he ground, seemed endless.

At last came the event which really marked the beginning of our
careers as airmen: the first _tour de piste_, the first flight round
the aerodrome. We had talked of this for weeks, but when at last the
day for it came, our enthusiasm had waned. We were eager to try our
wings and yet afraid to make the start.

This first _tour de piste_ was always the occasion for a gathering of
the Americans, and there was the usual assembly present. The beginners
were there to shiver in anticipation of their own forthcoming trials,
and the more advanced pilots, who had already taken the leap, to offer
gratuitous advice.

"Now don't try to pull any big league stuff. Not too much rudder on
the turns. Remember how that Frenchman piled up on the Farman hangars
when he tried to bank the corners."

"You'll find it pretty rotten when you go over the woods. The air
currents there are something scandalous!"

"Believe me, it's a lot worse over the fort. Rough? Oh, la la!"

"And that's where you have to cut your motor and dive, if you're going
to make a landing without hanging up in the telephone wires."

"When you do come down, don't be afraid to stick her nose forward.
Scare the life out of you, that drop will, but you may as well get
used to it in the beginning."

"But wait till we see them redress! Where's the Oriental Wrecking
Gang?"

"Don't let that worry you, Drew: pan-caking isn't too bad. Not in a
Bleriot. Just like falling through a shingle roof. Can't hurt yourself
much."

"If you do spill, make it a good one. There hasn't been a decent
smash-up to-day."

These were the usual comforting assurances. They did not frighten us
much, although there was just enough truth in the warnings to make us
uneasy. We took our hazing as well as we could inwardly, and of course
with imperturbable calm outwardly; but, to make a confession, I was
somewhat reluctant to hear the businesslike "Allez! en route!" of our
_moniteur_.

When it came, I taxied across to the other side of the field, turned
into the wind, and came racing back, full motor. It seemed a thing of
tremendous power, that little forty-five-horsepower Anzani. The roar
of it struck awe into my soul, and I gripped the controls in no very
professional manner. Then, when I had gathered full ground speed, I
eased her off gently, and up we went, over the class and the assembled
visitors, above the hangars, the lake, the forest, until, at the
halfway po