out of the Foreign Legion into aviation and joined the other Americans at Pau.

Chouteau Johnson, of New York; Lawrence Rumsey, of Buffalo; Dudley Hill, of Peekskill, N. Y.; and Clyde Balsley, of El Paso, one after another doffed the ambulance driver's khaki for the horizonblue of the French flying corps. All of them had seen plenty of action collecting the wounded under fire, but all of them were tired of being non-combatant spectators. More or less the same feelings actuated me, I suppose. I had come over from Carthage, N. C., in January, 1915, and worked with an American Ambulance section in the Bois le Prêtre. All along I had been convinced that the United States ought to aid in the struggle against Germany. With that conviction, it was plainly up to me to do more than drive an ambulance. The more I saw the splendor of the fight the French were fighting, the more I began to feel like an embusquéwhat the British call a "shirker." So I made up my mind to go into aviation.

ENTERING THE FRENCH AIR SERVICE

A special channel had been created for the reception of applications from Americans, and my own was favorably replied to within a few days. It took four days more to pass through all the various departments, sign one's name to a few hundred papers, and undergo the physical examinations. Then I was sent to the aviation depot at Dijon and fitted out with a uniform and personal equipment. The next stop was the school at Pau, where I was to be taught to fly. My elation at arriving there was second only to my satisfaction at being a French soldier. It was a vast improvement, I thought, over the American Ambulance.

Talk about forming an all-American flying unit, or escadrille, was rife while I was at Pau. What with the pilots already brevetted, and the élèves, or pupils in the training schools, there were quite enough of our compatriots to man the dozen airplanes in one escadrille. Every day somebody "had it absolutely straight" that we were to become a unit at the front, and every other day the report turned out to be untrue. But at last, in the month of

February, our dream came true. We learned that a captain had actually been assigned to command an American escadrille and that the Americans at the front had been recalled and placed under his orders. Soon afterward we élèves got another delightful thrill.

Thaw, Prince, Cowdin, and the other veterans were training on the Nieuport. That meant the American escadrille was to fly the Nieuport, the best type of avion de chasse, and hence would be a fighting unit. It is necessary to explain parenthetically here that French military aviation, generally speaking, is divided into three groups, i. e., the avions de chasse, or airplanes of pursuit, which are used to hunt down enemy aircraft or to fight them off; avions de bombardement, big, unwieldy monsters for use in bombarding raids; and avions de réglage, cumbersome creatures designed to regulate artillery fire, take photographs, and do scout duty. The Nieuport is the smallest, fastest-rising, fastest-moving biplane in the French service. It can travel 110 miles an hour, and is a one-man apparatus with a machine gun mounted on its roof and fired by the pilot with one hand while with the other and his feet he operates his controls. The French call

'In a letter to a relative in North Carolina, written May 1, 1916, Mr. McConnell describes his machine and his work in greater detail:

"You ask me what my work will be and how my machine is armed. First of all I mount an avion de chasse and I am supposed to shoot down Boches or keep them away from our lines. I do not do observation, or regulating of artillery fire. That is handled by escadrilles equipped with bigger machines. I mount at daybreak over the lines; stay at from 11,000 to 15,000 feet and wait for the sight of an enemy 'plane. It may be a bombardment machine, a regulator of fire, an observer, or an avion de chasse looking for me. Whatever she is I make for her and manœuvre for position. All the machines carry different gun positions and one seeks the "blind" side. Having obtained the proper position one turns down or up, whatever the case may be, and when within fifty yards opens up the machine gun. That holes and cross webbs. As one is passing at a terrific is on the upper plane and it is sighted by a series of rate there is not time for many shots, so unless wounded or one's machine injured by the first try, for the enemy 'plane shoots too, one tries it again and again, until there's nothing doing or the other fellow is dropped. Aside from work over the lines, which is comparatively calm, there is the job of convoying bombardment trips. That is the rotten task."

their Nieuport pilots the "aces" of the air. No wonder we were tickled to be included in that august brotherhood!

Before the American Escadrille became an established fact, one of its members, Elliot Cowdin, succeeded in bringing down a German machine, and thus winning the first Médaille Militaire, the highest decoration that can be awarded a non-commissioned officer or private. He and Thaw, having mastered the Nieuport, had managed to be sent to the Verdun front, and it was there that Cowdin's machine gun scored its bull's eye.

After completing his training, receiving his military pilot's brevet, and being perfected on the type of 'plane he is to use at the front, an aviator is ordered to the reserve headquarters near Paris to await his call. Kiffin Rockwell and Victor Chapman had been there for months, and I had just arrived, when on the 16th of April orders came for the Americans to join their escadrille at Luxeuil, in the Vosges.

