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THE AMERICAN SPIRIT 
 
LIEUT. BRIGGS KILBURN ADAMS R-F_C. 
 
THE AMERICAN SPIRIT 
 
 LETTERS OF 
 
 BRIGGS KILBURN ADAMS 
 
 If 
 
 LIEUTENANT OF THE 
 
 ROYAL FLYING CORPS 
 
 WITH A PREFACE BY 
 ARTHUR STANWOOD PIER 
 
 BOSTON 
 The ATLANTIC MONTHLY PRESS, Inc. 
 
 1918 
 
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Copyright 1918 
 By W. I. Lincoln Adams 
 
 
 M 13 1919 
 
 ICI.A512146 
 
PREFACE 
 
 IN the autumn of 1916 among the seventy or eighty stu- 
 dents enrolled in a course in English Composition that I 
 was giving at Harvard University was Briggs Kilbum 
 Adams. For some time he remained only a name to me; yet 
 in the themes that bore his name I soon found myself taking a 
 special interest. For they revealed two facts about him: he 
 had spent the previous summer driving an ambulance in 
 France, and he had unusual ability to describe what he had 
 seen and felt. 
 
 When he came to me for a conference, I recognized in 
 him the boy who had been sitting in the front row and look- 
 ing up at me during my occasional talks to the class, with an 
 expression embarrassingly intent — relieved now and then 
 from any suggestion of over-appreciation by a flicker, equally 
 embarrassing, of quizzical humor. He was tall and well 
 built and handsome; his bluish-gray eyes were shaded by 
 long, curling eyelashes, his mouth had a gentle, sensitive 
 curve, his fingers were long and slender, indicating the ex- 
 cellent musician that he was; he spoke in a low, rather slow 
 voice, and seemed an attractive combination of shy reticence 
 and willingness to be drawn out. He told me a little about 
 his work in France — how he had driven wounded at four 
 miles an hour and suff'ered because he knew that even then 
 the slight bumping over rough places was agonizing to them. 
 The fine sensitiveness of a gentle and sympathetic nature 
 showed in his talk, as always in his writing. 
 
 But none of his work at this time had the quality of thought 
 and style to be found in the letters to the dearly-loved mem- 
 bers of his family after he had begun to fly. As I wrote to 
 his father when a few of these letters first appeared in the 
 Harvard Alumni Bulletin: " He never wrote anything for me 
 which could compare with these letters, and nothing else that 
 has been written about the war, that I have read, can com- 
 
 [5] 
 
pare with them. They are the most beautiful bits of writing 
 that have come out of the war — beautiful in style and color 
 and motion. No one else has taken me up in the air and 
 shown me what it must be to fly; no one else has presented 
 so vivid a figure of war as it should be portrayed. And the 
 little touch about perhaps finding his lost sister Carol ' on 
 the other side of the next cloud,' is one of those wonderful 
 bits of simplicity and imagination that come only to the 
 gifted and are to be found only in great literature." 
 
 What could be finer than the passage in that notable letter 
 to his mother in which he writes: " I go about, as it were, 
 hands with palms out, all about my heart, holding things 
 outside of it. I am conscious of things I don't like, or dis- 
 comforts sometimes . . . but I won't let them get into the 
 inside where they hurt. If I can change them, I can do it 
 just as well keeping them outside, and if I can't change them, 
 — well, what does it matter? — they're outside." 
 
 As a Harvard professor said of this passage, it is the his- 
 toric "They shall not pass," as applied to personal life. 
 
 Professor Francis G. Peabody, of Harvard, writing to 
 Major Adams, said of the letters printed in the Harvard 
 Alumni Bulletin shortly after Lieutenant Adams's death, that 
 " they are not only gallant and beautiful in their feeling, but 
 singularly elevated in their style, as though his new ex- 
 perience had lifted him into new levels of expression and 
 given to his language something of the clearness and fresh- 
 ness of the upper air. All who love or serve Harvard Uni- 
 versity — and indeed all lovers of noble young men — must 
 read these letters with a renewed sense of spiritual education, 
 which the tragedies of the time are providing, and will share 
 the happy pride with which you must think of his short but 
 complete career." 
 
 At the time when my acquaintance with Briggs Adams 
 began, his interests had awakened and were reaching out 
 in many directions. His love of nature, of literature, and 
 
 [6] 
 
of music — he was a leader of the 'Varsity musical clubs 
 in many of their concerts — was alive and growing. He 
 liked to experiment with verse-forms, to analyze the mood 
 inspired by a symphony, to record the impressions received 
 in a walk through the woods. But in his themes and in his 
 talk he kept reverting, of course, to the one great theme — the 
 war. He had come back from France, passionately longing to 
 see his country in the war, passionately longing to take an 
 active part in the war himself. Indeed, before leaving France 
 to return to complete his college education, he had enrolled 
 for service the following year in the Lafayette Escadrille. 
 
 In April, 1917, he finished with college — as did so many 
 other ardent youths. His first efforts to enter the aviation 
 service met with failure. How well he finally succeeded 
 is revealed in his letters and testified by his comrades. He 
 graduated first in a class of twenty with an average of 94, 
 the highest mark that had been achieved up to that time. A 
 fellow cadet wrote of his flying in England before he had 
 won his Lieutenant's commission as follows: — 
 
 " Our boys here — the seven who came with me — are 
 
 ready for instruction on the ' real ' machines fighting 
 
 buses. B. K. Adams, who is a splendid flyer, has already 
 
 graduated, and will go to soon. He gave one of the 
 
 finest exhibitions I have seen and boosted our stock 100 per 
 cent. He was taken ' dual ' on this ' real ' machine, and 
 after only ten minutes' instruction, and one landing, he said 
 he could ' fly it alone.' Permission was granted, and he got 
 away perfectly, took the bus up to about 6000 feet, looped 
 it four times in succession, then put it into a spin, coming 
 out beautifully. To give you an idea of what these buses are, 
 I will simply say that at one time B. K.'s speed indicator 
 registered 155 miles per hour! It was a splendid showing, 
 and we are all waiting our turn, trusting we can do likewise 
 and ' carry on.' " 
 
 War requires of a man the display of more rugged quali- 
 
 [7] 
 
ties than a fine sensitiveness; and those rugged qualities 
 Briggs Adams had, by direct inheritance. He was descended 
 from Henry Adams, of Braintree, Massachusetts, the common 
 ancestor of Samuel Adams and John Adams; and on his 
 mother's side from the Wilson family of Virginia, of whom 
 one member was killed fighting at Monmouth and another 
 fell in the War of 1812. With such ancestry it is not sur- 
 prising that Briggs Adams should have dedicated himself to 
 the greatest of all struggles for human liberty. It is inter- 
 esting and significant that his father and two brothers are in 
 military service. 
 
 Most of the letters printed in this volume were written 
 after he had enrolled in the Royal Flying Corps. It has, 
 however, been thought wise to include a few letters written 
 during his college period and while he was driving an ambu- 
 lance in France, for the additional light that they shed upon 
 his character and development. 
 
 His last letter was dated March 11, 1918. On March 14, 
 a stormy and misty day, Briggs Adams was flying at the 
 front, with a comrade of his squadron. The comrade missed 
 him; and, descending, found him dead in his airplane in a 
 field. It is not known whether he was brought down by an 
 enemy projectile, or was the victim of an accident. All 
 that is certain is that he was killed in active service while 
 flying on the battle-front. 
 
 Tlie appearance of a few of Briggs Adams's letters in the 
 Atlantic Monthly for October, 1918, caused a widespread 
 expression of deep interest. Thoughtful readers assigned to 
 them a high place in the spiritual literature of the war. All 
 that is noble and chivalrous in the American spirit is revealed 
 in them; yet they were written by Lieutenant Adams with no 
 thought of revealing anything to the world, but only to con- 
 vey the warmth and encouragement of his spirit to those at 
 home whom he dearly loved. A c p 
 
 Milton, Massachusetts 
 
 November 1, 1918 [8] 
 
FROM HARVARD 
 
 Westmorly Court, Cambridge, March, 1916. 
 Dear Mother and Father, — 
 
 If my examinations have been like the Sword of Damocles 
 hanging over your heads, you can well imagine what it means 
 to me to have that sword removed; for now I am absolutely 
 clear of everything, and my path lies pretty straight ahead 
 toward an A.B.; and along the side of that path I can see 
 possibilities which may make the journey very pleasant. . . . 
 
 I am appreciating very much more what it means to have 
 this opportunity for study here in college; I can almost feel 
 myself growing and broadening from day to day, — not so 
 much in technical knowledge, as in my capacity for appre- 
 ciating things. I never could see, for instance, the use of 
 learning about the life and character of an author, when it 
 was his works which we read; but this week we have taken 
 up the poet Pope in one of my courses, and having studied 
 his life and realizing his acute sensitiveness, I can appreciate 
 the state of mind which produced his great Satires. 
 
 To-night I was reading the Spectator papers of Addison 
 and Steele. I liked especially those about Sir Roger de 
 Coverley. In high school we had to read and study them 
 in a way which made them seem highly uninteresting; but 
 to-night I seemed to get into the atmosphere of these delightful 
 papers, and I fairly love the old Knight for his simplicity 
 and genuineness. He was constantly thinking of others, and 
 yet, with all his Christian virtues, he had his own little foi- 
 bles, such as napping in church, and sending his servants to 
 waken others whom he had discovered asleep. His state of 
 mind, so happily complacent, reminded me again and again 
 of dear old Grandmother Adams as she always was, content 
 with simple things, loving all and being loved by all who 
 knew her, unquestioning in faith, — she really was a beauti- 
 ful example. 
 
 The other night I took my violin out to play with H. M., 
 and as we were playing Schubert's Serenade I recalled the 
 picture of not so very long ago, when on a Sunday Grand- 
 mother would be sitting in our library at home, fanning her- 
 self, and watching us sympathetically as we laughed and 
 talked. Then Wilson and Beth would begin to play the 
 
 [9] 
 
Serenade, and her face would immediately light up with 
 pleasure, she would draw her chair close to Wilson's, and 
 sit there listening in perfect content. She had indeed no 
 subtle or complex artistic appreciation of music, but loved 
 it for its own sake, especially that Serenade. 
 
 I certainly enjoyed that evening with H. M. She is one of 
 the few girls I know who, while being attractive, yet puts 
 aside the feminine appeal, and you can enjoy her company 
 quite impersonally. She plays well enough to read most of 
 my accompaniments, and we played together all the old 
 things, such as the Swan Song, the Berceuse, the Serenade, 
 etc. I never played with better tone, and those old things, 
 which seemed so uninteresting as I used to squeak through 
 them in my old toneless days, when I was learning them, 
 seemed now rarely beautiful to me, and I cannot begin to 
 tell you how much I enjoyed that evening. I came back to 
 college and slept like a log. 
 
 With much love from your devoted son. 
 
 [10] 
 
FIRST VIEWS OF WAR 
 
 France, July 2, 1916. 
 Dear Father and Mother, — 
 
 The trip has been of the greatest interest so far because of 
 its entire novelty. I had not realized a foreign country could 
 be so foreign. On shipboard I noticed the change mostly in 
 the cooking. Also the French are always shaking hands; 
 when they meet in the morning, when they meet at lunch and 
 when they go to bed. 
 
 The passengers held a sort of amateur concert two nights 
 before we landed, for the benefit of the wounded soldiers. 
 Among the various amateurs were two professionals, a so- 
 prano and a tenor, from the French Opera Company. They 
 sang many of the familiar Victor records, and did very well 
 so far as voices were concerned. The funny part was the 
 way they pitched into it. The soprano would weep and laugh 
 and work as hard as if she were before an audience of many 
 thousands. 
 
 In closing, they sang the Marseillaise in a most dramatic 
 manner. Most of the passengers were French, and they all 
 stood up, and, holding their breaths tense, with eyes staring, 
 they fairly drank in the words; and all joined in the chorus, 
 shrieking, rather than singing it. 
 
 Among the seventy passengers, they raised something over 
 twelve hundred francs, 125 of which I contributed; but not 
 from my own pocket. They got the tenor and soprano to sign 
 a program; and, as I had given them stories as my part of the 
 show, they wished the job of auctioneering it off, on me. I 
 surprised myself by finding my experience of farm auctions 
 had not been forgotten. I strung an awful line of " bull." 
 It went very slowly from 15 francs up. When it got up to 
 20 francs I saw it was doomed ; so, pretending it was a great 
 concession, I said that the one who would give 25 for it 
 could have the program. (I would n't have given a quarter 
 for it myself!) I noticed one Frenchman who had been 
 bidding occasionally, so I sprung it on him as if he had 
 said he would take it. And he was so surprised and sort of 
 pleased to have the distinction that he said "Yes," and came 
 across. 
 
 [11] 
 
We had several hours in Bordeaux, which we spent driving 
 around. As a foreign city it was very attractive, I thought; 
 but it was strange to see stone buildings everywhere. The 
 fare to Paris is something over forty francs. We came 
 through free! It is pretty soft being an ambulance driver. 
 One is not uncomfortable in plain clothes as in England, for 
 here the Army service is universal and it is only voluntary 
 there. So if a man is in civilian clothes here they Icnow he is 
 either a foreigner or has some good reason; however, when 
 in uniform, you are less conspicuous and you get half prices 
 everywhere. Paris gets dark after sunset, but all the regular 
 French places are going, except the Opera and the Comedie 
 Frangaise. 
 
 The streets are crowded and busy, and everywhere you see 
 women doing men's work. Conductors, street sweepers, 
 clerks and the street venders, market-women and paper-sell- 
 ers, singing their wares in some little tune of three and four 
 notes, quite unlike the New York way. We were just about 
 to go on the Bois before noon to-day, for we were told that 
 was the time to see the classy stuff; but we had a call, and so 
 had to remain near by the Ambulance. 
 
 The dormitories were full, so about thirty of us fellows 
 are staying in a vacant private house, which is referred to 
 as the " chateau." When I heard I was to live in a chateau, 
 I thought of the old days at the farm when Vincent was so 
 amused by my remark, "chateau — big word!" From the 
 street only a lot of little houses and high walls are to be seen. 
 You pass through the gates from the porter's lodge, into a 
 very lovely little court, very quiet, secluded and cool. The 
 house is stripped now of all its furnishings, but it is easy to 
 see that it was very luxurious. 
 
 The foreign part of it comes in again when it comes to 
 water. There was not a bathroom in the house, so the 
 Ambulance had one installed, three basins on the second floor, 
 and three showers in the cellar, for thirty to use all at once, 
 and just cold water at that! 
 
 There are six of us in a room that used to be a reception 
 room on the ground floor, but my bed is near a window, so 
 it is not bad. There are no hooks, no closets, no chiffonier, 
 so you cannot unpack; and you have to have your bags 
 either under or on your bed. But all inconveniences are 
 
 [12] 
 
passed by with a shrug of the shoulder and the remark, 
 " C'est la guerre." 
 
 We saw some terrible results of German warfare. I saw 
 one man with only a slight wound, but whose nerves were 
 so gone that he couldn't hold himself in a chair, but would 
 literally shake himself off. Another fellow had both legs 
 and arms gone, and his head all bandaged. Another whose 
 face was burned to a charcoal. Eyes, nose, all gone, but 
 living. One expects bullet wounds, or to lose a limb or 
 two, even a head, if necessary, but to have a blackened mis- 
 shapen nothing for a head and still live, makes you realize 
 that not only is this the biggest but the most horrible war of 
 all history. 
 
 I find only thoughts bother me. Even the odors in the 
 Ambulance trains, which are awful, do not phase me. I am 
 getting a lot of interesting experiences and even if I cannot 
 go out to the front, I am close enough to hear the guns at 
 night, and get first-hand accounts. It looks as if the big 
 drive had really started, so we will be busy here for some 
 time. But we have plenty of hands and will work in shifts, 
 and so get on all right. 
 
 Much love to all. 
 
 American Ambulance, France, July 2, 1916. 
 Dear Line, — 
 
 Much obliged for your nice steamer letter. I read it 
 about half way across. . . . All the Fords are out at the 
 front, so I can drive a regular car after all. They do have 
 some time at the front, believe me; I wish I could get out 
 there. There is such a terrific noise, and so continuous, that 
 it is almost like quiet. 
 
 One fellow was about fifty feet ahead of an ammunition 
 wagon when a shell hit it and blew the whole thing up; killed 
 the horses and driver, but the fellow driving the ambulance 
 did not hear anything of it, until he was stopped and sent 
 back. 
 
 All our cars are around Verdun, and after it is dark, they 
 begin to work. They fall in line with the ammunition and 
 food wagons and go along in pitch darkness and no lights. 
 The Germans know exactly where the roads are now, so they 
 jcan set their guns in a certain position and know they are 
 
 [13] 
 
hitting the road. They know the ammunition and reinforce- 
 ments are coming up all night, and so they fire away and get 
 a lot of them. 
 
 The Fords drive along as tight as they can. They cannot 
 see the holes in the road that the shells make, so if they do 
 not avoid them by instinct, they have to get lifted out by 
 the constantly passing stream of soldiers; that is why they 
 use Fords. They can pick them out of holes easier. If they 
 manage to keep out of the holes they have to dodge the big 
 wagons going the other way; horses going at full gallop, or 
 big trucks tearing like mad. They cannot hear them coming 
 because the noise is too great. Then to add to the charm 
 of driving is the constant popping of shells. When they 
 come back over the same road they find twenty or thirty new 
 holes to fall into! 
 
 Any number of cars have been smashed, and fellows are 
 getting nicked all the time, for they are more exposed than 
 the men in the trenches. One fellow had a blow-out, so he 
 got out to fix it. Just then a shell took off the seat he had 
 left. Another driver was lying underneath his car fixing 
 something. A shell hit it and knocked the car away and 
 smashed it to bits, while he was left there lying on his back 
 in the road with his hands reaching up holding a wrench, 
 more surprised than you could imagine, and without a 
 scratch. 
 
 Another fellow was famous for being the rottenest driver 
 in that section. In one of the worst places he stalled his en- 
 gine. While he was down cranking it, a shell went through 
 his car killing one of the wounded fellows. The driver got 
 his Croix de guerre for bravery under fire! If he had been 
 a decent driver he would have been out of the way and would 
 not have got it. 
 
 " This is a great life if you don't weaken." 
 
 Aeroplanes are as thick as flies about here. Just now I 
 can see three playing tag, pretending one is a German and 
 chasing it. 
 
 Study hard. Line, so you can get up a class or two; for 
 there may be a time like this when you would like to take a 
 year off, but can't do it because you are getting too old, have 
 to go to work, or get married! 
 
 [14] 
 
JuiLLY, July 24, 1916. 
 Dear Family, — 
 
 Your " round-robin " of the first of July came last week 
 and I assure you it was much appreciated. I could see the 
 big envelope standing addressed and stamped on the sitting 
 room desk with father s letter in it, and hear his last word 
 when leaving: " Be sure and get it off in time for the 
 steamer." 
 
 It was very nice to get it and hear the news and see the 
 snap-shots, etc. But I hate to cause so much labor. As far 
 as I am concerned I do not need any more letters here than 
 when in Cambridge. For once here, the realization of the 
 distance separating us is lost, so hereafter only write when 
 the spirit moves. 
 
 I have had a most perfect week here in the Ambulance. 
 There are five squads of five cars each, and every week one 
 squad calls out here to do what little work is necessary. It 
 just happened we have not had a single train to meet, so we 
 had nothing to do but enjoy ourselves. The town is just 
 like a hundred other little French towns, nothing of interest 
 in it except this old college, in which the hospital is tem- 
 porarily located. The building is made of stone, the walls 
 at least four feet thick at the base. It was begun in the 
 twelfth century, and the college founded in the sixteenth. 
 Jerome Bonaparte was one of the better-known graduates. 
 It has a little park attached, with a pond, on which there are 
 several swans swimming. It is the most peaceful, quiet 
 place, full of suggestive atmosphere. 
 
 And the fellows in this squad are all very nice, and but 
 one older than I, being in the thirties. The sergeant is an 
 Englishman exempt from service for some physical trouble. 
 He is a circus in himself. Every minute of the day he is 
 saying or doing some ridiculously funny thing, and he has a 
 very fine bass voice, by which ordinarily he earns his living. 
 One evening we came upon a piano in one of the empty reci- 
 tation rooms. One of the fellows sat down and began to 
 play, and I happened to find a violin in good condition 
 in the cupboard. The sergeant brought out some songs, and 
 we spent a very enjoyable evening. 
 
 The food here is very much better than at the Ambulance 
 at Neuilly. So to keep from getting stout I have to take long 
 
 [15] 
 
walks each day to some nearby town. Juilly is within a cou- 
 ple of miles of the farthest advance by the Germans on Paris 
 in September, 1914, and the place where actual fighting took 
 place is within easy walking distance. We hired a car the 
 other day and went for quite a long ride, to and through 
 the region of the Battle of the Mame, and it was very inter- 
 esting. Hundreds of graves are lying in every direction ac- 
 cording as the men fell, the Germans mixed in among the 
 French, the former being marked only by a black stick, while 
 the latter are marked by a wooden cross and a wreath or two. 
 You would never believe one of the greatest battles of the 
 world had been fought here; for everywhere rich crops of 
 grain are growing, and nothing is prettier than the golden 
 oats, among which are scattered red poppies and blue bache- 
 lor buttons, like kale in our oats at Hilltop Farms. 
 
 All the week we have had wonderful weather. First time 
 it happened for a long stretch, so the week has been a treat 
 and rest from the broken nights and the pressing work. The 
 trouble with it is that we have so much of the unpleasant side 
 of war, with none of the excitement of the front to make it 
 worth while. Still I get a lot of anecdotes and tales from 
 the fellows who come in from the front, so it is better than 
 nothing. We return to-day and I shall now begin the French 
 lessons I spoke of. It will give me something to work on 
 at odd moments, and hearing French spoken on all sides, I 
 ought to be able to pick up quite a lot before I leave. 
 
 Good food and walks each day this week have put me in 
 prime condition, and it has been a relief to know that you 
 can go to bed at night and can sleep till morning. In Neuilly 
 you always feel agreeably surprised to find that it is morn- 
 ing, when you wake up, for so often it is night. / am never 
 going to be a fireman. 
 
 The car we went out in the other day was hired. It had 
 not been requisitioned because they thought it would not run. 
 It looked as though it had been through the war, having but 
 two cylinders, an old 1907 Renault with four gears. The 
 fellow that owned it had half a dozen more scattered around 
 his yard like it. They all seem to run, for I have seen him 
 out in several different ones. One was a oTie-cylinder with 
 everything so loose that it would flap all over the road from 
 
 [16] 
 
side to side as it ran. The old fellow would drive serenely 
 along, leaning forward like Smalley in his Ford! 
 
