I. French thoroughness—An expert's tribute—Sound training all-important.

It is now possible to deal with one of the most important considerations in connection with military aeroplaning. This concerns the training of pilots and observers at the military flying schools.

France is devoting herself energetically to this work. Germany, now equally "keen" upon military aviation, is establishing schools in all suitable places. Russia is convinced that the right policy is to create a large and efficient corps of airmen. So is Austria, Japan, as representing earnest progress, is not only training men at home, but is sending a large number of officers to the various schools in Europe.

As has been set forth before, in another connection, but should be emphasised again here, the true policy as regards military flying, in the present stage of development, should be: "Test all new machines that are introduced; maintain a fleet sufficient to meet any emergency which may arise; and, above all, train men with the object of acquiring a far stronger corps of pilots and observers than any present situation demands."

Here, at any rate, is the clear-cut policy both of France and Germany—a policy which Russia is beginning to imitate, and a policy, also, that Japan is following.

Having toured France quite recently, an expert thus describes the activities at the French flying schools. "Those who are not directly in touch with the various Government departments cannot estimate how many airmen there are at work. Flying schools seem to be springing up everywhere. Depots are being established all over the country. Officers are flying from place to place every day. To see a military machine, carrying a pilot and observer, passing swiftly overhead, is now quite a common sight. Orders are being received almost daily at the military camps, instructing a machine to set forth upon a reconnoitring flight, or to carry a dispatch from one camp to another.

"It is the thoroughness, and the business-like way in which this work is done, that are so impressive. An order for a reconnoitring flight is received. Promptly the officer and his observer prepare themselves. The aeroplane, properly tuned up, is all ready, and is quickly wheeled from its shed. They mount to their places, and are away.

"Directly afterwards, perhaps, another machine is ordered out. In the early days of flying, one was prepared for a delay of several hours when an airman set out upon anything like a long flight. His engine had to be tuned up with laborious care; there were a hundred and one details that had been forgotten, and had to be put right after the machine had been brought out of its shed. Now, contrast this wearisome delay with the promptitude of the French officer-airmen. There is no feverish rush and bustle at the commencement of a flight. The propeller is turned; the motor fires at once; and the machine takes the air.

"This, of course, is the direct fruit of training. This familiarity with machines, and with the routine of flying, is the reward which France is already gaining for her devotion to military aviation, and her unsparing efforts to make her service thoroughly efficient.

"The way in which the aeroplanes are kept in trim, and the cool, alert manner in which they are handled, come as revelations to a man who has only seen the machinery of flight as it is in operation at an ordinary flying school. Particularly is one impressed by the skill, and good organisation, among the engineer-mechanics at the military stations.

"The use of the aeroplane, for purposes of war, necessitates a vast amount of training for every unit engaged in the aerial work, and, without such training, nothing in the nature of real success can be attained."

This tribute provides an indication of the practicability of the military training now proceeding in France. Efficiency is, indeed, the constant watchword. Operating with a war weapon that is new and strange, the French military authorities have already worked wonders; and their success is due to the organisation they have been able to introduce at their flying schools.

Very carefully considered, in every way, is the course of instruction through which an officer-airman is called upon to pass. The aim is to make him proficient in every respect. For military purposes, it is not sufficient for an officer to be, say, a fine "fancy" flyer, and ignorant in regard to engines, or a skilled engineer and an indifferent pilot. He must be a thoroughly all-round man.

II. How the military airman is "schooled"—His course of instruction described.

The novice who comes to the French military schools is given a course of general tuition. He is first brought to study flying in its broad aspect, and not as regards detail. This period of general "schooling" may last for two or three months, during which the beginner makes it his business to study aeroplanes, and their motors, very carefully. He acquaints himself, for example, with the method of control employed in the various machines.

Then, as regards motors, he has much to occupy him. He will take an interesting engine like the "Gnome," for instance, and make himself thoroughly conversant with all its details. The value of such preliminary work is often shown subsequently when, perhaps, an officer may be stranded some distance from Headquarters with a jibbing engine.

Instead of being helpless in such circumstances, his previous period of tuition stands him in good stead, and he is able to run over his motor with an expert eye, and so discover the little defect which may be causing all the trouble.

