seems to have the mixture of dash, -cold nerve, and caution which makes an "ace." - -The German fell ten thousand feet directly over the trenches, but at the -last moment managed to straighten out a bit and crashed two hundred -yards inside his lines. H---- followed him down, and gliding over the -trenches at one hundred feet, saw one German limp out of the wreck and -wave a hand up at the victor. - -Another American boy had quite an exciting time lately when his motor -went dead far inside the enemy lines. Luckily he was high at the time; -so he flattened his glide to the danger-point, praying to be able to -cross into friendly country. Down he came, his "stick" dead, the wind -whistling through the cables, until close ahead he saw a broad belt of -shell-marked desolation, crisscrossed by a maze of meaningless trenches. -The ground was close; automatically he straightened out, avoiding a pair -of huge craters, touched, bumped, crashed into a thicket of wire, and -turned over. A jab at the catch of his belt set him free; but the really -important thing was whether or not he had succeeded in crossing the -German lines. Wisely enough, he crawled to a shell-hole, and from its -shelter began to reconnoiter warily. Muddy figures began to appear from -various holes and ditches, and at length a soldier who, so far as -appearances went, might have belonged to any army, leaned over the edge -of the hole and said something in _French_. Young S---- at that began to -breathe for the first time in at least a quarter of an hour. His -discoverer led him to a spacious dugout where two generals were at -lunch--a wonderful lunch, washed down with beverages forbidden to any -but generals. The great ones made the corporal welcome, laughed -themselves ill over his voluble but wonderful French, plied him with -food and good Scotch whiskey, and sent him home in one of their superb -closed cars. - - -Now that so many young Americans are beginning to fly in France, I fancy -that the people at home must wonder what sort of a time their sons or -brothers are having--how they live, what their work is, and their play. -Most people who have an immediate interest in the war must by now -possess a very fair idea of the military aviation training; but of the -pilot's life at the front I have seen little in print. - -I can speak, of course, only of conditions in the French aviation -service; but when our American squadrons take their places at the front, -the life is bound to be very similar, because experience has taught all -the armies that, to get the best results, pilots should be given a -maximum of liberty and a minimum of routine, outside of their duty, -which consists in but one thing--flying. - -Let us suppose, for example, that an American boy--we will call him -Wilkins, because I never heard of a man named Wilkins flying--has passed -through the schools, done his acrobatics and combat-work, and is waiting -at the great depot near Paris for his call to the front. Every day he -scans the list as it is posted, and at last, hurrah! his name is there, -followed by mysterious letters and numbers--G.C. 17, or S.P.A. 501, or -N. 358. He knows, of course, that he will have a single-seater scout, -but the symbols above tell him whether it will be a Spad or a Nieuport -and whether he is to be in a groupe de combat ("traveling circus," the -British call them) or in a permanent fighting unit. - -Wilkins is overjoyed to find he has been given a Spad, and hastens to -pack up, in readiness for his train, which leaves at 6 P.M. When his -order of transport is given him, he finds that his escadrille is -stationed at Robinet d'Essence, in a fairly quiet, though imaginary, -sector. Before leaving the depot he has issued to him a fur-lined -teddy-bear suit, fur boots, sweater, fur gloves, and a huge cork safety -helmet, which Wisdom tells him to wear and Common Sense pronounces -impossible. Common Sense wins; so Wilkins gives the thing to the keeper -of the "effets chauds pour pilotes," and retires. - -His flying things stuffed into a duffle-bag, which he has checked -directly through to far-off Robinet, our hero boards the train with -nothing but a light suitcase. He is delirious with joy, for it is long -since he has been to Paris, and at the depot discipline has been severe -and luxury scant. Every journey to the front is via Paris, and the -authorities wink a wise and kindly eye at a few hours' stopover. Outside -the station, an hour later, Wilkins is conscious of a sudden odd feeling -of calm, almost of content, which puzzles him until he thinks a bit. -Finally he has it--_this_ is what he is going to fight for, what all the -Allies are fighting for: this pleasant, crowded civilian life; the -dainty Frenchwomen going by on the arms of their permissionnaires, the -fine old buildings, the hum of peaceful pursuits. In the schools and at -the waiting depot he had nearly lost sight of real issues; but now it -all comes back. - -At his hotel he calls up Captain X---- of the American Aviation,--an old -friend, who is in Paris on duty,--and is lucky enough to catch him at -his apartment. They dine at the Cercle des Allies--the old Rothschild -palace, now made into a great military club, where one can see many -interesting men of all the Allied armies lunching and dining together. -Dinner over, they drop in at the Olympia, watch the show a bit, and -greet a multitude of friends who stroll about among the tables. A great -deal of air-gossip goes on: A---- has just bagged another Boche; B----, -poor chap, was shot down two days ago; C---- is a prisoner, badly -wounded. At a table near by, Wilkins, for the first time, sets eyes on -Lufbery, the famous American "ace," his breast a mass of ribbons, his -rather worn face lit up by a pleasant smile as he talks to a French -officer beside him. - -At eleven our young pilot says good-bye to his friend and walks through -the darkened streets to his hotel. What a joy, to sleep in a real bed -again! The train leaves at noon, which will give him time for a late -breakfast and a little shopping in the morning. After the first real -night's sleep in a month, and a light war-time breakfast of omelet, -bacon, broiled kidneys, and coffee, he is on the boulevards again, -searching for a really good pair of goggles, a fur-lined flying cap to -replace the hopeless helmet, and a pair of heavy mittens. Old friends, -in the uniforms of American subalterns, are everywhere; many wear the -stiff-looking wings of the American Flying Corps on their breasts. All -are filled with envy to hear that he is leaving for the front; their -turn will come before long, but meanwhile the wait grows tiresome. - -At length it is train time, and so, hailing a taxi and picking up his -bag on the way, Wilkins heads (let us say) for the Gare de l'Est, -getting there just in time to reserve a place and squeeze into the -dining-car, which is crowded with officers on their way to the front. -These are not the embusque type of officers which he has been -accustomed to in the schools,--clerkish disciplinarians, insistent on -all the small points of military observance,--but real fighting men and -leaders; grizzled veterans of the Champagne and the Somme, hawk-nosed, -keen-eyed, covered with decorations. - -Back in his compartment, our pilot dozes through the afternoon, until, -just as it has become thoroughly dark, the train halts at Robinet. On -the platform, half a dozen pilots of the escadrille, smart in their -laced boots and black uniforms, are waiting to welcome the newcomer, and -escort him promptly to the mess, where dinner is ready. Dinner over, he -is shown to his room--an officer's billet, with a stove, bathtub, and -other unheard-of luxuries. - -Next morning, one of his new comrades calls for Wilkins, presents him to -the captain, who proves very chic and shows him his machine, which has -just been brought out from the depot. The armorer is engaged in fitting -a Vickers gun on it, so Wilkins spends the rest of the day at the -hangar, sighting the gun, adjusting his belt, installing altimeter, -tachometer, and clock. - -An hour before sundown all is ready; so the American climbs into his -seat for a spin, fully aware that many appraising eyes will watch his -maiden performance. Off she goes with a roar, skimming low, over the -field, until her full speed is attained, when the pilot pulls her up in -a beautiful "zoom," banking at the same time to make her climb in a -spiral. Up and up and up, her motor snarling almost musically--and -suddenly she stops, quivers, and plunges downward, spinning. A hundred -yards off the ground she straightens out magically, banks stiffly to the -left, skims the hangars, and disappears. The mechanicians watching, -hands on hips, below, nod to one another in the French way. "Il marche -pas mal, celui-la," they say--high praise from them. - -Wilkins, meanwhile, has flown down the river, to where a target is -anchored in a broad shallow. Over it he tilts up and dives until the -cross hairs in his telescopic sight center on the mark. "Tut-tut-tut," -says the Vickers, and white dashes of foam spring out close to the -canvas. He nods to himself as he turns back toward the aerodrome. - -At dinner there is much talk, as the weather has been good. A---- and -L---- had a stiff fight with a two-place Hun, who escaped miraculously, -leaving their machines riddled with holes. M---- had a landing cable cut -by a bullet; J---- had a panne, and was forced to land uncomfortably -close to the lines. At eight o'clock an orderly comes in with the next -day's schedule: "Wilkins: protection patrol at 8 A.M." - -The French have not the English objection to "talking shop," and over -the coffee the conversation turns to the difficulties of bringing down -Huns and getting them officially counted--"homologue" the French call -it. The great airmen, of course,--men like Bishop, Ball, Nungesser, and -Guynemer,--get their thirty, forty, or fifty Boches; but nevertheless it -is a very considerable feat to get even one, and growing harder every -day. Nearly all the German hack-work--photography, reglage of artillery, -observation, and so forth--is now done by their new two-seaters, very -fast and handy machines and formidable to attack, as they carry four -machine-guns and can shoot in almost any direction. Most of the fighting -must be done in their lines; and far above, their squadrons of Albatross -single-seaters watch ceaselessly for a chance to pounce unseen. - -Add to this the fact that, to get an official count, the falling -Hun must be checked by two independent observers, such as -observation-balloon men, and you can see that it is no easy trick. - -Just before bedtime, the leader of the morning's patrol explains the -matter to Wilkins. The rendezvous is over a near-by village at three -thousand feet. Wilkins is to be last in line on the right wing of the V, -a hundred yards behind the machine ahead of him. Signals are: a wriggle -of the leader's tail means, "Open throttles, we're off"; a sideways -waving of his wings means, "I'm going to attack; stand by"; or, "Easy, I -see a Boche." - -After a not entirely dreamless sleep and a cup of coffee, our hero is at -the hangars at 7.30, helping his mechanic give the "taxi" a final -looking over. At 8 he takes the air and circles over the meeting-place -till the V is formed. Just as he falls into his allotted station the -leader, who has been flying in great circles, throttled down, wriggles -his tail, opens the throttle wide, and heads for the lines, climbing at -a hundred miles an hour. - -Wilkins is so busy keeping his position that he has scarcely time to -feel a thrill or to look about him. Suddenly, from below comes a vicious -growling thud, another, and another: _Hrrrump, hrrrump, hrrrump._ He -strains his head over the side of the fuselage. There below him, and -horribly close, he thinks, dense black balls are springing out--little -spurts of crimson at their hearts. The patrol leader begins to weave -about to avoid the "Archies," banking almost vertically this way and -that in hairpin turns, and poor Wilkins, at the tail end, is working -frantically to keep his place. He has never seen such turns, and makes -the common mistake of not pulling back hard enough when past forty-five -degrees. The result is that he loses height in a side-slip each time, -and gets farther and farther behind his man. - -Meanwhile, far up in the blue, their shark-like bodies and broad short -wings glimmering faintly in the upper sunlight, a patrol of Albatross -monoplaces is watching. Thousands of feet below, close to the trenches, -they see the clumsy photographic biplaces puffing back and forth about -their business. Above these, they see the V of Spads turning and -twisting as they strive to stay above the photographers they are -protecting. But wait, what is wrong with the Spad on the right end of -the V--a beginner surely, for at this rate he will soon lose his patrol? -As if a silent signal had been given, five Albatrosses detach themselves -from the flock, and reducing their motors still more, point their sharp -noses downward, and begin to drift insensibly nearer. - -Wilkins has been having a tough time of it, and at last, in a -three-hundred-foot wing-slip, has lost his comrades altogether, and is -flying erratically here and there, too intent and too new at the game to -watch behind him. Suddenly, two sparks of fire like tiny shooting stars -whizz by him, a long rip appears in the fabric of his lower wing, and -next moment, clear and unmistakable, he hears, "Tut, tut, tut, tut." He -nearly twists his head off, and perceives with horror that five sinister -forms, gray, sharp-snouted, and iron-crossed, are hemming him in, above, -below, behind. His thoughts, which occupy possibly a second and a half, -may be set down roughly as follows: "Five Boche single-seaters--too -many--must beat it--how? Oh, yes--climb in zigzags and circles, heading -for our lines." - -Leaving Wilkins for a moment, I must tell you a curious thing which -shows that men have much in common with dogs. You know how, in his own -yard, a fox-terrier will often put a mastiff to flight--and a -fox-terrier, at that, who fears for his life when he ventures on the -street? The same thing applies to flying--over the German lines you have -a sort of a small, insignificant feeling, look at things -pessimistically, and are apt to let your imagination run too freely. The -minute you are over friendly country, that changes: your chest -immediately expands several inches, you become self-assertive, rude, and -over-confident. Thus Wilkins. - -In a wild series of zooms and half-spirals, to throw off his pursuers' -aim, he reaches his own lines safely, and finds that all but one -Albatross have given up the chase. One of them, possibly a beginner -anxious for laurels, is not to be thrown off; so the American resolves -to have a go at him. - -They are at twelve thousand feet. The German is behind and slightly -below, maneuvering to come up under the Spad's tail. A second's -thought, and Wilkins banks sharply to the left, circles, and dives -before the Boche has realized that it is an air-attack. With the wind -screaming through his struts, he sees the enemy's black-leather helmet -fair on the cross hairs of the telescope, and presses the catch of the -gun. A burst of half a dozen shots, a pull and a heave to avoid -collision. As he rushes past the Albatross, he sees the pilot sink -forward in his seat; the machine veers wildly, begins to dive, to spin. -Good God--he's done it--what luck--poor devil! - -And that night at mess, Wilkins stands champagne for the crowd. - -Young H---- has had another wild time. He ran across a very fast German -two-seater ten miles behind our lines, fought him till they were twenty -miles inside the Boche lines, followed him down to his own aerodrome, -circled at fifty feet in a perfect hail of bullets, killed the Hun -pilot as he walked (or ran) from machine to hangars, riddled the -hangars, rose up, and flew home. - -He shot away over four hundred rounds--a remarkable amount from a -single-seater bus, as the average burst is only five or six shots before -one is forced to maneuver for another aim. - - -On a raw foggy day, in the cozy living-room of our apartment, with a -delicious fire glowing in the stove, and four of the fellows having a -lively game of bridge, one is certainly comfortable--absurdly so. Talk -about the hardships of life on the front! - -The mess is the best I have seen, and very reasonable for these times--a -dollar and a half per day each, including half a bottle of wine, beer, -or mineral water at each meal. A typical dinner might be: excellent -soup, entree, beefsteak, mashed potatoes, dessert, nuts, figs, salad. -While no man would appreciate an old-fashioned home-type American meal -more than I, one is forced to admit that the French have made a deep -study of cookery and rations designed to keep people in the best shape. -There is a certain balance to their meals--never too much concentrated, -starchy, or bulky food. The variety, considering the times, is really -wonderful. Breakfasts my pal and I cook ourselves, occasionally breaking -out some delicacy such as kidneys en brochette. - -We have an amusing system of fines for various offenses: half a franc if -late for a meal; a franc if over fifteen minutes late; half a franc for -throwing bread at the table; half a franc for breaking a tail-skid (on a -"cuckoo"); a franc for a complete smash; a franc and a half if you hurt -yourself to boot; and so on. A fellow hit a tree a while ago, had a -frightful crash, and broke both his legs. When he leaves the hospital, -the court will decide this precedent and probably impose on him a -ruinous fine. - -Of course no one ever pays a fine without passionate protests; so our -meals are enlivened by much debate. As we have a very clever lawyer and -a law student almost his equal, accuser and accused immediately engage -counsel, and it is intensely entertaining to hear their impassioned -arraignments and appeals to justice and humanity: deathless Gallic -oratory, enriched with quotations, classical allusions, noble gestures; -such stuff as brings the Chamber to its feet, roaring itself hoarse; and -all for a ten-penny fine! - -A good bit of excitement lately, over uniforms. In aviation, one knows, -there is no regulation uniform: each man is supposed to wear the color -and cut of his previous arm. The result is that each airman designs for -himself a creation which he fondly believes is suited to his style of -soldierly beauty--and many of these confections haven't the slightest -connection with any known French or Allied uniform. One may see -dark-blue, light-blue, horizon-blue, black, and khaki; trousers turned -up at the bottom; open-front tunics (like a British officer), and every -variety of hat, footwear, and overcoat. - -I, for instance (being in the Foreign Legion), wear khaki, open-fronted -tunic, a very unmilitary khaki stock necktie, Fox's puttees, and United -States Army boots. Naturally, I have to duck for cover whenever I see -the general loom up in the offing; for he is a rather particular, testy -old gentleman, very military, and can't abide the "fantaisies" of the -aviator tribe. Lately he has caught and severely reprimanded several of -the boys; so I guess that I shall have to have the tailor make certain -unfortunate changes in my garments. - -The weather of late has been wretched for flying. A low, frosty mist -hangs over the countryside; the trees, especially the pines, are -exquisite in their lacy finery of frost. The few days we have of decent -weather are usually interesting, as the Hun ventures over chez nous to -take a few photographs, and with a little luck the boys are able to -surprise him into a running fight. At night, when the tired war-birds -buzz home to roost, a crowd of pilots and mechanics gathers before the -hangars. All gaze anxiously into the northeastern sky. The captain paces -up and down--though he has flown four hours, he will not eat or drink -till he has news of his pilots. Jean is missing, and Charlot, and -Marcel. Night is drawing on--the sky flushes and fades, and faces are -growing just a trifle grave. - -Suddenly a man shouts and points--Jean's mechanician,--and high up in -the darkening east we see three specks--the missing combat patrol. Next -moment the hoarse drone of their motors reaches our ears; the sound -ceases; in great curving glides they descend on the aerodrome. We hear -the hollow whistling of their planes, see them, one after another, clear -the trees at ninety miles an hour, dip, straighten, and rush toward us, -a yard above the grass. A slight bumping jar, a half-stop, and each -motor gives tongue again in short bursts, as the pilots taxi across to -the hangars, snapping