Chapter 11
chapter eleven of high adventure a narrative of air fighting in france by james norman hall high adventure a narrative of air fighting in france chapter eleven the camouflaged cows nancy a moonlit night and les i have been out on the balcony of this old hotel a famous tourist resort before the war watching the bombardment and listening to the deep throb of the motors of german gothas they have dropped their bombs without doing any serious damage therefore i may return in peace to my huge bare room to write while it is still fresh in mind the adventures of the camouflaged cows for the past ten days i have been attached it is only a temporary transfer to a french escridal of which manning an american is a member the escridal had just been sent to a quiet part of the front for two weeks repose
but the day after my arrival orders came to fly to belfort for special duty belfort on the other side of vautier's mountains with the rhine valley the alps within view within easy flying distance and for special duty it is a vague order which may mean anything we discussed its probable meaning for us while we were picking out our course on our maps protection of bombardment avions was andr's guess night combat was reynaud's every one laughed at this last hazard you see he said appealing to me the newcomer they think i am a big fool but wait then breaking into french in order to express himself more fluently it is coming soon chase denouit it is not at all impossible one can see at night a moonlit night very clearly from the air they are black shadows the other avions which you pass but often when the moonlight strikes at wings they flash like silver we must have searchlights of course then when one sees those shadows those great black ghosts c'est fini the discussion of the possibility or impossibility of night combat continued warmly the majority of opinion was unfavorable to it a useless waste of gasoline the results would not pay for the wear and tear upon valuable fighting planes
renaud was not to be persuaded wait and see he said there was a reminiscent thrill in his voice for he is an old night bombarding pilot he remembered with longing i think his romantic night voyages the moonlight falling softly on the roofs of towns the rivers like ribbons of silver the forest patches of black shadow really it is an adventure a night bombardment but how about your objectives i asked at night you can never be sure of hitting them and well you know what happens in french towns it is why i ask for my transfer to chase he told me afterward but the germans the blond beast do they care nancy belfort chelons epinary rheims saisons paris all our beautiful towns i am a fool we must pay them back the huns let the innocent suffer with the guilty he became a combat pilot because he had not the courage of his conviction we started in flights of five machines
following the marne and the marne canal to bar du duc then across country to toul where we landed to fill our fuel tanks having bestowed many favors upon me for a remarkably long period our arial godfather decided that i had been taking my good fortune too much for granted therefore he broke my tailskid for me as i was making what i thought a beautiful it was late in the afternoon so the others went on without me the captain giving orders that i should join them weather permitting the next day follow the moselle until you lose it in the mountains then pick up the road which leads over the boulogne des aixants you can't miss it i did nevertheless and as always when lost through my own fault i followed the moselle easily enough until it disappeared in small branching streams in the heart of the mountains then being certain of my direction i followed an irregular course looking down from a great height upon scores of little mountain villages untouched by war after weeks of flying over the desolation of more northerly sectors of the front this little indulgence seemed to me quite a legitimate one
but my spad i was always flying tired old avions in those days the discards of older pilots began to show signs of fatigue the pressure went down neither motor nor hand pump would function the engine began to gasp and although i instantly switched on my reserve tank it expired with shuddering coughs the propeller after making a few spins in the reverse direction stopped dead i had been in a most comfortable frame of mind all the way for a long cross-country aerial journey well behind the zone of fire is a welcome relaxation after combat patrols it is odd how quickly one's attitude toward rugged beautiful country changes when one is faced with the necessity of finding landing-ground there the steep ravines yawn like mouths the peaks of the mountains are teeth ragged sinister-looking teeth being at five thousand meters i had ample time which to make a choice ample time too for wondering if by a miscalculation i had crossed the trench lines which in that region are hardly visible from the air
i searched anxiously for a wide valley where it would be possible to land in safety while still three thousand meters from the ground i found one not only a field there were bessena hangars on it an aerodrome a moment of joy but german perhaps followed by another of anxiety it was quickly relieved by the sight of a french reconnaissance plane spiraling down for a landing i landed too and found that i was only of ten minutes flight from my destination with other work to do i did not finish the story of my adventure with the camouflaged cows and i am wondering now why i thought it such a corking one the cows had something to do with it we were returning from belfort to verdun when i met them our special duty had been to furnish aerial protection to the king of italy who was visiting the french lines in the visage this done we started northward again over the highest of the mountains my motor pump failed as before i got well past the mountains before the essence in my reserve tank gave out then i planed as flatly as possible searching for another aviation field
there were none to be found in this region rough hilly country much of it covered with forests i chose a miniature sugar-loaf mountain for landing-ground it appeared to be free from obstacles and the summit which was pasture and plowed land seemed wide enough to settle on i got the direction of the wind from the smoke blowing from the chimneys of a near-by village and turned into it as i approached the hill loomed more and more steeply in front of me i had to pull up at a climbing angle to keep from nosing into the side of it about this time i saw the cows dozens of them grazing over the whole place their natural camouflage of browns and whites and reds prevented my seeing them earlier making spectacular virages i missed collisions by the length of a matchstick at the summit of the hill my wheels touched ground for the first time and i bounced on going through a three strand wire fence and taking off a post without any appreciable decrease in speed passing between two large apple trees i took limbs from each of them losing my wings in doing so my landing chassis was intact and my spad went on down the reverse slope like an embodied joy whose race is just begun after crashing through a thicket of brush and small trees i came to rest both in body and in mind against the stone wall there was nothing left of my machine but the seat
unscathed i look back along the wreckage strewn path like a man who has been riding a whirlwind in a wicker chair now i have never yet made a forced landing in strange country without having the mayor of the nearest village appear on the scene very soon afterward i am beginning to believe that the mayors of all french towns sit on the roofs of their houses field-glasses in hand searching the sky for wayward aviators and when they see one landing they rush to the spot on foot on horseback in old-fashioned family phaetons by means of whatever conveyance most likely to increase expedition their municipality affords the mayor of viseril came on foot for he had not far to go indeed had there been one more cow browsing between the apple trees i should have made a last virage to the left in which case i should have piled up against a summer pavilion in the mayor's garden like all french mayors of my experience he was a courteous big-hearted gentleman after getting his breath he was a fleshy man and had run all the way from his house he said now my boy what can i do for you first he placed a guard around the wreckage of my machine then we had tea in the summer pavilion where i explained the reason for my sudden visit while i was telling him the story i noticed that every window of the house which stood at one end of the garden
was crowded with children's heads or orphans i guessed either that or the children of a large family of sons at the front he was the kind of man who would take them all into his own home having frightened his cows they must have given cottage cheese for a week afterward destroyed his fences broken his apple trees accepted his hospitality i had the amazing nerve to borrow money from him i had no choice in the matter for i was a long way from verdun with only eighty centimes in my pocket had there been time i would have walked rather than ask him for the loan he granted it gladly and insisted upon giving me double the amount which i required i promise to go back some day for a visit first i will do acrobacy over the church steeple and then if the cows are not in the pasture i am going to land con ma un flore as we airmen say on that hill chapter
