I'm a sergeant now—sergent in French—and I get about two francs more a day and wear a gold band on my cap, which makes old territorials think I'm an officer and occasions salutes which are some bother.

A SORTIE

We made a foolish sortie this morning. Only five of us went, the others remaining in bed thinking the weather was too bad. It was. When at only 3,000 feet we hit a solid layer of clouds, and when we had passed through, we couldn't see anything but a shimmering field of white. Above were the bright sun and the blue sky, but how we were in regard to the earth no one knew. Fortunately the clouds had a big hole in them at one point and the whole mass was moving toward the lines. By circling, climbing, and dropping we stayed above the hole, and, when over the trenches, worked into it, ready to fall on the Boches. It's a stunt they use, too. We finally found ourselves 20 kilometres in the German lines. In coming back I steered by compass and then when I thought I was near the field I dived and found myself not so far off, having the field in view. In the clouds it shakes terribly and one feels as if one were in a canoe on a rough sea.

VICTOR CHAPMAN

I was mighty sorry to see old Victor Chapman go. He was one of the finest men I've ever known. He was too brave if anything. He was exceptionally well educated, had a fine brain, and a heart as big as a house. Why, on the day of his fatal trip, he had put oranges in his machine to take to Balsley who was lying wounded with an explosive bullet. He was going to land near the hospital after the sortie.

Received letter inclosing note from Chapman's father. I'm glad you wrote him. I feel sure that some of my letters never reach you. I never let more than a week go by without writing. Maybe I do not get all yours, either.

A SMASH-UP

Weather has been fine and we've been doing a lot of work. Our Lieutenant de Laage de Mieux, brought down a Boche. I had another beautiful smash-up. Prince and I had stayed too long over the lines. Important day as an attack was going on. It was getting dark and we could see the tiny balls of fire the infantry light to show the low-flying observation machines their new positions. On my return, when I was over another aviation field, my motor broke. I made for field. In the darkness I couldn't judge my distance well, and went too far. At the edge of the field there were trees, and beyond, a deep cut where a road ran. I was skimming ground at a hundred miles an hour and heading for the trees. I saw soldiers running to be in at the finish and I thought to myself that James's hash was cooked, but I went between two trees and ended up head on against the opposite bank of the road. My motor took the shock and my belt held me. As my tail went up it was cut in two by some very low 'phone wires. I wasn't even bruised. Took dinner with the officers there who gave me a car to go home in afterward.

FIGHTING A BOCHE

To-day I shared another chap's machine (Hill of Peekskill), and got it shot up for him. De Laage (our lieutenant) and I made a sortie at noon. When over the German lines, near Cote 304, I saw two Boches under me. I picked out the rear chap and dived. Fired a few shots and then tried to get under his tail and hit him from there. I missed, and bobbed up alongside of him. Fine for the Boche, but rotten for me! I could see his gunner working the mitrailleuse for fair, and felt his bullets darn close. I dived, for I could not shoot from that position, and beat it. He kept plunking away and altogether put seven holes in my machine. One was only ten inches in from me. De Laage was too far off to get to the Boche and ruin him while I was amusing him.

Yesterday I motored up to an aviation camp to see a Boche machine that had been forced to land and was captured. On the way up I passed a cantonment of Senegalese. About twenty of 'em jumped up from the bench they were sitting on and gave me the hell of a salute. Thought I was a general because I was riding in a car, I guess. They're the blackest niggers you ever saw. Good-looking soldiers. Can't stand shelling but they're good on the cold steel end of the game. The Boche machine was a beauty. Its motor is excellent and she carries a machine gun aft and one forward. Same kind of a machine I attacked to-day. The German pilots must be mighty cold-footed, for if the Frenchmen had airplanes like that they surely would raise the devil with the Boches.

As it is the Boches keep well within their lines, save occasionally, and we have to go over and fight them there.

