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Hero of the Angry Sky

The World War I Diary and Letters of David S. Ingalls,

America’s First Naval Ace

Edited by Geoffrey L. Rossano

Foreword by William F. Trimble

Ohio University Press Athens

Contents

Contents v

Illustrations vii

Foreword xi

Series Editors’ Preface xiii

Acknowledgments xv

A Note on the Text xvii

Abbreviations xix

Introduction 1

Training with the First Yale Unit 21

Early Days in Europe 44

With the RFC at Gosport, Turnberry, and Ayr 88

On Patrol—At NAS Dunkirk and with the RAF in Flanders 143

The Navy’s Big Show—The Northern Bombing Group 185

Hero of the Angry Sky—Serving with 217

No.213 Squadron 217

Eastleigh and Home 288

A Glance Back 316

Afterword 330

Appendix 1 340

Appendix 2 342

Bibliography 366

Illustrations

Following page 32

Lt. David Ingalls

The First Yale Unit in Florida for training, spring 1917

F. Trubee Davison, founder of the First Yale Unit

Artemus “Di” Gates of the Yale Unit, with Curtiss F Boat

Members of the First Yale Unit relaxing in Florida 000

Di Gates’s Number 7 crew with Curtiss F Boat in Florida

Crew readying Curtiss F Boat training aircraft

Lt. Eddie McDonnell and Col. Lewis Thompson in Florida

The Yale Unit gathered for muster in Florida

The Yale Unit in Huntington, New York, June 1917

F Boats and a twin-float R-6 at Huntington Bay

Members of the Yale Unit hauling a Curtiss R-6 trainer/scout aircraft out of the water

Ensign Ingalls in his new uniform, early September 1917

The SS Philadelphia (former City of Paris)

Navy gun crews drilling aboard Philadelphia, summer 1917

Following page 134

Ingalls shortly after landing in England

U.S. Navy facility at Moutchic

FBA flying boat

Robert “Bob” Lovett of the First Yale Unit

Capt. Hutch I. Cone, director of naval aviation activities in Europe

Avro 504 trainer

Two Avro 504 trainers after a collision, winter 1917–18

Ken MacLeish

Sopwith Camel

Upended Camel after a training accident

Following page 178

Hand-drawn map of Dunkirk harbor by Lt. Kenneth Whiting

Lt. Godfrey Chevalier, CO at NAS Dunkirk

George Moseley

Yale Unit veteran Samuel Walker on a visit to Dunkirk, with Di Gates

Hanriot-Dupont scout being lowered into the water by derrick at Dunkirk

U.S. Navy station at Dunkirk after a German raid in late April 1918

Seawall at NAS Dunkirk with Hanriot-Dupont scouts

Ingalls, Ken MacLeish, and “Shorty” Smith at the Bergues aerodrome, April 1918

Following page 278

Ingalls with John T. “Skinny” Lawrence and acquaintance in Paris, May 1918

Breguet 14B.2 at Clermont-Ferrand

Observer/machine gunner Randall R. Browne of the First Aeronautic Detachment

DH9 day bomber

Aerial reconnaissance photograph of the dockyards and submarine pens at Bruges

Capt. David Hanrahan, Northern Bombing Group commander, with officers

Chateau at St. Inglevert, a point of rendezvous for members of the Yale Unit

Ingalls in Flanders, possibly during duty with Northern Bombing Group, July–August 1918

Ingalls with 213 Squadron mates, August 1918

Following page 308

U.S. Navy’s Flight Department at Eastleigh

Warrant Officers Einar “Dep” Boydler and William “Bill” Miller at Eastleigh

Warrant Officer William “Bill” Miller with Liberty motor–powered DH-9a day bomber

Randall Browne and crew members at Eastleigh

Ingalls with fellow officer at Eastleigh

Members of senior officer corps of Eastleigh at armistice

Ingalls with enlisted personnel of the Flight Department of Eastleigh at the end of the war

RMS Mauretania

Following page 334

Ingalls with Admiral H. V. Butler in San Diego, 1929

Foreword

Curiously, given the scale and drama of the U.S. Navy’s World War I aviation effort, there are no published biographies of navy combat aviators. Now, thanks to Geoffrey Rossano, a skilled and knowledgeable historian whose recent works include a comprehensive study of the navy’s air arm in Europe, we have a fine-grained, up close and personal glimpse into the wartime career of David Sinton Ingalls, as told in his own words. The navy’s first and only World War I “ace,” credited with six victories while attached to an RAF pursuit squadron, Ingalls was still a teenager when he dropped out of Yale and volunteered for aviation training and service as a naval reserve officer. Like many members of the famed First Yale Unit, Ingalls came from the country’s privileged elite, and like his comrades in arms, he dreamed of the excitement, honor, and glory that modern air warfare seemed to herald. Of course, as Ingalls himself related, the reality was often much different. He endured days and sometimes weeks of tedium on the ground, underwent seemingly endless training, and flew innumerable fruitless patrols over “Hunland” behind the front lines. What to the public appeared to be romantic, chivalrous aerial jousting was in fact a deadly industrial age war of attrition in which men and machines were consumed as appallingly as they were by the artillery and machine guns on the ground.