 The other day we saw eleven aeroplanes in a bunch flying 
 like a lot of swallows. You can never look up without seeing 
 at least two or three flying around. If all America could 
 move over and see a bit of this war, if only as little as I 
 have seen, it would have a wonderful effect. It would make 
 our people realize what a fearfully hateful crime it is, so 
 that those who shout for war would quail and make them- 
 selves as small as possible, and the pacifists would get into 
 uniforms and enter the trenches and fight to exterminate the 
 rest of the Prussians from the earth. No one in America can 
 begin to know what it is, no matter how much you read or 
 have been told, it takes but a glance here to make the realiza- 
 tion almost insupportable, one just can't think. 
 
 If the Germans could possibly ever be so wngermanized 
 as to see it all in the true light, there would be a most terrific 
 upheaval in Germany. France is using so much energy in 
 the fight there is none left for the thought of the cost; they 
 just go on paying, paying, and dying, dying; but no other of 
 the belligerents is in it the way France is. 
 
 Much love and many thanks for the letters. 
 
 [IT] 
 
IN THE AIR SERVICE 
 
 R. F. C, Cadet Wing, 
 Long Branch, Ontario, 
 August 10, 1917. 
 Dear Mother, — 
 
 This is the first chance I have had to write, for we have 
 been pretty busy. I got up here Wednesday morning and 
 was all day taking the physical examinations and getting en- 
 rolled. I am now a British subject and will hold the com- 
 mission when I get it till the end of the war. Ninety out of 
 one hundred fellows in the corps are American. There is a 
 company of Plattsburgers here studying aviation, and this 
 morning the Captain said we must " compete with the Ameri- 
 cans in keeping our company streets cleaned up." It got 
 quite a laugh when some one spoke up and said we could n't 
 " compete " with them, for we were all Americans. 
 
 The officers are all very attractive and treat us well. The 
 whole place is well organized and no time is wasted on non- 
 essentials. The camp is on the shore of Lake Ontario and 
 we can look across and see the States dimly on the other side. 
 The sun is hot in the middle of the day, but there is a good 
 fresh breeze blowing all the time, so we keep cool and the 
 nights are almost cold. We sleep in tents on comfortable cots 
 with the wind blowing through. The food is very simple and 
 might be worse prepared. 
 
 We shall probably be here a full week, maybe two or 
 three, when we shall go back to Toronto for four weeks of 
 studies. Then we go out to some nearby flying field for a 
 couple of months' instruction in flying with a pilot. Then 
 we go to the finishing field at Borden for flying alone; then 
 we qualify for a commission, but do not receive it until we 
 get to England. 
 
 Much love to all. 
 
 Long Branch, Ontario, August 15, 1917. 
 Dear Father, — 
 
 They are working us very hard drilling, and the 
 English drill is tiring; they do not march in natural step but 
 
 [18] 
 
much faster, often as high as 150 and not less than 140 per 
 minute. Then on all the turns there is a lot of stamping. 
 The effect is very smart, but an hour of it tires you out. 
 We are in the British, not the Canadian army. When the 
 branch was started in 1912, instead of being made a minor 
 branch of a minor branch, as ours is under the Signal Corps, 
 it was made the ranking regiment over all the oldest and most 
 famous English regiments, and now, as you know, has a 
 separate cabinet officer. In every way, by men and officers, 
 the R. F. C. is treated as the pet of the army. A couple of 
 fellows got " cold feet " the other day, before they had gone 
 up at all, just at the prospect; so they applied for discharge 
 and were given it. Some can't help being scared. Almost 
 every one is, but either they control the feeling or do not 
 join in the first place. I hope to be sent back to the Uni- 
 versity Monday. Or they may keep us out here another 
 week or more. 
 
 Long Branch, August 23, 1917. 
 Dear Dad, — 
 
 To-day it is raining, so we do not have to drill for an 
 hour before breakfast as we generally do. That hour always 
 seems the longest in the day because we are so empty. We 
 get up at 5.30 and don't breakfast until 8; to-day we are 
 having only lectures, which make a nice change. 
 
 Each afternoon a new lot of fellows come in, and at seven 
 o'clock, when the bugle blows for guard mount, we dress 
 some fellow up in an officer's uniform, get the new recruits 
 out and drill them for an hour or so; then we send them 
 before a supposed medical officer who finds they have all 
 sorts of diseases for which they must be operated on, and they 
 get scared to death, for they are so green they do not see 
 through it; then we send them after so many yards of skir- 
 mish line, and " the key to the camp," et cetera, finally 
 marching them down to the Lake for a swim. 
 
 It certainly is getting like fall up here. The rumor is now 
 pretty definite that all the aviation fields here in Canada 
 will close September 25th, and we shall be sent to train for 
 flying somewhere in the States, probably Texas. 
 
 [19] 
 
R. F. C, Cadet Wing, South Residence, 
 University of Toronto, Canada, August 28. 
 Dear Mother, — 
 
 It is not harder here in the way of discipline as you said 
 you feared it might be, for while they are more strict in the 
 essentials and give heavier penalties for mistakes, etc., they 
 treat the men in the R. F. C. exceptionally well. While still 
 cadets we wear the officer's uniform, except for certain in- 
 signia on the shoulder strap and the belt; and, being consid- 
 ered as material for officers, we are supposed to be men and 
 gentlemen and so do not have all the petty and aggravating 
 rules and restrictions of privates in infantry. And the 
 whole corps is the pride and pet of the army from top to 
 bottom so they are given the best of everything. . . . 
 
 I make it a practice to think only in the present, getting 
 what little I can out of it and taking whatever is handed out, 
 without comment or question, and doing it in a sort of me- 
 chanical way. That is what they try to give you by disci- 
 pline, so that when you are told to do something which you 
 could never in the world do, ordinarily, you won't think 
 anything about it and will have done it before you realize it. 
 Most of the things that one thinks offhand are impossible are 
 perfectly possible if one will just go ahead and make the 
 effort that is necessary. . . . 
 
 Must stop now and write up some of my notes. Load of 
 love to you. 
 
 South Residence, University of Toronto, 
 September 4, 1917. 
 Dear Father, — 
 
 We have a new commanding officer at the head of the 
 school now, and, as always occurs when a new head comes in, 
 there is a general and severe bracing up of all the depart- 
 ments. The last flight came through the course with a dis- 
 graceful record of 70% failure. Up here they make you 
 take a course over again if you fail the first time. Conse- 
 quently, we who come after have to suff'er for it. They have 
 cut down the time to be in barracks from 10.30 to 9.30 and 
 actually prevent any going out week-day nights by holding 
 a compulsory study hour from 7.30 to 9. As a result the 
 
 [20] 
 
fellows are chafing under the restraint. Unfortunately, they 
 go about expressing their displeasure the wrong way, by 
 doing all they can to make it hard for the non-coms. . . . 
 
 Inhibition is a great power in these times. It takes prac- 
 tice and strength, but it becomes easier with time, and it is 
 the only way to keep going, and one has to keep going. To 
 get up in the morning sooner than you want to ; to go through 
 a long day doing one thing after another that you don't want 
 to do, trying to do it well, all for an end you hate the thought 
 of; to be ordered about by nincompoops whom only the real- 
 ization that they are beneath resentment restrains you from 
 kicking; to be punished for things you haven't done, — all 
 this is bound to have some effect and in the end is going to 
 have a good effect. Some fellows feel superior to an officer 
 over them; but if a fellow is really superior, his superiority 
 can stand the strain of dirty work and not be tarnished. 
 
 It is very easy in a short time knocking around with a 
 bunch like this to pick out the real men. They are rather 
 scarce, but when this business is over, while it may be a lot 
 of those few men will be " pushing up the daisies," there 
 will be a great many reborn out of a former shell. The 
 great trouble with the men in the R. F. C. is that they haven't 
 any sense of esprit de corps and the English have a great 
 deal, because tradition of any sort means so much to them. 
 Now the R. F. C. is the highest ranking regiment in all the 
 English army, higher than all the old guard of hundreds of 
 years' history, and it has existed only five years, but the 
 best Canadians have all gone over before this and Ameri- 
 cans, fellows of all sorts and characters, coming up here 
 don't know the meaning of esprit de corps. It holds none 
 for them. But after a while they will catch the spirit of the 
 corps and take a real pride in their uniform which is dis- 
 tinct from any other in the army. . . . 
 
 Toronto, September 11. 
 Dearest Mother, — 
 
 Your letter of the eighth came to-night and it was great to 
 hear from you and all the news from home. Some time has 
 elapsed since I last wrote, but I have had a good reason. 
 Just about a week ago the 0. C. announced that the course 
 from now on would be lengthened to six weeks, making the 
 
 [21] 
 
total including the Long Branch training, two months. And 
 it meant we wouldn't get out of here till about the second 
 week in October. Of course I am anxious to get to the real 
 flying, so I wrote a letter to the chief instructor stating the 
 work I had done and requesting that I be allowed to take my 
 exams with the course ahead of ours, who took them yester- 
 day and to-day. It was granted, so I had to begin and work 
 under forced draft to get my notebook finished and the 
 ground covered and reviewed. I have taken the exams and 
 think that I passed all. But I cannot be sure, because some 
 of them were rather tricky. I will hear definitely in three 
 or four days. It will be fine if I did. ... I will have a 
 good start on the other fellows, and afterward, a vacation 
 will be more satisfactory, for I shall have accomplished some 
 real flying. Then I will be able to tell you all about it, and 
 when people ask me, " Have you been up yet? " I can an- 
 swer nonchalantly that I have, with a true English air of 
 boredom! There are some very amusing bored Englishmen 
 among our instructors and officers. 
 
 We were all put on C. B. (confined to barracks) last week 
 till they found out who the fellows were who had roughed 
 up one of the non-coms, one night. Of course it was grat- 
 ing on the fellows who had nothing to do with it to have to 
 stay in barracks on Saturday and Sunday, so about thirty 
 just walked out. As a result several of them were dishon- 
 orably discharged, and the remainder were sent back to Long 
 Branch for four weeks. I certainly was glad that I stuck 
 to the rules. In army life there are lots of rules in every 
 direction that you turn, but I realize the truth of something 
 Dr. Bradford said many years ago, that the freest man was 
 the one who obeyed the laws most strictly. A lot of fellows 
 here use up a great amount of time devising methods to get 
 round the rules which, if they obeyed, would give them more 
 time to do what they want, and invariably in the end they 
 get caught up for it. Whereas the man who makes a habit 
 of obeying the rules soon forgets that there are any and is 
 not conscious of any restraint. You see I am becoming dis- 
 ciplined a little, and I hope in the right way; not the Ger- 
 man method of crushing the spirit of resistance, but the 
 Anglo-Saxon way of making the individuals discipline them- 
 selves for the good of all. 
 
 [22] 
 
You know that expression " carry on " is used by officers 
 •when they come into a room, when of course every one 
 has to stop whatever he is doing and spring to attention. 
 You hear them say that and " as you were " more than any- 
 thing else. 
 
 I am feeling in perfect health, as the food is excellent 
 here and the hours regular, and of course with a healthy 
 body I cannot help feeling fine mentally. 
 
 Lots of love for you. 
 
 Squadron 85, Camp Rathbun. 
 Deseronto, Ontario, September 15. 
 Dear Mother, — 
 
 Well, I got by, and have been shipped out here about 140 
 miles from Toronto. Less than half of the Course, with 
 whom we three Course Twelve fellows took our exams, 
 passed. So it is very gratifying to have done so, as it means 
 several weeks' gain. 
 
 This camp certainly is fine. Here we are more like offi- 
 cers than heretofore, we have an extra fine mess, com- 
 fortable quarters, and in every way the atmosphere is differ- 
 ent. This is just a line to let you know how I came out and 
 my present address. I will write you more when I have been 
 up, which will be on the first good day. 
 
 Squadron 85, Camp Rathbun, 
 Deseronto, Ontario, September 15, 1917. 
 Dear Father, — 
 
 . . . Deseronto is a little country town on the north bank 
 of the St. Lawrence about half way between Toronto and 
 Montreal. It is quite a pretty country and there is a fine level 
 aerodrome to work on. The quarters are very comfortable. 
 There is quite a difference in the attitude here. We seem 
 to be one step further toward being officers and not such 
 low-down privates as we were at Toronto. 
 
 Well, this is the beginning of another step in the progres- 
 sion. The first was at Long Branch where we were supposed 
 to get discipline. The next at the Elementary Training 
 Wing, and last at the Higher Training Wing. 
 
 [23] 
 
To-morrow I go up for my " joy " ride. It certainly will 
 be interesting, and just as soon as I show the ability, I will 
 do the solo work, which I have to do for ten hours. If the 
 weather is good some fellows get in their ten hours in a 
 week. So in all I might not be away more than three or four 
 months. It certainly is gratifying to have passed out of the 
 school ahead of time. 
 
 Now comes the real thing, and it will be much more fun. 
 I will write soon and tell you how I take to the air and what 
 it is like. 
 
 [24] 
 
THE FIRST FLYING 
 
 Squadron 85, Camp Rathbun, 
 Deseronto, Ontario, September 18, 1917. 
 Dear Father and Mother, — 
 
 Smashes are of hourly occurrence on the aerodrome, 
 but they all occur either in landing or getting off, so there is 
 no fall, and the men get out without a scratch every time. 
 Yesterday the fellow in the next bunk to mine went right over 
 upside down and crawled out from underneath with nothing 
 more than a bump on his nose! The machine was taken in 
 and before night it was out and being used again. It is re- 
 markable the way they can be banged round and stand it. 
 Every time a fellow crashes, he has so much more confidence; 
 for he sees that he cannot be hurt. You see, you have a belt 
 to hold you in and so cannot be thrown out and break your 
 neck. The best flyer is seldom the one who has never had 
 a crash. Machines alight in very peculiar positions, and I 
 expect to be able to get some very interesting pictures to 
 show you when I come home. The closer I get to flying the 
 less I am afraid of it, for you see it is a matter of science 
 and common sense and not some mysterious power. And 
 the dubs that get away with it are in themselves sufficient to 
 remove all trepidation. 
 
 When called for early morning flying, as I was this morn- 
 ing, you get up at 4.30 and have to be down at the hangars 
 at 5.30, after getting some coffee and sandwiches. This 
 morning I had my " joy " ride. That is what they call the 
 first ride. I sat in the front seat and was taken up about 
 a thousand feet and after a few minutes brought back to the 
 aerodrome. The getting off is the most exciting part, as the 
 speed seems great, and any moment the machine seems as if 
 it might take a notion to tip over on its nose. But soon the 
 bumps grow less and after a hundred yards or less they 
 cease entirely and you are clear of the ground. 
 
 Then the ground slips rapidly away beneath you and the 
 sense of speed is lost. I never saw anything more beautiful 
 than the country this morning from up there. You could see 
 for miles, and everything stood out distinct, but absolutely 
 flat. The fields were laid out like a pattern in soft plush, 
 varying from the golden yellow of the ripe grain fields to 
 
 [25] 
 
green of grass and brown of plowed land. When gliding 
 back to earth the gliding angle seems very steep, but not 
 enough to trouble your stomach. As you approach closer 
 to the ground, you are conscious once more of the speed. 
 Soon you are skimming over it only a few feet above, and 
 gradually settle down with a few bumps and come to a stop. 
 
 To-morrow I go up again "dual," but am given the con- 
 trols and fly in a straight line. The next day I take a slight 
 curve, increasing it from day to day till the instructor feels 
 certain that I am capable of handling the machine alone. 
 Then I go up " solo " and can do mostly as I please. If I 
 have good luck and too many of the machines are not 
 smashed, I should be " soloing " by the end of the week. 
 
 Lots of love to all. 
 
 Squadron 85, Camp Rathbun, 
 Deseronto, Ontario, September 20. 
 Dear Father, — 
 
 I have had about an hour in the air now and I no longer 
 feel any nervousness or confusion as at first. This forenoon 
 I went up with the instructor for thirty-five minutes and took 
 all the controls after we had got up a couple of thousand 
 feet and ran the machine straight and round some curves, and 
 when we came down he said that I did very well indeed for 
 the first time at the controls. The previous times I have just 
 ridden with my hands on the controls lightly to get the feel 
 of it. I think I shall get onto it quite quickly and by the first 
 of next week be " soloing," if we have good luck and no more 
 of the machines are smashed. Each flight has five machines, 
 but we only have two in commission at present. But they get 
 them fixed up very quickly, and a lot of fellows are finishing 
 up, so we will get in a lot of instruction, as there are only two 
 of us in my flight that are not " soloing." 
 
 Squadron 85, Camp Rathbun, 
 Deseronto, Ontario, September 21, 1917. 
 Dear Mother, — 
 
 Just a line before going to bed to let you know that I 
 am getting along well. I have now had 150 minutes and can 
 handle the machine with great confidence in the air. The 
 instructor is going to start me on landings to-morrow. They 
 are really the only difficult thing to get onto in flying and 
 
 [26] 
 
they are soon mastered. I think the end of next week will 
 see me about finished here. Then we go to Camp Borden 
 till it is time to go to Texas. 
 
 To-day was one of those perfect late September days. 
 We went up about 3 this afternoon till we got an elevation of 
 slightly less than five thousand feet. You could see miles 
 and miles in every direction. From any altitude above a 
 thousand you no longer see any contours. The country looks 
 like a vast circular flat, slightly concave, the circle of the 
 horizon being highest. That is what you guide by in keep- 
 ing the machine level. Looking below I steered by the roads, 
 which looked like very thin white ribbons. I discovered 
 that the water which I thought was the St. Lawrence was only 
 a long inlet on Lake Ontario. The trees, which are rapidly 
 becoming colored with the autumn tints look like small 
 round spots of color flat on the ground. When the air is clear 
 this way it is usually bumpy; that is, there are numerous up- 
 and-down currents as well as horizontal ones caused by the 
 air rising or falling over spots on the ground which absorb 
 more heat than others and so heat up the air above them. 
 These bumps give a delightful irregularity to the flight. 
 When it is calm, straight flying becomes boring, but bumps 
 make you keep awake. You sail along smoothly and all of 
 a sudden the machine drops away like an elevator going 
 down, and you reach up to get your stomach which feels as if 
 you had left it several feet above! Then you hit an up-cur- 
 rent and the machine comes up and spanks you a good one, 
 and you rise up anywhere from ten to fifty feet; then all is 
 smooth as before. Those bumps do not cause any tendency 
 to seasickness, but on the contrary are very exhilarating. 
 
 The air is cold and very bracing, and when you come down, 
 you feel as if you had taken a tonic. Coming down after 
 being up at an even altitude for some time seems somewhat 
 as if you were stepping off" a plateau like the floating island 
 that Swift tells about in Gulliver s Travels. The first time I 
 took a glide my stomach came up in my throat with a thump, 
 for the gliding angle is pretty steep, but now it seems like 
 the best part. 
 
 There was a collision in the air to-day, but it was only 
 about fifty feet from the ground and as usual no one was 
 even scratched. Yesterday a machine was smashed in a 
 
 [27] 
 
landing so that there seemed to be little left of it but the 
 engine, and this morning when we came down it was rolled 
 out ready to fly. They certainly do things quickly and effi- 
 ciently here. I am telling you about the smashes which occur 
 because they are so frequent and so harmless that I want you 
 to see how little real danger there is in the training. Our 
 emblem is a cat painted on the side of the machine — nine 
 lives. After each smash they put a white dot on its tail. 
 Some of the cats have five and six dots, and the machine is as 
 good as new. They take great pains to see that it is as good 
 as new and will tear down a whole machine and reassemble 
 it for the slightest doubt; there is no such thing as flying 
 unsafe and condemned machines here. 
 
 Squadron 85, Camp Rathbun, 
 Deseronto, Ontario, September 23, 1917. 
 
 Dearest Mother, — 
 
 . . . We had to get up this morning as usual, though it is 
 Sunday. It was still dark with the stars shining when I went 
 over to get my coffee and sandwiches, and I was in the air 
 before the sun came up. After the war, machines will be 
 very cheap because of the big production which the war is 
 causing, so I will have one and take you up some early morn- 
 ing to see the wonder of a sunrise above the clouds. It is 
 indescribable. I had not thought when choosing this branch 
 that besides the cleanliness and other attractive features there 
 was such marvelous beauty connected with it. Even war 
 cannot look horrible from up there. And there is such a 
 wonderful feeling of exultation over the universe ; to fly along 
 at a high elevation where there are no bumps, the machine 
 seemingly suspended by an invisible thread which gently 
 gives and sways as you pass through diff"erent currents of 
 air; driving a machine which responds like a muscle of your 
 own body to the slightest thought of the brain. "What is 
 that town like over there to the left? " — already before you 
 have scarcely seen it the machine has turned and is going 
 closer. "What is that queer-looking object below?" — at 
 once the engine is shut off and you are gliding down like a 
 bolt one, two, three thousand feet till you can make it out. 
 "I wonder how it is up there above that cloud?" — up the 
 
 [28] 
 
machine goes steadily climbing like a willing slave to exe- 
 cute your every whim. 
 
 You and all the family are going to ride with me after 
 the war, for after the first time you will not have a moment's 
 nervousness. It seems twice as secure and just as natural 
 as sitting in a car. . . . 
 
 Camp Borden, Ontario, October 5, 1917. 
 Dearest Mother, — 
 
 The weather has been very unsettled since coming here, 
 so flying has been in bunches. I have only made about eight 
 flights, totaling six hours, so I am afraid I won't be able to 
 make the next gunnery course. However, it doesn't matter 
 a great deal, for I can go along slowly and it won't be long 
 after I get to England before I finish. I should like to have 
 received my commission before going over, but it makes no 
 diff'erence in the end. 
 
 Every day I wish you could look in on the aerodrome, 
 because it would remove your nervousness. The more you 
 learn about flying and the more familiar you become with 
 it, the more understandable and reasonable it seems. For 
 example, what I am working on now is "vertical banks." 
 That is, taking a comer so sharp that you turn your wings 
 up sideways, vertical to the ground. To watch from the 
 ground, it seems as if the machine must sideslip down like 
 a bullet, and yet the centrifugal force of the turn holds it 
 as securely in place in the air as if the air were a solid sub- 
 stance like a banked-up comer on a race-track. 
 
 Also, I am working on spiral glides. Heretofore, when 
 about to land, I would get way off so that I could glide in a 
 straight line down. Now I can be right over a field I wish 
 to land on and spiral down from any altitude on to it. This 
 is a valuable acquisition, because in case of engine failure I 
 can be more sure of landing where I want to. These things 
 aren't stunts at all — they are merely elementals, and even 
 the stunts aren't really stunts, for there is a definite place 
 to put your controls, a definite way to change them, and when 
 you place them so, the machine will go through the move- 
 ments desired. . . . 
 
 Yesterday, two machines collided 600 feet above ground 
 — one only had its propeller broken, and glided down easily 
 
 [29] 
 
on the aerodrome. The other was completely cut in half 
 and fell down straight, nose first, and half buried itself in 
 the ground; but before landing it crashed into a tree. The 
 pilot was thrown out and had his fall broken, so that he got 
 up, dusted off his clothes and strolled back to the aerodrome 
 literally without a scratch. To-day, as is the case every day, 
 there were four crashes, all outside the aerodrome, and not 
 a soul hurt. Yet one of the mechanics, cranking a propeller, 
 had his leg broken when the engine kicked back. So flying 
 is safer than cranking, you see. 
 
