Columbia ^HniHersJitp 
 in ttje Citp of iOteto ^ovk 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 GIVEN BY 
 
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QUENTIN ROOSEVELT 
 
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QUENTIN ROOSEVELT 
 
 A SKETCH WITH LETTERS 
 
 EDITED BY 
 
 KERMIT ROOSEVELT 
 
 ILLUSTRATED 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS 
 
 1922 
 
t 
 
 
 I'lS'^C 
 
 
 Copyright, 1921, bv 
 CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS 
 
 Printed in the United States of America 
 
 Published October, 1921 
 
 Reprinted November, twice in December, 1921; 
 
 March, 1922 
 
"Only those are fit to live who do not fear to die, and 
 none are fit to die who have shrunk from the joy of 
 Hfe and the duty of hfe. Both hfe and death are parts 
 of the same Great Adventure. Never yet was worthy 
 adventure worthily carried through by the man who 
 put his personal safety first." 
 
 Theodore Roosevelt. 
 
FOREWORD 
 
 Three years ago to-day Quentin Roosevelt fell 
 in France in an aerial combat over the German 
 lines. He was buried by the enemy with mili- 
 tary honors near the little town of Chamery. 
 
 Two weeks later when the Soissons salient was 
 wiped out the Three Hundred and Third Engineers 
 found his grave. The American burial service 
 was read over the grave and the Engineers raised 
 a new cross, and placed a shaft to mark where 
 the airplane had fallen. Quentin Roosevelt was 
 not yet twenty -one when he was shot down; still 
 years count for but little in the record of a life; 
 one man at twenty may have accomplished more 
 and leave more behind to mourn his loss than 
 another who saw a century out. Quentin Roose- 
 velt to casual acquaintances typified the light- 
 hearted joie de vivre (there is no English phrase 
 [vii] 
 
FOREWORD 
 
 that can quite convey the meaning) which fresh- 
 ened all who came in contact with it, but under- 
 neath it all there lay the stern purpose and high 
 resolve of one who realizes the essential serious- 
 ness of life. 
 
 K R. 
 
 July 14, 1921. 
 
 [ viii ] 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 PAGB 
 
 Foreword vii 
 
 CHAFTEB 
 
 I. Before the War 1 
 
 II, The Way of the Eagle — 
 
 PART I. TRYING HIS WINGS .... 31 
 
 PART II. TRAINING FOR COMBAT . . 122 
 
 PART III. THE FLIGHT 148 
 
 III. The Last Patrol 165 
 
 IV. Official Judgment 198 
 
 V. "The Judgment of His Peers" . . ; 211 
 
 VI. Verses 266 
 
ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 Quentin Roosevelt, Mineola, May, 1917 . . Frontispiece 
 
 FACINO PAGE 
 
 Lieutenant Quentin Roosevelt at Field Seven in His 
 
 Beloved "Dock Yack" Plane 98 
 
 The Grave at Chamery 17G 
 
 Chamery 180 
 
 Changed to Gold „ . 274 
 
CHAPTER I 
 BEFORE THE WAR 
 
 QuENTiN Roosevelt was born in Washington 
 on November 19, 1897, six months before his 
 father enlisted for the war to free Cuba. As a 
 boy he attended the public schools in Washington. 
 The last year of his father's second term as presi- 
 dent he went to the Episcopal High School at 
 Alexandria, Virginia. 
 
 The following summer — that of 1909 — he spent 
 in Europe. He had always been interested in 
 mechanics, and in a letter to Ambler Blackford, 
 a son of the principal of the school, he tells of his 
 first sight of an airplane. 
 
 We have had a wonderful time here and seen 
 lots. We were at Rheims and saw all the aero- 
 planes flying, and saw Curtis who won the Gordon 
 Bennett cup for swiftest flight. You don't know 
 how pretty it was to see all the aeroplanes sailing 
 at a time. At one time there were four in the 
 
 [1] 
 
QUENTIN ROOSEVELT 
 
 air. It was the prettiest thing I ever saw. The 
 prettiest one was a monoplane called the An- 
 toinette, which looks like a great big bird in the 
 air. It does not wiggle at all and goes very fast. 
 It is awfully pretty turning. 
 
 Isn't Notre Dame wonderful? I think any- 
 thing could be religious in it. And the Louvre, I 
 think it would take at least a year to see it. I 
 have some of the pictures. I think the little 
 Infanta Margarita by Velazquez is the cunningest 
 thing I ever saw, and I think they are all very 
 beautiful. We have been to Rouen and every- 
 where. 
 
 Tell S. that I am sending him a model of an 
 aeroplane that winds up with a rubber band. 
 They work quite well. I have one which can fly 
 
 a hundred yards, and goes higher than my head ! 
 
 .J 
 
 Much love to all from ^ 
 
 QUENTIN. 
 
 That autumn on his return to this country he 
 entered Groton School as a first former. His 
 bent for mechanics, which was not inherited, and 
 
 [2] 
 
BEFORE THE WAR 
 
 his love of reading, which was inherited, found 
 expression in the school magazine. Quentin be- 
 came an editor and also worked as typesetter and 
 general overseer in the more practical part of 
 publishing. It was in the printing-room that he 
 enjoyed himself most when at Groton. 
 
 In January, 1915, with the World War launched 
 upon its first winter, he wrote the following story 
 for The Grotonian: 
 
 "ONE MAN WITH A DREAM" 
 
 "The train stopped with a jerk, the doors flew 
 open, and the crowd surged out toward the street. 
 I made my way slowly to the taxi stand and hailed 
 a waiting machine. *4 West fifty-seventh street, 
 and make it fast,' I said. The man glanced at 
 me quickly, hesitated, and then said, 'Why that's 
 John Amsden's house, isn't it?' 
 
 "'Yes,' I said, 'make it in less than ten minutes 
 and you get a fiver.' 
 
 "The machine started to the street, dove around 
 the corner into thirty-fourth, and then across. 
 The traffic seemed strangely crowded: — we barely 
 
 [3] 
 
QUENTIN ROOSEVELT 
 
 moved behind a stream of street cars and autos. 
 Finally came Broadway and I saw the reason. 
 Herald Square was packed with people, — a tense, 
 silent crowd, all watching the bulletin boards. I 
 strained to catch a glimpse and made out, under 
 the flaring arc lights, *10.45 — Drs. Waring and 
 McEwen report John Amsden is doing as well as 
 can be expected. He is partially conscious.' 
 
 "I hammered on the window of the taxi stand, 
 as the man turned, cried to him to hurry. The 
 traffic was still blocked, however, and we were 
 hemmed in. I looked at the board again. An- 
 other notice was being rolled up. '11 — Condition 
 slightly improved.' Strained faces in the crowd 
 relaxed. I could see one man turning to another 
 and clapping him on the back, a smile of relief on 
 his face. So that was the reason. That was why 
 I had received the telegram, *John needs you. 
 Come at once.' 
 
 "The traffic began to move, and soon we were 
 racing up Fifth Avenue, 42nd, 48th, St. Patrick's 
 Cathedral, — at last 57th. Two policemen guarded 
 the entrance of the street. I was evidently ex- 
 
 [4] 
 
BEFORE THE WAR 
 
 pected, for they let me through with a glance at 
 my card. 
 
 " The door was open, and I went into the familiar 
 hallway with its carved oak stairs. The contrast 
 was startling. Outside the crowded streets; — 
 inside, dead silence. I went upstairs. Low 
 voices came from the back of the house. Some- 
 one inside was speaking: — *It must have been 
 that speech in Union Square that did it. The 
 Doctors say it is pneumonia. His system is so 
 overworked that he can't fight the disease.' 
 
 "Another man spoke up, * Something had to 
 crack. No man can work at fever heat for weeks 
 on end.' 
 
 "I pushed open the door and entered. Three 
 men were seated before the fire, all of them men 
 whom I knew. My cousin Arthur, who was a 
 reporter on the Globe, Charles Wright, the actor, 
 and Pearson, the critic. Arthur sprang to his 
 feet as I entered. *I'm afraid its too late. Cousin 
 Fred,' he said, 'the Doctors have given orders 
 that no one is to see him.' 
 
 " Hopeless, I sat down. Why had I gone away ? 
 [5] 
 
QUENTIN ROOSEVELT 
 
 I might have known something would happen to 
 him. 
 
 "*Tell me,* I said. 
 
 "'There's not much to tell,' said Pearson. *He 
 would speak at that mass meeting in Union Square 
 Friday. It was drizzling a little and he caught 
 a chill. That and overwork brought on pneu- 
 monia. That's about all.* 
 
 "We lapsed into silence, each thinking of the 
 man above who was fighting for breath. The 
 fire flickered, and then died out. Arthur spoke 
 up: 
 
 "'You were with him. Tell us about it/ 
 
 "*It was like a dream,' I said, *A dream come 
 true. 
 
 "'John Amsden and I roomed together at 
 college. I think that was the beginning of our 
 friendship. He never did much there, that is, 
 in any serious way. He worked a little, went to 
 every dance in or out of Boston, and that was 
 about all. He had not the physique for an 
 athlete, and though he had several things published 
 in the Advocate, he gradually let it drop, and never 
 
 [6] 
 
BEFORE THE WAR 
 
 tried for editor. He did not have to work for a 
 living, for liis father's millions were waiting for 
 him so there was no incentive. People said that 
 he had lost what little capacity he had ever had 
 for work while in college. 
 
 " 'After college he led the life that all those lead 
 who belong to the class reformers and Socialists 
 call the idle rich. His winters were spent in Aiken 
 or Palm Beach; his summers in Europe, with 
 interludes of Meadowbrook and Tuxedo. I doubt 
 if he ever did anything more than this for twelve 
 years. Even his friends, who always claimed that 
 he would some day develop, gave up hope. He 
 seemed to have arrived at the end of his develop- 
 ment. 
 
 " ' Last summer we arranged to go abroad to- 
 gether for a bicycle trip through Holland and 
 Belgium. That was in July. August found us in 
 Belgium, travelling slowly from place to place. 
 To make a long story short, we were caught in the 
 whirlwind of the war. We saw the fall of Liege 
 and we followed in the track of the invader as he 
 tramped through Belgium. We saw towns lev- 
 
 [7] 
 
QUENTIN ROOSEVELT 
 
 elled, cathedrals shelled, smelt the smell of the 
 battle-field, saw the fleeing people, homes burned, 
 husbands and fathers gone, the soldier dead, his 
 rifle in his hand, the priest with his crucifix, — we 
 saw it all. 
 
 ** ' To John it was a revelation. He had never 
 before felt the horror of death, never seen the 
 human soul apart from its polished covering. 
 What death he had seen had been decorous, 
 honored, attended with peace and quiet. He had 
 barely realized the fact that suffering existed, — 
 that the horrors of war were any more than a 
 novelist's term. 
 
 "* Following in War's path had brought it all 
 home to him with an appalling nearness. All the 
 sorrows he had never known, all the emotions he 
 had never felt, — ^he went through it all, saw the 
 feelings of people, not mirrored in a book or ve- 
 neered by etiquette, but sharp, bitter, unconquera- 
 ble. In him it brought out all the character that 
 had lain hid. All the crusader spirit of his ances- 
 tors came to the top. He was fired with it. In 
 his reaction he thought of his former life almost 
 with loathing. It seemed to him almost unbe- 
 
 [8] 
 
BEFORE THE WAR 
 
 lievable that America could be callous to the 
 suffering, to the horror of what he saw before his 
 very eyes. He felt he was chosen, that it was 
 his duty to tell of Belgium. 
 
 " ' He decided quite suddenly. "I'm going back, 
 Fred," he said, "to tell the people at home about 
 this. They must understand, they must help." 
 
 " ' We made our way to the coast, as best we 
 could, and at last got a steamer for America. On 
 our voyage we talked of the people at home often. 
 It never occurred to him that people would not 
 understand, that they would not see as he did. 
 He could not conceive of anyone remaining un- 
 moved in the face of suffering such as we had seen. 
 
 " 'We parted at the dock. The next day, as I 
 sat at home, the telephone rang. It was John. 
 "Fred," he said, "I must have a talk with you.'* 
 
 "'We agreed, finally, that I was to come over 
 and see him. 
 
 "'He was sitting in this room before the fire, 
 as we are now, when I came in. In all my life 
 I have never seen a look of utter hopelessness 
 such as there was on his face. "It's all wrong," 
 he said, "they don't see. I can't understand it.'* 
 
 [9] 
 
QUENTIN ROOSEVELT 
 
 "'He told me then, how he had been to his 
 friends, had spoken to them, and the effect of 
 his words. "They wouldn't even listen to me. 
 They wouldn't even listen ! I tried to tell about 
 it all but they cut me short. Harry Wilding 
 wanted to tell me about the baseball the Giants 
 were playing. Schuyler had a scheme he wanted 
 me to finance, — to charter a steamer and send 
 over a cargo of silk socks to Belgium. Said it 
 was a great opportunity now that the German 
 market was closed." He laughed, dully, and, 
 pulling aside the shade pointed out the window. 
 
 " ' "There," he said, " there it is. That is the 
 explanation. That is the American spirit; Ameri- 
 ca's countersign; her God." 
 
 "'I looked. A huge sign showed in electric lights: 
 
 THE NEW NATIONAL MAGAZINE 
 
 James Fried's article on What There is in the 
 War for the U. S. A. 
 
 "'"Yes," said John, bitterly, "that is the acid 
 test of the 'Great American Nation's' feelings. 
 What do we get out of it ? " 
 [10] 
 
BEFORE THE WAR 
 
 "'He gazed into the depths of the fire, and I 
 watched the shadows come and go on his face. 
 Suddenly his expression changed, and his eyes 
 sparlded with the Hght of battle. "I have it," 
 he cried, "I shall write the play of the war. I shall 
 bring war home to the people as it has never been 
 brought before. I shall challenge the nation. " 
 
 " ' That was the beginning of his great play. He 
 worked feverishly, at high pressure, — writing far 
 into the night. 
 
 "'In three weeks it was done. I remember 
 the joy on his face as he came to the door. "It's 
 done, Fred," he said. 
 
 '"He would not let me read it, though I begged 
 him to. The first night, so he said, was the test. 
 He wanted me to see it then for the first time, and 
 so I waited. As you know, Eisenstein agreed, 
 after the first reading, to put it on as soon a 
 company could be got together. 
 
 '"Then, at last, came the first night. All New 
 York seemed to be there. It had been wonderfully 
 advertised. All over the city, great placards with 
 the name, WAR, in red, and then John Amsden, 
 
 [11] 
 
QUENTIN ROOSEVELT 
 
 underneath. I had to fight my way, — but you 
 were there — ^you remember.' 
 
 "Pearson nodded. 
 
 "'You remember how it was received. Not a 
 sound from the whole packed house. Not a clap, 
 not a cheer, not even the shuffling that a crowd of 
 people generally make. It was a tense, uplifted 
 audience. A woman in front of me was crying as 
 the curtain fell, and the crowd filed out silently. 
 No one was discussing the play in the lobby 
 when I came out. It was too great, beyond un- 
 thinking praise. Men went home and thought 
 over it. 
 
 " ' By morning it was famous. In every paper it 
 appeared on the front page. Critics called it a 
 sermon of the stage. 
 
 "'That was four weeks ago. Since then the 
 presses have been running to capacity printing it, 
 it has been played all over the country. People 
 have telegraphed him by the thousand, asking 
 him to speak. He has been hailed as another 
 prophet who should preach of America's duty 
 in this war. 
 
 [12] 
 
BEFORE THE WAR 
 
 " ' He was asked to speak at Union Square before 
 I left. You know the rest — / 
 
 "I stopped, and we sat in silence for a while, 
 each busied with his own thoughts. The clock 
 in the Metropolitan tower began to chime. I 
 looked out the window onto the quiet street. 
 Across was Broadway, with its lights, its passing 
 crowds. I could just see the top of the huge sign 
 at Columbus Circle:— 'CHARLES WRIGHT in 
 WAR'. I thought of the great crowd gathered 
 at Herald Square. The clock struck the hour,- 
 ten-eleven-twelve. 
 
 "The deep boom died away. There was a 
 noise of footsteps on the stairs. It was the 
 Doctor. We sprang to our feet. *How is he; 
 Doctor?' said Arthur; his voice sounding cracked 
 and strained. 
 
 "The Doctor looked at us, his face worn and 
 white and lined, and shook his head slowly. He 
 turned and went out without a word. 
 
 "'Oh, it can't be true,' cried Arthur. * There 
 must be something wrong. Why should he die.''' 
 
 "'It can't be helped, boy' said Pearson, 'It was 
 [13] 
 
QUENTIN ROOSEVELT 
 
 fate. God's plans seem mysterious to our cramped 
 view.' He quoted softly: 
 
 "'One man with a dream, at pleasure 
 
 Shall go forth and conquer a crown.' " 
 
 Quentin had a remarkable gift for descriptive 
 writing, and particularly delighted in short 
 sketches, usually with the element of fantastic 
 mysticism predominant. The two brief stories 
 following were written while he was serving in 
 France. 
 
 "IN LINE OF DUTY" 
 
 "The service pistol is a merciless thing. 
 
 "Up there above my desk it hangs, between 
 Hilda's picture and the instrument board, always 
 loaded, always ready. Yes; always ready, always 
 loaded; thats the watchword of our service, — 
 even now as we lie idly awash, charging our bat- 
 teries. Its pleasanter this way, tho, with the 
 fresh air cleaning off the fumes of the last nights 
 run. And then, when you're on the surface, there 
 aren't so many noises, or at least I know them all. 
 
 [14] 
 
BEFORE THE WAR 
 
 Sometimes when we are submerged I hear sounds, 
 — ones that I cant account for, I swear they're 
 only imagination, tho'. You can almost hear 
 them now; the soft deadened whisper of stumpy 
 fingers groping and pawing at the edges of our 
 plates. Its all foolishness, all foolishness ! Here 
 I am, the senior commander of the imperial sub- 
 marine service, with a record that even an ad- 
 miral might envj% worrying like any child over 
 noises that dont exist, — mere imagination. 
 
 "Kuhlman is responsible. He was mad and I 
 should have put him in irons. I remember when 
 first he came aboard. The old admiral was there, 
 and said to me, 'Take him and make a man of 
 him.' So I gave him responsibility, put him in 
 charge of the forward tubes. Off the coast of 
 Ireland we were, and sure of work before long. 
 
 "We got it, too, — a big boat, one of their crack 
 liners. I was sorry we had to do it, for there 
 were many women and children among her pas- 
 sengers, but what else could I do ? She had been 
 warned; and in war there is no pity. 
 
 "I let young Kuhlman have the shot, and then, 
 [15] 
 
QUENTIN ROOSEVELT 
 
 as there was no convoy and no guns, we rose to 
 watch the effect. It is very sudden death, a 
 torpedo. One moment you are but two days 
 from port; the next the boats are manned and 
 the band plays as she sinks. It was a bad night, 
 and there were many of the boats that they could 
 not launch. She sank very quickly, and we sub- 
 merged again, for it was too rough for us, — and 
 so we lay for two days while the storm went on 
 above. Then it blew itself out, and luckily too, 
 for two days below are hard on the nerves. Kuhl- 
 man felt it most, for he had never before seen 
 death, and the sight of that ship sinking from the 
 torpedo that he had fired, had been too much 
 for him. So we came up, and were lying on the 
 surface, just as we are now, while we officers 
 smoked upon deck. After two days like that, 
 the air seems very sweet, and it is good to live 
 again, and cease to be a machine. Only as we 
 stood there something came drifting down upon 
 us, — something white that glinted in the sunlight. 
 It was quite close before I saw what it was, — 
 too close. Somehow the current caught it and 
 
 [16] 
 
BEFORE THE WAR 
 
 brought it alongside, and it seemed to stick to 
 us in the little wash that lapped our sides. All 
 the flesh was gone from the head, — the fish had 
 been at it, — and the bare skull shone like polished 
 ivory as it bobbed up and down and the water 
 washed in and out of the empty eyes. It had 
 been a common sailor off the ship we had sunk 
 two days before, and across the chest of the suit 
 you could see the letters *Cunard Line.' It 
 drifted on, but with it went all the life of the air, 
 and I ordered the men below. 
 
 "It umst have been that that started Kuhl- 
 man. I had grown quite attached to him, for he 
 seemed only a boy, for all of his moustaches. And 
 yet, at first, even I did not notice any change. 
 Then he took to coming in and sitting talking to 
 me in my room, and I began to wonder. He said 
 he liked the company. Only, as I found out, the 
 real reason was that he was afraid to be alone. 
 Later he told me about it. In the beginning it 
 used only to bother him at night when the lights 
 were out. Then, as he lay in bed, they would 
 begin. He would hear them outside in the water, 
 [17] 
 
QUENTIN ROOSEVELT 
 
 talking to one another, in dead voiceless words, 
 the salt water in their mouths. And always 
 their talk was of him. 'He fired the torpedo,* 
 they seemed to say, and then he would hear the 
 fumbling of soft, sodden fingers tearing at the 
 rivets. Later he began to see faces, dreadful, 
 greenish, water logged ones, long strings of sea 
 weed in their hair. And worst of all they were 
 all faces he knew, friends and family at home, 
 that stared at him with blind dead resentment. 
 They became worse and more insistent, and he 
 began to go round with his eyes fixed in front of 
 him, for he said they watched him from the cor- 
 ners. He slept with his lights turned on. I did 
 my best to talk him out of it, but I knew that we 
 would soon lay up for our month in port, and I 
 thought that would cure him. Then we put in 
 to take on oil for our last two weeks, and they 
 gave me a bundle of papers. Kuhlman was in 
 my room at the time, and I tossed them to him 
 to read, for I thought it might cheer him. I was 
 busy myself, looking over my new orders, and 
 the reports from other commanders. Over my 
 [18] 
 
BEFORE THE WAR 
 
 shoulder I called to him some question about the 
 news. There was no answer, and after a bit I 
 turned around to look at him. He was sitting, 
 the paper spread before him on the desk, and as 
 I looked, he got up and fumbled for the door 
 handle. His face was dead white, and on it the 
 look of one who has seen something very terrible, 
 — something more than one should see. I stood 
 for a moment doing nothing, for the look on his 
 face had driven all thoughts from my head and 
 then, stupidly, I looked to the paper for the ex- 
 planation. There was little enough in it, — politics, 
 the war, a new invention, and at the top of the 
 page the pictures of some people, a family I 
 judged, with father, mother, and a sweet-faced 
 girl of about twenty. I looked closer, and saw 
 under the pictures, 'drowned in the Caronia dis- 
 aster.' Even then I could not see the reason for 
 that look in his face. Orders were orders, and 
 he'd have to learn that in war people were killed, 
 and not always the guilty, — and it was all part 
 of the game. Suddenly there was the roar of a 
 shot. I was in his room before the echoes died 
 [19] 
 
QUENTIN ROOSEVELT 
 
 along the iron walls, but of course it was too late. 
 
 "He lay bent over his desk, the pistol still 
 clutched in his hands. Then, at last, I saw the 
 reason. In a little gold frame before him was a 
 girl's picture, the same that I had just seen in 
 the paper, now blotched with his blood, he had 
 written in his round, boyish hand, — 'Ah, dearest; 
 mea magna culpa.' 
 
 "A bad, bad business it was. The bullet at 
 that range, had torn his face terribly, and yet 
 somehow I was relieved, glad almost. I am sure 
 that his eyes would have been, — not nice. 
 
 "That was a month ago and I am still at sea. 
 I thought when I got back after that run I would 
 ask for a rest, — I had begun myself to hear things 
 that were not of the ship. But once in port, they 
 told me I was chosen to take this, our newest, 
 on her maiden run. What could I do? It was 
 an honor they offered me. All the same, I wish 
 the captain's quarters were not like those on my 
 old ship. When I came in, and saw the bare iron 
 walls just as before, with that grim pistol in its 
 clips by the instrument board, I seemed to see 
 [20,] 
 
BEFORE THE WAR 
 
 him again. And now, three weeks out, it is grow- 
 ing worse. I dare not turn the lights out, for if 
 I do, instead of the luminous dials of my instru- 
 ment board I see only his poor shattered head, 
 with great eyes that call me. 
 
 "Perhaps he was right, after all. The service 
 pistol is a merciful thing." 
 
 "THE GREATEST GIFT" 
 
 " 'Wliat is the greatest blessing' I mused, as 
 I sat at my window. And the warm breath of 
 spring, sweet with the scent of flowers and green 
 things growing whispered softly 'Life. Life is 
 the greatest gift. To live and feel no fear lest 
 the grim hand that stays not smite. What higher 
 hn.ve the gods to give?' 
 
 "In my heart youth cried assent, and full of 
 the horror of that gray and merciless one who 
 spares no man, I went forth into the crowded 
 ways. Everywhere was life, and the beauty of 
 things living. As pleasant music to my ears were 
 the cries of children and all the many voices of 
 [21] 
 
QUENTIN ROOSEVELT 
 
 the street. Death seemed but some foul vampire 
 that lay in gloating cruelty waiting to take all 
 from me. 
 
 "I wandered whither my feet led me, careless 
 of all save my thoughts until I came on a street 
 to me unknown, a dark street heavy with the 
 dust of centuries. Grey lichens clung about the 
 houses' eaves, and in the shapeless wind-worn 
 carvings. No children played upon the steps and 
 on the cobbled pavement no traffic passed. The 
 roar of the world without was lost, for sound it- 
 self seemed choked with age, and my footfall 
 waked echoes long dead that fled wailing past 
 the sombre houses and died among the wind worn 
 tiles. One door alone stood open, mysterious, 
 beckoning, and thru it I passed as one who enters 
 in a dream, a place familiar, yet of the dream. All 
 within lay shrouded in gloom save for a little 
 glow ahead, and toward its soft crimson I went, 
 my hands against the velvet arras. And now I saw 
 whence the light came. A ball of crystal in whose 
 clouded heart the crimson light rose and fell with 
 steady beat lay between the paws of an ebony 
 
 [22] 
 
BEFORE THE WAR 
 
 sphinx, that crouched before a tall chair of ebony. 
 In the light lay mystery, and the very air was 
 heavy with the secret of old forgotten dreams. 
 
 "The scent of spice and sandalwood, of incense 
 and of myrrh. I stood in silence and past me 
 went my thoughts, that drifted in a sea of memo- 
 ries dim and griefs long past. But in on them 
 came a voice, deep and clear, yet a part of the 
 silence, that said: 'WTiat do you in the memories 
 of the past, whose heart is with the present, to 
 whom life and all that lies before alone are fair.'*' 
 
 "With slow steps muffled in the crimson car- 
 pet I went into the circle of warm, glowing light 
 and was aware of one who sat buried in the great 
 chair. Face and hand alone were visible, for the 
 velvet gown merged indefinitely into the ebony 
 of the chair. One hand showed, yellow and 
 shrivelled with age, while ridged tendons like 
 twisted wires stretched to long fingers tipped 
 with yellow and pointed nails. On the face, too, 
 lay the mark of ages, for over the skull the skin 
 stretched ^Tinkled and creased like an ancient 
 parchment. Deep sunk in their sockets glowed 
 [23] 
 
QUENTIN ROOSEVELT 
 
 eyes that held me and searched my soul. There was 
 in them age, to which to the end of time we were 
 young; tragic age, the bitter sorrow of ten thou- 
 sand years; sorrow such as had the dead eyes of 
 (Edipus. As I looked in them all fear left me, — 
 and only an awe and a pity too deep for words 
 remained. Yet when I spoke it was as a child 
 that answers, and yet is intent on the question 
 it would ask before even it speaks. 'Why should 
 not I dwell in memories past, to enjoy the more 
 what Life may hold.^^' 
 
 "He spoke again, and his voice was as a hand 
 held out to one that gropes in darkness: 'May 
 not life then rise above itself — has it no higher 
 to offer than its little span, and must death ever 
 lie, a secret terror, black upon the mind.'* Is 
 death a penalty that the Gods exact of a man 
 whether evil or fair has been his lot? Through 
 my crystal must all mortals pass when the fires 
 of life are flickering low; — look now, in your ig- 
 norance, upon the face of Death.' 
 
 "I looked at the crystal, and deep in its heart 
 saw pictures that came and went as the light 
 [U] 
 
BEFORE THE WAR 
 
 rose and fell. Each seemed to tell a tale familiar, 
 tho' the time was short and the faces strange. 
 
 "An old man lay dying, his children round him, 
 on his face peace, and the happiness of one whose 
 life is well spent, who after the long day's toil 
 waits gladly for the end. 
 
 "The crystal blurred and another scene was 
 there. A woman lay dying, but none were there 
 to watch save desolation and utter loneliness, for 
 she had lived beyond her time, all that might 
 have cared were dead, and on her face shone only 
 a great relief. 
 
 "Many pictures I saw, and where the dying 
 were young, I saw the struggle against death. 
 Yet Youth did not fear death, — rather they feared 
 to lose life, its cup still full. Where age lay dying 
 was no struggle — only rest after the fever and 
 fret of life. At length I turned to him who sat 
 silent in the great chair, and asked humbly: 'What 
 of you — will not you, too, pass in the crystal's 
 crimson mist?' 'I,' he cried bitterly, and his 
 voice swelled till its deep grief filled the velvet 
 hung chamber with tragedy unspeakable, *I have 
 
 [25] 
 
QUENTIN ROOSEVELT 
 
 sinned too deeply, I may not die. Of the Gods 
 I asked too much. I wished for all that was theirs 
 to give, — for life eternal. They gave it me and 
 now is their gift as gall and bitter wormwood to 
 my soul. All that I ever loved or knew is dead 
 for thrice a thousand years. Alone I go down 
 the endless ages. Aye, the very gods have 
 changed. Moloch and Ishtar, Zeus the Thunder, 
 Jove to whom prayed the Romans, and Jehovah 
 of the Hebrews — all are gone and forgotten of 
 man. Their temples are ruins, their priests are 
 dead, and still I live on; I who have lost all that 
 for which men live. O, blind and more than blind, 
 who would forever be free from death; death for 
 whose kindly touch in years to come you pray. 
 Of what value is immortality when all that makes 
 our little lives is mortal.' 
 
 "He ceased, but the memory of his words 
 throbbed in dumb agony round the arras, nor 
 did it die, as mortal speech is wont. Into the 
 depths of me it sank, and I fled from his presence. 
 Death, whom I had cursed, seemed now a kindly 
 friend, who, when we tire of our toys, and all our 
 
 [26] 
 
BEFORE THE WAR 
 
 litlle mortal playthings are faded and broken, 
 comes soft-handed to heal all with his dreamless 
 quiet. 
 
 "And within me my soul cried out: *Yes. Ah, 
 yes ! Death, death and oblivion are God's great- 
 est gifts.' " 
 
 In the fall of 1915 Quentin went to Harvard. 
 He was unable to take part in athletics because of 
 a fall he had had in a hunting trip in Arizona. 
 His horse had slipped among the slide rock, and 
 Quentin's back was wrenched and twisted so 
 severely that in spite of constant treatment it 
 never fully recovered. He sufiFered acute pain 
 from it when he took any strenuous form of ex- 
 ercise. 
 
 Bubbling over with life, he entered into every 
 other phase of college life. His taste for litera- 
 ture was almost as catholic as his father's, and 
 his room was strewn with volumes of prose and 
 poetry — histories, essays, novels, detective stories, 
 and epic poems. At one time he was greatly in- 
 terested in demonology and witchcraft, and 
 [27] "■ 
 
QUENTIN ROOSEVELT 
 
 combed the second-hand bookstores for grimy 
 tomes on this subject. 
 
 Intent on following his line of mathematics and 
 mechanics, he took many difficult courses, but his 
 trials were leavened with a sense of humor that 
 could not be downed. 
 
 27 Everett St. 
 
 Cambridge, Mas.j. 
 February 14, 1916 
 
 To " The Father of Quentin Roosevelt" 
 Oyster Bay, N. Y. 
 
 Dear Sir: — The enclosed verses were written 
 by your son Quentin at the end of his blue book 
 in the Midyear examination in my course. Mathe- 
 matics A, a few days ago. They strike me as so 
 capital that I want to pass them along. 
 
 On account of his illness the boy did not do 
 very well in the first half year, but I think he 
 knows what he is about, and have good hopes for 
 a better showing at the end of the course. 
 
 Hoping that you will enjoy these verses as 
 much as I do (he would probably regard my 
 [28 1 
 
BEFORE THE WAR 
 
 sending them to you as a gross breach of con- 
 fidence!) I am ^r . 1 
 
 Very smcerely yours 
 
 Edward V. Huntington 
 Associate Professor of Mathematics 
 in Harvard University. 
 
 ODE TO A MATH A. EXAM. 
 
 "If it be not fair to me, 
 What care I how fair it be?" 
 
 I. 
 
 How can I work when my brain is whirHng ? 
 What can I do if I've got the grippe ? 
 Why make a bluff at a knowledge that's lacking ? 
 What is the use if I don't give a rip ? 
 
 II. 
 
 Cosine and tangent, cotangent, abscissa. 
 
 Dance like dry leaves through my sneeze-shattered 
 
 head. 
 Square root of a^ plus b^ plus k^ 
 Gibber and grin in the questions I've read. 
 
 III. 
 
 Self centred circles and polar coordinates. 
 Triangles twisted and octagons wild, 
 
 [29] 
 
QUENTIN ROOSEVELT 
 
 Loci whose weirdness defies all description, 
 Mountains of zeros all carefully piled. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Still I plod on in a dull desperation, 
 Head aching dismally, ready to sip 
 Goblets of strychnine or morphine or vitriol. 
 How can I work when I've got the grippe ? 
 
 He made two trips, during the summer holidays, 
 in the West — one with his father and his brother 
 Archie, and one with some Western friends. 
 
 When at home his taste still ran to mechanics, 
 and he would buy a broken-down motorcycle for 
 sixteen dollars, or a ramshackle automobile for 
 fifty, and doctor his purchase up until it could 
 convey him from place to place, albeit with some 
 uncertainty. His parents once suggested that he 
 and Archie should be given a communal automo- 
 bile, but the latter explained that it would be 
 quite useless, for he would want the car to run 
 and take him from place to place, whereas Quen- 
 tin would spend all the time taking the motor 
 down and putting it together again. 
 
 [30] 
 
CHAPTER II 
 THE WAY OF THE EAGLE 
 
 PART I — TRYING HIS WINGS 
 
 In spite of his crippled back Quentin went to 
 one of the Plattsburg camps the summer before 
 the United States entered the war. Through the 
 employment of unlimited determination and grit 
 and the understanding consideration of his su- 
 periors he managed to last through the course. 
 
 In his letters he spoke bitterly of the attitude of 
 
 the administration: 
 
 February 1917. 
 
 I just got a very discouraged letter from my 
 Hon. Pa. We are a pretty sordid lot, aren't we, 
 to want to sit looking on while England and France 
 fight our battles and pan gold into our pockets? 
 I wondered, as I sat by my fire, whether there are 
 any dreams in our land any more. How can there 
 be, for it is lands like ours, and Germany, that 
 [31] 
 
QUENTIN ROOSEVELT 
 
 kill the nation's dreams, and then the people drop 
 into oblivion. Rome died only when the little 
 dreams and fancies of its people gave way to their 
 lust for ease and pleasure, power and gold. I 
 wonder if we are trending the same way — 
 
 • ••••••• 
 
 When war was declared all four sons turned to 
 their, father for advice and assistance in regard to 
 the most rapid manner to get into active service. 
 Quentin first planned to join the Canadian flying 
 forces, but upon confirmation of the rumor that 
 an American flying school was to be started im- 
 mediately he decided that he would not materially 
 speed up his entrance into active service by going 
 to Canada, and accordingly altered his plans and 
 enlisted for the Mineola camp. 
 
 April, 1917. 
 Excuse this scrawl, scribbled on the train, — 
 there's a reason ! Wild excitement ! I have been 
 put in the aviation school at Mineola instead of 
 the one at Newport News. 
 I discovered, after I had gotten down to the 
 [32] 
 
THE WAY OF THE EAGLE 
 
 station, that there is a 1.35 train for Washington 
 that I could have taken, and so stayed with you 
 at the Mid. Frol. However, I settled down in the 
 12.30 and woke up the next A.M. at Washington 
 with that evil tempered, sandpaper-clothed feeling 
 of filth which is the trade mark of all midnight 
 trains. A bath, and such, at Alice's was a suc- 
 cessful remedy, and I trotted down to the War 
 Department, to start in on a complicated little 
 game of catch as catch can, with the Aviation 
 authorities. Their policy is one of mystery. You 
 ask for an application whereupon a little colored 
 "pusson" takes you in tow thru some twenty 
 miles of stairs to an equally little white man who 
 gives you a blank. The rest of your day is spent 
 in taking that little blank for visits to various 
 dens in the building. 
 
