flying and night bombing, and in 1917 and 1918 came back in greater
strength and made the nights horrible in camps behind the lines and in
villages, where they killed many soldiers and more civilians.

The infantry did not believe much in our air supremacy at any time, not
knowing what work was done beyond their range of vision, and seeing
our machines crashed in No Man's Land, and hearing the rattle of
machine-guns from hostile aircraft above their own trenches.

"Those aviators of ours," a general said to me, "are the biggest liars
in the world. Cocky fellows claiming impossible achievements. What proof
can they give of their preposterous tales? They only go into the air
service because they haven't the pluck to serve in the infantry."

That was prejudice. The German losses were proof enough of our men's
fighting skill and strength, and German prisoners and German letters
confirmed all their claims. But we were dishonest in our reckoning from
first to last, and the British public was hoodwinked about our losses.
"Three of our machines are missing." "Six of our machines are missing."
Yes, but what about the machines which crashed in No Man's Land and
behind our lines? They were not missing, but destroyed, and the boys who
had flown in them were dead or broken.

To the end of the war those aviators of ours searched the air for their
adventures, fought often against overwhelming numbers, killed the German
champions in single combat or in tourneys in the sky, and let down tons
of high explosives which caused great death and widespread destruction;
and in this work they died like flies, and one boy's life--one of those
laughing, fatalistic, intensely living boys--was of no more account in
the general sum of slaughter than a summer midge, except as one little
unit in the Armies of the Air.

XIII

I am not strong enough in the science of psychology to understand the
origin of laughter and to get into touch with the mainsprings of gaiety.
The sharp contrast between normal ethics and an abnormality of action
provides a grotesque point of view arousing ironical mirth. It is
probable also that surroundings of enormous tragedy stimulate the sense
of humor of the individual, so that any small, ridiculous thing assumes
the proportion of monstrous absurdity. It is also likely--certain, I
think--that laughter is an escape from terror, a liberation of the soul
by mental explosion, from the prison walls of despair and bro