 To-day I got in a couple of hours of formation flying. We 
 start out six machines and climb up to a stated altitude over 
 a certain rendezvous point; then form up in a V, like a flock of 
 wild geese. It is harder than flying alone, for you have to 
 keep the formation on turns. This means the outside ma- 
 chines have to nose down a bit to get additional speed and 
 the inside machines throttle down and nose up. It is very 
 good practice; now all work at the front — reconnaissance, 
 flights, bombing raids, fighting — is done in squadron for- 
 mation. . . . This is to prevent one machine as heretofore 
 from falling in with a lot of Hun machines and being sur- 
 rounded and brought down. Now it is a court-martial offence 
 to cross the line alone, except for certain individuals like 
 Major Bishop, who has brought down about forty. . . . 
 
 This evening the clouds were remarkably low — 500 feet 
 — and several of the machines got lost in different parts of 
 the country round about. They came down on some field and 
 telephoned in that they would come back in the morning. 
 
 I was up before lunch and got caught in a very heavy rain- 
 shower. Had no wind-shield on the machine I was driving, 
 and the big drops of rain hitting my face at 60 miles an hour 
 stung like bees. When I got in, the edge of the hard oak 
 propeller was rasped, as if a big rough file had been rubbed 
 over it; but when you consider the propeller tip is traveling 
 round 600 feet per second, it isn't surprising. They put a 
 new one on, for the slightest blemish destroys the balance, 
 which must be perfect, since revolving at such a high speed, 
 it would gradually vibrate till it broke itself up. The aero- 
 planes are truly wonderfully made things, — like a Swiss 
 watch, and when you see the way they get banged around, it 
 shows the remarkable workmanship that is put into them. 
 
 [30] 
 
This letter is mostly all " shop," but there is little else to 
 talk about. I am learning more and gaining confidence by 
 large doses every day. I don't even tighten up when mak- 
 ing landings now, and with high winds, gusty and all, I cer- 
 tainly have had some bumpy rides. 
 
 Deep love. 
 
 Camp Borden, October 6, 1917. 
 Dear Mother and Father, — 
 
 The weather remains unsettled, — windy and bitterly cold, 
 — so we are working under difficulties. I made three flights 
 this morning, of about an hour each. The clouds were low, so 
 I had a lot of valuable practice going through them. They 
 are veritable whirlpools of criss-cross currents. ... I 
 worked in them about an hour, till I felt fairly confident. 
 . . . When I came down, my machine was glazed with 
 ice from the condensed vapor freezing. I never was so cold, 
 in spite of two sweaters, coat and heavy lined leather overcoat. 
 But a 60-mile wind below freezing-point is bound to get 
 through anything. I honestly don't see how they can keep 
 this place going a month longer, as they intend to, the 
 days are getting so short and the weather so bad. I would 
 rather have been spanked than go up again after my second 
 trip, but I had to go just the same. 
 
 Before breakfast I went up to about 5000 feet, where there 
 wasn't a bump, — about 1000 feet above the clouds, — and I 
 sailed along for an hour watching a glorious sunrise. The 
 clouds looked so fleecy white, all billows and projections; and 
 an occasional one towered up like an iceberg. It made me 
 feel as if I might be standing at the North Pole on a snow- 
 covered ice floe. The place seemed to have the stillness of the 
 North Pole; not a sound, nothing stirring the least bit. I 
 couldn't see the ground, so the illusion was complete, par- 
 ticularly the cold, — there was no illusion about that. I spoke 
 of the stillness, which is a fact. For the noise of the engine 
 is smoothed into a sort of roar by the wind, and this roar 
 being absolutely constant, you cease to notice it after a time, 
 and it becomes a state; thus absolutely whispering silence is 
 there in eff'ect. But let that engine miss or slow down the least 
 bit, and at once you hear it, just as when you hear a clock stop 
 which you have n't noticed ticking. 
 
 [31] 
 
I went way up then, because I wanted to try some verti- 
 cal banks, and whenever trying anything new, the higher you 
 are, the safer, for it gives you more time to recover in case of 
 trouble. A fellow was killed here to-day because he tried a 
 stunt when only a few hundred feet over the ground ; whereas 
 another fellow yesterday tried the same stunt, missed it the 
 same way, and went into a nose-dive, but after 1500 feet was 
 able to get out of it. A little time and space is all that is 
 necessary to recover from any imaginable position. So you 
 see I am very cautious, and I was n't even trying anything 
 very difficult. The nearest example to a vertical bank that I 
 can think of is what you may have seen at some vaudeville or 
 circus some time, where a man gets inside of a huge barrel- 
 shaped affair made of slats and rides a bicycle round in it. 
 As he gains in speed he can move farther and farther up the 
 sides till he is perpendicular to them. Ordinarily you take 
 an easy bank or something less than 45. But when you bank 
 steeper, you have to use your elevator as rudder and rudder 
 as elevator. The transition came more naturally than I ex- 
 pected it would. But the way that nose swept round tlie hori- 
 zon was a caution. You know, sighting along the top of the 
 engine-cover to the radiator, you always keep your level by 
 the horizon line. That is why when in a cloud you no longer 
 can be sure she is longitudinally level. You can always see 
 a lateral change in the machine itself. 
 
 I tried several vertical banks on each side till I was sure 
 1 had the idea. Now I have three things I did n't have when 
 I came up, all of the utmost value: the spiral glide, which 
 makes a safe landing possible in case of engine failure; con- 
 fidence in clouds, which often have to be traversed ; and a ver- 
 tical bank, of great value in avoiding a collision. . . . That 
 vertical bank will turn you about in a circle that must be 
 no greater than 100 feet in diameter; and when you con- 
 sider that you are traveling in one direction over 60 miles 
 an hour, and turn about and go in the opposite direction in 
 that small radius, it is some turning. ... It took me quite 
 a while to start the first vertical bank, for, unlike making 
 the first landing, you didn't have to make this. Something 
 kept urging, "Oh, go in; wait till another time; no one will 
 ever know the difference." And then, "Well, you have got 
 to do it some time or go down and be a mechanic." So do it 
 
 [32] 
 
I did, and the doing was many times easier than the deter- 
 mining. And each thing I do will make it easier to do the 
 next, like a habit; also each accomplishment gives such a 
 gain in confidence. 
 
 Camp Borden, Ontario, October 8, 1917. 
 
 Dear Father and Mother, — 
 
 In spite of the weather I am progressing steadily, and, as 
 I wrote Beth yesterday, expect, with good luck, to be coming 
 home inside of three weeks for my final leave before going 
 overseas. 
 
 I heard a little inside dope to-day that first we go to Scot- 
 land for the aerial gunnery course which I won't get here. 
 That takes about three weeks, then we are sent to France to 
 an aerodrome where we learn to fly the actual machines used, 
 which, while controlled similarly, are a bit diff"erent in actual 
 flying because of their high speed. After that, we return to 
 England for final training, where we pass certain tests and 
 do a bit of instructing; then we are sent to the front as we 
 are needed. So you see the preliminary trip to France will 
 make an easy breaking in for the final trip, and if I can con- 
 tinue to do the work, whatever it is, not exceptionally, but 
 creditably, it will be sufficient satisfaction to you as well as 
 myself; and if anything happens to me, it wouldn't matter. 
 It is n't when, but how. A good " how " can go a long way to- 
 ward making up for a "when" for all concerned, and of 
 course this is looking at the extreme, which need not occur 
 necessarily. 
 
 There is so much to do each day that it gives one a gratify- 
 ing sense of progressing constantly. There are five so-called 
 ground tests having to do with wireless and miniature artil- 
 lery observation. I have been taking mine at odd moments 
 when weather was bad for flying, and to-day passed the last 
 two off^ somewhat ahead of those who came in the same day 
 with me; also to-day took my first though easiest flying test — 
 the altitude test. That is to climb up 8000 feet and glide 
 all the way down in one stretch with the engine shut off^, and 
 at last touch in a circle 100 feet in diameter on landing. I 
 started out for an hour's formation flying, but they took so 
 long to get the engine started that the formation had gone, 
 
 [33] 
 
so I went up to stow away some time. After a while I no- 
 ticed the clouds were much more broken up, so I decided I 
 might as well practice the altitude test and climbed up. It 
 was terribly cold up there; then I shut off and came down 
 the mile and two-thirds in about five minutes. It was a de- 
 cided strain on the ears, for ordinarily you level out for a 
 while every few thousand feet to let them become adjusted, 
 but in this test you can't put the engine on at all. I came 
 down and not only touched the circle, but stopped dead right 
 in the middle of it, so I taxied in and reported to the officer 
 in charge and he gave me credit for it. The wind was very 
 high to-day — at times 40 miles an hour — and I am getting 
 so I can handle the machine with perfect assurance in all 
 kinds of weather conditions. 
 
 The next test is to go up 13,000 feet and make two eights 
 between two points and spiral down as before with engine 
 off and stop in the circle. This must be done twice. The 
 glide is easy, for my ears are used to small continuous glides 
 like that. The only hard part is to stop in the circle. It 
 takes a lot of practice and judgment, for you have to con- 
 sider the strength of the wind and you are apt either to come 
 short or roll through and beyond. In an ordinary landing 
 on the aerodrome if you have n't enough height to reach the 
 field on a glide, you can give her the gun and level off for a 
 while. But this is not merely landing on the field, but com- 
 ing to a stop in what is practically a pretty small point. It is 
 a valuable accomplishment, for in case of a forced landing 
 on a small field, you can make sure of doing it all right. 
 After a cross-country flight to Toronto, which is very easy, 
 and a total of thirty-five hours, — I now have twenty-two, — I 
 am transferred to the Wireless Squadron, where I carry out 
 an actual artillery observation, reading the ground signals — 
 strips of white cloth and certain figures meaning code mes- 
 sages. I wireless down my observation of the shell-bursts; 
 also I do some photographing of certain specified points. 
 That is hard, for you have to sight the camera and fly the 
 machine at the same time, but I notice already that I fly it 
 a great deal by feeling. 
 
 [34] 
 
Camp Borden, Ontario, October 10, 1917. 
 Dear Father and Mother, — 
 
 To-day I got off the second flying test after a couple of 
 tries, so now all I have is about two hours' more formation 
 flying and a cross-country, but I shall delay them until the 
 end of the week if I can stall off, for I want to soak away 
 a lot of time to my credit. As soon as you have done them, 
 they transfer you to the Wireless Squadron where you don't 
 get much time in, and the closer to fifty hours I have here, 
 the sooner I will get my commission on the other side. I 
 have now about twenty-six. 
 
 This is really the first pleasant day we have had since I 
 came up here. It wasn't so raw and cold, and much less 
 wind, though it changed about constantly in direction, so 
 that once I nearly had a crash, for coming down the way I 
 took off into the wind; I saw by the excessive speed as I 
 came close to the ground that I was going right with the 
 wind, but I gave her the gun before it was too late and 
 came down again in the opposite direction. 
 
 One of the fellows I like best up here — a fellow from 
 Elizabeth — was trying the same test as I. He glided down, 
 but as he came close to the ground saw that he wasn't going 
 to even reach the aerodrome, so he gave her the gun, but 
 the engine would n't pick up. It just coughed and sputtered, 
 so he had to keep on coming down and crashed into a tree. 
 The machine was a total wreck, but he got out with only a 
 gashed lip, and jolt. You see, the safety belt holds you 
 in the machine so when it crashes you can't be thrown out 
 and hurt, and the crumpling up serves to check the fall, and, 
 being back of the planes of engine, you aren't likely to 
 be hurt at all, except for a bump on the nose from the 
 cowling. Now you are worrying, saying, Suppose your en- 
 gine had n't picked up ; but if it had n't I was right over the 
 aerodrome, so it would not have mattered. I always fly 
 within gliding distance of the aerodrome, because these en- 
 gines are used so constantly they are none too reliable; but 
 if you are up a mile, that means you can be 5 or 6 miles away 
 and have a safe margin for gliding in, and a circle with a 
 10-mile diameter means a 30-mile circuit, so it leaves quite 
 sufficient area for flying around. 
 
 There was a half-inch of ice in puddles this morning, after 
 
 [35] 
 
a clear, cold night. I was just thinking to-day how very 
 civilized the world had become in spite of the fact that war 
 still exists. All my life I have taken mattresses, hot water, 
 sheets, pillows, etc., as such absolutely matter-of-course 
 things; and now sleeping in blankets out in the cold, with no 
 sheets, mattress or pillow, shaving in cold water, — it really 
 is n't so bad after all, but it does make you realize what civil- 
 ization has done for physical comfort and convenience by 
 supplying the things which are not at all necessary to exist- 
 ence, but do add a tremendous amount of comfort. 
 
 I am looking forward immensely to my leave spent in a 
 warm house with all its accessories. It won't be long now, I 
 am pretty sure — less than three weeks. With a heart full 
 of love, 
 
 Camp Borden, October 14, 1917. 
 Dearest Mother^ — 
 
 Now, I want to tell you something which I have n't up to 
 this time, because I wanted to save you needless anxiety. It 
 can't make you anxious now, for I have completed it, and 
 shall do no more stunts. I did not expect to do any when I 
 first came here, but finally decided I must, for I was afraid 
 to. The fellow who had done them seemed to have no more 
 to him than I have, and I am determined to be as good as any 
 and better than most, for only so can I expect much chance of 
 coming back. The dubs and boneheads get picked off quickly, 
 and likewise those who lack the nerve to do something and 
 hesitate an instant too late in an emergency. So you see I 
 had to get rid of every atom of fear and gain this quality 
 which a few others seemed to have. It isn't daredeviltry or 
 rashness; before going up I had the mechanic look at the 
 machine and give it a thorough inspection so that I could 
 be sure it would not give way. Then I talked with the offi- 
 cer and found out exactly what to do. First I tried a loop, 
 and that is the easiest of all stunts, requiring a simple gain 
 in speed by nosing down slightly and then pulling straight 
 up until she gets up over. It is a wonderful sensation to feel 
 the machine rise up and up on its graceful curve as if some 
 giant hand were tossing it ; then the swoop down and out onto 
 the level. I tried several until I lost all sense of confusion 
 and was perfectly aware where I was in any position. It is 
 ten times easier to do than the vertical bank, for that re- 
 
 [36] 
 
quires a reversal of the controls and use of all three. In 
 the loop there is only one simple straight back, the other 
 two being neutral. Next time I went up I tried a stall and 
 tail-slide. That is much the same as a loop, only having 
 less speed. You merely go up until the machine is vertical 
 up and down. There you lose headway, shutting off the en- 
 gine, and slide tail-first for the ground. And as you begin 
 to move, the air gets under the tail and begins to lift it. The 
 weight of the engine drops the nose and you come out in a 
 simple glide. It is easier even than the loop. I did it sec- 
 ond because the sensation was rather strong. 
 
 Then we had a couple of bad days until to-day. Mean- 
 while, I was figuring. I asked myself. What is the worst pos- 
 sible sensation I can get. I decided it would be the tail-slide 
 upside down, so I worked out a way that I could do it. Start- 
 ing out at a simple stall, I went slightly past top vertical; 
 then pushed the elevator clear forward, which allowed the 
 air when dropping to hit the top side of the tail instead of 
 the bottom as in the ordinary tail-slide. This got the desired 
 motion — tail-sliding upside down; but very quickly the tail 
 was lifted further, the engine dropping, and the machine 
 completed the backward somersault, coming out as usual in 
 the simple nose-down glide, when I pulled up level. Next 
 I tried the so-called Immelman turn, where you nose up 
 nearly vertical, slide down sideways and pull up out of the 
 nose-glide, going in the opposite direction. It is a turn in- 
 vented by Immelman and is the shortest possible way of 
 going in the opposite direction, — far quicker than a vertical 
 bank turn and a most effective manoeuvre for an aerial 
 fighter. Having done now all possible stunts that the Curtis 
 machine is capable of and in addition invented a stunt of my 
 own, I started in and just threw the machine around this 
 way and that, letting it fall sideways, backwards, every way, 
 chucking the controls this way, criss-crossing them, letting 
 them go entirely; always the weight of the engine would 
 swing her down and straighten out in a simple nose-glide, 
 from which it is easy to pull out level. Now I feel that I 
 have banished every single atom of fear of this new ele- 
 ment, air. I feel quite gratified that I have done so, for now 
 no matter what happens I can't feel afraid and get rattled. 
 Many fellows have been killed by being thrown accidentally 
 
 [37] 
 
in a bad position and getting scared and rattled. I can't be 
 killed in flying now. You see, when I get to fighting, not hav- 
 ing to think of my machine, I can concentrate every attention 
 on the fighting and so bring down an adversary. 
 
 There are only a dozen out of the whole camp, exclusive 
 of officers, who have done even the simplest stunts, and my 
 rather novel stunt has caused quite a little interest, which is 
 of course fun for me. Of course it has often been done 
 before in diff^erent machines, but it is a new one for this 
 camp. 
 
 Now I have accomplished my purpose, I shall do no more 
 until we get over to the other side where the machines are 
 built and adapted for such things. 
 
 Ever so much love. 
 
 Camp Borden, October 15. 
 Dear Mother and Father, — 
 
 . . . It seems quite definite now that we go to Texas for 
 the aerial gunnery course which takes three weeks. Probably 
 on account of the transfer it will consume nearer four, but 
 after it I will receive my commission and have it before 
 going over, so this leave which I hope I can get in about the 
 last five or six days of the month will not be a final one. 
 For that reason I would rather not have you plan any festivi- 
 ties at this time, but let them come in the final leave a few 
 weeks later when I have the shoulder-straps, stars and 
 wings. That will be something worth while celebrating, for, 
 believe me, that is a commission earned, if anything is. Let 
 this present leave be a nice pleasant family visit. Of course 
 I will enjoy a theatre and a concert or two particularly. I 
 have missed music like a food, for I got such a great deal 
 of it last year after I left college that I felt a decided gap. 
 
 When I was finally able to secure a machine this morning, 
 I stayed up two hours, which is a safe margiry on the 
 gasoline supply, in order to get in all the time I could while 
 I had a machine. The wind was pretty strong when I left the 
 ground, and it increased until it finally equalled the speed 
 of the machine — over 60 miles per hour; and flying into 
 it I stayed stationary over the same point on the ground, so to 
 divert myself I nosed up and climbed to 11,000 feet, which 
 is slightly over two miles. It seemed about the same there 
 
 [38] 
 
as at a mile, except objects were somewhat smaller. I in- 
 tended seeing how high the bus would climb, but I got so 
 cold I could n't stand it any longer, so glided down to about 
 3000 feet. There the wind was very dusty, and clouds a 
 short distance above inclined to make it bumpier than I have 
 ever experienced it so far, and yet I am so used to flying now 
 that I can do it entirely by feeling and no longer have to 
 think about it. So I flew for nearly an hour, looking down 
 on the ground and thinking about home and after the war. 
 That is a welcome improvement, for I used to get very bored 
 doing nothing for two hours but sit there and concentrate 
 on the machine. Finally the two hours were up, and I 
 circled over the aerodrome and noticed there was another 
 machine on it and looking around could not see one in 
 the air where usually you could see at least twenty or 
 thirty. So I realized the wind must be even stronger than 
 I thought and decided I had better get down. I nosed down 
 very steeply, the engine partly on, and when I touched the 
 ground the machine did n't roll more than 20 feet. If it were 
 not for the trees I could easily have landed on our little back 
 terrace at " Irvingcroft." 
 
 There were a lot of mechanics out all over the aerodrome, 
 who grabbed the machine, but the minute I turned sideways, 
 the wind nearly turned me up on one wing. Two or three 
 fellows had crashed coming in shortly before me, so I was 
 very pleased to foil all their expectations and get away 
 with it all right, but flying was washed out for the rest of 
 the day, and yet to-day was the most perfect we have had, not 
 considering flying value. 
 
 I fear this letter is rather verbose, yet I couldn't experi- 
 ence such a day without being aff^ected by it and trying to 
 give you as much a share of it as my powers of expression 
 would permit. If you can really picture it rather than just 
 realize it is something you missed and so envy me for it, I 
 shall feel very happy; but I am determined that you shall 
 experience it at first hand some time. 
 
 [39] 
 
AMONG THE CLOUDS 
 
 Camp Borden, October 16, 1917. 
 Dear Mother, — 
 
 This afternoon the sky was full of those great broken 
 masses of thick puffy white clouds with sky appearing so 
 clear and deep blue between them. I climbed up between 
 some until I was on top a thousand feet, then I flew along 
 for an hour or more with the wheels just touching their upper 
 surface. I could almost imagine they were turning. It 
 seemed like riding in a mythical chariot of the gods, racing^ 
 along this vast infinitely white field stretching off endlessly 
 in every direction. The clear open sky above veritably is 
 heaven as we imagined it in childhood. Occasionally I 
 would pass over an opening so I could look down and get my 
 location direction, but except for these occasional breaks the 
 world was completely shut out. The celestial illusion was 
 perfect, and it was hard to come away from it — really quite 
 a tug. Then came the glide down — a wonderful sensation 
 to pass through the air with engine shut off so that you really 
 seemed to be floating, or rather swimming like a fish in 
 water, making great sweeping spiral curves. . . . Some- 
 times I would drop and tear through the air like a meteor 
 at 150 miles an hour, with the wires shrieking with the wind, 
 then nose up again and slow down. Oh! I wish so much 
 you could have been with me on that ride, for you would have 
 enjoyed it. It was so beautiful, and to get away above the 
 world that way — outside of it in a heaven of absolutely un- 
 marred beauty! . . . You seem to expand with it — where 
 there is no measure there are no bonds. . . . 
 
 I went up again just before sunset and remained until the 
 sun had gone down. I flew toward the sunset until I was 
 actually in those frail mists of vapor which assume such ex- 
 quisite colors. When seen from the ground they seem to be 
 color painted on the plane surface of the sky. Up there the 
 different strata of color and irregular bits of cloud seem to 
 stand out in relief like the figures in a picture seen through 
 a stereoscope. Flying close to one of these wisps so intangi- 
 ble in substance and yet so clothed in color, I felt the im- 
 pulse to put out my hand and touch it, touch and feel color 
 in its substanceless essence. Tenderest love. 
 
 [40] 
 
Camp Borden, October 19, 1917. 
 Dear Mother, — 
 
 We are living out in tents now — the barracks are reserved 
 for the present aerial gunnery fellows. It certainly 
 is disagreeable out here most of the time — the weather is 
 below freezing-point, and so damp! 
 
 I am in such good health I can't take cold, but it is no fun. 
 It rained all last night, and my tent was leaking in a dozen dif- 
 ferent places. It certainly is good for one, if unpleasant, 
 to get out of bed at 5 in the morning while it is still pitch 
 black, and dress, put on shoes stiff with cold with fingers 
 that ache like teeth, stumble down to the hangars and go up 
 in the air, a 60-mile gale blowing, below freezing, and stick 
 it out for two hours at a stretch. I never have been so cold 
 so consistently and so continually before. For while you can 
 bundle up, your clothes are icy when you put them on, and in 
 the air your feet soon get absolutely numb. Sometimes when 
 I come dowTi I cannot walk. . . . 
 