 Next comes your physical exam., over which 
 a hypochondriac with the darkest views of his 
 fellowmen, presides. After two hours of a 
 twentieth-century refinement of the inquisition 
 you are pronounced fit, and travel on again for 
 your mental test. The presiding deity there is a 
 
 [33] 
 
QUENTIN ROOSEVELT 
 
 gentleman who feels like David, — or was it Isaiah 
 — that all men are liars. And the questions: 
 "What is the average age of the Dodo?" the 
 correct answer should be 37. "What is the 
 average sex.^^" but to go on. 
 
 It really did take me two days to get by all 
 the red tape, and apparently I was miraculously 
 lucky at that. 
 
 First his instructors and later his pupils agreed 
 that Quentin was gifted with that sixth sense that 
 singles out the born aviator. Some men have an 
 ability to call forth from machinery the best that 
 is in it; it is a power analogous to that bestowed 
 upon occasional horsemen, and is even more inex- 
 plicable. Quentin possessed this gift to a very 
 marked degree, and when the first detachment of 
 aviators was sent across to France he was among 
 i*^ <?, , them, as was his boyhood friend, Hamilton Coo- 
 
 lidge. The two boys had been at Groton and 
 Harvard together, they were at the same aviators' 
 schools in France, and went up to the line to- 
 gether, serving in neighboring squadrons,, Coo- 
 
 [34] 
 
THE WAY OF THE EAGLE 
 
 lidge lived to become one of the most distinguished 
 American aces, and when he was brought down on 
 October 27, 1918, by a direct hit from an anti- 
 aircraft gun, his loss was bitterly felt by officer 
 and enlisted man alike. 
 
 On July 23, 1917, they sailed from New York 
 on the Orduiia. 
 
 25 July, 1917. 
 We are apparently to put into Halifax and there 
 wait for a convoy, goodness knows how long ! 
 . . . There is literally nobody on board except 
 soldiers. Cousin Katy, and five or six extraneous 
 nonentities that bob up and down on the smoking 
 room horizon. It's by way of being very dull, for 
 shuffle board, bridge, and reading become boring 
 in time and even the springs of conversation can 
 eventually be pumped dry. Our outfit are really 
 mighty fine fellows, all of them. We've organized 
 one of those interminable bridge-games, and as we 
 play for a quarter of a cent a point there is not 
 much chance of any great financial transactions 
 either waj^ ... a thoroughly satisfactory arrange- 
 ment — magnifique et pas cher. 
 [ 35 ] 
 
QUENTIN ROOSEVELT 
 
 Monday, after I left you I trotted down to the 
 boat. ... I don't mind confessing I felt pretty 
 down when I saw the Statue of Liberty and the 
 New York sky line dropping below the horizon. 
 
 Thanks, Mother dear, for the "Lute of Jade.'* 
 It was just the sort of present that could cheer me 
 up. When I opened it that first night I didn't 
 know what it was, but it made the most tremen- 
 dous difference, and of course I love it. It is 
 sitting beside me as I write, looking friendly and 
 very "family and home" like. 
 
 The next letter was from Halifax, where the 
 transport was held waiting for the convoy. 
 
 I found a paper bundle in my cabin when I re- 
 turned, which mother had left. I opened it and 
 found, neatly wrapped in a napkin, — a loaf of 
 bread, lots of chocolate, and a knife, with a note 
 saying it was from Margaret, the cook ! I half 
 expected to find my pajamas full of messages from 
 Mary, after that. 
 
 The long stay here has been pretty hard on 
 [36] 
 
THE WAY OF THE EAGLE 
 
 everybody, for you can't help feeling it would have 
 been much pleasanter to put in a week more in 
 New York ! Otherwise I am fairly well settled in 
 existence of a uniform and appalling dullness. 
 We've been trying boxing for exercise but yester- 
 day I succeeded in getting one on the nose which 
 the doctor thinks may have broken it. It doesn't 
 look crushed, tho, so I think he may be wrong. 
 
 The "little clock" is a great satisfaction and 
 sits sociably by my bed, beside the bottle of 
 Poland water. The bread and chocolate is just 
 finished and was a howling success. Please thank 
 Margaret. This letter is merely a goodbye one, 
 for total atrophy of the brain has resulted from 
 this long stay. 
 
 August 10th 
 
 As it looks as if we were really getting some- 
 where, for they promise we will be in by tomorrow, 
 — so I shall telegraph you then. I was going to 
 send this from London, but things are so uncertain 
 that I cannot be sure we will ever get there at all, 
 let alone be there long enough to get letters off. 
 There is a chance we will go direct to Folkestone. 
 
 [37] 
 
QUENTIN ROOSEVELT 
 
 At the moment I feel as if anywhere on shore 
 would be better than this boat. She's comfort- 
 able, and the food is O. K., but three weeks — 
 Columbus could have given us a good race at that 
 rate. There's really astonishingly little going on, 
 on Shipboard. All the regular ship games and such 
 like have died from overwork, and our chief amuse- 
 ment is betting on when we arrive. . . . Other- 
 wise our life is spent in anticipation, which, though 
 a great solace, makes but poor reading in a letter. 
 
 Paris, — August 18th 
 39 Rue Villejust 
 
 Starting way back at Liverpool, — when I fin- 
 ished my last letter to you we were in sight of the 
 lights at the mouth of the Mersey, and I had de- 
 cided that we were just about to go in when our 
 destroyer convoy began a lot of promiscuous sig- 
 nalling and round we faced and tore full speed 
 down the channel. I had a horrid moment, for I 
 began to feel that we were destined to take the 
 place of the flying Dutchman. I could almost 
 hear the "man in the smoking room" on board 
 ship ten years hence, as he told over his whiskey 
 
 [38] 
 
THE WAY OF THE EAGLE 
 
 and soda how he once had seen the lost Ordufta — 
 grey mist pouring from her rusted funnel, go tear- 
 ing past — leaving no wake behind her — the sun- 
 liglit showing thru the rotted ribs of her boats, — 
 and had heard the rattle of the skeleton soldiers 
 that drilled on her mildewed decks to the wail of a 
 ghastly band. 
 
 However, Sunday morning at five my dreams 
 were rudely shattered by the thumping of the 
 anchor chain and we were in Liverpool. There 
 we were met with bad news. Alas for all our 
 pleasant schemes of London. We were packed 
 into a filthy little troop-train with an engine of a 
 type once used on the New York elevated, and 
 shot off at once to Folkestone. There after an un- 
 eventful night we boarded the channel steamer. 
 It was hard to realise that I had gone thru Eng- 
 land. Somehow, I don't feel as if I should ever 
 really see it until we go abroad. I shall never have 
 *' permission" to go there, for if I get long enough 
 to go there I shall wait over and get an extension 
 to go home to you. England is lovely tho. The 
 hedge rows are green, and the little canals mirror 
 
 [39 1 
 
QUENTIN ROOSEVELT 
 
 the sky, and all about there is a kind of "lots of 
 time" quiet, as the war were an idle speculation, 
 and not hideous reality. The little thatched 
 cottages and the funny old bridges seem all vener- 
 able apostles of peace. 
 
 In France, tho, it is different. Even on the 
 run up from Boulogne to Paris the signs of war 
 were everywhere. Every little while there would 
 come a concentrating camp of some sort, — a food 
 depot, or a gang of Chinese, or German prisoners 
 that worked along the railroad tracks. And then 
 came Paris, so late at night that I, for one, was 
 glad enough to sleepily turn into my room, and 
 drop off, too tired to care about baggages or the 
 frenzied protests of the hotel concierge. 
 
 Next morning about eleven I woke, and after 
 a breakfast of war bread and eggs — no more 
 brioches et miel — reported at headquarters. There 
 was all sorts of news. None of our nine oflScers 
 are to be used for flying, at least for the present. 
 The trouble is that we are going into this war, 
 of course, on a vast scale, and that means a vast 
 organisation. A huge American school is to be 
 
 [40] 
 
THE WAY OF THE EAGLE 
 
 built in the central part of France, — it has to be 
 provided with an administration, and officers 
 have to be trained to take charge of instruction in 
 bombing, anti-aircraft, reconnaissance, and the 
 various other highly specialised forms of work. 
 The net result is that all of our nine are placed 
 in one or another kind of ground job, and scat- 
 tered to the four winds of heaven. I report to- 
 morrow at the American School — fairly near 
 where Tommy is — to take the place of Seth, who 
 has gone with our enlisted men to a French school. 
 The work I know nothing of as yet. — I'll report 
 as soon as I've begun. I don't fancy that I shall 
 care very much for it, tho'. However, whatever 
 it is, its all in the days run and part of our busi- 
 ness, which is to eliminate the Hun. I shall prob- 
 ably have no flying for at least two months, — and 
 during all that time will not get into the Zone des 
 Armees, if that pleases you. I confess I'm sorry, 
 for I wanted to get started flying, and have it 
 over with. I know my back wouldn't last very 
 long. The thing that I realize more each day I 
 am here, is how serious a proposition this war 
 
 [41] 
 
QUENTIN ROOSEVELT 
 
 has become. Back in the states no one realises 
 how important it is. I would give my boots to 
 get hold of some of them who said to me that all 
 this war needed was our wealth. Of course they 
 need it, — ^but someone, Napoleon I think, said 
 that you can't beat a nation by starving it or 
 bankrupting it. We have before us the task of 
 driving the Bosche back, and overwhelming him, 
 and no amount of talk, of airplane fleets that 
 loom large only in the minds of the newspaper 
 writers, can remove his presence from before us. 
 Paris shows that, for it is not the Paris that we 
 used to love, the Paris of five years past. The 
 streets are there, but the crowds are different. 
 There are no more young men in the crowds un- 
 less in uniform. Everywhere you see women in 
 black, and there is no more cheerful shouting and 
 laughing. Many, many of the women have a 
 haunted look in their eyes, as if they had seen 
 something too terrible for forgetfulness. They 
 make one realise the weight that lies on all alike 
 now. There is a sobering like no other feeling 
 I know in the sight of a boy my age helped along 
 
 [42] 
 
THE WAY OF THE EAGLE 
 
 the street by someone who takes pity on his poor 
 blind eyes. It all makes me feel older. 
 
 Issoudun — Aug. 20 — 1917 
 Monday night. 
 
 I've only time for a very short note, as this is 
 to go by a truck driver who is leaving for Paris. 
 After all sorts of excitements, I'm settled down 
 here definitely, with Cord for running partner. 
 My job isn't half bad either. I'm supply officer 
 for the camp, which consists principally in keeping 
 a fleet of fifty-two motor trucks in running order 
 and at the proper place. I also have to look after 
 endless supplies of gasoline, and tools that are 
 all jumbled into one vast pile, straight from the 
 ship. In between times I act as the buffer be- 
 tween irate railroad officials full of jabbering 
 complaints, and equally angry American construc- 
 tion officers who would like to consign the entire 
 French railroad system to Hell, way billed collect 
 farther on. Altogether, I've got a reasonably 
 busy job ! However its very good fun — lots more 
 responsibility than I've ever had, — in fact lots 
 [43] 
 
QUENTIN ROOSEVELT 
 
 a 
 
 more than I'd think of attempting back home. 
 Only being out here, with no one else to do it, we 
 have to, that's all. 
 
 Its hard, tho', to realise that its war. We're 
 stuck five miles out of a typical little French 
 town, — the old tower and Hotel de Ville dating 
 back to Richard Coeur de Lion's time, — with no 
 appreciable improvements in sanitation during 
 the last six hundred years. There isn't a bath 
 tub within less than twenty-five miles! In fact 
 on Sunday Cord and I became so desperate that 
 we took to our motor cycles, — as supply and 
 quartermaster oflScers we have them, — and went 
 off twenty miles to the nearest river to swim. It 
 seemed preposterously un-war like, — motor-cycling 
 off for a Sunday swim, and then lying on our backs 
 and watching the sunset as we talked of the place 
 that seems pleasantest to our minds now — Long 
 Island. We both agreed that we hadn't realised 
 how much we loved it until we were away. I 
 think he's been a little homesick down here, — it 
 is a forsaken hole. However mail gets here, and 
 apparently its equally quick whether by the 
 Farmer's Loan and Trust or the Military mail. 
 
 [44] 
 
THE WAY OF THE EAGLE 
 
 I've had a letter from father and one from mother 
 dated the thirtieth whicli came in less than three 
 weeks via the Farmer's Loan and Trust. 
 
 I have no idea how long I shall be here. I'm 
 afraid it will be months before I even get in a 
 plane again. Both Cord and I feel that we would 
 like our jobs a lot more if they came after we had 
 been a couple of months at the front. 
 
 August 23rd. 
 I have been so very busy that this is the first 
 chance I have had for a half an hour to write let- 
 ters in. As I wrote Mother, I am now at the 
 American Aviation School, or rather what will be 
 the American School. Mother knows where it is 
 and I am not allowed to mention the name. At 
 the moment it looks as little like an Aviation 
 School as anything I have seen. We have about 
 two hundred men, and are busily employed get- 
 ting all the vast equipment necessary to the school 
 unloaded. With my usual evil luck I am stuck 
 here as supply officer, a job for which I am as 
 little gifted as possible. Judging by the way I have 
 [45] 
 
QUENTIN ROOSEVELT 
 
 mishandled the ten thousand kinds of red tape 
 which I have struck, my only destination after the 
 war will be Atlanta State Prison. 
 
 I'm in the midst of a tremendous fight with 
 the quartermaster up the line, as he refuses to al- 
 low me a motor-machine-shop, without which I 
 can not possibly keep my trucks in commission. 
 I also have been unable to get any sort of American 
 reading material. Will you ask Mother to send me 
 anything she has in the line of books, that will 
 keep me up on what's going on outside — fact, 
 fancy and fiction. You have no idea how thor- 
 oughly isolated we are out here in the A. E. F. 
 
 Eleanor treated me wonderfully in Paris. She 
 has a really delightful house from the military 
 viewpoint — ^good bed, piano, lots of room, bath 
 tub, nice servants and even a garden, and, which 
 is the best of all, "family" in the shape of herself, j 
 
 Wednesday August 22nd. 
 
 Issoudun U. S. Aviation School 
 
 (or rather soon-to-be-school). 
 
 I can truly say now that I am a blesse du 
 guerre, for in the last two days I have been in two 
 
 [46] 
 
THE WAY OF THE EAGLE 
 
 motorcycle smashups. The first one was yester- 
 day. I was on my way over to Nevers — eighty 
 miles from here — to arrange about some supplies, 
 and Cord, who is mess sergeant, had gone with 
 me on his machine. We were passing a truck, 
 with him in the lead when, for some unknown rea- 
 son, he slowed up. I was coming on him, so I 
 slammed on my brake, which jammed, and I 
 started on down the road skidding side and every 
 which way. Cord put on power and got out of 
 the way, but as my brake was locked I could do 
 nothing so I saw a bully spill coming my way, and 
 tried my best to get clear of the truck. The next 
 thing I remember is lying on the bank with Cord 
 and the truck driver pouring water on me and 
 trying to put first aid compresses on my face. I 
 was pretty well bunged up — a couple of deep cuts 
 on my face, some loose teeth and two hands with 
 not much palm left. 
 
 By luck we happened to be near the aviation 
 school where Tommy is — we had intended to 
 stop there — and I was bundled into the truck 
 and sent over there to the hospital and bandaged 
 up. Then, after about an hour, I went over to 
 [47] 
 
QUENTIN ROOSEVELT 
 
 the barracks and saw Tommy, while I was wait- 
 ing for one of our cars to come for me. He is in 
 very good form, and is flying very well. In fact, 
 an instructor told me that he thought that Tommy 
 would be the first one of his class to make an 
 "ace" which is pretty good, I think. I got back 
 last night — ^bringing all sorts of messages to you 
 from Tommy and thanks for your letter — and 
 started out to write to you but found that my 
 hands were too bad, and was sent off to bed by 
 the doctor. By the way, those two letters, — to 
 Tim and Tommy — nearly got me into a row. 
 They were spotted by a customs official, opened, 
 and read, and I was nearly jailed for life for at- 
 tempting to bring them in. That en passant. 
 I At all events this morning, stiff all over, and about 
 an inch deep in bandage, I had to go in town to 
 see about loading some cars. As there was no 
 auto, I went via motorcycle side car, and on the 
 way in the man who was driving ran into the 
 wall of a house and shot me out on to my ear. 
 That time I reopened both hands and laid out one 
 hip with a bad cut and bone bruise, — so that at 
 
 [48] 
 
THE WAY OF THE EAGLE 
 
 the moment, tho' in excellent form, I am some- 
 what dilapidated. 
 
 I'm beginning to rather like my job — except 
 for smashups. It is quite interesting trying out 
 the different men, and seeing how each turns out, 
 how to get the best out of them, and how to size 
 them up. I suppose it all makes up experience. 
 There's some good news. We are having a hangar 
 shipped down to us at once, so I suppose we shall 
 soon have planes. At the moment they look 
 pretty far oflf. 
 
 August 25, 1917. 
 
 Today I was at Bourges and had my lunch at 
 a queer little tavern, black with age, that lies in 
 the corner of an old castle wall. Over the door- 
 way hangs a faded sign, ''Aux trois raisins noirs" 
 and up by the wall runs a little, crooked alley, half 
 cobblestone, half steps, that is called Rue Cassecou. 
 I know you would have loved it, — and Madame 
 who stands at your table, red cheeked and with 
 [49] 
 
QUENTIN ROOSEVELT 
 
 the white cap that the peasant women wear, while 
 Monsieur le proprietaire, cooks the omelet. I took 
 an hour off from my work, for there were places 
 that cried for exploration, — narrow, winding 
 streets that might lead anywhere, and finally 
 did bring me to the cathedral. It has one square 
 tower, but all around the walls are buttressed, like 
 those in Notre Dame. It is surrounded by a 
 cluster of crooked little streets, whose houses seem 
 as grey and ancient as the gargoyles on the tower. 
 I went in, for there was no service. Once inside 
 it seemed like another world. There was quiet so 
 deep that I could hear the patter of the sacristan's 
 feet as he came toward me, and the whispers 
 of two old peasant women who knelt at a little 
 shrine in the wall. It is like Chartres, for as you 
 come in you see only the sombre gloom of the 
 vaulted arches, and then as you pass on you look 
 back on the glory of a great rose window. There 
 was one window, — a virgin with a veil, — before 
 whom candles were lit, — that was so lovely that I 
 burnt before her a candle, j 
 
 I shall be very glad to get any books that you 
 [50] 
 
THE WAY OF THE EAGLE 
 
 can send me. At the moment my library consists 
 of the collected works of Gaston Leblanc, father 
 of Ars^ne Lupin, and the "Pageant of English 
 Poetry,'* and "The Wind in the Willows." 
 
 I wonder if I ever told you my pet prayer, — 
 almost the only one that I care for. It was 
 written, I think, by Bishop Potter. " Lord, pro- 
 tect us all the day long of our troublous life on 
 earth, until the shadows lengthen and the evening 
 comes, and the busy world is hushed, the fever of 
 life is over, and our work is done. Then in Thy 
 mercy grant us a safe lodging and peace at the 
 last, through Jesus Christ, our Lord." I've al- 
 ways loved it, and now, when life is hard, and all 
 that is dearest to me is far away, it is a comfort 
 to think that sometime all this will be past, and 
 that we will have peace. 
 
 August 28, 1917. 
 
 You know, there are periods when I curse the 
 day that I ever learned French. I am one of the 
 
 [ 51 ] 
 
QUENTIN ROOSEVELT 
 
 two oflScers in camp who can talk it, so that out- 
 side of my regular supply work I get sent off all 
 over the country on wild goose chases after ma- 
 terial with nothing but a rather limited French 
 vocabulary to go on. 
 
 Last Saturday was one, — and typical of most 
 of the others. I was sleeping like a log at about 
 six in the morning — it's good and cold then, too — 
 when someone grabbed my foot and shook it, 
 to wake me. I turned over sleepily, and with 
 one eye open, remarked that tho' I didn't know 
 who the Hellespont it was, I extended the hos- 
 pitality of any spot outside my tent. There 
 was a sort of pause, and then the person went 
 on in an apologetic way, "I'm Major Hyles." 
 And it was ! Of course that woke me up, so I slid 
 out of my warm sleeping bag into clammy clothes, 
 and found out what the matter was. He wanted 
 apparently, a pump, a switch, and an extra loco- 
 motive, — for which I was to scour the country, 
 and not return empty handed. 
 
 That being the case I hopped on my motor- 
 cycle — it was the first day the doctor let me ride 
 
 [52] 
 
THE WAY OF THE EAGLE 
 
 since my accident — and disappeared, breakfast- 
 less, into the scenery. Twelve o'clock found me 
 at a town about 30 miles away, tired and dusty 
 with over a hundred miles to the bad, and no 
 success. However things began to look better 
 and after having seen several regiments of M. le 
 Chef de Sections, and Chef de Districts^ I got the 
 engine and arranged to have five trucks over 
 at eight the next morning for the switch. Of 
 pump however, there was no sign, until I found 
 one in the barn at the back of a manufacturing 
 company's shops, and then I started back, re- 
 ported in town to the captain, and came out here 
 to my tent, about 9:30, all in, and with pleasant 
 prospect of getting up at six in the morning and 
 going over with the trucks for the switch. 
 
 September 5, 1917. 
 
 My hours have been getting progressively 
 longer. I start in with six o'clock breakfast and 
 work till five. Then I go over with Cord to the 
 [53] 
 
QUENTIN ROOSEVELT 
 
 French camp to fly, which means that I don't 
 get back to bed until between nine and ten. Its 
 a mighty long day, — and the work's tiresome. 
 We are arranging for the storing and unpacking of 
 all the equipment, — and as it ranges from rock 
 crushers to flash lights, — and has all to be listed, 
 checked with an invoice from the states, — stored 
 according to classification and then cross indexed 
 in a filing system, I am as busy as several hivef uls 
 of bees. 
 
 Then on top of that there's flying which I don't 
 think I'd do if it weren't for Cord. He has been 
 relieved from his quartermaster job, and so hasn't 
 much to do. Consequently he has arranged that 
 he and I go over to the French school and fly. 
 We flew twice with instructors, and then went 
 alone, — as (except for the controls) the ma- 
 chines aren't much different from the Curtis. 
 They are as safe as an auto, as safe really as the 
 old Curtis. All this doesn't interfere with the fact 
 that a seventeen mile motorcycle ride, a flight, 
 and then back by night aren't very resting. In 
 fact my back just about quit on me, so I struck, 
 
 [54] 
 
THE WAY OF THE EAGLE 
 
 and this afternoon called off work at five thirty, 
 washed and shaved (though there's no particular 
 reason to over here !). j 
 
 September 6, 1917. 
 
 Last night, just after I had finished writing to 
 you, a tremendous thunderstorm struck us. I 
 was in bed, — dozing, — and luxuriating in the fact 
 that it was half -past eight and I was all ready to go 
 to sleep, — when a regular cloud burst hit the camp. 
 Inside of five minutes my tent had become the 
 housing for a very respectable water course, — a 
 fact which I discovered when it started to wash off 
 some of my clothes. I hastily moved everything 
 above high water mark, and then turned over to a 
 sleep, punctuated by leaks, and one visit from a 
 water-soaked dog, that fled to my bed for refuge. 
 
 In the morning our camp had settled into a 
 sea of gumbo mud. I got down to my oflBce for 
 work, and after a strenuous two hours succeeded 
 in getting six of the trucks out onto the road. 
 The others were buried axle deep in mud, and so 
 
 [55] 
 
QUENTIN ROOSEVELT 
 
 we left them for dry weather. Consequently my 
 day was peaceful — interrupted only by the ar- 
 rival of a French general, described to me by my 
 supply sergeant as "a French admiral, or some- 
 thing, all dolled up in gold lace, who's a jabber- 
 ing after you out there." 
 
 P. S. Next morning 6:30 A.M. — And the winds 
 
 blew and the rains fell and the centre of my 
 
 tent has become a water course, — so now I am an 
 
 evacue — alas and alackaday-de ! It's rained all 
 
 night 
 
 September 7. 
 
 I There's been a temporary cessation of work 
 
 due to flood conditions so I have a chance to write 
 
 to you. I have never seen such a place for rain. 
 
 It started in last night just about the time I got 
 
 to bed, and poured, beginning with a thunder 
 
 storm. I settled in for a comfortable sleep, as my 
 
 tent didn't leak, when I noticed the beginning of a 
 
 water course across my tent floor. I had just 
 
 time to put everything up on my trunk when it 
 
 began to come through in dead earnest. I don't 
 
 [56] 
 
THE WAY OF THE EAGLE 
 
 mind a river bed as a geological formation, but 
 I can't say that I think much of it as a resting 
 place. 
 
 This morning when I woke up there was about 
 an inch of water everywhere, and I had the pleas- 
 ant job of getting into damp clothes while perched 
 precariously on the edge of my cot. Wlien I got 
 down to my office, and supply department, I 
 found another flood. The roof leaks in about 
 seventeen different places, and the supply staff 
 were clustered around the few Ararats afforded 
 by desks and tool benches. Consequently there 
 wasn't much work ahead, for the trucks are all 
 mired down so deeply that it would be almost 
 impossible to even get them out to the road, and 
 even the most enthusiastic of motorcyclists 
 wouldn't try the roads thru all this. So, after 
 about an hour of work on a filing system we are 
 fixing up for our tools I had to give it up, as the 
 rain spattered down onto the file cards, and I am 
 calling it a day and writing to you instead. 
 
 We are really beginning to get settled in here 
 in spite of the weather, and I think we shall over- 
 [57] 
 
QUENTIN ROOSEVELT 
 
 come that, for I am going to start building cinder 
 roads as soon as the weather clears enough, to 
 get my trucks thru to the railroad tracks. I hope 
 they will really get the school itself started soon, 
 and then maybe there will be barracks for us in- 
 stead of tents. The trouble is that garages for 
 trucks, and sheds for tools and equipment are 
 much more important than sheds for mere men, 
 and so they have to come first. 
 
 I have gotten in a certain amount of flying 
 over at a French school, some seventeen miles 
 from here. I go over there with Cord at five thirty 
 when the work is over here and get in about a 
 half an hour's flight. I can't do it very often 
 though, for I am having a certain amount of 
 trouble with my back, and I don't want to have 
 it give out on me while I am still supply OflScer. 
 About every third day I call my work done at 
 five thirty, and settle down to a book and a pipe 
 until eight thirty bed time, and so I make out 
 pretty well. I don't know when I am going to 
 be put regularly into flying service again. I am 
 afraid that it won't be for some time, to judge 
 [58] 
 
THE WAY OF THE EAGLE 
 
 by the way things are going. Still, I haven't 
 got Ted's point of view, and I'm certain I'll get 
 in in plenty of time. I'm not in the least afraid 
 that the war will be done before I've had my 
 whack at the Boche. I have to go up to Paris 
 on business next week, and I hope I shall get a 
 chance to see Arch and Ted then, for Eleanor 
 thinks that they are going to try and get back en 
 permission. I won't have much time for them, as 
 I have to get vast quantities of parts for motor- 
 cycles and trucks, but I am going to stay with 
 Eleanor. 
 
 I haven't heard a sound from the States for 
 over a week now, so I suppose there must have 
 been some mix up in the mails at the Post Office. 
 I suppose they will get to me in the end, though, 
 for I have gotten two letters from Eleanor that 
 came by way of the military Post Office. 
 
 My fingers are getting so cold that typewriting 
 is becoming an illegible attempt, so I shall even 
 call it off for the rest of the day. Lots of love 
 to all the family, and thanks for all your letters. 
 Mother dearest, from, ^ 
 
 QUENTIN. 
 
 [59] 
 
QUENTIN ROOSEVELT 
 
 39 Rue de Villejusl, 
 September 13, 1917. 
 
 Just last Monday the Order came thru that Cord 
 and I were assigned to the 1st Aero Squadron, and 
 then to report there at once for flying. I could 
 not leave, as there was no one to take my place 
 as supply officer. However, I did start up to 
 Paris at once, as there were all sorts of things that 
 I needed for my supply department. It seems to 
 be an interminable job getting things here in 
 France, so I shall probably be up here with Eleanor 
 for several days more. As a matter of fact I 
 was very sorry to leave the supply department 
 just at this moment. I had expected to leave it 
 about three months later. As it is I leave just 
 when I was beginning to get things running well, 
 and when I had really become attached to the men 
 that were under me. When I told my supply 
 sergeant he said nothing at all for a minute and 
 then "Oh Hell, sir, can't you take me with you to 
 that outfit.'^" which I thought was pretty nice of 
 him. However I had to do it. I rather think 
 
 [60] 
 
THE WAY OF THE EAGLE 
 
 that if I had wanted to I could have stayed with 
 the job,— but it wasn't worth it. If I had stuck 
 this time it meant that I was running the risk of 
 being stuck with it permanently, a sort of em- 
 busquS occupation. And so I am changed, and 
 become the juniorcst of junior lieutenants in an 
 outfit composed mostly of regular army fliers. 
 Still I get back to planes again — and it means 
 that I'll probably see service fairly soon. I was 
 beginning to feel rather like an embusqui, — but 
 this changes it all. I rather think we'll first be 
 down where Tommy is, — and so I'll be able to 
 get hold of him. As soon as I get with the squad- 
 ron I'll give you all the news of it. 
 
 One rather amusing thing happened — amusing 
 because it was so typically American. The Com- 
 mandant where we were is a regular old French 
 war dog, with a string of medals across his chest. 
 The other day at dinner I heard him give a great 
 roar of laughter, and so naturally I asked him 
 what was amusing him so. It appears that he had 
 admired a dog belonging to one of our captains, 
 whereupon the captain, — a long, scrawny indi- 
 [61] 
 
QUENTIN ROOSEVELT 
 
 vidual with a strongly American sense of humor 
 and delightful blue eyes with a concealed twinkle 
 in them, explained to him in laborious French that 
 the dog was all right, yes, but that its mother had 
 "plus de medailles que vous n'en avez, mon com- 
 mandant." 
 
 Paris is as delightful as ever, tho' I have been 
 too busy to see very much of it, — at least of the 
 parts that we'll see when we go here after the war. 
 Most of my goings and comings have been in 
 obscure garages and warehouses with addresses 
 like 14 Rue Roger Bacon and 64 Quai de Billy. 
 
 29 Avenue du Bois de Boulogne 
 September 15th, 1917. 
 
 Eleanor originally had a bad cold, but she has 
 succeeded in passing it on to me, now, and is as 
 bright as a button. We went out for a spree last 
 night, — dinner at Premiers and then a French play. 
 It was a farce, and "I give you my word" it was 
 the darndest. I was perfectly weak from laugh- 
 ing by the end of it, but scandalous is no name. 
 [62] 
 
THE WAY OF THE EAGLE 
 
 I shan't even say anything about it — for you 
 couldn't retail the plot to anyone. Then today, 
 after a morning of business, I took an afternoon 
 off and went shopping with Eleanor. We started 
 out rather prosaicly with heavy woolen under- 
 clothes, slippers and a pair of boots. Then Eleanor 
 decided that she wanted to give me a wrapper for 
 a birthday present. I voted against a heavy, 
 warm one, because I felt that everything I have 
 over here was practical and suggested prepara- 
 tions for a long stay in uniform in the field. So 
 we went to Liberty's and I got — or rather chose 
 the material for — a silk one, rather like my pet 
 blue one at home. It may be a bad plan to do 
 "after the war" shopping, but I want on my 
 birthday to have things that remind me of peace, 
 and not of this war. 
 
 September 20, 1917. 
 Thursday. 
 
 I don't mind so much an out and out slacker, 
 who says he is afraid, or unwilling to go, but I 
 
 [C3 1 
 
QUENTIN ROOSEVELT 
 
 hate the one that gets a bullet-proof job in the 
 Red Cross or Y. M. C. A., and then proceeds to 
 talk of "doing his bit." 
 
 • ••••••• 
 
 Monday afternoon I arrived back here again, 
 all prepared to leave at once for the First Squad- 
 ron. The Major met me at the station, and on 
 the way out in the car began talking to me about 
 Colonel Boiling's visit — he was down at camp. 
 Suddenly he said, — "I gave you a darned good 
 recommendation to him, but why are you chang- 
 ing to that other outfit? You don't gain much, 
 for you're getting some flying over here, and the 
 experience you've gained in the supply work 
 you've done here, is worth twice what you can 
 get out of the job of plain flying lieutenant.'* 
 
 Of course, it was a big surprise to me, — but the 
 upshot was that I agreed to put it before the Colo- 
 nel, — Colonel Boiling is second in command of 
 American Air Service in France. To my surprise, 
 he agreed with the Major. He said "the only 
 reason I was transferring you was for the flying — 
 if you are getting your flying here, stay by all 
 
 [64] 
 
THE WAY OF THE EAGLE 
 
 means. You have apparently made a good job of 
 this one, — and the reason I sent you down in the 
 first phice, was to give you experience. If I were 
 you, I should stay, for it will count a good deal 
 more in a man's favor if he has made a good job 
 of something like this supply position of yours, 
 than if he has merely flown as junior lieutenant in 
 a squadron." 
 
 After that of course I stayed, especially as he 
 promised to put me in a squadron at the front as 
 soon as they got started sending them up there. I 
 am glad in a way, for now I know for certain that 
 I shall not be embusqued here, and I had become 
 quite attached to the men working for me. Five 
 or six of them came round, when they heard that 
 I was going to go, and told me that they were very 
 sorry to hear it. My sergeant asked me to get him 
 transferred into the outfit I was going to. It 
 really made me feel quite — well, a lump in my 
 throat, if you know the feeling. 
 
 Last night, — or rather yesterday, I received 
 orders to have trucks in to receive about two 
 hundred men, coming from one of the ports. I 
 [65] 
 
QUENTIN ROOSEVELT 
 
 got the trucks and went with them myself, — just 
 to be on the safe side. I sat around the station 
 till midnight, for the troops were being sent in a 
 freight train, which was late of course. Then the 
 train appeared, and when I went up to greet the 
 officer, who should it be but Phil Carroll, with his 
 outfit, just arrived. I nearly collapsed, out of 
 combined surprise and satisfaction. Of course, 
 after business was over, I made him tell me all 
 the news of all Long Island. 
 
 September 30th, 1917. 
 Sunday. 
 
 Today, being Sunday, was inspection and so 
 when it was over I went off to look around the 
 country. It is glorious weather now, — the roads 
 bright and dusty, with flurries of fallen leaves 
 whirling across them, and that feeling in the air 
 which says, despite the golden countryside, that 
 autumn is passing fast into winter. I wandered 
 where the roads lead me, past little farm houses, 
 nestling close to great stacks of hay, and pleasant 
 [66] 
 
THE WAY OF THE EAGLE 
 
 fields where the little boys ran out from their 
 sheep to watch me pass, and the sheep dogs barked 
 disapproval, — past little towns, barely more than 
 a cluster of houses, with their weather worn little 
 church, and cobble stoned streets. 
 
 The afternoon was passing, and I was begin- 
 ning to think of camp once more, when I came 
 upon a somewhat larger town, — over whose roofs 
 I saw an old tower rising. And so, as I came op- 
 posite I stopped to look a minute. It had been 
 an old chateau, — gone partly to ruin, — and round 
 it had grown the town, — where its front must 
 have been was a little inn, with the sign "Au 
 Lion Noir." The old arch was still there, — 
 where the knights went out to battle in times 
 past, — and I could see through it a courtyard, 
 all bright in the afternoon sun, with little tables, 
 and back of them the old wall with flowers in 
 the windows, — and rusted iron gratings. And 
 as I looked, out came the inn keeper, a great blue 
 apron round him, to know if I would not stop and 
 have some beer, — '^car vous devez avoir soif sur la 
 grande route.'* And so I came in and sat in the 
 [07] 
 
QUENTIN ROOSEVELT 
 
 courtyard, watching the pigeons wheel and circle 
 back to their nests in the holes where the tower 
 roof had fallen. I was told all about the old tower, 
 — how it was old, very old, — but now fallen into 
 ruin, — save where it was used for the inn, — even 
 the great stairway, whose rafters I could trace 
 along the side of the walls, was half gone. But yet, 
 so Monsieur said, — "on y est Men, mon cher^\ for so 
 he called me, — I was ''mon cher,^^ — an American 
 coming to fight for France. And then, at length, 
 it was time to go, and I put my hand in my pocket 
 to pay, — when Monsieur stopped me with "non, 
 non, non, — il ne faut pas faire ga." Arguments 
 were useless, — and so finally we parted, — and just 
 as I was going he brought out a little black brass 
 snuff box, and offered me some, which I took, tho 
 I loathed it. And when I left he told me to re- 
 turn, with my friends, and visit him again. 
 
 October 8 and 10, 1917. 
 