the spark on and off. - -Then a grand scamper to crowd around our half-frozen comrades, who -descend stiffly from their "zincs," and tell of their adventures, while -mechanics pull off their fur boots and combinations. Other "mecanos" are -examining the machines for bullet- and shrapnel-holes--often a new wing -is needed, or a new propeller; sometimes a cable is cut half through. -Snatches of talk (unintelligible outside the "fancy") reach one; we, of -course, know only the French, but the R.F.C. stuff is equally cryptic. - -"Spotted him at four thousand eight, 'piqued' on him, got under his -tail, did a chandelle, got in a good rafale, did a glissade, went into a -vrille, and lost so much height I could not catch him again." - -An R.F.C. man would say, "Spotted him at forty-eight hundred, dove on -him, got under his tail, did a zoom, got in a good burst, did a -side-slip, went into a spin," etc. I may say that "chandelle" or "zoom" -means a sudden, very steep leap upward (limited in length and steepness -by the power and speed of the machine). Some of our latest machines will -do the most extraordinary feats in this line--things that an old -experienced pilot in America would have to see to believe. A "glissade" -is a wing-slip to the side, and down; a "vrille" is a spinning -nose-dive. - -Among the younger pilots are several who entertain spectators with all -sorts of acrobatic feats over the aerodrome. A fine exhibition of skill -and courage, but foolish at times--especially after a fight, when vital -parts may be dangerously weakened by bullet-holes. Too much acrobacy -strains and weakens the strongest aeroplane. I believe in doing just -enough to keep your hand in, as in fights you are forced to put enough -unusual stresses on your bus. - - -I hope to know very soon whether or not we are to be transferred to the -American army. The long delay has worked hardships on a good many of us, -as of course no pilot could begin to live on the pay we get. The -Franco-American Flying-Corps fund (for which, I believe, we must thank -the splendid generosity of Mr. Vanderbilt) has helped immensely in the -past, but some of the boys are in hard straits now. I hope we shall be -transferred, because the pay will make us self-supporting, and any -American would rather be in United States uniform nowadays, in spite of -the bully way the French treat us, and our liking for our French -comrades, with whom it will be a wrench to part. - -The point regarding our present pay is this: all French aviators are -volunteers, knowing conditions in the air-service beforehand. Before -volunteering, therefore, they arrange for the necessary private funds; -if not available, they keep out of flying. We get two and a half francs -a day (as against five sous in the infantry), but on the other hand, we -are lodged, and forced by tradition to live, like officers. It is fine -for the chap who has a little something coming in privately, but tough -for the one who is temporarily or permanently "broke." - -Our boys are going to do splendid things over here. Everywhere one sees -discipline, efficiency, and organization that make an American's chest -go out. The first slackness (unavoidable at the start of a huge and -unfamiliar job) has completely disappeared. People at home should know -of all this as quickly and as much in detail as expedient: they are -giving their money and their flesh and blood, and prompt and racy news -helps wonderfully to hearten and stimulate those whose duty is at home. - -For myself, there is nowhere and nobody I would rather be at present -than here and a pilot. No man in his senses could say he enjoyed the -war; but as it must be fought out, I would rather be in aviation than -any other branch. A pleasant life, good food, good sleep, and two to -four hours a day in the air. After four hours (in two spells) over the -lines, constantly alert and craning to dodge scandalously accurate -shells and suddenly appearing Boches, panting in the thin air at twenty -thousand feet, the boys are, I think, justified in calling it a day. I -have noticed that the coolest men are a good bit let down after a dogged -machine-gun fight far up in the rarefied air. It may seem soft to an -infantryman--twenty hours of sleep, eating, and loafing; but in reality -the airman should be given an easy time outside of flying. - -I was unfortunate enough to smash a beautiful new machine yesterday. Not -my fault; but it makes one feel rotten to see a bright splendid thing -one has begun to love strewn about the landscape. Some wretched little -wire, or bit of dirt where it was not wanted, made my engine stop dead, -and a forced landing in rough country full of woods and ditches is no -joke. I came whizzing down to the only available field, turned into the -wind, only to see dead ahead a series of hopeless ditches which would -have made a frightful end-over-end crash. Nothing to do but pull her up -a few feet and sail over, risking a loss of speed. I did this, and -"pancaked" fairly gently, but had to hit ploughed ground across the -furrow. The poor "coucou"--my joy and pride--was wrecked, and I climbed, -or rather dropped, out, with nothing worse than a sore head, where the -old bean hit the carlingue. Now all the world looks gray, though our -captain behaved like the splendid chap he is about it: not a word of the -annoyance he must have felt. - -The very finest motors, of course, do stop on occasions. Better luck, I -hope, from now on. - - -As the days go by, I find much that is novel and interesting about the -aerial war, which in reality is quite different from any idea of it that -I had had. I will try to give a rough idea of how the upper war is -carried on. - -The trenches, sometimes visible, often quite invisible from the heights -at which one flies, form the dividing line between us and the Boche. -Behind them, at distances of from seven to fifteen miles, are the -aerodromes--a few acres of tolerably flat land, three or four or half a -dozen hangars (often cleverly camouflaged), barracks, and sheds for -automobiles. Each side, of course, knows pretty well the locations of -the enemy aerodromes. This gives rise to a certain amount of give and -take in the bombing line, which, in the end, accomplishes very little. - -It is a curious fact that in certain sectors the aviator's life is made -miserable by this ceaseless bombing, while in other places a species of -unwritten understanding permits him to sleep, at least, in peace. I have -a friend in a far-off escadrille who has to jump out of bed and dive for -the dugouts nearly every clear night, when the sentry hears the -unmistakable Mercedes hum close overhead, the shutting off of the -motor, and the ominous rush of air as the Huns descend on their mark. He -knows that the Germans get as good as, or better than they give--but the -knowledge does not make up for lost sleep. In my sector, on the other -hand, we could blow the Boche aerodromes to atoms and they could -probably do as much for us, but neither side has started this useless -"strafing." Just before an attack, such bombing might be of military -value; otherwise it only harasses vainly men who need what sleep they -get, and destroys wealth on both sides, like exchanging men in checkers -without profiting in position. I have heard parlor warriors at home say, -"By all means make war as unpleasant as possible--then it won't happen -again." But there is a limit to this, when nothing of tactical value is -accomplished. - -The aerodromes are the headquarters of the different squadrons, each of -which is specialized in some type of work. Military aviation divides -itself into certain groups, requiring different types of machines and -different training for pilot or observer. These groups are day-bombing, -night-bombing, observation, photography, artillery fire-control, and -chasse. I would like to tell you all about the different buses used, but -of course one is not at liberty to do so. In general, bombing-machines -are rather large two-seaters or three-seaters, designed to rise to great -heights, where they are very fast, and capable of carrying heavy loads -for long distances. They are, naturally, well armed, but depend (for -safely carrying out their missions) principally on their speed at -altitudes of eighteen thousand feet or more. Photography, observation, -and artillery control machines, on the other hand, must be fast at lower -altitudes, handy in a fight, and speedy climbers. They are, so far as I -know, always two-seaters, and are really the most important of all -aeroplanes. I believe that all the allied designers should work together -to produce a single uniform type of two-seater--small, quick to -maneuver, and very fast up to fifteen or sixteen thousand feet. Such -machines, flying about their work in small groups, are truly formidable -things for single-seater scouts to attack, as they are nearly as fast -and handy, and have the enormous advantage of being able to shoot -backward as well as forward. With light double-controls for the -machine-gun man or observing officer (who would take a few lessons in -emergency flying), they could not be brought down by killing the -pilot--a most valuable feature. - -The Boches have such machines,--particularly the Rumpler,--which are -tough nuts to crack, even when outnumbered. Two of our boys had a -running fight with a Rumpler recently, and dove at him alternately for -thirty minutes over forty miles of country. Both were nearly brought -down in the process--and they failed to bag the enemy machine, though at -the last they did for the observer. This shows the great value of the -fast two-place bus. I doubt if people at home are aware of the -difficulties of designing a two-seater which one could pronounce, -without hesitation, the best. It must have four major qualities: speed, -climbing ability, diving speed, and handiness. The need of strength, or -high factor of safety, goes without saying. Speed is simply a matter of -power and head resistance, and is comparatively easy to attain alone; -the rub comes in combining with it the requisite climbing power, and -factor of safety. The Germans, in general, seem to believe in a very -heavy, substantial motor, which cuts their climbing to a certain extent, -but gives them a very fast dive. The Allies' machines, I should say, -are slightly faster climbers, but cannot follow a diving Hun. And