 Yesterday I was sent up to read some ground signs. That 
 is a shutter arrangement which is open and shut revealing 
 white, and done in the time of dots and dashes of the regular 
 telegraphic code. You fly over it and read the message. 
 This is the work of the next squadron, but I was able to get 
 permission to do it ahead of time. You have to get fifteen 
 words in all. I got ten the first trip, which is doing well; 
 but the wind was in my favor, for by throttling down till the 
 machine just had flying speed to support it, I could stay di- 
 rectly over the same spot the whole time and never once 
 had to look at the machine, keeping my eyes constantly 
 on the ground, for I can drive entirely by feeling now with- 
 out any thought of the machine. I would get a word, then 
 write it down on the tablet on my knee, and look down again 
 for the next one; so I have these ten to my credit and only 
 need to get five more. 
 
 I was able to get a very good idea of fighting the other 
 day. When we get into the aerial gunnery course, they send 
 up two machines and one has a camera instead of a gun, with 
 regular gun sights. They manoeuvre about — the one trying 
 to avoid the other, who pulls the trigger and takes the pic- 
 ture when he has him in line. Two of us were sent up in or- 
 dinary machines to get some preliminary practice in manoeu- 
 
 [41] 
 
vring. The 0. C. said go up and fly around on each other's 
 tails, but keep a couple of hundred yards apart. The other 
 fellow was a good flyer, so we mixed it up, sailing and dart- 
 ing around, dodging and diving, often passing within fifty 
 feet. There was no danger of our colliding, however, for 
 we had very definite signals. . . . We battled for about 
 an hour in such a realistic manner that from the ground we 
 had them all holding their breath; at a distance you cannot 
 see the actual distance between the machines. When we 
 came down the 0. C. said, "That was very good." My ma- 
 chine was about five miles an hour faster and yet this slight 
 advantage enabled me to fly circles around the other. I 
 could shake him off my tail any time I pleased and keep him 
 constantly in bead of my supposed gun, and that is what 
 fighting depends largely on. 
 
 Camp Borden, October 23, 1917. 
 Dearest Mother, — 
 
 ... I have felt when I was above there with the world 
 shut out that I might meet Carol, for it does not seem as though 
 I were in this life at all. The beauty and unreality and the 
 absolute aloneness are so totally diff"erent from any known 
 experience in all the world's history that you cannot feel 
 yourself. It seems as if it was just your spirit. The gro- 
 tesque fanciful shapes of cloud projections as you wind in 
 and out among them are so incomparably white, the air is 
 so cold and so devoid of dust and moist particles, that it 
 seems as if there were no air at all. With the illusion of ab- 
 solute, awful stillness, little wonder that I could feel that I 
 might come upon her on the other side of the next cloud. . . . 
 
 [42] 
 
THE FIGURE OF WAR 
 
 Camp Borden, October 24, 1917. 
 Mother Dear, — 
 
 I feel no bitterness against the Huns as individuals 
 or as a race. It is war that I hate, and war that I am willing to 
 give all to end as permanently as possible, for it is n't the 
 men that war kills, it is the mother's heart which it destroys, 
 that makes it hateful to me. War personified should not be 
 the figure of death on a body-strewn battlefield, as it so often 
 is. It should be pictured as a loathsome male striking a 
 woman from behind — a woman with arms tied, but eyes wide 
 open. To kill that figure because it has struck my own mother 
 — that is why I am exerting myself and all the will in my being 
 to accomplish. It hurts me so to think of the ever-growing 
 hopelessness that a mother has to bear. The impotency to 
 do anything — just sit and wait, wait, wait. It is so immeas- 
 urably harder than to go out and risk death, or meet it, as 
 we can. ... To me it seems like a great final examina- 
 tion in college for a degree summa vita in mortem, and it 
 challenges the best in me — spurs me on to dig down for 
 every last reserve of energy, strength and thought. As I 
 said in my letter to Dr. Mills, — a thought suggested by Dr. 
 Black, — "Death is the greatest event in life," and it is sel- 
 dom that anything is made of it. What a privilege then to be 
 able to meet it in a manner suitable to its greatness! Once 
 in your life to have met a crisis which required the use of 
 every last latent capacity! It is like being able to exercise 
 a muscle which has been in a sling for a long time. So for 
 me the examination is comparatively easy to pass. But for 
 you the examination is so much harder and the degree con- 
 ferred so much more obscure. . . . 
 
 I found it was a great help to work with another fellow 
 preparing for examinations in college, even if he knew less 
 about the subject than I, for there were always things he could 
 help me with, in return for something I could help him with, 
 and just the fact that we were working together gave comfort 
 and strength. We will buckle to it for a long "grind," and 
 if I should complete my course before you, which means 
 that your exam will be even longer and harder, then don't 
 give up; work all the harder. I think I realize how much 
 
 [43] 
 
harder it will be, but I count on you to do it. That will be 
 your life's great opportunity, to live on when the weariness 
 is so great everything in you cries out for " eternal leisure.'* 
 If that occasion arises, you must hear in it the supreme chal- 
 lenge and hold up your head and respond to it, and then 
 when the time comes you will have lived a life infinitely 
 more worth while than mine can be at best, because it will 
 present so much larger an opportunity. It is because as a 
 rule men's lives never have such an opportunity presented 
 that they look to another life hereafter. But with a righteous 
 struggle such as this, life would be complete. There would 
 be no need for another, and if there is another, so much 
 the better; but it can take care of itself and there is no need 
 to bother one way or another about it. 
 Deepest love and affection always. 
 
 Royal Flying Corps, 
 Camp Borden, October 26, 1917. 
 Dear Mother, — 
 
 It has cleared a little in the last two days for short periods 
 so I have got a little more accomplished, having now only 
 about two hours' more work. This afternoon I went up to 
 read ground strips. Calling up a station in the usual man- 
 ner, I had him put out ground strips in the shape of a letter 
 and then I would send down the meaning. This is a test to 
 make sure you know them all, for they are the means of 
 communication used from a battery to a machine in the air. 
 I passed it all right. Some fellows take a card up with them 
 with the meaning all written out, but that is not much use, 
 for they will have to learn them some time and it is easiest 
 now. I kept hoping, even as late as yesterday, that I might 
 finish in time to get at least three days' leave; but it was no 
 use, so I have given up struggling against the impossible 
 and am taking things as they come now. 
 
 I have put in over fifty hours' solo flying now, so I am 
 sure of my wings when I am commissioned. The wings are 
 nice to have; but it is good I have been able to get so much 
 time in, for every hour means that much better preparation. 
 No two flights are just the same; the air conditions always 
 vary, and of course each flight means a landing, which you 
 can't have too much practice in. 
 
 [44] 
 
I expect I can finish to-morrow or next day if the weather 
 holds passable, and then I shall take a day in Toronto to get 
 a few necessary things, and Tuesday we pack up to go, leav- 
 ing early Wednesday. It will be quite a lot of fun, traveling 
 in a big bunch together on special trains for four or five days. 
 This is one more interesting trip I shall have added to the 
 many during the last three years — practically every sec- 
 tion of the U. S. and Canada and a trip to Europe. So many 
 who have to go have never had such good fortxme. 
 
 Deepest love. 
 
 Royal Flying Corps, 
 Camp Borden, Ontario, October 30, 1917. 
 Dear Father and Mother, — 
 
 . . . Oh, I am so glad to be leaving this place! I never 
 hated surroundings more, not the cold or discomfort or the 
 work, which I have really enjoyed keenly, but the unutterable 
 loneliness of the scene, whichever way you look. The great 
 American Desert was beautiful as I crossed it two years ago; 
 but this flat, scrubby desolation has been awfully hard to 
 ignore day after day. Any change will be most welcome. 
 
 I had become so used to having my feet pass from the 
 stage of acute pain to numbness on every flight that I seldom 
 minded it and would always stay up till a certain " stint " of 
 time was ended or a test completed; for I was too anxious 
 to finish to let anything interfere. Soon after coming down 
 the feeling would gradually come back, but I notice finally 
 that I must have frozen my feet and one hand on some trip, 
 for they have been rather sore and deadened in feeling for 
 about a week; not bad enough to be serious, but it shows it 
 really is pretty cold up there when it is below freezing 
 even on the ground. 
 
 [45] 
 
TEXAS 
 
 R. F. C, Hicks Wing, School of A. G. 
 Fort Worth, Texas, November 4, 1917. 
 Dear Mother and Father, — 
 
 At last we are here. We got into Fort Worth last night, 
 but weren't allowed off the train till after breakfast this 
 morning. This camp is just the same size as Borden, but 
 looks different in every way. So far as you can see in any 
 direction it is absolutely a level plain. One could land any- 
 where in case of engine trouble. And the air is so calm and 
 warm, not the least sign of a cloud or gusty wind, perfect for 
 flying. Yet I am glad I had to learn under the difficulties 
 of a small rough aerodrome and bad weather, for I am that 
 much better off. . . . 
 
 The trip down was quite a trial because of the confinement. 
 It is obvious that if they let three hundred or four hundred 
 boys out at every station free to roam, we wouldn't have 
 many left when we got here, so whenever the train stopped 
 long enough we all got out and paraded for the exercise, but 
 of course it wasn't much fun. And though most of the fel- 
 lows were in the tourist car, I was lucky to be with a bunch 
 in a Pullman, greatly overcrowded, however. Still we had 
 lots of fun, and it was interesting country that we passed 
 through — all new to me from St. Louis down. 
 
 The camp is about fourteen miles west of Fort Worth, as 
 yet far from finished. They have n't any quarters or messing 
 facilities for us yet, so we are camping in one of the hangars. 
 But it is all such a great change and relief from Borden that 
 I don't mind it in the least, and it can't delay us in our work, 
 as they run that absolutely on a schedule. 
 
 Much love to all. 
 
 R. F. C. Hicks Wing, S. of A. G. 
 Fort Worth, Texas, November 6. 
 Dear Father and Mother, — 
 
 We are slowly getting a little more settled in our quarters, 
 and the food is better now. They really had no provision 
 at all for us the first day. We are living in a hangar, one 
 hundred and fifty of us together, some music if you happen 
 to wake up late at night! Water is the greatest difficulty, — it 
 
 [46] 
 
is hard to get enough to wash your teeth, let alone bathing; 
 but I got a midnight pass to go into the city last night and 
 had a good shower and swim at the Y. M. C. A. The lights, 
 like water, are not yet installed, so we are using candles. But 
 the wonderful warm clear days and cool fresh nights make 
 up many times over for all limitations. 
 
 Last night we were the first R. F. C. Cadets in Fort Worth, 
 and we created quite a stir, — soldiers were saluting us, and 
 people stared. I was talking with one soldier and he re- 
 marked in surprise, " I did n't know Canadians could speak 
 English!" Another asked where we were from, and when 
 I said, " Canada," he asked, " What State is that in?" 
 
 Our work is real work in this course. Very little flying, 
 and that merely with our officer as pilot while we work the 
 machine-guns. But this is the work that counts, for if you 
 know your gun and can handle it your chances are practically 
 sure of being on the right side. There are a great many lec- 
 tures and much study, so I dare say I won't be able to write 
 as often for a few weeks as heretofore; but I am on the last 
 lap now with the shoulder-strap at the end — and then leave 
 and home. 
 
 I'm hoping for some mail in a few days, as there is quite 
 a blank during this change. 
 
 School of A. G. 
 Fort Worth, Texas, November 12. 
 Dear Mother, — 
 
 ... I am taking too much pride in my clear record thus 
 far to let anything break it. I have never been checked up for 
 being late on parade, dirty buttons, needing shine or shave, 
 as almost every one has one time or another. That is one 
 reason I was picked for a corporal. There are a hundred 
 and fifty cadets in this course, and fifteen corporals, so that 
 puts me among the first fifteen of the bunch. That doesn't 
 mean much, and yet it is significant of what I have been 
 aiming at in all my work, to be better than the average, that 
 is, — as in my last year at college, — not only not be in the D 
 or E class, and not in the C or good-enough average class, but 
 in the B and A class, better than is absolutely necessary. For 
 considering the curve of mortality, it is drawn to fit the aver- 
 age and indicates a certain percentage of that average that 
 
 [47] 
 
must be killed. Being in above-the-average class, the curve is 
 no longer true, the percentage is far less. In the average class 
 say you have a fifty-fifty draw, then it is as likely to be you 
 as the next fellow. In this class you reduce the element of 
 chance. 
 
 That, I believe, was one of Napoleon's plans. He made 
 a plan considering all known contingencies, then in addition 
 he gave it extra strength to reduce the element of chance, 
 until its success could not be thrown in doubt even by some- 
 thing unforeseen. So you see it is n't any virtue in one 
 to be trying for a good record; it is the desire to come back 
 and enjoy my life, the family, the farm, etc., that gives the 
 incentive. I knew I could learn to fly all right, but I wasn't 
 sure of the gunnery, for that requires a diff"erent sort of skill; 
 but I find I am beginning to get considerable accuracy and 
 before I finish I shall get it good. Then let the Hun do his 
 worst and I will go him a point better. 
 
 This gunnery is great fun, for we have so many different 
 sorts of practice. The range work consists in plain target 
 shooting, shooting at silhouettes of machines with aerial 
 sights which allow for the speed of travel, etc. — that is, 
 learning to give the proper deflection of aim so your bul- 
 lets will cross his line of flight when he is crossing the 
 bullets' line. Then we have surprise targets which pop 
 up at certain intervals here and there, and you load, aim 
 and shoot a burst. It is a training in quickness and pre- 
 cision. The idea of all this work is to make shooting as 
 second nature as flying. We also have shooting at toy 
 balloons and clay pigeons. Occasionally buzzards fly over 
 and we all pot away at them. In the air we have the 
 camera gun practice, flying the machine and shooting at the 
 same time. 
 
 Then flying with a pilot while you stand in the rear 
 cockpit with a gun on a swivel and shoot at a target 
 towed by another machine, or silhouettes of machines on the 
 ground, getting practice in diving down within a few hun- 
 dred feet, firing a burst and soaring up again. You can see 
 it is all very valuable and practical work and very interest- 
 ing. Then in addition there is the work on the guns, ti^e 
 care and cleaning, and the knowledge of the action and name 
 of parts, etc. All that I have absolutely cold, for that re- 
 
 [48] 
 
quires only study. We also have practice on jams so we can 
 quickly fix the gun, spot the trouble instantly, and know just 
 what to do. Air battles are a matter of seconds only; each 
 second may mean a lifetime, so an absolute knowledge of 
 the gun is essential. Some fellows borrow others' notes and 
 skin through any old way, but that seems short-sighted to me. 
 
 In case you see reports of men being killed down here, — 
 there have been three this week, — you don't need to worry 
 about me, for in all cases it has been their own fault, " stunt- 
 ing" and taking chances too close to the ground, so they 
 didn't have a chance to get out of their trouble before they 
 hit. And in this gunnery course there is no chance of trou- 
 ble, for it is straight work and no solo work, always with an 
 experienced pilot. 
 
 Lots of love to all the family 
 
 U. S. Headquarters, Wing 1, Camp Taliaferro, 
 School of Aerial Gunnery, 
 Fort Worth, Texas, November 16. 
 Dear Mother, — 
 
 Plans are beginning to be more definite so I can give you 
 some information. The course is to be about four weeks, 
 ending Saturday, November 30th. Next day we leave for 
 Toronto where we are commissioned, and I should be home 
 by Thursday or Friday of the first week in December. I 
 suppose the leave won't be more than ten days, so I will be 
 leaving about the 15th. I am sorry we aren't to have Christ- 
 mas together, but unfortunately Kaiser Bill won't stop for 
 a vacation. 
 
 That means only two weeks' more work, and then for the 
 commission. I certainly shall be glad to have it and to feel 
 it was earned. I am getting along nicely in my work, get- 
 ting considerable more accuracy: on several tests, being the 
 best in my squad. It is going to take a good Hun to get me, 
 if I know it. 
 
 November 19. 
 Dear Father, — 
 ,, Yours of the 12th came, giving me the news of the family. 
 I wish I could have been with you all on Beth's birthday, 
 but if things turn out as I hope, I shall be home for Thanks- 
 
 [49] 
 
giving, and perhaps you and Os can get " leave " for the day 
 so we can all be together for a memorable day. We had a pre- 
 liminary oral examination to-day which I had no trouble with, 
 and Friday night we shall be all finished. I shall be very 
 proud of my commission, for it means much to be an officer 
 in the first ranking branch of the British Army, to be one 
 among the finest of men who have distinguished themselves so 
 splendidly, being ready to have my chance, and having back 
 of me three months of priceless, interesting and valuable 
 training, development and experience. 
 
 Incidentally I will be receiving the sum, amounting with 
 allowance and flying bonus to about seven dollars a day with 
 a two-hundred-dollar equipment allowance to begin on, so I 
 can settle up that Liberty Bond business with you and still 
 be well fixed. 
 
 Had a nice long letter from Beth to-day with lots of home 
 news. It is going to be terribly good to be home. I'm hold- 
 ing my breath in anticipation. 
 
 Much love. 
 
 Friday, November 23. 
 Dear Mother, — 
 
 Your letter of the 20th brought me great happiness to-day, 
 together with the satisfaction of having completed success- 
 fully the last lap for a commission. We took our examina- 
 tion yesterday afternoon, and I feel that if I didn't receive 
 the highest grade I was among the highest, for I absolutely 
 know the subject. 
 
 In the evening the 0. C. had each man come into his 
 office, probably so he could associate the name and face 
 together in writing out the report that goes over with us. 
 He just asked a few general questions of no particular 
 pertinence. Then he asked, " Do you think you know the 
 gun? " I said, " Perfectly, sir." He said, " I should scarcely 
 dare say that myself! " " Then I should say," I replied, 
 " that I know perfectly everything that has been given us in 
 the course of instruction." 
 
 And I do, for I felt all along that effort expended now in 
 learning the guns till, like flying, they require no thought 
 to operate, would be like paying so much on my life in- 
 surance policy. To get extra sureness, when some of my 
 
 [501 
 
friends realized I did know the work pretty well, they 
 would ask me to explain a point, and going over and 
 over the different points, explaining rather than being 
 explained to, drove the whole business home, to stick. 
 Then, when I had a chance I would ask my squad in- 
 structor to ask me questions to try and stick me. In this 
 way I was able to find out what I did n't know and so get it. 
 
 In the actual shooting my record was near the top of my 
 squad in every test, and in two it was at the top. However, 
 we get a lot more opportunity to practice shooting in Eng- 
 land, so I know with what I have had here as a basis, I can 
 learn to do it well. Then, with a good machine, good flying, 
 and good shooting, my chances are better than the average of 
 coming back. In college, when I failed an exam you would 
 say, " It is your old failing — rather be lazy and take a chance 
 than make sure." If I do have bad luck you can have the 
 satisfaction of knowing it wasn't because I left anything to 
 chance. But when I look round the room, I can see the 
 below-average fellows, — their chances are slim. Then I see 
 the average, the fellows who did only what they had to do, 
 somehow failing to see the importance of excelling. They 
 have fifty-fifty chances, one as good as the other. Then there 
 are the above-average fellows, a large percentage of whom 
 should be able to tell their children all about it afterwards. 
 
 Some of course may have circumstances against them, but 
 not because they neglected anything. These are the ones I 
 want to be with. The 0. C. planned to retain several as flying 
 instructors, those with special qualifications of age, tempera- 
 ment, skill and good record, and I was gratified to hear that 
 I was one of them. But I was glad to hear later that orders 
 came from headquarters not to keep any from this course, 
 so we can now go right over and get extra time in England 
 before being sent over to France in the spring. If I was 
 retained for three months, which is as long as is allowed, 
 I would be sent to France almost immediately after arriving 
 in England, for as spring approaches, more are needed. So 
 this way I may have as much as two or three months' prac- 
 tice in England, before being sent to the front. More in- 
 surance. 
 
 I can't express to you how much I appreciated all you said 
 in your letter. It is such an incomparable joy to feel I am 
 
 [51] 
 
coming up toward your standards; for it is only in this way 
 that a son can repay his mother for what she has given him, 
 literally everything. And it is going to make things so easy 
 to feel that we are backing each other up through the fight, 
 right side by side, regardless of the miles between us, for 
 this bond diminishes any distance to nothing. 
 
 Beth wrote me that you were working over at Irvingcroft, so 
 I understand why you had not written, for I know how hard 
 you go at house-cleaning. You must not give more strength 
 than the job is worthy of, for another job may come along de- 
 serving more energy and you won't have it to give. You must 
 keep all you have, for when I come back after the war we 
 will have so much to do, and I am afraid the war will be 
 long yet, so be careful of yourself. It is needless to say 
 how much I shall be looking forward to that day. . . . 
 
 My leave in any case is going to be as good as a lifetime 
 to me, for I have been away long enough, and have come 
 close enough to what is ahead to be able to prize it at what 
 it is, a tiny foretaste of heavenly happiness we shall have 
 when it is all over and we have earned peace. 
 
 Well, those the war doesn't kill with pain, peace will kill 
 with joy, so what's the use of worrying which does it? 
 Nothing like it. You have dipped me into the River of Styx 
 of your boundless love so completely that not even my heel 
 is left. 
 
 [52] 
 
BEFORE SAILING 
 
 En Route, 
 
 ,,,77 December 14, 1917. 
 
 Mother dear, — 
 
 I was sorry I did n't have things to say which would 
 have helped you more when we said good-bye, but after all, 
 words could n't help much. You have got to think of the 
 things it is going to mean to us all that I can be in it. If just 
 the training has opened my eyes to so much, think what I shall 
 get out of the real struggle with the daily association among 
 fine men who are doing big things. We are going to get a 
 great deal out of our letters, even if often they are delayed, 
 and they will help to bring us close together in spite of the 
 distance. 
 
 Even if I don't come back, it is all right. Mother, 
 for you know we can't hope to gain such wonderful ends 
 without paying big prices, and it is not right to shirk pay- 
 ment. I know you will come to the top and see all the many 
 wonderful things to be glad for, and not grieve any more, 
 and that you will accept bravely and gladly whatever may 
 come, without worry or foreboding. And my chances are 
 really good that I can return; for I have learned my work 
 well and driven into myself a course of conservation, un- 
 wavering determination, which is going a long way toward 
 bringing me back. I haven't relied on hunches or chance 
 or luck; and if I had, I should have as good chances as 
 any other. This way I believe better. 
 
 Oh, it has been such a perfect and complete vacation in 
 every way, — not a regret, and unexpected happiness, so it 
 is easy for me to go and do the very best that I can. 
 
 I doubt if you can read this, as the train is so rough. But 
 I wanted to chat with you a few minutes and tell you I am 
 so happy, so you can be glad. Bear up. Mother. Our fight 
 is on, and we are going to win, you and I, no matter how 
 hard it is. I'll try to drop a card at least before embarking. 
 
 Montreal, Canada 
 
 r» Tif 7 December 18, 1917. 
 