 The flower I'm enclosing is mimosa. I don't 
 know if it will keep its perfume, but it's too lovely 
 
 [C8] 
 
THE WAY OF THE EAGLE 
 
 now. Yesterday the Major and an English Cap- 
 tain who has been reforme sailed over across the 
 bay to a funny little bit of a fishing village. 
 There's the most glorious grove of mimosa there 
 — part of the grounds of the parish church. Its 
 all in bloom now, golden yellow avenues of it with 
 a heavy sweet scent that fills the air. It was a 
 hot afternoon, with no clouds overhead, and down 
 in the grove, with no noise of the outside world 
 except the trickle of a brook and the clatter of 
 an old peasant woman's sabots as she went up 
 and down tending the trees, the war seemed very 
 far away and unreal. No one in the village 
 seemed to be of this century even. The tiny 
 winding street is made of oyster shells, — and 
 bordering it were little, low, white washed houses 
 with overhanging eaves. The wharf was deserted 
 except for a few old men in the big, patched 
 trousers they wear here, that look like bloomers, 
 — and where the sunlight came thru the open 
 doors you could see the polished brass candle- 
 sticks on the mantelpiece, warm red bricks on the 
 floor, and children playing in the sunlight. 
 [69] 
 
QUENTIN ROOSEVELT 
 
 It was more like a page from a sketch book 
 than a real place, — and utterly apart from war, 
 and flying, with all the hurry and noise of the 
 camp. We stopped at the inn — it was a com- 
 bination of inn, general store, social centre — and 
 took oysters, for which the town is famous, while 
 the old proprietress chattered around and to us 
 like a nice, motherly old hen. She told us that 
 the Ancre d'Or, that was the inn's name, had been 
 in their family for over a hundred years, — the 
 men fishing while the women-folk ran the inn. 
 Then, after complimenting her on her oysters — 
 at which she beamed all over — we left while she 
 bobbed "aw revoir messieu"* in the doorway. 
 "And so," as Samuel Pepys said, "To bed." 
 
 The autumn is well here, often two weeks of 
 dismal, chilly rain and mist, and the country side 
 is bright with its brave resistance to the frosty 
 nights. All along the road the trees are showing 
 brilliant yellows and crimsons,— with here and 
 there a clump of somber pines, — or a chateau on 
 the cliffs, its towers in sharp silhouette against 
 the sky. The fallen leaves swirl and dance among 
 [70] 
 
THE WAY OF THE EAGLE 
 
 the eddies of white dust along the "grand routes,** 
 — and everything and everyone seems to be liv- 
 ing life to its fullest before the dreary dark of the 
 long winter nights set in. The Loire country 
 is exquisite, — little chateaux, and funny, ancient 
 villages, that round the ruins of some castle, or 
 else bustling modern cities like Nantes, — that 
 contrast strangely, — the street cars and broad 
 asphalt streets, with the old castle, and its net 
 work of narrow winding alleys in their midst. 
 
 Aviation Camp 
 November 1, 1917. 
 
 During the last few weeks I have been chasing 
 all over the lot and so haven't had any chance to 
 write you and tell you the news of myself. Added 
 to that my last letter, which I sent to you by a 
 transport officer two weeks ago was unfortunately 
 delayed. I found out to-day, just by accident, 
 that he was in the hospital as the result of a too 
 protracted spree, and that his ship had sailed 
 without him, so I shall have to go back into the 
 dim distant periods of the past over two weeks 
 ago to tell you all that has happened. 
 [71] 
 
QUENTIN ROOSEVELT 
 
 In the first place, I was sent away from here 
 with orders to go down to one of our ports of de- 
 barcation and take charge of a lot of Hudson 
 touring cars which were to be taken overland to 
 Paris. I got down there in great spirits, for of 
 course it was a regular spree to get away from 
 this camp for about a week wandering all over 
 France in a brand new touring car. However, I 
 found when I got down to the port that things 
 weren't going to be quite as easy as I had thought. 
 In the first place the cars weren't even unloaded 
 from the boat, and there didn't seem to be much 
 chance of my getting them oflf for weeks, as the 
 stevedores were crowded up with work. After 
 one day I decided that particular place was no 
 sort of location for me so I began to hunt around 
 for some way to hurry things up. The captain 
 of the ship proved to be the solution. She is a 
 merchant ship, taken over by the government 
 for the transport service, with the same old mer- 
 chant captain. He and I got on excellently — he 
 came from Arlington, Mass., which was an in- 
 stant bond in common, and so I ended up by living 
 
 [72] 
 
THE WAY OF THE EAGLE 
 
 on the boat, and using the ship's crew and winches 
 to unload and my own men to get the cars out, 
 so that they were out on the dock in three days. 
 I had my own truck men down with me to take 
 charge of them so we got them assembled in short 
 time and in four days were out on the road again. 
 It was a delightful run up. All thru Britanny 
 and then up the valley of the Loire. I have got a 
 little "presink" for you which I am going to send 
 home by the first person. It is a very cunning 
 little enamel cross that comes from Herve Kiel's 
 town, — do you remember? The valley of the 
 Loire is really lovely. I hadn't realized before how 
 lovely France was, for our region, though it is 
 pretty, is very monotonous, with nothing except 
 the perpetual run of farm houses — which you soon 
 become accustomed to. The Loire valley is all 
 different, though, for it is never the same. Part 
 of the time you are driving high up on the crest 
 of the hills, with the Loire like a silver thread 
 dowm below you, and the country, "pleasant 
 France," spread beneath you with no hint of the 
 war that is raging in the North, or again you drop 
 [73] 
 
QUENTIN ROOSEVELT 
 
 down into the valley where you can watch the 
 little towns and chateaux silhouetted against the 
 sky. I saw so many places that I wanted to stop 
 and investigate and couldn't, — funny little towns 
 where the street winds around between houses, 
 and under the ruined walls of the chateau to which 
 the houses cling, or little grimy inns, "ies Trois 
 Raisins Noirs,*' or "Ze Cheval qui Boite,** all of 
 which I am sure had all sorts of nice things in them 
 to see. However, we could only stop very occa- 
 sionally for meals, and so I didn't get a chance to 
 do much more than see the country as I passed 
 thru. 
 
 1 1 did however, on the second day get a chance 
 to stop off at Chartres and burn a candle in the 
 cathedral. I had no idea that the road went 
 thru there, when all of a sudden I saw off on the 
 horizon the towers of a cathedral and thought 
 that it must be that. So I called a halt, and 
 while the men went off and got lunch I went in 
 the cathedral. Do you remember the last time 
 we were there, — when I was so busy trying to 
 find out about the window, and we went out with 
 [74] 
 
THE WAY OF THE EAGLE 
 
 Mr. ThoroQ ? Goodness but that seems ages and 
 ages ago. However, I finally got to Paris, and 
 arrived in on Eleanor out of a clear sky, to find 
 myself a very welcome guest as she had been 
 feeling very lonely. The next morning I reported 
 to headquarters and then went back to Eleanor's 
 to get over the last of a slight attack of some sort 
 of malaria that I had contracted in the run up. 
 
 When I reported to headquarters two days 
 later I had the most horrid blow. I found that 
 I was slated to take a detachment of fifty men to 
 be taught the supply officer job in England. Of 
 course I kicked. It seemed to be getting too far 
 afield from flying and too far up in the supply 
 work for me. However I had no success and went 
 down to Issoudun again feeling rather low about it. 
 Once down here however, I found that Jim Miller 
 didn't want me to be taken away and after much 
 telephoning to Paris I think it has been arranged 
 that I am to stay here. I shall know to-morrow 
 as I am going up to Paris again. 
 
 As a matter of fact I am going to have a bully 
 job here. There is one of the squadrons here 
 [75] 
 
QUENTIN ROOSEVELT 
 
 that is all disorganized. It got over here under 
 an officer who was a poor bone head with no idea 
 of how to get on with the men and the result is 
 that there is no sort of morale to it at all. The 
 men don't care whether they are out in the guard 
 house or not, and they are in a frightful state. 
 And yet they come from the same place as our 
 crowd and are really exactly as good stuff. So 
 they are going to put me in command of it here, 
 to see what I can make of it. I am very much 
 pleased, of course, for if I get away with it it means 
 a very big step toward getting my own squadron 
 to take out in the spring when we start sending 
 our squadrons out to the front. It also is rather 
 nice for they were very nice to me when they 
 said that they would put me on, though they do 
 refer to it as a dirty job. I don't care, for I think 
 I can make it. I am going to get about five of 
 my old crew transferred to it and then start in 
 when I get back from Paris. 
 
 If everything works all right I am to stick here 
 until they get the other fields working, for the 
 plan is to have five fields working within a radius 
 [76] 
 
THE WAY OF THE EAGLE 
 
 of ten miles, and am then to move over and take 
 charge of one of the outlying fields. The idea is 
 that they put one squadron in each field, and com- 
 plete its training and at the same time get it 
 working in together before they send it out to the 
 front. It sounds as though it were going to be a 
 bully chance to get away from any taint of supply 
 officer and to get back into the flying end in the 
 right way. I am very cheerful. 
 
 December 8, 1917. 
 
 I am Commanding Officer of what is called 
 the Headquarters detachment. It includes about 
 six hundred cadets and forty oflScers. I have to 
 see that cadet affairs work properly, — ^that all the 
 officers do their work, — and most of aU, I am the 
 one the Colonel hops on if there's any complaint 
 about the cadets. It is really no job for a flying 
 lieutenant. In the first place — it takes all of my 
 time, — or rather should take all of it, to the ex- 
 clusion of flying. And then, too, it is pretty hard 
 to command and discipline thirty nine other first 
 [77] 
 
QUENTIN ROOSEVELT 
 
 lieutenants when you are of the same rank and 
 only a few months sooner. I have been working 
 nights on the thing trying to get it organized, — 
 then stealing a couple of hours off in the day to 
 fly. The real trouble is that it doesn't get me any- 
 where. I supfK)se it can all be classed as experi- 
 ence, — but I feel a little as if it were just "one more 
 dirty job." 
 
 My commanding officer now is my old Mineola 
 one, — tho', which helps, for he says he will let 
 me get away as soon as they start sending any 
 men out to the front. At the moment, tho', it 
 doesn't look as if any of us would get out for a 
 couple of months. What I am hoping is to be 
 sent up in a British squadron some time toward 
 the end of January, but I am not sure how much 
 chance there is for anything like that. What one 
 wants so rarely happens in this army. At all 
 events, I am now plugging along from day to day, 
 doing my work, and enjoying my flying. 
 
 These little fast machines are delightful. You 
 feel so at home in tliem, for there is just room in 
 the cockpit for you and your controls, and not 
 [78] 
 
THE WAY OF THE EAGLE 
 
 an inch more. And then they're so quick to act. 
 Its not like piloting a great lumbering Curtis, 
 for you could do two loops in a Nieuport during 
 the time it takes a Curtis to do one. Its fright- 
 fully cold, now, tho'. Even in my teddy-bear, — 
 thats what they call those aviator suits, — I freeze 
 pretty generally, if I try any ceiling work. If its 
 freezing down below it is some cold up about fif- 
 teen thousand. Aviation has considerably altered 
 my views on religion. I don't see how the angels 
 stand it. Do you remember that delightful grey 
 muffler you made me? Its very soft, either An- 
 gora or camel's hair I think, — and is now doing 
 yeoman duty bridging the gap between the top 
 of my suit and the bottom of my helmet. I think 
 it is bringing me luck, too, for I am flying much 
 better, now that I wear it every day. As a matter 
 of fact I am wearing just about everything mov- 
 able 'round my room now, and expect to for the 
 next four months or so. 
 
 ' I had an exciting time two weeks ago with a 
 plane. I was taking off, and had just got my 
 wheels clear when a bit of mud got thrown against 
 [79] 
 
QUENTIN ROOSEVELT 
 
 the propeller and broke it. One of the pieces 
 went thru the gasoline tank and before the wheels 
 were really down on the ground again, or before 
 I even had a chance to cut the switch, the whole 
 thing was in flames. I made a wild snatch at 
 my safety belt, got it undone, and slid out of the 
 plane on the doublequick time. It cant have 
 taken me more than thirty seconds, and yet when 
 I got out, my boots and pant legs were on fire. 
 
 As a matter of fact, its marvellous the amount 
 you get away with in these planes. Two fellows 
 in the last week have gone straight into the 
 ground in vrilles, totally wrecking the plane, — 
 and yet neither one is seriously hurt. The worst 
 one of the two came down about three hundred 
 feet, hit the ground so hard that he pushed the 
 engine back where the rudder bar should be and 
 the rudder bar under the seat, — and yet didn't 
 break any bones. He will be out of the hospital 
 in three weeks they think. All he got is a couple 
 of bad cuts on his face from the wind shield and a 
 stove-in chest. I've decided that nothing short 
 of shooting a man or breaking a control is fatal ! 
 
 [80] 
 
THE WAY OF THE EAGLE 
 
 December 16 
 Here goes for a very long letter, full of all sorts 
 of news, for I've just met the man who was sup- 
 posed to take my last long letter home. He was 
 an officer on one of our ships, whom I happened 
 to know, and is back in Paris now, for his ship — 
 and my letter were sunk. As a matter of fact, this 
 is the first chance I've had to write for I really 
 have been busy. At the moment tho' I am con- 
 fined to bed, the result of a mild attack of pneu- 
 monia. I had had a cough for a month, which 
 suddenly developed into that. I'm sorry, for I've 
 lots of work to do, — but its a rather pleasant 
 rest. 
 
 To begin 'way back — after I got back from 
 my work of taking cars to Paris, I found that I 
 had another job waiting for me. I was put in 
 command of a squadron in quarantine for mumps. 
 They had been under a bad C. O. and were pretty 
 thoroly disorganized. I had Ham Coolidge for 
 my second in command and two other very nice 
 fellows from out West. I followed the Brushwood 
 Boy's principle of sweating the fat off 'em and the 
 beef on. First I put in two days making them clean 
 [811 
 
QUENTIN ROOSEVELT 
 
 out their barracks, and fix things up generally. 
 Then I took them out and drilled and hiked until 
 I know I was good and tired so I rather think they 
 were. It worked like a charm, tho', for after about 
 two weeks they were all in fine shape. Really, 
 the American of the mechanic class is a pretty 
 fine specimen, I think. You see all the mechanics, 
 — the skilled labor, has gone into the aviation ser- 
 vice, — so you do get a good crowd. At all events, 
 just about the time I had got them really going, 
 another reorganisation hit us. 
 
 That has been the trouble all along in the Air 
 Service. The first lot of regulars that they sent 
 over here in the aviation weren't much. They 
 were mostly men who had not made themselves 
 useful enough in the States to keep them. They 
 got over here, and found that the reserve oflScers 
 who had been sent were a far more capable crowd. 
 Then, instead of turning in and trying to work 
 together as far as possible they tried to buck the 
 reserves. You see, nearly all of them — the regu- 
 lars I mean — came over here as captains, and as 
 they are now either majors or colonels, — they've 
 [82] 
 
THE WAY OF THE EAGLE 
 
 gone promotion wild. They have been hanging 
 on, trying to prove that the reserve officers were 
 useless. We had about three months of that, 
 and then, thank heaven, Washington realized 
 what was going on, and sent over a complete new 
 organisation. 
 
 (The letter at that moment was interrupted by 
 Major Goldthwaite, who came in and blew the 
 roof off me for trying to write or do anything like 
 that. This is continued two days later.) 
 
 I have just started to really convalesce, and 
 am being allowed to read and write again. I was 
 really quite sick for a while, a good deal sicker 
 than I tliought I was, and so, as soon as my tem- 
 perature began to go down again I thought I was 
 good for letter writing and reading. The medico 
 sat on that scheme, tho, so to-day is my first day 
 of doing anytliing at all for ten days. I am to 
 be kept in bed here until I am well enough to 
 make the trip safely, and then am to be sent up 
 for a two weeks' sick leave, when I shall see Elea- 
 nor in Paris, and get all fixed up again. 
 
 We have now got a real man size organisation 
 [83] 
 
QUENTIN ROOSEVELT 
 
 over here now, and it has struck our school down 
 here, for we now have my old Mineola K. O. He has 
 made the most tremendous difference to the place. 
 He was responsible for my last change in job, tho. 
 Just after he came here, when they made the new 
 organisation, he made me commanding officer of 
 what is known officially as the headquarters de- 
 tachment. That consists of all the cadets and 
 some fifty officers. You probably don't know 
 what the cadets are, as no one back in the states, 
 including the war department, seems to have any 
 very definite idea about them. The original idea 
 was that, as all fliers were to be officers, all fly- 
 ing students should be cadets. Its a good idea, 
 too, — ^I wish they'd had it when I was at Mineola, 
 for I'd have gotten a hundred dollars a month in- 
 stead of forty. At all events the edict went 
 forth that all students were cadets. 
 
 Then some lunatic got the idea that there was 
 a crying need for pilots over here, that we were 
 ready for six hundred students a month, and 
 some other pipe dream, so they started shipping 
 over untrained cadets by the hundred to France. 
 
 [84] 
 
THE WAY OF THE EAGLE 
 
 Of course we have no earthly means of coping 
 with them, and never wanted them in the first 
 place. What with the troubles we have had in 
 getting construction gangs and materials, I doubt 
 if this school will be ready for six hundred pilots 
 by next June, let alone six hundred a month now. 
 What is more, and what they didn't seem to realize 
 back in Washington, we are an advanced school, 
 and have no facilities for training beginners. Con- 
 sequently, we have now about six hundred non- 
 flying cadets here with nothing in the world for 
 them to do, and apparently no chance of their 
 flying in the next couple of months. 
 
 The Colonel, when he put me in command, 
 told me I was to try and get things straightened 
 out as far as possible, and then make a detailed 
 report on the state of things. I started in and 
 found I was up against a most tremendous job. 
 The cadets had no organisation at all. They 
 were being used for guard duty, and nothing else, 
 and there is nothing more demoralizing for a lot 
 of men than doing guard under frightful condi- 
 tions, and nothing else. I started in, and after 
 [85] 
 
QUENTIN ROOSEVELT 
 
 two days, sent in a report as long as a presidential 
 message, asking that more enlisted men be detailed 
 to relieve the guard, that arrangements be made to 
 ship off cadets to preliminary schools if possible, 
 and that if there were any vacancies for non flying 
 commissions in the air service, they be issued to 
 cadets on a competitive examination. 
 
 Then I got together the officers, and picked 
 out six assistants who I knew would work and 
 were good fellows, and arranged that the seven 
 of us be excused from regular flying formations. 
 Thus we could work at the cadets and tuck in 
 our flying whenever we had a spare moment. 
 Then we divided them up into organisations of 
 two hundred and fifty and started to lick them 
 into some sort of military shape. Outside of the 
 non-fliers, I now have one hundred and fifty fliers, 
 and twenty navy fliers — ^known unofficially as 
 the flying fish — and we have got them working 
 out fairly well, tho its a pretty unsatisfactory 
 situation at best. I know if I were a cadet I 
 should feel justified in kicking, if, after being en- 
 listed because I had a college education and was 
 reconmiended by all sorts of people as good avia- 
 [86] 
 
TtiE WAY Ut' THE EAGLE 
 
 lion material, I was used as a guard for an avia- 
 tion canij) with the prospect of flying in four or 
 five months. 
 
 The doctor has come in and ordered me to lie 
 down again, so I must stop. I have been a per- 
 fect pig about not writing more, and from now on 
 you will see a vast change in the news from me, 
 for I have loved your letters. The trouble is that 
 writing home makes me get gloomy, for then you 
 start looking at the war as a whole, — an impossible 
 system. I have given it up entirely, and take it 
 day by day. The only reall}' satisfactory thing is 
 that flying is wonderful fun on these new machines. 
 I wish you could see them. We can do stunts that 
 you would think were impossible after watching a 
 Curtis wallow along thru the air. 
 
 The doctor is in again. 
 
 Lots of love, and I'll write again as soon as 
 I'm out of the hospital, ^ 
 
 QUENT. 
 
 December 18, 1917. 
 I am in the hospital, the result of a mild case 
 of pneumonia. You see, I have been trailing 
 around here thru mud and cold, and draughty, 
 
 [87] 
 
QUENTIN ROOSEVELT 
 
 iinheated barracks for the last month with a tre- 
 mendous cold and cough. About three weeks 
 ago it got pretty bad, but as I had lots of work 
 on hand and no one else that I wanted to do it, 
 I kept on going. About a week and a half ago 
 it really began to hit me, and I turned into bed 
 one night with a fever of one hundred and four. 
 There was no place in the hospital — our camp 
 has still slightly elementary sides to it, and so I 
 stayed here in the officers barracks in my room, 
 under the charge of one of the doctors, being 
 fed by the Red Cross, embodied by Miss Given- 
 wilson. I was pretty sick for a couple of days, 
 but now I'm well on the road to recovery. As 
 soon as I am well enough I am to be sent off on a 
 two weeks leave to recuperate, which I will start 
 with Eleanor at Paris. I have written father a 
 long letter just yesterday, so some of this may be 
 repetition. 
 
 I am rather sorry to have to leave for so long 
 just at this moment, as both my flying and my 
 other job are very interesting. However, there's 
 lots of war left to go round for all of us, I'm think- 
 
 [88] 
 
THE WAY OF THE EAGLE 
 
 ing. I wish you could see the flying we are doing 
 over here, though, for it is a revelation to the 
 Mineola educated eye. When I first got over here 
 I wondered why every flier was not killed within 
 the first three months of his flying. Now I have 
 changed so far the other way that I feel as though 
 a man could hardly drive one of these machines 
 into an accident, short of completely losing his 
 head. 
 
 We have had very good luck so far on this field, 
 and tho we have had a good many pretty nasty 
 smashes, no one has been killed yet, or even per- 
 manently injured. And yet the French monitors 
 make us do all the wild flying stunts that were 
 considered tom fool tricks back home. Forma- 
 tion flying is the prettiest, tho. They send about 
 seven machines up at a time, to practice squadron 
 and formation flying; vol de groupe they call it. 
 It looks fairly easy, too, but when you get up in 
 the air trying to keep a hundred and twenty horse 
 power kite in its position in a V formation with 
 planes on either side of you, you begin to hold 
 different ideas as to its easiness. 
 [89] 
 
QUENTIN ROOSEVELT 
 
 I am rather tireder than I thought I was, so I 
 shall stop, and write to you soon again. 
 
 QUENTIN. 
 
 Friday, Dec. 28, 1917. 
 Obviously on the train. 
 
 I did not write till today, for even tho' I was 
 with Eleanor, Christmas was ghastly. It was the 
 first Christmas I had ever spent away from home 
 in my life, and there was nothing to help it out. 
 
 At the moment, I am bounding south to get 
 some warm weather. The prospect is discouraging. 
 I stayed in Paris as long as I could, with Eleanor, 
 and was finally ordered out by the medico. At the 
 last minute two of Eleanor's workers got sick, so 
 she couldn't come, and I am now gloriously en- 
 sconsed in one of those gilded horrors that the 
 trustful Frenchman considers a "wagon lit,'' try- 
 ing to persuade myself that a temperature cold 
 enough to make one see one's breath is a pleasant 
 vacation. I suggested a little heat in the car, but 
 the cold hearted lady who rules the car informed 
 that "c'esi la guerre,'' a fact of which I was al- 
 
 [90] 
 
THE WAY OF THE EAGLE 
 
 ready dinil;^' aware, — and then retired to her little 
 stove at the back of ear. 
 
 I think I have at last managed to pry myself 
 away from that beastly camp. I had it all ar- 
 ranged that I was to go up with an R.N.A.S. 
 squadron, and just at the last moment it was sat 
 on by headquarters, on the grounds that it was 
 not part of their scheme. Their scheme ! 
 
 — Off the train and at Marseilles — 
 
 The trouble with their scheme is that it bar- 
 gains for a vast development, not to come to the 
 height of its power until next August at the earliest, 
 and, unless I miss my bet, the Bosche is going to 
 do his very best to finish the war, and incidentally, 
 the Americans now in it, this spring. And spring, 
 in the military sense, is fairly close. I've got a 
 hunch that within six weeks or so things are going 
 to be just about as hot up on the front as they 
 have been since the Marne or Verdun. And, con- 
 sequently, I rather hope I shall be in a French 
 squadron within three weeks. I would have to 
 have ten days machine gun work at Cazeau, but 
 after that — Anyway, I'm dead sick of being in the 
 L. of C, to all intents and purposes as much of an 
 [91] 
 
QUENTIN ROOSEVELT 
 
 embusce as , or . There's one thing — if 
 
 I change camps at all, after Cazeau, it will be for 
 the front. Once I have got there I shall feel a lot 
 easier in my mind, — for it will be six months since 
 I left you, pretty soon, and for all I have done to 
 help the war I might have stayed at home. 
 
 I wish you'd tell the Hon. Pa, that if any of 
 the big bugs happen to be talking of it, — its a 
 darned shame if they cut out fliers extra pay. 
 General Pershing cabled advising it, because the 
 aviation Headquarters is in very wrong with 
 him, — ^but all that it does is make us the goats 
 because the man higher up made mistakes. Both 
 British and French pay their fliers extra, — the 
 British 68%, — while we only get 25%, which they 
 want to take away. And it's not true that it's 
 easier than the infantry, — look at the number of 
 pilots, and the number of casualties. , 
 
 • ••••••• 
 
 "January 7, 1918. 
 
 Next day we took an afternoon off, for I 
 wanted to go to Notre Dame des Vidoires. I've 
 always intended to, for it's the church to which all 
 [92] 
 
THE WAY OF THE EAGLE 
 
 the poilus go just before they return to the front. 
 It really is quite thrilling. You come in, and at 
 first can't see very much, as there's semi-darkness 
 inside. Then as your eyes get accustomed you 
 can make out the people. There were no lights 
 except at the altar, — which was ablaze with can- 
 dles. Eleanor and I each lit our candle, and then 
 went back to sit for a moment and watch. There 
 was no service going on; it was the middle of the 
 afternoon, and yet the church was full of people, 
 — all come to pray for victory. We sat for a 
 while and then, gradually, I began to distinguish 
 things, — for the brightness of the altar only em- 
 phasized the gloom around. All around the walls, 
 in cases, were rows upon rows of medals, — legion 
 d'honneur, croix de guerre, and others I did not 
 recognise, — in some there were crossed swords, 
 and old flags, — all given in thanks for victory, 
 and safe return from the wars. 
 
 • ••••••« 
 
 January 15, 1918. 
 
 After all the excitement, and worrying, and dis- 
 cussing, I am on my way back to my same old 
 
 [93] 
 
QUENTIN ROOSEVELT 
 
 camp. I don't know how long I shall stay there, — 
 I don't know anything about what is going to be 
 done with me, and nobody else does. I have 
 finally given up, in despair, all attempt to squeeze 
 any definite information out of the casual mob 
 that constitutes our headquarters. The future is 
 crammed with any number of possibilities, most 
 of them highly discouraging. I shall know a little 
 more by to-night, when I have seen Ham and 
 Cord, so I'll either write you again or lengthen 
 this. 
 
 Of course I hated leaving Eleanor's to come 
 back to the same dingy old camp, where I'll be 
 cold, wet, and muddy most of the time. And then, 
 Eleanor has been so very nice. You don't know 
 what a trump she is. During this last long stay I 
 really got to know her quite well, — and we had a 
 very particularly nice time playing around and 
 doing all sorts of impossible things. Poor thing, 
 — it's hard being so near and yet so far from Ted. 
 And then, the time when he will begin his very 
 dangerous work is coming very near. 
 
 Wliy, why don't the people at home realise 
 [94] 
 
THE WAY OF THE EAGLE 
 
 what lies before them ? I have been reading the 
 papers from the states lately, and it is painful. 
 Our policy seems to be one of verbal camouflage. 
 The little tin-god civilians and army fossils that 
 sit in Washington seem to do nothing but lie, — 
 about German weakness, — which is easy, for they 
 have never been in touch with the realness of 
 German strength, — and about our own strength, 
 which is inexcusable. They've all seen the re- 
 ports of how things go over here, — and yet they 
 choose to lie, deliberately and publicly, about 
 them. I saw one official statement about the 
 hundred squadrons we are forming to be on the 
 front by June. That doesn't seem funny to us 
 over here, — it seems criminal, for they will expect 
 us to produce the result that one hundred squad- 
 rons would have. The one comforting thing is 
 that all the rest of the services are as badly off. 
 
 There's one good thing about going to the 
 front — I shall be so busy worrying about the safety 
 of my own neck that I shan't have time to worry 
 about the way the war is going. 
 
 I only hope I'll get up there soon — it seems 
 [95 1 
 
QUENTIN ROOSEVELT 
 
 such a solution for all sorts of difficulties. You 
 get clear of all the little worries and jealousies that 
 fill up life behind the lines, and you have only the 
 big eventuality to face, — aU the others arrange 
 for themselves if you are fighting. And then, I 
 feel I owe it to the family — to father, and especially 
 to Arch and Ted who are out there already and 
 facing the dangers of it, to get out myself. 
 
 January 17th, 1918. 
 
 • ••••••• 
 
 Things have cheered up a lot since last I 
 wrote you. I knew they would. This place is a 
 squalid hole to come back to, and I knew that first 
 day would be awful, and so it was. And so I wrote 
 to you, because I was discouraged and writing you 
 helps. By now, however, I have gotten settled 
 into my work, and there is nothing so narrowing as 
 one's own job. So I have religiously resolved to 
 look at nothing but the immediate future. Of 
 course I know how bad it all is, — but I'm trying 
 to forget it for this little space. 
 
 [96] 
 
THE WAY OF THE EAGLE 
 
 My leave has shown its effects in my flying. 
 Just before I left I was really doing very badly. 
 Now, however, I am flying really pretty well, and 
 it has become fun again, not work. If I keep on as 
 I am now I shall be ready for the front in three 
 weeks, and then I hope I shall be able to get out. 
 Of course it will be at least a month before I get 
 to the front, — but still it's encouraging to think 
 I'm getting appreciably nearer. The scheme now 
 is to put us up for six months, — by us I mean 
 Cord, Ham and all our crowd who have been work- 
 ing here at the school. Then, if we are still alive, 
 — we will be taken back here to work behind the 
 lines, for six months fighting will use us up pretty 
 thoroly and we will need the rest of work behind 
 the lines. It's a good idea, and perfectly true, — so 
 I have firmly decided not to get shot down dur- 
 ing my first six months. I hope the war is over 
 before I have a second ! ! 
 
 This letter is scrawly and scratchy because it is 
 
 written on a little wooden bench while I wait for 
 
 Cord. We are going to dinner tonight and have 
 
 had about fifteen different delays, I rather expect 
 
 [97] 
 
QUENTIN ROOSEVELT 
 
 to go out to one of the outlying fields pretty soon, 
 and as Cord is in charge of one, I am arranging to 
 move over to his. So I've been doing a good deal 
 of tearing around. 
 
 Camp is a good deal the same as ever, — by 
 that meaning muddy and dingy. A mid-winter 
 thaw has contributed largely to the mud. How- 
 ever, it makes altitude flying a lot easier on us. 
 I have to do a five thousand meter altitude test, 
 so I speak feelingly. 
 
 ' Same Old Camp, January 22. 
 
 I have loved all your letters, and only wish 
 there were something I could do about the ones I 
 write. I know they are unutterably dull and 
 umnteresting, but somehow, I don't seem to be 
 able to write interesting ones, principally, I sup- 
 pose, because the things I am doing are not very 
 much different, except as far as the types of 
 planes we are using, from what is being done at 
 any of the camps at home. 
 
 I am very busy at the moment finishing up my 
 flying. I at last succeeded in getting permission to 
 [98] ~ 
 
THE WAY OF THE EAGLE 
 
 do nothing but fly, as the doctor said that I would 
 have to be on Hght duty if I went back to the camp 
 at all. The result has been that for the last week 
 I have flown practically all the time, and am now 
 going to go over to Cord Meyer's field to finish up 
 with my combat work and group flying on ma- 
 chines of a type that are still in use at the front. 
 I expect to have a bully time, and tho I rather 
 hate to be doing nothing at all, yet there is a 
 glorious sense of relief, when you aren't feeling 
 very well, to know that you have no earthly 
 responsibilities except keeping your neck intact 
 when you are flying. 
 
 I had ratlier a hard time with my flying last 
 week, thanks to having been sick, for I had to 
 do my acrobatics, which is rather scary even 
 when you are feeling thoroly fit. As I wasn't 
 I hated to have to get into a machine and go up 
 and do my stunts, for the work they give us here 
 in acrobacy is certainly wicked. They have 
 one that they call a glissade that is the fastest 
 thing I have ever run into in my life. You bank 
 your machine up perpendicularly and then with 
 [99] 
 
QUENTIN ROOSEVELT 
 
 your motor turning up at about three quarters 
 speed, so as to keep the nose of the machine up, 
 you slip perpendicularly down toward the ground. 
 Its far faster than a straight nose dive, for you 
 haven't got all the head resistance of the wings 
 to hinder you. I got into it, and after coming 
 down three hundred meters, in it, got over onto 
 my back, and, as I was all mixed up as to my 
 whereabouts, didn't have the slightest idea of 
 where I was or anything. I got down to within 
 about a hundred metres of the earth before I 
 finally did get over onto my right side again^ 
 
 I will be all right now tho, for I know how to 
 do the various stunts, and I won't feel that I 
 have to do things I don't know anything about. 
 I am going to get to work on them again next 
 week, and get them perfected, for even tho you 
 don't use all of them on the front, they are enor- 
 mously valuable, because they give you absolute 
 confidence in your machine, and teach you how 
 to get out of any kind of difficulty you happen 
 to get into. 
 
 I suppose things are sliding along at home in 
 [100] 
 
THE WAY OF THE EAGLE 
 
 their usual slip shod fashion, and that we are some- 
 how getting our things ready to make some sort 
 of effort toward becoming a factor in the war. It 
 is a little discouraging to us over here, though, to 
 pick up a New York paper and read a statement 
 that the Production Board has put out saying 
 that the work toward getting a fleet of two thou- 
 sand and ten thousand fliers at the front is pro- 
 gressing very rapidly. Considering the fact that 
 all our flying for the next spring and early sum- 
 mer will have to be done on French made ma- 
 chines supplied to us thru the courtesy of the 
 French government, I wish someone who knew 
 the truth would get up and say what liars they are. 
 I suppose that they consider it satisfactory if we 
 have the two thousand planes by the fall of 1919. 
 The French are beginning to see how much talk 
 there was in a good deal of what we said. They 
 grant us only one thing, good material. For the 
 rest, they are turning back again and making 
 plans to count on us at least six months later 
 than they had expected from what we promised 
 them. 
 
 [101] 
 
QUENTIN ROOSEVELT 
 
 In Camp, January 23, 1918. 
 
 Again a long gap between letters; — I'm afraid 
 that I have lost my former faculty for writing 
 letters. Somehow, when I have any time to 
 myself, I always seem to either have some sort 
 of official correspondence to write, like letters to 
 the adjutant general's office, or else I am just 
 plain tired out, and know the letter would be 
 dull, uninteresting, and probably gloomy. 
 
 As you may gather from the heading, I am 
 back in camp again. I left Eleanor's just a week 
 ago. I could have stayed away on leave for two 
 weeks longer, — Major Goldthwaite told me that 
 I ought to, — but just at that moment Warrington 
 came back with the news that Ted and Arch were 
 going up very shortly, so I decided to take a 
 chance and go back here as I was in order to get 
 my training finished, and get out. So I trotted 
 back, and arrived as usual, in a pouring rain storm. 
 
 This is really the muddiest country I have ever 
 run across in my life. I don't see why the French- 
 men don't turn into frogs, by natural selection, 
 [102] 
 
THE WAY OF THE EAGLE 
 
 after a thousand years of it. However, the camp 
 is beginning to really get whipped into shape. 
 Tlic flying training has become more or less routine, 
 and the construction is about half finished. When 
 I got back, I was marked unfit for anything except 
 light duty, so I was relieved of all duties other 
 than flying, which was what I had been working 
 for. Naturally, my flying improved about fifty 
 percent, for you can't fly and have your mind on 
 something else at the same time. The result is 
 that I am moving out to the pcrfectiomieTnent 
 school to-morrow, and in three weeks at the out- 
 side, will have finished my flying and be ready 
 to go for my machine gun work, and then the 
 front. The French machine gun course at Cazeau 
 takes about ten days, so I think I can count on 
 the front in a month, for they have promised to 
 send me out as soon as I am ready. 
 
 I shall have a very good time for the next three 
 weeks too, for the field I am going to is run by 
 Cord Meyer. Consequently it is all arranged 
 that I am to move in and room with him as soon 
 as I get there, and generally have a good time. 
 [103] 
 
QUENTIN ROOSEVELT 
 
 We have evolved a system for giving ourselves 
 a good time when we are not working that goes 
 like a charm. All the planes over at that field 
 are the little monoplane fighters, and consequently 
 very fast. So we have arranged when we have 
 a day off, — and unless there has been bad weather 
 during the week, there is no flying or work, other 
 than the necessary inspections on Sunday, — we 
 go off on voyages. He takes his plane, and I 
 take mine, and we go off to some one of the French 
 landing fields within a hundred or so miles of 
 here. It is good fun, and also good flying prac- 
 tise, for the more time you get in the air, the better 
 you are off, I have decided. 
 