so it -goes--to have one quality in perfection, another must be sacrificed. - -Last of all come the single-seaters, whose sole purpose is to fight. -Many different types have been tried--monoplanes, biplanes, and -triplanes, with different kinds of fixed and rotary motors. At present -the biplane seems to have it (though I have seen an experimental -monoplane that is a terror), as the monoplane is by nature too weak, and -the triplane (magnificent otherwise!) is too slow in diving for either -attack or escape. - -The work the different groups perform seems to be roughly the same in -the Allied and enemy armies. The day-bombers fly at great heights, -sometimes escorted and protected by single-seaters. The night-bombers -fly fairly low, never escorted. Photographers, observers, and artillery -regulators have a nasty job, as they must fly rather low, constantly -subjected to a galling attention from old Archibald. When their mission -requires it, they are escorted by chasse machines--a job that -single-seater pilots do not pine for, because they often go twenty or -thirty miles into "Bochie," where motor-trouble means a soup diet till -the end of the war; and because, at low altitudes, hovering over a slow -"cuckoo," the anti-aircraft gunners have too good a time. - -The single-seaters may be divided into two classes: the first does -escort work about half the time, the second does nothing but parade up -and down the lines, hunting for trouble. The last are the elite among -airmen. Unfortunately I am not one of them, as they are recruited only -from tried and skillful pilots. As to fighting, there is a good deal of -popular misconception. One imagines picturesque duels to the death, -between A (the great French or English ace) and X (his German -competitor)--the multitude of straining, upturned eyes, the distant -rattle of shots, the flaming spin of the loser. As a matter of fact, a -duel between two monoplaces, handled by pilots of anything like equal -skill, who are _aware of each other's presence_, is not unlikely to end -without bloodshed. Bear in mind that they can shoot only forward, that -the gun must be aimed by aiming the whole machine (to which it is fixed -immovably), and that a twisting, climbing, banking aeroplane, traveling -at over one hundred miles per hour, is no joke to hit in its small -vitals, and you can see that this must be so. - -The truth is, that the vast majority of fights which end in a victory -are between scouts and two-seaters, and that it needs two scouts to -attack one biplace with anything like even chances of winning. Think a -moment. The two-seater is nearly as fast and handy as you are; he can -therefore avoid you and shoot forward almost as well, and in addition, -he has a man astern who can shoot up, sideways, and backwards with most -superior accuracy. This disconcerting individual, it is true, cannot -shoot straight down when the wings are horizontal, but to enable him to -do so, the pilot has only to tilt the machine to the necessary angle. - -Now, suppose two French monoplaces sight an Iron-Crossed two-seater. -Flying at sixteen thousand feet, they see French shrapnel in white puffs -bursting below them at two thousand feet, and several miles away. They -change their course, and presently, dodging in and out among the fleecy -balls, they espy a fast biplace, heavily camouflaged in queer splotches -of green, brown, and violet. Coming nearer, they make out the -crosses--ha, a Boche! Nearer and nearer they come, till they are four -hundred yards behind and six hundred feet above the enemy, who has seen -them and is making tracks for home. Three hundred yards, by the way, is -the closest one may safely approach a machine-gun in the air. At this -point A dives on the Boche to about two hundred and fifty yards, shoots -a short burst, and veers off. The German machine-gunner lets him have a -rafale, but meanwhile B has dived under and behind the enemy's tail. -There he stays, at a fairly safe distance, with his eye on the rudder -above him, ready to anticipate the banks which might enable the gunner -to get in a burst. As soon as A sees that B is beneath the Boche, he -dives and shoots again. The gunner is in a quandary--if he aims at A, B -will slip up and forward, rear his machine into position, and deliver a -possibly deadly burst. If he devotes his attention to B, A will be safe -to make a dive to dangerously close quarters. There you have the theory -of the most common of all attacks--but in reality it is more difficult -than it sounds. The three machines are traveling at great speed, and -constantly twisting, rearing, and diving. It is the easiest thing in the -world to pass another plane, turn to follow it, and see nothing, no -matter how you strain your eyes. In passing, your combined speed might -be roughly _one hundred and twenty yards per second_, and you are both -moving in three dimensions. The object for which you search may be to -the side, ahead, above, below; and every second of your search may be -increasing its distance at enormous speed. - -It is bitterly cold, and I am sitting in our cozy mess-room waiting for -lunch, which is at twelve. A dense fog hangs over the aerodrome, and the -trees are beautifully frosted. - -Just had word that a boy who was at Avord in my time has bagged one of -the "Tangos"--no mean feat. It is the crack escadrille of all -Germany--Albatross DIII's, driven by the pick of the Hun fighting -pilots, and commanded, I believe, by Von Richthofen--the most famous of -German aces. They are a formidable aggregation, recognizable by rings of -tango red around their Iron Crosses, and stripes of the same color along -the fuselage. For a young pilot to bring one of these birds down in one -of his first flights over the lines is a wonderful piece of luck and -skill. - -On days (like to-day) when the weather makes flying impossible, the -fellows sleep late, make a long, luxurious toilet, breakfast, and stroll -down to the hangars, where they potter around their "zincs," feeling -over the wires, adjusting the controls, tinkering their machine-guns, or -perhaps fitting on some sort of new trick sight. Sights are a hobby with -every pilot and nearly every one has different ideas on the subject, -advocating telescopic or open, one or two-eye outfits. Then, if one is -extra careful, he takes out the long belt of cartridges, feels each -bullet to make sure it is tightly crimped in the shell, and pushes and -pulls the shells until all are exactly even. "Jams" are the curse of -this game, and no amount of trouble is too much, if it insures a smooth -working gun. Some jams can be fixed in the air, but others render you -defenseless until you can land. - -Each pilot has his own mechanic, who does nothing but look after his -bus, and is usually a finished comedian in addition to being a crack -mechanic. In truth, I never ran across a more comical, likable, -hard-working crew than the French aviation mechanics. They are mostly -pure Parisian "gamins"--speaking the most extraordinary jargon, in which -everything but the verbs (and half of them) is slang, of the most -picturesque sort. Quick-witted, enormously interested in their work, -intelligent and good-natured, they are the aristocrats of their trade, -and know it. You should see them when they go on leave. Jean or Chariot, -ordinarily the most oily and undignified of men, steps out of the -squadron office arrayed in a superb blue uniform, orange tabs on his -collar, a mirror-like tan belt about his waist--shaven, shorn, shining -with cleanliness, puffing an expensive-looking, gilt-banded cigar. Is it -fancy--or is there a slight condescension in his greeting? Well, it is -natural--you can never hope to look so superbly like a field-marshal. A -little crowd of pals gathers around, for it is just after lunch; and -presently the motorbus draws up with a scream of brakes and a cloud of -dust. The motor has "AV" in big letters on the side, and its driver (not -to be confounded with any mere ambulance or lorry chauffeur) would feel -it a disgrace to travel under forty miles an hour, or to make anything -but the most spectacular of turns and stops. The driver produces a -silver cigarette case, passes it round, takes a weed, taps it on his -wrist, and chaffs the permissionnaire about a new godmother on whom he -is planning to call in Paris. - -Presently the captain steps out of his office; the departing one spins -about, head back and chest out, cigar hidden in his left hand; -"click"--his heels come together magnificently, and up goes his right -hand in a rigid salute. Smiling behind his mustache, our extremely -attractive captain salutes in return, and shakes Chariot's hand warmly, -wishing him a pleasant leave. He is off, and you can picture him -to-morrow strolling with princely nonchalance along the boulevards. What -if he earns but five cents a day--he saves most of that, and his pilot -presents him with a substantial sum every Saturday night, all of which -is put away for the grand splurge, three times a year. - -In Paris, you will recognize the type--well dressed in neat dark blue, -orange collar with the group number on it, fingernails alone showing the -unmistakable traces of his trade, face, eyes and manner registering -interest and alert intelligence. As likely as not you see him on the -terrace of some great cafe--a wonderfully smart little midinette (his -feminine counterpart) beside him, with shining eyes of pride--and at the -next table a famous general of division, ablaze with the ribbons of half -a dozen orders. - -The "mecanos" dress as nearly like pilots as they dare, and after flying -is over in the evening are apt to appear about the hangars in the -teddy-bear suits and fur boots of the "patron." Some funny things happen -at such times. There is a class of officers, called "officers of -administration," attached to squadrons and groups of aviation, who do -not fly, but look after the office and business end of the equipe. They -are worthy men and do absolutely necessary work, but somehow are not -very swank. - -One day it became known that the revered Guynemer was to visit a certain -escadrille, and naturally all the officers were on fire to shake the -hero's hand--a reminiscence to hand down to their children's children. -The administration officer--a first lieutenant--was late in getting away -from the bureau, and when he got to the