dive his machine went into a corkscrew and swung over on its back.
Extra cartridge rollers dislodged from their case hit his arms. He was
tumbling straight toward the trenches, but by a supreme effort he
regained control, righted the plane, and landed without disaster in a
meadow just behind the firing line.

Soldiers carried him to the shelter of a near-by fort, and later he
was taken to a field hospital, where he lingered for days between life
and death. Ten fragments of the explosive bullet were removed from his
stomach. He bore up bravely, and became the favourite of the wounded
officers in whose ward he lay. When we flew over to see him they would
say: _Il est un brave petit gars, l'aviateur americain_. [He's a brave
little fellow, the American aviator.] On a shelf by his bed, done up
in a handkerchief, he kept the pieces of bullet taken out of him, and
under them some sheets of paper on which he was trying to write to his
mother, back in El Paso.

Balsley was awarded the _Medaille Militaire_ and the _Croix de
Guerre_, but the honours scared him. He had seen them decorate
officers in the ward before they died.


CHAPMAN'S LAST FIGHT

Then came Chapman's last fight. Before leaving, he had put two bags
of oranges in his machine to take to Balsley, who liked to suck them
to relieve his terrible thirst, after the day's flying was over. There
was an aerial struggle against odds, far within the German lines, and
Chapman, to divert their fire from his comrades, engaged several enemy
airmen at once. He sent one tumbling to earth, and had forced the