Apart from the "Gnome," there are other makes of engine in the aviation school to which the pupil may direct his attention, with good results. Thus the novice acquires a general knowledge regarding aeroplanes and their motive power, and prepares himself for the second stage of his tuition.

This resolves itself into a series of flights, which end in his taking control of an aeroplane himself. But, first of all, he takes his place in the passenger-seat of a military machine, and is piloted round the aerodrome by an officer-instructor of proved skill. For his first few flights, the beginner merely sits in the machine, and accustoms himself to the novel experience of being in an aeroplane.

This first acquaintance with flight generally proves confusing. The engine of an aeroplane makes a din which is trying to the novice. Then the pace of the machine, when it moves across the ground, and the rapidity with which it soars in flight, are confusing, also.

It is, therefore, a sound policy to allow a beginner to make several trips with an experienced officer, before he attempts to control a machine himself. By so doing, the pupil has an opportunity of getting over his first bewilderment, and contrives to be in a fairly cool and collected frame of mind when his turn comes to assume control of the levers.

After several trial journeys have been made, and the novice is no longer embarrassed by the strangeness of his position, he is allowed, by his instructor, to exercise temporary command over the aeroplane while it is in flight. This is accomplished by means of a dual control; a set of levers are before the pilot, and another in front of the pupil.

The former, after warning his charge to be ready, relinquishes his hold upon the levers, and the pupil takes charge of the machine. The instructor, of course, keeps a keen eye upon the behaviour of the machine; should the pupil make an error, the pilot is able to rectify it before there is any chance of an accident.

By this admirably practical system, a pupil can be led to a satisfactory state of proficiency without risk, either to himself or to his instructor. After he has controlled the machine, for a spell, during straight flights, he is given the opportunity of making a turn in the air.

This operation requires the exercise of skill and judgment. Apart from moving the rudder, or rudders, which send the machine round, the pilot needs to operate his "ailerons," or wing-warping device, as the case may be, in order to "bank" the machine over, and so facilitate the turning movement.

As soon as he shows sufficient skill in controlling an aeroplane, while with a pilot, the pupil is given an opportunity of flying by himself. As a rule, his previous tuition has been so valuable to him that he finds little difficulty in performing a solo flight, and so prepares himself for the obtaining of his certificate from the French Aero Club.

This certificate of proficiency is obtained by making a series of flights before official observers, and in maintaining a certain altitude, while so doing. A descent has also to be made with the engine of the machine stopped, so as to demonstrate the pilot's ability to effect a vol planÉ.

In the case of a civilian airman, the passing of this test is considered sufficient evidence of his ability to control a machine; but, as regards French military airmen, a greater degree of proficiency is required. Therefore, when he has acquired his Aero Club certificate, the officer-airman has to prepare himself for another ordeal.

The French military authorities demand that he should make a long flight across country, that he should remain in the air for a couple of hours without descending, and that he should demonstrate his capabilities by piloting his machine in a fairly-high wind.

After this, he is regarded as a man well qualified to study the actual work to be undertaken by an airman in war-time. The next stage, as a matter of fact, is in learning to observe over a given tract of country.

In this test of his skill, a superior officer indicates for him an aerial route, which covers a fairly-wide district in the vicinity of the air-station. The pupil flies over this, and, on his return, presents a report upon what he has seen while in the air.

This report—which deals with roads, railways, and the general characteristics of the country—is examined by his chief, who points out in whatever way it might have been improved, probably in the direction of military precision, or in the statement of more detail. Then the pupil flies over the same, or another route, on another day; and so on.

No pains are spared to make him acquainted with his work. It is an axiom, at the French schools, that a pilot should be so accustomed to flying that the actual manipulation of his machine becomes mechanical. When such skill is attained, the airman is free to devote his mind to whatever work is on hand; but such a state of proficiency can only be acquired in one way—and that is by constant flying.

After he has become accustomed to observing from his machine while it is in flight, the pupil is set a variety of other tasks, at the discretion of his instructors. He is, for example, detailed to fly across country from point to point, bearing a message, and to return with another dispatch. Cross-country journeys, from one flying school to another, are also encouraged.