KIFFIN ROCKWELL

Poor Kiffin Rockwell has been killed. He was known and admired far and wide, and he was accorded extraordinary honours. Fifty English pilots and eight hundred aviation men from the British unit in the Vosges marched at his funeral. There was a regiment of Territorials and a battalion of Colonial troops in addition to the hundreds of French pilots and aviation men. Captain Thenault of the American Escadrille delivered an exceptionally eulogistic funeral oration. He spoke at length of Rockwell's ideals and his magnificent work. He told of his combats. "When Rockwell was on the lines," he said, "no German passed, but on the contrary was forced to seek a refuge on the ground."

Rockwell made the esprit of the escadrille, and the Captain voiced the sentiments of us all when, in announcing his death, he said: "The best and bravest of us all is no more."

How does the war look to you—as regards duration? We are figuring on about ten more months, but then it may be ten more years. Of late things are much brighter and one can feel a certain elation in the air. Victory, before, was a sort of academic certainty; now, it's felt.



CHAPTER IV

HOW FRANCE TRAINS PILOT AVIATORS

France now has thousands of men training to become military aviators, and the flying schools, of which there is a very great number, are turning out pilots at an astounding rate.

The process of training a man to be a pilot aviator naturally varies in accordance with the type of machine on which he takes his first instruction, and so the methods of the various schools depend on the apparatus upon which they teach an eleve pilote—as an embryonic aviator is called—to fly.

In the case of the larger biplanes, a student goes up in a dual-control airplane, accompanied by an old pilot, who, after first taking him on many short trips, then allows him part, and later full, control, and who immediately corrects any false moves made by him. After that, short, straight line flights are made alone in a smaller-powered machine by the student, and, following that, the training goes on by degrees to the point where a certain mastery of the apparatus is attained. Then follows the prescribed "stunts" and voyages necessary to obtain the military brevet.

TRAINING FOR PURSUIT AIRPLANES

The method of training a pilot for a small, fast avion de chasse, as a fighting airplane is termed, is quite different, and as it is the most thorough and interesting I will take that course up in greater detail.

The man who trains for one of these machines never has the advantage of going first into the air in a double-control airplane. He is alone when he first leaves the earth, and so the training preparatory to that stage is very carefully planned to teach a man the habit of control in such a way that all the essential movements will come naturally when he first finds himself face to face with the new problems the air has set for him. In this preparatory training a great deal of weeding out is effected, for a man's aptitude for the work shows up, and unless he is by nature especially well fitted he is transferred to the division which teaches one to fly the larger and safer machines.

First of all, the student is put on what is called a roller. It is a low-powered machine with very small wings. It is strongly built to stand the rough wear it gets, and no matter how much one might try it could not leave the ground. The apparatus is jokingly and universally known as a Penguin, both because of its humorous resemblance to the quaint arctic birds and its inability in common with them to do any flying. A student makes a few trips up and down the field in a double-control Penguin, and learns how to steer with his feet. Then he gets into a single-seated one and, while the rapidly whirling propeller is pulling him along, tries to keep the Penguin in a straight line. The slightest mistake or delayed movement will send the machine skidding off to the right or left, and sometimes, if the motor is not stopped in time, over on its side or back. Something is always being broken on a Penguin, and so a reserve flock is kept at the side of the field in order that no time may be lost.

After one is able to keep a fairly straight line, he is put on a Penguin that moves at a faster rate, and after being able to handle it successfully passes to a very speedy one, known as the "rapid." Here one learns to keep the tail of the machine at a proper angle by means of the elevating lever, and to make a perfectly straight line. When this has been accomplished and the monitor is thoroughly convinced that the student is absolutely certain of making no mistakes in guiding with his feet, the young aviator is passed on to the class which teaches him how to leave the ground. As one passes from one machine to another one finds that the foot movements must be made smaller and smaller. The increased speed makes the machine more and more responsive to the rudder, and as a result the foot movements become so gentle when one gets into the air that they must come instinctively.

