The Anacostia Naval Air Station occupied about half of a flat strip of land and had its hangars and shops along the river front. The Army Bolling Field occupied the other part of the reservation with its old wartime buildings lying under the hill on which stands St. Elizabeth’s Hospital. If the presence of an institution for the insane, overlooking the rival Army and Navy fields on the same plot, had any significance, I was not concerned with it that day. What I had to look out for, however, was the extensive regrading going on, which limited the operating area to a narrow tract. My take-off was diagonally across the field toward the bluff, and the little Hawk, to my delight, fairly leaped into the air at half throttle, and climbed over the trees. Turning to the left, looking down on the hospital, I noticed the circle that marked the landing area, and promptly cut the switch to make a dead-stick precision landing on it. When this turned out well, I started the engine and repeated the maneuver. On the third take-off, noticing a certain roughness in the engine, I opened the throttle wide, thinking to clear a possible fouled plug. But even as I did so, I felt something let go and noticed the ears of the valve rocker box covers drop below the rim of the engine cowl. There was a sudden “whoosh” and the cockpit filled with flames. Instinctively I cut back the throttle, slapped off the switch, and pulled the fire-extinguisher knob. As I reached behind me alongside the seat for the fuel cutoff valve, I glanced into the cockpit where the flames were licking my stick hand, and curling up around my ankles beneath my slacks. When I looked out again, we were nearing the end of the field. At such a low altitude I could not jump and now, to get the flames out of my face, I kicked into a steep slip to the left which headed us out over the Potomac River. A water landing to a sailor has more appeal than a crack-up in a thicket, and I held the heading until it was certain I could not stretch the river. Then, close to the ground, I booted the rudder to fishtail her the other way and followed this with four hard kicks alternating left and right until she had lost speed. Now as the burning Hawk touched down hard, I had an overwhelming sense of panic; the next thing I knew I was on the ground on my hands and knees and the plane was crackling behind me. Feeling the heat on the back of my neck, I glanced quickly over my shoulder and then, as the flame seared my cheek, I scrambled out of there on hands and knees.