In this way, by actual practice in the manipulation of his machine, and in the carrying out of tasks such as he would be set in time of war, the pupil gains skill and confidence, and eventually becomes a thoroughly well-trained and proficient member of the air-corps.

III. Rules for training—Dummy aeroplanes—A pupil's first "hops."

Some admirable hints, as to the methods which should be adopted in teaching airmen, have been given by foreign military experts.

An officer of great experience, for instance, declares it essential that the pupil should first devote himself to a theoretical and practical apprenticeship in regard to aeroplane motors. He should, he also declares, be called upon to detect the reason for any stoppages intentionally caused by the instructor.

This officer also advocates the driving of motor-cars, at high speed, as a useful preliminary stage for intending military airmen, holding that such rapid driving gives a man a judgment of pace and distance which he would not otherwise possess.

It is contended, also, by other authorities, that ascents in free balloons are of value, as a preliminary to actual aeroplaning. Such ascents, in the opinion of these experts, help a man to gauge heights, and so prove of value to him in subsequent tests with aeroplanes.

While doing a brief course of ballooning, the officer can, it is pointed out, study the contour of the ground below him, and can also make himself acquainted, to a certain extent, with the use of maps and compasses. He may also practise aerial photography.

What other practical authorities have found of value, and what they recommend as a stage in the tuition of an officer-airman, is a day or so during which a pupil takes the driving-seat of a military machine, and practises—on the ground—the manipulations which he would have to make were the aeroplane in actual flight.

When the novice is thus in the driving-seat, it is suggested that an instructor should put him through a regular lesson—asking him, for instance, what manipulations of his levers would be necessary to effect a turning movement.

Such a plan is, undoubtedly, of value. Preliminary work of this kind, conducted by a pupil while on the ground, in order to accustom him to the handling of a machine, before actually taking the air, is encouraged at many civilian schools; and, to facilitate such practice, several ingenious machines have been devised. In one of them, the pupil sits in a wooden framework, which is balanced on a pivot, and is equipped with a forward elevating plane, and "ailerons."

When the beginner is ready for a spell of practice, the machine is turned, so that it faces the wind. Then the pupil takes his seat, and grips his levers. The balance of the machine is such that any gust has a tendency to make it tilt over from side to side, or tip forwards or backwards. If he is quick enough, the pupil can check these overturning influences by movements of the controlling planes. Thus he obtains, without risk to himself, or the danger of damaging an aeroplane, an insight into the general principles of control.

Also emphasised by many experts, is the value of a stage in military training which has already been described—that in which a pupil is taken, for a series of passenger flights, by an expert airman. During these flights, of course, the novice is learning many practical lessons.

Other authorities advocate, as a definite stage in a pupil's course of training, an exercise which has not previously been touched upon. This entails arranging a machine so that it will move along the ground at a high speed, but will not ascend. The beginner should be allowed to manipulate such a machine for a day or so, running it up and down the aerodrome. Such a period of "rolling," as it has come to be termed at the flying schools, should be sandwiched between the pupil's flights as a passenger, and his first attempt at solo work.

The first of these "rolling" tests should, it is held, be undertaken with an instructor. When he can control a machine perfectly well on the ground, the novice has learned a very useful lesson. In this "rolling" work, he becomes accustomed, also, to operating his engine controls, and shakes off the confusion that the noise of the motor so frequently occasions.

The pupil's first solo flights should be nothing more than short jumps off the ground, made while moving along in a straight line. At the flying schools, these attempts at flight, on the part of novices, are described as "hops"; and, when performing them, the beginner resembles a young bird which is first trying its wings. He flutters into the air for a yard or so, and then descends again—not always elegantly.

"Hopping" practice, if systematically carried out, obviates the breaking-up of many a machine, because it teaches the pupil how to make a descent. Landing is, it may be pointed out, the chief difficulty for the beginner. He can usually get into the air all right—sometimes, more quickly than he desires. The problem is how to return to earth again, making a correct descent.

When a man learns to ride a bicycle, the inevitable tendency, which he displays, is to overdo the balancing movements. The result is that he swerves abruptly from side to side, and frequently comes to grief. The same mistake is, to a great extent, made by the novice in flying. He jerks his machine off the ground with an over-abrupt operation of his elevating plane, and he sometimes descends with a disconcerting dive.

