href="@public@vhost@g@gutenberg@html@files@46299@[email protected]#a-bad-landing">A bad landing

A heavy bombarding-machine

A German aeroplane brought down by a French aeroplane

A bi-motor Caudron

A captured Fokker

A view of the Mort-Homme taken from a height of 3,600 feet

"Everywhere little white puffs seemed to follow the machines about"

Reduced facsimile of the photographic report supplied to the Headquarters Staff of the fighting at Cumières

A Penguin

MY ENLISTMENT

In the last two years aviation has become an essential branch of the army organization of every country. Daily hundreds of pilots are flying in Europe, in Africa, in Asia Minor; flying, fighting, and dying in a medium through which, ten years ago, it was considered impossible to travel. But though the air has been mastered, the science of aero-dynamics is still in its infancy, and theory and practice are unproved so often that even the best aviators experience difficulty in keeping abreast of the times.

My experience in the French Aviation Service early taught me what a difficult and scientific task it is to pilot an aeroplane. By piloting I mean flying understandingly, skilfully; not merely riding in a machine after a few weeks' training in the hope that a safe landing may be made. In America many aviators holding pilot's licenses are in reality only conductors. Some pilots have received their brevets in the brief period of six weeks. I can only say that I feel sorry for them. My own training in France opened my eyes. It showed me how exhaustive is the method adopted by the belligerents of Europe for making experienced aviators out of raw recruits. Time and experience are the two factors essential in the training of the military pilot. Even in France, where the Aviation Service is constantly working under the forced draught of war conditions, no less than from four to six months are devoted to the training of finished pilots.

Although I have just come from France, the progress of aviation is so rapid that much of my own knowledge may be out of date before I again return to the front. But interest in flying is becoming so general among Americans that the way the aviators of France are trained, and what they are accomplishing, should attract more than passing attention. Surely, what France has done, and is doing, should be an object-lesson to our own government.

Through a special channel only recently open to Americans I enlisted in the French Air Service. As is usual in governmental matters, there were many formalities to be complied with, but in my case a friendly official in the Foreign Office came to the rescue and arranged them for me. After a few days I received the necessary permit to report for duty. Without delay I hurried to the recruiting office, which is located in the Invalides, that wonderfully inspiring monument of martial France. As I entered the bureau I met a crowd of men who had been declared unfit for the front, either on account of their health, or because they had been too seriously wounded. But to a man they were anxious to serve "la patrie," and were seeking to be re-examined for any service in which physical requirements were not so stringent. For an "embusqué" (a shirker) is looked upon as pariah in France.

When I had signed a contract to "obey the military laws of France and be governed and punished thereby," I received permission to join the French Air Service. With about thirty other men I marched to the doctor's office, where I was put through the eye, lung, and heart test. I was then ordered to report to the sergeant who had charge of the men who had passed the examination.

Among those accepted I noticed a young man of the working class. He had been particularly nervous while the roll was called. But the moment he heard his own name he seemed overjoyed. Outside, on the sidewalk, his wife was waiting. He dashed out to tell her the news. Instead of bursting into tears, as I had rather expected, she seized his hands and they danced down the street as joyfully as two children. It was typical of the spirit of the French women, willing to sacrifice everything, to help bring victory to their country.

I received my service-order to proceed immediately to Dijon, the headquarters of the Flying Corps. I took the first train and arrived there at about three in the morning. I discovered that the offices did not open until seven, and, as I had nothing to do and was hungry, I sought the military buffet at the railway-station. It was filled with men on leave and others who had been discharged from the hospitals, all waiting to return to the front. Officers and men mingled in a spirit of democracy and "camaraderie." This made a deep impression upon me, for, while discipline in the French army is very strict, there is an entire absence of that snobbishness which the average civilian so often associates with a military organization.

A Voisin bombarding-machine.
A Nieuport "avion de Chasse."

About seven o'clock I made my way to the camp. A sentry challenged me, but after I had proved my identity he sent me to the adjutant, who took my papers and, after reading them, addressed me in perfect English. I was surprised and asked him how he happened to speak English so well. It seems that he had lived in New York for twelve years, but on the outbreak of the war had returned at once to serve. I was then given in