 I have just finished up my acrobacy, doing it 
 all in one day. It was rather strenuous, and I 
 don't mind saying that I hope I don't get many 
 more days like that. To begin with, the day be- 
 fore, I had taken an altitude test, going up to four 
 thousand metres, and staying there for fifteen 
 minutes. I did it all right, but thanks to having 
 just gotten over being sick, it got to my lungs 
 rather, and I picked up a bad cough and had 
 [104] 
 
THE WAY OF THE EAGLE 
 
 rather a hard time breathing. The doctor says 
 that I will probably be that way for a month 
 more, but as it doesn't bother me under three thou, 
 and I won't have to do any ceiling work now until 
 
 I get to the front, I don't particularly care. 
 
 The doctor just happened along, and as I am not 
 supposed to stay up after 9.30 at the moment, has 
 packed me off to bed. I shall write again as soon 
 as I get over to the other field. Best love to all 
 the family, and "un bon baiser" to you, mother 
 dear, from 
 
 QUENTIN. 
 
 Romorantin 
 January 27, 1918. 
 
 I am over at Cord's field now, and will, — with 
 any luck — be ready for my machine gun work in 
 two weeks. After that it's a question of getting 
 myself grafted out of the school — which I think I 
 can manage. The flying is wonderful, tho', with 
 these new machines I don't like it, from the point 
 of view of personal comfort, for the motors are 
 much harder to manage. You have the same 
 [105] 
 
QUENTIN ROOSEVELT 
 
 plane, — practically, with one hundred and twenty 
 horse instead of eighty, — and for some reason the 
 one hundred and twenty motor is much harder 
 to keep running. It's very easy to stall it when 
 you're doing stunts and almost impossible to 
 catch it again. Generally a stalled motor means 
 a landing wherever you happen to be, with these 
 birds. The thing that makes up for it is the 
 power you get. You can climb at the most 
 astonishing rate, — and do perfectly wicked "chan- 
 delles.** A chandelle, — in case I haven't told you 
 about one, is a steep climb in a vertical turn. It's 
 very hard to do well, wonderful fun when you can 
 do it, and most important for fighting when you 
 get out there. I am practising a lot on all of them, 
 and getting in about three hours flying a day, — 
 which is about all you can comfortably stand. 
 As it is I'm always glad when I get into my ancient 
 sleeping bag, and settle down for a night's rest. 
 
 In camp, on the 29th of Jaxiuary. 
 Such a funny, and rather a pleasant thing has 
 happened, — all at once to-day I got a whole lot 
 [106] 
 
THE WAY OF THE EAGLE 
 
 of packages in a lump. I think they must have 
 been missent, or else held at the Post Office thru 
 some mistake. At all events there were all sorts 
 of things. (This, by the way, is being type- 
 written under diflSculties, as I have the typewriter 
 on my knees, and no light worth speaking of.) 
 Then there were also three books from you, which 
 I loved. They were detective stories, the last 
 one being the Black Eagle Mystery. I'm wonder- 
 ing now whether you have sent any others, and 
 liope you have. They really made me quite home- 
 sick, for there was a sort of undefined presence to 
 them, as of father in the train, and then the 
 catchall. I am forwarding them on to Eleanor 
 when I have finished them, for I know she will 
 appreciate them quite as much as I do. We never 
 get any of that sort of thing over here. The best 
 we can do in the line of home reading is the Sat. 
 Eve. Post, — and even that at times is rather in- 
 adequate. So nearly anything, no matter how 
 common it is over home, is a novelty here. Do 
 send me some more books, or magazines, or any- 
 thing from a blue Ribbon Garage bill up, for I 
 [107] 
 
QUENTIN ROOSEVELT 
 
 very much appreciate the ones I have got — not 
 Garage bills. 
 
 At the moment I am doing what I have really 
 wanted to do all along which is finish up my 
 flying. I am at the last stage now, and should be 
 finished in about ten days, or so. We are doing 
 formation flying now, which is a revelation to you 
 after what we did back home. They will detail 
 two men to go on a reconnaissance, make a plan of 
 a camp fifty miles from here, or something like 
 that. Then they will detail another five men to go 
 along in patrol formation acting as escort and pro- 
 tection against Boche patrols. In formation you 
 fly rather the way geese do, in V shape, with the 
 second men just higher than the leader and so on. 
 At first its rather scary, for you have to stick close 
 together, but once you get over that it begins to be 
 amusing, for you have to watch your plane and 
 motor all the time without looking at them, — a 
 rather Irish statement. What I mean is that you 
 have to be able to watch the other men so as to 
 keep your place in line, and at the same time 
 manage your plane. We get the most tremendous 
 [ 108 ] 
 
THE WAY OF THE EAGLE 
 
 amount of flying in in a day, for I did three 
 hours and a half yesterday, and over four hours 
 to-day. 
 
 I have been having a continual fight with the 
 doctors, tho, and incidentally with myself. The 
 trouble is that I have been getting in so much flying 
 lately that I am tired out most of the time. The 
 net result was that I collected another cough, as 
 my lung wasn't quite fixed up. I had been feeling 
 rather poorly, but I was pretty anxious to get my 
 flying done, so I was keeping on. Then to day, 
 I dropped over to the main camp to see Ham, and 
 there was caught by Major Goldthwait. The 
 first thing he decided, after looking me over, was 
 that I had measles, because I had a cold, and a 
 temp, and there was a suspicious rash on me. I 
 finally persuaded him out of that, and then he 
 turned on the other tack, and said that my vitality 
 was low, and that I was very likely to get some- 
 thing if I didn't look out, and ended with orders 
 for me to go on light duty, and do no work for a 
 week. I don't know what I am going to do about 
 it, for I certainly can't quit flying for a week 
 [109] 
 
QUENTIN ROOSEVELT 
 
 right now, when I am finishing up. In the first 
 place, they are getting ready to send a couple of 
 squadrons up within a reasonably short time, and 
 I am going to have a hard enough time anyway 
 trying to get myself a place in one of them. I 
 think I shall wait and see how things turn out. 
 
 In the mean time I am going to bed at the noble 
 hour of eight thirty, which means that there won't 
 be very much more to this letter. I hope that by 
 now you are getting my letters regularly again, 
 after my lapse from virtue, — I have posted them to 
 you in a variety of ways, by French mail, and 
 military mail, so I hope they have started to 
 arrive. 
 
 I am enclosing some snow drops that I found 
 over at Romorantin. They reminded me so 
 much of Oyster Bay, and hunting for the first one 
 out in front of the porte-cochere. I suppose that 
 they will be out by the time you get this, if my 
 mail is any indication. At all events, they go 
 to show that, even if I have been very bad about 
 writing, there are places I would rather be, and 
 persons I would rather see, than the AEF provides. 
 [110] 
 
THE WAY OF THE EAGLE 
 
 Give my love to all the family; I am writing father 
 to-morrow. Goodbye, and un hon baiser, from, 
 
 QUENT. 
 February 3, 1918. 
 
 We all went over to the funeral of those two 
 fellows that were killed. I was flying above it 
 and so I couldn't tell so well. The coffins were 
 escorted by a platoon of American soldiers, and one 
 of French sent out from the French post. Then, 
 flying just above, were two of the French pilots, 
 in the larger machines. They are marvellous 
 pilots, and it was really beautiful to watch them 
 crossing and recrossing over the cortege in beauti- 
 ful smooth right-angled S turns. Then, just as 
 they were lowering the coffins, another Frenchman 
 dropped down in a long swoop, his motor almost 
 dead, — dropped a wreath on them, and then swung 
 of?. All the time we were up above, flying at about 
 five hundred meters, in formation. We had a ten 
 formation, two "Vs" of five, circling round and 
 round till it was over. They say that from the 
 ground it was very impressive, — for there, being 
 [111] 
 
QUENTIN ROOSEVELT 
 
 buried, were two fellows we had all known and 
 flown with a few days before, — and round them 
 and over, the planes circling, paying a last tribute. 
 It takes away some of the bare horror that 
 the two little twisted heaps of wrecked planes and 
 twisted motors leaves. You realise that perhaps, 
 after all, we don't entirely, like the boche, "put 
 our trust in reeking tube or iron shard.'* 
 
 Soon after being detailed to Issodun Quentin 
 met the In urmants who were living at Romorantin, 
 and instead of having one "marraine," he found 
 himself with a whole family, grandparents, par- 
 ents, and grandchildren to accept him. He al- 
 ways referred to the Normants as his "Family 
 in France," and was devoted to one and all. What 
 their friendship and unfailing hospitality meant 
 to Quentin and Ham can never be estimated. 
 Only those who have experienced the whole- 
 hearted generous kindliness with which French 
 families greeted the Americans who went over 
 to serve can begin to realize what it meant. 
 
 [112] 
 
THE WAY OF THE EAGLE 
 
 Romorantin 
 Sunday, February 16, 1918. 
 
 Friday afternoon, we got orders over at our 
 field to have eighteen men ready to go out in a 
 squadron the next morning. Of course when I 
 heard that, I thought "at last, we've got our first 
 squadron going out." So I went hotfoot over to 
 the main camp to see the Colonel and get permis- 
 sion to go out with that squadron. He refused, 
 absolutely, — and of course I put up a tremendous 
 kick. After I'd got all through kicking he said: 
 
 "I'll tell you why I do that. That squadron 
 that is going out is merely a political move, — 
 sent so we can say we have a squadron at the 
 front. They haven't even got machines for them 
 yet, — or any sort of an organisation to allow for 
 breakage and spare parts. What will happen to 
 them is that they will move out into a camp that 
 is not yet finished, up in the zone of the advance, 
 — and then sit there for a month, until our or- 
 ganisation can take care of them, when they will 
 probably form not the first squadron, but the 
 [113 1 
 
QUENTIN ROOSEVELT 
 
 finishing school staff of the zone of the advance. 
 I am going to keep you back here for that reason, 
 but I will do this. I'll send you out to the front 
 as soon as Meyer gets back, and send you out in 
 a real squadron, either English or French." 
 
 So you can imagine how cheerful I am. Cord 
 ought to be back within two weeks, and then I 
 get sent out in his place in a real squadron, with 
 real machines, and men who know something 
 about the game. I rather think it will be a French 
 squadron, as I can talk French. At all events, 
 — cheers ! — in about two weeks I'll have stopped 
 being embusque Quentin. 
 
 Things are also rather amusing over at the 
 field now, for besides the eighteen, twenty more 
 were taken out, to be used as instructors, and to 
 learn bombing. Consequently, I have only seven 
 students now, so you can imagine how much 
 flying I am arranging for them. It is the first 
 time that I've really had enough planes to do 
 what I wanted, so I am giving them all sorts of 
 stunt flying and formation work the others didn't 
 have. I'll bet they're better pilots than any of the 
 others when I get thru with them. And all the 
 [ 114 ] 
 
THE WAY OF THE EAGLE 
 
 time, I am working on my flying, and watching 
 the calendar till Cord comes back. 
 
 I took Ham over here with me this Sunday. 
 We have been intending to do it for a long time, 
 and now that he is plane tester over at my field, 
 I can take him out, on expeditions, as I am in 
 charge of all the planes over there. We had any 
 amount of fun doing it — it's lots more amusement 
 touring the country in a plane if you can look over 
 your shoulder and see some one else sitting up 
 in his machine just over your wing-tip. I knew 
 Ham would love it over here, — and he is having a 
 bully time. We have a great big room, with a 
 bathroom to ourselves, — and altogether, it's civili- 
 zation again. Its now 10:30 A. M. and we've just 
 finished breakfast, so I hear Ham making a tre- 
 mendous rumpus in his bath next door, and occa- 
 sionally hurling some insult at me. 
 
 February 17, 1918. 
 SAME OLD CAMP 
 
 Its been quite a long time since my last letter, 
 and all sorts of water has flowed under the bridge 
 [115] 
 
QUENTIN ROOSEVELT 
 
 since then, but I am up against the discouraging 
 fact that I am not sure when my last letter was, so 
 please excuse if I repeat. In the first place, I 
 got your letter, together with ones from father 
 and Ethel, and was particularly glad to get them, 
 especially yours, for it hasn't been pleasant being 
 under the ban, however well deserved it may have 
 been. We haven't had exactly a mild winter 
 ourselves over here, though it hasn't been as bad 
 as it must have been on L. I. After one frightfully 
 cold snap, when we had snow all the time, and 
 flying was most unpleasant, we had nearly a month 
 of delightful weather, almost like spring, but now 
 the weather man seems to have had another re- 
 lapse, and all the winter clothes and fur lined boots 
 have come out again. 
 
 Its rather of a bore, because with the work I 
 am doing now I have to get in a lot of flying of 
 the most uninteresting sort, where I merely take 
 out a patrol of men and try to lose them, or get 
 them so mixed up that they can't show on the 
 map where they have been when they come down 
 again. It means about two hours of straight- 
 [116] 
 
THE WAY OF THE EAGLE 
 
 away flj'ing, with nothing in the world to relieve 
 the monotony of it except twisting about, and 
 trying to find some part of the country within 
 a radius of seventy five or eighty miles that I 
 have not already investigated. Its not so bad 
 when the weather is warm, for you sit back in your 
 plane, and let the controls loose, and think of 
 when the war will end, or what Long Island would 
 look like now, or some other pleasing fiction. But 
 now, there is always some part of you that gets 
 cold. Either its your forehead, or one finger tip, 
 or your feet; but whatever it is, it serves to keep 
 your mind ofT any more amusing thought. You 
 try your hardest to project yourself out into the 
 fields of speculation, and always after a few seconds 
 you find yourself back up against the one dis- 
 gusting truth that that particular finger or what- 
 ever it is is cold. 
 
 February 21, 1918. 
 Letter No. 1. 
 
 I'm at the moment indulging in the not over 
 satisfactory feeling of knowing that I've done 
 [117] 
 
QUENTIN ROOSEVELT 
 
 what I ought to have done, even tho' it wasn't 
 what was pleasantest. I was given the chance of 
 being permanently — that is for the next three 
 months — stationed at Paris, to deliver planes to 
 the various depots. You see, the heart of the 
 aeroplane industry is Paris, — ^for all the big fac- 
 tories are there. Consequently, we have American 
 testers, who receive the planes, test them, and 
 then accept or reject them. If they are accepted 
 they have to be flown to their various destinations. 
 I was to be in charge of that particular branch, 
 and to arrange for the deliveries. It would be 
 wonderful fun, of course, for I'd be flying all over 
 France — out to the front as well as to the various 
 schools behind the lines. There would be a cer- 
 tain amount of good experience in it, too, but the 
 trouble is, it's a job for a man back from the front 
 for a rest, — or one who's had a bad crash and lost 
 his nerve. It's no occupation for me who have 
 never been to the front. And so I turned it down, 
 and I've been thinking, rather regretfully, of the 
 good times I might have had in Paris. I would like 
 to get a job testing, tho', for I think that is valuable 
 [118] 
 
THE WAY OF THE EAGLE 
 
 work. I don't think there's much chance of that. 
 A tester is never an emb usque, for after all, you 
 can't call a man a slacker whose job is testing 
 planes to see if they're strong enough, and well 
 built enough to stand service. Besides, a tester 
 gets wonderful flying experience, for he flies all 
 kinds of machines, and, in case he gets a machine, 
 that is what the French call "malregle," he has a 
 slight sample of what flying at the front may be 
 like with part of your controlling surfaces shot 
 away. 
 
 So, I am still in my old work here, and having a 
 rather amusing time, for I am not exactly sure 
 what I am. I feel a little like the song, " Am I the 
 Governor General, or a hobo," — for no one, least 
 of all headquarters, can make out just what my 
 status is. I am hanging on like grim death, until 
 I can get sent out to the front. Once I have had 
 my three weeks or so with the French or English, 
 I will have some sort of a foundation to base on, 
 but till then, I'll probably remain an official mys- 
 tery. 
 
 In the meantime, I am getting in all kinds of fly- 
 [119] 
 
QUENTIN ROOSEVELT 
 
 ing, and I think, accomplishing a certain amount 
 in the hne of training the new men at the same 
 time. Yesterday I took a group of ten off for 
 a reconnaisance. They all had their maps, and 
 the object was to make them keep formation 
 and at the same time make out from the map where 
 they are going. It's good practice for them, but 
 by way of being dull for me, — so I thought I'd 
 liven it up by doing a couple of virrages a la verti- 
 cale^ and generally fooling round the sky. I did 
 that for about five minutes, — always keeping the 
 general direction I was going, but more or less 
 wagging my tail en route, and then looked around 
 for the formation, which should have been follow- 
 ing above in two nice "Vs" of five. Instead, they 
 were scattered all over the landscape like flies. I 
 stopped doing everything at that, and flew in a 
 straight line, so that gradually they formed up 
 again. Then when I got back I asked what was 
 the matter, and found that they had tried to fol- 
 low my movements. Of course, it's absolutely im- 
 possible, in formation, to do anything like that, — 
 and I told them so. I've also been polishing up 
 [120] 
 
THE WAY OF THE EAGLE 
 
 my acrobacy a good bit lately, so that I can do it 
 without thinking. 
 
 February 23, 1918. 
 
 No. 2. 
 
 Not much news this time, except one rather 
 sad bit. Al Sturtevant has been shot down. I 
 heard it from Bob Lovett. He was patrolling, 
 doing seaplane work, when he had the bad luck to 
 run into a squadrc ti of Bosche planes, out on some 
 sort of reconnaisance. Of course he didn't have 
 a chance. They shot him down, — so thoro'ly that 
 even the plane was totally destroyed, and sank. 
 Poor Al, — he's the first of that bunch whom we 
 knew and played round with, that is gone. Still, 
 — there's no better way, — if one has got to die. 
 It solves things so easily, for you've nothing to 
 worry about it, and even the people whom you 
 leave have the great comfort of knowing how you 
 died. Its really very fine, the way he went, 
 fighting hopelessly, against enormous odds, — and 
 then thirty seconds of horror and its all over, — 
 [121] 
 
QUENTIN ROOSEVELT 
 
 for they say that on the average it's all over in 
 that length of time, after a plane's been hit. 
 
 PART II — TRAINING FOR COMBAT 
 
 March 7th. 
 
 I am down at Cazaux, it's where they teach 
 the Chasse pilots machine gun work, it is interest- 
 ing and very valuable. From what I can gather 
 about half the game in "chasse" is good machine 
 gun work. 
 
 It has been really a kind of vacation to come 
 down here, for although we work pretty hard, it's 
 nice and warm and we are right on the ocean 
 living in a big summer resort hotel. The Colonel 
 was awfully nice about it too, for he said I would 
 still keep my status on the flying staff and be 
 eligible to go out next in line with a French or 
 British Squadron. 
 
 : Our own affairs are going along about the same. 
 They train pilots and send them up to depots at 
 the front and then leave them there with no planes 
 to fly. You will get all of that from General Wood. 1 
 [ 122 ] 
 
THE WAY OF THE EAGLE 
 
 One thing that is making trouble is the fact that 
 we seem to be a door mat for G. H. Q. and the 
 Line. The first tliey got us on was cutting flying 
 pay — when every other army in the world paj's 
 their flyers extra. Then the new service stripe 
 regulations came out, and we got it in the neck 
 again. In the aviation section one has to be six 
 months in actual combat at the front to get a 
 stripe; that means that a mechanic working near 
 the front and bombarded every night has nothing 
 to distinguish him from the Washington embusque. 
 A pilot has to last six months and they hardly ever 
 keep a chasse pilot up more than three. Also, 
 some one like Ham Coolidge for instance, who is 
 testing planes back at the school and doing dan- 
 gerous work gets no credit and yet we kill on an 
 average of one a week at the school. 
 There, my wail is done ! 
 
 March 7, 1918. 
 Letter No. 6 
 
 General Wood was out here yesterday, — and 
 as he is leaving very shortly, is going to take these 
 [123 1 
 
QUENTIN ROOSEVELT 
 
 back with him. So, as this will get to you prob- 
 ably a good deal before my last few, I'm going 
 to repeat myself. To begin with, I'm at Cazaux, 
 at the French flcole de Tir Aerien. They teach 
 you the machine gun side of chasse work. I was 
 very strongly advised to do it by Colonel Kilner, 
 — as he considers it very valuable training. He 
 also promised to keep me on my training staff 
 status, so that when I get back I can be sent out 
 with either in British or French escadrilles. In 
 the meantime I'm having a most interesting time 
 back here. They start out with explanations of 
 the mechanism and jams in the various types 
 of machine guns. Then after some work on 
 the ground, — shooting at targets, — shooting from 
 boat at targets, and shooting at little balloons, 
 you start in on air work. First there are no guns 
 on the planes and you have to go up a couple of 
 thousand metres, drop over a paper parachute, and 
 then chase it, manoevring round it. After that you 
 start, beginning on fixed balloons and ending with a 
 sleeve towed by another plane. In all that work 
 they keep record of your shots, and count the hits 
 [124] 
 
THE WAY OF THE EAGLE 
 
 afterward. It's a three weeks' course, and I do 
 not get finished until the eighteenth, and then, 
 after two days in Paris, I'll go back to Issoudun 
 again. From there, if things work as I hope, I 
 go out with the French or British very shortly. 
 However, I've given up prophesying as to when 
 I'll be anywhere. I went to Cazaux on ten hour's 
 notice. 
 
 March, 1918. 
 
 The only unpleasant part is that the machines 
 here are the most awful old crocks. They have 
 been in service for ages, and have old motors and 
 fuselages and wings that are all warped and bent 
 out of shape. Consequently, the French warn you 
 when you go up, to be very careful to do no sort 
 of acrobacy at all, and not even try any steep 
 dives with them to vertical virages. That's all 
 very well, but they also expect you to follow the 
 parachutes all the time, and make good scores 
 when you are shooting at the machines. 
 [125] 
 
QUENTIN ROOSEVELT 
 
 You get up in the air, and get excited over 
 trying to follow up the parachute, or whatever 
 it is you are trying to shoot at, and you forget all 
 about your machine except as a means of keeping 
 your sights on the target. As a matter of fact 
 one of our fellows was killed just last week, in a ma- 
 chine that was supposed to be perfectly all right. 
 He was doing combat work at about fifteen hun- 
 dred, when for some reason or other, just as he was 
 straightening out of a dive, his wings folded up on 
 him. Of course he didn't have a chance. He was 
 a Cornell boy, named Hagedorn. 
 
 Quentin made an excellent record at Cazaux; 
 his score card was afterward sent to his family, 
 and the note on the bottom reads: "Tres bon 
 pilote. Atterrissages tres reguliers. Tres bon 
 tireur. Esprit tres militaire, Beaucoup d'allant." 
 
 As we are all living at Arcachon, — incidentally, 
 
 I've actually got a room and bath at a hotel, — I 
 
 dine with four or five ojQScers every night, and have 
 
 a most delightful time. Last night we gave a little 
 
 [126] 
 
THE WAY OF THE EAGLE 
 
 dinner, to a couple of French aces, back for a 
 montli's rest. One had nine, and the other eleven 
 Boche, — so you can see they were pretty good. 
 Things went well, — and they were most interest- 
 ing, telling about various times they had had. 
 One of them started as observer, was captured, 
 kept in a reprisal camp for five weeks, and finally 
 escaped, via the lines, and across No Man's Land 
 to the French again. After that, he became a 
 chasse pilot ! Finally one of them got up, and 
 proposed a toast to America, — with the best 
 speech I've heard in a long time. He has a 
 wonderful gift for the dramatic, — and he finished 
 with, *'and gentlemen, when we dine together 
 again, and the war is over, may there be no 
 empty places." That's only a bald attempt at 
 conveying the sense, for it was beautifully done. 
 
 Cazaux, March 12th. 
 
 Down here things are very pleasant. We have 
 been having the most glorious weather, warm and 
 spring-like. The result is that they have in- 
 [ 127] 
 
QUENTIN ROOSEVELT 
 
 creased our hours of work, so that we have to be 
 upon the field from seven in the morning to seven 
 in the evening, with only lunch time out. It 
 makes a pretty long day of it and bed looks very 
 pleasant by 9:30. 
 
 Sunday was a half holiday so we went off for 
 an expedition, the Major, Lou Bredin, myself 
 and an English Captain named Ainsley. You 
 would have loved it. We went away across the 
 bay on a little nondescript sort of sloop, which 
 her owner called a canot. The bay is closed up at 
 the mouth with a sort of strait with high dunes on 
 each side that go all the way along the ocean up 
 into the pine forests. It's curious country — 
 nothing but sand and pine trees, planted by Na- 
 poleon's orders (not the sand). I have flown for 
 miles over it and except for occasional bare patches 
 of sand it's deserted — ^no clearings, no houses — 
 nothing. Only along the coast there are little 
 fishing villages. We went out to one of them on 
 our sail and stopped to look at a grove of mimosa 
 in bloom. You have seen it of course and know 
 how lovely it is. The whole thing was like an 
 [128] 
 
THE WAY OF THE EAGLE 
 
 artist's sketch book. The men wear blue and 
 brown shirts and red baggy trousers, all toned and 
 softened by salt water, so that there are no sharp 
 edges to the colors. The women too, when they 
 are working at the oyster farms wear the same red 
 trousers. We explored it all — there were fully 
 fil'lecn houses — and then sailed back and so, like 
 Samuel Pepys, "to bed." 
 
 I leave in five days, although what I shall do, 
 or where I shall go, heavens knows ! 
 
 March 29 
 Its been quite a long time since I last wrote 
 home, and all sorts of things have happened. 
 In the first place; I have finished up my work at 
 Cazaux, and am back again at the same old camp. 
 I finished up there on the twenty-second and went 
 up for a forty eight hour pass in Paris, hoping to 
 be able to get out to see Arch. I found when I 
 got up there that it was impossible, as he is still 
 in an evacuation hospital in the zone of the ad- 
 vance, and I was not able to get passes to go out 
 there. However I did see Eleanor, who was up 
 [129] 
 
QUENTIN ROOSEVELT 
 
 in Paris, and having a horrid time, because she 
 too had been unable to get out to see Arch. She 
 had tried pulhng every string she could, and the 
 general opinion was that it would be impossible 
 to do it, and that if she did do it this time, it 
 would be the last chance she would have. She 
 talked it over with Doctor Lambert, and also 
 with several people who had just seen Archie, and 
 they all agreed that his wounds were not serious 
 enough to warrant that. As she said, it is a good 
 deal better, if she is only going to be able to do 
 it once, to wait until a time when one of us is 
 very seriously wounded and needs her more. Also, 
 they are expecting to move Arch into Paris very 
 shortly, and so she will see him and be able to 
 look after him as soon as he gets up there. She 
 has gone down to Aix again, leaving word that as 
 soon as it is definitely known when Arch is to be 
 moved, she is to be telegraphed so that she can 
 come up to him. 
 
 As a matter of fact I was rather glad to get 
 away from Paris, for the offensive was starting, 
 and it wasn't much of a time for playing around, 
 [130] 
 
THE WAY OF THE EAGLE 
 
 or doing anything at all but getting back to one's 
 job. There's no use talking about the ofifensive 
 because it will be all past history by the time you 
 get this, and also because we don't know anything 
 about it down here. The one thing we do know is 
 that our chasse planes are being held up now by 
 a new shortage — machine guns. They have so 
 far got only enough for tlie first squadron. The 
 other squadron is doing decoy work — a most 
 profitless occupation to my mind. They are sent 
 out over the lines escorted by two French planes 
 with machine guns. The object is to get the 
 German to attack them. Then they leave for 
 home in a hurry and let the Frenchmen look after 
 the Boche. It seems foolish to have to work that 
 way, but we can't choose. They've done one 
 rather delightful thing though. As you know, 
 each squadron on the front has some special 
 insignia. Guynemer's, for instance, was the Stork, 
 there are the Leopards, the Indians, and lots of 
 others. Tlie poor souls who have to go across 
 without machine guns have adopted a decoy 
 duck, with one leg stuck out stiffly in front as if it 
 [131] 
 
QUENTIN ROOSEVELT 
 
 were doing a goose step. They have got it painted 
 on all their planes. 
 
 I am at the moment in charge of training at 
 the finishing field here, and expecting my orders 
 any day. There is no vacancy at the present, as 
 we have no planes, but I am to be sent up as soon 
 as there is any. All schemes of going up in French 
 squadrons and such have been disarranged by the 
 offensive, and I rather doubt if they will start 
 working smoothly again until the offensive is 
 finished. In the meantime, Ham and I are sitting 
 here, doing our work from day to day with an eye 
 on the mail each morning, and a hope that it will 
 have orders. In a way I'm not so sorry, for it 
 has given me the chance to get out of a streak 
 of bad flying that I had gotten into. I think it 
 was the result of the landing field at Cazaux, 
 complicated with not feeling awfully well. When 
 I got back to this part of the world again I started 
 in with a very heavy cold, and had to turn in for 
 a day or two, as the doctor thought I was going to 
 get another attack of pneumonia. Then when I 
 started to fly I found that, either as a result of 
 [132] 
 
THE WAY OF THE EAGLE 
 
 that or as a result of a landing field at Cazaux that 
 is as smooth as a billiard table, my landings had 
 all gone to the bad. I smashed one plane up 
 beautifully when I started out. It was really a 
 very neat job, for I landed with a drift, touched one 
 wing, and then, as there was a high wind, did three 
 complete summersaults (spelling.?) ending up on 
 my back. I crawled out of it with nothing more 
 than a couple of scratches. So now I'm flying 
 most of the time, getting into practise. I've 
 got to go now, as there is a plane out en panne 
 that I have got to locate. Lots of love to all the 
 
 f"""'y- f™-" QUENT. 
 
 March 30, 1918. 
 
 I've flown a certain amount because, being in 
 charge of training, I've had to decide whether it 
 was fit for flying. It's quite amusing to fly in 
 very windy weather. Yesterday when I cut my 
 motor to come down, I found I was making al- 
 most no headway against the wind. So I came 
 down turning over about a thousand, and feeling 
 [133] 
 
QUENTIN ROOSEVELT 
 
 as if I were in a delivery cart on a cobble stone 
 road. She slapped and thumped on the gusts of 
 wind like a flat bottomed boat in a sea. Alto- 
 gether, flying for me has been amusing. Yester- 
 day before coming over here it rained until five in 
 the afternoon. Ham and I had almost given up 
 the idea, when we noticed the clouds beginning to 
 separate. I said try it anyhow, and so we started. 
 It was funny flying weather. We went thru the 
 first set of clouds at about three hundred metres. 
 Then there was clear air for about a thousand 
 metres, with only occasional banks, and finally a 
 solid ceiling at about thirteen hundred. So we 
 took the middle flying fairly high and watching for 
 the ground between clouds to see where we were. 
 I had a most unpleasant time of it just at the 
 end, for I was really scared, and its the only time 
 I have been, in the air. We were just about five 
 miles from here, and I was getting ready to nose 
 her down and come thru the clouds to land when 
 for some unknown reason I began to feel faint 
 and dizzy. I'm free to confess that I was scared, 
 good and scared. However there was nothing to 
 [134] 
 
THE WAY OF THE EAGLE 
 
 do except trust to luck, so I nosed her down, and 
 went for the landing. As luck would have it, — I 
 happened to have just hit it rightly, and I came 
 in on that glide with only a couple of S's to slow 
 me up. I was mighty glad, tho, when I got on to 
 good, solid ground again.** 
 
 Sunday,' April 6, 1918. 
 
 »'■*"■"•'"' ~ • • ■ • • • • 
 
 Ham and I are planning a big party very shortly. 
 We are both going to take the seven day leave 
 which the army gives us every four months, — 
 only we are going to take it by plane. We'll 
 probably cruise all over the map, — drop in and see 
 Eleanor at Aix les Bains, and generally have a 
 marvellous time. Don't you think it sounds like 
 good fun? The one draw back is that my plane 
 looks like a Liberty Bond ad. The mechanics in 
 the hangar said that they were going to arrange 
 a little surprise for me during the four rainy days 
 that we've had, — and they lived up to their word. 
 They've got a huge American shield with white 
 [135] 
 
QUENTIN ROOSEVELT 
 
 wings stretching across the top plane. Then 
 running round the fuselage they have two spiral 
 red and blue stripes ending in a little circle with 
 the American insignia right back of the cockpit. 
 Even the wheel covers are painted up. The net 
 result is that wherever I land the plane collects a 
 large crowd instantly. I'm getting some pictures 
 taken of it, and if they're any good I'll send them 
 to you. Its V. sporty. 
 
 April 15, 1918. 
 
 Please excuse this very spurious paper, for I 
 have been too busy to get away from camp during 
 the last week to get any more respectable variety. 
 
 Things are beginning to hum here at the school. 
 For one thing, we hear that they are not going to 
 send any more pilots over from the states for the 
 present, which is about the first sensible decision 
 that they have made as regards the Air Service. 
 As it is they must have about two thousand pilots 
 over here, and Heaven knows it will be ages before 
 we have enough machines for even half that num- 
 [136] 
 
THE WAY OF THE EAGLE 
 
 ber. Not one of the bunch that were at Cazaux 
 with me have got out to the front yet, and there 
 doesn't seem to be much chance of their doing so 
 in the immediate future. It seems an awful pity, 
 too, for with the way things are going on the front 
 now, I can't help but think that all the pilots that 
 can be handled ought to be sent up there in French 
 and English squadrons if we can't provide the 
 machines for them ourselves. Still, the Major 
 says that he is certain that they will not let anyone 
 go up \\ath the French, as the last pilot that we 
 sent up there onlj' got as far as Paris and was 
 then held up on account of the offensive. 
 
 I wonder if they are hearing all the news about 
 the offensive back in the states, and if they realize 
 how serious it is. I'm rather afraid of talking 
 about it, first because I am a little leary of the 
 censor, and next because, being in the rear as we 
 are, I doubt if we know as much even as you do 
 in the U. S. A. All we do know is that its a 
 mighty serious business, and that its our business 
 to get into it as soon as possible. In the mean- 
 time I am working my hardest trying to get the 
 [137] 
 
QUENTIN ROOSEVELT 
 
 students that go thru here as well trained as pos- 
 sible, and incidentally flying myself a lot. 
 
 I am getting my air work down pretty well now, 
 for I don't think there's any sort of a stunt that I 
 haven't tried. Ham who is here testing, goes up 
 with me every day for combat work, which is 
 most interesting. The other day he came over in 
 a new type of plane, that they are just putting 
 in on the front, and we had a bully time with it. 
 I went up in mine, which is of course specially 
 taken care of by the mechanics and we chased 
 each other around for about a half an hour. 
 
 I just got a note from Arch to say that he was 
 doing finely, and also hear from the papers that 
 he has been moved to Mrs. Reid's hospital in 
 Paris. I am going to fly up there next Saturday, 
 if its decent weather, and spend Sunday with him. 
 Its about a hundred and fifty miles, and I can 
 make it in about an hour and a quarter. Eleanor 
 is already up there with him, as I just got her 
 telegram asking when I could get up there to see 
 him. 
 
 I have just gotten one piece of news that is 
 very bad, if true. It is that Cord is reported 
 [ 138] 
 
THE WAY OF THE EAGLE 
 
 missing. I have been over in the Major's office 
 all day trying to get official confirmation of the 
 rumor, and as yet have succeeded in hearing noth- 
 ing about it. I don't see how it can be possible, for 
 he was as good a pilot as any I have seen here, 
 which means as any in the U. S. A. S. So I'm 
 still hoping. 
 
 Do you remember when you sent me this 
 poem ? * It was two years ago, in a clipping in one 
 of your letters. I remember loving it then, and 
 its rather curious to run across it again, so I am 
 sending it on to you, as I have a copy I made of 
 the other. This seems a rather short letter, but 
 we are all so full of the offensive over here that it 
 doesn't leave much room for anything else except 
 "shop" in our heads. I'm so glad father is 
 getting all right again. Lots of love to Ethel and 
 Co. and to you especially, from your loving, 
 
 QUENTIN. 
 
 May 4, 1918. 
 Its been perfect ages since I last wrote to you, 
 and I've got a variety of reasons for not having 
 
 * "Christ in Flanders." 
 
