By Stuart Walcott
"It is now seven weeks because the dispatches from Paris suggested that Stuart Walcott was once attacked by means of 3 German airplanes and taken down in the back of the German traces, after he himself had introduced down a German aircraft in his first strive against on December 12, 1917, and that it was once feared he were killed; yet even now, after the lapse of approximately months, it's not certainly identified even if his fall proved deadly, or no matter if the earnest wish of his associates that he's nonetheless alive will be realized."
Unfortunately for the friends and family of Stuart Walcott, his grave was once situated now not lengthy after the Princeton Alumni magazine published the above. He had given his existence for his beliefs of Democracy and Freedom scuffling with above the fields of France as a pilot. His letters recount his stories education and combating with the famed Lafayette Escadrille with fellow Americans.
Author — Walcott, Stuart, 1896-1917.
Text taken, entire and whole, from the version released in Princeton,...
Read Online or Download Above the French Lines. Letters of Stuart Walcott, American Aviator; July 4, 1917, to December 8, 1917 PDF
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Extra info for Above the French Lines. Letters of Stuart Walcott, American Aviator; July 4, 1917, to December 8, 1917
26 XIII— November 1, 1917. 28 XIV—November 5, 1917. 29 XV—November 10, 1917. Evening. 32 XVI—November 13, 1917 33 XVII— November 17, 1917. 35 XVIII— November 30, 1917. 36 XIX—December 1, 1917. 37 XX—December 3rd, 1917. 38 XXI— December 8, 1917. 40 XXII— December 8, 1917. ] It is now seven weeks since the dispatches from Paris reported that Stuart Walcott was attacked by three German airplanes and brought down behind the German lines, after he himself had brought down a German plane in his first combat on December 12, 1917, and that it was feared he had been killed; but even now, after the lapse of nearly two months, it is not definitely known whether his fall proved fatal, or whether the earnest hope of his friends that he is still alive may be realized.
There are some 150 Americans learning to fly now in France, besides the ones the Government may have sent over—more than a hundred at this one school, and the oddest combination I’ve ever been thrown with: chauffeurs, second-story men, ex-college athletes, racing drivers, salesmen, young bums of leisure, a colored prize fighter, ex-Foreign Légionnaires, ball players, millionaires and tramps. Not too good a crowd according to most standards, but the worst bums may make the best aviators. There’s plenty of need for all of them.
Whereupon consenting, I am now in the decollé class, leaving sixteen rather peeved Americans who arrived in the rouleur the same time I did, who can perform in the rouleur quite as well as I can and who will remain in the rouleur for some time yet. They’ve no grudge against me, however, as it was only a streak of luck on my part. Later in the morning I had some sorties in the decolleur and got up two or three metres. The wind was too strong, so my trips were a bit rough, but nothing was damaged—so hurrah for Friday, the thirteenth.