 Dear Mother, — 
 
 We did get in before noon all right and reported as di- 
 rected. We were given transportation to St. John with or- 
 
 [53] 
 
ders to leave here to-night at seven. I understand it takes 
 over a day to get there, so it will probably be Monday or 
 Tuesday before we get on our way to sea. A week from 
 this is Christmas Day, and allowing four days before I can 
 cable, and a day for transmissions, don't expect to hear for 
 about two weeks from to-day. And remember, if you don't 
 hear, then there are countless reasons which we don't know 
 about which might easily account for it, and you would hear 
 if there had been trouble. So just be patient and don't 
 worry. It is strain and worry that will wear on you and 
 make you grow old. Remember, they won't do any good, 
 and I am looking forward to finding you fresh and strong 
 on my return, so we can do the nice things together that 
 we want to. 
 
 It is nice, in a way, and not so hard as I expected getting 
 back again under orders, etc. For all these fellows I have 
 gone through with are here and we are getting into the at- 
 mosphere again. And then of course I have the Happy 
 Secret to carry with me which makes all so complete and 
 satisfactory, and I know you are glad that it is so easy 
 for me. I only wish there was something equal to it I could 
 give you to help. But there is lots in it out of which you 
 can get comfort and satisfaction, and I know you will look 
 at these things and be brave and happy. 
 
 Montreal, Canada 
 Saturday Afternoon, December 18, 1917. 
 Dear Beth, — 
 
 Just a line before leaving here for St. John, where we sail. 
 It is useless to try to tell you how much my vacation meant 
 to me aside from the new happiness. For even though the 
 kids were sick I liked being with them more than I ever 
 did before. And I think the visit gave us an opportunity to 
 get to know each other a little better. I appreciated the 
 way you said good-bye to me, it meant a lot — more than if it 
 had been different. 
 
 I know what you are going through and have yet to 
 bear and it gives me the deepest respect and pride in you. 
 Sometimes it may seem as if you won't be able to go through 
 with it all, but don't think of it all, for that is overpower- 
 
 [54] 
 
ing, just carry on from day to day. No one can get up 
 enough strength to meet the whole thing, but some can scrape 
 up enough for each day and I have confidence that you 
 can. And now that the situation is here, I know neither 
 you nor Mother, nor any of us, would have it different, for 
 it means so much to us that we can be in it, in something 
 bigger than ourselves. 
 
 I am so fortunate to have things turn out so unexpectedly 
 happy for me and everything about the situation so perfect, 
 as you pointed out, all the sweetness of this new joy with 
 none of the pain of ruptured associations. I feel it is 
 almost unfair for my going to be made so easy compared to 
 other fellows, and the struggle you and Mother have to meet. 
 Of course I want terribly to come back now, but if I don't, 
 you and Mother can know, it was 50 easy to remain. I think 
 I am going to do well, for this has put a new responsibility 
 on me. I shall not be too cautious and hesitate in a vital 
 moment. I feel well equipped and full of pep and so Fm 
 not worrying or thinking about the outcome. I don't need 
 to, for it will take care of itself. 
 
 You take good care of yourself and those nice kids, and if 
 I am *' detained " a while you tell them about their old Uncle 
 as they grow up and can understand, so they will know what 
 we are trying to do for them and getting so much out of, 
 ourselves. But I expect I can tell them myself. 
 
 St. John, N.B. 
 December 21, 1917. 
 Dear Father and Mother, — 
 
 We got in late last night, about ten hours late, and spent 
 the night comfortably at this hotel, and we go on board this 
 morning. I am told there are two first-class steamers going 
 over, so I guess we shall have a fine trip and lots of fun. My 
 cold is a thing of the past now, so I am feeling fine. 
 
 It certainly is cold up in this region. Yesterday morning 
 as we traveled through the northern part of Maine it was 
 22° below. It made me feel as if I was going to the farm 
 as we passed through long stretches of woods with deep, dry, 
 clean snow piled high everywhere, and I enjoyed the trip 
 greatly in spite of its extra length. 
 
 [55] 
 
I wish I could be with you this day to cheer you up, but 
 my thoughts are there even if I can't be. I know you will 
 be in the swing and routine of things again and won't worry 
 about me any more than when I was away in Texas. As I 
 get back among the fellows again and look them over I can't 
 help feeling as before, that my chances are really good and 
 we shall all be together again when this is over. Perhaps 
 even something will turn up so I won't have to wait till the 
 end. Don't get impatient waiting to hear, for there are bound 
 to be delays of one sort or another. 
 
 Have a really happy Christmas there all together, being 
 glad that I am where I am, for you know none of us would 
 want it different. 
 
 Loads of love to all. 
 
 [56] 
 
GOING OVER 
 
 The Canadian Pacific Ocean Services Ltd. 
 R. M. S., December 22, 1917. 
 Dear Mother, — 
 
 I thought we should never get away! Running madly 
 about after trunks and luggage, we got on board and didn't 
 move from the dock till the middle of the third day. Al- 
 though it is a small ship, it is good, clean, and they say sea- 
 worthy. My room is well forward, so there is no engine 
 vibration, and I expect a very pleasant trip. Perhaps this 
 note won't get to you. I am writing it on the chance it will 
 be taken off at a stop we expect to make. Anyway it will 
 do me no harm to try. Now you can easily see it will be 
 some time later before you get letters back from the other 
 side, because we are leaving so much later. 
 
 It is hard to realize it is a week since I left you all, for 
 one loses track of time when doing nothing. I suppose before 
 we know it we shall be over. I shall be glad to get settled 
 at work again, for this doing nothing with everything ahead 
 is rather trying. . . . 
 
 We have a wireless report that Kaiser Bill is making an- 
 other peace offer. Wouldn't it be nice if we had this little 
 cruise and came back again! No, now that I have gone this 
 far, I want a chance to try out what I have acquired. Then, 
 when I have got in some good licks, they can't have peace 
 too soon to please me. It really may come, and some time it 
 will have to come, and I believe I shall be around. Then for 
 home, but now for the work. Remember, you aren't going 
 to worry at delays and rumors, — wait for facts; they will be 
 good ones that I am going to furnish you, so every day you 
 will be more glad that things are as they are. 
 
 Much love to all. 
 
 The Canadian Pacific Ocean Services Ltd. 
 R. M. S. December 28, 1917. 
 Dear Mother and Father, — 
 
 If you received the letter I sent ashore at the first stop you 
 will not have wondered why you haven't heard from me 
 sooner. We are not allowed to send mail ashore that way 
 usually, but the 0. C. was going ashore, so he took it for 
 
 [57] 
 
me, though he may not have mailed it. It has been a long, 
 tedious trip, — two weeks, I expect, from the time we first 
 got on till we disembark. But in the worst weather, which 
 was round Christmas, I was never seasick, and we have had 
 pretty good fun, for in a crowd of men there are always 
 funny things happening. We all read about the disaster at 
 Halifax, but you had to see it to form any conception of how 
 terrible it must have been. At the farther distances, just 
 windows and chimneys were broken; nearer, roofs and walls 
 were caved in; and then in the immediate area, a whole hill- 
 side was stripped as flat as if it had been raked, not even 
 heaps of wreckage, — everything level. It must have been 
 incredibly terrific. 
 
 The day before Christmas it began to get pretty rough, 
 and that night the ship rolled so that it was impossible to 
 sleep a wink, for it was a continual fight to keep from rolling 
 out of the bunk. Half the ship was sick Christmas. They 
 decorated the dining-room up a bit with paper and flags, but 
 it only made the absence of Christmas greens the more no- 
 ticeable. There wasn't one Christmasy thing the whole day. 
 They did give us turkey in the evening at dinner, and at our 
 table we opened up a little champagne (Pol Roger 1904, 
 only 14 shillings), which put some degree of life in us; but 
 never again will I spend Christmas on the sea. 
 
 [58] 
 
OVERSEAS 
 
 The Royal Overseas Officers Club, 
 At the R. a. C, Pall Mall, London, S. W. 
 January 2, 1918. 
 Dear Mother and Father, — 
 
 Monday night I arrived in Glasgow. The day was not 
 very clear, but the smooth rolling hills, green in spite of 
 some snow and cold, were very beautiful as we came up the 
 Clyde. You know it is the greatest shipbuilding port in the 
 world and was very interesting to see. I came down to Lon- 
 don with three others in a compartment, sitting up all night 
 and no heat in the car. It was very uncomfortable and 
 tedious, but I went to a hotel and last night got a good sleep. 
 During the day we were busy at the airboard office getting 
 our bearings. Yesterday being a holiday, I had to wait till 
 to-day for my mail, and I was so very glad to find some there, 
 — one from you each, one from Beth, and two from Grace. 
 It seemed a very long while since I had seen you all, and these 
 made the London fog seem lighter. 
 
 But I'm in no gloom, for we really are having a great 
 time. We came down here, four of us, and became members 
 by merely signing our names. One of the fellows had been 
 told about it. It is a very large fine club, with Turkish baths, 
 a wonderful swimming-pool, and all the conveniences of a 
 most up-to-date hotel. It is so popular that they could not 
 give us rooms, but instead, gave us an order on the Strand 
 Palace Hotel, so we get a 15-bob room for 6 bob. We are 
 given leave till Monday the 8th to get rested and buy cloth- 
 ing, etc. So this way we can have a good time, live in the 
 best way and yet have minimum expense. The club, I be- 
 lieve, has been taken over by the military authorities for this 
 purpose, and they make up the deficit. 
 
 The four fellows I am with are most congenial. One is 
 H from East Orange, who spoke to us on the train plat- 
 form when I left. Another is a fellow from Baltimore; one of 
 us is the man who went through the S. of M. A. ahead 
 of the others. He is very amusing in the constant blunders 
 he makes. After a final one, tipping a barber 2 bob, I took 
 all his money from him except some small change, and so I 
 take care of him. The fourth is an older fellow from Men- 
 
 [59] 
 
treal. We are hoping we shall be placed in the same squad- 
 ron, but can't be sure, as the last draft was very much divided 
 up. 
 
 It was pretty soft this morning being wakened by a pretty 
 chamber-maid with a tray of tea and toast. This London life 
 is great stuff! Well, we may as well enjoy it while we can. 
 
 I suppose you began to wonder why you did n't hear from 
 me, but the trip was much longer than we expected. We get 
 special rates on cables, — tuppence ha'penny a word, — so it 
 does n't cost much, you see. 
 
 I'll write again toward the end of the week and tell you 
 what I am doing. Much love. 
 
 The Royal Overseas Officers Club 
 At the R. a. C, Pall Mall, London, S. W. 
 January 3, 1918. 
 Dear Beth, — 
 
 Your letter was most appreciated when I found it with 
 several others on my arrival. 
 
 I am relieved to know Mother has adjusted herself to my 
 absence so well. It was hard for her to let me go, but when 
 my letters begin coming at regular intervals it will be easier 
 for her. And from all that I can gather I shall probably be 
 here in England several months, as they can do very little 
 flying in this weather. 
 
 There certainly is a difference in being an officer. Being 
 a gentleman means more in England than in America. This 
 club is a wonderful place to be in; for it is very cheap to 
 stay in, and quiet and secluded, — far nicer than the best 
 hotel in that way. But crude as we may be in America in 
 some ways, we certainly know how to live comfortably, 
 which they don't know here, or in France. 
 
 Food is not unduly expensive, nothing to what it is in 
 New York. There are certain things very scarce, how- 
 ever. They weigh out your insufficient allotment of sugar 
 for tea far more carefully than we weigh gold. War bread 
 in limited quantities is given, not really so bad as it 
 might be. And not much butter in evidence. But never- 
 theless money has a sad way of melting. A pound 
 seems to go as fast as a dollar, and until we begin securing our 
 flying pay some of us are going to be pinched a bit. That 
 
 [60] 
 
will start in a few weeks though, so I shall get on all right. 
 
 I was interested in a number of Biblical references a fel- 
 low had coming over on the boat, which coincided in placing 
 the end of fighting in the middle of February. He was so 
 convinced that he was taking bets on it. I don't expect it 
 then, of course, but if Russia keeps on quibbling, at least 
 she can't be an active aid to Germany, and this next spring 
 and summer may see something decisive of a military na- 
 ture, at least make the end more in sight than it seems to be 
 now. 
 
 H has a girl in Baltimore, and we make lots of plans 
 
 how we are going to return — heroes, what? We have de- 
 cided we shall be married in the R. F. C. dress uniform, 
 which has blue trousers like the navy, except for a red stripe 
 down the side, and a blue tunic cut on the lines of the regu- 
 lar army coat, with gold buttons, gold wings, sword, etc. 
 H has decided that he prefers to fight the war here in Lon- 
 don, and I agree with him that it would be ideal, but not for 
 that "returning hero" stuff. One might think the war was 
 just outside the city walls, however, judging by the thousands 
 of officers one sees on the streets. But then, it is not strange, 
 for they all come to London for their leaves. 
 
 Much love and remembrance to the kids. 
 
 The Royal Overseas Officers Club, 
 At the R. a. C, Pall Mall, London, S. W. 
 January 6, 1918. 
 Dear Father and Mother, — 
 
 Really I have done disgracefully little these five days but 
 sleep, but the rooms are so cold and the beds so comfortable 
 and warm, it is most conducive to sleep. Friday, however, 
 I had an interesting time. H called at the office of a busi- 
 ness connection of his firm, and the junior partner asked us 
 out to dinner and theatre Friday. We had dinner at the 
 Oriental Club, which he said was a typical old British club. 
 We met his brother there, a lieutenant-colonel attached to 
 the protection of London from air raids, and he told us 
 many interesting things. He was a man of about fifty, tall, 
 stiff, very precise. He had spent the greater part of his life 
 in India in civil and military life. 
 
 The club was interesting. Cold, barren, high ceilings, 
 
 [61] 
 
yet lots of atmosphere. The walls covered with great full- 
 length portraits. After the last course of dinner they re- 
 moved the tablecloth for cigars and port, and the table 
 was a solid piece of mahogany. We went to the theatre 
 and saw a musical play, exceptionally good music and 
 acting. We may have it on the English in hotels, but they 
 certainly have good theatres. Lots of room in the seats, 
 a bar at the rear for between the acts. And the only 
 place you see good-looking women in London is on the 
 stage. There they surpass those on the French stage and 
 on ours many times over. The tax is very high, yet every 
 theatre keeps overflowing for long runs, filled practically 
 entirely by officers back on leave. 
 
 To-morrow we report again, and I shall feel much better 
 when I can get at work, for this doing nothing gets on one's 
 nerves. From what others say who have come over on pre- 
 vious drafts, we shall be in England about three months 
 before you need begin worrying. 
 
 I am sending separately a copy about the R. F. C. which 
 contains some very interesting pictures. You may enjoy it 
 and pass it round the family. I have sent one to Grace also. 
 I'm going to try for some more mail to-morrow. I hope I'll 
 have some luck. 
 
 Much love to all. 
 
 Royal Club for Officers, 
 Pall Mall, London, S. W. 
 January 7, 1918. 
 Dear Ones, — 
 
 To-day I reported at headquarters and was assigned to a 
 camp about two hours outside of London in Hampshire near 
 Andover. The squadron uses a type of machine which is 
 one of the newest, large two-passenger, so your gunner pro- 
 tects your rear; fast, and yet slow landing ability. They 
 have had the highest average for safety at the front, so I 
 couldn't be better fixed if I had been asked my choice. I 
 go down to-morrow and shall be glad to get at work again, 
 as it has been so long since I have done anything. I shall 
 be there two or three months, so you have no need to worry 
 for some time; and when I do get to the front I couldn't be 
 in safer circumstances. 
 
 [62] . . 
 
England, January 10. 
 Dear Mrs. Cameron, — 
 
 Not having had a reply from " Sandy " for some time I 
 thought I would write you, in case he has been transferred 
 to some other station, and you can give him my address. For 
 I hate to get out of touch with my old friends these days 
 when there isn't much joy to anticipate, and happiness con- 
 sists largely in reminiscing about the good old days at Cam- 
 bridge and Westford, which already seem so long ago. I 
 don't think Sandy knew quite how much I enjoyed those 
 diverting and restful week-ends which we occasionally spent 
 with you all in Westford, a break in the Cambridge life, a 
 little touch of family, and a taste of the country reminding 
 me of the farm I love so much. I feel for the moment as if 
 I were there, as I forget my surroundings in order to chat 
 with you. I hope you will pardon me for doing so, and 
 possibly you may be interested to know what I have been 
 doing these several months. 
 
 About the first of August I joined the Royal Fly- 
 ing Corps and began training in Canada. There we flew 
 the Curtiss machines, which are well qualified for the pur- 
 poses of instruction. I remained there about three months, 
 going about from one camp to another in the course of 
 instruction, learning not only to fly, but quite a bit in con- 
 nection with war, that is, artillery observation, reconnois- 
 sance, photography, bombing, etc. It was a wonderful ex- 
 perience, and the joy and exhilaration of flying is incom- 
 parably wonderful, quite unsurpassed by anything in the 
 world, and, I can assure you, far safer and less trying on 
 your nerves than, for example, driving into town from West- 
 ford on Monday morning in time for a nine-o'clock. 
 
 The first ride is confusing, and I felt a bit nervous, but since 
 then, when the novelty of the sensation was removed, I have 
 never had a nervous moment. Doing the stunts which used 
 to seem so daring and spectacular is really simpler than 
 shifting a gear in a car, and a loop or two before breakfast 
 is the best tonic and appetizer in the world. Really I am 
 not trying to appear blase about it. It is all so easy and nat- 
 ural when once you have done it; there are no such things 
 as acrobatics in the air, you never break a rule of gravity 
 or nature, it requires no undue skill. Merely confidence in 
 
 [63] 
 
yourself and the machine, push the lever one inch or two, 
 so, then so, and you have looped or stalled, or made a tail- 
 slide, or a nose-spin. 
 
 And the wonder of the air when you are up above 
 the clouds at an altitude of eight or nine thousand feet! — 
 the clouds indescribably white and insubstantial on their 
 upper side, the air free of the dust and moisture closer 
 to the ground, which makes it seem thick and almost foul 
 in comparison with this rare, clear space, which seems 
 really to be vacuum. Sometimes these upper surfaces 
 take on strange fantastic shapes — grotesque gnomes, 
 you can imagine, grim fortresses, or dainty palaces of 
 fairies, thrones of Olympus. One's imagination runs riot 
 in these never-before-experienced surroundings. 
 
 Once as I flew along on the very surface of a slightly rolling 
 cloud floor, my wheels lightly skipping, just touching from 
 one small hummock to the next, it seemed as if it were some 
 ancient Grecian deity in his dragon-drawn chariot. Then, 
 shutting off" the engine, a dive through the dense blindness, 
 and out over the far-stretching flat country on which every 
 field is laid out like an old-fashioned quilt. Long sweeping, 
 graceful spirals and turns, a straightening out as the ground 
 approaches, a gentle bump and short coast, and you are 
 back again to the old solid earth, quite normal in spite of 
 your mental vagaries a few moments before; they seem as 
 unreal now as they did real before. 
 
 And so it is. You go up and fly in the very clouds at sun- 
 set, which are so gorgeously tinged at a distance on the ground, 
 and find you can almost touch this intangible color. You 
 begin to feel of another world. Then you come down and feel 
 ready to devour a regular "Cameron" dinner, very much of 
 this world! 
 
 But I fear I have let myself get carried away, and it is 
 difficult to convey any real understanding of the sensations 
 to be had in flying. 
 
 The weather became bad in the fall, so we went to Texas 
 for a month to finish the course, and I arrived home for my 
 leave soon after the first of December. I spent two most 
 happy and satisfactory weeks with the family and came over. 
 It was a bit hard on Mother to have me go, but my sister writes 
 me she has adjusted herself admirably to the situation, so 
 
 [64] 
 
of course I am very proud of her. For I learned in the 
 summer I spent in France that it is you mothers who have the 
 hardest fighting in this war; it was that, really more than 
 anything else, patriotism, invaded neutralities, etc., alto- 
 gether, which got a rise out of the easy-going old Briggs 
 of Cambridge days. It is war on war that I am after, and 
 it is my particular good fortune to be attached to a long-dis- 
 tance bombing squadron which has for its purpose the de- 
 struction of war-manufacturing plants. I shall be here for 
 a couple of months flying different types of machines, and 
 then we go across. 
 
 The trip over here was uneventful and long, but there 
 were many friends I had made in the course of training 
 who came at the same time, so it was quite pleasant, — all 
 except Christmas. That day was awful, but it is over now. 
 
 I would give a good deal this minute if I could sit down 
 at your piano for a little play, and then walk into the living- 
 room and munch a chocolate and see you all; then get a 
 good supper of eggs and shredded wheat and apple-sauce 
 and things which I won't get quite so good till I am back there 
 again some day — let's hope not too far off. 
 
 Those were such good times, and it is a great joy to look 
 back on them. We must have a grand reunion when we 
 all get back. Please give my very best to Mr. Cameron 
 and the girls, and remember me to the Abbots. If when 
 you write Sandy next you will give him my address and 
 ask him to give me the news of himself, I shall be very 
 grateful. 
 
 Andover, January 10, 1918. 
 Dear Father and Mother, — 
 
 I came out here Tuesday afternoon and spent the first 
 night at a little old inn. The town is not very large, but quite 
 attractive, which always helps a lot, I think, to make one con- 
 tent. Next day I was billeted with another fellow in a pri- 
 vate house, where we have a nice light room and are very 
 comfortable. But if these English people would use half 
 the coal in a furnace that they bum in a dozen separate 
 fireplaces about the house, they would keep warm and there 
 would be enough coal left to supply the flat for a year. It 
 really isn't cold, but it surely does feel so, and that is what 
 
 [65] 
 
matters. But there is one time I always get warm. That is 
 in bed. I haven't been in an micomfortable bed since I 
 arrived in England. And the blankets are not only warm, 
 but they are much larger than ours. Just the same, I am 
 most grateful for the Angora when I first get in. 
 
 I have been attached to a long-distance bombing squadron, 
 and I think it will be most interesting, for there is always 
 some definite object to fly to and something to accomplish, 
 while the scouts' work, though more glorious, is just flying 
 about waiting for something to happen. If later I find I 
 am not really going to like this I can probably arrange to 
 change to the scouts, but I shall let the matter alone for the 
 present. 
 
 I am getting very impatient for more mail. I have only 
 had that which was here when I arrived. But it is quite 
 likely that I shall receive some to-morrow. 
 
 We all eat at an officers' mess and get plenty of bread and 
 sugar, etc., which is short elsewhere. But the only vegetables 
 they seem to know about besides potatoes are cabbage and 
 brussels sprouts. They have jam, but no fruit beyond an oc- 
 casional apple. However, I am making out all right, though I 
 dare say I shall be a bit fed up with three months here. Per- 
 haps we shall have peace by then. I guess every one wants it 
 pretty badly among the Germans as well as Allies. America 
 doesn't know what it is to want it yet. For America it is 
 like a nightmare in which you half know you will soon 
 wake up, and may perhaps in time. But here it is no dream. 
 If the Germans make a supreme eff"ort this spring and it 
 fails, then I think peace may be possible soon after. But 
 unless every last eff^ort is made by the Allies, the Huns might 
 not fail, for I believe they all recognize this is their last 
 chance. It will be interesting to watch. 
 