The rush was breathless! Never were flying clothes and fur coats drawn from the quartermaster, belongings packed, and red tape in the various administrative bureaus unfurled with such headlong haste. In a few hours we were aboard the train, panting but happy. Our party consisted of Sergeant Prince and Rockwell, Chapman, and myself, who were only corporals at that time. We were joined at Luxeuil by Lieutenant Thaw and Sergeants Hall and Cowdin.

For the veterans our arrival at the front was devoid of excitement; for the three neophytes-Rockwell, Chapman, and me -it was the beginning of a new existence, the entry into an unknown world. Of course Rockwell and Chapman had seen plenty of warfare on the ground, but warfare in the air was as novel to them as to me. For us all it contained unlimited possibilities for initiative and service to France, and for them it must have meant, too, the restoration of personality lost during those months in the trenches with the Foreign Legion. Rockwell summed it up characteristically.

"Well, we're off for the races," he remarked.

There is a considerable change in the life of a pilot when he arrives on the front. During the training period he is subject to rules and regulations as stringent as those of the barracks. But once assigned to duty over the firing line he receives the treatment accorded an officer, no matter what his grade. what his grade. Save when he is flying or on guard, his time is his own. There are no roll-calls or other military frills, and in place of the bunk he slept upon as an élève he finds a regular bed in a room to himself, and the services of an orderly. Even men of higher rank who, although connected with his escadrille, are not pilots, treat him with respect. His two mechanicians are under his orders. Being volunteers, we Americans are shown more than the ordinary consideration by the ever-generous French Government, which sees that we have the best of everything.

On our arrival at Luxeuil we were met by Captain Thenault, the French commander of the American Escadrille officially known as No. 124, by the wayand motored to the aviation field in one of the staff cars assigned to us. I enjoyed that ride. that ride. Lolling back against the soft leather cushions, I recalled how in my apprenticeship days at Pau I had had to walk six miles for my laundry.

THE AMERICAN ESCADRILLE

The equipment awaiting us at the field was even more impressive than our automobile. Everything was brand new, from the fifteen Fiat trucks to the office, magazine, and rest tents. And the men attached to the Escadrille! At first sight they seemed to outnumber the Nicaraguan army-mechanicians, chauffeurs, armorers, motor cyclists, telephonists, wireless operators, Red Cross stretcher bearers, clerks! Afterward I learned they totaled seventyodd, and that all of them were glad to be connected with the American Escadrille.

In their hangars stood our trim little Nieuports. I looked mine over with a new feeling of importance and gave orders to my mechanicians for the mere satisfaction of being able to. To find oneself the sole proprietor of a fighting airplane is quite a treat, let me tell you. One gets accustomed to it, though, after one has

used up two or three of them at the French Government's expense.

Rooms were assigned to us in a villa adjoining the famous hot baths of Luxeuil, where Cæsar's cohorts were wont to besport themselves. We messed with our officers, Captain Thenault and Lieutenant de Laage de Mieux, at the best hotel in town. An automobile was always on hand to carry us to the field. I began to wonder whether I was a summer resorter instead of a soldier.

Among the pilots who had welcomed. us with open arms, we discovered the famous Captain Happe, commander of the Luxeuil bombardment group. The doughty bomb-dispenser, upon whose head the Germans have set a price, was in his quarters. After we had been introduced, he pointed to eight little boxes1 arranged on a table.

"They contain Croix de Guerre for the families of the men I lost on my last trip," he explained; and he added: "It's a good thing you're here to go along with us for protection. There are lots of Boches in this sector."

I thought of the luxury we were enjoying: our comfortable beds, baths, and motor cars; and then I recalled the ancient custom of giving a man selected for the sacrifice a royal time of it before the appointed day.

THE ESCADRILle's first sortie

The American Escadrille was sent to Luxeuil primarily to acquire the teamwork necessary to a flying unit. Then, too, the new pilots needed a taste of antiaircraft artillery to familiarize them with the business of aviation over a battlefield.

'The following quotation from a letter written by Mr. McConnell last May adds a graphic touch to the story of the "eight little boxes":

"We have the honor of being attached to a squadron that is the most famous in the French army. The captain of the outfit once lost his whole escadrille, and on the last trip eight lost their lives. It was a wonderful fight. The squadron was attacked by thirty-three Boches. Two French 'planes crashed to earth; then two German; another German was set on fire and streaked down followed by a streaming column of smoke. Another Frenchman fell; another German and then a French lieutenant mortally wounded and, realizing he was dying, plunged his aeroplane into a German below him and both fell."