field, Guynemer had landed, left -his machine, and gone to have the sacred aperitif of five o'clock. -Meanwhile, the chief comedian of all the mechanics, dressed by chance in -his pilot's combination and boots, and proud to tinker (with reverent -fingers) the famous Spad, had run out to where it stood, filled it with -gas and oil, touched up the magneto, and cleaned a couple of plugs. The -officer, as he came to the hangars, perceived the well-known "taxi," -with the stork on its side, and a furry figure strolling towards him. A -snap of heels, the position of attention, and he was saluting (as he -thought) one of the most glorious figures of France. The comedy -mechanician--taking in the situation at a glance--strolled magnificently -by, with a careless salute and a nod. The officer never inquired who it -was he had saluted--but what a tale to pass around the barrack stove on -winter evenings! Mistaken for Guynemer! Saluted by a two-striper! - -In clothes and get-up the mechanics follow the pilots' lead, but in -language the situation is reversed--we take pride in memorizing, -chuckling over, and using at every opportunity the latest word or phrase -invented by these gifted slangsters. An aeroplane is never "avion" or -"appareil," but "zinc," "taxi," or "coucou." Motor is "moulin"--to start -it, one "turns the mill." In the aviation, one does not eat, one -"pecks." One is not killed--one "breaks one's face," though face is not -the inelegant word in use. Gasoline is "sauce"; to open the throttle, -you "give her the sauce." A motor breakdown is not, as in the automobile -service, a "panne," but a "carafe"--heaven knows why! and so on. - -Life out here is in many ways a contrast to the last six months. Though -only a beginner, a bleu, I am Somebody, through the mere fact of being a -pilot, and most of all a pilote de chasse--a most chic thing to be. I -must dress well, shave daily, wear my hair brushed straight back and -long,--in contrast to all other branches of the army,--have my boots and -belt polished like a mirror, and frequent only the best cafe in town. -These are, of course, unwritten rules, but sternly lived up to--and I -confess that the return of self-respect, after months of dirt and -barrack life, is not unpleasant. - -Our escadrille, composed of ten French pilots, two Americans, and the -officers, is really a very decent crowd of chaps of good family and -education. Frenchmen of this kind are good fellows and pleasant -companions, differing from us only on certain racial points of outlook -and humor. Among them are two lawyers (with all the French lawyer's -delicate wit, irony, and love of play on words), a large wine-grower (if -you can grow wine), a professional soldier from Morocco, a medical -student, and my room-mate, a most attractive chap, an English -public-school man, whose family are French importers in London. He has -been nearly everywhere, is absolutely bi-lingual, and is the sort of man -who is at home in any kind of company. - -From time to time, of course, some one is brought down, and though I -dislike it intensely, one feels that decency demands one's presence at -the funeral. Elaborate, rather fine ceremony usually, where the Gallic -emotional nature appears at its best. At the last one, for instance, the -captain (brave as a lion, and a man to his finger-tips) was overcome in -the midst of his speech of eulogy and burst into tears. Impossible to an -Anglo-Saxon, but to me there was something very fine in the sight of -this splendid officer, frankly overcome with grief at the loss of one of -his men. When the ceremony is over, each pilot and friend comes to pay -respect to the departed comrade, takes up in turn an implement shaped -like an Indian-club, dips it in holy water, makes a sign with it over -the coffin, draped in the Tri-color, and sprinkles a few drops of water -on the flag. - -At our mess, we have queer little things of glass to rest knife and fork -on, while the dishes are being changed; and last night at dinner, when -the captain's orderly assigned one pilot to a particularly ticklish -mission, an irrepressible American youth who was dining with us picked -up one of these knife-rests (shaped exactly like a holy-water -sprinkler), stood up very solemnly, made the sign over his victim, and -sprinkled a few drops on his head. Amid roars of laughter every one at -the table stood up in turn and did likewise. A harmless joke to us, but -I am not sure of its good taste to a Frenchman. - -If I had known France before the war I could decide better a question -that constantly occurs to me: "Has France grown more religious with -war?" The educated Frenchman is certainly the most intelligent, the most -skeptical, the least inclined to take things on trust of all men, yet on -the whole I am inclined to believe that religious feeling (by no means -orthodox religion) has grown and is growing. In peace times, death seems -a vitally important thing, to be spoken of with awe and to be dreaded, -perhaps as the end of the game, if you chance to be a materialist. - -All that is changed now. You go to Paris on leave, you spend two or -three days delightfully with Bill or Jim or Harry, a very dear friend, -also in on leave from his battery, regiment, or squadron. - -A week later some one runs up to you with a long face. "Bill got crowned -on Thursday," he says; "joined a Boche patrol by mistake and brought -down before he saw the crosses. Poor old cuss." You sigh, thinking of -the pleasant hours you have passed with Bill--your long talks together, -his curious and interesting kinks of outlook, the things which make -personality, make one human being different from another. Somehow your -thoughts don't dwell on his death as they would in peace-times--a week -or a month later your mind has not settled into taking for granted his -non-existence. Next time you visit Paris, you hasten to his former -haunts--half expecting to find him absorbing a bock and expounding his -peculiar philosophy. - -Is there a life after death? Of course there is--you smile a little to -yourself to think you could ever have believed otherwise. This, I am -confident, is common experience nowadays. The belief that individuality -ceases, that death is anything but a quick and not very alarming change, -is too absurd to hold water. It is a comforting thought and gives men -strength to perform duties and bear losses which in ordinary times would -come hard. - - -I have just been made popotier--I don't know what you call it in -English, but it means the individual who attends to the mess: buys -provisions, wine, and so forth, makes out menus, keeps accounts, and -bosses the cook. A doubtful honor, but one of which I am rather proud -when I think that a crowd of French officers have entrusted to me the -sacred rites of the table. I was never much of a gourmet, but what -little I know stands me in good stead. - -To-day was the occasion of the first considerable feast under my -regime--a lunch given by the officers of our squadron to some -distinguished French visitors. The cook and I held long and anxious -consultations and finally turned out a meal on which every one -complimented us: excellent hors d'oeuvres, grilled salmon steaks, roast -veal, asparagus, and salad. A dry Chablis with the fish and some really -good Burgundy with the roast. Not bad for the front, really. - -I give the cook each night enough money for the next day's marketing. -The following evening he tells me the amount of the day's expenses, -which sum I divide by the number present, giving each man's share for -the day. Very simple. - -Since I got my new machine I have become a genuine hangar-loafer. It is -so delicate and complicated that my unfortunate mechanics have to work -practically all the time to keep me going. The only way to get the work -done well is to know about it yourself; and so, against my instincts, I -have been forced for the first time to study the technical and -mechanical side of my bus. - -Some say, "The pilot should never know too much about his machine--it -destroys his dash." Perhaps they are right--certainly a plunge into this -maze of technicalities destroys his sleep--there is an unwholesome -fascination about it: hundreds of delicate and fragile parts, all -synchronized as it were and working together, any one of which, by its -defection, can upset or even wreck the whole fabric. A simple -motor-failure, even in our own lines and at a good altitude, is no joke -in the case of the modern single-seater. Small and enormously heavy for -its wing-surface, it first touches ground at too high a speed for -anything but the longest and smoothest fields. In pannes of this sort, -the pilot usually steps out of the most frightful-looking wreck smiling -and quite unhurt; but you can scarcely imagine the chagrin and -depression one feels at breaking a fine machine. I did it once, and it -made me half sick for a week, though it was not really my fault at all. - -After lunch, instead of taking a nap as one does when on duty at -daybreak, I go to the "bar" to read letters and papers and see friends -from the other squadrons. As I go in the door, five friends in flying -clothes go out. - -"See you in two hours," says Lieutenant D----. "Let's have a poker game; -I've got a patrol now." - -"All right," I say, "I'll be here"--though I'm not very keen on French -poker, which is somewhat different from ours. - -The two hours pass in a wink of time as I lie in a steamer-chair, -reading and reveling in the warm drowsy May afternoon. A sound of -motors, the hollow whistling rush of landing single-seaters, and I -glance out of the door. Here they come, lumbering across the field--but -only four. I get up hastily and run to where the flight-commander is -descending stiffly from his bus. His face is long, as we crowd around. - -"Where's D----?" I ask anxiously. - -"Brought down, I'm afraid," he answers. "We chased some two-seaters -twenty-five miles into the Boche lines, and nine Albatrosses dropped on -us. Got two of them, I think; but after the first mix-up, I lost track -of D----, and he didn't come back with us." - -A melancholy little procession heads for the bar, and while the affair -is being reexplained, the telephone rings. - -"Lieutenant D---- has been found at X----. He was shot through the -chest, but managed to regain our lines before he died. He was on the -point of landing in a field when he lost