It is not until he has been practising for some little time, that a pupil obtains what has been described as the "feel" of his machine. What happens, really, is that he suddenly obtains a sensitive touch upon his controlling levers; and then, instead of obeying his instructor without appreciating exactly what he has been doing, he begins to act for himself—with the commencement of that feeling of sureness which reveals the expert.

From "hops," according to expert ruling, the military pupil should proceed to straight flights of gradually increasing length. This recommendation presupposes the possession of an aerodrome of ample size. Nothing is, as a matter of fact, more important than a commodious aerodrome for purposes of instruction.

The selection of a ground which is cramped, or in a bad position, is very poor policy. Unless he has plenty of manoeuvring space, a pupil acquires a feeling of nervousness, which is sometimes disastrous. Under the influence of it, when he first assumes sole control of a machine, he is occasionally induced to make mistakes which result in the wrecking of machines.

A wide, flat, perfectly-unobstructed space is the ideal. When he brings his machine out upon such an aerodrome, the novice is inspired with a confidence which is half the battle. He feels he has not got to do things in a hurry; he knows there is plenty of room.

As soon as straight flights can be accomplished, the pupil should, it is held, be set the task of learning to "bank" his machine over, and make circles. The thoroughness of the pupil's tuition, up to this point, should stand him in good stead. He knows his motor; he knows his machine; he is familiar with his controls; he is not flustered when he is in the air.

All such points count enormously—added to the fact that we assume the aerodrome he is practising over is a good one. In such cases, the pupil should be able to make wide turns in the air without any trouble at all.

Afterwards, the budding airman should learn to fly high. "Climbing" is what experienced airmen call it. Here, again, the requisite for success is a pupil's confidence in himself, and in his machine—is inspired by the stages through which he has previously passed.

As has been quite rightly stated, the airman's need, before he attempts anything in the nature of high flying, is to feel perfectly at home on his machine. He must have no anxiety as to any possible mistake in his controlling movements; he must not be worrying about his engine. In a word, he must have a perfectly-undisturbed mind.

This mental state is brought about, of course, by feeling perfectly competent to deal with any emergency, should it arise. By the time he has reached the high-flying stage, any pupil should—if he has been thoroughly trained—begin to experience a feeling of "one-ness" with his machine.

IV. Cross-country flights—The vol planÉ—Difficulty of first observation tests from an aeroplane.

"Only when it is possible to control a machine with safety, and without anxiety, at a height of 600 feet, should the military airman attempt to fly across country."

This declaration, made by an acknowledged authority, is a perfectly sound one; and, so far as the military flying schools are concerned, it represents a rule now almost generally adopted.

A most necessary step, before setting forth on a cross-country flight, is to master the art of effecting a safe and steady vol planÉ. The airman, when he is on a cross-country journey, must be ready at any moment for his engine to miss-fire, and perhaps stop. With the reliable motors now obtainable, this is not likely to happen, as has been shown; but engine failure is still a contingency for which the pilot must be prepared.

We will suppose, for the sake of argument, that a military airman is flying at an altitude of 1000 feet, across an average country. Suddenly, with a splutter, his engine ceases to work. If he is dexterous, he is not nonplussed. With a movement of his elevating plane, he tilts the aeroplane upon a downward glide, and comes sweeping towards the ground. Experience tells him just what is a safe gliding angle; he does not pitch his machine too far forward, nor does he make his angle so fine that there is any chance of the aeroplane losing way, and so becoming unmanageable.

As he glides down in this fashion, with perfect control over his machine, although it has been deprived of motive power, he looks about keenly to select a suitable landing-place. He is not forced to keep gliding straight ahead. He can, if he elects, turn either to right or left; and it is possible to make a half-circle in the air, while gliding down, and so land upon some spot which lay beneath the machine at the moment the engine stopped.

Therefore, granted that fairly-normal country lies below, the airman should have plenty of time, from an altitude of 1000 feet, to select a landing-place, and make a fair descent upon it.

If a pilot knows, thoroughly well, the kind of country he is flying over, and no difficulty presents itself in finding a landing-place, he can fly comparatively low, if he prefers to do so. By this is meant an altitude of perhaps five or six hundred feet.

