at 50 meters.  On the following day, November 10, he added two more items to his list (making his nineteenth and twentieth):  his first victim, at whom he had shot fifteen times from a distance less than ten meters, fell in flames south of Nesle; the other, a two-seated Albatros, 220 H.P.  Mercedes, protected by three one-seated machines, fell and was crushed to pieces in the Morcourt ravine.  This double stroke he repeated on the twenty-second of the same month (making his twenty-second and twenty-third), and again on January 23, 1917 (his twenty-sixth and twenty-seventh), and still again the next day, the twenty-fourth (his twenty-eighth and twenty-ninth victories).  In addition, here is one of his letters with a statement of the results of three chasing days.  There are no longer headings or endings to his letters; he makes a direct attack, as he does in the air.

     26-1-’17

January 24, 1917.—­Fell on a group of five Boches at 2300.  I brought them back, with drums beating, at 800 meters (one wire stay cut, one escape pot broken).  At the end of the boxing-round, 400 meters above Roye, I succeeded in getting behind a one-seated machine of the group.  My motor stopped; obliged to pump and let the Boche go.

     11.45.—­Attacked a Fritz, let him go at 800 meters, my motor
     spattered, but the Boche landed, head down, near Goyancourt.  I only
     count him as damaged.

At this instant, I see a Boche cannonaded at 2400, hence at 11.50 a boxing round necessary with a little Rumpler armed with two machine-guns.  The pilot got a bullet in his lung; the passenger, who fired at me, got one in his knee.  The two reservoirs were hit, and the whole machine took fire and tumbled down at Lignieres, within our lines.  I landed alongside; in starting in again one wheel was broken in the plowed frozen earth.  In taking away the “taxi” the park people completely demolished it for me.  It was rushed to Paris for repairs.

     25.—­I watch the others fly, and fume.

     26.—­Bucquet loaned me his “taxi.”  No view-finder; only a
     wretchedly bad (oh, how bad!) sight-line.

At 12 o’clock.—­Saw a Boche at 3800; took the lift.—­Arrived at the sun.—­In turning, was caught in an eddy-wind, rotten tail spin.—­While coming down again I saw the Boche aiming at me 200 meters away; sent him ten shots:  gun jammed; but the Boche seemed excited and dived with his motor in full blast straight south.  Off we go!  But I took care not to get too near so that he would not see that my gun was out of action.  The altimeter tumbled:  1600 Estrees-Saint-Denis came in sight.  I maneuvered my Boche as well as I could.  Suddenly he righted himself and departed in the direction of Rheims, banging away at me.

I tried bluffing; I rose 500 meters and let myself fall on him like a pebble.  When I began to think my bluff had not succeeded, he