With the French Flying Corps

by Carroll Dana Winslow

Next come the Farman artillery machines. They are like the reconnoissance machines, too cumbersome for fighting, but are best equipped for the purpose of "réglage"—controlling the fire of batteries. While the small Nieuports have a carrying capacity of only two hundred and twenty pounds, these unwieldy creatures are able to take on over five hundred pounds, which includes the weight of the two men, their clothes, cameras, the wireless, and the gun and its ammunition. In this branch of aviation the weight of the pilot does not matter so very much, whereas in the case of the little Nieuports, if the aviator exceeds the prescribed weight, he has to choose between not piloting the machine or starting on his flight with a supply of gasolene reduced by the amount of his excess weight.

Finally, there are the heavy-armored bombardment machines, with a carrying capacity of over one thousand pounds. They are the slowest machines of all, and their work is both tiring and tiresome, as their flights are made mostly by night. They are armed with mitrailleuses or small, non-recoil cannon, but on account of their low speed their daylight flights are attended by "escadrilles de chasse." They are also detailed for guarding cities.

In the early months of the war each aviator was usually assigned to any one of these types of machines at hazard. At the school which he attended the instruction he received was specialized for the work which that particular machine could perform. Since then, however, it has been found more advisable to train all beginners on one of the heavier machines. The reason is this: Fighting, although the safest work, requires the most experienced pilot. It is the most important work of all—or rather it calls for greater attributes of skill, courage, and knowledge. The famous aviators of whom we read in the daily communiqués, like Navarre, Nungesser, Vialet, and Guynemer, all gained their reputation with the small, fighting Nieuports. A pilot is consequently promoted from a reconnoissance machine to an "appareil de chasse" after he has had two or three months' experience at the front and his captain has indorsed his application.

There are exceptions to this rule. The most notable is the American Escadrille, which consists entirely of fighting machines. The volunteers from the United States who applied for this duty were considered such naturally good aviators that they were accorded the exceptional honor of being assigned immediately to the fighting Nieuports.

When I first reported at the aviation headquarters they offered to let me go directly to the combat school because I was an American. I refused. "When in Rome, do as the Romans do," I thought, and so expressed my preference for a French escadrille. I knew that by doing so I would put in a longer apprenticeship, but that in the end it would make a much better fighting pilot of me. Having chosen this course, I was ordered to report to the school at Chartres.

THE SCHOOL AT CHARTRES

Most Americans know Chartres only for its beautiful Gothic cathedral, which, since its construction in the eleventh century, has been regarded as one of the finest edifices of France. Those of us who, since the war began, have had occasion to visit Chartres, have found there other interests besides the little, straggling streets, the historic old houses, and the beautiful monuments and memorials to men, like Pasteur and Marceau, who brought fame to their native city in peace as well as in war. Not far from the centre of the town lie the vast aviation-fields—close by the little village of Bretigny, where the treaty of peace which concluded the One Hundred Years' War was signed over five centuries ago. Little did the soldiers who met on that historic battle-field dream that to-day their descendants would be training for an even greater conflict, in which the combatants not only clinch below ground but also fight aerial battles high above the clouds.

As Chartres was a great cavalry headquarters of the French army before the war, to-day many of the horses shipped over from the western plains of North America are sent there the moment they are unloaded from the steamers at Bordeaux. Many a morning from my window I have seen the square below filled with a moving mass of animals on their way to the near-by remount depots. Twice I saw whole regiments of cavalry leaving for the front. So steadily and so quietly did those mounts move in ranks that it seemed as if they had acquired some of their riders' dogged determination and sense of responsibility.

The aviation school at Chartres is as large as the one I had recently left, and its organization is the same. In fact, it is only one of a dozen equally large and important schools located in various parts of France—all of which is bound to make a great impression upon Americans when they appreciate the insufficiency of aviation schools in our own country. At Chartres there are three fields. Two of these are reserved for the use of the double-control machines, while the third, the "Grande Piste," serves as a practice-field for the élèves who are about to come up for their pilots' examinations. As soon as I had reported my arrival to the officer in charge, and had complied with the usual formalities, I was assigned to an "équipe," which in English means a "team." There were twelve of these "équipes" under instruction at all times, comprising a dozen pupils apiece, and each having its own double-control machine and an instructor. Half of the number are always making use of one of the two smaller fields, while the remaining six use the other.

The instruction in this way progresses rapidly. The "moniteur" first takes each pupil for a few rides to see how the latter takes to the air. The élève must follow every move of his pilot, until he appears perfectly at home in the machine, and then he is allowed to hold the controls alone. Each flight lasts only about five minutes, the French theory being that an aviator must take his instruction in small doses. In the interim, as in the preliminary courses, he remains on the field, observing and studying the mistakes of his comrades. If the progress of the instruction is too rapid, the pupil has not the time to grasp each step that has been passed and cannot, therefore, become an expert pilot.