FIRST FLIGHTS ALONE

The class where one will leave the ground has now been reached, and an outfit of leather clothes and casque is given to the would-be pilot. The machines used at this stage are low-powered monoplanes of the Bleriot type, which, though being capable of leaving the ground, cannot rise more than a few feet. They do not run when the wind is blowing or when there are any movements of air from the ground, for though a great deal of balancing is done by correcting with the rudder, the student knows nothing of maintaining the lateral stability, and if caught in the air by a bad movement would be apt to sustain a severe accident. He has now only to learn how to take the machine off the ground and hold it at a low line of flight for a few moments.

For the first time one is strapped into the seat of the machine, and this continues to be the case from this point on. The motor is started, and one begins to roll swiftly along the ground. The tail is brought to an angle slightly above a straight line. Then one sits tight and waits. Suddenly the motion seems softer, the motor does not roar so loudly, and the ground is slipping away. The class standing at the end of the line looks far below; the individuals are very small, but though you imagine you are going too high, you must not push to go down more than the smallest fraction, or the machine will dive and smash. The small push has brought you down with a bump from a seemingly great height. In reality you have been but three feet off the ground. Little by little the student becomes accustomed to leaving the ground, for these short hop-skip-and-jump flights, and has learned how to steer in the air.

If he has no bad smash-ups he is passed on to a class where he rises higher, and is taught the rudiments of landing. If, after a few days, that act is reasonably performed and the young pilot does not land too hard, he is passed to the class where he goes about sixty feet high, maintains his line of flight for five or six minutes and learns to make a good landing from that height. He must by this time be able to keep his machine on the line of flight without dipping and rising, and the landings must be uniformly good. The instructor takes a great deal of time showing the student the proper line of descent, for the landings must be perfect before he can pass on.

Now comes the class where the pilot rises three or four hundred feet high and travels for more than two miles in a straight line. Here he is taught how to combat air movements and maintain lateral stability. All the flying up to this point has been done in a straight line, but now comes the class where one is taught to turn. Machines in this division are almost as high powered as a regular flying machine, and can easily climb to two thousand feet. The turn is at first very wide, and then, as the student becomes more confident, it is done more quickly, and while the machine leans at an angle that would frighten one if the training in turning had not been gradual. When the pilot can make reasonably close right and left turns, he is told to make figure eights. After doing this well he is sent to the real flying machines.

There is nothing in the way of a radical step from the turns and figure eights to the real flying machines. It is a question of becoming at ease in the better and faster airplanes taking greater altitudes, making little trips, perfecting landings, and mastering all the movements of correction that one is forced to make. Finally one is taught how to shut off and start one's motor again in the air, and then to go to a certain height, shut off the motor, make a half-turn while dropping and start the motor again. After this, one climbs to about two thousand feet and, shutting off the motor, spirals down to within five hundred feet of the ground. When that has been practised sufficiently, a registering altitude meter is strapped to the pilot's back and he essays the official spiral, in which one must spiral all the way to earth with the motor off, and come to a stop within a few yards of a fixed point on the aviation grounds. After this, the student passes to the voyage machines, which are of almost twice the power of the machine used for the short trips and spirals.

TESTS FOR THE MILITARY BREVET

There are three voyages to make. Two consist in going to designated towns an hour or so distant and returning. The third voyage is a triangle. A landing is made at one point and the other two points are only necessary to cross. In addition, there are two altitudes of about seven thousand feet each that one has to attain either while on the voyages or afterward.

The young pilot has not, up to this point, had any experience on trips, and there is always a sense of adventure in starting out over unknown country with only a roller map to guide one and the gauges and controls, which need constant attention, to distract one from the reading of the chart. Then, too, it is the first time that the student has flown free and at a great height over the earth, and his sense of exultation at navigating at will the boundless sky causes him to imagine he is a real pilot. True it is that when the voyages and altitudes are over, and his examinations in aeronautical sciences passed, the student becomes officially a pilote-aviateur, and he can wear two little gold-woven wings on his collar to designate his capacity, and carry a winged propeller emblem on his arm, but he is not ready for the difficult work of the front, and before he has time to enjoy more than a few days' rest he is sent to a school of perfectionnement. There the real, serious and thorough training begins.

