The roller or Rouleur class which I smashed in has the same machine as those that fly with a 45 P motor. Only it is throttled down, and we are supposed to keep it on the ground—just about ready to fly, but not quite getting up—a speed of about 30 m.p.h. When there is the slightest wind we can not roll, because the wind turns the tail around and swings the machine in a circle—a wooden horse—cheval de bois. I rode about the end of the list Saturday—and the wind had come up as the day got on. Work stops at 8:30 a. m. always because there’s too much wind. My first sortie or trip went O.K. with a considerable breeze on the tail, but on the second there was too much wind and after I got going pretty fast—around she went. The wind caught under the inside wing and up it went. Smash went the outside wheel, and a crackle of busting wood. All the front framework of wood that holds the motor was smashed—a pretty bad break. The monitor was a bit mad and talked to me a bit in French.
The next morning I was called in to see the chief of the Blériot school, Lt. de Chavannes, a very nice officer. He told me that my monitor was not satisfied with me—that he had told me to do something (cut the motor when the machine started to turn) three separate times, and that each time I had intentionally disobeyed, that if anything like that happened again I would be radiated (discharged from the school). That was quite the first I had ever heard of it and I was so mad at the monitor that I could have kicked him in the head. I tried to explain to the Lieutenant but he never heard a word, so I just gurgled with wrath and didn’t do anything. But yesterday we got another monitor who is a different sort.
The class after rouleur is decollé—it is the same machine, but one gets off the ground about a metre or two, then slacks up on the motor and settles to the earth. It is strictly forbidden to decollé in the rouleur class. This morning I had a sortie in the rouleur and all of a sudden noticed that I was in the air a bit—managed to keep it straight and get out of the air without smashing. The monitor said nothing so I decolléed on all the sorties. When I got out the monitor explained that it was strictly forbidden to go off the ground in the rouleur class, that I shouldn’t have done it, and then asked me if I would like to go up to the other class. Whereupon consenting, I am now in the decollé class, leaving sixteen rather peeved Americans who arrived in the rouleur the same time I did, who can perform in the rouleur quite as well as I can and who will remain in the rouleur for some time yet. They’ve no grudge against me, however, as it was only a streak of luck on my part. Later in the morning I had some sorties in the decolleur and got up two or three metres. The wind was too strong, so my trips were a bit rough, but nothing was damaged—so hurrah for Friday, the thirteenth.
III
July 17, 1917.
The work has been going very well since last I wrote you, which was only two or three days ago. I told you about at last leaving the blessed roller; I never was so relieved in my life. The first evening in the decollé class, I was requisitioned to turn tails and the morning after there was too much wind to work. The decollé is the one where you go up two or three metres and settle down by cutting speed. The first time I had three sorties in the wind, bounced around a lot, but did no damage. The next time was first thing in the morning. Two metres up on the first, four or five on the fifth—strictly against orders. I even had to piqué—point the machine toward the ground—a little, which is not at all comme il faut in the decollé. But these Frenchmen are funny chaps—sometimes they will get terribly angry and punish one for disobeying, and again they will be tickled to death with it. If I had smashed while doing more than I was told to, there would have been a lot of trouble; as it was, no objection—and the monitor personally conducted me to the piqué class with a very nice recommendation.
Now there are two piqué classes: one with a piste about a quarter of a mile long, in which one is supposed to do little more than decollé, get up about five metres and piqué un tout petit peu—hardly at all. After comes the advanced piqué with a much longer piste on which one can get up 100 metres (300 feet). On my first sortie in the piqué, I was told to roll on the ground all the way, so continuing my policy, did a low decollé. Next I was supposed to do a two metre decollé, so went up ten and piquéd. Had ten sorties in that class one morning, getting as high as I could—about twenty metres—and went to the advanced piqué that night—last night. Four sorties there last night with a machine with a poor motor, so didn’t get up over a hundred feet.
And this morning I did my first real aviating. There was a bit of wind blowing, so the monitor, Mr. Moses, only let a Lieutenant and me go up, as we had gone better than the others last night. First it was a bit rainy and always bumpy as the deuce—air puffs and pockets which require the entire corrective force of the wing warp and rudder to overcome. My last sortie was decidedly active. The wind had developed into a bit of a breeze which is to a Blériot like a rough sea to a row boat. Two or three times I got a puff that tipped the machine ’way over—put the controls over as far as I could and waited. It seemed a minute before she straightened. The trouble was that the machine was climbing and therefore not going very fast. If I had piquéd, it would have corrected quicker. I had no trouble at all in making the landing. Hopping out of the machine, I saw the head monitor rushing over to Mr. Moses on the double, shouting volubly in French and berating him severely. I gathered that he had been watching my manoeuvres, expecting something to fall every instant, and that he strenuously objected to Moses’ letting me go up. Work stopped there for the morning, and it was very fully explained to me what the trouble was. If I have some sorties there tonight, I go to Tour de Piste (Flying Field) in the morning. I may be on Nieuport in two weeks.