 [139] 
 
QUENTIN ROOSEVELT 
 
 done so. The one real one is that I had one hand 
 laid up in an accident and aside from that haven't 
 been feeling decently for quite a while now. It 
 started a little while after I got back from Cazaux. 
 I had been feeling all overish for quite a while, 
 and then one day when I was off on a voyage my 
 motor blew up on me, and I had to come down for 
 a forced landing. As luck would have it, some 
 fool people got in my way, just as I was coming in 
 to land, and as between hitting them or crashing, 
 I took the latter, and hung myself up nicely in 
 some trees. I reduced the plane to kindling wood, 
 and got out of it myself whole but rather battered. 
 Among other odds and ends, I had a bad wrist 
 which reduced my epistolary efficiency. That 
 in itself wasn't anything particular, but it was 
 part of a vague general uncomfortableness. Ham 
 and I talked things over, and found that we both 
 were about in the same fix. It boiled down to 
 this, that we both were heartily sick of the work 
 we were doing, and that we wanted to get out to 
 the front, or anywhere away from this mud ridden 
 hole. I had got to the point where even the sight 
 [140] 
 
THE WAY OF THE EAGLE 
 
 of a flying student filled me with loathing. It is 
 rather hard to teach men to ^y, and send them on 
 thru the school, when you can see no future in 
 siglit for them. I knew that the men we were 
 sending thru would just be sent to a gunnery 
 school, and then have to hang around goodness 
 only knows how long until there were any planes 
 for them to fly. And knowing that it was awfully 
 hard to get up any enthusiasm for a job, which I 
 hated anyway. The long and the short of it was 
 that Ham and I both decided, independent of the 
 other, that we were stale. So I went to the Major 
 and asked liim if he could not arrange to have 
 Ham take a leave. He said that on account of 
 the offensive, leaves were being discontinued, but 
 that he would allow Ham to take a plane on a 
 cross country to Paris. So he sent for Ham and 
 told him this, whereupon Ham told him some long 
 song and dance about me, resulting in our both 
 being sent off with our planes for a six days' rest 
 in Paris. Don't you think that was pretty nice 
 of him ? It made the most tremendous difference 
 to me, for now I am back here again, and tho I 
 [141] 
 
QUENTIN ROOSEVELT 
 
 don't like the work, yet I do see how useless it is 
 to kick about it and not do it, when there is no 
 chance to go out to the front anyway. The Major 
 has promised us anyway that as soon as any bunch 
 goes out to the front he will see that our names 
 are on the list. 
 
 Eleanor Is up in Paris now looking after Archie 
 so I stayed with her and naturally had a bully 
 time. She really has been a perfect trump about 
 the way she has taken care of all of us. As a 
 matter of fact, neither she nor I think Arch is very 
 well. He is very thin, and is in the horrid posi- 
 tion now of not knowing what is going to happen 
 to him. It will be about five months, so the Major 
 at the hospital says, before he will be fit for active 
 service again, and the question is what to do. 
 Myself, I can't see why he wasn't sent back to the 
 states as soon as they evacuated him from the 
 Z of A. As it is, he is in the hospital, getting 
 better slowly. I think he would have been much 
 better off if he had been sent back to the states to 
 convalesce. 
 
 [142] 
 
THE WAY OF THE EAGLE 
 
 May 4, 1918. 
 
 There are some nice things about aviation, 
 really. It seems to be the one part of the war in 
 which brother Boche has the instincts of a sports- 
 man and a gentleman. Of course the service is as 
 full of wild stories as a boarding school, and this 
 one I'm not sure about, — tho I think its so. After 
 Guynemer was brought down a Boche flew over his 
 squadron's airdrome and dropped a letter saying 
 that his funeral would be on a certain date and 
 that four Frenchmen would be given safe conduct 
 to land on the German field and attend it. They 
 accepted it, and flew over, landed on the German 
 field, were received by the Germans, attended the 
 funeral and then went back. It's rather a fine 
 thing if true, and I do know for certain that they 
 know where Guynemer's grave is, so it may be 
 true. Then just shortly ago. Baron von Richt- 
 hofen the German ace, was brought down by the 
 English. They buried him with full military 
 honors, — three French aces and three English aces 
 for his pall bearers. It must have been most im- 
 [143] 
 
QUENTIN ROOSEVELT 
 
 pressive, the French and English soldiers standing 
 to attention as they lowered him into his grave 
 while the English chaplain read the burial service 
 over him. All those are the little things that will 
 make up the traditions of the service after the 
 war's over. And it is a nice thing to know that 
 the things that you are to some extent a part of 
 will be the traditions of the service. That and 
 the certainty that there will be plenty of war 
 left even when I get up there, helps to make 
 Issoudun a little more bearable. 
 
 May 12, 1918. 
 
 Its been perfect ages since I wrote to you, and 
 again I'm ashamed of myself, but I am also 
 ashamed of my mail from the states, for I haven't 
 gotten a single letter from there of more recent 
 date than the third of April. I don't know what 
 has been happening to them, for most of the other 
 people here have gotten them as recently as the 
 eighteenth. I hope they weren't sunk. 
 
 I've got uncommonly little news that's worth 
 [144] 
 
THE WAY OF THE EAGLE 
 
 the repeating. To begin with, I am still back at 
 the same old place, and with no more definite 
 prospect of getting out. Thank goodness, from 
 what we can get in the papers. General Wood 
 seems to have tried to give the people some idea 
 of just what their wonderful aircraft production 
 board has accomplished for them with its six 
 hundred and twenty five millions and its glorious 
 prospectuses. I only hope that it isn't too late 
 to get things rolling over there. This certainly 
 does look as if we were in for a good long run of 
 it, doesn't it.'^ Arch and I were discussing it, in 
 the cheerfully ignorant fashion in which every- 
 one does who is over here, and we don't think 
 there's a chance of their being beaten for a year 
 and a half more. Or rather, we don't think it 
 will last thru more than one more winter. But 
 of course, I'd have said the same thing last fall. 
 They can certainly put over an offensive when 
 they make up their mind to, in spite of "insuf- 
 ficient man-power" and all the rest of that line. 
 The one thing that we've heard that has pleased 
 us in the aviation is that their new monoplane 
 [ 145] 
 
QUENTIN ROOSEVELT 
 
 Albatross was a wash out and that they have 
 gone back to the old D3 which was so successful. 
 If we have the D3 we know what we're up against. 
 
 I've loved all your letters, for they say what's 
 going on really, — not what ought to be going on, 
 
 if 
 
 May 27. 
 
 I've just been up in Paris again and so natur- 
 ally I'm full of news. Just last week the Major 
 called me in and said that he knew I knew a good 
 many French aviation oiBBcers, consequently if I 
 could persuade one of their squadron commanders 
 to apply by name for me and Ham (!) he would see 
 that the request was O. K'd. by our headquarters 
 and that we were transferred up there. You can 
 imagine how Ham and I felt ! Its just what we've 
 been trying to do for ages. So with the help of 
 Capt. Pelissin, who composed the letter, I wrote 
 
 to Capt de V who commands a group of 4 
 
 Spad squadrons. We asked him to apply for 
 Ham and me at once. Then the Major, as he 
 knew of this, sent me up to Paris on Sunday to 
 deliver some important papers that had to go 
 [146] 
 
THE WAY OF THE EAGLE 
 
 by hand. His idea was that while in Paris I 
 could go to the French aviation H q to arrange 
 about it which I did. 
 
 I put in one whole busy day chasing from one 
 office to another soft soaping all sorts of French 
 officers, with **Oui mon Capitain,^* and "parfaite- 
 ment, mon commandanV until I began to feel 
 rather like a phonograph with only one record. 
 However, I think I got something out of it, — for 
 at least two of them have agreed to inform me the 
 instant any action is taken. 
 
 Arch is getting along splendidly. For a while 
 I was quite worried about him, but now he seems 
 to be in very much better spirits, and his wounds 
 are improving right along. I had all kinds of fun 
 with him, for we lunched together both days 
 that I was up there. 
 
 Paris is wonderful fun now. Everyone who 
 had left when the bombardment started has 
 returned, and the boulevards are crowded. The 
 gun shoots still at intervals but its a most dis- 
 
 couragingly anti-clim (It isn't what you 
 
 think it is !) 
 
 [147] 
 
QUENTIN ROOSEVELT 
 
 PART III — THE FLIGHT 
 
 Cablegram 
 Paris JuneSth. 
 
 Mrs Theodore Roosevelt 
 
 Moving out at last with Ham very glad love 
 
 Quentin Roosevelt 
 June 8, 1918. 
 
 • • •• • • • • 
 
 I've had so much happening to me, tho, in 
 the last ten days, that I have not had time to 
 think even, which is just as well. Ham and I had 
 almost begun to think we were permanently stuck 
 in Issoudun, when with no warning, we were or- 
 dered up to Orly, which is just outside of Paris. 
 No one knew anything about the orders, and Ham 
 and I felt sure that it meant our first step out to 
 the front. Once the orders came, tho, we only had 
 twelve hours time to settle everything up and 
 leave. You can imagine how we hurried, with all 
 the goodbyes to be said and packing, and paying 
 bills. I thought we never would get away, but 
 [148] 
 
THE WAY OF THE EAGLE 
 
 finally it was thru, and we got in the truck and 
 started to leave for the main camp to get our 
 clearance papers. Then they did one of the nicest 
 things I've ever had happen. Our truck driver 
 instead of going out the regular way, took us down 
 the line of hangars and as we went past all the 
 mechanics were lined up in front and cheered us 
 goodbye. As we passed the last hangar one of 
 the sergeants yelled, after us, "Let us know if 
 you're captured and we'll come after you." So I 
 left with a big lump in my throat, for its nice to 
 know that your men have liked you. 
 
 June 18, 1918. 
 
 • ••••••• 
 
 At last, almost eleven months after I left the 
 states, I'm doing what I came over here for, out at 
 the front. Its all different from what I thought, 
 too, for I am not with the French at all. You see, 
 while we were down at Chartres telegraphic or- 
 ders came in for us to rep>ort at once to the First 
 Pursuit Group. That is an entirely American 
 outfit, except for the planes of course, Ham and I 
 [ 149] 
 
QUENTIN ROOSEVELT 
 
 have been chased about so much that we didn't 
 really believe we'd be put in a squadron when we 
 got here, but there were no two ways about it, and 
 so we started out via Paris to comply with our 
 orders. 
 
 I had a fairly eventful run out here, chiefly 
 because the motorcycle developed a passion for 
 punctures. After my third in ten miles, I said 
 just exactly what I thought of the motorcycle as I 
 got to work repairing it. Just as I stopped talk- 
 ing — ^I had no idea there was a soul within miles, 
 I heard a voice behind me say "Priceless old 
 motor-bike, — what !" I looked up and saw one of 
 those long, angular Englishmen, with that thoroly 
 blank expression which they use to camoufler a 
 sense of humor. He had appeared out of a path 
 behind me and had apparently absorbed my com- 
 ments, anent motorcycles as I talked to it. I 
 had a pleasant discussion on things in general with 
 him, the net result being that I dropped round to 
 his quarters and had a drink of Scotch before mov- 
 ing on. He was a very good sort. 
 [150] 
 
THE WAY OF THE EAGLE 
 
 Late in the afternoon I arrived here, to find 
 myself assigned to the 95th Aero Squadron. The 
 one drawback is that Ham is assigned to the 94th. 
 However, we work together and have adjoining 
 barracks, so things aren't as bad as they might 
 be. Otherwise everything is fine. I took a half 
 hour ride yesterday to get used to my plane, and 
 somewhat to the sector. Then later on I went 
 out on a patrol just up along the lines, to, as they 
 put it, get used to being (loatlily split infinitive) 
 shot at by the Archies. It is really exciting at 
 first when you see the stuff bursting in great black 
 puffs round you, but you get used to it after fif- 
 teen minutes. To-morrow I'll be working in Ger- 
 many as my flight is on for reglage planes' protec- 
 tion. So far there are very few Bosche in the 
 air, — but as tlie B. infantry staged quite an ex- 
 tensive little hate yesterday (The French for 
 hate is a coup de main, by the way) we think they 
 may liven things up. There are lots of Amer- 
 icans up here, — and we think they may want to 
 smash them up. 
 
 I'll write to-morrow, when I've been over and 
 [151] 
 
QUENTIN ROOSEVELT 
 
 turn in an official report of my first visit to Ger- 
 many. 
 
 June 25 
 Its been five weeks since I've heard from any 
 of the family, so I feel sm'e I must have com- 
 mitted some horrible crime and be in deep dis- 
 grace. From my thoroly black conscience I can 
 find any number of explanations but the one I 
 feel guiltiest about is that this is the first letter 
 I've written in three weeks. There is some ex- 
 cuse tho' for I have moved all over France in that 
 length of time. 
 
 I wish some one who did know something about 
 flying at the front would go back, just to talk 
 for a while with the designers and builders of 
 the Liberty Motor and plane. Its going to be 
 a long time before that thing gets to the front, 
 and tho' I'm not crazy about the bus I'm flying 
 I'd be much more comfortable in it than I would 
 in a Liberty if I had to go across the lines. They 
 have no right to send the things over here, tell 
 the people in the states how wonderful they are, 
 [152] 
 
THE WAY OF THE EAGLE 
 
 and llicn to expect us over here to work with 
 them whon each flight shows some new defect 
 to be remedied. Of course they're all minor 
 defects, but still they've been flying the planes 
 over here for a month and yet she's not ready 
 for the front yet. — 
 
 My last letter to you was written from the 
 French concentration camp at Chartres, but as 
 I know that mail forwarded to me there never 
 reached me I don't trust the out going mails either. 
 At all events after being ordered from Issoudun 
 to go up with the French, and having put in a 
 week at their concentration camp I was ordered 
 back to the Americans again, this time to go up 
 with the first pursuit group. Of course I was 
 tremendously pleased, for I know all the buncli 
 up here, and anyway its much nicer to be with 
 Americans. 
 
 I am now a member of the 95th Aero Squadron, 
 1st Pursuit Group. I've been having a most 
 interesting time, too. I've been up on the front 
 now for about two weeks. Its such a change 
 after Issoudun to be out and really doing some- 
 [153] 
 
QUENTIN ROOSEVELT 
 
 thing. Where we first were it was rather a quiet 
 sector and we generally had to go across the lines 
 before we picked up any Boche, but just yester- 
 day we were moved down into a hot sector quite 
 near Paris, and from all we can gather there are 
 Boche here all the time. I've had about six or 
 seven hours over the lines so far, and I'm just 
 beginning to get an idea of what goes on around; 
 at first you don't see the Boche at all but gradu- 
 ally you begin to get on to them. I can see a cer- 
 tain amount now of what's going on. I've not got 
 any combats as yet and the best I can show for 
 myself is a hole where an archie went thru my 
 wing. The real thing is that I'm on the front — 
 cheers, oh cheers — and I'm very happy. 
 
 I'll write again day after tomorrow, after our 
 first patrol of this sector, and tell you what its 
 Hke. Lots of love to all the family, and a sepa- 
 rate special kind to you. 
 
 July 2nd, 1918. 
 
 Even tho this is an active sector I haven't had 
 much excitement as yet. Yesterday they kept 
 [ 154] 
 
THE WAY OF THE EAGLE 
 
 us pretty busy, tho*. In the morning we went 
 out for a patrol along the ceiling and spent two 
 hours of cruising up and down the line without 
 seeing anything. Then in the afternoon the in- 
 fantry had a show arranged, in the shape of a 
 2x2 kilometre push on a seven kilometre front. 
 That means of course a great deal of reglage and 
 photography work, so there was a lot of chasse 
 work to be done, what with protecting our own 
 biplanes and keeping off the Boche. We were 
 scheduled to fly on the low level, at twenty-five 
 hundred metres, to intercept any enemy photog- 
 raphers or reglage planes. There were two more 
 patrols above us, one around four thousand and 
 one up along the ceiling, keeping off their chasse 
 planes. We didn't run into any of their planes, 
 but there was enough doing down below to make 
 up for it. We were too high to make out any 
 infantry but everywhere the artillery were work- 
 ing. The seven kilometres of attack ran from 
 a wood on past a couple of small villages and ended 
 up in a fair sized town. They were shelling hard 
 all along it and one of the villages was in flames. 
 [155] 
 
QUENTIN ROOSEVELT 
 
 You could see the white pufiFs where the shells 
 landed and then when the smoke cleared away, 
 the round crater that they dug in the ground. 
 
 Altogether there was lots doing, and I was 
 glad I was comfortably above it all, with no worries 
 but two cold fingers and a bad magneto. When 
 we got in we found that tho we hadn't seen any 
 Boche the top flight had — and then some. There 
 were ten of them, and they got into a free for 
 all with nine Fokker biplanes. They had bad 
 luck with machine gun jams, and the Boche made 
 it pretty hot for them. Two of them aren't back 
 — tho they may have landed inside our lines, — 
 and they accounted for two and maybe three 
 Boche. One man got back here with his plane 
 so shot up that it was nothing short of a miracle 
 that he escaped. He had one centre section 
 shot away, and to hit it the bullet must have 
 gone within an inch of his head. The whole 
 fuselage, and one gas tank are riddled with bul- 
 lets, and as the Boche use explosive bullets, that 
 fellow can thank his stars. I'm writing this in 
 the hangars as I'm on alerter but so far no Boche 
 [156] 
 
THE WAY OF THE EAGLE 
 
 have been reported. I go on again from six to nine 
 to-night, and as that's their pet time I have hopes. 
 There's nothing in the world duller than waiting 
 in tlie hangar for an alerte that doesn't come. 
 
 July 6, 1918. 
 
 Yesterday our flight officer was sent out to 
 patrol at thirty -five hundred metres over about a 
 ten kilometre sector where some sort of straight- 
 ening the line action was going on. Our orders 
 were not to cross the line, or fight unless forced 
 to. For about fifteen minutes we chased up and 
 down, up and down, with no more excitement 
 than scaring a few reglage planes back into Ger- 
 many. I was busy watching below us — I was 
 flying right — when I saw our leader give the alert 
 signal. I hadn't seen anything below, so I looked 
 ahead and there up about a thousand metres, on 
 the German side I saw a patrol of six Boche. We 
 started climbing at once, and I was having a hor- 
 rid time, for while the rest of the formation closed 
 [157] 
 
QUENTIN ROOSEVELT 
 
 in I dragged farther and farther behind. I have 
 a bad motor, so that when the rest hurry up they 
 leave me. There I was, with only the slim con- 
 solation that the leader was probably keeping 
 his eye on me. We climbed on, and I did my 
 darndest to keep up and at the same time keep 
 an eye on the Boche who remained comfortably 
 on top. The next thing I knew, a shadow came 
 across my plane, and there, about two hundred 
 metres above me, and looking as big as all out- 
 doors was a Boche. He was so near I could make 
 out the red stripes around his fuselage. I'm 
 free to confess that I was scared blue. I was 
 behind the rest of the formation, and he had all 
 the altitude. So I pushed on the stick, prayed 
 for motor, and watched out of the corner of my 
 eye to see his elevators go down, and have his 
 tracers shooting by me. However, for some 
 reason he didn't attack, instead he took a few 
 general shots at the lot and then swung back to 
 his formation. Our only explanation is that he 
 didn't want to fight in our lines, — he had every 
 kind of advantage over us. Lord, but I was 
 [158] 
 
THE WAY OF THE EAGLE 
 
 glad when he left. When I got back they decided 
 to pull my motor, so I was given another plane 
 for this morning, which belongs to a fellow who's 
 sick. 
 
 We went out on patrol again, this time at five 
 thousand and started over across, hunting for 
 trouble. A couple of kilometres inside the line 
 we spotted six of them about a thousand metres 
 below us. We circled and came back between 
 them and the sun, and dove on them. They 
 never saw us until we started shooting so we had 
 them cold. I had miserable luck — I had my man 
 just where I wanted, was piquing down on him, 
 (he was a monoplane) and after getting good and 
 close, set my sight on him and pulled the trigger. 
 My gun shot twice and then jammed. It was 
 really awfully hard luck, for I couldn't fix it. The 
 feed box had slipped, so she only fired one shot 
 at a time, and tlien quit. I did everything I 
 could, but finally had to give up and come home, 
 as we were about fifteen kilometres their side of 
 the line. As the papers put it, tho', "a success- 
 ful evening was had by all." We got three of 
 [159] 
 
QUENTIN ROOSEVELT 
 
 them — They weren't the circus of course. We 
 lost one man, tho', and we aren't sure how. We 
 rather think his motor must have gone dead on 
 him, and forced him to land in Germany. So 
 things are looking more interesting around here, 
 and I've had my first real fight. I was doubtful 
 before, — for I thought I might get cold feet, or 
 something, but you don't. You get so excited 
 that you forget everything except getting the 
 other fellow, and trying to dodge the tracers, 
 when they start streaking past you. 
 
 July 11, 1918. 
 
 There's lots doing in this sector. We lost an- 
 other fellow from our squadron three days ago. 
 However, you get lots of excitement to make up 
 for it, and nearly every patrol we run into some 
 of them. We've moved again, this time only 
 ten kilometres. It's a much smaller field than 
 the other, but it's nearer the front by those ten 
 kilometres, and the other was really too big for 
 us. Also, I like my quarters much better. I'm 
 [160] 
 
THE WAY OF THE EAGLE 
 
 billeted in a little French town near the field. I 
 room with Ed Tliomas, our transportation oflBcer, 
 in a delightful room. It's in one of those white, 
 plaster houses with tile roofs that sag in between 
 the rafters, and an impossible weather cock on 
 the chimney that doesn't work as there's a spar- 
 row's nest in between its legs. The room is on 
 the ground floor, — with a window on each side, 
 one where you can watch everything that's going 
 on in the street, and the other looking out on a 
 garden that's all in bloom. Its spotlessly clean, 
 \dth red tiled floor, and a huge grandfather's 
 clock ticking solemnly in the corner. 
 
 The old lady who owns the house is equally 
 delightful. She's a little bit of a dried up person, 
 at least as old as the hills, with gold rimmed spec- 
 tacles, the red cheeks that all these country folk 
 
 have, and a beard that even might be proud 
 
 of. At first she regarded me with deep suspicion, '-^ r 
 but I've now succeeded in winning her over. She 
 thawed a little when she found I talked French 
 — but the thing that won her over completely 
 was her dog. When I first came in I was greeted 
 [161] 
 
 iz-^c^ 
 
QUENTIN ROOSEVELT 
 
 with furious barkings and growlings. By a strong 
 mental effort I succeeded in showing no outward 
 and visible signs of my inward and spiritual doubt, 
 and walked on past him. That night, as I was 
 sitting reading the old lady appeared and with 
 her the dog, who solemnly advanced, wagged his 
 tail, and then put his head on my knee to be 
 patted. After that the old lady and I became 
 fast friends and now I am Monsieur Quentin 
 and a privileged person. Among other things 
 she told me that she had had German officers 
 quartered in her house in 1870 and then again 
 in 1914. Think of it. 
 
 I got my first real excitement on the front for 
 I think I got a Boche. The Operations Officer 
 is trying for confirmation on it now. I was out 
 on high patrol with the rest of my squadron when 
 we got broken up, due to a mistake in formation. 
 I dropped into a turn of a vriUe — these planes 
 have so little surface that at five thousand you 
 can't do much with them. When I got straight- 
 ened out I couldn't spot my crowd any where, so, 
 as I had only been up an hour, I decided to fool 
 [162] 
 
THE WAY OF THE EAGLE 
 
 around a little before going home, as I was just 
 over the lines. I turned and circled for five min- 
 utes or so, and then suddenly, — the way planes 
 do come into focus in the air, I saw three planes 
 in formation. At first I thought they were 
 Boche, but as they paid no attention to me I 
 finally decided to chase them, thinking they were 
 part of my crowd, so I started after them full 
 speed. I thought at the time it was a little strange, 
 with the wind blowing the way it was, that they 
 should be going almost straight into Germany, 
 but I had plenty of gas so I kept on. 
 
 They had been going absolutely straight and I 
 was nearly in formation when the leader did a 
 turn, and I saw to my horror that they had white 
 tails with black crosses on them. Still I was so 
 near by them that I thought I might pull up a 
 little and take a crack at them. I had altitude 
 on them, and what was more they hadn't seen 
 me, so I pulled up, put my sights on the end man, 
 and let go. I saw my tracers going all around 
 him, but for some reason he never even turned, 
 until all of a sudden his tail came up and he went 
 down in a vrille. I wanted to follow him but the 
 f 103 1 
 
QUENTIN ROOSEVELT 
 
 other two had started around after me, so I had 
 to cut and run. However, I could half watch 
 him looking back, and he was still spinning when 
 he hit the clouds three thousand meters below. 
 Of course he may have just been scared, but I 
 think he must have been hit, or he would have 
 come out before he struck the clouds. Three 
 thousand meters is an awfully long spin. 
 
 I had a long chase of it for they followed me 
 all the way back to our side of the lines, but our 
 speed was about equal so I got away. The trouble 
 is that it was about twenty kilometers inside their 
 lines, and I am afraid, too far to get confirmation. 
 
 At the moment every one is very much pleased 
 in our Squadron for we are getting new planes. 
 We have been using Nieuports, which have the 
 disadvantage of not being particularly reliable 
 and being inclined to catch fire. 
 
 The victory recounted in this letter was after- 
 ward verified by the French, and duly credited; 
 but the verification was not recorded until after 
 Quentin had fallen. 
 
 [164] 
 
CHAPTER m 
 THE LAST PATROL 
 
 Oyster Bay, July 17, 1918. 
 " Quentin*s mother and I are glad that lie got to 
 the front and had tlie chance to render some service 
 to his country^ and to show the stuff that was in him 
 before his fate befell him.'* 
 
 "On July fourteenth the French were to cele- 
 brate and asked us to contribute a number in a 
 theatre in a nearby town, so I appointed Quentin 
 Roosevelt to get up the entertainment. He 
 raked up all the musical talent, — the French are 
 very fond of American ragtime and banjos — and 
 the night before he came into my room and sat 
 on my bed, telling, with a great deal of humor, 
 of what he had done. The next day at noon I 
 called up to arrange about getting his party into 
 town when I heard he was reported missing.'* 
 
 When Quentin failed to turn up, Hamilton 
 Coolidge, who was serving in the 94th Squadron, 
 [165] 
 
QUENTIN ROOSEVELT 
 
 and Philip Roosevelt, who was Operations Officer 
 of the First Pursuit Group, left no stone unturned 
 to learn his fate. The inevitable crust that 
 hardens one who is daily meeting death was but 
 small protection to them against the blow. 
 Coolidge wrote: 
 
 Dear Mrs. Roosevelt— ^"^^ ^^ 
 
 In this awful period of suspense when we don't 
 know whether Quentin is dead or alive I feel that 
 the best thing I can do is to tell you in detail the 
 circumstances of his disappearance. On the morn- 
 ing of the Fourteenth a report came in to Quen- 
 tin's squadron, which was the one on duty at 
 that time, that Boches were crossing the lines in 
 the north eastern part of our sector. Accord- 
 ingly a patrol of nine men, Q among them, set 
 off to find the Huns. Just over the lines they 
 encountered a Boche patrol of seven. The wind 
 was blowing into their territory and the air was 
 hazy even above the "ceiling" (a solid layer of 
 clouds) which lay at about two thousand meters 
 altitude. The Boches at once started retreating 
 [166] 
 
THE LAST PATROL 
 
 and a running fight began. This soon developed 
 into a series of individual combats during which 
 the patrols became broken up. The combats did 
 not take place at very close range as the Huns 
 had no desire to fight. They succeeded however 
 in drawing our men further and further into their 
 territory. The combats finally ceased and the 
 men all made for home individually, groping their 
 way through the clouds and mist largely by aid 
 of their compasses. No one remembers having 
 seen Quentin after the shooting began, but this 
 is entirely natural. Several of the men lost their 
 way or were forced to come down for gasoline 
 soon after recrossing the lines; it is quite likely 
 that one of these things happened to Quentin. 
 Capt. Phihp Roosevelt yesterday interviewed an 
 observer who distinctly saw an allied plane de- 
 scend "piquing sharply, but not in flames and 
 apparently under control." The place and time 
 he gave corresponded exactly to those of Quen- 
 tin's combat, so it is safe to assume that it was he. 
 The fact that his plane was neither spinning nor 
 in flames as it came down makes me believe that 
 [167] 
 
QUENTIN ROOSEVELT 
 
 he landed safely. There are many good reasons 
 why he should have been "piquing sharply" — 
 perhaps to escape from pursuers in superior force, 
 perhaps again, because he was wounded and 
 wished to land before becoming faint. I have 
 talked to the men on his patrol and almost all 
 seem to think that he is a prisoner and was not 
 shot down. 
 
 Everything possible is being done to find out 
 news of Quentin, but at this critical time re- 
 ports do not come through or receive confirmation 
 very rapidly. Of course you will hear through 
 the Associated Press any news that may develop, 
 much more quickly than I could cable it, but 
 you may be sure that I shall forward to you 
 immediately any information which may have 
 escaped the notice of the Associated Press corre- 
 spondents. I have packed all Quent*s things 
 and sent them by truck to Mrs. Ted Roosevelt, 
 39 Rue Villejust, Paris, where, God grant he may 
 find them again before long. 
 
 Affectionate regards to you and Mr. Roosevelt — 
 
 Hamilton Coolidge. 
 [168] 
 
THE LAST PATROL 
 
 Months later, shortly before his own fate over- 
 took Ijini, he wrote: 
 
 "Death is certainly not a black unmentionable 
 thing, and I feel that dead people should be talked 
 of just as though they were alive. At mess and 
 sitting around in our quarters the boys that have 
 been killed are spoken of all the time when any 
 little thing reminds some one of them. To me 
 Quentin is just away somewhere. I know we 
 shall see each again and have a grand old 'hoosh' 
 talking over everything together. I miss him 
 the way I miss mother or the family, for his per- 
 sonality or spirit are just as real and vivid as they 
 ever were." 
 
 Lieutenant Edward Buford, Jr., was also re- 
 ported missing, but landed safely on a French 
 aerodrome. He had seen Quentin's last fight, 
 and described it in a letter to his family, written 
 several months later: 
 
 [Father dear:- Sept. Sth, 1918. 
 
 [You asked me if I knew Quentin Roosevelt. 
 Yes, I knew him very well indeed, and had been 
 [169] 
 
QUENTIN ROOSEVELT 
 
 associated with him ever since I came to France 
 and he was one of the finest and most courageous 
 boys I ever knew. I was in the fight when he 
 was shot down and saw the whole thing. 
 
 Four of us were out on an early patrol and we 
 had just crossed the lines looking for Boche ob- 
 servation machines, when we ran into seven Fok- 
 ker Chasse planes. They had the altitude and 
 the advantage of the Sun on us. It was very 
 cloudy and there was a strong wind blowing us 
 farther across the lines all the time. The leader 
 of our formation turned and tried to get back 
 out, but they attacked before we reached the 
 lines, and in a few seconds had completely broken 
 up our formation and the fight developed in a 
 general free-for-all. I tried to keep an eye on 
 all of our fellows but we were hopelessly separated 
 and out-numbered nearly two to one. About a 
 half a mile away I saw one of our planes with 
 three Boche on him, and he seemed to be having 
 a pretty hard time with them, so I shook the two 
 I was manouvering with and tried to get over to 
 him, but before I could reach them, our machine 
 [ 170 ] 
 
THE LAST PATROL 
 
 turned over on its back and plunged down out of 
 control. I realized it was too late to be of any as- 
 sistance and as none of our other machines were 
 in [sight, I made for a bank of clouds to try 
 and gain altitude on the Huns, and when I came 
 back out, they had reformed, but there were 
 only six of them, so I believe we must have 
 gotten one. 
 
 I waited around about ten minutes to see if I 
 could pick up any of our fellows, but they had 
 disappeared, so I came on home, dodging from 
 one cloud to another for fear of running into an- 
 other Boche formation. Of course, at the time 
 of the fight I did not know who the pilot was I 
 had seen go down, but as Quentin did not come 
 back, it must have been him. His loss was one 
 of the severest blows we have ever had in the 
 Squadron, but he certainly died fighting, for any 
 one of us could have gotten away as soon as the 
 scrap started with the clouds as they were that 
 morning. I have tried several times to write to 
 Col. Roosevelt but it is practically impossible 
 for me to write a letter of condolence, but if I 
 [171] 
 
QUENTIN ROOSEVELT 
 
 am lucky enough to get back to the States, I ex- 
 pect to go to see him. 
 
 Two days after Quentin fell the following Ger- 
 man communique was intercepted by our wireless : 
 
 "On July fourteen seven of our chasing planes 
 were attacked by a superior number of American 
 planes north of Dormans. After a stubborn fight, 
 one of the pilots — Lieutenant Roosevelt, — who 
 had shown conspicuous bravery during the fight 
 by attacking again and again without regard to 
 danger, was shot in the head by his more experi- 
 enced opponent and fell at Chamery." I 
 
 Not long afterward a German official bulletin 
 was found on a prisoner: 
 
 Group "Jeporen" (name of the general?) 
 General Command Headquarters. 
 
 Ic? — The Intelligence officer, in the name of the General. 
 No. 128185. 
 
 Army Corps Headquarters, 
 
 the 24th of July, 1918. 
 
 Edition including even the Companies, except those 
 which are just now on the first lines, and which 
 will be only mentioned after their relief. 
 
 [172] 
 
THE LAST PATROL 
 
 Sheet of Information, No. 10. 
 from the i21st of July to the 23rd of July, 1918. 
 
 THE SON OF FORMER PRESIDENT OF 
 THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA, 
 ROOSEVELT, FOUND DEATH IN AN 
 AERIAL FIGHT ON THE MARNE 
 
 At the time of a struggle between a German 
 pursuit squadron of seven machines and twelve 
 American pursuit aviators above the Marne, a 
 fight took place between the German pursuit pilot 
 non-commissioned officer Greper and an American 
 pilot. After a long fight, the German flyer suc- 
 ceeded in bringing down his gallant antagonist. 
 
 The hostile airman had been killed by two 
 bullets in the head. He was identified by his 
 papers as Lieutenant Roosevelt, of the U. S. A. 
 Flying Corps. 
 
 A clipping from the Kolnische Zeitung obtained 
 through the Spanish Embassy gave this account 
 of the fight: 
 
 "The aviator of the American Squadron, Quen- 
 [173] 
 
QUENTIN ROOSEVELT 
 
 tin Roosevelt, in trying to break through the air 
 zone over the Marne, met the death of a hero. 
 A formation of seven German aeroplanes, while 
 crossing the Marne, saw in the neighborhood of 
 Dormans a group of twelve American fighting 
 aeroplanes and attacked them. A lively air bat- 
 tle began, in which one American in particular 
 persisted in attacking. The principal feature of 
 the battle consisted in an air duel between the 
 American and a German fighting pilot, named 
 Sergeant Greper. After a short struggle Greper 
 succeeded in bringing the brave American just 
 before his gun-sights. After a few shots the plane 
 apparently got out of his control; the American 
 began to fall and struck the ground near the vil- 
 lage of Chamery, about ten kilometres north of 
 the Marne. The American flyer was killed by 
 two shots through the head. Papers in his pocket 
 showed him to be Quentin Roosevelt, of the United 
 States army. His effects are being taken care of 
 in order to be sent to his relatives. He was buried 
 by German aviators with military honors." 
 The German pilot who shot down Quentin 
 I 174 ] 
 
THE LAST PATROL 
 
 Roosevelt told of counting twenty bullet-holes 
 in his machine, when he landed after the fight. 
 He survived the war but was killed in an accident 
 while engaged in delivering German airplanes to 
 the American Forces under the terms of the 
 Armistice. 
 
 The funeral services held by the Germans were 
 witnessed on July fifteen by Captain James E. 
 Gee of the 110th Infantry, who had been captured, 
 and was being evacuated to the rear. Captain 
 Gee passed through Chamery, the little village 
 near which the plane crashed to earth. He thus 
 describes the scene: 
 
 [ "In a hollow square about the open grave were 
 assembled approximately one thousand German 
 soldiers, standing stiffly in regular lines. They 
 were dressed in field gray uniforms, wore steel 
 helmets, and carried rifles. Officers stood at at- 
 tention before the ranks. Near the grave was 
 the smashed plane, and beside it was a small group 
 of officers, one of whom was speaking to the men. 
 
 I "I did not pass close enough to hear what he 
 
 was saying; we were prisoners and did not have 
 
 [175] 
 
QUENTIN ROOSEVELT 
 
 the privilege of lingering, even for such an occa- 
 sion as this. At the time I did not know who 
 was being buried, but the guards informed me 
 later. The funeral certainly was elaborate. I 
 was told afterward by Germans that they paid 
 Lieut. Roosevelt such honor not only because 
 he was a gallant aviator, who died fighting bravely 
 against odds, but because he was the son of Colonel 
 Roosevelt, whom they esteemed as one of the 
 greatest Americans." 
 
 On July 18, in the great allied counter-attack, 
 the village where Quentin fell was retaken from 
 the Germans, and his grave was found by some 
 American soldiers. At its head was a wooden 
 cross, on which was printed: 
 
 Lieutenant Roosevelt 
 Buried by the Germans. 
 
 Following the custom that sprang up in the 
 heroic soil of the air-service, the broken propeller- 
 blades and bent and scarred wheels of the plane 
 were marking his resting-place. 
 