Schools where the pilots are trained on the modern machines—ecoles de perfectionnement as they are called—are usually an annex to the centres where the soldiers are taught to fly, though there are one or two camps that are devoted exclusively to giving advanced instruction to aviators who are to fly the avions de chasse, or fighting machines. When the aviator enters one of these schools he is a breveted pilot, and he is allowed a little more freedom than he enjoyed during the time he was learning to fly.

He now takes up the Morane monoplane. It is interesting to note that the German Fokker is practically a copy of this machine. After flying for a while on a low-powered Morane and having mastered the landing, the pilot is put on a new, higher-powered model of the same make. He has a good many hours of flying, but his trips are very short, for the whole idea is to familiarize one with the method of landing. The Bleriot has a landing gear that is elastic in action, and it is easy to bring to earth. The Nieuport and other makes of small, fast machines for which the pilot is training have a solid wheel base, and good landings are much more difficult to make. The Morane pilot has the same practices climbing to small altitudes around eight thousand feet and picking his landing from that height with motor off. When he becomes proficient in flying the single- and double-plane types he leaves the school for another, where shooting with machine guns is taught.

This course in shooting familiarizes one with various makes of machine guns used on airplanes, and one learns to shoot at targets from the air. After two or three weeks the pilot is sent to another school of combat.

TRICK FLYING AND DOING STUNTS

These schools of combat are connected with the ecoles de perfectionnement with which the pilot has finished. In the combat school he learns battle tactics, how to fight singly and in fleet formation, and how to extract himself from a too dangerous position. Trips are made in squadron formation and sham battles are effected with other escadrilles, as the smallest unit of an aerial fleet is called. For the first time the pilot is allowed to do fancy flying. He is taught how to loop the loop, slide on his wings or tail, go into corkscrews and, more important, to get out of them, and is encouraged to try new stunts.

Finally the pilot is considered well enough trained to be sent to the reserve, where he waits his call to the front. At the reserve he flies to keep his hand in, practises on any new make of machine that happens to come out or that he may be put on in place of the Nieuport, and receives information regarding old and new makes of enemy airplanes.

At last the pilot receives his call to the front, where he takes his place in some established or newly formed escadrille. He is given a new machine from the nearest airplane reserve centre, and he then begins his active service in the war, which, if he survives the course, is the best school of them all.



CHAPTER V

AGAINST ODDS

Since the publication of previous editions of "Flying for France" we have obtained the following letters which add greatly to the interest and complete the record of McConnell's connection with the Lafayette Escadrille.



March 19, 1917.

DEAR PAUL:

We are passing through some very interesting times. The boches are in full retreat, offering very little resistance to the English and French advance. The boches have systematically destroyed all the towns and villages abandoned. Where they haven't burned a house, they have made holes through the roofs with pickaxes. All the cross-roads are blown up at the junctions, and when the trees bordering the roads haven't been cut down, barricading the roads, they have been cut half way through so that when the wind blows they keep falling on the passing convoys. The inhabitants left in these villages are wild with delight and are giving the troops an inspiring reception. In one town the boches raped all the women before leaving, then locked them down cellar, and carried off all the young girls with them.

We have been flying low, and watching the cavalry overrunning the country. The boches are retreating to very strongly fortified positions, where the advance is going to come up against a stone wall.