Using a veritable treasure trove of Ingalls’s letters and diaries, Rossano brings the air war to life with informative and unobtrusive editing skill. The result is that readers will have the rare opportunity to see World War I in the air firsthand. In Ingalls’s remarkably clear voice, we hear the range of emotions that often overwhelmed young men separated from their families and exposed to the dangers of flight and combat. We share Ingalls’s exhilaration in the sheer intoxicating sensation of flight and the satisfaction he experienced in successfully completing a mission. We see how he carefully worded his letters home to his mother and father to mask the dangers he faced. And we see how his nearly daily diary entries paint another, more realistic picture, vividly showing that sometimes only a combination of luck and skill kept him alive in the air and got him safely back to earth.

In this book, we meet some of the key players in early American naval aviation. Among them are Yale Unit chums F. Trubee Davison, Artemus “Di” Gates, and Robert “Bob” Lovett, all of whom went on to noteworthy careers in aviation and public service. A keen observer of the strengths and weaknesses of the navy’s effort in Europe, Ingalls had great respect for Ken Whiting and Hutch Cone, who oversaw the material and organizational aspects of the great enterprise. Like everyone else, Ingalls experienced loss in the merciless skies over France and Belgium. Gates went down and was held as a prisoner of war, and Kenneth MacLeish (brother of poet Archibald MacLeish) was killed only hours after joining the squadron when Ingalls, exhausted from combat, rotated back to England. Frederick Hough, Al Sturtevant, Curtis Read, Harry Velie, and Andrew Ortmeyer, to name only a few, had their lives cut short and will forever be reminders of the human cost of aerial warfare.

I feel certain that readers will agree with me that Rossano’s Hero of the Angry Sky provides a gripping first-person account that incorporates all of the tragedy, excitement, frustration, sacrifice, and ultimately human triumph that accompanied the navy’s Great War in the air.

William F. Trimble

Auburn University

Series Editors’ Preface

Wars have been the engines of North American history. They have shaped the United States and Canada, their governments, and their societies from the colonial era to the present. The volumes in our War and Society in North America book series investigate the effects of military conflict on the peoples in the United States and Canada. Other series are devoted to particular conflicts, types of conflicts, or periods of conflict; ours considers the history of North America over time through the lens of warfare and its effects on states, societies, and peoples. We conceive “war and society” broadly to include the military history of conflicts in or involving North America; responses to war, support as well as opposition opinion, peace movements, and pacifist attitudes; examinations of American citizens and Canadian citizens, colonists, settlers, and Native Americans fighting in or returning from wars; and studies of institutional, political, social, cultural, economic, or environmental factors specific to North America that affected wars. Our series explores the ties between regions and nations in times of extreme crisis. Ultimately, volumes in the War and Society in North America series should be a venue for authors of books that will appeal to a wide range of audiences in military history, social history, and national and transnational history.

In Hero of the Angry Sky, Geoffrey Rossano fulfills all the expectations for our series. He brings to light the experiences of one of America’s first flying aces, the naval aviator David Ingalls in the First World War. Ingalls, an Ohioan from Cleveland, shot down five German aircraft and became the only ace in the U.S. Navy during that conflict. Ingalls joined the preparedness movement in 1916 as an undergraduate student at Yale University and he went on to volunteer service in the war. This book is not merely a combat narrative, however, because Rossano effectively blends Ingalls’s diary entries and personal letters in a whole-life story with fascinating material on flight training, aviation technology, and even France’s wartime society. His book also serves to commemorate the early years of naval aviation and the upcoming one-hundredth anniversary of the formation of the First Yale Unit of volunteers for the Great War. After the war ended, Ingalls went on to careers in law, business, Ohio politics, and national politics. As an assistant secretary of the navy in President Herbert Hoover’s administration, Ingalls directed the expansion of naval aviation and the development of aircraft carrier–based air power that would bear fruit in the Second World War. There can be no doubt that Ingalls’s own experiences as an aviator in the Great War left lasting impressions on him and made him a strong advocate for naval air power for the rest of this life.

