Our escadrille was camped in a field adjoining that occupied by the American Escadrille. Our "train" consisted of a dozen light, covered trucks with their tent-like trailers, and three automobiles for the use of the officers and pilots. Our camp was pitched by the time I had made the trip from Toul by rail, and the array of tents and the park of tractors had every outward appearance of a country circus. It was my first impression of an air-squadron camp at the front, and I must admit that my previous conception of the amount of equipment required by each of these units was far below what I now beheld. The personnel of my escadrille alone looked like an expeditionary force for service in Mexico. There were a dozen artillery-observers, seven pilots, countless mechanics, chauffeurs, orderlies, servants, wireless operators, photographers, and other "attachés," over a hundred and twenty-five men in all. Each of these hundred-odd men were essential to the work of the nineteen pilots and observers. It was a pleasant surprise to find the American pilots here. I had not heard that they had been ordered to the Verdun sector. This honor had been thrust upon them unexpectedly. They were now here, among the best fighting units of the French Army, to protect the photography, fire-control, and bombarding-machines of this sector. Their camp was thirty miles behind the lines, but with their fast little Nieuports it took them less than fifteen minutes to be in the thick of the fray. The government had given them a large, comfortable villa to live in. I must say I felt a bit envious when I compared their feather-beds and baths with my little tent and canvas-covered cot. That evening I had dinner with my compatriots. It was a meal I will never forget. As visiting pilot I was seated on the right of their commander, Captain Thenault. Across the table, opposite me, sat Victor Chapman, Norman Prince, and Kiffen Rockwell—all three since fallen on the "champ d’honneur." At the other end of the table were Elliot Cowdin, Jim McConnell, and "Red" Rumsey, together with Clyde Balsley, Chouteau Johnston, and Dudley Hill. Bill Thaw was not with us, as he was in the hospital, having been wounded in a recent combat with a Boche. The places of the three pilots killed have since been taken by other volunteers, but in the minds and memories of the Americans dining at the camp that night their places can never be filled. We know that they did not die in vain, and that what they did will live in history. Their spirit was one of sincere patriotism to the cause they had made their own, and among the Allies the sympathy and the belief they expressed has been amply proved.