OUTWITTING
- - -
PREFACE.
There is a common Idea that the age
of miracles Is punt. Perhaps it Is, hut
If so, the change must have come about
within the past few weeks—after I es
caped Into Holland. For If anything Is
certain In this life It Is this: this book
never would have been written hut for
the succession of intrudes set forth in
these pages.
Miracles, luck, coincidence. Provi
dence—It doesn’t matter much what
>011 call It—certulnly played an Impor
tant part In the series iff hair-breadth
escapes In which I figured during my
short hut eventful appearance In the
great drama now being enacted across
the sens. Without it. ail my efforts and
bufferings would huwe been quite un
availing.
No one realizes this better than I do
and I want to repent It right here be
cause elsewhere In these pages I may
appear occasionally to overlook or
minimise it: without the help of Provi
dence I would not he here today.
But this same Providence which
brought me home safely, 'despite all
the dangers which beset me, may work
similar miracles for others, and It is In
the hope of encouraging other poor
devils who may find Ihumselves In situ
ations as hoiteless apparently as mine
oftentimes were that tills Insik Is writ
ten.
When this cruel war Ih over—which
1 trust may he s<n>ner than I expect It
to Ih*—I hojw? I shall have an oppor
tunity to revisit the scenes of my ad
ventures am! to thunk In person In an
ad'^juate manner every one who ex
tended a helping hand to me when I
was a wretched fugitive. All of them j
took great risks In befriending an es- !
enped prisoner and they did it without i
tin* slightest hope of reward. At the
bame time I hope I shall have a chance
to pay my compliments to those who
endeavored to take advantage of my
distress.
, In the meanwhile, however, I can !
only express my thanks in this Ineffec
tive manner, trusting that in some
mysterious way a copy of this hook
may fall Into the hands of every one
who befriended me. I hope particular
ly that every good Hollander who
|>layi*d the part of the (Jood Samari
tan to me so bountifully afterfmy es
cape from Belgium will see these pages
and feel that 1 am absolutely sincere
when I say that words cannot begin to
express my sense of gratitude to the
.Dutch p«s>ple.
<s It is needless for me to say how
deeply I feel for my fellow prisoners
In (iernniny who were less fortunate
than I. Poor, poor fellows— they are
the real victims of the war. I hope that
every one of them may soon he re
stored to that freedom whose value I
never fully realized until after I had
had to light so hard to regain It.
PAT O’BKIKN.
Momence, Ilk. January I I, PJ18.
CHAPTER I.
The Folly of Despair.
Less than nine mouths ago eighteen
ottieers of the Itoynl living corps,
which hud been training In Canada,
left for England on the Meganlc.
If any of them was over twenty-five
years of age, be bad successfully con
cealed tlie fact, because they don't ac
cept older men for the It. E. C.
Nine of the squadron were British
subjects; the other nine were Ameri
cans, who, tired of waiting for their
own country to take her place with
tin- nlllcs, laid Joined tin* British colors
in <'minds. I was one of Hie latter.
We were going to England to earn
tmr "wings"—a qualification which
must tie won before a member of tin*
n. F. C. Is allowed to hunt the Huns
on the western front.
This was in May. 1!)17.
By August 1, most of us were full
fledged pilots, nctlvely engaged at vari
ous parts of the line In dally conflict
with the enemy.
By December 15, every man juek of
us who hud met the enemy in France,
with one exception, had appeared on
the casualty list. Tin* exception whs
H. K. Boysen, un American, who at
last report was fighting on the Italian
front still unscathed. Whether his
good fortune lies stood him up to tills
time I don’t know, hut if It lias I would
tie very much surprised.
Df the others, five were killed In ac
tion— threw Americans, one Canadian,
and one Eugllshinuu. Three more were
In ail probability killed In action al
though officially they are listed merely
as “missing." One of these was an
American, one a Canadian, and the
third a Scotchman. Three more, two
of them Americans, were seriously
wounded. Another, a Canadian, Is a
prisoner In Germany. I know nothing
of the others.