This morning Genet and McConnell flew well ahead of the advancing army, Mac leading. Genet saw two boche planes maneuvering to get above them, so he began to climb, too. Finally they got together; the boche was a biplane and had the edge on Genet. Almost the first shot got Genet in the cheek. Fortunately it was only a deep flesh wound, and another shot almost broke the stanchion, which supports the wings, in two. Genet stuck to the boche and opened fire on him. He knows he hit the machine and at one time he thought he saw the machine on fire, but nothing happened. At last the boche had Genet in a bad position, so he (Genet) piqued down about a thousand meters and got away from the boche. He looked around for Mac but couldn't find him, so he came home. Mac hasn't yet shown up and we are frightfully worried. Genet has a dim recollection that when he attacked the boche, the other boche piqued down in Mac's direction, and it looks as if the boche got Mac unawares. Late this afternoon we got a report that this morning a Nieuport was seen to land near Tergnier, which is unfortunately still in German hands. This must have been Mac's, in which case he is only wounded, or perhaps only his machine was badly damaged. There is a general feeling among us that Mac is all right. The French cavalry are within ten or fifteen kilometers of Tergnier now and perhaps they will take the place to-morrow, in which case we will certainly learn something. This afternoon Lieut. de Laage and Lufbery landed at Ham, where the advance infantry were, and made a lot of inquiries. It was near this place where the fight started. Nobody had seen any machine come down. You may be sure I will keep you informed of everything that turns up. Genet is going to write you in a day or so.

Sincerely,

WALTER (signed Walter Lovell).

P. S. I apologize for the mistakes and the disconnectedness of this letter, but I wrote it in frightful haste in order to get it in the first post.



March 20, 1917.

MY DEAR ROCKWELL:

I do not know if any of the boys have written you about the disappearance of Jim, so perhaps you might know something about it when this letter reaches you.

He left yesterday at 8:45 a.m. in his machine for the German lines, and has not returned yet. He and Genet were attacked by two Germans, the latter, who received a slight wound on the cheek, was so occupied he did not see what became of Jim, and returned without him.

The combat took place between Ham and St. Quentin; the territory was still occupied by the enemy when the combat took place. The worst I hope has happened to our friend is that perhaps he was wounded and was forced to land in the enemy's lines and was made prisoner. Nothing definite is known. I shall write you immediately I get news.

I am extremely worried. To lose my friend would be a severe blow. I can't and will not believe that anything serious has happened.

Best wishes,

Sincerely,

E. A. MARSHALL.



Escadrille N. 124, Secteur Postal 182, March 21, 1917.

MY DEAR PAUL:

Had I been feeling less distressed and miserable on Monday morning, or during yesterday, I would have written you then, but I told Lovell to tell you how I felt when he wrote on Monday and that I would try and write in a day or so. I am not feeling much better mentally but I'll try and write something, for I am the only one who was out with poor Mac on Monday morning and it just adds that much more to my distress.

As you know, we have had a big advance here, due to the deliberate evacuation by the Germans, without much opposition, of the territory now in the hands of the French and English. The advance began last Thursday night and each day has brought the lines closer to Saint Quentin and the region north and south of it.

On Monday morning Mac, Parsons, and myself went out at nine o'clock on the third patrol of the escadrille. We had orders to protect observation machines along the new lines around the region of Ham. Mac was leader. I came second and Parsons followed me. Before we had gone very far Parsons was forced to go back on account of motor trouble, which handicapped us greatly on account of what followed, but of course that cannot be remedied because Parsons was perfectly right in returning when his motor was not running well. We all do that one time or another.