We are proud to have Geoffrey Rossano’s Hero of the Angry Sky as the inaugural volume in the series War and Society in North America. Throughout the review and editing phases, Rossano has been the consummate scholar. We could not have asked for a better author and partner in publishing. We would be remiss if we did not also thank Gillian Berchowitz, the editorial director at Ohio University Press. Gillian has been very supportive throughout the process of creating our series and in working with Geoffrey Rossano on Hero of the Angry Sky.

David J. Ulbrich

St. Robert, Missouri

Ingo Trauschweizer

Athens, Ohio

Acknowledgments

To edit someone’s private diary and correspondence is, in a way, to become part of that person’s life, family, and social circle and share his or her time and place, no matter how far removed. Working with David Ingalls’s papers was just such an experience. During many months poring over his writings, deciphering his tight penmanship, “meeting” his friends and acquaintances, and listening in on his thoughts, I came to know the teenage man-boy who became naval aviation’s first ace. Visiting several of the places where he trained and served, literally following in his footsteps, provided additional insight. It has been a fascinating and rewarding journey.

My greatest thanks go to members of the extended Ingalls family for making David Ingalls’s papers available to me and supporting this project right from the beginning. They opened both their homes and their archives. Especially helpful have been Jane Ingalls Davison, David Ingalls’s daughter; Dr. Bobbie Brown, his granddaughter; and Polly Hitchcock, his great-granddaughter. I would also like to thank the staff at the Louise H. and David S. Ingalls Foundation, particularly Jay Remec. All were enthusiastic about the project from start to finish.

A great variety of individuals, organizations, and repositories made completion of this work possible. The National Archives in Washington remains the central repository for documents relating to early things naval. The large and varied resources of the Naval History and Heritage Command located at the Washington Navy Yard proved very helpful, as did the staff in the library, the Photo Section, and especially the naval aviation unit of the archives, particularly Joe Gordon and Laura Waayers. The Naval Institute library in Annapolis provided access to many scarce books and publications, as did the Emil Buehler Library at the Naval Aviation Museum in Pensacola, Florida. Jack Fine at the Buehler Library greatly assisted in the search for photographs. Archivist David Levesque at St. Paul’s School helped identify many of David Ingalls’s school friends and associates, and Roger Sheely generously provided access to his own father’s World War I papers and photograph albums, which contained much material relating to Ingalls’s involvement with the Northern Bombing Group program. Peter Mersky also permitted reproduction of several photographs from his collection. I have also enjoyed working with Darroch Greer and Ron King, producers of the outstanding documentary film The Millionaire’s Unit: America’s Pioneer Pilots of the Great War. They provided several leads and insights into the world of the First Yale Unit.

Finally, my hearty thanks go to the editors and professionals at Ohio University Press who made the task of completing this project a pleasure rather than a burden. These include series editors Ingo Trauschweizer and David Ulbrich and Editorial Director Gillian Berchowitz.

Geoffrey L. Rossano

A Note on the Text

Principal Sources:

Diary, two volumes, September 1917–November 1918

Letters to parents and others, April 1917–November 1918

Typescript diary/memoir prepared in the early postwar period

Observations/Analysis re: training at Turnberry and Ayr

Informal logbook entries scattered through the diary

Technical notebook re: gunnery, equipment lectures at Turnberry

RAF squadron reports

This book incorporates the complete chronological text of David Ingalls’s extant World War I letters and diary, technical notes from his time at Turnberry, an analysis of training at Ayr and Turnberry, random flight records, and official RAF squadron reports/flight reports, supplemented where appropriate by material drawn from his postwar (c. 1924) personal memoir. Also included is the transcript of after dinner remarks made at a 1924 reunion of the Yale fliers. Obvious misspellings have been corrected. In the few instances where Ingalls’s handwriting made deciphering a word or phrase problematic or where words have been inserted to provide clarity, the editor has so indicated with brackets—[ ]—in the text.

Chapter organization reflects discrete periods in Ingalls’s wartime instruction and service, beginning with chapter 1, his early training in Florida and New York. Chapter 2 covers his voyage across the Atlantic and early months in England and France. Chapter 3 includes material related to training with the Royal Flying Corps from December 1917 until March 1918. Chapter 4 documents Ingalls’s service at NAS Dunkirk and with No.213 Squadron, RAF, in the period March–May 1918. Chapter 5 is devoted to his months of training for duty with the Northern Bombing Group and service with an RAF bombing squadron. Chapter 6 covers his time at the front with No.213 Squadron in August–October 1918, the months when he scored all of his aerial victories. Chapter 7 describes Ingalls’s final wartime duties at the navy’s assembly and repair facility at Eastleigh, England, and his trip home.