What happened to me Is narrated In
these pages. I wish. Instead, I could
tell the story of each of my bruve com
fades, for not one of them was downed,
I am sure, without upholding the best
traditions of the It. K. C. Unfortunate
ly. however, of the eighteen who
Nailed on the Meganle last May, I
happened to he the first to fall Into
the hands of the Huns, nnd what befell
ray comrades after that, with one ex
ception, I know only second hand.
The exception was the case of poor,
brave Paul Haney—my closest chum—
whose last battle I witnessed from m.v
German prison—hut that Is a story I
shall tell In Its proper place.
Ill one way, however, I think the
story of my own “hlw adventure" nnd
my miraculous escape may, perhaps,
serve a purpose as useful ns that of
the heroic fate of my less fortunate
comrades. Their story, It Is true, might
Inspire others to deeds of heroism,
but mine; I hope, will convey the
equally valuable lesson of the folly
of despair.
Many were the limes In the course
of my struggles when It seemed abso
lutely useless to continue. In a hostile
country, where discovery meant death,
wounded, sick, famished, friendless,
hundreds of miles from the nearest
neutral territory the frontier of which
was so closely guarded that even If I
got there It geetned too much to hope
that I could ever get through, what
was tho use of enduring further
agony?
And yet here I am, tn«the land of
liberty—although In a aomewhat ob
Lieut. Pat O'Brien In the Uniform of
the Royal Flying Corps.
scure corner of it-—the little town of
Motnence, Hi., where 1 whs born—not
very much the worse for wear after all
I’ve been through, and, us 1 write these
words not eight months have passed
since my seventeen comrades and I
sailed from Canada on the Meganlc.
Cun It be possible that I was spared
to convey a message of hope to others
who are destined for similar trials? I
am afraid there will he many of them.
Years ago I heard of the epitaph
which is said to have been found on a
child's gruve:
"If I was so soon to be done for
What, O Lord, was I ever begun for?"
The way it has come to me since I
returned from Europe Is:
"If, O Lord, I was to be done for.
What were my sufferings e'er begun
for?”
Perhaps the answer lies In the sug
gestion I have made.
At any rnte, If this record of my ad
ventures should prove Instrumental in
sustaining others who need encourage
ment, I shall feel tliut my sufferings
were not In vain.
It Is hardly likely that anyone will
quite duplicate my experiences, but I
haven't the slightest doubt that many
will have to go through trials equally
nerve-rucking and suffer disappoint
ments Just us disheartening.
It would be very far from the mark
to Imagine that the optimism which I
am preaching now so glibly sustained
me through all my troubles. On the
contrary, I am free to confess tliut I
frequently gave way to despair and
often, for hours nt u time, felt so de
jected and discouraged that I really
didn't care what happened to me. In
deed, I rather hoped that something
would happen to put un end to my
misery.
But despite all my despondency and
i hopelessness, the worst never hn[i
peued, uud I cun t help thinking that
my solvation must have been designed
to show tile way to others.
CHAPTER II.
I Became a Fighting Scout.
I started Hying In Chicago In 1912. I
was then eighteen years old, hut I had
had a hankering for the ntr ever since j
I can remember.
As a youngster I followed the ex
ploits of the Wrights with the greatest
interest, although I must confess I I
sometimes hoped that they wouldn't ]
really conquer the air until I had had
a whack at It myself. I got more
whacks than I was looking for later ;
on.
Needless to say, my parents were j
very much opposed to my risking my ,
life nt whnt was undoubtedly at fhnt
time one of the most hazardous "pns
tlmes" a young fellow could select, and
every time I hud a smashup or some
other mishap I was ordered never to go
□ ear an aviation Held again.
So I went out to California. There
another fellow and I built our own
machine, which we flew In various
parts of the state.
In the early port of 1910, when trou
ble was brewing In Mexico. I Joined the
Amertcun flying corps. I was sent to
: San Hlcgo, where the army flying
school Is located, and spent about eight
months there, but as I was anxious to
get Into active service and there didn't
seem much chance of America ever
! getting Into the war, I resigned and,
I crossing over to Canada. Joined the
i Royal Flying corps at Victoria, B. C.