The Germans shot well in that sector, too. Lieutenant Thaw's machine was hit at an altitude of 13,000 feet.

The memory of the first sortie we made as an escadrille will always remain fresh in my mind because it was also my first trip over the lines2. We were to leave at six in the morning. Captain Thenault pointed out on his aërial map the route we were to follow. Never having flown over this region before, I was afraid of losing myself. Therefore, as it is easier to keep other airplanes in sight when one is above them, I began climbing as rapidly as possible, meaning to trail along in the wake of my companions. Unless one has had practice in flying in formation, however, it is hard to keep in contact. The diminutive avions de chasse are the merest pinpoints against the great sweep of landscape below and the limitless heavens above. The air was misty and clouds were gathering. Ahead there seemed a barrier of them. Although as I looked down the ground showed plainly, in the distance everything was hazy. Forging up above the mist, at 7,000 feet, I lost the others altogether. Even when they are

2More about this first sortie is told in a letter from Mr. McConnell dated May 14, 1916:

"Well, I've made my first trip over the lines and proved a few things to myself. First I can stand high altitudes. I had never been above 7,000 feet before, nor had I flown more than an hour. On my trip to Germany I went to 14,000 feet and was in air for two hours. I wore the fur head-to-foot combination they give one and paper gloves under the fur gloves you sent me. I was not cold. In a way it seemed amusing to be going out knowing as little as I do. My mitrailleuse had been mounted the night before. I had never fired it. Nor did I know the country at all even though I'd motored along our lines. I followed the others or I surely would have been lost. I shall have to make special trips to study the land and be able to make it out from my map which I carry on board. For one thing the weather was hazy and clouds obscured the view.

"To-day the army moving-picture outfit took pictures of us. We had a big show. Thirty bombardment 'planes went off like clock-work and we followed. We circled and swooped down by the Then we were taken in groups, individually, in flying togs, and God knows what all. They will be shown in the States. If you happen to see them you can recognize my machine because MAC is painted on the side.

camera.

"We didn't see any Boche 'planes on our trip. We were too many. The only way to do is to sneak up on them."

not closely joined, the clouds, seen from immediately above, appear as a solid bank of white. The spaces between are indistinguishable. It is like being in an Arctic ice field.

To the south I made out the Alps. Their glittering peaks projected up through the white sea about me like majestic icebergs. Not a single 'plane was visible anywhere, and I was growing very uncertain about my position. My "splendid isolation" had become oppressive when, one by one, the others began bobbing up above the cloud level.

We were over Belfort and headed for the trench lines. The cloud banks dropped behind, and below us we saw the smiling plain of Alsace stretching eastward to the Rhine. It was distinctly pleasurable, flying over this conquered land. Following the course of the canal that runs to the Rhine I sighted, from a height of 13,000 feet over Dannemarie, a series of brown, woodwormlike tracings on the groundthe trenches!

BURSTING SHRAPNEL COULDN'T BE HEARD

My attention was drawn elsewhere almost immediately, however. Two balls of black smoke had suddenly appeared close to one of the machines ahead of me, and with the same disconcerting abruptness similar balls began to dot the sky above, below, and on all sides of us. We were being shot at with shrapnel. It was interesting to watch the flash of the bursting shells, and the attendant smoke puffs black, white, or yellow, depending on the kind of shrapnel used. The roar of the engine drowned the noise of the explosions. Strangely enough, my feelings about it were wholly impersonal.

We turned north after crossing the lines. Mulhouse seemed just below us, and I noted with a keen sense of satisfaction our invasion of real German territory. The Rhine, too, looked delightfully accessible. As we continued northward I distinguished the twin lakes of Gérardmer sparkling in their emerald setting. Where the lines crossed the Hartmanns-Weilerkopf there were little spurts of brown smoke as shells burst in the trenches. One could scarcely pick out the old city of Thann from among

the numerous neighboring villages, so tiny it seemed in the valley's mouth. I had never been higher than 7,000 feet and was unaccustomed to reading country from a great altitude. It was also bitterly cold, and even in my fur-lined combination I was shivering. I noticed, too, that I had to take long, deep breaths in the rarefied atmosphere. Looking downward at a certain angle, I saw what at first I took to be a round, shimmering pool of water. It was simply the effect of the sunlight on the congealing mist.

