Part 1

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The Riverside Library

High Adventure

A Narrative of Air Fighting in France

JAMES NORMAN HALL

BOSTON AND NEW YORK HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY The Riverside Press Cambridge

COPYRIGHT, 1917 AND 1918, BY THE ATLANTIC MONTHLY COMPANY COPYRIGHT, 1918, BY JAMES NORMAN HALL ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Published June, 1918

The Riverside Press CAMBRIDGE · MASSACHUSETTS PRINTED IN THE U.S.A.

TO SERGENT-PILOTE DOUGLAS MACMONAGLE KILLED IN COMBAT NEAR VERDUN SEPTEMBER 25, 1917

Contents

I. THE FRANCO-AMERICAN CORPS 1

II. PENGUINS 24

III. BY THE ROUTE OF THE AIR 47

IV. AT G. D. E. 79

V. OUR FIRST PATROL 107

VI. A BALLOON ATTACK 144

VII. BROUGHT DOWN 167

VIII. ONE HUNDRED HOURS 182

IX. "LONELY AS A CLOUD" 200

X. "MAIS OUI, MON VIEUX!" 209

XI. THE CAMOUFLAGED COWS 216

XII. CAFARD 226

LETTER FROM A GERMAN PRISON CAMP 233

HIGH ADVENTURE

THE FRANCO-AMERICAN CORPS

It was on a cool, starlit evening, early in September, 1916, that I first met Drew of Massachusetts, and actually began my adventures as a prospective member of the Escadrille Américaine. We had sailed from New York by the same boat, had made our applications for enlistment in the Foreign Legion on the same day, without being aware of each other's existence; and in Paris, while waiting for our papers, we had gone, every evening, for dinner, to the same large and gloomy-looking restaurant in the neighborhood of the Seine.

As for the restaurant, we frequented it, not assuredly because of the quality of the food. We might have dined better and more cheaply elsewhere. But there was an air of vanished splendor, of faded magnificence, about the place which, in the capital of a warring nation, appealed to both of us. Every evening the tables were laid with spotless linen and shining silver. The wineglasses caught the light from the tarnished chandeliers in little points of color. At the dinner-hour, a half-dozen ancient serving-men silently took their places about the room. There was not a sound to be heard except the occasional far-off honk of a motor or the subdued clatter of dishes from the kitchens. The serving-men, even the tables and the empty chairs, seemed to be listening, to be waiting for the guests who never came. Rarely were there more than a dozen diners-out during the course of an evening. There was something mysterious in these elaborate preparations, and something rather fine about them as well; but one thought, not without a touch of sadness, of the old days when there had been laughter and lights and music, sparkling wines and brilliant talk, and how those merrymakers had gone, many of them, long ago to the wars.