The volume incorporates both editorial comments and annotations. The editorial material is designed to place Ingalls’s words and actions into historical context, while offering a succinct narrative of his life and the events of his military career. Most of this information is located at the beginning of chapters or in extended footnotes. The objective is not to retell the entire story of naval aviation in this period. Rather, every attempt has been made to give substance to Ingalls’s own voice, to let one young man tell his own story, completely, for the very first time.

Finally, the annotations. Throughout his surviving letters, diary, and other documents, David Ingalls mentioned a vast cast of characters, organizations, places, and events. A few are well known to the casual reader, but most are not, even to those well versed in the history of the period. Many references, at a distance of nearly a century, are quite obscure. To address this issue and help the reader understand the flow of events but not overwhelm Ingalls’s narrative, the editor has indicated the terms, characters, places, and other material to be identified with a footnote number, with the actual identification/explanation placed at the bottom of the page.

Abbreviations

AA antiaircraft

A & R assembly and repair

AEF American Expeditionary Force

BM Boatswain’s Mate

CNO Chief of Naval Operations

CO commanding officer

C.P.S. Carson, Pirie, Scott

DFC Distinguished Flying Cross

DSC Distinguished Service Cross

DSI David Sinton Ingalls

DSM Distinguished Service Medal

DSO Distinguished Service Order

EA enemy aircraft

FAD First Aeronautic Detachment

GM Gunner’s Mate

HOP high offensive patrol

j.g. junior grade

MG machine gun

MM Machinist Mate

NA Naval Aviator

NAS Naval Air Station

NBG Northern Bombing Group

NRFC Naval Reserve Flying Corps

QM Quartermaster

RAF Royal Air Force

RFC Royal Flying Corps

RNAS Royal Naval Air Service; Royal Naval Air Station

VC Victoria Cross

Introduction

In 1925, Rear Admiral William S. Sims, commander of U.S. naval forces operating in Europe during World War I, declared, “Lieutenant David S. Ingalls may rightly be called the ‘Naval Ace’ of the war.”1 Of the twenty thousand pilots, observers, ground officers, mechanics, and construction workers who served overseas in the conflict, only Ingalls earned that unofficial yet esteemed status. In contrast, by November 1918, the U.S. Army Air Service counted more than 120 aces.2

The Cleveland, Ohio, native’s unique achievement resulted from several factors. Unlike their army peers, few naval pilots engaged in air-to-air combat. Instead, most patrolled uncontested waters in search of submarines. A bare handful served with Allied squadrons along the Western Front, the true cauldron of the air war. By contrast, David Ingalls spent much of his flying career stationed at NAS Dunkirk, the navy’s embattled base situated just behind enemy lines, or carrying out missions with Royal Air Force (RAF) fighting and bombing squadrons. He did three tours with the British, all without a parachute or other safety gear, and he hungered for more. The young aviator managed to be in the right place at the right time, and as was true for nearly all surviving aces, luck smiled on him.

David Ingalls’s personal attributes played a crucial role in his success. A gifted athlete, he possessed extraordinary eyesight, hand-eye coordination, strength, agility, and endurance. An instinctive, confident flier, Ingalls learned quickly and loved the aerial environment. With a head for detail, he easily mastered the many technical facets of his craft. He was also an excellent shot and unforgiving hunter. Finally, Ingalls possessed the heart of a youthful daredevil, a hell-raiser who gloried in the excitement and challenge of aerial combat. He seemed fearless and quickly put one day’s activities behind him even as he prepared for the next mission. He went to war a schoolboy athlete and came home a national hero. And he was still only nineteen years old when the guns fell silent.

Although Ingalls’s wartime experiences are compelling at a personal level, they also illuminate the larger but still relatively unexplored realm of early U.S. naval aviation. According to military historians R. D. Layman and John Abbatiello, naval aviation carried out a wide variety of missions in World War I and exercised far greater influence on the conduct of military affairs than heretofore acknowledged. Aircraft protected convoys from attack and played an increasingly vital role in the campaign against the U-boat. Aviators aided the efforts of naval units and ground troops in military theaters extending from the North Sea and English Channel to Flanders, Italy, Greece, Turkey, and Iraq. Fleet commands, most notably in Great Britain, worked to integrate the new technology into ongoing operations and develop innovative applications.3