Mac and I kept on and up to ten o'clock were circling around the region of Ham, watching out for the heavier machines doing reconnoitring work below us. We went higher than a thousand meters during that time. About ten, for some reason or other of his own, Mac suddenly headed into the German lines toward Saint Quentin and I naturally followed close to his rear and above him. Perhaps he wanted to make observations around Saint Quentin. At any rate, we had gotten north of Ham and quite inside the hostile lines, when I saw two boche machines crossing towards us from the region of Saint Quentin at an altitude quite higher than ours. We were then about 1,600 meters. I supposed Mac saw them the same as I did. One boche was much farther ahead than the other, and was headed as if he would dive at any moment on Mac. I glanced ahead at Mac and saw what direction he was taking, and then pulled back to climb up as quickly as possible to gain an advantageous height over the nearest boche. It was cloudy and misty and I had to keep my eyes on him all the time, so naturally I couldn't watch Mac. The second boche was still much farther off than his mate. By this time I had gotten to 2,200, the boche was almost up to me and taking a diagonal course right in front. He started to circle and his gunner—it was a biplane, probably an Albatross, although the mist was too thick and dark for me to see much but the bare outline of his dirty, dark green body, with white and black crosses—opened fire before I did and his first volley did some damage. One bullet cut the left central support of my upper wing in half, an explosive bullet cut in half the left guiding rod of the left aileron, and I was momentarily stunned by part of it which dug a nasty gouge into my left cheek. I had already opened fire and was driving straight for the boche with teeth set and my hand gripping the triggers making a veritable stream of fire spitting out of my gun at him, as I had incendiary bullets, it being my job lately to chase after observation balloons, and on Saturday morning I had also been up after the reported Zeppelins. I had to keep turning toward the boche every second, as he was circling around towards me and I was on the inside of the circle, so his gunner had all the advantage over me. I thought I had him on fire for one instant as I saw—or supposed I did—flames on his fuselage. Everything passed in a few seconds and we swung past each other in opposite directions at scarcely twenty-five meters from each other—the boche beating off towards the north and I immediately dived down in the opposite direction wondering every second whether the broken wing support would hold together or not and feeling weak and stunned from the hole in my face. A battery opened a heavy fire on me as I went down, the shells breaking just behind me. I straightened out over Ham at a thousand meters, and began to circle around to look for Mac or the other boche, but saw absolutely nothing the entire fifteen minutes I stayed there. I was fearful every minute that my whole top wing would come off, and I thought that possibly Mac had gotten around toward the west over our lines, missed me, and was already on his way back to camp. So I finally turned back for our camp, having to fly very low and against a strong northern wind, on account of low clouds just forming. I got back at a quarter to eleven and my first question to my mechanic was: "Has McConnell returned?"

He hadn't, Paul, and no news of any sort have we had of him yet, although we hoped and prayed every hour yesterday for some word to come in. The one hope that we have is that on account of this continued advance some news will be brought in of Mac through civilians who might have witnessed his flight over the lines north of Ham, while they were still in the hands of the enemy, for many of the civilians in the villages around there are being left by the Germans as they retire. We can likewise hope that Mac was merely forced to land inside the enemy lines on account of a badly damaged machine, or a bad wound, and is well but a prisoner. I wish to God, Paul, that I had been able to see Mac during his combat, or had been able to get down to him sooner and help him. The mists were thick, and consequently seeing far was difficult. I would have gone out that afternoon to look for him but my machine was so damaged it took until yesterday afternoon to be repaired. Lieut. de Laage and Lufbery did go out with their Spads and looked all around the region north of Ham towards Saint Quentin but saw nothing at all of a Nieuport on the ground, or anything else to give news of what had occurred.

The French are still not far enough towards Saint Quentin to be on the territory where the chances are Mac landed, so we'll still have to wait for to-day's developments for any possibility of news. I got lots of hope, Paul, that Mac is at least alive although undoubtedly a prisoner. I know how badly the news has affected you. We're all feeling mighty blue over it and as for myself—I'm feeling utterly miserable over the whole affair. Just as soon as any definite news comes in I'll surely let you know at once. Meanwhile, keep cheered and hopeful. There's no use in losing hope yet. If a prisoner Mac may even be able to escape and return to our lines, on account of the very unsettled state of the retreating Germans. Others have done so under much less favorable conditions.

I hope you are having a very enjoyable trip through the South. Walter showed me the postal you wrote him, which he received yesterday. Please give my very warm regards to your wife. Write as soon as you can, too.

Very faithfully yours,

EDMOND C. C. GENET.



March 22, 1917.