consciousness. The machine is -not badly smashed." - -At a near-by table, a dice game, which started after lunch and has been -interrupted to hear the news, continues. I resume my place in my chair -and spread out the Paris "Herald"--unable to focus my mind on the -steamship arrivals or the offensive. Poor old D----! - -We have had lovely weather for the past fortnight--long warm days have -made the trees burst into leaf and covered the meadows with -wild-flowers. The quail have begun to nest--queer little fellows, quite -unlike ours, whose love-song is, "_Whit_, twit, whit," with a strong -emphasis on the first "whit." - -Sometimes, at night, a nightingale, on a tree outside my window, charms -me to wakefulness with his dripping-sweet music. - - -These are strenuous days--I have done nothing but fly, eat, and sleep -for a fortnight. Our "traveling circus" has been living up to its -name--going about from place to place with amazing mobility and speed. I -have lived for a week with no baggage but the little bag I carry in my -plane. It contains one change of light underwear, one pair of socks, -tooth-brush, tooth-paste, tobacco, sponge, soap, towel, shaving things, -mirror, a first-aid kit, and a bottle of eau de cologne. With this I can -weather a few days anywhere until the baggage-trucks catch up. - -Our mobility is marvelous--we can receive our orders at daybreak, -breakfast, and land in a place a hundred miles away in an hour and a -half. Then a little oil and petrol, and we are ready to bounce -something off the local Boche. I could easily write a large calf-bound -volume on nothing but my experiences of the past week--one of the most -strangely fascinating (in retrospect) of my life, though saddened by the -loss of two of our pilots, one an American. - -We had no sooner got to this place than we were sent out on a -patrol--six of us, with a French lieutenant, a special friend of mine, -as flight-commander. None of us had flown before in this sector, and a -young American (S----, of New York) was making his second flight over -the lines. The weather was wretched, thick, low-hanging clouds with a -fine drizzle of rain--visibility almost zero. While mechanics filled the -machine, I pored over my map till I had all necessary landmarks -thoroughly in mind. At last the captain glanced at his watch and -shouted, "En voiture!" - -I climbed into my tiny cockpit, loaded my gun with a snap of the lever, -wiped the sights free of moisture, and sank back in my seat, while my -mechanic adjusted the belt which holds one tight in place. Up went the -captain's hand, and almost with a single roar the six motors started. -One after another we rushed across the field, rose to the low ceiling of -the clouds, and swept back, bunched like a flock of teal. The -flight-commander's head, a black leather dot in his cockpit, turned -swiftly for a glance back. All there and well grouped; so he headed for -the lines, flying so low that we seemed to shave the spires of village -churches. Soon the houses ceased to have roofs--we were over the front. - -A great battle was raging below us--columns of smoke rose from the towns -and the air was rocked and torn by the passage of projectiles. Far and -near the woods were alive with the winking flash of batteries. Soon we -were far into the German lines; deep coughs came from the air about us -as patches of black sprang out. But we were too low and our speed was -too great to be bothered by the Boche gunners. Suddenly the clouds broke -for an instant, and across the blue hole I saw a dozen Albatrosses -driving toward us--German single-seaters, dark ugly brutes with broad -short wings and pointed snouts. Our leader saw them too, and we bounded -upward three hundred feet, turning to meet them. The rest happened so -swiftly that I can scarcely describe it coherently. Out of the tail of -my eye I saw our leader dive on an Albatross, which plunged spinning to -the ground. At the same instant I bounded upward to the clouds and -dropped on a Boche who was attacking a comrade. I could see my gun -spitting streams of luminous bullets into the German's fuselage. But -suddenly swift incandescent sparks began to pour past me, and a glance -backward showed three Albatrosses on my tail. I turned upside down, -pulled back, and did a hairpin turn, rising to get behind them. Not a -German machine was in sight--they had melted away as suddenly as they -came. - -Far off to the south four of our machines were heading back toward the -lines. Feeling very lonely and somewhat de trop, I opened the throttle -wide and headed after them. Just as I caught up, the leader signaled -that he was done for, and glided off, with his propeller stopped. -Praying that he might get safely across to our side, I fell in behind -the second in command. Only four now--who and where was the other? -Anxiously I ranged alongside of each machine for a look at its number. -As I had feared, it was the American--a hot-headed, fearless boy, full -of courage and confidence, but inexperienced and not a skillful pilot. -No word of him since. Did he lose the patrol in a sharp turn and get -brought down by a prowling gang of Albatrosses, or did he have -motor-trouble which forced him to land in the enemy lines? These are the -questions we ask ourselves, hoping for the best. - -An hour after we landed at our field, a telephone message came, saying -that Lieutenant de G---- had landed safely a thousand yards behind the -firing-line, with three balls in his motor. - -The captain sent for me. "Take my motor-car," he said, "and go fetch de -G----. The machine is in plain view on a hill. I am giving you two -mechanics, so do your best to save the instruments and machine-gun. The -Boche artillery will probably drop shells on the machine before -nightfall." - -The trip proved rather a thriller, for at this point the old-fashioned -picture-book trenchless warfare was in full blast. Picking up de G----, -we hid the car in a valley and sneaked forward under an unpleasant fire -of shrapnel and high explosives. The unconcerned infantry reserves, -chaffing and smoking where they lay hidden in fields of ripe wheat, -stiffened our slightly shaky nerves. Poor timid aviators, completely out -of their element--I heaved a sigh of relief that came from the very -soles of my feet when at last our task was done, and with our cargo -safely stowed, we sped out of the valley and back toward the rear. Hats -off to the infantry! - -Next day two of us went patrolling with the captain--a famous "ace" -whose courage and skillful piloting are proverbial and who never asked -one of his men to do a thing he hesitated to do himself. He was -particularly fond of Americans (one of Lufbery's pallbearers), and on -many occasions had done things for me which showed his rare courtesy and -thoughtfulness. None of us dreamed, as he laughed and joked with us at -the breakfast-table, that it was his last day of life. - -The details of this patrol will always be fresh in my mind. We were -flying at about seven thousand feet, the three of us, I on the captain's -right. At six thousand, stretching away into the German lines, there was -a beautiful sea of clouds, white and level and limitless. Far back, a -dozen miles "chez Boche," a flight of Albatrosses crawled across the -sky--a roughly grouped string of dots, for all the world like migrating -wildfowl. Suddenly, about seven or eight miles in, a Hun two-seater -poked his nose above the clouds, rose leisurely into view, and dove -back. I was quite sure that he had not seen us. The captain began at -once to rise, turning at the same time to take advantage of the sun, and -for a few minutes we wove back and forth, edging in till we were nearly -over the spot where the Boche had appeared. At last our patience was -rewarded. The Boche emerged from the clouds, seemed to hesitate an -instant like a timid fish rising from a bed of seaweed, and headed for -the lines, where doubtless he had some reglage or reconnaissance to do. - -Our position was perfect--in the sun and well above the enemy. The -captain banked vertically and plunged like a thunderbolt on the German, -I following a little behind and to one side. At one hundred and fifty -yards, streaks of fire poured from his two guns, and as he dove under -the German's belly I got into range. Dropping vertically at a speed (I -suppose) of two hundred and fifty miles an hour, with the wind screaming -through the wires, I got my sights to bear and pulled the trigger. -Faintly above the furious rush of air, I could hear the stutter of my -gun and see the bullets streaking to their mark. It was over in a wink -of time: as I swerved sharply to the left, I caught a glimpse of the Hun -machine-gunner, in a great yellow helmet and round goggles, frantically -getting his gun to bear on me. A pull-back and I shot up under his tail, -tilted up, and gave him another burst. - -But what was this--as I opened the throttle, the engine sputtered and -died! I dove steeply at once to keep the propeller turning, realizing in -a flash of thought that the long fast dive had made the pressure in my -gasoline tank go down. A turn of the little lever put her on the small -gravity tank called the "nurse"; but no luck--something was wrong with -the valve. Nothing to do but pump by hand, and I pumped like a madman. -Seven miles in the enemy lines and dropping like a stone--I was what the -French call tres inquiet. Three thousand feet, two thousand, a -thousand--and I pumped on, visions of a soup-diet and all the tales I -had heard of German scientific food substitutes flashing through my -mind. Five hundred; a splutter from the engine, and at two hundred feet -above a ruined village she burst into her full roar, and I drew a breath -for the first time in the descent. Crossed the lines three hundred feet -up with full throttle and the nose down, and didn't get a bullet-hole! - -I was unable to find the others, and as my petrol was low I went home. -The rest I have from the other pilot. - -The captain apparently had the same trouble as I, for he continued his -dive to about three thousand feet, followed by the other. The German, -when last seen, was diving for the ground, so we shall never know -whether or not we got him. Rising again above the sea of clouds, the -captain attacked the rear man of a patrol of eleven Albatrosses which -passed beneath him. Turning over and over