trees (flying-machines are not so easily detected as bodies of troops at an elevation of two thousand feet and more) and to have them whir off to their tasks in response to the signals of air-ships that have performed the preliminary work. At all events, despite the bomb-dropping exploits of the Italians in North Africa, scouting will be the chief function of the aeroplane in war.

Much of the slaughter that attended the siege of Port Arthur centered about the capture of an eminence that has passed into history as "203-Meter Hill." The Japanese wanted that eminence, not to plant guns upon it, but to station on its commanding top a few men who could direct the fire of the Japanese batteries. Time and time again 203-Meter Hill changed hands. When the Japanese captured it for good the fate of Port Arthur was sealed. A skillfully handled aeroplane would have accomplished the same result more expeditiously, and hundreds of Russians and Japanese who gave up their lives in the fierce struggles that were waged to hold that hill would be alive to-day.

The battles of the next century will not be devoid of picturesque incidents; but bloody scouting expeditions, frightful battles about 203-Meter Hills, will be conspicuously few. Those wars will not be so aeronautically onesided as the Turkish-Italian conflict or the struggle in the Balkans. Each commander will have his aeroplanes, and each will bend every effort to destroy the machines of the other. Victory will probably rest with the side that has the most numerous and the swiftest flotilla of machines; for number means ability to sacrifice machines in the effort to obtain information, and swiftness means ability to escape uninjured with the information obtained. The general who has lost his last aeroplane will be at the mercy of an adversary who knows where every battery, where every company of infantry and cavalry, is placed.

From this it follows that means must be devised to destroy aeroplanes. Special artillery has been designed for that purpose; but its effectiveness may be doubted. True, the Russian aviator Popoff was brought down by shrapnel in the Balkan campaign, but it is not known how low he was flying.

There is nothing for it but to arm the aeroplane with light machine guns and to pit machine against machine in the air. If the elaborate experiments of the French count for anything, three-seated aeroplanes will be

employed in war-three-seated because there must be a pilot to operate the machine, an officer who will study the enemy below, and a gunner who will fight off attack. The click of that officer's camera-shutter may be the death-warrant of a whole regiment below; the touch of his pencil on the page of a notebook may spell destruction to a stronghold.

Assume that some years hence a threeseated machine will be designed in which all military requirements are fulfilled, and assume that two armies, the Reds and the Blues, face each other, each having its aerial corps of trained pilots, gunners, and officers. How will the machines be handled?

Back of a crest of hills a battery of artillery has been planted by the Reds. One hour after sunrise there is a single dull, heavy report. A shell whistles through the air. A Red lieutenant on the eminence above the battery raises his glass and watches. Five thousand yards away a group of white huts with thatched roofs lie huddled together. The Red lieutenant sees a little upheaval in one of the huts—a little splash, as it were—and then flames and smoke from a burning roof. The shell has found its mark and done its work.

"All right," says the Red lieutenant. Whereupon a soldier at his side picks up a field telephone and informs the commander of the battery that the test shot has found the range. Five minutes later the air is split with ten sharp detonations, and as many shells rush toward the white huts; for a little behind them lies the first of seven lines of outposts back of which the Blues are intrenched.

To be fired on by concealed guns is not pleasant. There is no way of retaliating. If the battery behind the hills is to be silenced its position must be accurately known. A Blue captain of infantry leaps into an automobile and dashes off to the north. Fifteen minutes later he salutes the Commander-inChief and reports that unless the Red fire is silenced, which is impossible without knowing the position of the hostile guns, the first line of defenses must be abandoned at once. The Blue general calls an officer and orders him to ascertain the number and position of the guns behind the hills.

Into a waiting monoplane three men clamber. In front is the pilot; behind him, in a line, sit a Blue captain of the Aerial Corps, and a man whose duty it is to manipulate a machine gun. The engine is started. It

spits and splutters and then settles down to a steady purr. The monoplane throbs like a gigantic, living bird, with wings outspread, ready to leap into the air. Such is the speed of the eight-foot propeller that it seems more like a solid disk glittering in the morning sun than two wooden blades spinning at the rate of fourteen hundred revolutions a minute. Six soldiers hold the machine in leash, digging their heels into the earth and straining every muscle against the pull of the whirling propeller.

