“A week or so later Chapman was wounded. Considering the number of fights he had been in and the courage with which he attacked it was a miracle he had not been hit before. He always fought against odds and far within the enemy’s country. He flew more than any of us, never missing an opportunity to go up, and never coming down until his gasoline was giving out. His machine was a sieve of patched-up bullet holes. His nerve was almost superhuman and his devotion to the cause for which he fought sublime. The day he was wounded he attacked four machines. Swooping down from behind, one of them, a Fokker, riddled Chapman’s plane. One bullet cut deep into his scalp, but Chapman, a master pilot, escaped from the trap, and fired several shots to show he was still safe. A stability control had been severed by a bullet. Chapman held the broken rod in one hand, managed his machine with the other, and succeeded in landing on a nearby aviation field. His wound was dressed, his machine repaired, and he immediately took the air in pursuit of some more enemies. He would take no rest, and with bandaged head continued to fly and fight.” [Illustration: © _Underwood & Underwood._ Distinguished Aviators of the Lafayette Escadrille. From the left: Lufbery, Hinkle, Thenault, Bigelow, and Thaw.] Balsley, a newcomer, managed to get wounded in the meantime. He had started out with a party of four that had met a German squadron. Balsley attacked the nearest German, “only to receive an explosive bullet in his thigh. Extra cartridge rollers, dislodged from their case, hit his arms. He was tumbling straight toward the trenches, but by an effort he regained control, righted the plane, and landed without disaster. “Soldiers carried him to shelter, 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 favorite 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 américain.’ [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 Médaille Militaire and the Croix de Guerre, but the honors scared him. He had seen them decorate officers in the ward before they died. THE FIRST OF THEM TO DIE