ROCKWELL "Gets" a germAN

Only

We had been keeping an eye out for German machines since leaving our lines, but none had shown up. It wasn't surprising, for we were too many. four days later, however, Rockwell brought down the Escadrille's first airplane in his initial aërial combat. He was flying alone when, over Thann, he came upon a German on reconnaissance. He dived and the German turned toward his own lines, opening fire from a long distance. Rockwell kept straight after him. Then, closing to within thirty yards, he pressed on the release of his machine gun, and saw the enemy gunner fall backward and the pilot crumple up sideways in his seat. The 'plane flopped downward and crashed to earth just behind the German trenches. Swooping close to the ground, Rockwell saw its débris burning away brightly. He had turned the trick with but four shots and only one German bullet had struck his Nieuport. An observation post telephoned the news before Rockwell's return, and he got a great welcome. All Luxeuil smiled upon him-particularly the girls. But he couldn't stay to enjoy his popularity. The Escadrille was ordered to the sector of Verdun.

While in a way we were sorry to leave Luxeuil, we naturally didn't regret the chance to take part in the aërial activity of the world's greatest battle. The night before our departure some German aircraft destroyed four of our tractors and killed six men with bombs, but even that caused little excitement compared with going to Verdun. We would get square with the Boches over Verdun, we thought

-it is impossible to chase airplanes at night, so the raiders made a safe getaway.

As soon as we pilots had left in our machines, the trucks and tractors set out in convoy, carrying the men and equipment. The Nieuports carried us to our new post in a little more than an hour. We stowed them away in the hangars and went to have a look at our sleeping quarters. A commodious villa half way between the town of Bar-le-Duc and the aviation field had been assigned to us, and comforts were as plentiful as at Luxeuil.

Our really serious work had begun, however, and we knew it. Even as far behind the actual fighting as Bar-le-Duc one could sense one's proximity to a vast military operation. The endless convoys of motor trucks, the fast flowing stream of troops, and the distressing number of ambulances brought realization of the near presence of a gigantic battle.

Within a twenty-mile radius of the Verdun front aviation camps abound. Our Escadrille was listed on the schedule with the other fighting units, each of which has its specified flying hours rotating so there is always an escadrille de chasse over the lines. A field wireless to enable us to keep track of the movements of enemy 'planes became part of our equipment.

Lufbery joined us a few days after our arrival. He was followed by Johnson and Balsley, who had been on the air guard over Paris. Hill and Rumsey came next, and after them Masson and Pavelka. Nieuports were supplied them from the nearest depot, and as soon as they had mounted their instruments and machine guns they were on the job with the rest of us. Fifteen Americans are or have been members of the American Escadrille, but there have never been as many as that on duty at any one time.

AT VERDUN

Before we were fairly settled at Bar-leDuc, Hall brought down a German observation craft and Thaw a Fokker. Fights occurred on almost every sortie. The Germans seldom cross into our territory, unless on a bombarding jaunt, and thus practically all the fighting takes place on their side of the line. Thaw dropped his

Fokker in the morning, and on the afternoon of the same day there was a big combat far behind the German trenches. Thaw was wounded in the arm, and an explosive bullet detonating on Rockwell's windshield tore several gashes in his face. Despite the blood which was blinding him Rockwell managed to reach an aviation field and land. Thaw, whose wound bled profusely, landed in a dazed condition just within our lines. He was too weak to walk, and French soldiers carried him to a field dressing station, whence he was sent to Paris for further treatment. Rockwell's wounds were less serious and he insisted on flying again almost immediately.

A BATTLE IN THE AIR

A week or so later Chapman was wounded. Considering the number of fights he had been in and the courage with which he attacked it was a miracle he had not been hit before. He always fought against odds and far within the enemy's country. He flew more than any of us, never missing an opportunity to go up, and never coming down until his gasolene was giving out. His machine was a sieve of patched-up bullet holes. His nerve was almost superhuman and his devotion to the cause for which he fought sublime. The day he was wounded he attacked four machines. Swooping down from behind, one of them, a Fokker, riddled Chapman's 'plane. One bullet cut deep into his scalp, but Chapman, a master pilot, escaped from the trap, and fired several shots to show he was still safe. A stability control had been severed by a bullet. Chapman held the broken rod in one hand, managed his machine with the other, and succeeded in landing on a nearby aviation field. His wound was dressed, his machine repaired, and he immediately took the air in pursuit of some more enemies. He would take no rest, and with bandaged head continued to fly and fight.

The Escadrille's next serious encounter with the foe took place a few days later. Rockwell, Balsley, Prince, and Captain Thenault were surrounded by a large number of Germans, who, circling about them, commenced firing at long range. Realizing their numerical inferiority, the