An incident occurred shortly after my arrival at the school. About thirty pilots were receiving practical instruction on the aviation-field and were standing around two aeroplanes. About a hundred feet away another machine was making ready to start. When the mechanic spun the propeller at the word from the aviator the motor started, not slowly as it should, but with a roar. The machine began to roll toward the group of men. Instead of cutting off the ignition—we found out later that the wire connecting the throttle and the carburetor was broken and that the throttle was therefore turned on full—the pilot lost his head. He tried to steer around the group of men in front of him. The ground was muddy and very slippery, which made escape almost impossible. In their hurry to get away several men lost their footing and fell down in the very path of the onrushing biplane. We thought that at least a dozen would be crushed or else decapitated by the rapidly revolving propeller. Fortunately no one was seriously injured. Even the stupid pilot escaped unscathed. The three machines, however, were completely wrecked. Needless to say, the offender was immediately dismissed from the aviation school and sent back to his regiment. His escapade had cost the government about ten thousand dollars. Even had there been no damage to the machines it is doubtful whether any further chances would have been taken with a man of such a temperament. There is not much to tell of the daily flights which we made. The weekly trips, however, proved extremely interesting. We usually covered at least a hundred miles and flew at a height of over six thousand feet. [Illustration: A bad landing.] My first trip was to the aviation school near Bourges, situated on the estates of the Count d’Avord, who has lent the ground to the government for the duration of the war. It is a much larger school than any I had attended, and its instruction covers every type of machine. The most important course given is that in night flying. All the aviators who have been selected for the bombarding-machines and for the work of guarding cities are sent here. Their life is the exact opposite of that led by the average pilot, for they sleep all day and work all night. All this was so new to me that I found much of interest. What surprised me most was to learn that night flying is really easier than day work. The reason given is that after sunset there are no "remoux," and that, when it comes to making landings, the aviation-fields are so well lighted that the pilots have no more difficulty making contact than in the daytime. It is another matter, of course, if an aviator meets with a mishap and is forced to alight elsewhere. Under those circumstances the story is usually a sad one.