 Near by lay the shattered remains of the air- 
 
 ^ [ 176 ] 
 
THE LAST PATROL 
 
 plane, with the seventy-six "wound stripes" which 
 Qiicntin had painted on it, still to be seen. 
 
 The engineer regiment of the division that 
 had retaken Chamery marked the spot where the 
 airplane fell, and raised a cross at the grave with 
 the inscription : 
 
 Here rests on the field of honor 
 
 Quentin Roosevelt 
 
 Air Service U. S. A. 
 
 Killed in action July 1918. 
 
 The French placed an oaken enclosure with a 
 head-board reading: 
 
 Lieutenant 
 
 Quentin Roosevelt 
 
 Escadrille 95 
 
 Tombe glorieusement 
 
 En combat aerien 
 
 Le 14 Juillet 1918 
 
 Pour le droit 
 
 Et la liberte. 
 
 A young American officer in a letter to his 
 family thus described the arrival of the tribute 
 from the French: 
 
 [177] 
 
QUENTIN ROOSEVELT 
 
 ; "Oh yes, — one little episode of the other day 
 might be of interest. I was back of the Hnes on 
 a truck, in search of kitchen utensils and other 
 things for the men, when down the road came a 
 big open truck loaded with something which 
 looked like a gigantic wooden bed — perhaps twelve 
 feet long and eight feet wide. At the head of it 
 there was a large shield, and above this a carved 
 wooden cross. Did I not know the French idea of 
 homage to the dead, I would not have recognized 
 what it was. As we went by, I looked at the 
 shield — in large carved letters I saw the words 
 *Quentin Roosevelt.' You see he is buried not 
 far to our rear. It was a bit of French tribute, 
 for, to these people, there is no man like Roose- 
 velt. They still talk about him, and their eyes 
 snap whenever his name is mentioned. He com- 
 mands their profound respect: they consider him 
 their friend; this was the only way they could 
 show it." 
 
 Many very beautiful letters were written to 
 Quentin's father and mother by those who visited 
 the grave; from them three have been selected. 
 [178] 
 
THE LAST PATROL 
 
 The first is from Bishop Brent, the second from 
 a lifelong friend of the family, Doctor Alexander 
 Lambert, and the third from the Reverend C. A. 
 WTiite of Chicago: 
 
 Chamery 14th Aug. 1918. 
 
 1 I am standing by Quentin's resting place where 
 he lies on the Field of Honor. I came up on duty 
 near Fismes and learned quite by accident that 
 we would pass by the grave. It is at the bottom 
 of a shell scarred slope. The cross is supported 
 by the shaft of his plane, and the twisted wheels 
 are against the brick fence. There is a reversed 
 rifle at the foot, at the head behind the cross a 
 trench knife. There are some little tributes on 
 the grave — one from Evangeline Booth. It is a 
 month today since Quentin flew to his fate. Dr. 
 Macfarland is with me and we said some prayers 
 for him and for all of you. There are two sol- 
 diers of the Division here who fought over 
 
 this very ground and drove the Germans across 
 
 the river. We are still in the zone of action and 
 
 the storm of battle is raging, though all is peace- 
 
 [179 1 
 
QUENTIN ROOSEVELT 
 
 ful at this spot. Tonight I am to be with some 
 of our chaplains at a dressing station. 
 
 C. H. B. 
 
 "I do not know if any one has told you of the 
 kind of country around Chamery, the little vil- 
 lage four hundred yards from which he is. It is 
 seven to eight miles North of the Marne directly 
 north of Jaulgonne on the river just above a swing- 
 ing curve of the road above Cierge. The country 
 is a rolling grassy open hilly place, with only here 
 and there small patches of woods. Last Tuesday 
 I found some one had planted some pansies on 
 the grave and there were other flowers. Evi- 
 dently some one is looking after the place care- 
 fully, because no faded flowers collect there. \ 
 
 " Two months ago I went there to find the place 
 and took with me Colonel Elliot of the British 
 Service. We were still fighting in Fismes a few 
 miles north. A Field Hospital stood on a ridge 
 a mile away and troops were going steadily north 
 along the road through Chamery to Fismes. I 
 walked through a harvested oat field with little 
 [180] 
 
THE LAST PATROL 
 
 purple flowers scattered through it. I gathered 
 handfuls and so did Elliot, and as we stood by 
 the stone which marks the place where the ma- 
 chine struck, some fifty feet from the grave, we 
 saw coming up the side road a staff officer on 
 horse back, and along a path worn out across 
 the field from the main road, trudged a line of 
 American soldiers from the battalion halted in 
 the village on their way to Fismes. The boys 
 picked flowers on the way and stood in a group 
 aroimd Quentin's grave, and laid their flowers 
 where we had lain ours. Elliot exclaimed: 'That 
 is the real American spirit, an unconscious and 
 loyal tribute to what both the boy and his Father 
 have stood for.' 
 
 "It must be some comfort to realize for how 
 great a cause Quentin laid down his splendid 
 personality.'* . j 
 
 Chicago Oct 30 1918 
 I am not sure that I do either of you a kind- 
 ness in sending you this letter. If it is a mistake 
 on my part charge it to the feelings of a father 
 [181] 
 
QUENTIN ROOSEVELT 
 
 who has a son "somewhere in France." A few 
 weeks ago I motored some miles from the then 
 Vesle battle front to the grave of your son Quen- 
 tin. I believe it would be a comfort to you both 
 if you could see his noble resting place in the soil 
 of France as I saw it. The day was beautiful. 
 Sunshine everywhere. A company of boys in 
 khaki march past, eager, active, on their way to 
 the front. There are no other marked graves 
 near. The very isolation and the immediate 
 calmness of the scene seemed to me splendid. 
 Yet the roar of the guns along the Vesle front 
 could be heard. Captive balloons both Boche 
 and Allied floated lazily along the battle line a 
 few miles away. Air planes whirred overhead 
 and now and then one with the sinister black 
 Iron Cross of the Hun on it shot across the sky. 
 A noble burial place it seemed to me for a brave 
 American like your son. The grave is in the midst 
 of a broad rolling country, at the foot of a gentle 
 slope which beyond the grave drops rather sharply 
 to a more level field. The view in every direction 
 is practically unobstructed for several miles ex- 
 [182] 
 
THE LAST PATROL 
 
 cept by the near sloping hill side. As of course 
 you know a simple fence incloses the grave, some 
 simple plants, I think a few faded flowers, all 
 indicative of the loving thoughtfulness of some 
 one. Here where he fell doing his whole duty 
 your son sleeps in the bosom of France. It is a 
 brave place to rest after one's work is done, peace- 
 ful now that the battle front has rolled back to 
 the Aisne. Nature is busy making this great 
 battle field beautiful again. She is growing 
 grasses around the edges of shell holes, and scat- 
 tering some blood red poppies here and there. 
 Your hearts would find a great peace I am sure 
 if you could just see where your boy sleeps. 
 
 C. A. W. 
 
 Don Martin thus described the scene in a 
 despatch : 
 
 "Word that the grave of the young lieutenant 
 had been found spread rapidly. An American 
 division was encamped near by at the time. It 
 would be difficult to estimate the number of Amer- 
 icans who have made the pilgrimage to the grave 
 [183] 
 
QUENTIN ROOSEVELT 
 
 since It was located. It is about five hundred 
 feet off a small, slightly used road, on a little ledge 
 of earth overlooking a gorgeous panorama. Paths 
 have been worn to the grave from a half dozen 
 different points — worn by American soldiers, who 
 are still walking sometimes five and six miles 
 just to see the spot and pay reverence to the young 
 American who to serve his country entered the 
 most dangerous branch of the service." 
 
 Quentin's death called forth many editorials 
 that flamed forth genuine feeling. Three have 
 been chosen, two American and one French. The 
 first is from the Boston Transcript: 
 
 LIEUTENANT QUENTIN ROOSEVELT 
 
 "Not with evil intention, but doubtless in ac- 
 cordance with what they regard as chivalrous, 
 the Germans have dropped upon our advance 
 lines in France what is nevertheless a poisoned 
 dart, for it is the news that Lieutenant Quentin 
 Roosevelt is indeed dead. This word will bring 
 poignant sorrow to millions of Americans. And 
 the sorrow will not be merely sympathy for the 
 [184] 
 
THE LAST PATROL 
 
 distinguished family now bereaved of its youngest 
 son, its Joseph and its Absalom; it is sorrow of 
 the people's own, who find in this brave youth 
 the type and representative of their own dearest 
 attachments. It is the fortune of Theodore 
 Roosevelt to dramatize many sentiments and 
 qualities dear to the people — the home spirit 
 and the home treasure; service and sacrifice for 
 country; and the hopes and aspirations that are 
 common to us all. The people therefore feel the 
 death of young Roosevelt, typical boy of all our 
 boys, in a manner tenser than if they were mourn- 
 ing merely with another. 
 
 "Just a boy, for he was not yet twenty-one 
 years of age, following or side by side with his 
 brothers, all of them, young Quentin Roosevelt 
 went, seeking the most daring service; and first 
 of them all he has fallen to his death. The coun- 
 try simply stands shoulder to shoulder with the 
 heroic father, who says, *A great fight and a good 
 death; trust him, he would not fail.' Pride, 
 but a tender pride; a kind of high rejoicing, but 
 with tears in it, especially tears: for the devoted 
 [185] 
 
QUENTIN ROOSEVELT 
 
 mother; for a thousand bereavements exactly like 
 it march hand in hand with this bereavement, 
 and it is the forerunner of many more thousands 
 yet to come. All our boyhoods are in Quentin's 
 today; he is the volunteer of all our volunteers: 
 
 " * He leapt to arms unbidden, 
 1 Unneeded, over-bold; 
 
 His face by earth is hidden, 
 His heart in earth is cold. 
 
 Curse on the reckless daring 
 That could not wait the call. 
 
 The proud fantastic bearing 
 That would be first to fall ! 
 
 O tears of human passion, 
 
 Blur not the image true; 
 This was not folly's fashion, 
 
 This was the man we knew.' " 
 
 The second is from Reedy 's Mirror — St. Louis: 
 
 THE ROOSEVELTS 
 
 "How everybody's heart goes out to Colonel 
 and Mrs. Roosevelt in sympathy over the death 
 of their son Quentin ! The outburst of affec- 
 [186] 
 
THE LAST PATROL 
 
 tionate expression has been finely spontaneous. 
 And the way the Colonel takes the blow only 
 intensifies the popular admiration for him. Noth- 
 ing is in it of theatricality. The parents bow 
 to inexorable fate in a gracious simplicity- of proud 
 sorrow or sorrowful pride. The Colonel stands 
 out, in the affliction that has befallen him, with 
 a finer glory than ever. He's an American — a 
 man. How cheap and mean the aspersions upon 
 him for criticising the conduct of the war ! Well 
 it became General Pershing to send him a special 
 cable about Quentin, and the President to wire 
 his condolences. The Colonel would be the last 
 man to say his boy, as such, deserves any more 
 honor than another for doing his duty. Quentin 
 lived and died his father's creed of sacrificing 
 service. He died fighting with seven enemy 
 planes, fell in the enemy lines — as we all knew 
 a Roosevelt would. And two other sons are 
 among the wounded. Wliat argument such lives 
 and such a death lend to the creed of the true 
 American ! The boys justify their father's gos- 
 pel and career before all the world. And we 
 [187] 
 
QUENTIN ROOSEVELT 
 
 think of gallant, modest Quentin as typical of 
 all Americans, as the flower and fruit of the patri- 
 otism a lax generation first awoke to at his father's 
 call, before war had come and death begun its 
 revel. He stands for all the fallen upon whom 
 no public glory falls. And the Colonel and Mrs. 
 Roosevelt seem to gather and give off our pity 
 to fathers and mothers all unknown who have 
 made the same sacrifice. They take the blow 
 standing. They say it is well their dear one dies 
 that liberty may live, that force and fraud may 
 be destroyed in world-affairs. Colonel Roose- 
 velt has been given much by the people in a score 
 of years, but now they give him their tears, their 
 heart of heart; they are drawn into oneness mak- 
 ing these parents' grief and pride their own. In 
 these gloom-glory hours the Roosevelts serve 
 their country and their kind in high fashion. And 
 when they prayed, thousands who never prayed 
 before said *Amen' to their resignation to the 
 Divine Will. Again the Roosevelts bound their 
 people in oneness of spirit about the altar where 
 bled their ewe-lamb. And Quentin rests in Ger- 
 [188] 
 
THE LAST PATROL 
 
 many by his people's orders, lives in death 'pos- 
 sessed of fame that never shall grow old.' " 
 
 The last is from Le Temps, Paris: 
 
 TEL PERE, TELS FILS 
 
 "La mort heroiqiie du capitaine aviateur Quen- 
 tin Roosevelt, fils de I'ancicn president des Etats- 
 TJnis, ajoute une noiivelle page de gloire et de 
 deuil a I'histoire de I'amitie plus que seculaire 
 qui unit I'Amerique et la France, dans une magni- 
 fique confraternite d'armes, pour la defense du 
 droit eternel et des libertes du monde. 
 
 " Le president Roosevelt, dont la vie publique 
 et i)riv6e fut toujours un admirable exemple de 
 courage liberalement prodigue au service des plus 
 nobles causes, est un des hommes d'Etat qui ont 
 le plus eflScacement contribue au rapprochement 
 de toutes les forces morales de I'humanite sur le 
 champ de bataille oil va se decider I'avenir de la 
 conscience humaine. Tout de suite il a proteste 
 contre I'agression qui a dechalne la guerre et qui, 
 par la violation de la neutralite de la Belgique, a 
 [189] 
 
QUENTIN ROOSEVELT 
 
 donne, de prime abord, la mesure de rimmoralite 
 de I'agresseur. 
 
 " Si Tancien combattant de Cuba n'est pas venu 
 lui-m^me, comme il le desirait, prendre sa place 
 au milieu du combat et, selon sa coutume, au 
 plus fort du peril, c'est que des obstacles plus 
 puissants que sa volonte I'ont retenu aux Etats- 
 Unis ou d'ailleurs il ne cesse de servir, par tous 
 les moyens en son pouvoir, la cause a laquelle il 
 a sacrifie de tout coeur ses plus chores affections. 
 II nous a donne ses quatre fils, tous engages volon- 
 taires, tous animes de la plus belle emulation 
 d'heroisme et inspires des hautes pensees dont 
 la tradition paternelle a illustre leur foyer natal. 
 L'un d'eux, le plus jeune, dej^ cite k I'ordre pour 
 une serie d'incomparables prouesses, vient de 
 tomber au champ d'honneur. Tin autre est 
 blesse. . . . 
 
 "Puisse la grande &me du president Roosevelt 
 trouver dans cette epreuve la consolation et le 
 reconfort que voudrait lui apporter notre amitie 
 f raternelle ! II sait, il a souvent dit, mieux que 
 personne, combien la beaute du sacrifice libre- 
 [190] 
 
THE LAST PATROL 
 
 ment consenti est feconde en bienfaits pour les 
 generations qui viendront, apres nous, recueillir 
 les fruits de nos efforts et de nos souffrances. Ceux 
 qui furcnt les heros d'une juste cause et les mar- 
 tyrs d'un ideal ne cessent pas d'etre presents a 
 la memoire des siecles et d'agir par une incessante 
 resurrection qui multiplie a I'infini la vertu de 
 leurs actes. Ainsi vivra parmi nous le capitaine 
 Quentin Roosevelt, aime des freres d'armes qui 
 f urent les temoins de ses exploits, honore des liom- 
 mages doux et tendres de sa patrie qui le pleure 
 avec fierte, entoure de Tamour de la France qui 
 a recueilli ses reliques sacrees et qui veillera pieu- 
 sement sur sa tombe glorieuse. — G. D." 
 
 It is fitting to close this chapter with these 
 four personal letters: 
 
 Paris July 23rd, 1918 
 My dear Colonel Roosevelt: — 
 
 Perhaps you will like to know of a tribute paid 
 you and your son Quentin. 
 
 Beside my other work here, I have been going 
 to the Neuilly hospital every morning for two 
 [191] 
 
QUENTIN ROOSEVELT 
 
 hours to distribute American newspapers to the 
 wounded just arrived from the front. It is a ter- 
 rible and touching sight. The wards are already 
 so full that all the halls are lined with men on 
 stretchers waiting to have their wounds dressed. 
 They are splendidly brave and uncomplaining 
 and pathetically eager for home news. Yester- 
 day morning I had given away all my New York 
 papers and had only the Paris edition of the New 
 York Herald left. At the end of a long hall I 
 found a man apparently asleep. His head was 
 hanging over the edge of the stretcher and I put 
 a pillow under it to ease his position. When he 
 opened his eyes I asked him " where he had gotten 
 it" as the question is put among them. "Oh ! it 
 ain't much I have, lady — " he replied — "just 
 through me hips and somewhere in the back." 
 Then he saw the paper and his eyes lit up. I 
 gave it to him and lighted a cigarette. He said 
 "Gee! but that's swell" and then as his eyes fol- 
 lowed the head lines of the paper — "Hell ! they 
 got the President's son !" There was no question 
 between us of who was or had been President, no 
 [192] 
 
THE LAST PATROL 
 
 need to question his or my patriotism. — War, I 
 find, strips the unessential from our lives and 
 speech. 
 
 Very sincerely yours, 
 
 Laura Kelton Owens. 
 
 A deeply appreciated personal letter came from 
 
 Baltimore: 
 
 November 19th. 
 
 My dear Colonel and Mrs. Roosevelt: 
 
 This is a very old lady writing you, but I feel 
 sure I have that which will be of interest, as it is 
 an incident relating to the dear boy who sleeps 
 on Flanders Field. 
 
 We were in a camp up in the White Mountain 
 region, had just been celebrating a reported vic- 
 tory, and as a veteran of the sixties it fell to me to 
 tell some of my experiences, as a northern woman, 
 in the south. We had had a great camp celebra- 
 tion and just finished the national anthem, when 
 some one stepped up on the platform and told us 
 Quentin Roosevelt had made the "supreme sac- 
 rifice." There was an instant hush, as though 
 [193] 
 
QUENTIN ROOSEVELT 
 
 every heart there was lifted in prayer, when out 
 from the back of the hall stepped a young woman 
 bearing a big flag, singing "My Country 'Tis of 
 Thee." All joined in singing it through, then 
 silently with bowed heads passed out into the 
 night, each to his own quarters. 
 
 Words cannot convey to you the solemnity of 
 the tribute to the brave young soldier. There 
 were some of us who recalled him as a little laddie 
 in the streets of Washington. There were none 
 who failed in the tribute, or forgot the sad hearts 
 at Oyster Bay. 
 
 Most loyally, sympathetically and lovingly, 
 
 Mrs. L. B. Lair. 
 
 l A letter from Captain Philip Roosevelt, Opera- 
 tions OflBcer of the First Pursuit Group, closed 
 thus: I 
 
 ". . . and manner of his death, I would rather 
 have died as Quentin did than any other way. 
 It was a critical day in the war. ' Quentin was 
 taking part in a military mission of an importance 
 [194] 
 
THE LAST PATROL 
 
 which could not be exaggerated, protecting a 
 photographic airpLine fifteen kilometers in the 
 enemy lines. This mission was successful and the 
 photographs established beyond a doubt that the 
 enemy must attack within twenty-four hours for 
 one could see the seventy sevens being placed in 
 position in open fields and far back of the lines the 
 reinforcements already marching up to fill the 
 holes which were to be made in the enemy ranks. 
 Quentin lost his life, and it makes his personal 
 loss no less hard to bear to know that he died at 
 a supreme moment, but it does leave behind a 
 tremendous inspiration for the rest of us." 
 
 The Reverend John B. Stoudt of Northampton, 
 Pa., wrote: 
 
 "M}' brother Lieut. Frederick M. Stoudt served 
 abroad during the war in the Motor Transport 
 Corps, and was stationed most of the time at 
 Verneil, France, at the Reconstruction Park 772, 
 where he had charge of a department in the Sheet 
 Metal and AYelding Shop. Towards the end of 
 the war he had upwards of two hundred German 
 prisoners working in his department. He tells of 
 f 195 1 
 
QUENTIN ROOSEVELT 
 
 a young German officer, quite intelligent, who 
 delighted in discussing the war, and who would 
 ask many questions about America and our enter- 
 ing into the war. 
 
 "This young officer told my brother the follow- 
 ing in substance, concerning the effect upon the 
 Germans at the falling of your son Quentin. That 
 when he fell the fact was heralded throughout 
 the German army, and throughout the Central 
 powers. That photos of his grave and his wrecked 
 plane were published and exhibited profusedly far 
 and wide. That the German authorities believed 
 it to be good propaganda, with which to hearten 
 both the soldiers and the people at home. But 
 that it had the opposite effect and produced as 
 far as they were concerned a negative effect or 
 result. That no sooner had Quentin fallen but 
 that it was whispered from ear to ear, from trench 
 to trench. That in it one could see how in free 
 America everybody was fighting. That though 
 America was in the war only for a short time, the 
 son of an American President, engaged in one of 
 the most dangerous lines of service, was lying 
 [196] 
 
THE LAST PATROL 
 
 back of the German lines, while their country 
 had been at war three years and that neither the 
 Kaiser, nor any of his sons were ever so much as 
 scratched. That it gave the soldiers a vision of 
 the democracy of America, and helped to deepen 
 the feeling that they, the common soldiers, were 
 only cannon fodder for the Kaiser. That it made 
 real to them the difference between autocracy and 
 democracy, of which they had heard so much. 
 That this feeling spread like wild fire, not only 
 throughout the army, but also among the people 
 at home. That those elements in Germany that 
 were opposed to the war seized upon it and en- 
 larged the suggestion. This young oflScer de- 
 clared that in the judgment of many this was 
 the largest single factor in the breaking of the 
 morale of the German Army." 
 
 [ 197 
 
CHAPTER IV 
 
 OFFICIAL JUDGMENT 
 
 AMERICAN EXPEDITIONARY FORCES 
 
 OFFICE OF THE COMMANDEH-IN-CHIEF 
 
 France, July 27th, 1918. 
 Colonel Theodore Roosevelt, 
 Oyster Bay, Long Island, 
 New York. 
 
 My dear Colonel: 
 
 Since my cablegram of July 17tli, I have de- 
 layed writing you in the hope that we might still 
 learn that, through some good fortune, your son 
 Quentin had managed to land safely inside the 
 German lines. Now the telegram from the In- 
 ternational Red Cross at Berne, stating that the 
 German Red Cross confirms the newspaper re- 
 ports of his death, has taken even this hope away. 
 Quentin died as he had lived and served, nobly 
 [198] 
 
OFFICIAL JUDGMENT 
 
 and unselfishly; in the full strength and vigor 
 of his youth, fighting the enemy in clean combat. 
 You may well be proud of your gift to the nation 
 in his supreme sacrifice. 
 
 I realize that time alone can heal the wound, 
 yet I know that at such a time the stumbling 
 words of understanding from one's friends help, 
 and I want to express to you and to Quentin's 
 mother my deepest sympathy and friendship. 
 Perhaps I can come as near to realizing whs.t 
 such a loss means as anyone. 
 
 Enclosed is a copy of his official record in the 
 Air Service. The brevity and curtness of the 
 official words paint clearly the picture of his ser- 
 vice, which was an honor to all of us. \ 
 Believe me. 
 
 Sincerely yours, 
 
 John J. Perbhinq. 
 
 [199] 
 
QUENTIN ROOSEVELT 
 
 GENERAL HEADQUARTERS 
 
 AMERICAN EXPEDITIONARY FORCES 
 
 July 26, 1918. 
 
 MEMORANDUM FOR: The Adjutant Gen- 
 eral, A. E. F. 
 
 SUBJECT: Official Record of 1st Lieutenant 
 Quentin Roosevelt, Air Service. 
 
 1. Lieutenant Quentin Roosevelt landed Liver- 
 pool August Sth 1917, assigned Issoudun August 
 17tli, assigned School Aerial Gunnery Cazaux 
 March 1st 1918, to duty Officer in charge Train- 
 ing Field seven Issoudun March 24th, to duty 
 Orly May 31st Chartres June 11th Toul June 
 13th Colombey-les-Belles June 21st, assigned to 
 95th Aero Squadron Toul June 24th, duty Char- 
 tres June 25th Toul July 6th Touquin July 13th, 
 reported missing July 17th, confirmation by Ger- 
 man Red Cross of death in aerial combat July 
 22nd. Confirmed by International Red Cross 
 from Berne, Switzerland, July 24, 1918 as fol- 
 lows: 
 
 [200] 
 
OFFICIAL JUDGMENT 
 
 "International Red Cross wires that German 
 Red Cross confirms newspaper reports Quentin 
 Roosevelt's death in aerial combat further details 
 lacking — King Godson." 
 
 2. Lt. Quentin Roosevelt during his whole 
 career in the Air Service both as a cadet and as 
 a flaying officer was a model of the best type of 
 young American manhood. He was most cour- 
 teous in his conduct, clean in his private life and 
 devoted in his duty. As an Officer he had the 
 best interests of the service always at heart, per- 
 formed his duty no matter what it was, whether 
 agreeable or not, always to the best of his ability 
 and without question or remark. 
 
 S. After completion of his training as a pilot 
 he was selected on account of his efficiency as 
 an instructor and had charge of one of the most 
 important flying instruction fields. His great 
 desire and hope was to be allowed to get to the 
 front. This opportunity was not practicable 
 for a comparatively long time on account of 
 his expert services being more needed as an in- 
 structor. 
 
 [201] 
 
QUENTIN ROOSEVELT 
 
 4. When the order assigning him to duty with 
 a squadron finally came on June 24th he lost no 
 time in reporting and arrived just in time to take 
 part in the last great enemy offensive where the 
 combat work by his squadron was most stren- 
 uous and aided materially in the success of the 
 battle. 
 
 5. Lieutenant Roosevelt had already brought 
 down one enemy plane and had aided the squad- 
 ron in a number of fights against large enemy air 
 formations where the American units dispersed 
 the enemy and brought down a number of their 
 aircraft. His work during these combats was 
 exceptionally good, his endeavor being the suc- 
 cess of the squadron rather than to get individual 
 airplanes to his personnel credit. 
 
 6. His loss was deeply felt by his flying com- 
 rades in the squadron as well as by all oflScers 
 and soldiers with whom he had ever come into 
 contact. 
 
 R, 0. Van Horn, 
 
 Colonel, Air Service, 
 Asst. Chief of Air Service. 
 
 [202] 
 
OFFICIAL JUDGMENT 
 
 AMERICAN EXPEDITIONARY FORCES 
 
 OFnCE OF THE COMMANDER-rN-CHIEF'. 
 
 France, August 23rd, 1018. 
 Colonel Theodore Roosevelt, 
 Oyster Bay, L. I. 
 New York. 
 My dear Colonel Roosevelt: 
 
 Believing that you and Mrs. Roosevelt would 
 want complete information as to where your son 
 rests, I requested that there be prepared an official 
 report, accompanied by photographs. These have 
 just reached me and I am enclosing them to you. 
 
 The manner in which Qucntin's comrades have 
 marked and sheltered his grave shows how much 
 they loved him, and this must offer you and Mrs. 
 Roosevelt some consolation in the great sacrifice 
 you have made. 
 
 Again expressing my regret over the loss of 
 this splendid young soldier, and my sympathy 
 with you, Mrs. Roosevelt and the family, I am, 
 my dear Colonel Roosevelt, 
 
 Sincerely yours, 
 
 John J. Pershing. 
 [203] 
 
QUENTIN ROOSEVELT 
 
 Washington, le Sept. 21, 1918. 
 
 AMBASSADE 
 
 De La Republique Frangaise 
 
 Aux Etats-Unis. 
 
 My dear Colonel: 
 
 All those among us, In whatever walk of life, 
 who have lost a son in the present war, receive 
 as a memorial to be preserved in the family, an 
 engraved statement, testifying to the fact that 
 their child gave his life for the great cause. 
 
 The President of the French Republic hopes 
 you will permit him to consider that a similar 
 loss has brought you even nearer to our hearts 
 than ever before, and he has instructed me to 
 transmit to you and to Mrs. Roosevelt the same 
 token as is received by the bereft fathers and 
 mothers of France. 
 
 In accordance with the directions of President 
 Poincare, I forward you at the same time as this 
 note, a case containing that document, and I en- 
 close herewith a letter to you from President 
 Poincare. 
 
 [204] 
 
OFFICIAL JUDGMENT 
 
 As for me, I need not say what I feel in fulfilling 
 this duty; I knew Quentin as a child, and one 
 could easily discover in the child the man that 
 he would be. Millions of long lives will have 
 been forgotten when his memory will still be fresh 
 among us as in his own country. 
 
 Believe me, my dear Colonel, 
 
 Most sincerely yours, 
 
 JUSSERAND. 
 
 Prcsidence 
 
 de la 
 
 Republique 
 
 Paris 3rd Sept. 1918. 
 
 My dear President Roosevelt: 
 
 Do you kindly allow me to send you, in memory 
 of your gallant son Quentin, the same diploma 
 as to the parents of the French officers and sol- 
 diers who died for freedom ? I charge our friend, 
 Mr. Jusserand, to deliver you, with this letter, 
 that token of admiration. 
 
 Believe me, sincerely yours, 
 
 R. POINCARE. 
 
 [205] 
 
QUENTIN ROOSEVELT 
 
 Q. G. A., le 5 Septembre 1018 
 
 le General DEGOUTTE 
 Commandant la VI° Armee Frangaise 
 a Monsieur le President ROOSEVELT 
 
 Monsieur le President, 
 
 Sur le territoire reconquis par la VI** Arm6e 
 entre la Marne et I'Aisne, avec I'aide des vaillantes 
 troupes des Etats-TJnis, nous avons voulu donner 
 aux braves, morts glorieusement pour la defense 
 des Droits de rHumanit6, une sepulture qui per- 
 mettra aux families qui les pleurent de reconnaltre 
 le lieu de leur dernier repos, et a ceux qui recueil- 
 leront le fruit de leur heroisme, de venir, dans les 
 ann^es qui suivront la paix victorieuse, leur ap- 
 porter le tribut de leur reconnaissance profonde- 
 ment emue. 
 
 Parmi les plus glorieuses tombes, o^ se feront 
 ces pieux pelerinages, sera celle de votre fils, le 
 Lieutenant Aviateur Quentin Roosevelt, herol- 
 quement frappe en plein vol, en effectuant une 
 patrouille de protection au-dessus de la For^t 
 de Ris, le 14 Juillet, le jour m^me ou la France 
 [ 206 ] 
 
OFFICIAL JUDGMENT 
 
 celebrait Tanniversaire de la conquete de ses 
 Libert OS. 
 
 Elle so troiive pvbs de la Ferme de Reddy, de- 
 pendant de la Commune de Coulonges — Je vous 
 envoie la photographie qui en a ete prise. 
 
 J'ai tenu k y deposer personnellement una 
 couronne pour rendre hommage a la memoire du 
 jeune h6ros. 
 
 En vous adressant ce pieux souvenir, permettez- 
 moi, Monsieur le President, de vous exprimer de 
 tout coeur la part que je prends au deuil cruel qui 
 vous frappe. 
 
 Le Lieutenant Quentin Roosevelt est heroi- 
 
 quement torabe en terre frangaise pour le triomphe 
 
 de I'idcal commun de nos deux Pays, dont la vieille 
 
 amitie devient de jour en jour plus etroite en se 
 
 scellant du sang si noblement verse, c6te k cote, 
 
 sur les champs de bataille. t-w 
 
 ^ Deqoutte. 
 
 Le GforfjRAL PfiTAIN 
 
 Monsieur le President, ^^ •'""•^* '^^^ 
 
 J'apprends la mort glorieuse de votre fils, le 
 capitaine aviateur Roosevelt, tomb6 au front de 
 [207] 
 
QUENTIN ROOSEVELT 
 
 France en combattant pour la cause de la li- 
 berie. 
 
 Si votre douleur peut avoir quelque adoucisse- 
 ment, vous le trouverez certainement dans ce fait 
 que votre fils a trouve une mort heroique en com- 
 battant sous les plis du drapeau Americain que la 
 France entiere salue comme le symbole de la 
 victoire certaine. 
 
 Veuillez agreer, Monsieur le President, avec 
 les sinceres et vives condoleances de TArmee 
 Frangaise, I'assurance de toute ma sympathie. 
 
 Ch. Petain. 
 
 SG 
 
 GRAND QUARTIER GENERAL 
 
 Des 
 
 ARMEES FRANCAISES DE L'EST 
 
 ETAT-MAJOR 
 
 Bureau Du Personnel 
 (Decorations) 
 
 ORDRE No 12,027 "D." (EXTRAIT) 
 
 Apres approbation du General Commandant en 
 Chef les Forces expeditionnaires Americaines en 
 [208] 
 
OFFICIAL JUDGMENT 
 
 France, le Marechal de France, Commandant en 
 Chef les Armces Frangaises de I'Est, cite a TOrdrc 
 de UArmee. 
 
 Lieutenant Pilote Quentin Roosevelt, a I'Esca- 
 diille Americaine 95: 
 
 "Excellent pilote de chasse, possedant les plus 
 belles qualites de courage et de devoueraent, Le 
 10 Juillet 1918, apres un combat contre 5 avions 
 ennemis, a abattu un de ses adversaires. A ete 
 tue-glorieusement au cours d'un combat aerien. 
 le 14 Juillet 1918." 
 
 Au Quartier General, le 29 Novembre 1918 
 Le Marechal De France, 
 Commandant en Chef les Armees Frangaises de L'Est, 
 
 Pour Exteait Conforme: 
 Le Lieutenant-Colonel, 
 
 Chef du Bureau du Personnel 
 
 (Signature illegible) Petain. 
 
 From the Naval Institute of July, 1919: 
 "The only French war craft named after a 
 citizen other than of France, is the torpedo-boat 
 [209] 
 
QUENTIN ROOSEVELT 
 
 destroyer Quentin Roosevelt, named recently as a 
 mark of respect to the late ex-president and his 
 son. The destroyer is the former Russian Buiki, 
 which has been taken over by French naval au- 
 thorities and renamed. She was rechristened last 
 September. The Quentin Roosevelt was turned 
 over by the Russians to the French because their 
 navy was at that time short of men and they were 
 unable to man her." — Institute. 
 
 (SIOJ 
 
CHAPTER V 
 
 •"THE JUDGMENT OF HIS PEERS" 
 
 HDQRS. FIRST PURSUIT GROUP 
 
 AIB BBBVICE — AMERICAN E. P. 
 
 December 21, 1918. 
 
 Dear Colonel Roosevelt: 
 
 On going through our files preparatory to de- 
 mobilization of the First Pursuit Group Head- 
 quarters, the enclosure (a report locating Quen- 
 tin's grave) was discovered, having been caught 
 with some other papers and filed away by mis- 
 take. As the information requested was later 
 given officially in another letter, it is not neces- 
 sary for us to forward the enclosed indorsement, 
 and I thought that perhaps you might be in- 
 terested in having it, as it is signed by one of 
 Quentin's great friends, Lieut. Hamilton Coolidge, 
 who, as you know, was subsequently killed in 
 the Verdun Sector on October 27th. 
 
 It is needless for me to say that Quentin's loss 
 [211] 
 
QUENTIN ROOSEVELT 
 
 was mourned by everybody in the Group. He 
 was one of the most popular officers in the organi- 
 zation, being Hked by everyone, officers and men. 
 I know of no one who really enjoyed life more 
 than he did. He always entered into the spirit 
 of everything, whether it was work or pleasure. 
 The day he was killed, he was in charge of an 
 entertainment we were giving to assist in cele- 
 brating the French National Holiday, July 14th, 
 and at the rehearsal given the night before, was 
 the life of the party, inspiring everybody with 
 his enthusiasm. That night he came to my room, 
 and I shall always remember his sitting on my 
 bed and describing to me in his inimitable manner, 
 the programme that he had laid out. 
 
 He and Captain Coolidge reported to the First 
 Pursuit Group when we were in the Toul Sector, 
 and both explained that they had been boyhood 
 friends for the past eight years and wished to 
 get into the same Squadron. There was a vacancy 
 in two Squadrons so the Commanding Officer 
 assigned Quentin to the 95th and Lt. Coolidge, 
 as he was then, to the 94th. Both became Flight 
 [212 1 
 
"THE JUDGIVIENT OF HIS PEERS" 
 
 Commanders in their respective Squadrons. Capt. 
 Coolidge felt his loss very deeply, and often spoke 
 to me about him. The day Capt. Coolidge was 
 killed, October 27th, he stopped in my office just 
 as he was leaving on his last patrol, and spoke 
 then of Quentin. I recall now his saying that he 
 wished Quentin could have survived to have been 
 with him at St Mihiel-Verdun offensive, in which 
 this Group had been so successful. Coolidge, as 
 you know, had become an Ace, and had eight 
 official enemy airplanes to his credit. Killed, al- 
 most under the shadow of the Armistice as it 
 were, his loss was deeply felt by everyone. , 
 Very sincerely yours, 
 
 Henry L. Lyster 
 CaptaiHy Air Service U. S. A. 
 
