This is a country of beautiful views, wonderful colorings of distant
hills and the snow-capped mountains as changeable as the sea. We fly
among the foothills and look down upon the beautiful estates and castle
ruins nestling among them. There has been little sun, but the fact that
one catches but passing glimpses of the mountains among the clouds does
not detract from their charm, and the moisture in the air makes the
coloring richer. I am in no hurry to leave.
Erich Fowler, one who has been with us from the beginning, and one of
our best liked and most congenial fellow-sportsmen, was the first among
our crowd to be killed. He fell five hundred meters with full motor and
did not regain consciousness. It is believed he fainted in the air, as
the controls were found intact and no parts of the machine missing. He
was buried today at Pau. When the fellows find no way to express their
feelings it is taken laconically, and the subject has been dropped
already. No one is unnerved or frightened by the experience. Fortunately
the ego is strong enough in every man to make him feel the fault would
not have been his in such a case, and he believes in his own good
fortune enough to be confident nothing will happen to his machine.
This is the school where the poor aviators are weeded out. The men who
have dissipated relentlessly have lost their nerve and dropped out. The
poorer drivers have voluntarily gone to bombing planes. The physically
unfit have dropped off in the hospitals, and here those who have not the
head to fly come to grief. Four out of five of the Russians who enter
this school leave in a hearse. Some national characteristic makes it
almost impossible for them to complete the course.
Out of twenty-five machines broken in a fall, one man is killed. Out of
ten men killed, nine deaths are caused by inefficiency on the part of
the pilot. They say I have more than the ordinary allotment of
requirements of a good pilot. My assets are perfect health and a clear
mind to offset the chance of misfortune which may stand against me.
Knowing me, realize that all the statements I have made are
conservative.
In a letter I received from Viscountess Duval the other day she said:
“As you are interested in art, it will be a pleasure to show you through
our galleries when you come to Paris. They are as fine as any in the
city.” Her husband is evidently a writer of some distinction. They are
coming to Pau and I hope will arrive before I leave.
I shall be quite busy for the next week and not have a great deal of
time to write. No letters have reached me from home for over three
weeks.
Yours with love and wishes for a very Merry Christmas.
Your son,