As the United States developed its own aviation priorities, missions, and doctrines during 1917 and 1918, it aspired to similar success. Despite his extreme youth, David Ingalls was repeatedly selected by the navy to play a pathbreaking role in this process. He began as one of the very first pilots dispatched to Europe for active duty “over there.” Once ashore, he became one of only three aviators chosen to receive advanced training at Britain’s School of Special Flying at Gosport, preparatory to assuming the role of flight commander at beleaguered NAS Dunkirk. During the terrifying German advance of March–April 1918, he and three other American pilots joined a Royal Air Force fighting squadron operating over Flanders. Later that year, he became one of the initial members of the navy’s most significant offensive program of the entire war, the Northern Bombing Group (NBG), and then flew several bombing missions with the RAF. After just a few weeks’ ground duty with the NBG, Ingalls returned to British service for two months, becoming the only navy pilot to fly over the front lines for such an extended period. While with the RAF, he served as acting flight commander ahead of many longtime members of his squadron. In recognition of this work, he became the first American naval aviator to receive Britain’s Distinguished Flying Cross. He finished his service as chief flight officer at the navy’s sprawling assembly and repair depot at Eastleigh, England.

Ingalls’s wartime correspondence offers a rare personal view of the evolution of naval aviation during the war, both at home and abroad. There are no published biographies of navy combat fliers from this period, and just a handful of diaries and letters are in print, the last appearing in the early 1990s.4 Ingalls kept a detailed record of his wartime service in several forms, and his extensive and enthusiastic letters and diaries add significantly to historians’ store of available material. Shortly after enlisting in the navy in March 1917, he began corresponding with his parents in Cleveland, Ohio, a practice he continued until late November 1918. Someone in his father’s offices at the New York Central Railroad transcribed the handwritten letters and pasted them into a scrapbook containing materials documenting his military career.5

Ingalls’s letters reveal a lighthearted and affectionate relationship with his parents, and they are often filled with valuable insights into the tasks he performed, though he shielded his folks from the true dangers he faced. He limned his most hair-raising experiences with the glow of a sportswriter discussing a star athlete’s exploits. Though the letters contain much information about his social life in Europe, the teenage flier did not tell his mother about the “short arm” inspections he performed on enlisted men, searching for signs of venereal disease.

Upon sailing to Europe in September 1917, the recently commissioned junior officer commenced keeping a detailed diary, eventually filling two compact notebooks. Ingalls also compiled an informal record of his flight activities by jotting down spare notations throughout his diary, listing hours and types of aircraft flown. Surprisingly, no official logbook survives. These daily entries have a very different texture from that of his letters, being more matter-of-fact and more cryptic yet still recording the major and lesser activities that structured his days and the days of those around him. He expressed frustration with endless training, occasional boredom, dislike of army fliers, and hints of fear and nerves, an altogether less sugarcoated version of reality. While training in Scotland, the neophyte aviator transcribed lengthy notes during various lectures and from technical publications. He also produced a formal analysis of instruction at Ayr and Turnberry. Both are reproduced here.

Shortly after the war but likely no later than 1924, a more mature Ingalls prepared a hundred-page typescript memoir, incorporating much of the language of his diary and letters verbatim, interspersed with material reporting additional events, descriptions drawn from memory where no letters or diary entries survived, or editorial comments about his experiences. The memoir offers yet another interpretation of Ingalls’s activities, the tone by turns analytical and dramatic, with something of the flavor of a pulp novel. Wartime terror and boredom are gone, replaced by the occasional smirk or wink. His descriptions of social life and visits to nightclubs seem wiser, more knowing, as he speaks with the voice of a grown man recounting the escapades of a teenage boy.

Despite his officer status, Ingalls provided a distinctly civilian view of military life in his writings, albeit a rather privileged version of that existence. For him, this was all a great adventure, not a career. The navy’s decision to keep its regular young officers with the fleet and not train any as aviators meant volunteer reservists such as Ingalls filled the ranks of combat units.6 And like him, many came from affluent, socially prominent families. The young Ohioan thus had much to say about the social scene in London and Paris, and his experiences differed greatly from the hardships suffered by enlisted bluejackets at sea or doughboy infantrymen in the mud and trenches.

Ingalls’s story also, in the words of author Henry Berry in Make the Kaiser Dance, partakes of the persistent aura of glamour attached to the young Americans who flew their fragile, dangerous machines above the Western Front. Anyone who has ever raced across the sky in an open-cockpit biplane knows something of that feeling. Of Ingalls and his peers, Berry remarked, “Their names seem to conjure up the list of the romantic aspects of war—if shooting down another plane in flames, or suffering the same fate, is glamorous.” In a world of mud, horror, anonymity, and mass death, they became celebrities. The less-than-unbiased Gen. William “Billy” Mitchell proclaimed, “The only interest and romance in this war was in the air,” and historian Edward Coffman observed, “No other aspect of World War I so captured the public imagination.”7