The Blue captain taps the shoulder of the pilot in front of him twice-the signal that all is ready. Next he raises his hand, and the six men that hold the machine back release their grip. For perhaps a hundred yards the monoplane bowls over the turf at railway speed, gathering momentum for its leap into the air. The pilot pulls a lever. Instantly the elevating rudder tilts up ever so slightly, and the machine vaults from the ground like a vulture.

Once in the air the pilot knows better than to wing his way directly to the battery behind the hills. Sixty miles an hour is fast-faster than any hawk or eagle can fly. But the machine is big-so big that at low elevations an enemy's machine guns might bring it down with ease. And so the pilot climbs up and up in great circles. He looks at the barometer. It falls as the machine rises. Five hundred feet, a thousand, fifteen hundred, two thousand, he reads. At last the aneroid indicates three thousand feet. Now he knows that he is safe, for at that height the monoplane, despite its spread, seems like a sparrow from below. Only by a miracle could a shot fired from the ground strike it.

Straight for the battery concealed behind the crest the machine now speeds. Below lies the battlefield-the trenches, the tents, the cavalry, the infantry, the baggage trains of the Blues, all more like a child's tin panoply of war than a nation's picked men under arms. That yellow ribbon trailing off to the north is a road. The two bright filaments strung with mathematical straightness from east to west are the steel tracks of railway, and the long serpent that crawls upon them and vomits smoke from its head is a freight train. The white shimmering thread that winds through the green fields and is lost in the mist is a stream. Its source lies somewhere among the hills toward which the machine is rushing.

Perched on his eminence, watching the

effect of the shells scattering death among the outposts of the Blues, sits the Red lieutenant. He has seen the Blue monoplane screwing its way up and up beyond the range of rifles and machine guns. Long before the aeroplane has reached a safe height he has telephoned its coming to headquarters. No occult powers are needed to divine its purpose. If the battery is to continue its deadly work, that giant bird of the air, soaring on at railway speed, must be stopped at any cost.

Just as the Blue monoplane reaches the crest of the hill, two three-seated biplanes, each armed with a machine gun, are sent up from the headquarters of the Reds. The Blue captain knows that he must turn and run for it, if he is to reach camp alive. But he knows, too, that only if he can bring back accurate information of the masked batteries' location can the Blues hold their own. And so, despite two hostile biplanes, despite the danger that lurks in a one-sided battle in the air, he keeps on long enough to note on his map the position of each gun. The battery is easily enough plotted, relatively to a church, a railway station, and a large hotel. Four precious minutes have been lost. The biplanes are only a mile away, and one thousand feet below him. He leans over and shouts an order into the pilot's ear. A pedal is pressed, the machine cants over, as it swings around in a graceful circle, and begins its homeward flight.

The Red biplanes lose no time in worming their way up into the air. Up, on a long easy incline, they fly toward the receding Blue machine. They lurch and sway for a moment as they soar over the crest, caught in the invisible surf of air that beats against the hill, and then settle down to the grim task of destroying the enemy's monoplane.

On and on the three machines race for life. The monoplane has the advantage of position. The gunner in back of the Blue captain puts his shoulder to his piece and squints along the barrel. Aiming for the nearer biplane at a downward angle of fortyfive degrees, he fires half a dozen shots. No response from the biplane, nor any sign that a single shot has told. If it is hard to hit a moving thing, it is harder still when the platform of the marksman is moving too.

The biplanes are gaining. Once more the Blue marksman takes aim and fires, again without effect. Still no reply from the foremost biplane. The captain of the Blue

monoplane decides on a new course. He orders his pilot to drop five hundred feet, down to the level of the hostile biplane. If gun fire is of no avail, perhaps the wash of his propeller may prove more effective. The monoplane dives and then straightens out its course again.

The pilot of the leading biplane is no aerial innocent. He sees the downward glide and knows its meaning. If he is caught in the turbulent air churned by the monoplane's propeller, his machine will pitch and roll like a rowboat in a stormy sea. Quickly he pulls the lever that controls his elevating rudder and climbs up out of the wake of the monoplane before him. The pilot of the accompanying biplane does likewise. For a few hundred feet the two double-deckers glide up. The increased head-on resistance retards them and they lose headway. And so the Blue monoplane gains for a few seconds.