If the country is difficult, however—that is to say, if fair landing-places are not easy to find—it behoves the airman to attain a considerably greater altitude. Over unfavourable country, from the landing-point of view, an experienced pilot will maintain a height of 2000 feet, or more. He does this because, should his engine fail him, he will have plenty of time to pick out—from a considerable area of country around him—some fairly-suitable descending-point.

In the flying contests held last summer, the most expert pilots, such as Beaumont and Vedrines, flew across country at an altitude of about 3000 feet. What influenced them, in doing so, was the knowledge that any wind that is blowing is generally most steady at such altitudes.

Once he is able to fly across country, without worrying at all about the control of his machine, the military airman is ready to take up the practical tasks which await him. One of the most interesting experiments, which he will be asked to carry out, is to fly over bodies of troops on the march, and test his powers of observation. It is one thing, of course, to see troops below him, and another to render an accurate report as to their strength and formation.

One of the most expert of French military airmen describes, very interestingly, how a reconnoitring officer seeks to render accurate his observations of troops; and his remarks go to prove, very distinctly, that nothing but unremitting practice will create a reliable air-scout—a contention which is made by all experts upon this subject.

The strength of columns on the march—when seen from the bird's-eye view of an aeroplane—should, says this officer, be estimated by comparison, on the airman's map, with the length of the road along which they are marching.

Massed formations of troops should, he adds, be determined according to the open spaces separating the various units. From the airman's point of view, other clues to the strength of an enemy are the number of waggons, the number of mounted officers (in the case of infantry), and so forth.

It will be seen that, although the elevation of an aeroplane gives the observer a unique advantage, reconnoitring from an altitude of, say, 3000 feet is by no means easy work; the point of view is strange, and new rules have to be made, if reliable information is to be forthcoming.

With adequate practice, of course, an observer becomes remarkably quick in estimating the import of what he sees below him. Details, which would mean nothing to the novice, frequently tell him the whole story.

Thus a novice becomes, in time, a thoroughly-expert airman, capable of carrying out, satisfactorily, all the tasks that are set him. To encourage military pilots at their work, the French authorities have very wisely instituted a special scale of pay—or, rather, an arrangement of bonuses—for flights effected.

Naturally, such practical encouragement is greatly appreciated by the officers who take part in the air service. The work is arduous, beyond all question, and the men who are engaged upon it now are pioneers. All that they discover, through dint of enthusiastic and self-sacrificing work, is to the benefit of those who follow in their footsteps. Therefore, they richly deserve all the practical aid that can be given them.

V. Finishing work at French schools—Practical tests—German thoroughness—Energy of English officers.

Having described the instructional work at the French flying schools, it may be interesting to show how practical tests are carried out—almost every day—to prepare the officer-airmen for the duties which they will be called upon to perform, in time of war.

As has been mentioned, the French authorities have now organised flying schools, and air-depots, in many parts of the country; and, when any general movements of troops is being made, the officer in charge of the nearest aviation centre is frequently ordered, by a message from Headquarters, to carry out some special aerial manoeuvre.

One example of this excellent system is sufficient. Not long ago, a fairly large body of troops was manoeuvring between Rheims and Chalons. Seeing an opportunity for a practical test of aeroplane efficiency, one of the Generals engaged in the operation sent a message to the officer in charge of the air-depot at Chalons, requesting the services of four airmen, without delay.

The summons was quite unexpected, as it was intended to be; but the military school was not unprepared. Within a few minutes of the receipt of his instructions, the officer commanding the aeroplanes had detailed four lieutenants for service. Their machines were made ready, by the mechanics, with practically no delay at all; and, in less than half an hour, the officers were in the air, and on their way to the point where they had been instructed to report themselves.

They arrived at the appointed place without hitch or delay, and immediately received orders to reconnoitre specified tracts of country. They were quickly in the air again; and each of the four air-scouts was able to carry out his task with complete success.

Returning to their starting-point, the four pilots duly presented their reports, made out according to the system in vogue. They were then informed that their work was, for the time being, at an end. Whereupon all four took their seats in their machines again, and flew back to the aviation camp.