Concerning his aviation duties, Ingalls offered insight into the lengthy, varied, sometimes contradictory, and often ad hoc instruction received by the first wave of navy fliers preparing for wartime service. He bemoaned the fact that training never seemed to end. Reassignment from flying boat–patrol training, to land-based combat instruction, to seaplane escort duty, and to cross-lines bombing raids, followed by more escort duty, then training in large bombers, and finally assignment to a British combat squadron reflected the navy’s continually shifting plans and priorities. The fleet entered the war with no aviation doctrine, precious few men, and little matériel, and it took many months to get the program headed on a winning course. As Capt. Thomas Craven, commander of naval aviation in France in the final months of the conflict, noted, his bases and squadrons, like John Paul Jones, “had not yet begun to fight,” even as Germany prepared to surrender.8

Among the first collegiate fliers to jump into the game, David Ingalls began training even before Congress declared war. In the months that followed, he mastered command of flying boats, seaplanes, pursuit aircraft, and bombers, more than a dozen machines in all. Ingalls’s work took him from Florida to New York and then to England, Scotland, and France. He became a trailblazer for the many that followed, and his duties included antisubmarine patrols, bombing raids, test flights, at-sea rescues, dogfights, and low-level strafing attacks. In all his assignments, he displayed intelligence, exuberance, and technical skill. His superiors entrusted him with significant responsibility, and he more than fulfilled their expectations. Ingalls achieved great success in all his endeavors and despite his youth earned the praise, admiration, and respect of those around him. His experiences mirrored the course of the navy’s first venture into the crucible of aerial combat. David Ingalls’s story is naval aviation’s story.

By any reckoning, David Sinton Ingalls of Cleveland, Ohio, lived an extraordinary life. Long before he flew into aviation history, he seemed destined for high achievement. It was in his blood. Born into an affluent, socially and politically prominent midwestern family, he enjoyed great success as a youthful athlete. His exploits in World War I made him a national hero. The postwar era brought further accomplishments—degrees from Yale and Harvard; marriage to an heiress and a busy family life; a high-profile career in politics, law, business, and publishing; a busy and productive stint as undersecretary of the navy for aeronautics in the Hoover administration; distinguished military service in World War II; extensive activity as a sportsman and philanthropist; and a lifelong commitment to his passion for flying as both a pilot and an aviation enthusiast. And whatever activity he pursued, he did so with energy and zest.

David Ingalls’s family tree incorporated some of Ohio’s most prominent citizens. On his mother’s side, he descended from David Sinton (1808–1900), whose parents arrived from Ireland and settled in Pittsburgh. Described much later as a man of “irregular education,” Sinton was known as “a large, strong person with strong common sense.”9 He eventually relocated to southern Ohio, made a fortune in the iron business, and was at one time perhaps the richest man in the state. His elegant, Federal-style Cincinnati home survives today as the Taft Museum of Art. Sinton’s only daughter, Anne (1850–1931), inherited $20 million from her father. She married Charles Phelps Taft (1843–1929), son of Alphonso Taft (1810–91), a man of solid Yankee stock. Originally from West Townshend, Vermont, the elder Taft graduated from Yale (Phi Beta Kappa) and Yale Law School and by 1859 had settled in Cincinnati, where he attained legal and political prominence. He ultimately served as U.S. secretary of war and attorney general and later ambassador to Austria-Hungary and Russia.

Alphonso Taft’s son Charles, the older half brother of William Howard Taft (the future judge, secretary of war, president, and Chief Justice of the United States), became a prominent lawyer in his own right, as well as a congressman and publisher of the Cincinnati Times-Star. According to Robert A. Taft’s biographer, “Wealthy brother Charley” often provided financial assistance to his justice sibling, while emerging as one of Cincinnati’s leading philanthropists. Charles and Anne Taft lived in David Sinton’s mansion until the late 1920s. Their only daughter, Jane Taft (1874–1962), was David Ingalls’s mother. She exhibited a lifelong interest in the arts and became a patroness of many museums and organizations. She also earned a local reputation as a talented painter and sculptress.10