I was sent to Camp Borden. Toronto,
first to receive Instruction and Inter to
Instruct. While a cadet I made the
(list loop ever made by a cadet In Can
ada. and after I had performed the
stunt I half expected to he kicked out
of the service for It. Apparently, how- ,
ever, they considered the source sod
let It go at that. I.alcr on I had the ,
satisfaction of Introducing the loop
hs part of the regular course of In
struction for cadets In the R. F. C., I
nnd I WHnt to say right here that Camp j
Borden tins turned out some of the
best tilers that liuve ever gone to ,
France.
In May, 1PT7, I and seventeen other
Cnnadlnn fliers left for England on the
Meganlc. where we were to qualify
for service in France.
Our squadron consisted of nine
Americans. (’. I.’. Robinson, II. A. Mil- |
lcr, F. 8. McCInrg. A. A. Allen, E. B. j
Carnet. H. K. Boysen, H. A. Smeeton ■
nnd A. A. Taylor, and myself, and nine
Britishers. Paul If. Raney, J R. Park,
C. Nelmes, C. R. Moore. T. L. Atkin- ,
son. F. C. Conry, A. Muir. E. A. L. F.
Smith and A. C. Jones.
Within a few weeks after our ar- l
rival In England all «f ns had won our
“wings”—the insignia worn on the I
left breast by every pilot on the west
ern front.
We were all sent to a place In
France known as the Tool Pilots Mess.
Here men gather from afl the training
squadrons In Canada and England and
i uwalt assignments to the particular
squadron of which they are to become
members.
The Pool Pilots Mess Is situated a
few miles hack of the lines. When
ever a pilot Is shot down or killed the
Pool Pilots Mess is notified to send an
other to take Ills place.
There are so many casualties every
day In the R. F. C. at one point of
the front or another that the demand
for new pilots is quite active, tint wti n
a fellow Is itching to get Into the tight
as badly as I and my friends were I
must confess that we got t« little im
patient, although we realized that
every time a new nun was called it ■
meant that some one else had. in all -
probability, been killed, wounded or ■
captured.
One morning an order came In for
a .scout pilot and one of n»y friends
was assigned. I can tell yon the rest
of us were as envious of him as If It
were the lust chance any of us were
ever going to have to get to the froiit.
As It was, however, hardly more than
three hours Imd elapsed before un
other wire was received at che tuess
and I was ordered to follow my
friend. I afterward learned that as
soon as he arrived at the squadron he
prevailed upon the commanding oi'i
cer of the squadron to wire frr me.
At the pool Pilots’ Mess it was the
custom of the officers to wear ’’shorts’*
—breeches that are about eight Inches
long, like the hoy scouts weur. leav
ing a space of about eight inches .if
open country between the tup of the
puttees and the end of the shorts. The
Australians wore them In Salonlkl and
al the Dardanelles.
When the order came in for me. I
had these “shorts" on, and I didn't
I have time to change into other clothes.
I Indeed, I was in such a sweat to get !
I to the front that if 1 had been in my j
pajamas I think 1 would have gone
that way. As it was. it was raining I
and I threw an overcoat over me.
Jumped into the machine, and we made
record time to the airdrome to which i
I had been ordered to report.
As I alighted from the automobile
my overcoat blew open and displayed
my manly form nttlred In "shorts" In
stead of In the regulation flying
breeches, und the sight aroused con
siderable commotion In camp.
"Must lie a Yankee!’’ 1 overheard
one officer say to another us I ap
proached. “No one but a Yankee would
have the cheek to show up that way,
you know!”
But they laughed good-naturedly as
I came up to them, und welcomed Die
to the squadron, uml I was soou very
much at home.
My squadron was one of four sta
tioned at uii airdrome ubout eighteen
miles back of the Ypres Hue. There
were 18 pilots In our squadron, which
was a scout squadron, scout machines
tarrying but one man.
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