in the Lafayette Escadrille five
men in 1916; three of these, Kiffen Rockwell, Norman Prince, and
Victor Chapman, were killed in that year. A letter published in
_Harvard Volunteers in Europe_ tells of the way these young
gladiators started the day's work:

Rockwell called me up at three: "Fine day, fine day, get up!" It
was very clear. We hung around at Billy's [Lieutenant Thaw] and
took chocolate made by his ordonnance. Hall and the Lieutenant
were guards on the field; but Thaw, Rockwell, and I thought we
would take _a tour chez les Boches_. Being the first time the
_mechanaux_ were not there and the machine gun rolls not ready.
However it looked misty in the Vosges, so we were not hurried.
"Rendezvous over the field at a thousand metres," shouted Kiffen.
I nodded, for the motor was turning; and we sped over the field
and up.

[Illustration: (C) U. & U.

_A Burning Balloon, Photographed from a Parachute by the Escaping
Balloonist._]

In my little cockpit from which my shoulders just protrude I have
several diversions besides flying. The compass, of course, and
the map I keep tucked in a tiny closet over the reservoir before
my knees, a small clock and one altimetre. But most important is
the contour, showing revolutions of the motor which one is
constantly regarding as he moves the manettes of gasoline and gas
back and forth. To husband one's fuel and tease the motor to
round eleven takes attention, for the carburetor changes with the
weather and the altitude.... The earth seemed hidden under a fine
web such as the Lady of Shalott wove. Soft purple in the west,
changing to shimmering white in the east. Under me on the left
the Vosges like rounded sand dunes cushioned up with velvety
light and dark masses (really forests), but to the south standing
firmly above the purple cloth like icebergs shone the Alps. My!
they look steep and jagged. The sharp blue shadows on their
western slopes emphasized the effect. One mighty group standing
aloof to the west--Mount Blanc perhaps. Ah, there are quantities
of worm-eaten fields my friends the trenches--and that town with
the canal going through it must be M----. Right beside the capote
of my engine, showing through the white cloth a silver snake--the
Rhine!

What, not a quarter to six, and I left the field at five!