Paternal grandfather Melville Ingalls (1842–1914), another Yankee, hailed from Maine and moved to Massachusetts, where he gained distinction as a lawyer and politician. After relocating to Cincinnati, he fashioned a remarkable career in railroads and finance. In time, he became president of several rail lines, including the Indianapolis, Cincinnati & Lafayette, later part of the Cleveland, Cincinnati, Chicago, & St. Louis, known as the Big Four Railroad. Melville Ingalls also controlled the Merchants National Bank, the city’s second-largest financial institution. His “imposing estate” stood in Cincinnati’s fashionable East Walnut Hills neighborhood. Melville’s son, Albert S. Ingalls (1874–1943), achieved great success as well, Born in Cincinnati, he attended St. Paul’s School in New Hampshire and Harvard, then went to work for his father’s railroad, starting out dressed in overalls rather than a business suit. He worked his way up through the system at the Big Four, then Lake Shore Railroad, and finally New York Central Railroad, where he became vice president and general manager of operations west of Buffalo, New York. As his career blossomed, Albert Ingalls moved to Cleveland, earning some notoriety as the second man in the city to own an automobile. He was long remembered as a hard worker and quick thinker, a master of English who could clear a desk of correspondence in record time. He exhibited a democratic spirit and genial personality and an admirable mixture of culture, quick-wittedness, broad interests, and robust energy. From an early age, Albert Ingalls enjoyed smoking a clay pipe. Many of his personal traits he passed on to his children, especially David.

Albert Ingalls and Jane Taft married in Cincinnati, linking two important Ohio clans, but soon relocated to Cleveland. The young couple lived first in the city, then in Cleveland Heights. They had three children—David, Anne, and Albert. David, the eldest, was born on January 28, 1899. In 1906, the family moved to Bratenahl, one of the city’s early elite residential suburbs on the shores of Lake Erie, known for its prominent families and manicured estates. Residents included members of the region’s financial and industrial elite, including the Hannas, Irelands, Chisholms, Holdens, Kings, McMurrays, and Pickandses. David Ingalls’s lifelong friend and fellow naval aviator, Robert Livingston “Pat” Ireland, lived nearby. Ingalls spent summers at the lakeshore or visiting his many relatives, especially his Taft cousins.

His academic training included time spent at University School in Cleveland, an independent day school founded in 1890. In 1912, Ingalls entered St. Paul’s School in Concord, New Hampshire, from which he graduated in 1916, having participated in the requisite campus organizations, including the mandolin club, literary society, and scientific association. He played football and tennis and was twice schoolwide squash champion. Ingalls’s most notable exploits came on the ice as a standout hockey player. Some even compared him to the nonpareil athlete Hobey Baker, who preceded him by a few years. At the time, the school was “ardently Anglophile . . . High Church,” and it drew much of its student body from the New York–Philadelphia Main Line. While at St. Paul’s, Ingalls came under the stern influence of Rector Samuel Drury, a former missionary to the Philippines who worked diligently to improve the school’s commitment to ethical and academic standards. Drury often told his charges, “From those to whom much is given, much is expected.”11

Ingalls’s schoolboy years, whether at St. Paul’s or at home in Cleveland, exposed him daily to the controversies ignited by the terrible war that broke out in Europe in 1914 and America’s appropriate response to it. As the history of St. Paul’s School documents, there was considerable anti-German feeling at that time, and both students and faculty quickly forged many connections to the fighting. Several masters attended summer military camps. Graduates enlisted with the French or British forces. Students marched in preparedness parades, volunteered for military drill, and carried out raids on various campus buildings.12 Like the strong winds blowing off Lake Erie, news of the war and the fierce debate it generated also buffeted Cleveland, a flourishing city with a yeasty mix of rich and poor, native and immigrant, liberal and conservative. News of the sinking of the Lusitania in early May 1915 covered every inch of the front page of the Cleveland Plain Dealer. When the German consul in Cincinnati released a statement in January 1916 defending his country’s actions in the war, the story received wide circulation throughout the state. That same day, notices informed Clevelanders that new war motion pictures were playing in local theaters.

Residents read about vigorous efforts by pacifist, preparedness, and interventionist groups to sway public opinion. In 1915, Mayor Newton Baker, known for his antimilitarist stance, joined social reformer Jane Addams in praising the antiwar film Lay Down Your Arms. In the same year, Cleveland Women for Peace held a tea to honor delegates to the World Court Congress. Mrs. Baker, the mayor’s spouse, presided at the event. The miners’ union came out against military preparedness in January 1916, and members of the Cleveland Young People’s Socialist League celebrated an antiwar day the following September. In November 1916, Cleveland and surrounding Cuyahoga County voted for President Woodrow Wilson (“He kept us out of war”) by a 52-to-44 percent margin. This result received the approbation of the November 9 Plain Dealer editorial page, which praised Wilson for “his sane Americanism, opposition to war-at-any-price jingoes, and professional hyphenates.”