 Dear Mrs. Roosevelt: '^^'^ ^^' ^^^^ 
 
 It seems almost incomprehensible that Quen- 
 tin is really gone. At every turn something re- 
 minds me of him. This afternoon I walked in a 
 quiet wood where Q. and I walked and chatted 
 together only a few days before his death. I 
 [213] 
 
QUENTIN ROOSEVELT 
 
 could almost hear his voice but still there is an 
 awful empty feeling inside. Quent was such a 
 complete person — not a mere friend who is in- 
 teresting in some particular way — ^he was in- 
 teresting and lovable in every way. No one I 
 ever knew had so many friends from so many 
 different types and conditions of people. 
 
 I am trying to write a little sketch of Quentin 
 since his coming to Prance, in the hope that I 
 may be able to tell you some things about him 
 which you would never have learned from his 
 letters. This will not be finished for a while yet, 
 as it is necessary to write in between times and 
 in the midst of distractions. Also, my ability 
 to express what I feel makes it hopelessly inade- 
 quate; still I shall do my best, as I do so want 
 you to know about some of the things that boy 
 has done here. 
 
 Quentin's daring has left a profound impression 
 on all of us. I remember once at Issoudun, when 
 after making a bad landing and narrowly missing 
 a ditch, he told me that he had a "horrible sink- 
 ing feeling," but when it came to facing live Boches 
 [214] 
 
"THE JUDGMENT OF HIS TEERS" 
 
 in superior number far inside their lines, and 
 each armed with two deadly machine guns, the 
 "sinking feeling" did not figure at all. Too many 
 pilots find a "miss firing motor" or "leaking water 
 connection" an excuse for avoiding proximity 
 to Boche planes. Quentin, however, found the 
 presence of enemy planes an excuse for temporarily 
 overlooking the inferiority of his own apparatus. 
 His aggressive spirit has made a deep impression 
 throughout our Air Service, and I find in Quen- 
 tin's death, I won't say a vindication of IVIr. Roose- 
 velt's attitude towards our War programme, but 
 a factor which gives his words redoubled force. 
 One heard occasionally, about a year ago, these 
 words, "Yes, the Roosevelt boys are all going 
 across, but you can be sure they'll be given staff 
 jobs." Strangely enough several of the people 
 who made similar remarks have found that they 
 are temperamentally better suited to be instruc- 
 tors at the Aviation Schools, rather than mere 
 pilots at the front. 
 
 I am enclosing a letter from one of Quentin's 
 former mechanics. It arrived a few days after 
 [215] 
 
QUENTIN ROOSEVELT 
 
 his death and is typical of the way every one of 
 those boys felt toward him. 
 
 I feel that I share with you and Mr. Roose- 
 velt the thrill of pride that was given us by the 
 circumstances of Quentin's splendid victory, and 
 of his even more splendid death, and I ask you 
 to accept my deepest sympathy at so sacred a 
 
 Affectionately yours, 
 
 Hamilton Coolidge. 
 
 HAMILTON COOLIDGE's SKETCH 
 
 On the trip across Quentin busied himself most 
 of the time in becoming better acquainted with 
 the oflScers of his detachment, many of whom he 
 previously knew but slightly. He was thoroughly 
 enthusiastic about the job ahead; his enthusiasm 
 was fundamental, and seemed to me distinct from 
 that of many of his comrades who apparently 
 acquired theirs in the much talking and specula- 
 tion that accompanied the after dinner smoke. 
 Even his worst spells of homesickness did not 
 dent it, though his natural cheerfulness changed 
 to black gloom on that tedious trip. 
 [ 216 ] 
 
"THE JUDGMENT OF HIS PEERS" 
 
 Often we walked together in the evenings on 
 the unlightod decks, and always the conversation 
 developed into reminiscences of the events so 
 fresh in our niinds. . . . Never was he sorry for 
 himself. Almost never did he speak of the dan- 
 gers ahead of him, and then only in a most casual 
 way. Once in a great while he wondered "Shall 
 I ever come back?" but far more often it was "I 
 wonder how long it will be before we come back." 
 His attitude seemed to be fatalistic. He went on 
 the principle that he was on an adventure in 
 which a definite object was to be obtained. When 
 that object was obtained he was coming back. If 
 some accident befel him in the course of it, that 
 was something he could not foresee — then why 
 worry? Quentin did not begrudge the fact that 
 war was going to demand his best efforts, that it 
 would place him in great personal danger. The 
 only thing he begrudged was the inordinate 
 amount of precious time that it would occupy. . . . 
 
 Upon arriving in France on August 14th, Quen- 
 tin was sent directly to Issoudun to take charge 
 of transportation, and for a while supplies also. 
 [217] 
 
QUENTIN ROOSEVELT 
 
 The camp then consisted of little more than a 
 half dozen army tents, and Cord Meyer was 
 about the only one of his old friends then with 
 him. All I knew of Quentin during the next two 
 months came from his comrades who occasionally 
 had business in Paris. Somehow Transportation 
 and supplies didn't seem to be within the field of 
 Quentin's previous experiences, but everyone spoke 
 of how well he was doing. He successfully con- 
 ducted several trench trains of suppKes from a 
 sea-port town and some of the supplies he obtained 
 occasioned considerable comment because the 
 other men had been unsuccessful in obtaining 
 them. I later learned that Quentin never needed 
 previous experience to handle a job successfully. 
 His versatility was unlimited. Probably no officer 
 in the air service has had more different jobs than 
 Quentin in the same length of time, and made a 
 real success of each» Yet all the time he was 
 doing these jobs, not because he liked them but 
 because he saw that they were inevitable before 
 flying could really begin. Flying was what he 
 cared about., One day a Frenchman landed at 
 [218] 
 
"THE JUDGMENT OF HIS PEERS" 
 
 the field in a Caudion. After lunch Quentin was 
 looking over the machine. He had never driven 
 a Caudion before, in fact for over two months he 
 had not flown at all. Neither of those facts dis- 
 turbed him in the least; he wanted to fly. Two 
 mechanics cranked the engine and a minute later 
 Quentin was circling the field in a machine new to 
 him and controlled in a different manner than 
 any plane he had hitherto been in ! 
 
 It was during this period that Quentin and 
 Cord Meyer became such good friends. They 
 frequently took motor cycle trips together. Both 
 had some bad smashes, but that seemed only the 
 rather amusing accompaniment of their good 
 times together. It was then, too, that they be- 
 came acquainted with the delightful Normant 
 family at Romorantin. 
 
 On October 15th, when the school opened a 
 new administration took hold. From then on 
 the plan of things and even the personnel, was 
 constantly changing for a while. Quentin always 
 had some job on his hands. One week he went 
 away in charge of a trucking detail. The next 
 [219 J 
 
QUENTIN ROOSEVELT 
 
 saw him in command of a Squadron. Often he 
 was called to Paris on questions of accountabilities 
 for suppUes. His duties were so many and varied 
 that for a while he had little chance to fly. It 
 really seemed as if his superiors used him for any 
 hard job which required tactful handling. I think 
 of one case in particular in this connection. The 
 cadets at the school in its early days had under- 
 gone some very trying disappointments in regard 
 to their commissions and their pay; they were a 
 demoralized crowd of boys. Quentin was put in 
 charge of them. For several weeks he devoted 
 his entire time to straightening out their difficul- 
 ties. He had no chance to fly with this work on 
 his shoulders and the strain began to tell. Com- 
 ing back from a cross country trip I found him 
 sick and strongly urged him to go to bed. He 
 said that he couldn't leave his work and went 
 right ahead. That is when he really became sick. 
 There were several of us down with grippe at the 
 same time, while Quentin had pneumonia. Under 
 Miss Givenwilson's personal care most of us had 
 soon recovered, but Quentin's sickness had reached 
 [220] 
 
"THE JUDGMENT OF HIS PEERS" 
 
 ii sttige where nothing but a complete rest and 
 change could do him good. It was to Bordeaux 
 that he went, if I remember correctly. At any 
 rate he stayed there but two days, after which he 
 returned to Paris. He said it was because during 
 those two days it had snowed and if there was 
 going to be bad weather in Southern France he 
 might as well stay in Paris. I know, however, 
 that what really brought him back to Paris was 
 the persistent devotion to family which was always 
 so marked in him. 
 
 Field Seven is where formation flying is taught 
 at Issoudun. It is where Quentin really made his 
 mark at the School. He was sent there after rush- 
 ing through his acrobatic flying upon returning 
 from Paris, to be the Officer in charge of flying. 
 It was the one job he had a chance to hold long 
 enough to organize thoroughly. While anxious to 
 go to the front Quentin realized the futility of that 
 desire for some time to come and therefore settled 
 down to make the best he could out of his work 
 there. He was happy to be there with Cord 
 Meyer for a while, before Cord left. In thinking 
 [221] 
 
QUENTIN ROOSEVELT 
 
 over those days I always think of Quentin at 
 Field Seven. That is when I knew him best. It 
 is when he had his most permanent job and when 
 he did his best work. It is when he won the 
 devotion of all the mechanics in a way that gave 
 a fine lesson to the "over military" type of officer 
 who tries to impress his authority by an abrupt- 
 ness of manner and speech assumed for the occa- 
 sion. 
 
 Every morning prompt at seven o*clock a 
 gaudily painted plane could be seen circling the 
 camp, sometimes ducking in and out of low hang- 
 ing clouds, at others diving, twisting and rolling 
 in an extravagant demonstration of nice handling. 
 It was Quentin in his beloved "Dock Yack" plane 
 trying out the weather before sending his pupils 
 off on patrol. In addition to the star cockades 
 and the shield and wing insignia upon the top 
 wing, Quentin had employed a jack-of-all-trades 
 mechanic to paint upon both sides of the fuselage 
 a representation of "Doc Yack" in his auto, as 
 depicted in the Goldberg cartoons. Quentin was 
 extremely pleased with this plane, both as to 
 appearance and flying qualities. 
 [ 222 ] 
 
"THE JUDGMENT OF HIS PEERS" 
 
 All the time during flying hours he was out 
 upon the field wearing a grimy long leather coat 
 and the traditional silk stocking "porte bonheur" 
 as his only head gear. He seemed to be always 
 moving about. Patrols took off and returned 
 with more and more precision as time went on. 
 Planes were ready on time; they were lined care- 
 fully to white chalk lines, and the accumulated 
 oil and dust seemed to disappear from their sides 
 and undercarriages. Often I happened to be 
 near when Quentin was criticizing a student flyer. 
 "What were you doing a quarter of a mile behind 
 the formation when it passed over Vatan?", or 
 perhaps "Yes Williams I realize that the Cha- 
 teauroux hospital possesses a peculiar fascination 
 for you (the nurses) but you know that acrobatics 
 two hundred feet from the ground is poor busi- 
 ness, and incidentally weren't you supposed to be 
 in the formation a thousand metres above ? " In- 
 variably a puzzled, usually sheepish expression 
 appeared on the face of the victim as he first won- 
 dered how his instructor knew of all these things, 
 and then realized that he was not the type of in- 
 structor who watches proceedings from a chair on 
 1223] 
 
QUENTIN ROOSEVELT 
 
 the ground. Had any of the men on patrol looked 
 carefully above at times they might have seen a 
 small Nieuport circling inquisitively overhead. 
 Indeed the ubiquitousness of their instructor al- 
 ways puzzled the students, for was he not on the 
 ground when they left and then also when they 
 returned, and yet was there any incident of their 
 flight around the country which he did not know 
 about? An instructor who flew himself, who fre- 
 quently took a student's place in formation, must 
 be a man who took an interest in his work, they 
 figured — and the quality of the flying and hence 
 the reputation of the field gradually but surely 
 adjusted itself accordingly. 
 
 At Field Seven there was a supply Officer whose 
 duty it was to' secure the many spare parts that 
 are essential in the maintenance of airplanes. 
 There was a construction officer who supervised 
 the building of barracks, the driving of wells, 
 the installation of electric light plants and machine 
 tools in the shop. Sometimes in spite of all their 
 efforts the spare parts were unavailable, the build- 
 ing material could not be had for love or money. 
 [224] 
 
THE JUDGMENT OF HIS PEERS" 
 
 "Requisitions had been in for two weeks, but 
 nothing had happened." At supper someone 
 would ask "Where is Quentin?" and another 
 would answer "Oh he has gone over to the main 
 camp on his motorcycle," and the subject would 
 be dismissed. Next morning, however, the needed 
 parts or material would suddenly and mysteriously 
 appear upon a truck. Once in particular I re- 
 member when a long awaited dynamo arrived at 
 the camp. The old one had become inadequate 
 as the demands upon it increased. The new one 
 after being carefully cleaned and assembled by 
 willing mechanics stood ready to supply the much 
 needed current as soon as a suitable foundation 
 should be built for it to rest upon. "But there's 
 not a bit of cement in the supply room; we'll 
 have to wait until they send it from Paris," com- 
 plained the construction officer. That night it 
 was dark and drizzly so nobody noticed when 
 Quentin disappeared about nine o'clock with 
 two of his men in a truck. About an hour later 
 the truck returned with twenty bags of cement 
 inside. " Where did you get the cement ? " some- 
 [225] 
 
QUENTIN ROOSEVELT 
 
 one asked. "Stole it," was Quen tin's laconic 
 reply. And let it be remembered that Quentin's 
 oflScial title was "Officer in charge of Flying at 
 Field Seven." 
 
 Then there were many rainy days when we 
 couldn't work. We used the room in which Quen- 
 tin, the Doctor and the Captain (C. 0. of the field) 
 lived as a sitting room; usually the four of us 
 but occasionally several more would wander in. 
 The Captain was a Southerner and enjoyed crap 
 games — so dice it was. We sat on Quentin's 
 bed rolling the dice and exchanging francs. Pri- 
 vately we all took our cue from the Captain — but 
 after about two games you couldn't tell whether 
 it was he or Quentin who was the veteran "crap- 
 shooter." He put his whole heart into every- 
 thing he did whether it was rolling dice or develop- 
 ing pilots for war. When he did not play in the 
 current game he was sitting in the box wood arm 
 chair reading or writing letters with a concen- 
 tration that was always a source of wonder to 
 me. No matter how much noise the phonograph 
 and the gamblers made he never " batted an eye." 
 [226] 
 
"THE JUDGMENT OF HIS PEERS" 
 
 It seemed to make not the slightest difference to 
 him. He always managed to keep up his read- 
 ing, but I could never discover whether or not 
 he had a system about it. One minute I would 
 find him reading the "Rhymes of Ironquill," or 
 Dunsany — the next it would be Boswell's Life 
 of Johnson. He nearly always carried a book 
 in his pocket, which reminds me of Archie at 
 Groton. I think Quentin always kept several 
 books going at the same time and read whichever 
 one happened to be handy. He seemed to like 
 queer and obscm'e things, but probably they were 
 "queer and obscure" only to me! Anyway if he 
 spent time reading them it was only because he had 
 already read every standard and known author. 
 
 After an idle day a dinner in town at the "cafe 
 de I'Aviation" usually followed — sometimes with 
 the "Cappy" (he hated the name but wouldn't 
 admit it) and Doc — often with some Frenchmen 
 or other friend at the main camp. 
 
 The following are extracts from Lieutenant 
 Coolidge's letters to his family: 
 [227] 
 
QUENTIN ROOSEVELT 
 
 "Q. seems to figure In almost everything amus- 
 ing that happens to me. Last Tuesday I got 
 permission to try the little monoplane again. 
 Thinking to make a big impression (because this 
 monoplane commands attention wherever it goes) 
 I headed straight for here, our outlying field. 
 As I drew near I spotted Q. in his gaudily deco- 
 rated plane, circling around a toy balloon up 
 over the field, so of course I sailed up to say hello. 
 Just as I got close, however, he turned his at- 
 tention from the toy balloon flipped over on his 
 back and came diving down on me in attack. 
 That possibility hadn't occurred to me, but one 
 must never refuse a combat, so I hastened to 
 manoeuvre for position. Well it is commonly 
 known that the mono is far superior here to all 
 the other planes in speed, climb and manceuvre 
 ability, but as it was only my second trip in the 
 little devil and as it is a very sensitive appareily 
 demanding skilful handling, I didn't dare to whisk 
 it around in the slap-dash manner that would 
 have saved the situation, and consequently I 
 was ignominiously defeated in the fight. Now 
 [228 ] 
 
"THE JUDGIMENT OF HIS PEERS" 
 
 my chances of revenge are poor because another 
 pilot has since wrecked the little plane. It is 
 hard life. 
 
 "Yesterday Q. and I once more attacked the 
 Major on the subject of getting out to the front. 
 Well, a rather discouraging circumstance renders 
 it useless just now, so there's obviously nothing 
 to do but wait in patience." 
 
 July 11, 1918 
 Quentin and I were not assigned to the same 
 squadron. We are in the same group, conse- 
 quently operate from the same base and see each 
 other frequently. Let me tell you of the splen- 
 did cmij) de main he sprang today. While on 
 patrol with some eight or nine of his comrades 
 over the lines, the formation became broken up 
 in some quick manceuvering. Q. suddenly found 
 himself alone. After circling around a few min- 
 utes he saw three planes in formation not far away 
 and hastened to rejoin them, falling into place 
 behind them. It seemed a little queer that his 
 leader should be going so far within the enemy 
 lines, but he thought no more about it until the 
 [229] 
 
QUENTIN ROOSEVELT 
 
 leader made a sudden turn exposing to full view 
 upon his rudder — ^a large black cross! "Wrong 
 again" said Q. to himself, but his brain kept right 
 on working. Sneaking close up behind the rear 
 man who either did not see him or supposed him 
 to be one of his friends, Q. took careful aim and 
 let him have a stream of bullets from his ma- 
 chine gun. The plane wavered a second, then 
 toppled over and fell spinning in a spiral like a 
 winged stone. Q. reversed and headed for home 
 at full speed pursued by two bewildered Huns 
 whom he gradually left further behind as his 
 little Nieuport roared along. A quick backward 
 glance revealed his victim still spinning after a 
 fall of some nine or ten thousand feet; he then 
 disappeared in a cloud bank. Isn't that one of 
 the most remarkable true tales you have ever 
 heard? It's doubtful if this Boche is confirmed 
 — too far inside their lines. 
 
 Captain Coolidge became one of America's 
 leading aces; he was killed on October 27, 1918, 
 by a direct hit from an anti-aircraft gun whilst 
 [230] 
 
**THE JUDGMENT OF HIS PEERS" 
 
 diving through a terrific barrage to the rescue of 
 two observation planes which were being at- 
 tacked by six German machines. 
 
 The following is the letter Coolidge mentions as 
 having arrived a few days after Quentin's last 
 fight: 
 
 On Active Service 
 
 Dear Lieut. Roosevelt: "^"'^ "' i^^^' 
 
 I've just read about your victorious tangle 
 with the Huns and my only regret is that I 
 can not, or rather could not be there to wit- 
 ness it. 
 
 Nevertheless I want to congratulate you and 
 wish you all sorts of luck. Everyone of the fel- 
 lows in the 37th are tickled to death. 
 
 There's no use telling you that we miss you, 
 cause we do. Everything is going on the same. 
 No doubt you already know that Lieut. Davis 
 has gone to the front. 
 
 I've got a new flivver (exciting news this, no 
 doubt). And this is about all. So again allow 
 me to offer you my heartiest congratulations. 
 [231 ] 
 
QUENTIN ROOSEVELT 
 
 Hoping that you'll get 'steen more, I remain as 
 
 ever, r.. , 
 
 bmcerely yours "Dago " 
 
 Priv. 1st CI D. A. Di Fiore 37th Aero 
 
 Squadron Amer. Forces France 
 
 O. K. Censored by: A. K. LoweU, Lt. U. S. A. 
 
 A. S. S. C. — Yes the boys are all for you and 
 
 Lt. Coolidge back here. Best of luck. A. K. L. 
 
 Mr. W. H. Crawford, President of Allegheny 
 College, gave this account of a meeting with 
 Quentin: 
 
 "Our truck broke down, and I was too late for 
 the mess, but Lieut. Roosevelt came to see me 
 in the hut, and we had a most interesting inter- 
 view. It was a wretchedly sloppy night, the lieu- 
 tenant's rain coat was pretty well spattered with 
 mud, but he was bright, eager and full of Ufe. 
 
 "As we went out into the rain to his sidecar I 
 said to him: 'Lieutenant there are large numbers 
 of Americans who are very proud of the way the 
 four sons of Theodore Roosevelt are acquitting 
 themselves m this war.' I never shall forget how 
 [232] 
 
"THE JUDGMENT OF HIS PEERS" 
 
 his face lighted up as he made reply: 'Well you 
 know it's rather up to us to practice what father 
 preaches.' 
 
 "On all sides I heard only good things about 
 Lieut. Quentin Roosevelt and the devotion of 
 his men to him. I was told that often during the 
 winter months the men would remain out in the 
 storm and train under him, and do it cheerfully, 
 as they did not under any other officer." 
 
 The following are extracts from letters written 
 to their relatives or friends by members of 
 the A. E. F. who had come in contact with 
 Quentin: 
 
 From A. J. Whaley: 
 
 "Young Roosevelt is as modest as a schoolgirl, 
 but as game as they make them in aviation. Keep 
 tabs on this game young chap." 
 
 From Lieutenant John F. Wheelock: 
 "As you know by this time, our hopes that 
 Quentin Roosevelt was only a prisoner were 
 [233] 
 
QUENTIN ROOSEVELT 
 
 blasted and it is quite certain he is gone. Too 
 bad, because he was a peach. He died in a great 
 scrap it appears, and was buried in German soil 
 with full military honors." 
 
 From Banner Shull: 
 
 "Quentin Roosevelt is in charge on these trips. 
 We boys would do anything for him. He always 
 sees that his men are taken care of before he 
 thinks of himself." 
 
 From Sergeant C. A. Gardiner, Jr.: 
 "All those bum deals that I spoke of are plum 
 gone now. We have a real man commanding us 
 now, one of Colonel Roosevelt's sons. We have 
 only had him a short while but would do more for 
 him than all the time we knew the other man. 
 You get me — don't you — the minute stuff ? " 
 
 I From Corporal Aleck Barlow : 
 
 I "It hit me pretty hard as I knew him well and 
 
 used to look after his plane for him quite a little 
 
 when he was our instructor. He was one of the 
 
 [234] 
 
THE JUDGMENT OF HIS PEERS" 
 
 best and finest men I ever knew. Just a young 
 fellow and full of life. I wonder if his dad is any- 
 thing like him. If he is I would vote for him if 
 he ever ran for office again. All the boys in the 
 37th thought a great deal of him and hated to see 
 him go to the front. He was sure a prince." 
 
 From a member of Quentin's first "outfit," 
 writing to some one whose son was "missing": 
 
 "I guess you feel about the same way we all 
 did when we heard of Lieut. Roosevelt's death. 
 He came over with this squadron, that is the old 
 29th now the 400th and everybody thought there 
 was nobody like him, and last winter in Issoudun 
 I helped him get his motor cycle started many 
 times when it was so cold. He was a wonderful 
 fellow and afraid of nothing." 
 
 From Mr. R. M. Washburn: 
 
 "Yesterday, while an Italian was cutting my 
 
 hair in a barber shop, he told me that he had 
 
 served overseas with him, saying, in his own 
 
 words: 'He was afraid of nothing with his aero- 
 
 [235] 
 
QUENTIN ROOSEVELT 
 
 plane; a great operator; was one of us, and could 
 fight, play, box, — do anything; the goodest kid 
 I ever saw.' " 
 
 From Lieutenant Geo. B. Bailey: 
 
 "I had a great week, this last one, flying in 
 formation. Formation flying is in charge of 
 Lieut. Quentin Roosevelt, the son of our famous 
 T. R., and he is a chip off the old block, and a 
 mighty fine and popular fellow." 
 
 From Arthur Weirich — Air Service: 
 
 "Look at Quentin Roosevelt, one of the finest, 
 cleanest, bravest boys in France — a good flyer; 
 and yet he is one of the first men to get it. Every- 
 thing in the world waiting for him back in the 
 United States." 
 
 From an aviator in the A. E. F. to his parents: 
 
 I "I am with a fine bunch of boys; one especially 
 
 — Quentin Roosevelt — is a wonderfully fine chap, 
 
 and he keeps his father's picture up in his tent at 
 
 [236] 
 
"THE JUDGMENT OF HIS PEERS" 
 
 all times — told us It gives him great courage to 
 look at his father's face." j 
 
 From Guy Bonney, 1st Battalion, 1st Gas Regi- 
 ment, September 30, 1918: 
 
 "Lt. Quentin Roosevelt, the aviator who was 
 killed in the Chateau Thierry and the son of the 
 former President, was I believe their most talked 
 about and worshiped aviator. It being because 
 he received all of his instruction on this field. 
 They had his old aeroplane, 'Doc Yak,' which he 
 had painted to his fancy with this famous cari- 
 cature, in a hangar by itself and it was an object 
 of admiration by all. They told us to crawl in 
 and be seated in it so we would have something 
 to remember him by, which we did. Then, when I 
 made the remark that I had been camped for a 
 length of time up there within a quarter of a mile 
 of his grave, they certainly did crowd around and 
 commence to ask questions about it. I saw his 
 burial place when the Germans had a cross of 
 theirs and inscribed in German placed over it. 
 They called Roosevelt 'the enlisted man's friend.' '* 
 [237] 
 
QUENTIN ROOSEVELT 
 
 From an officer of the A. E, F. : 
 
 "A young Lieutenant in our Flying Corps who 
 is at present staying here, talked to me about 
 Quentin, and his work at the school. He said that 
 Quentin was a sort of chief among the instructors, 
 that he was a strict disciplinarian but was loved 
 by everybody, and that he was of the greatest 
 use to the fellows who were learning to fly. He 
 stopped for a moment reflecting, and then, half 
 to himself, he muttered 'He was a prince!'" 
 
 From Miss I. M Givenwilson of the Red Cross, 
 stationed at Issoudun: 
 
 "Though my heart aches at the loss of him I 
 cannot but feel a joy and pride at having known 
 such a boy. He has done such excellent work 
 since he has been over here. He showed just 
 what could be expected of him all through life. 
 He knew how to handle men, understood them, 
 and was beloved by them. He was so valuable 
 as the officer in charge of training at Field Seven, 
 that he was sent to the Front with great reluc- 
 tance by the commanding officer here." 
 [238] 
 
"THE JUDGMENT OF HIS PEERS" 
 
 This is part of a letter written by Mr. H. A. 
 INIaxwell, of Maiden, Massachusetts, to Quentin's 
 father : 
 
 "As a pioneer Y man for the camp, he was 
 one of the first oflBcers with whom I became 
 acquainted, and his splendid co-operation as an 
 officer in charge of transportation enabled me to 
 make a record in building my first hut. He, with 
 a detail of men, went to Chattereaux, twenty- 
 seven kilometers distant, and got the first piano 
 that came to camp. He also assisted me in 
 organizing two debating clubs, and while he was 
 the Commanding Officer at the 36th Squadron his 
 personal influence with the men will be long 
 remembered. For a short time they were quar- 
 antined, and I recall his taking them on a hike 
 one afternoon. On his return he made a halt in 
 a large field, under a tree, and gave them a good 
 heart-to-heart talk. 
 
 In handing him my letters to be censored, I 
 had opportunity for many little chats with him. 
 I recall his putting his hand on my shoulder one 
 day and saying, 'Y man, how could we get along 
 without you.' I replied, *Ah, go on; you are 
 [239] 
 
QUENTIN ROOSEVELT 
 
 just like your daddy.' 'Yes, I know,' he said, 
 'but I've got a great daddy.' I appreciated this 
 frank and tender reference to his father, as I, 
 too, am one. 
 
 "One day he stopped me in front of the hut 
 prior to its completion, and said in his way, with 
 which you are famihar, 'Wliy do you call that a 
 hut? I call it a palace. What a great home for 
 the boys ! ' 
 
 "His kind consideration for the interest of 
 others was very marked. I am glad to have 
 known your son, and I assure you that your splen- 
 did spirit and your sacrifice for this great strug- 
 gle to make the world better is a source of inspira- 
 tion to every true American citizen." 
 
 Quentin's family received several touching let- 
 ters from French parents: 
 
 Bizons par Cuzaguet Htes Pyrenees 
 Madame: 20 Octobre 1918 
 
 Nous venons, moi et mon mari, d'avoir un sauf 
 
 conduit de 48 hemes pour aller voir notre pay 
 
 reconqui, et c'est avec le coeur serree que nous 
 
 avons revue notre petit villages. Helas, de notre 
 
 [240] 
 
"THE JUDGMENT OF HIS PEERS" 
 
 interieure tout a ete enlevc; il ne nous restc que 
 les yeux pour picure. La maison n'a pas trop 
 souflfcT, clle a etc un pcut repairc, et Ton peut, jc 
 croi, maintcnant sc metre a I'abrie. Je me fait 
 done, Madame, le plaisir de venir vous offrire 
 notre maison, car je me suis fait un devoir de 
 porte un bouquet sur la tombe de votre cher 
 enfant, le capitaine Quentin, qui a ete enterre 
 a cote de notre villages. De chez moi il y a 10 
 minutes pour votre enfant. II lui a ete fait 
 comme il le meritait une jolie tombe, et de tous. 
 C'est pauvre soldats nous avons toujour represente 
 les parents. 
 
 Aussitot qu'il arrive un regiment Americains 
 tons von sur la tombe de votre cher enfant. A 
 vous Madame je viens vous offrir notre maison le 
 jour ou vous pouvez venir car il faut espere que 
 cette maudite guerre finira bientot, esperons assez 
 de misere et de ruine. Nous restons a Coulonges 
 en Tardenois, Aisne, rue du Poinson N° 1. 
 
 Agree, Madame, mon profond respect 
 
 Felicie Fourquet. 
 refugiees a Bizons. 
 a Madame et Monsieur Roosevelt. 
 [241 ] 
 
QUENTIN ROOSEVELT 
 
 11 Qiiai de Conti 
 
 Madame, ^^"^ ^^ i^ J""^^'^ i^is 
 
 Permettez a la mere d'un obscur fantassin 
 Francais de vingt ans de venir vous dire qu'elle 
 partage votre douleur, mele ses larmes aux votres, 
 et vous remercie de toute son ame de votre sacrifice 
 en la personne de votre cher enfant Quentin. 
 
 Madeleine Dornec. 
 
 The following letters from Quentin's comrades 
 need no introduction or explanation: 
 
 Lovingtoa, 111. 
 
 Dear Mrs. Roosevelt: Easter Sunday 
 
 A mother doesn't need to be told the kind of 
 a man that her boy is, and yet perhaps it would 
 make you just a bit happier should I tell you 
 what his friends thot of him, what a regular 
 lad he was. I'd have written sooner but was a 
 prisoner since July 5th and just arrived home a 
 while ago. 
 
 Quentin and I roomed together at Toul when 
 he first came up to the front. One comes to know 
 ones room mate, down deep inside. There are 
 [242] 
 
"THE JUDGMENT OF HIS PEERS" 
 
 so many little things that show his measure. I 
 don't need to tell you of his flying, his bravery; 
 words seem inadequate, and others have already 
 tried that. I can only say that he was a brave 
 man and an excellent flyer, a man one liked to 
 have with him when the odds were on the other 
 side, and hope you'll understand what I say so 
 poorly. At night, if I were asleep or he thot 
 that I was, he'd tip toe to his cot, would be just 
 as quiet as possible, he did a thousand little con- 
 siderate things that do not seem important, yet 
 which really mean much. If I were going out 
 with a partner, just the two, I know no one I'd 
 rather have had than he. 
 
 He lived and stepped over the little river as 
 a brave gallant soldier and gentleman, in the 
 way he'd have chosen. We all loved him, the 
 days we had at the front were among the hap- 
 piest we'll ever know. The lad's only regret was 
 for his family, that I know, and there is the con- 
 solation that when the present existence is fin- 
 ished, we all shall see him again on the other side 
 of the little divide. 
 
 [243] 
 
QUENTIN ROOSEVELT 
 
 If I may help in any way please do not hesitate 
 
 to call upon me. _,. , 
 
 Sincerely 
 
 Carlyle Rhodes. 
 
 On Active Service 
 
 My dear Mrs. Roosevelt: ^ ' 
 
 Having lived in the same camp with your son 
 Quentin Roosevelt, I can not refrain from telling 
 you that I know he was especially loved by the 
 enlisted men. Of course, he had the respect of 
 his brother oflScers, but it may be gratifying to 
 you to be told by one who for four months was 
 an intimate observer of his life that he was gen- 
 uinely popular with the boys. 
 
 Only last night a cook in one of the squadrons 
 at this "field" told me of Lieut. Roosevelt drop- 
 ping in for breakfast. An earlier schedule was 
 in effect and as he had been "night flying," which 
 had kept him up rather late, he missed the regular 
 mess. He dropped in for a cup of coffee. Surely ! 
 He got it and whatever else was available. Then 
 he sat down and as he ate he "visited" with the 
 [244] 
 
"THE JUDGMENT OF HIS PEERS" 
 
 whole kitchen force, "just like a regular fellow" 
 to (juote my cook friend exactly. 
 
 Tliis sort of tiling was tjqoical with him. Among 
 themselves the men called him "Teddy" and 
 many were the remarks that I overheard about 
 him, by the rank and file, full of honest admira- 
 tion. They knew he was courageous and an in- 
 telligent hard worker, but best of all they felt 
 that he had a real interest in them and they loved 
 him for it. 
 
 While not an intimate of his, he ivas in and 
 out of our little Hut quite a good deal and I came 
 to like his sturdy person and bright personality. 
 
 Believe me, Mrs. Roosevelt, I honor you as 
 the mother of such a son. 
 
 Yours respectfully, 
 
 Wm. H. Forbes 
 Censored by: Y. M. C. A. Sec. 
 
 Robert G. Fittnan 
 1st Lt. A. S. Sig. R. C. 
 
 [245] 
 
QUENTIN ROOSEVELT 
 
 AMERICAN AVIATION DETACHMENT G. D. E. 
 
 AVIATION FRANgAlSE, PAK. B. C. AM. PARIS 
 
 Dear Colonel and Mrs. Roosevelt: 
 
 I wish to express my very sincere sympathy 
 in the death of your son, Quentin. I was at Is- 
 soudun with him for six months, and like every- 
 one liked him immensely. The last time I saw 
 him he was doing acrobatics against the moon 
 at night, a feat which requires more than ordinary 
 courage, j I left the field before he landed, and 
 had no chance to congratulate him on his per- 
 formance, but I thought you would like to know 
 of it as it was typical of the young oflScer I knew 
 — as light heartedly courageous as any man I 
 have ever known. 
 
 I know he died as he always flew — gamely, for 
 he certainly was game in every way. He died 
 in the manner all of us in this game would want 
 to "get it," if it is our turn to go — at the front 
 in contact with the enemy. This is the best way 
 of all to go. 
 
 Let me express once more my sympathy. The 
 [246] 
 
"THE JUDGMENT OF HIS PEERS" 
 
 Air Service lost a splendid officer in the death of 
 your son. 
 
 Very sincerely yours, 
 
 Merian C. Cooper. 
 
 HEADQUARTERS, 36TH AERO SQUADRON 
 
 CAZAUX, BASE SECTION NO. 2 A. E. F. 
 
 From : Enlisted Members of 36th Aero Squadron SC. 
 
 To: Hon. Theodore Roosevelt and Family. 
 
 We the members of the 36th Aero Squadron SC. 
 U. S. Army having served only recently under 
 your son, Lieut. Quentin Roosevelt, A. S. Sig. R. C. 
 who was in command of the squadron, wish to 
 extend our sympathy and love to his father and 
 mother and family, in the loss of their son and 
 brother. His example shall serve to inspire us in 
 all our trials, and our one ambition is to help 
 avenge his death, which we shall always strive 
 
 For and on behalf of tlw 36th Aero 
 Squadron SC. 
 
 Joseph H. Graves, 
 
 1st Lt. M. R. C. 
 [247] 
 
QUENTIN ROOSEVELT 
 
 400TH AERO SQUADRON, S. C. 
 
 AIR SEBVICE PRODUCTION CENTER NO. 2, A. E. F. FRANCE 
 
 August 1, 1918. 
 
 Colonel Theodore Roosevelt, 
 Oyster Bay, L. I., N. Y. 
 
 Dear Colonel Roosevelt: 
 
 It is with mingled pride and sorrow that we, 
 the members of the 400th Aero Squadron (for- 
 merly the 29th Aero Squadron) write to you on 
 the subject of the sad but glorious death of your 
 son, Lieutenant Quentin Roosevelt. 
 