MY DEAR ROCKWELL:

Still no news about Jim. Last night the captain sent out a request to the military authorities to have our troops advancing in the direction of Saint Quentin report immediately any particulars about avion 2055. Even now I cannot reconcile myself concerning Jim's fate. I hope he has been made prisoner.

Just a few words about myself. I am awaiting the results of my friends' actions in the States on my behalf. I am placed in a peculiar position in the escadrille. I have nothing to do here. Shall I take care of Jim's belongings?

Best wishes,

Sincerely,

E. A. MARSHALL.



Escadrille N. 124, Secteur Postal 182, March 23, 1917.

DEAR PAUL:

In my letter I promised to send you word as soon as any definite news came in concerning poor Mac. To-day word came in from a group of French cavalry that they witnessed our fight on Monday morning and that they saw Mac brought down inside the German lines towards Saint Quentin after being attacked by two boche machines and at the same time they saw me fighting a third one higher than Mac, and that just as I piqued down Mac fell so there were three boche machines instead of two, as I supposed, having missed seeing the third one on account of the heavy clouds and mist around us.

There is still the hope that Mac wasn't killed but only wounded and a prisoner. If he is we'll learn of it later. The cavalrymen didn't say whether he came down normally or fell. Possibly he was too far off really to tell definitely about that. Certainly he had been already brought down before I could get down to help him after the boche I attacked beat it off. Had I known there were three boche machines I certainly would not have played around that boche at such a distance from Mac.

When will Mrs. Weeks return to Paris from the States? Will you write and tell her about Mac? She'll be mighty well grieved to hear of it, I know, and you'll be the best one to break it to her.

Write to me soon. Best regards to Mrs. Rockwell.

E. GENET.



March 24th, a. m. C. Aeronatique, Noyon & D. C. 13.

MY DEAR ROCKWELL:

The targe element informs us that it has found, in the environs of the Bois l'Abbe, a Nieuport No. 2055. The aviator, a sergeant, has been dead since three days, in the opinion of the doctor. His pockets appear to have been searched, for no papers were found on him. The Bois l'Abbe is two kilometers south of Jussy. The above message received by us at ten o'clock last night. Jussy is on the main road between Saint Quentin and Chauny. I expect to go back to the infantry soon.

Sincerely, E. A. MARSHALL.



Escadrille N. 124, Secteur Postal 182, March 25, 1917.

DEAR PAUL:

The evening before last definite news was brought to us that a badly smashed Nieuport had been found by French troops, beside which was the body of a sergeant-pilot which had been there at least three days and had been stripped of all identification papers, flying clothes and even the boots. They got the number of the machine, which proved without further question that it was poor Mac. They gave the location as being at the little village of Petit Detroit, which is just south of Flavy-le-Martel, the latter place being about ten kilometers east of Ham on the railroad running from Ham to La Fere.

After having made a flight over the lines yesterday morning, I went down around Petit Detroit to locate the machine. There was no decent place there on which to land so I circled around over it for a few minutes to see in which condition it (the Nieuport) was. The machine was scarcely distinguishable so badly had it smashed into the ground, and there is scarcely any doubt, Paul, that Mac was killed while having his fight in the air, as no pilot would have attempted to land a machine in the tiny rotten field—no more than a little orchard beside the road—voluntarily. It seems almost certain that he struck the ground with full motor on. Captain Thenault landed some distance from there that he might go over there in a car and see just what could be done about poor Mac's body. When he returned last night he told us the following:

Mac, he said, was as badly mangled as the machine and had been relieved of his flying suit by the damned boches, also of his shoes and all papers. The machine had struck the ground so hard that it was half buried, the motor being totally in the earth and the rest, including even the machine gun, completely smashed. It was just beside the main road, in a small field containing apple trees cut down by the retreating boches, and just at the southern edge of the village.