aimlessly, the Hun fell out -of sight into the clouds. At this moment three Boches dove on the -captain from the rear--his machine burst into flames and dove steeply -toward our lines. Our remaining pilot, hopelessly outnumbered, -extricated himself with difficulty and arrived a few minutes after me, -his bus riddled with balls. We found the captain's body, just behind the -firing-line. He had been killed by three bullets, but had retained -consciousness long enough to get to friendly ground before he died. A -splendid officer and a true friend, whom we all mourn sincerely. - - -The past fortnight has been rather stirring for us--constant flying, -plenty of fights, and the usual moving about. One gets used to it in -time, but at first it is a wrench to a man of my conservative nature and -sedentary habits. This time we have struck it rich in a village where -soldiers are still welcome. I have a really charming room in the house -of the principal family--well-to-do people who own the local factory. -Great sunny south windows, running water, and a soft snowy bed, scented -with lavender! A day of rest to-day, as they are installing a new motor -in my "taxi"; so I am planted at a little table, looking out through my -window on a warm peaceful scene of tiled roofs, rustling leaves, and a -delicious sky across which float summery clouds. Not a uniform in sight, -not a sound of a cannon--the war seems an impossible dream. - -The last day at our old field I had a narrow escape. Two of us were -flying together up and down the lines at about four thousand feet. The -other chap had allowed me to get pretty far in the lead, when I spied, -about two thousand feet below me, a strange-looking two-seater, darkly -camouflaged, on which I could see no insignia. I dove on him, but not -headlong, as the English have a machine on similar lines, and it was not -until I was quite close that I made out two tiny black crosses _set in -circles of orange_. By this time the machine-gunner was on the alert, -and just as I was going to give him a burst, _flac, flac, flac_, bullets -began to pass me from behind. Holes suddenly appeared in my wings; in -another moment whoever was shooting would have had me, so I rose steeply -in a sharp turn, saw nothing, turned again and again, and finally, -disappearing in the distance after the two-seater, I made out two little -Pfalz scouts, painted dark green. - -My comrade, who was having engine trouble, saw the whole thing. The -Boche single-seaters were well behind the larger plane they were -protecting,--somehow I missed seeing them,--and when I dove at their pal -they rose up under my tail and let me have it with their four guns. -Only some rotten shooting saved me from being brought down. The hardest -thing for a new pilot to learn is the proper combination of dash and -wariness: neither produces results alone; both are absolutely essential. -One must bear in mind two axioms: first, bring down the enemy; second, -don't get brought down yourself. A disheartening number of young pilots, -full of dash and courage, trained at great expense to their country, get -themselves brought down on their first patrol, simply because they lack -skill and the necessary dash of wariness. A good general does not -ordinarily attack the enemy where he is strongest. - -Our field was deserted: the mechanics were packing to leave, and my -machine--old Slapping Sally--stood mournfully in the corner of a hangar. -I stowed my belongings in the little locker at my side, had her wheeled -out, adjusted my maps, and in five minutes was off on my long trip over -unknown country. Our maps are really marvelous. With the compass to -check up directions of roads, railroads, canals, and rivers, one can -travel hundreds of miles over strange country and never miss a crossroad -or a village. If, however, you allow yourself to become lost for an -instant, you are probably hopelessly lost, with nothing to do but land -and locate yourself on the map. - -When I left, there was a gale of wind blowing, with spits of rain; and -in fifteen minutes, during which I had covered forty miles, the clouds -were scudding past at three hundred feet off the ground, forcing me at -times to jump tall trees on hills. A bit too thick. Seeing a small -aerodrome on my right, I buzzed over and landed, getting a great -reception from the pilots, who had never examined one of the latest -single-seaters. It is really comical, with what awe the pilots of slower -machines regard a scout. They have been filled full of mechanics' -stories about "landing at terrific speed--the slightest false movement -means death," and the like; whereas in reality our machines are the -easiest things in the world to land, once you get the trick. - -In a couple of hours the weather showed signs of improvement, so I shook -hands all round and strapped myself in. To satisfy their interest and -curiosity, I taxied to the far edge of the field, headed into the wind, -rose a yard off the ground, gave her full motor, and held her down to -within thirty yards of the spectators, grouped before a hangar. By this -time Sally was fairly burning the breeze--traveling every yard of her -one hundred and thirty-five miles an hour; and as my hosts began to -scatter, I let her have her head. Up she went in a mighty bound at -forty-five degrees, nine hundred feet in the drawing of a breath. There -I flattened her, reduced the motor, did a couple of "Immelman turns" -(instead of banking, turn upside-down, and pull back), and waved -good-bye. Rather childish, but they were good fellows, and really -interested in what the bus would do. - -All went well as far as Paris, where I had one of the classic Paris -breakdowns, though genuine enough as it chanced. Landed in the suburbs, -got a mechanic to work, and had time for a delicious lunch at a small -workmen's restaurant. Treated myself to a half bottle of sound Medoc and -a villainous cigar with the coffee, and got back just in time to find -them testing my motor. The rest of the trip was uneventful. I arrived -here in the early afternoon and installed myself for the night in these -superb quarters. - -This is the classic hour for French pilots to foregather in excited -groups to expliquer les coups--an expressive phrase for which I can -recall no exact equivalent in English. They (or rather we) spend a full -hour every evening in telling just how it was done, or why it was not -done, and so on, _ad infinitum_. Snatches of characteristic talk reach -your ears--(I will attempt a rough translation). "You poor fish! why -didn't you dive that time they had us _bracketed_?--I had to follow you -and I got an eclat as big as a dinner-plate within a foot of my back." - -"Did you see me get that Boche over the wood? I killed the observer at -the first rafale, rose over the tail, and must have got the pilot then, -for he spun clear down till he crashed." - -"See the tanks ahead of that wave of assault? Funny big crawling things -they looked--that last one must have been en panne--the Boches were -certainly bouncing shells off its back!" - -"Raoul and I found a troop of Boche cavalry on a road--in khaki, I -swear. Thought they were English till we were within one hundred -metres. Then we gave them the spray--funniest thing you ever saw!" - -"Yes--I'll swear I saw some khaki, too. Saw a big column of Boche -infantry and was just going to let 'em have it when I saw horizon-blue -guards. Prisoners, of course." - -You can imagine pages of this sort of thing--every night. At the bar we -have a big sign: "Ici on explique les coups." At the mess, another: -"Defense d'expliquer les coups ici." There are limits. - - -As mess-officer I have been going strong of late--nearly every day one -or two or three "big guns" (grosses huiles, the French call them) of -aviation drop in to lunch or dinner. Down from a patrol at 10.30, and -scarcely out of the machine, when up dashes our cook, knife in one hand -and ladle in the other, fairly boiling over with anxiety. "Commandant -X---- and his staff are coming to lunch--I can't leave the stove--what -on earth shall we do?" - -An hour and a half. Just time for the cyclist to buzz down to the -nearest town for some extra hors d'oeuvres, salad, and half a dozen old -bottles. In the end everything runs off smoothly, and when the white -wine succeeds the red, the usual explication des coups begins--highly -entertaining inside stuff, from which one could cull a whole backstairs -history of French aviation. It has been my privilege to meet many famous -men in this way--great "aces" and great administrators of the flying -arm; men whose names are known wherever European aviators gather. I wish -I could tell you half the drolleries they recount, or reproduce one -quarter of the precise, ironical, story-telling manner of a cultivated -Frenchman. - -A captain who lunched with us to-day, bearer of an historic name, was -recently decorated (somewhat against his will) for forcing a Boche to -land in our lines. The truth is that in the single combat high above the -lines, the captain's motor failed and he coasted for home, maneuvering -wildly to escape the pursuing Hun's bullets. A few kilometres within our -lines the German motor failed also, and down they came together--the -Boche a prisoner, the Frenchman covered with not particularly welcome -glory. Not all our guests knew the story, and one high officer asked the -captain how he maneuvered to drive down the Boche. "Oh, like this," -erratically said the captain, illustrating with frantic motions of an -imaginary stick and rudder. - -"But the Boche--?" inquired the other, puzzled, "how did you get him -down--where was he?" - -"Ah, the Boche; he was _behind_ me," answered the captain. - -Another officer, recently promoted to a very high position in the -aviation, is a genuine character, a "numero" as they say here. He -recently spent many hours in perfecting a trick optical sight, -guaranteed to down a Boche at any range, angle, or speed. He adored his -invention, which, he admitted, would probably end the war when fully -perfected, and grew quite testy when his friends told him the thing was -far too complicated for anything but laboratory use. At last, though he -had reached a non-flying rank and had not flown for months, he installed -the optical wonder on a single-seater and went out over the lines to try -it out. As luck would have it, he fell in with a patrol