 It was our great privilege to know him as a 
 man and a soldier, for a year past, since the time 
 when he joined our Squadron at Fort Wood, New 
 York, early in July, 1917. During the pioneer 
 days of the construction of our immense aviation 
 camp, here in France, he was continuously with 
 our Squadron, for a period of several months, dur- 
 ing which time he fulfilled the exacting duties of 
 Supply Officer and of Officer in Charge of Trans- 
 portation. 
 
 When he left us a few weeks ago to go to the 
 front, having completed his flying training, we 
 [248] 
 
"THE JUDGMENT OF HIS PEERS" 
 
 were certain that he would place himself where 
 tlie fighting was fiercest, for it was his nature to 
 do nothing by halves. 
 
 We do not exaggerate when we assure you that 
 he had endeared himself to every man in our 
 organization, by his manly qualities and his pre- 
 vailing amiability. He made us feel, to the last 
 man, that he was our friend. 
 
 Our admiration for his glorious end rises above 
 our great grief for his loss; and it is in tliis spirit 
 that we write this small but sincere tribute to his 
 memory. 
 
 From: The Enlisted Men op tue 
 
 400tu Aero Squadron 
 
 ^' Jacob Anderson 
 
 1st Sgt. 400th Aero Squadron 
 
 Among the many accounts of Quentin's activi- 
 ties at Issoudun, the following appeared in the 
 Indianapolis Star : 
 
 "An incident in the short life of Lieut. Quentin 
 Roosevelt, the youngest son of former President 
 Theodore Roosevelt, that recalls the sturdy quali- 
 [249] 
 
QUENTIN ROOSEVELT 
 
 ties of manhood of his father and his insistent 
 demand and fearless fighting for right and justice, 
 is related by Lieut. Linton A. Cox of this city, 
 who lately returned from overseas, after serving 
 as an aviator in the 94th Combat Squadron under 
 Capt. Eddie Rickenbacker. 
 
 I "'During the winter of 1918,' said Lieut. Cox, 
 'when, as flying cadets under the command of 
 Lieut. Quentin Roosevelt, we were receiving train- 
 ing at Issoudun in the art of standing guard in 
 three feet of mud and were serving as saw and 
 hatchet carpenters, building shelters for the 1,200 
 cadets who were waiting in vain for machines in 
 which to fly, affairs suddenly reached a crisis when 
 it was discovered that the quartermaster refused 
 to issue rubber boots to us, because the regular 
 printed army regulations contained no oflBcial 
 mention or recognition of flying cadets. 
 
 "'Requisition after requisition for boots had 
 been refused by the captain in charge of the 
 quartermaster's depot, in spite of the fact that 
 the boys were wading around in worn-out shoes 
 in slush and mud knee deep. The supply of rub- 
 [250] 
 
"THE JUDGMENT OF HIS jPEEKS" 
 
 ber boots was plentiful, but the captain was a 
 stickler for army red tape, and did not have the 
 courage to exercise common sense, if he had any.' 
 
 "Lieut. Cox stated that so many cadets had 
 become sick because of this needless exposure that 
 Lieut. Roosevelt decided to take matters into his 
 own hands. Going over to the quartermaster's 
 depot and risking court-martial, he demanded of 
 the captain, who was of superior rank, that the 
 boots be issued at once. Again he was refused. 
 Upon being pressed for a satisfactory reason why 
 the requisitions were not honored, the captain 
 ordered Lieut. Roosevelt out of the oflSce. He 
 refused to go. 
 
 "'WTio do you think you are — what is your 
 name ? ' asked the captain, who was unacquainted 
 with Quentin. 'I'll tell you my name after you 
 have honored this requisition, but not before,' 
 answered Lieut. Roosevelt. This led to a hot ex- 
 change of words. Suddenly Quentin, being un- 
 able longer to control his indignation, stepped up 
 and said, 'If you'll take off your Sam Brown belt 
 and insignia of rank I'll take off mine, and we'll 
 [251] 
 
QUENTIN ROOSEVELT 
 
 see if you can put me out of the office. I'm going 
 to have those boots for my men if I have to be 
 court-martialed for a breach of military discipHne.' 
 "Two other officers who had been attracted to 
 the scene by the loud voices intervened, and the 
 men were separated, whereupon Quentin Roose- 
 velt went to the major in charge of the battalion 
 and refraining from any mention of his recent 
 controversy, related how cadets by the score were 
 being incapacitated for service and were suffering 
 from pneumonia and influenza because requisitions 
 for boots were not being honored. The major 
 agreed with Quentin that such a situation was 
 absurd and that immediate relief should be 
 granted. 
 
 "Lieut. Roosevelt had hardly left the major's 
 office when the quartermaster captain came in 
 and stated that there was a certain aviation lieu- 
 tenant in camp whom he wanted court-martialed. 
 
 j^'"Who is this lieutenant?' asked the major. 
 ] "*I don't know who he is,' replied the captain, 
 *but I can find out.' 
 
 I "'I know who he is,' said the major. *His 
 
 ^ [ 252 ] 
 
"THE JITDGINIENT OF IIIS PEERS" 
 
 name is Quenlin Roosevelt and there is no finer 
 gentleman nor more efficient officer in this camp 
 and from what I know, if any one deserves a 
 court-martial you are the man. From now on 
 you issue rubber boots to every cadet who applies 
 for them, army regulations be d — d.* 
 
 "The boots were immediately issued and the 
 cadets were loud in their praise of Lieut. Roosevelt. 
 
 "'This is just one instance of many,' said Lieut. 
 Cox, 'that served to endear Quentin Roosevelt to 
 the men under his command.'" 
 
 Quentin was billeted in the little town of Mau- 
 pcrthuis during the last few weeks of his life; 
 and inevitably struck up a friendship with the 
 townsfolk, old and young. 
 
 Lieutenant Donald Hudson wrote: 
 
 "In the little village where Roosevelt lived 
 with his fellow aviators they have renamed the 
 Public Square 'Place Roosevelt,' and written it 
 in big letters on the granite fountain. Quentin 
 Roosevelt was one of the most modest of young 
 [253] 
 
QUENTIN ROOSEVELT 
 
 men. The few French villagers knew him, and 
 honored him because of himself, because of his 
 Father, and because of his fighting brothers. 
 
 "Over his billet he had written the name of 
 Lieutenant Thomas, his roommate, then his own, 
 and then 'God bless our home."* 
 
 Lieutenant A. B. Sherry, another friend and 
 fellow aviator, tells how 
 
 "Q was a great favorite with the inhabitants 
 of Mauperthuis, for he was always chatting with 
 the old men about their affairs, and ever ready 
 to listen to the troubles of their wives, and of 
 the mothers of the boys away at the front." 
 
 An account, whose author we have been un- 
 able to ascertain, reads as follows: 
 
 "Quentin, you know, was very young — ^I know 
 he wasn't twenty -one. He was just a kid, full of 
 life and good spirits. If he had been less peppy, 
 he might not have got killed. 
 
 "We were all billeted out in cottages in this 
 little village of Mauperthuis, the population of 
 [ 254 ] 
 
"THE JUDGIklENT OF HIS PEERS" 
 
 which consisted of old ladies, the average age of 
 whom, judging from ajjpearances, was ninety- 
 three — maybe a little more. Well, Quentin was 
 a great favorite, not only among the members of 
 the squadron, but with the old ladies. He spoke 
 French very well indeed, and with this and his 
 cheery ways he got into their good books, or they 
 got into his, whichever way it was. 
 
 "They all called him the noble, or the honor- 
 able, or the distinguished, or even the great Mees- 
 tair Roussefel', and he received their greetings 
 very gracefully. Roosevelt was about the only 
 American name the French country people ever 
 had heard until President Wilson became a world 
 figure, and to have a real Roosevelt amongst 
 them was something for these old ladies to talk 
 about. 
 
 "Young Roosevelt would go about from house 
 to house and gossip with all the old ladies. The 
 rest of us sometimes thought they were a bit of 
 a nuisance. If I were trying to write a letter, 
 for instance, and one of them rushed in with a 
 long story to tell in her rapid, colloquial, quite 
 [^55] 
 
QUENTIN ROOSEVELT 
 
 incomprehensible French, I would feel like ask- 
 ing her to leave me alone for a while. But not 
 Roosevelt. He would lay down his pen, put his 
 paper aside, and chat about the weather or what- 
 ever the old lady wanted to chat about. 
 
 "It would be: 'Ah, Madame Labrosse, and 
 have you heard yet from the husband of your 
 daughter Blanche ? ' 'But no, Meestair Roussefel', 
 I have received no letter it is two weeks, and I 
 fear that ' 
 
 " 'On the contrary,' Roosevelt would say, 
 *one should not give up the hope. He will ar- 
 rive soon.' 
 
 " 'Ah, Meestair Roussefel', I of it hope well.' 
 
 "The first thing that strikes your eye when 
 you go into one of these French cottages is the 
 framed photograph of the head of the family in 
 uniform. Usually it is the uniform of 1871, and 
 if you make inquiries you will be told all about 
 him. You will be told, too, all about the other 
 photographs in plush frames, and also the framed 
 medals and ribbons. They turn their walls into 
 photograph albums in rural France. A room 
 [25Q] 
 
"THE JUDGISIENT OF HIS PEERS" 
 
 thus becomes a sort of family history in four big 
 wide-open pages for one who makes inquiries — 
 but most of us didn't make inquiries, for the an- 
 swer would be only a flow of very rapid French 
 that nobody could understand — except Quentin 
 Roosevelt. AVhere he learned to speak French I 
 don't know. And he would make the most polite 
 inquiries, and the old ladies would smile sweetly 
 and pour out their stories. 
 
 "What interested Quentin more than all the 
 photographs, however, was the dancing brevet 
 that hangs above nearly every French mantel- 
 piece. It seems that as soon as you become pro- 
 ficient in anything over there you get either a 
 medal or a brevet, which is a framed certificate. 
 One of the most prized possessions of each of the 
 old ladies of Mauperthuis is a dancing brevet 
 which informs the reader that her son Henri, 
 or Claude or Jean or Paul or Emile, in Anno 
 Domini 1883 or thereabouts has taken so many 
 lessons in dancing and is competent to lead a 
 cotillon anywhere from Versailles to Montpar- 
 nasse. Sometimes you find an old lady who has 
 [257 1 
 
QUENTIN ROOSEVELT 
 
 preserved her own dancing brevet, qualifying her 
 to dance the minuet and the gavotte — for these 
 faded documents date from the days when the 
 new-fangled waltz was not mentioned in polite 
 company. 
 
 "'Ah, what is it that I see?' Quentin would 
 say. 'A dancing brevet, en effet. How it is gen- 
 til, hein?' 
 
 "And Madame would cross her hands on her 
 lap and smile, and after a ' Je vous en prie' to ex- 
 press her own unworthiness of such exalted favor, 
 she would explain that her Henri, who is now on 
 the Verdun sector, was a dancer the most unique, 
 the most magnifique, the most charmant, and a 
 whole lot of adjectives that I don't know, having 
 no French-English dictionary about me. 
 
 "Roosevelt would go around thus from house 
 to house and the old ladies would beam upon 
 him and after he was gone would exchange gossip 
 about him. He had told them so-and-so, he 
 had done so-and-so, he had praised highly the 
 pictures of the baby of one's niece, had the son 
 of the most great Tedd-ee. 
 [258] 
 
"THE JUDGMENT OF HIS PEERS" 
 
 "I shall never forget how the news of Quen- 
 tin's death was received in that little village. Of 
 course, the old lady who kept his billet had con- 
 sidered herself much honored by the presence of 
 the gentil Meestair Roussefel' beneath her roof. 
 She was one of the oldest ladies in the village — 
 her back was bent almost double, but she was 
 able to get around with a stick and she never 
 missed her round of gossip until the day Quentin 
 was killed. Then she shut herself up in her house 
 for a whole day. When she did come out, she 
 was in deep mourning and her face was very sad." 
 
 An editorial of which Quentin's family was 
 unable to learn the authorship was published in 
 tlie Hartford Courant. The writer must have 
 known Quentin intimately. 
 
 YOUNG Roosevelt's nature 
 
 "There was something very interesting about 
 
 Quentin Roosevelt. He was not one of the usual 
 
 run of boys. He was individual from those first 
 
 days when boys begin to do things for themselves. 
 
 [259] 
 
QUENTIN ROOSEVELT 
 
 Probably things looked to him different from what 
 they do to the ordinary boy. 
 
 "The ordinary boy sees the world very much 
 as his parents and the older members of the family 
 see it. The regular conventional view takes hold 
 of him early. The mind of no healthy boy is quite 
 standardized, but its customary processes are in 
 that direction. Little by little he absorbs or 
 accepts the views of the generation into which he 
 is born until these views are his own. It is thus 
 that the judgments and work of the world go for- 
 ward in an orderly way. One might almost call 
 it the natural way. It is not the business of the 
 usual mind, any more than it is of the usual plant, 
 to originate. The main business of both minds 
 and plants is to transmit, to maintain the good 
 that we have and carry it forward. Our civil and 
 religious usages have come to us from our ances- 
 tors, and the main duty of most of us is to keep 
 these usages alive and hand them forward to our 
 children. This is the ordinary and natural law. 
 It is so with the plants, and it is so with the 
 human mind. The seed of wheat is expected to 
 [260] 
 
"THE JUDGISIENT OF HIS PEERS" 
 
 produce wheat and nothing else, and it habitually 
 does. The human mind is expected to carry for- 
 ward the ancient struggle against pauperism and 
 ignorance and sin, and it usually does. Most boys 
 are born to do this work, and they do it. They 
 are often a little frisky at times; they disclose ten- 
 dencies now and then toward new attitudes; but 
 in the end the mass of them are halter-broke and 
 settle down to the job of carrying things forward 
 about as tliey are. If most human minds did not 
 work in this methodical and orderly way we 
 would never get anywhere. The gains made in 
 one generation would be frittered away by the 
 next, and we would be continuously fussing with 
 the beginnings. The continuous accumulation of 
 worth-while improvement would be checked, and 
 the momentum of gains would be shattered into 
 fragments. 
 
 "Quentin Roosevelt was not built on these 
 usual lines, and apparently he was not designed 
 for this usual duty. He began very early to see 
 for himself. He did not find much to see in 
 human kind, either. He would not have found 
 [261 ] 
 
QUENTIN ROOSEVELT 
 
 much in the ordinary man that was new, or espe- 
 cially interesting, if he had looked there. One 
 sample is so much like another that a study of 
 that sort soon exhausts itself. We can see this 
 in the writers of novels and the writers of plays, 
 who have to put strong social spices and sauces 
 into their standardized work to freshen it. This 
 younger Roosevelt turned to the primitive and 
 unadulterated and untrained things, lit is related 
 of him that he once managed to get a hive of 
 honey bees into a Washington street car in order 
 to take them home with him to the White House. 
 The ordinary boy learns very early that a bee is 
 an uncertain companion. Without doubt this 
 Roosevelt youngster had received the same in- 
 struction and the same warning. The reason that 
 it did not take was not because he was a bad boy, 
 or a naughty boy, or a foolish boy. It did not 
 take because his own way of looking at things 
 made him sure that there was a method of getting 
 along on safe terms even with bees. The rule 
 about bees is a sound general rule. It fits the 
 ordinary human mind and human sense like a 
 [/262 ] 
 
"THE JUDGMENT OF HIS PEERS" 
 
 glove. But Quentin Roosevelt's mind and sense 
 were larger than the rule, and he could walk 
 through the rule with a fair degree of safety. It 
 was the same with all the natural things that walk 
 or creep or crawl about the earth. These were 
 the curious and companionable things with him. 
 One wonders if they understood him as well as 
 he understood them. It is a fair assumption that 
 many of them did. Harm might easily have 
 come to him if they had not. This boy's look at 
 them was different from the look of the usual boy, 
 and upon some mysterious foundation of a com- 
 mon understanding they also knew it. It was his 
 way with them, and his way was not the usual 
 way or the conventional way. It was his own 
 way — original, self-confident, and as honest as 
 unclothed truth herself. 
 
 "That Quentin Roosevelt took to navigating 
 the clouds was nothing more than a normal un- 
 folding and growth of his singular nature. There 
 is nothing stranger or more unlikely in human 
 history than that man should be able to fly 
 through the air, and yet he is now doing this every 
 [263] 
 
QTJENTIN ROOSEVELT 
 
 day. The originating mind takes to this sort of 
 thing naturally — it is exactly in its line. Unfor- 
 tunately many of these minds are only half minds. 
 They carry so much of the usual conventional 
 crust that something goes wrong with them, and 
 sooner or later they fall smashing earthward. 
 We feel sure that Quentin Roosevelt was not of 
 this sort. It took the fierce shock of actual war 
 to knock him out. We do not believe that his 
 nerve broke or quivered for one instant. If his 
 body were hit, or if his machine broke, that would 
 be different. Smitten physically or mechanically, 
 he of course was helpless. The fates had it in 
 for him. But the mind of him went down intact, 
 unshaken, and, so far as was possible in that hur- 
 ried rush, with the calm outlook of the soul that 
 is unafraid. 
 
 "It was a great waste, aside from all personal 
 considerations, because human minds that spon- 
 taneously and inevitably see things for themselves, 
 outside of the clamps of convention, and almost 
 in honest unconsciousness of such clamps, are too 
 infrequent not to be missed when the human life 
 [264] 
 
"THE JUDGMENT OF HIS PEERS" 
 
 goes out of them. Bacon quotes one of the 
 fatliers as saying that old men go to death, and 
 death comes to young men. It is so, and has 
 been so, all through tliis great war. Quentin 
 Roosevelt died in the bloom of his youth and 
 with untried powers. By nature he was made 
 for greater things than even the honorable death 
 of a righteous cause." 
 
 [265] 
 
CHAPTER VI 
 
 VERSES 
 
 There were many verses written in memory of 
 Quentin, and this book would be incomplete 
 without a short selection from them. 
 
 A GROUP OF POEMS 
 
 {To Quentin Roosevelt) 
 
 SPRING ON LONG ISLAND 
 
 You used to think that some day you would hold 
 
 Some dear and splendid space 
 
 Of shining time to waste 
 
 Upon a spring-decked highway's beaten gold; — 
 
 Hearing birds sing, and mute and marveling 
 
 Stoop to a harebell's grace — 
 
 Free of wind-voices and their breathless urge. 
 
 To see a green vine fling 
 
 Its brave young sinews upward to the eaves; 
 
 Or watch brown brothers soar, and dip, and merge 
 
 Dun coats with madder nests among the leaves. 
 
 And there would be deep noons, and shares of bread. 
 And water from a brook 
 Where you could bend and look 
 
 I 2GQ J 
 
VERSES 
 
 Down, at gay clouds that shimmered overhead; — 
 And from a pool would come the whispering 
 Of blue flags in a nook . . . 
 The stream would quaver like an ancient crone 
 (Hid in its bubbling spring) 
 Weaving her magic in the sparkling air — 
 The feet of water-dancers on the stone 
 Or brook-nymphs laughing through their dripping 
 ' hair . . . 
 
 That road would wind like ribbon in the gleam 
 
 Of a white moon hung high 
 
 Out of your wing-won sky — 
 
 And you — a mote upon a silver seam — 
 
 While hedgerow blossoms made a bordering 
 
 Of moon-lace frilling by. 
 
 And a bird's voice, like a violin, 
 
 Poignant, would lift and sing 
 
 Haunted by 'cello warblings of its mate; — 
 
 There would be night scents, sweet and sharp and 
 
 thin, 
 Binding you wordless to that song elate . . . 
 
 "never before have the violets blown" 
 
 Never before have the violets blown 
 
 Purple as exquisite; 
 
 Seeing they borrow it 
 
 From a wide sky his pinions have torn; 
 
 [267 1 
 
QUENTIN ROOSEVELT 
 
 Yet must they stand all mute, unquestioning 
 
 Where glad green Joy is writ — 
 
 Knowing they fold a sleeper who forgets 
 
 Against warm pulses of dear violets 
 
 His part in vaunt and bacchanal of Spring. 
 
 Never before have the poppies flared 
 
 Scarlet as radiant; 
 
 A pomp as triumphant — 
 
 Fire from the stars his wings have dared; 
 
 Nor may they glow with brave ^souciance 
 
 And yet no Vision grant — 
 
 Knowing their share in valor . . . they unfold 
 
 Their silken banners for heroic mold — 
 
 Their crimson badges for the breast of France. 
 
 Never before have the wind- voices J^Jneathed 
 
 In their dim whisperings 
 
 Echoes of wings. . . . 
 
 Faint from far zones where suns hang unsheathed; 
 
 Nor shall they tell but half; adventiw^some 
 
 For further journey ings — 
 
 Knowing him wind's-brother-earth defyitig. 
 
 Gaunt winged, they call him to the flying 
 
 Shouting of star-trails and a sapphire dome . » . 
 
 THE DARK LEAVES 
 
 Oh, Voyager, who swept the blazing gol^ 
 Of wheeling planets in immensity: 
 
 [268] 
 
VERSES 
 
 Whose wing-beats cleft the silences that hold 
 
 Their echo yet, in stark serenity: 
 
 For you, oh Wreathed ! let an altar's light 
 
 Flame holily, above the largess heaped — 
 
 New corn and grapes that sudden — in a night — 
 
 Were reaped. . . . 
 
 Glad one ! the shining gifts you offered up . . . 
 Youth's corn in silk, and Youth's longevity: — 
 The sparkling vintage of Youth's brimming cup — 
 Youth's broken sword to spell divinity: — 
 The hushing of Youth's laughter, peal on peal — 
 The dreams of Youth that garlanded the days — 
 The wings Youth clapped upon a sandal's heel 
 The cymbaled measure of Youth's choric ways. 
 
 Trailer of stars, a gleaner in the dusk 
 
 Lifts the Dark Leaves from red austerity: 
 
 Gathers your Arum hlies from the husk 
 
 Of trampled WTack; — ^j^our lyric purity — 
 
 The chaunts you sang to baffle cold and tire — 
 
 (Reckon them priceless since Youth's pipe is mute) 
 
 The still warm ashes of your sacred fire — 
 
 The glowing round of your scarce bitten fruit. 
 
 Strange, you should lie a sleeper in high noon . . . 
 Clothing yourself in wreathed dignity? — 
 Your hablimental trappings folded: soon 
 Poppies will trumpt with scarlet clarity: — 
 
 [269] 
 
QUENTIN ROOSEVELT 
 
 (Witness this plumage . . . these, his wings- 
 Reckon the giving by the dreamless eyes . . . 
 Are these not meet for altar-gifts — these things ? 
 Seeing the Dark Leaves speak him Heavenwise . . .) 
 
 AVENUE QUENTIN 
 
 There are no palm trees 
 
 Along the way 
 
 Holding 
 
 Their plumage against the blue. — 
 
 Only 
 
 The clean voices of the winds. 
 
 And the footsteps of Youth, 
 
 Call to him 
 
 In comradeship from the wide 
 
 Highway. 
 
 Echo with crisp brittle resonance 
 
 Against the frozen rime 
 
 Of the sweep, — 
 
 Where frosted bitter-sweet scatters 
 
 Redly. 
 
 But at night — 
 
 A slim young shallop moon sails 
 
 Boat-wise 
 
 Upon his old courses. 
 
 Pushes a silver prow through 
 
 Cloudrifts — 
 
 The lapping gauzes of morning. — 
 
 [270] 
 
VERSES 
 
 Hailing the veiled houses 
 
 Of sUirs . . . 
 
 Nebulous, hushed, and unanswering. — 
 
 Here! 
 
 Spring will come greenly. 
 
 With lush grasses, — 
 
 And violets stand in little groups 
 
 By the wayside — 
 
 Gazing up at you 
 
 Out of their deep eyes as if to say 
 
 "He is yonder 
 
 Where we are bluest ! " 
 
 But 
 
 Only in the spring time is one directed 
 
 So unassumingly, — 
 
 By small pages in purple smocks. 
 
 In July 
 
 The field armies in France 
 
 Leap 
 
 In serried ranks to 
 
 The colors ! 
 
 Scarlet shoulder to scarlet shoulder. 
 
 The Avenue Quentin's poppy-guards 
 
 Blazon you on with 
 
 Chivalry ! 
 
 Always ! 
 
 The answer of Youth 
 
 [271 ] 
 
QUENTIN ROOSEVELT 
 
 To Youth !— 
 
 (Glad youth with his laughtCT 
 
 And daring !) 
 
 The call 
 
 Of one road to another — 
 
 Of a slim shallop moon's far sailing. — 
 
 Who 
 
 May reckon the strange ports she touches? 
 
 The way 
 
 Of her track through the cloud rifts — 
 
 Through the lapping gauzes 
 
 Of morning. . . . Speaking shut houses 
 
 Of stars ... — 
 
 For in July — 
 
 The gleaming zeniths of space 
 
 Hurl 
 
 Uncharted worlds to the colors ! 
 
 Flaming planet to flaming planet. 
 
 An Avenue Quentin's meteor-hosts — 
 
 Blazon you on 
 
 With chivalry ! 
 
 — ^Lelia Miller Pearce. 
 
 YOUNG ROOSEVELT IS DEAD 
 
 Young Roosevelt Is dead — and I, whose son 
 
 Is just a little boy, too young to go. 
 
 Read with bewildered eyes the tales recalled 
 
 Of pranks the little White House boy had played ! 
 
 [272] 
 
VERSES 
 
 Just such things as ray own docs every day 
 With bugs and beetles, teasing with his snake, 
 Or starthng all about him with his bees — 
 Exasperating tricks — that win our souls ! 
 
 Just such things none could think of but a boy. 
 From blurring page I turn to touch ray own, 
 For somehow he, too, died in that far fall 
 Of one who typed Araerica's "sraall boy." 
 
 From blurring page I turn to touch ray own — 
 To lift his face unto the lustrous stars 
 That syrabolize the glory of a world — 
 And once raore dedicate my country's son. 
 
 From blurring page a sterner nation turns 
 Because he typed the milhons she has borne 
 Within her fertile womb since long ago 
 She mated with the freedom of the world. 
 
 From blurring page graybeards with palsied hands 
 May dream again of wondrous youth that flings 
 All life into a single burning flame 
 And Uves its future in a moment's deed. 
 
 Men who, perhaps, have lost the zest for life 
 May find it in a boy's keen zest for death, 
 When young life found it sweet to fight and die 
 If only Liberty in peace might live. 
 
 — Eleanor Cochran Reed, in The Times, 
 New York. 
 
 [273] 
 
QUENTIN ROOSEVELT 
 
 THE STAR OF GOLD 
 Quentin Roosevelt, France, July 14, 1918 
 
 With the American Army on the Vesle, Wednesday, August 7 (by 
 A. P.). — On a wooden cross at the head of a grave at the edge of a 
 wood at Chamery, east of Fere-en-Tardenois, is this inscription : 
 
 "Lieutenant Quentin Roosevelt, buried by the Germans." 
 
 — Newspaper iiem. 
 
 A Viking of the air was he 
 
 Who sailed his fragile plane 
 Through vast uncharted spaces blue, 
 
 As Norsemen sailed the main. 
 He met the foeman and he fought 
 
 Unflinching in the sky, 
 And died as his brave sire would wish 
 
 A soldier-son to die. 
 
 The Prussian airmen wrought his grave 
 
 And laid him down to rest. 
 His shroud the leather tunic wrapped 
 
 About his gallant breast. 
 The guns a thunderous requiem 
 
 All day above him sound, 
 America in spirit mourns 
 
 Beside his lonely mound. 
 
 When twilight over No Man's Land 
 
 A veil of purple weaves. 
 An escadrille of stars appears 
 
 [274] 
 
C HftNQ eP "TO CiOuT>. 
 From the original cartoon by John T. McCiilchcon, presented to Colonel Roosevelt 
 
VERSES 
 
 Above the hangar's eaves 
 With one that speeds on wings of light 
 
 In ether fast and far; 
 The AlHed aviators say 
 
 'Tis Queutin Roosevelt's star. 
 
 — Minna Irving. 
 
 THE TOWN CALLED AFTER HIM 
 
 The town of Bismarck, Pa., has changed its name 
 to Quentin. — Vide Newspapers. 
 
 Quentin, yonng Quentin Roosevelt 
 
 Has a town called after hira ! 
 Some way, as we read the word 
 
 It makes the eyes grow dim. 
 
 How brave they were, how young they were! 
 
 Our boys who went to die ! 
 Children who played in field and street 
 
 So short a time gone by. 
 
 Now reach the stature of the stars! 
 
 Ah, none of us can say 
 How many Heavenly places 
 
 Are named for such as they. 
 
 But romping children here, through years 
 
 Secured from horrors grim. 
 Will s})cak the name of Quentin 
 In the town called after him. 
 
 Mary Stewart Cutting. 
 [275] 
 
QUENTIN ROOSEVELT 
 
 TO QUENTIN ROOSEVELT 
 
 They sounded taps, young soldier of the free. 
 And heaped memorial flowers above your breast. 
 
 In France across the North Atlantic sea. 
 Where you are lying quietly at rest. 
 
 On soil in bondage to your mortal foe 
 
 You fell. Foes laid you in a soldier's grave ! 
 
 Today above you Yankee bugles blow — 
 
 French tears, French flowers, rain upon the brave. 
 
 We'd laughed at all your pranks and boyish wit 
 And scarce could think you grown to man's estate; 
 
 The shot that brought you down, the nation hit; 
 O'er all the land hearts leaped with grief and hate. 
 
 But you ! — 'twas thus, brave heart, you'd choose to go; 
 
 If come death must, you'd have him ride a cloud; 
 And when you went, 'twas gaily, that I know, 
 
 As well befits the gallant and the proud. 
 
 Above your breast the Yankee bugles blow; 
 
 French hands are twining wreaths across the sea; 
 And somewhere your brave heart is joyed to know 
 
 That all about your grave French soil is free. 
 
 — Harry D. Thompson. 
 
 [276] 
 
VERSES 
 
 A MONSIEUR LE PRESIDENT TIlfiODORE 
 ROOSEVELT 
 
 HOMMAGE DE RESPECTUEU8E ADMIRATION d'uNE 
 ALSACIENNE DE FRANCE 
 
 Ne pleiirez pas I'oiseau qui s'est brise les ailes 
 Dans le rude combat des saintcs liberies, 
 Dans Tenthousiasnie fier des amities fideles, 
 Des serments renoues de nos fraternites. 
 
 Notre sol que son sang a rougi dans sa chute 
 Nous en est plus sacre, i)lus chcr pcut-etre encore, 
 Et nous avons senti, mieux, a cette minute 
 Se resserrer nos liens par le don de sa mort. 
 
 Ne pleurez pas I'oiseau fauche par la raitraille 
 Dans I'essor radieux d'un r6ve eblouissant, 
 Qui, tout vibrant encore de I'ardente bataille, 
 A pris vers Tinfini libre son vol puissant. 
 
 Votre fils est tombe dans une juste guerre, 
 Combattant vaillamment un infdme oppresseur, 
 Dans I'h^roique elan du sacrifice austere, 
 De son pur ideal sublime defenseur. 
 
 II est des morts pour qui le regret est I'offense, 
 Ne pleurez pas c^lui qui fit tout son devoir. 
 Que votre deuil soit fait de fiert6, d'esp^rance, 
 Levez plus haut le front, les yeux pour mieux le voir. 
 
 [277] 
 
QUENTIN ROOSEVELT 
 
 Car c'est lui, maintenant, le vrai chef de famille, 
 Toute sa jeune gloire a rejailli sur vous; 
 Votre nom, c'est le sien qui sur vos t^tes brille, 
 Etoile au clair eclat, resplendissant et doux. 
 
 A votre cceur, pourtant, la blessure est saignante. 
 Plus grand le vide, helas, laisse par le depart, 
 Obstinement, partout, une tombe vous haute. 
 Que par dessus la mer cherche votre regard. 
 
 Dans un sol envahi quelques jours prisonniere. 
 La voici libre enfin des ennemis chasses, 
 Et nos drapeaux, baignes dans sa sainte lumiere, 
 Comme un m^me drapeau s'y tiendront enlaces. 
 
 Elle sera fleurie avec des fleurs de France, 
 Fleurs de notre pays meurtri, mais delivre, 
 Heureuses de jeter, cri de reconnaissance, 
 Leur beauts, leurs parfums, sur ce terra sacre. 
 
 Et noire fime fervente y veille tout enti^re. 
 Car nous gardons, au fond du coeur, fid^ement, 
 Dans notre souvenir plein de recueillement, 
 Parmi nos plus chers morts, une place tr^ chere 
 Au mort que vous aimez, votre fils, notre fr^re. 
 
 — Charlotte Schneegans, 14 septembre 1918. 
 
 [278] 
 
VERSES 
 
 ON THE SCREEN 
 
 Within the darkened playhouse as I sat 
 
 Sunk in a mood of heavy discontent 
 
 Because existence was so difficult: 
 
 The things undone — the money I had spent — 
 
 And other Uttle, petty, tiresome cares 
 
 Weighed on my mind, until I scarce would glance 
 
 At all tlie moving scenes before my eyes, 
 
 When suddenly I looked — and there was France: 
 
 France ! With her scarred and desolated fields, 
 
 Sad wastes, — yet piteous poppies blossomed there — 
 
 And row on rows of the unnumbered dead 
 
 And crosses, crosses, crosses everywhere 
 
 And at the last, one solitary cross 
 
 Apart, aloof from earthly vanity 
 
 And on the cross stood Quentin Roosevelt's name: 
 
 Rare sacrifice to crass humanity ! 
 
 Then did I count myself as nothing worth 
 And all my little cares so poor and mean — 
 It must have been a Great Photographer 
 Who let me see myself upon the screen ! 
 
 — Elizabeth Jacobi. 
 
 [279] 
 
QUENTIN ROOSEVELT 
 
 THE ONGOING 
 
 " Loose me from tears and make me see aright 
 How each hath hack what once he stayed to weep— 
 Homer his sight, David his little lad." 
 
 He will not come, the gallant flying boy, 
 Back to his field. Somewhere he wings his way 
 Where the Immortals keep; where Homer now 
 Has back his sight, David his little lad; 
 Where all those are we dully call the dead. 
 Who have gone greatly on some shining quest. 
 He takes his way. That which he quested for. 
 That larger freedom of a larger birth, 
 Captains him, flying into fields of dawn. 
 
 He has gone on where now the soldier-slain 
 Arise in light. Somewhere he takes his place 
 And leads his comrades in imtrodden fields. 
 For never can these rest until our earth 
 Has ceased from travail — never can these take 
 Their fill of sleep until the Scourge is slain. 
 And so they keep them sometimes near old ways 
 In the accustomed fields — now flying low, 
 Invisible, they cheer the gallant host, 
 Bidding them be, as they, invincible. 
 
 Still he leads on, the gallant flying boy ! 
 4mong the "great good Dead" he steers his boundless 
 course. 
 
 [280] 
 
VERSES 
 
 Now where the soldier-poets pass in light — 
 
 Where Brooke and Seeger and the others keep — 
 
 The singing Slain, the peerless fighting Dead — 
 
 He takes his briUiaut way; or where those lately come 
 
 Our flying Great, Mitchel and all his men, 
 
 Wait him in large, warm-hearted welcoming. 
 
 He will come never back ! But we who watched 
 Him take the upper air and steer his boundless path 
 Firmly against the foe, we know that here 
 Death could not penetrate. Life only is 
 ^\^lere all is life, and so, before us, keeps 
 Always the vision of his faring on 
 To unpathed fields where his great comrades wait, 
 And, joyful, take him for their captaining — 
 The brave Adventurer, 
 The gallant flying Boy ! 
 
 — Mary Siegbist. 
 
 ^81 ) 
 
QUENTIN ROOSEVELT 
 
 Lord Dunsany, in a letter, said: "I was told 
 once before, quite recently, that Captain Quen- 
 tin Roosevelt had one of my books with him, 
 even sometimes up in the air. It was a touching 
 thing for an author to hear. I don't know what 
 return I can make for that, but I would like to 
 offer the enclosed sonnet to you." 
 
 A DIRGE OF VICTORY 
 
 Lift not thy trumpet. Victory, to the sky. 
 Nor through battalions, nor by batteries blow. 
 But over hollows full of old wire go 
 Where among dregs of war the long-dead lie 
 With wasted iron that the guns passed by 
 When they went eastwards like a tide at flow: 
 There blow thy trumpet that the dead may know 
 Who waited for thy coming, Victory. 
 
 It is not we that have deserved thy wreath: 
 They waited there among the towering weeds: 
 The deep mud burned under the thermites' breath 
 And winter cracked the bones that no man heeds: 
 Hundreds of nights flamed by: the seasons passed. 
 And thou hast come to them at last, at last. 
 
 Dunsany, 
 Captain Royal ImiiskilHng Fusiliers. 
 [ 282 ] 
 
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