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Updated: June 7, 2025
There was a regiment of Territorials and a battalion of Colonial troops in addition to the hundreds of French pilots and aviation men. Captain Thenault of the American Escadrille delivered an exceptionally eulogistic funeral oration. He spoke at length of Rockwell's ideals and his magnificent work. He told of his combats.
The damp of his brow was as the damp of death as Rockwell's lips touched it. "Old boy, old boy!" Rockwell said tenderly, "I wish it had been me instead. Life means so much to you and so little to me. I've seen too much, and you've only just begun to see." Laying him gently down, Rockwell summoned the nurse and Jim Beadle and spoke to them in low tones.
Rockwell's death urged the rest of the men to greater action, and the few who had machines were constantly after the Boches. Prince brought one down. Lufbery, the most skillful and successful fighter in the escadrille, would venture far into the enemy's lines and spiral down over a German aviation camp, daring the pilots to venture forth.
About eleven o'clock the next morning Dick repaired to Mr. Rockwell's counting-room on Pearl Street. He found himself in front of a large and handsome warehouse. The counting-room was on the lower floor. Our hero entered, and found Mr. Rockwell sitting at a desk. No sooner did that gentleman see him than he arose, and, advancing, shook Dick by the hand in the most friendly manner.
The thought of the bridge, of Marchand's devilish design, shot into his mind, and once more he was shaken. "The bridge! Blind! Mother!" he called in a voice twisted in an agony which only those can feel to whom life's purposes are even more than life itself. Then, with a moan, he became unconscious, and his head rolled over against Rockwell's cheek.
He thrust out a hand as though to find Rockwell's, and there was a gratitude and an appeal in the pressure of his fingers which went to Rockwell's heart. "All right, Chief. I'll have him here," Rockwell answered briskly, but with tears standing in his eyes. Ingolby had, as it were, been stricken out of the active, sentient, companionable world into a world where he was alone, detached, solitary.
He ordered his gasoline tank filled, procured a full band of cartridges and soared up into the air to avenge his comrade. He sped up and down the lines, and made a wide detour to Habsheim where the Germans have an aviation field, but all to no avail. Not a Boche was in the air. The news of Rockwell's death was telephoned to the escadrille.
I suppose you work because you like it." "I'm learning business. I'm going to be a merchant, as my father was." "I'll have to give up the bundle now," said Dick. "This is as far as I am going." Roswell took back his bundle, and Dick went up the steps of Mr. Rockwell's residence and rang the door-bell. Roswell kept on his way with his heavy bundle, more discontented than ever.
"You can see how much good studying has done for you so far. If it hadn't been for that, you wouldn't have been able to go into Mr. Rockwell's employment." "That's true enough, Fosdick. I'm afraid I don't know enough now." "You know enough to get along very well for the present, but you want to rise." "You're right. When I get to be old and infirm I don't want to be an errand-boy." "Nor I either.
He was too weak to walk, and French soldiers carried him to a field dressing-station, whence he was sent to Paris for further treatment. Rockwell's wounds were less serious and he insisted on flying again almost immediately. A week or so later Chapman was wounded. Considering the number of fights he had been in and the courage with which he attacked it was a miracle he had not been hit before.
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