of eight -Albatrosses, and the fight that followed has become legendary. Boche -after Boche dove on him, riddling his plane with bullets, while the -inventor, in a scientific ecstasy, peered this way and that through his -sight, adjusting set-screws and making hasty mental notes. By a miracle -he was not brought down, and in the end a French patrol came to his -rescue. He had not fired a shot! At lunch the other day some one asked -what sort of a chap this inventor was, and the answer was so exceedingly -French that I will reproduce it word for word: "He detests women and -dogs; he has a wife he adores, and a dog he can't let out of his sight." -A priceless characterization, I think, of a testy yet amiable old -martinet. - -One of my friends here had the luck, several months ago, to force a -Zeppelin to land. A strange and wonderful experience, he says, circling -for an hour and a half about the huge air-monster, which seemed to be -having trouble with its gas. He poured bullets into it until his supply -was exhausted, and headed it off every time it tried to make for the -German lines. All the while it was settling, almost insensibly, and -finally the Hun crew began to throw things out--machine-guns, long belts -of cartridges, provisions, furniture, a motley collection. In the end it -landed intact in our lines--a great catch. The size of the thing is -simply incredible. This one was at least ninety feet through, and I -hesitate to say how many hundred feet long. - -Three more of our boys gone, one of them my most particular pal. Strange -as it seems, I am one of the oldest members of the squadron left. We -buried Harry yesterday. He was the finest type of young French -officer--an aviator since 1913; volunteer at the outbreak of war; taken -prisoner, badly wounded; fourteen months in a German fortress; escaped, -killing three guards, across Germany in the dead of winter, sick and -with an unhealed wound; back on the front, after _ten days_ with his -family, although he need never have been a combatant again. A charming, -cultivated, witty companion, one of the most finished pilots in France, -and a soldier whose only thought was of duty, his loss is a heavy one -for his friends, his family, and his country. For a day and a night he -lay in state in the church of a near-by village, buried in flowers sent -by half the squadrons of France; at his feet his tunic ablaze with -crosses and orders. It was my turn to stand guard the morning his family -arrived, and I was touched by the charming simple piety of the -countryfolk, who came in an unending stream to kneel and say a prayer -for the soul of the departed soldier. Old women with baskets of bread -and cheese on their arms brought pathetic little bouquets; tiny girls of -seven or eight came in solemnly alone, dropped a flower on Harry's -coffin, and knelt to pray on their little bare knees. The French -peasants get something from their church that most of us at home seem to -miss. - -At last the family came--worn out with the long sad journey from their -chateau in middle France. Harry's mother, slender, aristocratic, and -courageous, had lost her other son a short time before, and I was nearer -tears at her magnificent self-control than if she had surrendered to her -grief. Her bearing throughout the long mass and at the grave-side was -one of the finest and saddest things I have ever seen in my life. Poor -old Harry--I hope he is in a paradise reserved for heroes--for he was -one in the truest sense of the word. - - -I got absolutely lost the other day, for the second time since I have -been on the front. I was flying at about nineteen thousand feet, half a -mile above a lovely sea of clouds. I supposed I was directly over the -front, but in reality there was a gale of wind blowing, drifting me -rapidly "chez Boche." Three thousand feet below, and miles to the -northeast, a patrol of German scouts beat back and forth, a string of -dots, appearing and disappearing among the cloudy peaks and canyons. Too -strong and too far in their lines to attack, I was alternately watching -them and my clock--very cold and bored. Suddenly, straight below me and -heading for home at top speed, I saw a big Hun two-seater, with enormous -black crosses on his wings. - -At such a moment--I confess it frankly--there seem to be two individuals -in me who in a flash of time conclude a heated argument. Says one, -"You're all alone; no one will ever know it if you sail calmly on, -pretending not to see the Boche." - -"See that Boche," says the other; "you're here to get Germans--go after -him." - -"See here," puts in the first, who is very clever at excuses, "time's -nearly up, petrol's low, and there are nine Hun scouts who will drop on -you if you dive on the two-seater." - -"Forget it, you poor weak-kneed boob!" answers number two heatedly. -"Dive on that Hun and be quick about it!" - -So I dived on him, obeying automatically and almost reluctantly the -imperious little voice. With an eye to the machine-gunner in the rear, I -drove down on him almost vertically, getting in a burst point-blank at -his port bow, so to speak. Pushing still farther forward on the stick, I -saw his wheels pass over me like a flash, ten yards up. Pulled the -throttle wide open, but the motor was a second late in catching, so that -when I did an Immelman turn to come up under his tail, I was too far -back and to one side. As I pulled out of the upside-down position, -luminous sparks began to drive past me, and a second later I caught a -glimpse of the goggled Hun observer leaning intently over his cockpit -as he trained his gun on me. - -But beside old Slapping Sally his machine was as a buzzard to a falcon; -in a breath I was under his tail, had reared almost vertically, and was -pouring bullets into his underbody. "You will shoot me up, will you?" I -yelled ferociously--just like a bad boy in a back-yard fight. "Take -that, then--" at which dramatic instant a quart of scalding oil struck -me in the face, half in the eyes, and half in my open mouth. I never saw -the Boche again, and five minutes later, when I had cleaned my eyes out -enough to see dimly, I was totally lost. Keeping just above the clouds -to watch for holes, I was ten long minutes at one hundred and thirty -miles per hour in getting to the lines, at a place I had never seen -before. - -Landed at a strange aerodrome, filled Sally up, and flew home -seventy-five miles by map. As usual, every one had begun the old story -of how I was not a bad chap at bottom, and had many noble qualities -safely hidden away--when I strolled into the bar. Slight sensation as -usual, tinged with a suspicion of mild disappointment. - -Almost with regret, I have turned faithful old Slapping Sally over to a -newly arrived young pilot, and taken a new machine, the last lingering -echo of the dernier cri in fighting single-seaters. I had hoped for one -for some time, and now the captain has allotted me a brand-new one, -fresh from the factory. It is a formidable little monster, squat and -broad-winged, armed to the teeth, with the power of two hundred and -fifty wild horses bellowing out through its exhausts. - -With slight inward trepidations I took it up for a spin after lunch. The -thing is terrific--it fairly hurtles its way up through the air, roaring -and snorting and trembling with its enormous excess of power. Not half -so pleasant as Sally, but a grimly practical little dragon of immense -speed and potential destructiveness. At a couple of thousand feet over -the field, I shut off the motor and dived to try it out. It fairly took -my breath away--behind my goggles my eyes filled with tears; my body -rose up in the safety-belt, refusing to keep pace with the machine's -formidable speed. In a wink, I was close to the ground, straightened -out, and rushing low over the blurred grass at a criminal gait--never -made a faster landing. It is a tribute to man's war-time ingenuity, but, -for pleasure, give me my old machine. - -The psychology of flying would be a curious study, were it not so -difficult to get frankly stated data--uninfluenced by pride, -self-respect, or sense of morale. I only know my own feelings in so far -as they represent the average single-seater pilot. Once in the air, I -am perfectly contented and at home, somewhat bored at times on dull -days, or when very high and cold. On the other hand, I have never been -strapped in a machine to leave the ground, without an underlying slight -nervousness and reluctance; no great matter, and only an instant's -mental struggle to overcome, but enough perhaps to prevent me from -flying the very small and powerful machines, for pleasure, after the -war. I often wonder if other pilots have the same feeling--it's nothing -to be ashamed of, because it does not, in the slightest, prevent one's -doing one's duty, and disappears the moment one is in the air. I can -give you its measure in the fact that I always prefer, when possible, to -make a long journey in my machine, to doing it in the deadly slow -war-time trains. Still, it's a choice of evils. It is hard to give -reasons, but certainly flying is not an enjoyable sport, like riding or -motoring, once the wonder of it has worn off; simply a slightly -disagreeable but marvelously fast means of transport. The wind, the -noise, the impossibility of conversation, the excessive speed--are all -unpleasant features. These are partially redeemed by the never-ceasing -wonder of what one sees. One's other senses are useless in the air, but -what a feast for the eyes! Whole fruitful domains spread out beneath -one, silvery rivers, smoking cities, perhaps a glimpse of the far-off -ragged Alps. And when, at eighteen or twenty thousand feet, above a -white endless sea of clouds, one floats almost unconscious of time and -space in the unearthly sunshine of the Universe, there are moments when -infinite things are very close. - - - -The Riverside Press -CAMBRIDGE . MASSACHUSETTS -U . S . A - - - -***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE FLEDGLING*** - - -******* This file should be named 51559.txt or 51559.zip ******* - - -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: -http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/5/1/5/5/51559 - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law 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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