 Two summers ago Wilson was about as popular over here 
 as Villa was in America. Now they use no limits in the 
 length of their praise. His "war aims" speech made a 
 great hit in Europe, greater than Lloyd George's. Just at 
 present, America stands as high over here as she did low 
 a year ago. . . . It is wonderful to be living in this age; 
 there are big things going on. 
 
 But I hope our mail does come to-morrow. It is easy 
 enough to make sacrifices for big things, but it is darned hard 
 
 [66] 
 
to go long periods without hearing about the little bits of 
 things at home. I intend living quite considerably longer yet 
 awhile, so when you write, tell me all the family gossip. 
 
 January 12, 1918. 
 Dear Father and Mother, — 
 
 Yesterday we had our flying kit issued to us, and it is 
 most complete and good, worth easily a hundred and twenty- 
 five dollars. There are flying-boots, very large, fleece-lined, 
 rubber-soled, reaching clear up to the hip, so I shall have no 
 more frozen feet, a large leather coat, fleece-lined, which 
 will keep me warm in any wind, a fur-lined helmet that ex- 
 tends inside the coat clear down to the shoulders, fur mit- 
 tens that reach the elbows, so that flying will be comfortable 
 at any altitude. 
 
 I have begun flying one type of machine which is not 
 much diff^erent from the one I learned on and shall have no 
 trouble at all handling the other types we must fly. Yester- 
 day two of the machines we are to fly at the front arrived 
 and are being put together. They are wonderful big pow- 
 erful machines holding the altitude record for the world, 
 some 29,000 feet, and will climb up four miles in about 
 half an hour. They certainly will be a joy to fly. 
 
 This bombing is particularly attractive to me, for instead of 
 aiming to kill men, as in fighting on the ground or even in 
 scout fighting, we aim to destroy war manufactories, material 
 things made to kill men. Thus we are striking at the very 
 base of war. And this is most satisfying to me. For I am 
 not in here for the sake of international treaties or patriot- 
 ism, but to make war on war, because two summers ago I 
 learned how much worse it is than the mere killing of men. 
 In this branch of aviation there is not the opportunity for 
 personal distinction that there is in the scout fighting, but 
 even if I do not return a hero I guess you won't mind much, 
 and probably my chances of returning are better. 
 
 Meanwhile there is a great deal to be learned, all about the 
 science of bombing, navigation and night flying, which will 
 occupy two or three months, so all in all you have far less 
 to worry about than we supposed when I left. 
 
 Oh, that was such a perfect two weeks, absolutely satisfying 
 and complete in every possible way ; and I live it over and over 
 
 [67] 
 
and it helps pass the time till some more mail comes. It seems 
 as if some must come now in a day or so, for the other fel- 
 lows have been receiving American mail the last few days, 
 so mail is being forwarded, I expect. 
 
 You would have been amused yesterday, Father, at tea. 
 One of the fellows — English, he was — came in and noticed 
 we had toast instead of plain bread. "Oh, toast! I say, 
 orderly, have you a few drippings, you know? " You can 
 imagine the intonation. Instead of having butter we use a 
 very good grade of margarine, but in asking for it at table 
 we say, "Will you pass me the camouflage? " 
 
 It has been much milder the last few days, so I have felt 
 very comfortable, and things are easier now that I am back 
 into the swing of work once more. If only some letters 
 will come! But I expect you had a much longer wait, so I 
 must be patient. 
 
 Much love to all. 
 
 January 13, 1918. 
 Dear Father, — 
 
 I am not noticing the cold nearly so much now, because 
 I am really in better health than I was on account of the 
 colds, and also I guess I am becoming more used to it. And 
 with the fine equipment that was issued us, flying is a real 
 pleasure. It sure is diff"erent and good being an officer, for 
 it makes things better in a hundred diff'erent ways. I am 
 getting along well. 
 
 The few Canadians here with me have already in 
 these few days made quite a reputation in the squad- 
 ron, for we have nearly all had more flying hours than 
 the English in the squadron at the same stage, and we learned 
 on machines which are really quite a bit harder than those 
 they learned on. So we are ever so much better off". They 
 assumed, fellows with six or eight hours' solo, that as we 
 had just come in w^e weren't much good, so they began tell- 
 ing us all about it. We did n't say anything, but the first day 
 on the machine several of us went up and did a few loops, 
 etc., and then came down and acted nonchalant. The 0. C. 
 of the squadron wanted to hug us all, for he said it was 
 the first real flying he had seen in the squadron. 
 
 When you are thinking of me over there you may be sure 
 
 [68] 
 
my thoughts are right there beside you with love and long- 
 ing, and I surely am hoping hard that next Christmas will see 
 us all safely together, with this war over. That is optimistic, 
 I fear, but I am going to hope for it just the same. 
 Deepest love to all. 
 
 Dear Mother,- •^^^^^''^ 1^' l^^^' 
 
 From the way mail comes, I expect to receive mail about 
 every two weeks, but when you don't expect it frequently, it 
 isn't too hard to wait, and it is very exciting to have a whole 
 batch come; you don't know which to open first, so you 
 look for postmarks and get them all arranged, and then 
 begin the feast. 
 
 Speaking of feasts, some one told me that at the Red 
 Cross place you can buy empty boxes made for the purpose 
 of filling and sending overseas to men in the army. They 
 can tell you what the size and weight instructions are. If 
 you could get me a small one that could go by mail, sent c/o 
 of the Air Board, etc., labeled, as I am told these boxes are, 
 "Soldiers' Comfort Box." 
 
 The work goes on as usual but slowly, partly because of 
 weather, and partly because the English never will know 
 how to do things quickly. The great marvel to me is how they 
 have succeeded in doing as much as they have. First, they 
 have no system at all; then, they have all system for the 
 system's sake, forgetting the end, and it is just as bad. 
 However, we move along slowly but smoothly in spite of it 
 all. 
 
 I was sorry to hear Harold Bradley got rather badly 
 mashed up the other day, nothing permanent or too serious, 
 but uncomfortable, — an arm and a leg broken I believe; he 
 was stunting too near the ground. He is at another squad- 
 ron, about ten miles from ours, and I have n't seen him. But 
 he was in a scout squadron where stunting is part of the 
 requirements. We don't do it as part of the business in 
 our squadron, so you don't need to worry about me; besides, 
 I don't intend to waste myself. . . . 
 
 Cheer up. Mother, and don't worry. Even away over here, 
 and freezing cold, I never knew so much happiness and con- 
 tent, for I have a good job each day, and a wonderful mother 
 and a sweet girl to dream of each night. 
 
 [69] 
 
January 25, 1918. 
 Dear Mother and Father, — 
 
 The day before yesterday they finished assembling two 
 of the machines of the type we are to fly at the front, and 
 one of the English fellows who has been here longest was 
 given instruction on it all afternoon and then put back on 
 one of the old machines till he could make better landings. 
 
 Yesterday morning I was taken up for ten minutes' instruc- 
 tion, made one landing, and allowed to go off solo. It is a 
 wonderful big machine, a regular thoroughbred, as different 
 from these other machines as a Pierce Arrow is from a 
 Ford. And they are very careful of them, for they represent 
 about, I should say, twenty thousand dollars, and with a 
 little carelessness you could wipe out in a minute the work 
 of skilled laborers for many months. So I appreciated their 
 confidence in me, being the first pupil in the whole squad- 
 ron to fly it alone. I think I gained their confidence by the 
 way I brought in the machine I wrote about in the letter to 
 Wilson yesterday. 
 
 Well, I took it off" and went up for a while to try it 
 out in the air and get used to it. Most machines have a very 
 limited range of speed, having to land almost as fast as 
 they fly. But this has a device by which you can regu- 
 late the angle of a certain plane, and so make the ma- 
 chine fly level, hands off", or climb, or glide down at an as- 
 tonishing slow speed for landing compared to what it will 
 fly at. You can land as slow as sixty and it will fly well 
 over a hundred, and, with the engines which the machines 
 are equipped with at the front, quite a bit faster. But, on 
 account of the larger size and weight, a hundred and twenty 
 miles in these do not seem much faster than sixty in the 
 others, unless you pass one of them in the air, or fly down 
 to the ground. 
 
 Then I made a few landings successfully, and went up 
 about a mile and made several successive loops. The 
 Major was most delighted when I came in, for not even 
 an instructor had stunted these machines here. But I have 
 never seen such strength, such response to the controls, such 
 a real engine. These are built for service, and you can have 
 confidence in them, and it is a real joy to drive them. 
 
 After lunch I went up again and climbed to 16,000 feet, — 
 
 [70] 
 
that is over three miles. I noticed not the slightest difficulty in 
 heart or breathing, and I believe that those who do have 
 trouble, have it mainly from apprehension. At this height 
 it was exceedingly cold, but keeping my head in the centre 
 behind the cowling I was perfectly warm. 
 
 I flew west over the plains of Salisbury where so many fa- 
 mous battles of English history have taken place. Then down 
 to Southampton and out away over the channel. If it had been 
 a clear day I could easily have seen France from there. Then 
 back I glided down a mile, going at times nearly a hundred 
 and sixty miles an hour. Even in the air you could appre- 
 ciate that was traveling some. 
 
 Then I leveled off, to rest my ears a bit. Then directly 
 over the aerodrome I went into a nose-spin, that is, nose 
 and tail vertical, revolving round the axis of the body like 
 a corkscrew. I kept in that for a mile straight down, and 
 found it delightful and not a bit confusing. In fact, I would 
 glance at my altitudes to see how low I was getting, look 
 at the air-speed indicator, see to the temperature of pres- 
 sure gauges, look out on the revolving country, perfectly 
 clear-headed and comfortable and calm in what, until it 
 was understood, was supposed to be a fatal stunt. To come 
 out I merely released all the controls and she came out 
 and leveled off at once of her own accord. I have seen one or 
 two loops over the aerodrome, but not a spin. Then the 
 last mile I glided down in long graceful spirals and turns 
 and came in. 
 
 Then I found the camp, all work stopped, standing round 
 watching. The colonel of the wing himself was there, and 
 complimented me on my flying — " Splendid exhibition, 
 Adams." He is the funny former-actor-colonel with the 
 monocle. He even removed it to have a look at me, for 
 he can't see with it on! Two or three of the Canadians 
 were asking me how she flew, and they said they were 
 glad I had shown up some of these " lead-swinging " Eng- 
 lishmen. Lead-swingers are those that stall along, doing as 
 little as they possibly can, hoping the war will be over before 
 they finish. There are quite a lot of them. You see, the 
 best of them are already over there or dead. 
 
 Flying this machine graduates me, so my papers are to 
 be sent in at once, and now I shall draw full pay, plus 
 
 [71] 
 
flying pay, and have full pay not drawn since I was com- 
 missioned, made up from that date. If it goes through 
 by the first of the month I shall be comfortably fixed and be 
 able to get a few things I need very badly. 
 
 I have only one more hour to fly on this machine now, a few 
 simple ground tests in machine-guns, etc., and I shall be fin- 
 ished. It ought not to take more than two or three days more. 
 Then I go to the Aerial Gunnery Squadron in Scotland near 
 Glasgow, I believe, for a week or two, and then I'm ready for 
 business in France; where, I trust, I shall be able to do some 
 creditable work, for I do feel very well prepared. With such 
 a machine you need have little worry. I mean that. 
 
 I received a card from Cousin Fred in California, and 
 a few such very fine letters from Grace, so all in all I am very 
 happy and eager to go over and deserve some of the good 
 fortune that has been given me. 
 
 England, January 26, 1918. 
 Dear Beth, — 
 
 I am very pleased with the way I have been able to get 
 along, for I expected to drag out here till the end of March. 
 At present I am the farthest advanced of any one in the 
 squadron; in fact, the first clear day, I can finish in an hour. 
 So, accounting for delays of one sort or another, I ought 
 surely to be at the front by the first of March. I certainly 
 hope so, for it is going to make things easier all round. 
 
 I believe you will find it the same with Oswald ; once he is 
 on the line, the long wearing dread of that moment will have 
 passed, and while your anxiety will be great, it won't wear 
 on you the way this delayed evil does. And he will be easier 
 in his own mind too, and cease to care about casualty per- 
 centages. The closer you get, the easier it becomes, for the 
 less you think of it. 
 
 I have never been happier than now with the satisfaction 
 of Her letters and the consciousness of the treasure that is 
 mine, the deepest bond that these experiences have meant 
 with you all and home, and the keen anticipation of the great 
 adventure in the near future, with its great opportunities. 
 
 Much love to you and the little ones. 
 
 P. S. Tell Os I shall be driving a 400 Rolls Royce. 
 Some class! — what? 
 
 [72] 
 
January 27, 1918. 
 Dear Mother, — 
 
 ... I have now only to wait for a clear day to finish just 
 an hour's work and I will be done here. I am so pleased, for I 
 am ahead of every one else in the squadron regardless of 
 how long they have been here, and have won the confidence 
 of the instructors as well as several fellows who have asked 
 to go up with me. 
 
 When one pupil is willing to go up with another it 
 is quite a mark of confidence, for generally you feel nervous 
 unless you are with an instructor or driving the machine 
 yourself. And when I get to France I am determined 
 it shall be the same way. Before I finish I want to be the first 
 man in the squadron. It is best that way. You know it is the 
 last man the Huns always watch out for. 
 
 But you must n't expect immediate advancement as in the 
 case of Oswald, for our work is done more in squadrons than 
 as individuals; it is team work, so I won't be winning distinc- 
 tion. However, if I can hold up my position in the team 
 and play with them I shall be content. . . . 
 
 January 30, 1918. 
 Dear Beth, — 
 
 Your letter of the 7th came to-day and I can't tell you how 
 much I appreciate your writing me, for letters mean at least 
 double what they ordinarily do, in this situation. 
 
 I am feeling rather badly off" to-night in consequence of a 
 most unfortunate accident to-day in which I was really a 
 contributing cause, if indirectly. You see, I was the first 
 pupil in the squadron to fly one of the new machines, and I 
 gave a pretty good exhibition to these Englishmen of what 
 American blood can do. So another Canadian next furthest 
 advanced to me naturally wanted to try the same things, and 
 as a result, the machine collapsed, both wings falling off" 
 4000 feet up, and he was killed. A perfectly wonderful fel- 
 low, — jolly, and liked by every one. You wouldn't have 
 felt so badly about it if he had been shot down at the front, 
 for there is so much satisfaction in such a death, or even if 
 he had been killed doing something foolish or stunting close 
 to the ground. Those accidents happen frequently, and we 
 just shrug our shoulders and carry on. But this was abso- 
 
 [73] 
 
lutely no fault of his. Furthermore, it happened in the same 
 machine I had stunted in, and, while these are war machines, 
 built to stand anything, I feel perhaps I may have strained 
 something which gave way under the stress this time. Of 
 course I am in no way responsible, but it does bring it pretty 
 close to me, and I feel terribly about it. 
 
 Fortunately I finished all my work in this squadron to-day 
 so I won't have to go up for some time, and I guess I shall 
 feel better later on. It is very gratifying that I was the first 
 to finish, for there are a lot of English fellows that have been 
 here several months, and it has taken me just three weeks 
 including much delay by bad weather. But it is really all 
 a matter of pushing yourself, — that is, being on the spot 
 when there is a vacant machine or any work to be done. 
 
 It was quite amusing yesterday. You see, the colonel of the 
 wing was on the aerodrome the other day when I was up in 
 the new machine for the first time, and saw me stunting, 
 which quite delighted him. So he learned who I was by 
 name. Then he said, "When you finish, come to me and I 
 will give you four days' graduation leave." "Pardon, sir, 
 but if I can get right on to the gunnery squadron I had rather 
 waive the leave, as I am anxious to get out to the front," said 
 I. At first he was inclined to think it a pose, — he couldn't 
 grasp the point of view; but he was quite delighted when he 
 realized I meant it. 
 
 However, the next course may not begin for a week or more, 
 so I may take a leave and rest here a few days. I have n't 
 enough spare cash to go up to London for more than a day or 
 two, and I do need a little rest. . . . 
 
 I have now only this two weeks' gunnery course and I 
 shall be a complete Service Pilot, and hope very much that, 
 with the delays of training and all, I may be in active ser- 
 vice by the first of March. I may have to wait a while for 
 a vacancy, but at least my training will at last have been 
 completed, so I'll have that satisfaction. 
 
 February 1, 1918. 
 Dear Father, — 
 
 . . . Having finished up the work here, I am enjoying 
 greatly a few days' rest from the absolute regularity of the 
 past three weeks, Sundays included. For you do get tired of 
 
 [74] 
 
getting up every single morning in the dark and cold, not 
 even having one day a week on which you can lie in bed a 
 bit longer. I don't know how long it will be, but I hope 
 soon, when I can go on and do the two remaining weeks' 
 training; after which I shall be a full-fledged service pilot, 
 and the day I set foot on France will be surpassed only by 
 the day I once more walk into 32 Llewellyn Road. I am 
 sure you and Mother feel the same about it. 
 
 I had an interesting experience to-day, going to the mili- 
 tary funeral of one of the Canadian fellows who was killed 
 the other day through collapse of his machine. He was a 
 splendid type of fellow, and it was a shame that he should 
 go, through no fault of his own, when he was so nearly 
 finished. We formed up; practically every officer in the 
 station was there, a fine tribute to the fellow. He was placed 
 on a gun carriage drawn by four horses, preceded by a band 
 playing a slow march, and flanked by two files of armed 
 soldiers. The service was held in a church and completed 
 in the cemetery adjoining. There the soldiers fired their 
 volleys and the buglers blew a call, and as we walked away, 
 each of us stepped to the grave and saluted our comrade. 
 No man could ask for a finer service. It was impressive, 
 solemn, dignified and genuine. . . . To be working 
 at a worth-while job of any sort is satisfactory, and 
 this in particular. And to make it all easy I have the 
 continual consciousness of the thoughts and interest and 
 love of you all. And also there are the many little 
 material reminders, — the cigarette holder from Howie, 
 the letters that I read over, the pictures which I have of each 
 of you. And every evening after tea when I come in for a 
 quiet evening before the fire, remove my wet shoes and put 
 on the "comfy" slippers and wrapper Mother provided me 
 with, I couldn't be better off". I certainly am awfully lucky. 
 
 Love to all the family. 
 
 Thursday, February 7. 
 Dear Mother and Father ^ — 
 
 It has been nearly a week since I wrote, but, as I have been 
 doing no work, there was little to tell about, so I have spent 
 more of my time reading. I am getting fed up with this 
 doing nothing, but I can't get on to the next squadron till the 
 
 [75] 
 
latter part of next week. However, it has been good for me, 
 for I have not had to stand round for each day in the cold 
 and wet, and it has abolished the last trace of cold which 
 hung on mildly ever since I left home. And it has been fun 
 to feel free of the regularity, — quite like the old Cambridge 
 days when I could read or write as late as I wished, knowing 
 I could sleep in the morning. . . . This week I have 
 really seemed so far off from the war that at times it was 
 difficult for me to realize I was in any way connected with 
 it, for I have drifted into the state where mental interests 
 were the main pleasure, — reading, writing, philosophizing. 
 I am glad I had the opportunity, however, for it gave me 
 a chance to think out one or two questions which I have held 
 off for several months, being engrossed in the more active 
 work. . . . But now these matters are shaping themselves 
 more clearly and definitely, and I can put all my energies 
 in the real work without distraction. . . . 
 
 This regular fare is good for one even if it does become 
 monotonous — potatoes, meat and brussels sprouts (without 
 vinegar) or turnips alternating for lunch and dinner, fol- 
 lowed by a sweet, as a bit of cornstarch pudding with a quar- 
 ter of a preserved plum by way of flavor, or some tapioca. 
 It keeps one well and you can get your fill, but in that dim 
 uncertain day when I set foot in the home, with all restric- 
 tions done with, I know what I shall choose to eat. It is 
 funny how one's world becomes fenced about in this sort 
 of life. You think of your work, talk of it all day long, dis- 
 cuss rumors about it, dream of it. Then you stop and say, 
 Let's go eat. You work your stomach, and not much con- 
 cern about your soul. But that is a good healthy way to live. 
 
 A year ago I was home with you all during the midyear 
 period; now everything is so completely different from that 
 life, — the change in situation, circumstances and attitude. 
 I often feel as if I was sound asleep in a dream, — not a bit 
 bad either, for it is either one of those dreams you can't re- 
 member when you wake up or when you do remember it will 
 be a dream with such a happy ending. It makes it very easy. 
 Nothing, such as discomforts physical or of the heart, seems 
 to penetrate inside the blanket of sleep, and what you can't 
 have in real dream is here, the foreknowledge of a happy 
 awakening. 
 
 [76] 
 
Sunday, February 10, 1918. 
 Dear Father and Mother, — 
 
 It is a perfectly wonderful springlike day, warm and 
 clear, and some violets on the lawn below my window are 
 in bloom. This certainly is a strange climate. 
 
 I am going up to town to-morrow to get a few things I 
 need, and next day go on up to the next squadron for a two 
 weeks' course, after which I shall be entirely finished ready 
 for service. Then I return here probably to instruct, and 
 wait till there is a vacancy, when I shall be sent out. That 
 can't come too quickly to please me, but there is no telling 
 how soon it will be; it might be only a few days, or it 
 might be a month or more. . . . 
 
 I expect to find quite a bit of mail uptown (London) to- 
 morrow, as I wrote Cox to hold it about a week ago, and so 
 am anxious to get there. No one here can understand why, 
 for a week and a half perfectly free, I have not spent the 
 time in London. But I have read a number of good books, 
 had a fine rest, and have had to spend no money, and what 
 I save now going without what they call a good time will be 
 repaid many times over when I spend it according to my 
 plans. 
 
 Much love to all the family- 
 
 [77] 
 
IN SCOTLAND 
 TuRNBURY, Ayrshire, Scotland, 
 
 Dear Father and Mother, — ^ ' 
 
 I have n't written since leaving London because I have been 
 working pretty hard and felt ready for bed early. This is 
 the best place I have been in yet, a wonderful big hotel sur- 
 rounded by a famous golf course right on the edge of the 
 sea, from which Ireland can be dimly seen. It must have 
 been a very gay place in the days before the war. Cousin 
 Jack visited it as one of the points of a golfing tour he took 
 several years ago. 
 
 For the first time since coming in contact with this 
 army I am in a place in which the management leaves 
 nothing to be desired. No time wasted, good instruc- 
 tion, much work accomplished. I feel I have gained 
 quite a bit of accuracy and second nature in the handling of 
 the guns, — ever so much more than what I got in longer 
 time in Texas. But, much to my sorrow, just as I felt I 
 was about completed, I received orders to proceed to an- 
 other squadron back near where I came from when I finished 
 here. It is for a further course in bombing, which will be 
 valuable toward doing more accurate work in the field. But 
 I am disappointed, for I hoped to go out by the first of 
 March. 
 