The point to be emphasised, in this connection, is that the manoeuvre was carried out by four scouts. Had one, or even two, performed these flights, it would not have been so noteworthy. But the fact that four machines could make a series of test flights, without prearrangement, and yet without mechanical breakdown of any kind, provides a convincing tribute to the reliability of a well-built military machine.

When no specific reconnoitring flights are on hand, officers from the various French schools are frequently instructed to leave Headquarters in the early morning, and make as long an aerial tour as possible before nightfall, traversing a specified route, and returning to their starting-point.

Such tests as these, of course, demonstrate the reliability of aeroplanes and engines, and also the skill and endurance of the pilots.

One officer, for example, started away early in the morning, and succeeded in flying for a distance of 250 miles between St Omer and the Belgian frontier. A military observer accompanied him; and brief reports, describing the country surveyed, were sent back by means of carrier pigeons.

This flight—typical of many now being performed—occupied practically the whole day. Descents were made, occasionally, to replenish petrol and oil tanks, the aeroplane being followed, on its pilgrimage, by motor-cars laden with fuel and spare parts.

Motor-car gangs, equipped with all material likely to be necessary in connection with a breakdown, are now in readiness at the French air-stations; and they will play a highly-important part when aeroplanes are employed upon active service.

Mention has been made of the thoroughness of the German War Office in regard to military flying schools; and, while citing practical instances, it may be interesting to extract an item from the German general programme.

In one batch, during the summer of 1911, seventeen officers were selected to undergo a special flying course at Doeberitz. These courses lasted a specified number of months, and the officers were drafted from one class to another according to their state of proficiency.

The adequacy of the training, given to the German officer-airman, is revealed in the practice flights which are attempted, immediately the pilots have obtained full control over their machines. Here, for example, is a typical reconnoitring trip. Two young airmen left the Doeberitz aerodrome, and flew over a distance of 400 miles, weathering two severe storms while upon their aerial journey.

The machine they employed was a military-type, weight-carrying biplane, and they took it in turns to steer. Their tour lasted several days; and, in one flight, extending over three and a half hours, they traversed a distance of 149 miles. Motor-cars, bearing spare parts, kept in touch with the airmen; the whole undertaking was admirably organised, from the military point of view.

It is in work like this, of course, that definite progress is made. In connection with such long reconnoitring tours, a German officer of experience has placed upon record the view: "However good you may imagine your organisation to be, a practical test will generally reveal at least one or two false links in the chain; and, of flying, this is truer than of anything else. Once an air-corps is proficient, actual war conditions should be represented as frequently as possible. This will polish up the entire system, and make each unit sure of its work. Unless reconnoitring tests, carried out on a practical war basis, are frequently made, it is idle to assume that your corps is ready to do any valuable work during a campaign."

There is no need, at any rate, to impress the wisdom of this observation upon the French military authorities. Whenever a long reconnoitring flight is accomplished, from one of the flying schools, the officer who is acting as observer is instructed to send a concise service telegram to Headquarters, describing the journey that has been made.

It may be interesting to reproduce the text of such a message, in order to show the business-like way in which the French air-work is carried out. This was a telegram, for example, received in Paris in connection with a typical practice flight:—

"Lieut, in command aeroplane 11 to War Office. Lieuts. Cammerman pilot. Vullieume observation officer. Left Mezieres 7.10 a.m. Passed over Vervins, Guise, St Quentin, landed north of Amiens at 9.55 a.m. to inquire direction aerodrome. Landed aerodrome 10.30 a.m. Voyage difficult owing mist, which frequently obscured ground. No incident."

Messages, such as this, are now being dispatched and received daily, in connection with the flights organised at the French flying schools. The dispatching of such telegrams is, of course, only a detail of the general work; but it is one of those items, nevertheless, which needs practice to make perfect.

In the arrangement of non-stop flying tests, the officers in charge of the French schools leave no stone unturned to promote the efficiency of their pupils. As a contrast to long tours, lasting several days, continuous flights, involving a return to the aerodrome before descending, teach an airman useful lessons.

Three instances of such non-stop flights, selected more or less haphazard from the reports received, from day to day, in connection with French military aviation, are sufficient to indicate what excellent work is being done. They are appended:—

"A lieutenant flies with an observer, without descending, over a prearranged course of 100 miles. The flight lasts two and a half hours.