Once more the marksman in the Blue machine tries his machine gun. The nearer biplane is somewhat above him and behind him now; it is even harder to hit than before. Carefully he takes aim, as carefully as his throbbing, rocking seat will permit. The helmet of the Red pilot appears just over the canvas-covered fuselage. When the unsteady muzzle-sight rests for an instant upon it the trigger is pulled.

The effect is magical. For an instant the biplane seems to hover like a wounded bird. Then it plunges down, down, down, with vertiginous speed. As the machine drops the pilot works the control levers franticallyin vain. One of the cables leading to an aileron had been shot in two, and the machine is utterly unmanageable. The officer behind the pilot seizes the duplicate emergency levers, and, in desperation, tries to control the pitching machine. The duplicate controls are of no avail. No power can save him and his two companions. The machine crashes to the ground, a shapeiess mass of splintered wood, torn canvas, and twisted wire, buried beneath which lie the bodies of three brave men.

The Blue captain smiles grimly. One Red machine at least has been removed by a miraculously lucky shot. The other, however, keeps on undaunted. It is even becoming more aggressive; for the machine gun in its canvas-covered body has opened

fire. One of the bullets has pierced the left wing of the Blue monoplane; but the tiny hole that it has left is of no more significance than the ventilating holes in the pilot's helmet. Again the gunner in the Red machine fires, this time with telling effect. The marksman in the Blue machine falls to one side, shot through the heart, his head and an arm hanging limply over the edge of the fuselage. The machine is unbalanced for a moment. Only by throwing his weight to the opposite side is the pilot able to restore the monoplane to an even keel. He looks back and sees what has happened. The Blue captain lifts the dead man under the armpits and disposes his body so that the machine's equilibrium is no longer disturbed. It is impossible to use the machine gun now, for the dead man is in the way. The Blue captain picks up a rifle. He raises the weapon to his shoulder and fires. The gunner in the biplane answers. Neither scores a hit. Bullets whistle around each machine, unheard by either crew above the roar of the motors. The Red biplane glides down to the level of the monoplane, but carefully keeps to the right so that it may use its gun to advantage. The two machines are only five hundred yards apart now, with the Blue camp plainly in sight. The men in the Red biplane realize that they must act quickly lest the monoplane escape with news that may prove the undoing of the battery behind the hill.

over.

A hail of bullets pours from the crackling machine gun of the biplane. The gunner handles the weapon as if it were a hose, and the stream of projectiles that spouts from its muzzle as if it were so much water. So short is the distance that he cannot miss. The canvas of the monoplane is riddled with shot. Both pilot and Blue captain topple Down crashes the machine to the green earth two thousand feet below. Its work of destruction complete, the Red biplane turns back. It winds its way far into the clouds until it seems a mere black speck. Then in three long, swift, magnificent stages it glides down to the landing ground of the Red camp. A ladder is placed against the machine. The officer clambers down, salutes his General, reports the loss of one Red biplane and the destruction of the Blue monoplane.

Three hours later the first line of Blue outposts are in the hands of the Reds.

Even better work was making the law efficient and genuine where it applied. As was inevitable in the introduction of such a system, there was at first only partial success in its application. For instance, it applied to the ordinary employees in the big custom-houses and postoffices, but not to the heads of these offices. A number of the heads of the offices were slippery politicians of a low moral grade, themselves appointed under the spoils. system, and anxious, directly or indirectly, to break down the merit system and to pay their own political debts by appointing their henchmen and supporters to the positions under them. Occasionally these men acted with open and naked brutality. Ordinarily they sought by cunning to evade the law. The Civil Service Reformers, on the other hand, were in most cases not much used to practical politics, and were often well-nigh helpless when pitted against veteran professional politicians. In consequence I found at the beginning of my experiences that there were many offices in which the execution of the law was a sham. This was very damaging, because it encouraged the politicians to assault the law everywhere, and, on the other hand, made good people feel that the law was not worth while defending.

I served six years as Civil Service Commissioner-four years under President Harrison and then two years under President Cleveland. I was treated by both Presidents with the utmost consideration. Among my fellow-Commissioners there was at one time ex-Governor Hugh Thompson, of South Carolina, and at another time John R. Proctor, of Kentucky. They were Democrats and ex-Confederate soldiers. I became deeply attached to both, and we stood shoulder to shoulder in every contest in which the Commission was forced to take part.