 Judging by indications, it is going to be interesting out 
 there this spring and summer. Lots of action and move- 
 ment, so we won't get bored staying in one place doing 
 nothing. You see, home and peace are such good things that 
 a hundred little reminders of their absence in a day make 
 me want home very much. This generates a lot of energy 
 which will flow out naturally when I am at work toward 
 those ends. But meanwhile I seem to move so slowly. . . . 
 
 Make Line keep at the pace. To think of the pace this 
 war has required with never the slightest slackening, when 
 thought of as three and a half years, means little, but when 
 thought of as so many years of twenty-four-hour, sixty-minute 
 days of supreme deadlocked effort, never a relaxation or 
 breathing spell and all on such a titanic scale, that is what 
 surpasses comprehension. When any one slackened a bit 
 it meant disaster, as in the case of Russia and Italy. It has 
 
 [78] 
 
meant that all of the millions composed of separate individ- 
 uals in the field and at home have stuck hard at their jobs, 
 putting in always a little more effort than the day before. 
 
 Reports in our papers from America are a little more 
 optimistic in tone, but nevertheless, even though tremendous 
 things are being done, they are awfully slow, and every min- 
 ute counts. But they seem to be gathering a momentum which 
 once started nothing can stop, and that is what we want. 
 
 We don't want to stop till the job is satisfactorily completed, 
 but it is a big job; some of its proportions will be sure to be 
 larger than any one conceived of, I believe, in the next few 
 months. It is going to be great to be in on it, so tremendous 
 that the thought fairly sweeps one off one's feet. It puts all 
 of life on such a simple balance; here is a tremendous bit 
 of work to be done which completely obliterates the little 
 things of life which always seemed so important in the past. 
 All one has to do is to give all his energy, just put every- 
 thing in with one simple sweep, and when every one has done 
 the same, the job will be finished, and the gain is so much 
 bigger than what it may cost in these little things that they 
 don't have to be even thought of. 
 
 I have often wondered what we shall do when it 
 is over and we go back to the little things. I don't think 
 the new growth and breadth it gives will be lost in a re- 
 action of apathy. I believe after the war this energy will 
 keep on and will never be lost. It will be turned toward 
 making the little things of life bigger in each individual's 
 case, and we shall see a rate of progress and achievement 
 in the peaceful work of the world never before approached. 
 
 I enjoyed Mr. Pringle's letter with its farm concerns. It 
 makes one feel attached to something substantial to know 
 the old things are going on — getting out firewood, and pulp, 
 and so on. So old Colonel is gone. He certainly was a 
 good old animal and gave us lots of service. I remember 
 how we used to alternate week by week with him and Madge 
 and Belle in the old days when we drove to school ten years 
 ago. It doesn't seem so long as that, for that winter is so 
 vivid to me, — Miss Davy, Carol, Line and I together. I can 
 even remember the toothache Carol spoke of in one of her 
 letters to you. The work in the woods, Sid Clarke with his 
 winter growth of beard, the daily lunches with Auntie, Uncle 
 
 [79] 
 
Dan and Grandpa Kilbum, — they all are so vivid to me. 
 I can hear their voices and see little gestures. Uncle Dan 
 and his inevitable newspaper, Auntie with her bills at lunch, 
 Old Colonel reaching out a bit on the last stretch coming 
 home from school in the early twilight of the winter months, 
 the light of the library lamp shining out, with its promise of 
 home, warmth, supper, family, content. When these things 
 abide, as with me now, they are n't dead, they are immortal, 
 living, real, and in them is such sweet satisfaction. That is 
 why I have been so determined about living with you at Irv- 
 ingcroft when I come back, so when things begin to drop out 
 of your lives, we shall have the home running to give a basis 
 to keep all these memories alive, and new interests ever grow- 
 ing to keep life ever full — our nurseries, grandchildren, re- 
 unions, etc. And if for any reason I can't be the one to 
 help bring this about, there is all the rest of the family, and 
 you must all keep as close together as possible and carry on 
 the Adams family just the same, for if I am anywhere that 
 is where I shall be, at Irvingcroft and the farm always. But 
 I shall see to it that I am actually there, never fear. 
 
 It is great fun from time to time as I write in my " line-a- 
 day " book to see what I was doing a year ago. I notice just a 
 year ago Father made a flying trip to Littleton to settle some 
 of Uncle Dan's affairs, and I had dinner with him on his 
 way up at the Parker House, and again two days later, break- 
 fast. I used to enjoy those briefs visits so much, as it was a 
 chance to have a chat with him, and incidentally get a good 
 meal as a break from the Cambridge fare. My, what a break 
 such a meal would be now! But it will keep, and be all the 
 better for the wait when I do get it. . . . 
 
 Well, this letter has gone on to considerable length, and I 
 guess I have spoken of everything I had in mind. I am in the 
 best of health and feeling fine. The life is very healthful, 
 even if it gets monotonous in the food, etc. And I am very, 
 very happy and content; the little actual unpleasantnesses and 
 separation feelings I don't let get inside at all, and the 
 thoughts about you all and home are so vivid and happy, and 
 your letters and love are such a comfort. And it's a good 
 job. I'm only a bit impatient to be at it. So you have no 
 need to worry about my welfare or happiness. 
 
 Deepest love to all. 
 
 [80] 
 
February 21, 1918. 
 Dear Father, — 
 
 To-day I finished all the instructional work here, and have 
 only a couple of tests to pass off in the air before I go. Each 
 day a group of fellows comes in and another goes out after 
 a maximum period of two weeks, so there are a lot of groups 
 in process of passing. They allow them four days to pass 
 off the air tests, to provide for bad weather, for you can 
 easily finish in a single day if it is clear. But if it is n't clear 
 at all, you leave when your time is up just the same, and 
 it does n't much matter, for they are not important. 
 
 In the old days of college, when a man received a high 
 mark and mine was just passing or average I accepted it as a 
 matter of course, thinking that the high man received his 
 mark because of superior inherited brain power, and I was 
 meant to be only average. There seemed such a distance be- 
 tween us that it never occurred to me to attempt to catch up 
 to him, it was preordained otherwise. 
 
 And yet, ever since the double shake-up I received in the 
 early part of last July I began to make the effort to move out of 
 the deadly limitations of the middle lot and was astounded to 
 discover, in the various phases of my training in Canada and 
 Texas, that the high man had probably little better brain than 
 mine. It was merely a matter of seeing that the bonds holding 
 me in the middle class were bonds of imagination and it only 
 required moving one's feet to step out of the protecting but 
 crushing crowd. So I began to go up nearer the top in vari- 
 ous examinations and in the flying and found it is not a 
 matter of superior mentality or any such thing, but merely 
 more desire, more will. I figured that war is a risky busi- 
 ness, but the risk was largely chance. Consequently, if I 
 could master my particular job in all its branches I could 
 reduce the element of chance to a minimum. You see, I 
 have great incentive to return, so it doesn't take much will. 
 But all in all I think it has been a real discovery for myself, 
 and that I can profit by the same procedure in my work 
 when I come back. 
 
 It seems to me now that there is nothing impossible 
 or out of reach if imagined obstacles coming from one's 
 own mind are got rid of, and if one can stretch his imagi- 
 nation beyond what he supposed were the limits of his 
 
 [81] 
 
capacity, and see " big." Then it is a simple matter of 
 getting up and going after it with a will. I think my experi- 
 ences have taught me to see things in a larger way than I 
 ever could before, — the bigness of the forces in this war. 
 And searching for the good in it, and some of its fundamental 
 causes in human nature, and its outcome in generations to 
 come, has all stretched my mind a bit to grasp it. 
 
 Then also, more concretely, the new spaces I have run from 
 high altitudes, the new breadth which comes in moving in three 
 dimensions, the sense of terrific force when moving through 
 the air at such new speeds. " Like sixty " was the idiomatic 
 expression of speed, a limit of our previous experience. Yet 
 I have moved at sixty and a hundred more on top of that, 
 when, protected from the force of the air, you could feel it in 
 the bursting feeling it gives your head, and the fearful roar. 
 Then the new sense of utter abandon and freedom in falling. 
 We used to jump into the hay from ten to fifteen feet safely. 
 I have let the machine fall its natural way when uncontrolled, 
 a nose spin, for a full mile down vertical. These new things 
 are beyond all previous experience, beyond the limiting wall 
 beyond which we don't see because we don't know we can look 
 till victory. These have all broken down limits in one place 
 or another, so that when I come back and start other work, it 
 ought to be easier to step over the apparent limits. 
 
 This isn't much of a letter as letters go, but what I started 
 out to say is, I received the highest mark in the examinations 
 of our group of eighteen to-day, so you can see there is sound 
 basis when I assure you that you need not worry about my 
 welfare. This is substantial evidence of change. If I am 
 better than the average here, I should be better than the 
 average Hun as well. So you must not worry and must only 
 feel joy that I am having the great privilege of being in the 
 biggest thing in the history of the world. 
 
 TuRNBURY, February 22. 
 Dear Beth, — 
 
 Another of your good letters came to-day — the 30th of 
 January — and you have a remarkable ability to put a deal of 
 news and satisfaction into one envelope, quite after Ben 
 Franklin's style of conversation, to consider what interests 
 the other. And I appreciate your writing at all, for I know 
 
 [82] 
 
how busy you are and how much else you have to think of. 
 
 It is tantalizing that Oswald was required to move away 
 before it was time to go for good. It is hard, but it can't be 
 helped, and it does mean more interesting work for him, I 
 believe. But all this training uses up so much time, and time 
 is so valuable out there, it makes one very impatient to move 
 so slowly. And, valuable and necessary though it is, train- 
 ing seems so insignificant a work in comparison with the 
 real thing. I'm afraid I have another month yet, and I had 
 hoped so much to get out by the first of March. But after 
 all it does n't much matter — a month or two, for it looks 
 as if things will start out there pretty soon now, and once they 
 begin there will be no let-up till something breaks. Things 
 will be hot, I expect, and terribly interesting, for they will 
 be on a larger scale and more continuous in action than ever 
 before. If Germany attacks, which the Allies hope she will, 
 she can't stop, and the strain will break her back. The 
 question whether she will or not will be answered soon. 
 
 I interested myself the other day by trying to analyze the 
 spirit which has actuated each country to fight in this war, 
 the spirit which is the consummation of nationally charac- 
 teristic human nature. The German seemed to be the spirit 
 of a big, husky, mentally limited son of the big man in a 
 small country town, a fellow who has a strength and posi- 
 tion earned by his father, but which he is too limited and 
 too arrogant to know how to use worthily. The American 
 Spirit as I see it from speeches and editorials, etc., is the 
 spirit for a simple principle, believed in coolly and con- 
 sistently, the principle of a business man who deals hon- 
 orably because all must if there is to be any security and 
 confidence in the market. 
 
 The Colonials have the spirit of a perfectly independent 
 son, who supports his mother out of free loyalty to his 
 filial bond. The English spirit is a pride in their traditions 
 which were made by Drake and Wellington and Gordon, etc. 
 It is not an unworthy pride. With France it ceases to be a 
 spirit and becomes a soul — the soul you can see so near the 
 surface in a person who has suffered almost beyond human 
 endurance and has risen above and become strengthened by 
 this suffering. It will never die. 
 
 Isn't Russia ridiculous? " No, I won't make peace on your 
 
 [83] 
 
terms because they aren't fair, but I don't want to fight any 
 more. No fair hitting me now; I have my fingers crossed.'* 
 
 I have n't heard a bit of real music since I left New York, 
 except light stuff. All the Revues are a composite of Broad- 
 way two years old, and the musical shows are generally su- 
 perior to American. That is, the English can't write classical 
 stuff or popular stuff, but are pretty good in the middle-class 
 music. " Chu Chin Chow " is a show based on the Arabian 
 story of Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves, and there are some 
 catchy things in it. There is a march which would make a 
 wonderful national marching song — a great swing to it and 
 much connotation of a great moving body. If I can get a 
 copy of it sometime I will send it over. 
 
 I remembered it was " Howie's " birthday on the 14th and 
 wanted to send him a cable, but honestly didn't have the 
 kale. He will be about as big as "Day" was, when I get 
 back, I expect. 
 
 I haven't been at Lilbume, that is another camp. I was 
 at Andover, and go next to Stonehenge down in Hampshire. 
 
 Well, the time is getting on, so I must stop. 
 
 Much love to the kiddies and all. 
 
 [84] 
 
WITH PALMS OUT 
 
 TuRNBURY, February 23. 
 Mother Dear, — 
 
 Your letter of the 4th came to-day, mentioning one you 
 wrote in Boston which is being held at Cox's, and I shall 
 get it when I go to London in a day or two. I am very anxious 
 to read it and hear all about your trip to Boston in detail, 
 for of course I am very interested about it. 
 
 I am afraid, Mother, you are taking things much harder 
 than you need, the tantalizing slowness of things at home, 
 the bad administration, etc. It does no good to get worked 
 up about them, for it makes one feel so impotent, and yet 
 it makes the desire to effect some change so keen that one 
 can't be happy, and being unhappy won't help. Many 
 things are discouraging, and yet if you don't look at them 
 too closely but stand off and see them as a whole, then you 
 can see how really much has been done, and that it is all so 
 new and on such a scale that it can't be done all of a sud- 
 den; the men in control are not used to such dimensions and 
 so temporarily cannot think in such large numbers, but it 
 will make them grow as the work does. On such a tre- 
 mendous scale, where so many complexities are involved, it 
 would be impossible for the whole thing to be managed prop- 
 erly, efficiently and swiftly all at once. But it will come 
 about in time; it is all the time gathering up momentum 
 which once started cannot be stopped. 
 
 The Allies are still very strong and can well keep going 
 till America is completely ready. If America were no- 
 where in sight, the Allies might be discouraged, for, 
 though they could not be beaten, it would be a long 
 costly struggle. But with the sure knowledge of the 
 ultimate unlimited power which America will furnish, 
 the whole morale is braced ; they say, " Not only will 
 we win, but we will win decisively." They pluck up 
 their courage and can do even more than they normally would, 
 and it does n't matter if America does n't start for six months 
 or a year; once she does, it will be with a strength that can't 
 be resisted. 
 
 Over here, after going on four years, things are often 
 mismanaged, and valuable time wasted, yet all in all there 
 
 [85] 
 
is always slow but certain improvement. So it will be 
 the same there. Don't let an immediate difficulty shut 
 out, by its narrowness, the whole truth which can be seen by 
 standing off at a distance. Coal is short, but that is not 
 so much present-day mismanagement as conditions brought 
 about by bad management and financial exploitation 
 long before the war. It is a nuisance and a dis- 
 comfort, but it will be straightened out in time. You know 
 what meat-eaters and tea-drinkers the English have al- 
 ways been. Then to have but a few ounces of meat per week 
 and often drink their tea with little or no sugar, is bringing 
 the sense of war pretty close, yet it really is remarkable how 
 little complaint and criticism there is. 
 
 You know how natural it is psychologically for people to 
 think everything is wrong when something close to them, a life- 
 long physical taste, is meddled with, even if there is no direct 
 connection. I think the way rationing has been accepted in 
 England is one of the most encouraging things I have found. 
 There is enough food but none to waste, and it is very regular, 
 so one often wishes for just one feast of everything that can't 
 be had. The fact that the situation is accepted so well speaks 
 well for the way things are going. Of course they are more 
 used to the idea of privations of one sort or another here, 
 but America will get used to it in time. So when trying con- 
 ditions come, and evils are revealed, you must hold them in 
 their right value and not let them depress you. And never 
 let things get into you personally. It is one thing to think 
 about them, and another to get all heated up about them. 
 
 I go about as it were, hands with palms out, all about my 
 heart, holding things outside of it. I am conscious of things I 
 don't like, or discomforts sometimes, and things I wish could 
 be true, etc., but I won't let them get into the inside where they 
 hurt. If I can change them, I can do it just as well keeping 
 them outside, and if I can't change them, well, what does it 
 matter, it 's outside. It does n't make me indifferent to things 
 which deserve consideration, merely insensible. You must 
 do this, it's not hard, and you will find how much more 
 quickly a day goes by, and after all how pleasant it is. So 
 much for your concern about outside things. 
 
 Of course, being my mother, you feel concerned about me; 
 but, except for just missing me, I don't want you to have an- 
 
 [86] 
 
other uncomfortable feeling in your heart, no worry about 
 my health or comfort, or happiness, nothing of this sort. For 
 any limitations of physical comfort are so ridiculously slight, 
 especially compared with most, that it would really be good 
 for me if I had more. And little petty annoyances are good 
 for one's self-control; besides, as I said, I don't let them 
 get inside. I have never been in better health. And I am 
 completely content, for it seems as if I was never so rich 
 or ever hoped to be. I have absolutely nothing in the world 
 to ask for, for myself. My friends and family have never 
 meant as much to me, and you are all so good to me. And 
 in addition, the interest and satisfaction of my work is of 
 such a nature that nothing that can happen matters to me. 
 
 You see you have no need to feel anything but gladness for 
 me, so no more must you have any troublesome feelings in 
 your heart except harmless missing, which doesn't hurt 
 when you know I am happy as I am. Don't say to yourself, 
 "I mustn't let him see my depression or worries." Don't 
 €ven get all braced and say you wont let yourself feel 
 them. Just relax and donH feel them. Even when I'm Out 
 There you must n't feel any dread or worry. We get better 
 food out there and are done with the petty things of train- 
 ing, and we will be right at the real work, so I shall be even 
 happier than now. And if it should happen that — I just 
 stopped being conscious, it wouldn't matter, because there 
 was no regret and no dread, just perfect content. And you 
 will not dread any such event, for it is not a bit likely to 
 happen. My examination mark has n't been reached yet by 
 the two groups which have passed out since my group. It 
 was 94%, the average on all the tests we had, and they 
 never give much higher. But if the Event came you may 
 miss me, but it won't hurt, for there will be no vain regret, 
 because I am so perfectly content. So remember. Mother 
 mine, you are going to relax, begin at once and keep it up, 
 and people will wonder at you, that you are so serene and 
 can do so much because your strength isn't being wasted by 
 groundless or ineffective troubles, and when they ask your 
 secret you can say that we are both so content with our sit- 
 uation as it is, that one can't be otherwise than serene. 
 
 You spoke of being more conscious of the grim realities 
 
 [87] 
 
than heretofore. To me the grim things somehow fade into 
 unrealities in comparison with the realities of the heart and 
 mind which are so vivid to me. I spend so many long happy 
 hours with you all every day that my heart is completely 
 filled with them, and I am very happy. I am glad you sent 
 the little farm album, for so many of my hours are spent 
 over it. I often go way back to the days when we were kids, 
 with Ned, and the Blodgetts and Miss Noyes, over at Hill- 
 top, and again later at the knoll when Vincent and the Platts 
 and the slews of kids gave plays and had picnics. There 
 isn't one single unhappy memory any^where in the whole re- 
 view. And I often roam there in the future planning the 
 things I shall do and the fun it will be to show all the corners 
 to Grace, the little trips we can take to Lost River, etc. And 
 those drives up back of Harvey hill, and down into Lyman, 
 etc. That wonderful ride we had with Betty and Mrs. Dodge 
 was such fun. 
 
 It does n't do any harm to live in these things at 
 this time if I wish, so long as I do my work well, does it? 
 You see, I never realized what a happy life you had made 
 for me till I had this chance to get away and look at it. Now 
 when I come back I shall be able, I hope, to give some of it 
 back to you, because I think I know better how to do it. I 
 sometimes feel as if I am taking too much good out of such 
 a rotten thing as war. But still if we all do, then it will 
 be worth the cost, and there must not be another, because it 
 isn't fair to mothers. You must tell me all the feelings 
 you have. Don't hide them, but do abolish them. . . . 
 
 [88] 
 
LONDON AGAIN 
 
 The Royal Club for Officers, 
 
 Beyond the Seas 
 
 At the Royal Automobile Club 
 
 Pall Mall, London, S. W. 
 
 February 26. 
 
 Dear Father, — 
 
 I came back to town last night, arriving this morning rather 
 fagged after sitting up all night. Of course I slept some, 
 but you know what it amounts to. Still, there is a war on, so 
 what does it matter? We reported at the Air Board and 
 were given instructions to proceed to-morrow to cross over, 
 and over there we will be told where to go. 
 
 I was a little bit afraid we might be sent to Italy, where it 
 would be novel and interesting of course, but not on the titanic 
 scale of things as in France. I had to do considerable hustling 
 round to get all my errands done, but I succeeded all right. I 
 am having a nice uniform made to change into from this same 
 old one which I shall keep for work only, as it is getting pretty 
 badly spotted up with engine oil. The pilots out there take 
 pride in the signs of use their work uniforms show, the blacker 
 the better. The new one I'm having made is of the " Univer- 
 sal " type, the turn-down collar, big pockets, etc., which officers 
 in the other branches wear. It is perfectly regulation, and 
 nice to have the change and additional comfort. I also 
 bought a good substantial pair of heavy top boots for service 
 there. And several other smaller items completed my imme- 
 diate needs for which I was obliged to call on you. But my 
 name has just gone through the Gazette, so by April first I 
 can send a draft back to you and we will be squared up. 
 
 I found several letters for me at Cox's and it made my 
 advent to town extra pleasant. One from Wilson, Mother's 
 from Boston, and a couple from Grace written at that time. 
 I can't tell you what a comfort and joy the frequent letters 
 from you all mean to me. I have never known anything like 
 it, and it makes me very happy all the time. I'm so glad you 
 had a good chance to see Grace while in Boston, for it is easier 
 to get to know people if a little time elapses and you can see 
 them again for a second time. . . . 
 
 This afternoon I ran down to Andover to get my trunk 
 
 [89] 
 
which I had left there. I had less than an hour between 
 trains, but it gave me a chance to see several of my friends 
 that I crossed over with in December. They are all still there 
 and due for another month or six weeks before they even go 
 to Turnbury, because, as is always the case, new require- 
 ments are always being created. It made me very glad that 
 I had escaped when I did. For it is in the nature of an 
 escape. While these practices and tests are valuable, they 
 are not essential, and take months to go through, and at the 
 end they are not as effective as after a week at the front. 
 
 I am spending the night here very pleasantly, indulging in 
 various luxuries such as a good varied dinner (greater in 
 variety though more limited in certain things than our mess), 
 eaten slowly, with a bit of wine, and music, a cigar after- 
 wards, and a sense of quiet and freedom. 
 
 You need have no worry at all, for I am absolutely primed 
 in every way, health, spirits, training, equipment. Hereafter 
 I hope to be able to have more interesting things to write 
 about to add to that epistolary classic which you have 
 collected. 
 
 Much love to all. 
 
 [90] 
 
ON THE WESTERN FRONT 
 
 18th Squadron, R. F. C. 
 
 r, Ti/r 1 7 r- 7 Marcli Ist, Frauce \19\^^. 
 
 Dear Mother and bather, — ■- -■ 
 
 Well, my guess which I made early in January about 
 when I would get out here came true, for it was just after 
 midnight last night when I came in. We had a very pleasant 
 crossing, a beautiful day, almost a Hilltop day, warm and 
 clear. We traveled up to a certain sort of distribution sta- 
 tion from which the various squadrons draw. There one 
 often has to wait a week or two, but I was lucky enough to 
 get out the same evening, though I am sorry to say the two 
 fellows I came with are left there. But they may come here 
 later. 
 