Mac has been buried right there beside the road, and we will see that the grave is decently marked with a cross, etc. The captain brought back a square piece of canvas cut from one of the wings, and we are going to get a good picture we have of Mac enlarged and placed on this with a frame. I suppose that Thaw or Johnson will attend to the belongings of Mac which he had written are to be sent to you to care for. In the letter which he had left for just such an occasion as this he concludes with the following words: "Good luck to the rest of you. God damn Germany and vive la France!"

All honour to him, Paul. The world will look up to him, as well as France, for whom he died so gloriously, just as it is looking up to your fine brother and the rest of us who have given their lives so freely and gladly for this big cause.

Warmest regards, etc.,

Faithfully,

EDMOND C. C. GENET.

P. S. The captain has already put in a proposal for a citation for Mac, and also one for me. Mac surely deserved it, and lots more too.



Escadrille N. 124, S. P. 182, March 27, 1917.

DEAR PAUL:

I got your postcard to-day and would have written you sooner about poor Jim but haven't been up to it, which I know you understand.

It hit me pretty hard, Paul, for as you know we were in school and college together, and for the last four or five years have been very intimate, living in N.C. and New York together.

It's hell, Paul, that all the good boys are being picked off. The damned Huns have raised hell with the old crowd, but I think we have given them more than we have received. The boys who have gone made the name for the escadrille and now it's up to us who are left (especially the old Verdun crowd) to keep her going and make the boches suffer.

Like old Kiffin, Mac died gloriously and in full action. It was in a fight with three Germans in their lines. Genet took one Hun (and was wounded). The last he saw was a Hun on Mac's back. Later we learned from the cavalry that there were two on Mac and after a desperate fight Mac crashed to the ground. This was the 19th of March. Three days later we took the territory Mac fell in and they were unable to distinguish who he was. The swine Huns had taken every paper or piece of identification from him and also robbed him—even took his shoes. The captain went over and was able to identify him by the number of his machine and uniform. He had lain out there three days and was smashed so terribly that you couldn't recognize his face. He was buried where he fell in a coffin made from the door of a pillaged house. His last resting place (and where he fell) is "Petit Detroit," which is a village southwest of Saint Quentin and north of Chauney. He is buried just at the southeast end of the village and in a hell of a small town.

Jim left a letter of which I am copying the important parts:

"In case of my death or made prisoner—which is worse—please send my canteen and what money I have on me, or coming to me [he had none on him as the Huns lifted that] to Mr. Paul A. Rockwell, 80 rue, etc. Shoes, tools, wearing apparel, etc., you can give away. The rest of my things, such as diary, photos, souvenirs, croix de guerre, best uniform [he had best uniform on and I think the croix de guerre—however, you may find the latter in his things, his other uniform can't be found], please put in canteen and ship along.

"Kindly cable my sister, Mrs. Followsbee, 65 Bellevue Place, Chicago. It would be kind to follow same by a letter telling about my death [which I am doing].

"I have a box trunk in Paris containing belongings I would like to send home. Paul R. knows about it and can attend to the shipping. I would appreciate it if the committee of the American Escad. would pay to Mr. Paul Rockwell the money needed to cover express.

"My burial is of no import. Make it as easy as possible for yourselves. I have no religion and do not care for any service. If the omission would embarrass you I presume I could stand the performance. [Note Jim's keen sense of humour even to death instructions.]

"Good luck to the rest of you. God damn Germany and vive la France.

"Signed,

"J. R. McCONNELL."

Jim had on the day of his death been proposed for the Croix de Guerre with palm. When it comes I shall send it to you.

Well, Paul, I have told you everything I can think of, but if there are any omissions or questions don't hesitate to ask.

I think we are now beginning to see the beginning of the end. The devastation, destruction and misery the Huns have left is a disgraceful crime to civilization and is pitiful. It drives me so furious I can't talk about it.

Best regards to you, old boy, and luck. All join in the above. I shall wind up the same as Jim.

As always,

CHOUT (Charles Chouteau Johnson).

P. S. Steve Biglow is taking canteen to your place in Paris to-morrow, so you will find it there upon your return.

C. C. J.