WHEN AMATEUR MEETS PROFESSIONAL

During my six years' service as Commissioner the field of the merit system was extended at the expense of the spoils system so as to include several times the number of offices that had originally been included. Generally this was done by the introduction of competitive entrance examinations; sometimes, as in the Navy-Yards, by a system of registration.

This of itself was good work. Copyright 1913 by the Outlook Company. Special Notice: This series of articles is fully protected by copyright in the United States, in England, and on the Continent. All rights, including the right of translation into foreign languages, are reserved. This matter is not to be republished either in whole or in part without special permission of the publishers.

THE FIGHT FOR ENFORCEMENT OF THE LAW

The first effort of myself and my colleagues was to secure the genuine enforcement of the law. In this we succeeded after a number of lively fights. But of course in these fights we were obliged to strike a large number of influential politicians, some of them in Congress,

some of them the supporters and backers of men who were in Congress. Accordingly we soon found ourselves engaged in a series of contests with prominent Senators and Congressmen. There were a number of Senators and Congressmen-mn like Congressman (afterwards Senator) H. C. Lodge, of Massachusetts; Senator Cushman K. Davis, of Minnesota; Senator Orville H. Platt, of Connecticut; Senator Cockrell, of Missouri ; Congressman (afterwards President) McKinley. of Ohio, and Congressman Dargan, of South Carolina-who abhorred the business of the spoilsman, who efficiently and resolutely championed the reform at every turn, and without whom the whole reform would certainly have failed. But there were plenty of other Senators and Congressmen who hated the whole reform and everything concerned with it and everybody who championed it; and sometimes, to use a legal phrase, their hatred was for cause, and sometimes it was peremptory-—that is, sometimes the Commission interfered with their most efficient, and incidentally most corrupt and unscrupulous, supporters, and at other times, where there was no such interference, a man nevertheless had an innate dislike of anything that tended to decency in government. These men were always waging war against us, and they usually had the more or less open support of a certain number of Government officials, from Cabinet officers down. The Senators and Congressmen in question opposed us in many different ways. Sometimes, for instance, they had committees appointed to investigate us during my public career without and within office I grew accustomed to accept appearances before investigating committees as part of the natural order of things. Sometimes they tried to cut off the appropriation for the Commission.

THE OPPOSITION

Occasionally we would bring to terms these Senators or Congressmen who fought the Commission by the simple expedient of not holding examinations in their districts. This always brought frantic appeals from their constituents, and we would explain that unfortunately the appropriations had been cut, so that we could not hold examinations in every district, and that obviously we could not neglect the districts of those Congressmen who believed in the reform and therefore in the examinations. The

constituents then turned their attention to the Congressman, and the result was that in the long run we obtained sufficient money to enable us to do our work. On the whole, the most prominent leaders favored us. Any man who is the head of a big department, if he has any fitness at all, wishes to see that department run well; and a very little practical experience shows him that it cannot be run well if he must make his appointments to please spoilsmongering politicians. As with almost every reform that I have ever undertaken, most of the opposition took the guise of shrewd slander. Our opponents relied chiefly on downright misrepresentation of what it was that we were trying to accomplish, and of our methods, acts, and personalities. I had more than one lively encounter with the authors and sponsors of these misrepresentations, which at the time were full of interest to me. But it would be a dreary thing now to go over the record of exploded mendacity, or to expose the meanness and malice shown by some men of high official position. A favorite argument was to call the reform Chinese, because the Chinese had constructed an inefficient governmental system based in part on the theory of written competitive examinations. The argument was simple. There had been written examinations in China; it was proposed to establish written examinations in the United States; therefore the proposed system was Chinese. The argument might have been applied still further. For instance, the Chinese had used gunpowder for centuries; gunpowder is used. in Springfield rifles; therefore Springfield rifles were Chinese. One argument is quite as logical as the other. It was impossible to answer every falsehood about the system. But it was possible to answer certain falsehoods, especially when uttered by some Senator or Congressman of note. Usually these false statements took the form of assertions that we had asked preposterous questions of applicants. At times they also included the assertion that we credited people to districts where they did not live; this simply meaning that these persons were not known to the active ward politicians of those districts.

CONGRESSMAN GROSVENOR'S "JESTS"

One opponent with whom we had a rather lively tilt was lively tilt was a Republican Congressman from Ohio, Mr. Grosvenor, one of the floor leaders. Mr. Grosvenor made his attack in