 I was astonished at the smooth way that transportation 
 was managed. At each stage our names were on a list and 
 we were told at once what to do and where to go. The last 
 stage of my journey, about forty miles, was made in a motor. 
 It was quite fun tearing along through little dark towns, one 
 after another, and over the countryside on the Lombard y- 
 poplar-lined roads. It was an exquisite night, nearly full 
 moon and not a cloud. 
 
 This squadron has more than come up to my hopes, the 
 officers impress me as being nice chaps and I expect will be 
 very pleasant to work with. I have noticed, while coming 
 over and since being here, that as individuals the officers are 
 much better than those we came across when in the training 
 squadrons. They seem more like real men doing a man's 
 work, and it makes one feel a bit more of a man to be with 
 them. I don't expect I shall do anything for a few days till I 
 have a flip round the country and get used to my machine. 
 I'll write at greater length then. 
 
 Hereafter you can use the above address and letters will 
 come direct. 
 
 Much love. 
 
 18th Squadron, R. F. C. 
 
 J)ear Os— ^' ^' ^'' ^^^^^^' ^^^^^ ^ [1918]. 
 
 I have received a couple of letters from you written round 
 Christmas time, but have waited to write you till I got out 
 here and had something worth telling about. You loiow what 
 
 [91] 
 
a fuss the women make as soon as you get into a uniform. 
 They begin attributing all sorts of brave qualities to you 
 while you are safely training that you really scarcely deserve 
 when actually in service, and it makes you feel a bit of an im- 
 postor till you are in a position where there is some ground 
 for their implications. Then one feels better about it. 
 
 We are located well back of the lines where it is peaceful 
 and quiet, only the big guns can be heard and they are just 
 a sound, not a noise, just a reminder that there is a war on, 
 which one often forgets in the fuss and stir that is often 
 made over inconsequential things in training. But we work 
 on a fairly important sector of the front and it is going to be 
 vastly interesting. Our work is photography, reconnoissance 
 and bombing, and it is therefore something different each trip 
 and far more interesting than scout fighting or artillery rang- 
 ing. We have splendid machines, faster than anything in 
 the air at high altitudes, and in a few months expect to have 
 even better ones, an improvement on these. The casualties 
 in our work are surprisingly few and yet our squadron has 
 a good record for accounting for Huns that try to interrupt 
 us. We only fight defensively, but are well able to do that. 
 They give new men three weeks to get used to the machine 
 and become familiar with the country before going over the 
 lines. A very good way to work into it gradually, you see. 
 
 We live very comfortably in huts made of galvanized iron 
 in the shape of a half -barrel cut lengthwise, with windows in 
 the ends. They are divided into four rooms with just two 
 officers in each, and so are roomy, secluded and comfortable. 
 So far as possible a pilot rooms with his observer, for it is 
 essential that they know each other well so as to have confi- 
 dence in each other in the air and know what the other will 
 do or would have you do in certain situations when it has to 
 be done too quickly to give time for explanation, a little dual 
 teamwork, and of course the better you work together, the 
 better results you will achieve. We have a batman (orderly) 
 to each hut, who keeps our boots, belts and buttons polished, 
 a fire going in the morning and generally cleans up round, 
 and when you go anywhere, packs up for you. Pretty soft! 
 The mess is not a bit bad, and the officers in our squadron 
 very pleasant chaps and they have been most agreeable to me 
 on just coming in. 
 
 [92] 
 
Three months from now I can begin to look for a couple of 
 weeks' leave. Perhaps by that time you will be over and can 
 get away for a day or two so we can meet and have a chat. 
 I certainly hope so as I will be keen to see you and some of 
 my friends I hope to get in contact with who are in various 
 American camps over here. Pol Roger is only fifteen francs 
 per quart, so we can have a good party. Here's to it! Cheery 
 oh! 
 
 18th Squadron, R. F. C. 
 B. E. F., France, March 3 [1918]. 
 Dear Beth, — 
 
 Just a line or two to-day, for I gave most of the news of 
 my situation to Oswald in the letter I sent him by you. 
 
 Thus far the weather has been dull for flying, so I have 
 been getting a good rest and have amused myself in reading 
 and catching up with my correspondence. We have a fairly 
 passable piano in the mess, so I am getting my hand in once 
 more. When I left I forgot my music, which I left on your 
 piano. Do you suppose you could gather it together and 
 roll it up and send it to me? Have the ends open and label 
 it, and it will come all right. There isn't much, — the four 
 books of MacDowell, the old favorites, and one or two others. 
 And if you happen to have anything that is interesting and 
 not too hard I would enjoy working on it. 
 
 Unless the front line should change decidedly we are likely 
 to remain here indefinitely, so I am getting settled down com- 
 fortably, arranging my things as I wish and putting little 
 conveniences about here and there which give a touch of com- 
 fort and hominess to my billet. And on dull days I expect 
 I can get quite a bit of time at the piano. I am very glad of 
 that, for I have missed it greatly heretofore. 
 
 Speaking of dull days, when there is no flying we don't 
 have to get up in the morning till we wish — up till 9.30, 
 when breakfast is over; so our batman comes round to light 
 the fire, and when we ask him what sort of a day it is, he 
 replies, "Very properly dull, sir." It is really a most lei- 
 surely life even on good days, for the work is only a matter 
 of a few hours and then there is the rest and quiet of this 
 camp. But it doesn't chafe one to do nothing out here as it 
 did while in training, for we are on the spot and ready to 
 
 [93] 
 
work when weather permits. Other times all sorts of games 
 of Rugby and field hockey are got up among ourselves or 
 with the mechanics. 
 
 I went to a boxing match yesterday held at another camp 
 and saw some very good boxing. But what was particularly 
 amusing — I had no sooner entered the building than the 
 band began to play the William Tell storm scene, and I al- 
 most imagined I was back in our library with the old Victrola. 
 
 I wish I could tell you where I am, for you could imagine 
 when reading the communiques whether I was in it or not, 
 but it is absolutely forbidden. Also cameras are not permit- 
 ted in France in the Army, so I can take no pictures. I am 
 sorry about that, for they would make an interesting record, 
 but I will have to make increased effort to draw the pictures 
 in words. 
 
 [94] 
 
18th Squadron, R. F. C. 
 B. E. F., France, March 4, 1918. 
 Dear Father and Mother, — 
 
 The weather has continued bad for flying, so I have been 
 free to get settled down here. Unlike in training, one doesn't 
 mind bad weather with its delays, for we aren't set at arbi- 
 trary work for the mere sake of being busy, but can use the 
 time as we wish. Also it used to be unpleasant to have any- 
 thing delay my coming out here, but once here it doesn't 
 matter, for we are on the spot and ready, and if we can't fly, 
 neither can the Hun, so such a wait is n't a waste of time. 
 
 I am getting better acquainted with the fellows now and they 
 have included me in their number very pleasantly. I was 
 particularly gratified that the observer I am rooming with 
 asked especially to be detailed to work with me, for he had 
 only myself to judge by, not having seen me fly yet. It is 
 most fortunate for me, as he has had several months' experi- 
 ence in the work and knows the country well. He is a Scotch- 
 man, fine-looking and most agreeable, about twenty-eight or 
 thirty, I should judge, with lots of common sense and poise. 
 I can feel complete confidence in him when I go up, and you 
 can readily see that is important to successful co-operation 
 in emergencies. He was a bombing officer in the infantry 
 before joining the R. F. C. and has been in since the begin- 
 ning, having fought in France, Egypt and Salonika, and is 
 most interesting to talk to. I shall be well off working 
 with him, so you need have less anxiety. Living together this 
 way we often get talking of our work, and he can give me 
 many valuable points and tips. 
 
 We live in a cosy little hut and I am getting it all fixed up 
 with the little conveniences which make for one's comfort. I 
 dare say we shall be here perhaps permanently so long as I 
 am in France, so I can completely unpack and feel at home. 
 I am going to tack up the various pictures which I have of 
 you all, and of my friends, and so I will seem actually with 
 you all the time. We have a new piano in the mess and 
 several fairly good players, and I shall get a lot of pleasure 
 out of it, for I can take myself completely out of my sur- 
 roundings when playing, and find lots of calm comfort in it. 
 
 We have plenty of the things that are short elsewhere in 
 our mess, — that is, sugar, butter, bread, etc., and nice jam 
 
 [95] 
 
for breakfast and tea, — so if you are sending me the peri- 
 odical food-boxes you needn't include any sugar, and I find 
 I can buy dates in the near-by town very reasonably, but they 
 have n't good figs. So what you might send now is figs, choc- 
 olate, fruit-cake, — I haven't had a bit of cake for months 
 and I understand fruit-cake keeps well, — Lord Salisbury 
 cigarettes and matches. You might put in a ten-cent tin of 
 Lucky Strike tobacco also, for French tobacco is quite im- 
 possible and I don't like English. These things will come 
 through out here all right if you send them to the address 
 above, and I believe you have to leave an end so it can be 
 opened. Don't try to send much at once, just a small parcel 
 which can come quickly by mail, and it will be such a treat 
 to receive it. Put in three or four boxes of matches, for 
 they are extremely scarce, and tell Oswald to bring some 
 with him for himself when he comes. He needn't bother 
 about sugar except a little to use when on leave, for they 
 seem to keep the Army well supplied. Every one carries a 
 little bottle of saccharine when he goes out to tea in England 
 and it works very well. I should appreciate a book from 
 time to time, as we do a good deal of reading on off days. 
 But you don't need to feel any sympathy, for we are unpar- 
 donably comfortable. I think if you would send me Current 
 Opinion it would be nice, as it deals with much in addition 
 to the war and gives good summaries. I believe it comes out 
 once a month or fortnight. I seem to be asking for a good 
 deal, but I expect you want to do things, and these I would 
 appreciate greatly. 
 
 Much love to all the family. 
 
 TO HIS YOUNGER BROTHER 
 
 18th Squadron, R. F. C. 
 B. E. F., France, March 4, 1918. 
 Dear Line, — 
 
 I have been meaning to write you for a long time, but I 
 am carrying a rather large correspondence with the various 
 spread-out members of the family; so I decided to let yours 
 go until I got out here, believing you would be pleased to 
 know I am actually in active service at the Front, at last. 
 Father enclosed one of your letters to him, written in Jan- 
 
 [96] 
 
uary, and I am glad to hear from it that you are getting along 
 so well in track. But a recent letter from Mother, telling me 
 of her visit to Mr. Meigs, and your results since, have pleased 
 me more; for you seem, at last, to be playing the game, and 
 that is the right thing for you to do. If you can make good 
 at Hill in studies, as well as socially and in athletics, then 
 you will have acquired the habits of mind and morals to in- 
 sure your success in anything else you may undertake — war 
 or business. 
 
 But you must remember to be cautious, and not be content, 
 or relax after one week of good record; it means day after 
 day, month after month, never relaxing your pace, to get any- 
 where near the top. The man who is at the top has no better 
 equipment than you have, but merely used what he had to 
 the utmost; and you must learn that there is absolutely 
 nothing you cannot do if you set your mind to it. It is a case 
 of ambition and desire sufficiently strong to make untiring 
 effort worth while. 
 
 In this flying game, for instance, I have felt that my indi- 
 vidual excellence would do much toward insuring my return. 
 There, you see, was the desire — life or death — as incentive 
 to make my utmost effort to master all my work. As a result, 
 I am glad to tell you that I went through the gunnery school 
 in Scotland with an average mark of 94%, which was the 
 best of my group of twenty fellows; in other words, mental 
 as well as physical superiority. Yet I was not so well 
 equipped as some. I did n't waste my time, or let myself 
 be content with " well-enough," but only with the best. 
 
 You may see no value or connection in your doing like- 
 wise in the matter of Latin verbs, and such things; but there 
 is a connection; for it is not the verb which you master, it is 
 the dent in your brain which the effort to master has put 
 there, and it will make the next job you tackle that much 
 easier for you to do. 
 
 When so much besides your own welfare depends upon 
 your playing the game to the limit, — the ease of mind and 
 gratification it will mean to Mother and Father; the increased 
 freedom which I can feel to meet whatever may come to me, 
 knowing that my absence, if I should fall, will be no perma- 
 nent loss, and that you are learning to live so that you can fill 
 my place in the Adams line ; I am sure you will do your best. 
 
 [97] 
 
Also, when you flunk a job, you are not getting out of it 
 the value equivalent to the money which Father puts in. That 
 is a waste, and even that waste, indirect as it may seem, does 
 affect the total, and so is wrong in times like these. I am 
 confident you will do the right thing, but you must remember 
 that a succession of spurts will never win the race. That 
 just wears you out. It is the steady pace, which all the 
 time grows a little stronger, that pulls you out ahead. Stick 
 to it! 
 
 I have n't much war news to give you yet, for I have only 
 been out here at the Front a few days, and the weather has 
 been too bad to fly. But we are in a most interesting section 
 of the Front, near a place you have often read about, and all 
 the time we can hear the sound of the big guns, which oc- 
 casionally increases to steady thunder when Fritz starts a 
 raid, or something. It will be lively here this summer, and 
 I shall have some interesting stories to tell you when I get 
 home. 
 
 [98] 
 
ACTIVE SERVICE 
 
 18th Squadron, R. F. C. 
 B. E. F., France, March 7, 1918. 
 Dear Mother and Father, — 
 
 I have now added the last few touches to my room and it 
 is indeed cosy. On the walls round about my table I have 
 tacked up pictures of all the family and some of my friends, 
 "Poof," "Woof," Elmer, etc., and sitting here in the se- 
 clusion with your faces all about me I am very happy. I 
 even have the picture of our house which was on the calen- 
 dar. And when it rains the patter of the drops on the gal- 
 vanized iron roof muffled by the sheathing inside carries me 
 way back to the old Irvingcroft house with its tin roofs. 
 Such is the association of ideas, for I no sooner heard it 
 than the old house came into my mind. 
 
 But there is such a lot of comfort in pictures, — I never 
 realized it so truly before. I look at one and seem to talk to it 
 on the view of interest with that one, thus with the next, and I 
 switch onto that bond. Even old Grandpa Kilbum is here, and 
 of course all the kids, though I have n't a good picture of 
 " Howie." How you all seem to be looking at me so nicely, 
 and how I love you all for the kind wishes and love I see in 
 your eyes. 
 
 The last two days have been wonderfully clear and warm, 
 so our squadron has pulled off a couple of " shows." Perhaps 
 if I describe one so far as I saw it, and as what I did n't see 
 was reported to me, it will give you a little better idea of the 
 procedure. 
 
 Every morning our batman reports on the weather pros- 
 pects, and when it is clear we have to get up a bit earlier. 
 After breakfast a conference is held at which the purpose 
 and objective of the trip are given and any details arranged 
 for. Then the men who are going put on their flying kit and 
 go out to the machines. These have previously been rolled 
 out of the hangars, filled up with fuel, guns loaded, bombs, 
 cameras, etc., attached, and everything shipshape. Each 
 pilot gets in, the engine is started and warmed up, finally the 
 chocks are pulled away from the wheels and the machines 
 taxi out onto the aerodrome and line up ready to take off, 
 the engine snorting and sputtering impatiently. 
 
 [99] 
 
As they wabble over the ground the machines look so clumsy 
 and ill at ease, with tails dragging and bumping, noses up in 
 the air. The leader takes his place on the line, his machine 
 indicated by some streamers. There have been no farewells 
 or good-luck wishes, the men have started off as if they were 
 off in a car to go to an office ; it is not masked indifference, it 
 is simple matter of course. 
 
 All are ready, and the leader, followed immediately by 
 the others, opens out the throttle, and the machines move 
 faster and faster, tails up now and noses low and level, like 
 a runner stooping a bit on his run before a spring. The 
 wheels trip along, each time touching more lightly, till with 
 a final bound the machine is clear. What a fearful roar they 
 make, great powerful engines unmuffled, wide open. 
 
 One after another they leap into the air and at once are 
 transformed from ugly ducklings to beautiful swans, at home 
 and happy in their natural element, as they arch round and 
 round, ever higher. Finally when they are sufficiently high 
 they move off in their close formation in an arrow line for 
 their objective, finally fading out of sight. 
 
 Some hours later they come in sight again and glide 
 in, some as fresh as when they left, others so badly cut 
 up you wonder how the machine could hold together. Then 
 we hear the story told in the form of a simple report, still 
 all as a matter of course. How they flew undisturbed to their 
 objective though noticing a large number of Hims in various 
 parts of the sky as they flew along. But when they turned 
 to come back the Huns had gathered over thirty counted 
 against our four, a veritable swarm between them and home. 
 
 And yet without hesitation our machines fly straight at them! 
 They break up into groups and surround our machines on 
 all sides, above, below, each side, before, behind, all dis- 
 charging their venomous sting when a good sight is ob- 
 tained, darting in for a burst of shots, soaring up or diving 
 away one after another, a continuous melee. Our machines 
 zigzag from time to time, but always progress toward home 
 unless some Hun more persistent than others has to be turned 
 on. 
 
 Meanwhile our men, scarcely knowing which machine 
 to pick out to fire at, keep sending off bursts whenever they 
 get a good sight. When a Hun receives a burst a bit too close 
 
 [100] 
 
he dives for home, and when a machine is hit, several others 
 accompany it down for a way to cool off. They are no 
 sports, these Huns, they will never attack unless with over- 
 whelming odds, and even then they never come across the 
 lines, so in case of engine failure they are sure to get safely 
 home. Yet our few machines over hostile territory fly 
 straight into the swarm of them, bring down six, and all re- 
 turn and have but one man hit. It isn't luck that they come 
 through; it is superior shooting due to a large steady ma- 
 chine, a sporting blood in the men that makes them play the 
 game, no matter what the odds. 
 
 Though the Hun has a decided advantage fighting over 
 his own territory, it is a large factor in his defeat, for it 
 is an open acknowledgment of his inferiority, and it only 
 takes a little spirit and some cool shooting to make him sick. 
 You see. Mother, no matter what the odds, we have all 
 the advantage, and, after all, it is seldom that they get 
 as large a bunch as that together. For instance, on 
 the " show " to-day not a single one was sighted. So 
 at their worst you see you have little to worry about, and 
 they are seldom at their worst. Also we never fight except 
 defensively, only when they interfere with our work or try 
 to keep us from getting home, and then they regret it, for 
 we are well equipped for defense. 
 
 I wouldn't have given all these details if I were not sure 
 you would extract the interest and not let the exciting fea- 
 tures make you worry. For I want you to know all about 
 the work and yet see in it the small element of danger and 
 the very great interest which you couldn't have if I told 
 nothing about it for fear of worrying you. There are some 
 Hun machines which will go higher than these we use, but 
 there is no machine made by any nation as fast at the high 
 altitude where we work; and speed is king. 
 
 Must get to bed now. Much love to all. 
 
 [101] 
 
THE LAST LETTER 
 
 March 11 [1918']. 
 Dear Father and Mother, — 
 
 Two days ago another batch of letters came, including a 
 couple of papers and the little album which I was most 
 amused to look over. The valentine from Mother was much 
 appreciated, with its nice sentiment. By the way, so far as 
 possible it would be a good idea for you all to let Father 
 put your letters in his envelopes with his official stamp on 
 them, for they always seem to get here several days before the 
 others when written at the same time. I believe they go 
 through the censor in England more quickly. There was a 
 nice letter from Grace in the bunch and Mother's of the 10th. 
 Also a very nice long letter from Mrs. Cameron, Woof's 
 mother, whom I wrote in January for Woof's address. She was 
 awfully good to us while at college, and I spent many happy 
 week-ends out at their home in Westford. 
 
 I have sent several pictures cut from papers to Grace show- 
 ing various phases of our work, and if they get through to 
 her, as no doubt they will, she will send them to you. If she 
 doesn't want them back will you keep them for me, as we 
 aren't allowed to have cameras in France, and I will want 
 them as a record for my scrapbook when I return. 
 
 You must expect mails to take longer from out here and to 
 be more irregular, but I hope you will not allow yourselves to 
 become alarmed if a long period elapses at any time, for if 
 there were any cause due to me, you would have heard long be- 
 fore the gap came by cable. And now don't hold your breath 
 in apprehension of a cable any day. Contrary to your belief. 
 Mother, I am in one of the very safest branches I could be 
 in because of our splendid machines which are faster than 
 anything in the air at the altitudes where we work — over 
 three miles up. 
 
 And in a very few months we are to have even better 
 machines, the same as these, only improved. Our work is 
 safer than that of the others because of the machines, the 
 height, and the fact that we don't look for trouble, but only 
 fight when attacked; and on Wednesday last, when Haig 
 congratulated the brigade for bringing down eighteen Huns, 
 our one squadron, perfectly peaceable by nature, taught six 
 
 [102] 
 
out of that number that we can well defend ourselves. On 
 that occasion, over thirty Huns attacked only four of ours, 
 and ours all came back. 
 
 But while we are on the subject I want to caution you about 
 a possibility. One of our machines has been reported miss- 
 ing a day or so ago, but it was only engine failure and the 
 machine was seen to have safely landed, so the occupants 
 are safe but unhappily detained in Hun-land. Frequently 
 no word is brought from them, and no one sees what be- 
 came of a machine. So you see, a man may be quite all 
 right who simply disappeared and was reported missing. 
 The case is not likely to arise, however, as our engines as 
 a rule are very reliable. It is merely a possibility which in 
 case it happened I want you to know there is no need to 
 worry — less than ever, for it would mean simply a safe 
 but long wait for the war to end. 
 
 I think I am receiving all your mail, as there have not 
 been any wide gaps in their dates; the gaps come only 
 in their receipt. Four of Grace's were lost, but they were 
 among the earlier ones; we write several times a week 
 usually, so we know if any are lost. Possibly some 
 may have been on the cruiser that was lost last week; 
 if so, I shall loiow in a short while. But I believe the mail 
 is distributed among a number of ships as a rule, so only a 
 small amount is lost with one ship. That ship, by the way, 
 convoyed us over, so I am familiar with her. 
 
 The new uniform I had made in London when I left came 
 to-day and is very good-looking. It will be nice to have 
 to change into for dinner, and for going on leave, etc. I am 
 getting all the time more comfortably settled and am very 
 happy here. Each day I manage to get in a flight of an 
 hour or two, becoming familiar with the country, meanwhile 
 picking up many valuable points from talking with the fel- 
 lows. Love to all. 
 
 {Received on Easter Morning — 1918) 
 
 Mother Mine, — 
 
 This is just a little Easter greeting to make you know I 
 am actually close by you all the time. May it give you much 
 cheer and happiness. 
 
 Tender love. 
 
 [103] 
 
Memorial Tablet erected by Lieutenant 
 Adams's sister and her husband. Captain 
 O. D. Pfoelzer, on an old pine tree in the 
 forest at Hilltop Farms, Littleton, New 
 Hampshire. 
 
 W92 
 
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