"A lieutenant, carrying a special observation officer, remains in the air for three hours fifteen minutes.

"A lieutenant, taking up a captain as observer, flies for 125 miles, non-stop."

It is by means of flights such as these, carried out regularly, and without ostentation, that the French air-corps obtains the efficiency which is the admiration of those who are in a position to realise what complete organisation means.

As regards England, it should be mentioned that the few officer-airmen who have, so far, been permitted by the authorities to study military flying, have done their utmost to perfect themselves in the art. They are making experimental flights, whenever possible, and are becoming thoroughly competent.

They have proved indeed, beyond question, that England has the right material. All that is wanted, as has been pointed out again and again, is practical encouragement. As a matter of fact, both in "dash" and judgment when flying, British pilots have shown that they need fear no foreign competition.

The cool nerve which is possessed by the English officer-airman was revealed, in a most striking way, by an experience, while flying, which befell Lieutenants Reynolds and Barrington-Kennett—two of the most ardent officers of our Air Battalion.

The adventure occurred while the two airmen were reconnoitring in Cambridgeshire during the autumn of 1911; and it possesses a unique interest, inasmuch as it affords an example of the most remarkable escape from death yet chronicled in connection with the aeroplane.

The two pilots, flying separate machines, were reconnoitring from a temporary aviation camp during the evening, and were passing across country at an altitude of a little less than 2000 feet. The weather was oppressive—a thunderstorm threatening.

Suddenly a violent wind, the forerunner of the storm, began to sweep across country. So powerful was this wind that it tore roofs off sheds. Lieutenant Barrington-Kennett, flying a little lower than Lieutenant Reynolds, felt the force of the wind first; his biplane tossed and rolled ominously.

Pointing his machine earthwards, and keeping his engine running at its full power, he began to descend as rapidly as possible. But the wind increased in violence, to a remarkable extent. The biplane gave a sudden leap into the air. Then it dropped sheer for many feet. The airman was flung upwards from his driving-seat, and came into abrupt contact with the lower part of his upper main-plane. Then he was jerked back again, coming down half in, and half out of his seat, and smashing the side of it. Fortunately, however, he was able to grip the lever actuating the elevating-plane and "ailerons," and so maintained control of his machine until he made a hurried landing in a field.

Lieutenant Reynolds had an experience far more alarming. Apart from the fact that he was flying higher than his companion, the machine he was piloting was a military biplane fitted with weight-carrying extensions, which made it more difficult than an ordinary machine to control in a wind.

When the first gusts struck him. Lieutenant Reynolds sought to follow the other pilot's example, and make a descent. He had actually come down from 2000 feet to about 1500 feet, when a sudden and overwhelmingly powerful rush of wind caught the biplane, and turned it completely upside-down.

As the machine swung helplessly over, entirely beyond its pilot's control, Lieutenant Reynolds had the presence of mind to switch off his engine. This probably prevented the biplane from rushing pell-mell to destruction. The next thing that the young airman remembers was clinging desperately to the edge of the lower main-plane, having been swung abruptly out of his driving-seat—which was now above his head.

Upside-down, and beyond any possibility of control, the aeroplane began to fall to the ground, which was more than 1000 feet below. It would appear that nothing but a miracle could save an airman under such circumstances as these; and Lieutenant Reynolds, certainly, regarded his chances as being slender.

But, extraordinary as it may seem, the extent of his injuries, in this 1000-feet fall, were a sprained ankle and a general shock; and this is how the miracle happened. The big biplane, being very lightly laden, did not fall sheer to the ground, but came fluttering down like a box-kite. At first, after overturning, it dived a short distance, tail-first; then it came to a halt, and floated down for a second or so, following up this manoeuvre by a forward dive, and another period of floating.

Lieutenant Reynolds continued to cling grimly to the lower plane; and the machine came down in a field, still upside-down, and with its running wheels thrust up in the air. At the actual moment of striking the ground, the aeroplane was fluttering, and not diving. This was fortunate for the pilot, as the biplane came in contact with the earth without any great violence.

Many a man's nerve would have been shattered by such an experience, but this was not the case with Lieutenant Reynolds. He was soon flying again, as though nothing had happened. There is, therefore, reason for stating that England has the right material among her few military airmen.