Cleveland supporters of preparedness and the Allies, however, were also vocal and well represented throughout the prewar period. Many of the city’s Yale graduates urged visiting university president Arthur Hadley to support military preparedness. In July 1915, prominent citizens organized a local chapter of the National Security League and campaigned actively for the next two years. The following summer, Bascom Little, an influential local businessman and philanthropist and member of the National Defense Committee of the U.S. Chamber of Commerce, traveled to Washington, D.C., to urge Congress to pass a proposed universal military training bill. Everyone, it seems, had an opinion about the war and what the United States should do about it.13

In the fall of 1916, David Ingalls entered Yale University to pursue medical studies, and he again distinguished himself on the ice as captain of the freshman hockey team. Great-uncle William Howard Taft, former president and now member of the law school faculty, lived just a few blocks away. Somewhere along the way, likely at St. Paul’s or in that first year at Yale, Ingalls acquired the nickname “Crock,” derivation uncertain. (Daughter Jane Ingalls Davison later insisted no one in Cleveland ever called him by that name.) Ingalls soon became close friends with Henry “Harry” Pomeroy Davison Jr., son of J. P. Morgan partner Henry Pomeroy Davison and younger brother of F. Trubee Davison.14 While Ingalls was in New Haven, his childhood fascination with flight, his innate joy in reckless physical action, his social connections to influential fellow students, and the prewar preparedness frenzy sweeping eastern colleges almost inevitably turned his attention toward an aviation unit being formed by Trubee Davison.

By late 1916, concern over events in Europe, where the Great War staggered through its third year, and the debate regarding America’s role in the struggle reached a fever pitch, dominating the national conversation. When war had broken out in the summer of 1914, reaction had been mixed. President Wilson, who “resolutely opposed unjustified war,”15 insisted the United States remain neutral in the struggle and actively resisted planning for possible military intervention. Military historian Harvey DeWeerd observed, “The war was nearly two years old before Wilson allowed government officials to act as if it might sometime involve America.” Newton Baker, now secretary of war, had been a spokesman for the League to Enforce Peace. Editor George B. M. Harvey of Harper’s Weekly responded by calling Baker “a chattering ex-pacifist.” Secretary of the Navy Josephus Daniels, a man of pacifist and isolationist proclivities, proved equally critical of professional soldiers and sailors and general staffs.16

Many citizens concurred. Irish Americans opposed any aid for Britain. German Americans, including thousands in Ohio, tended to support their homeland. Antiwar sentiment ran strongly among reformers, women’s organizations, and church groups. The country’s large socialist movement called the conflict a capitalist conspiracy to generate profits and consume manpower. Traditionally isolationist regions of the United States strongly opposed involvement. Henry Ford chartered a “peace ship” to bring antiwar activists to an international conference held in Stockholm, Sweden in 1916. Reflecting the horrors unfolding on the Western Front, “I Didn’t Raise My Boy to Be a Soldier” reigned as one of the most popular songs of 1915–16.17

Such feelings were not universal, however. In fact, though most Americans supported neutrality and narrowly reelected Woodrow Wilson on the belief that “he kept us out of war,” they still preferred a Franco-British victory to a German triumph. DeWeerd claimed, “The country was pro-Ally and anti-German from the start.”18 Fervent supporters of Great Britain and France saw the war as a struggle between democracy and Western civilization, on the one hand, and “Kaiserism” and the brutality of the “Huns,” on the other. Submarine attacks on civilian passenger liners such as the Lusitania almost caused a diplomatic rupture between the United States and Germany. The British blockade, protested only mildly by the Wilson government, diverted most trade to England and Western Europe, and a growing tide of orders for war materials engendered further support for the Allies. So did the ever-increasing flow of loans from major American investment banks such as J. P. Morgan.

Whether favoring or opposing active participation in Europe’s seemingly endless war, many citizens demanded their government prepare for possible involvement in the struggle, if only to defend national interests and American soil in case of a German victory. As David Kennedy noted, the outbreak of war “summoned into being . . . a sizable array of preparedness lobbies.”19 Some called for universal military training (conscription) and expansion of both the army and the navy. Former army chief of staff Leonard Wood, ex-president Theodore Roosevelt, and previous secretaries of war Elihu Root and Henry Stimson were only the most prominent among thousands of citizens who campaigned for such action. Leading bankers, industrialists, lawyers, academics, and politicians advocated a strongly Anglophile diplomatic and military policy, and a great mosaic of organizations took up the call.20

Citizen training camps conducted at Plattsburgh, New York, and elsewhere reflected the growing clamor for preparedness. College students and faculty members, recent graduates, young businessmen, and teaching masters from a score of eastern preparatory schools spent their summers drilling, camping, and learning to fire weapons. Another outgrowth of the preparedness movement, the National Defense Act of 1916, doubled the size of the army (to 240,000) and authorized a tremendous expansion of the battle fleet, though none of its provisions would be fully implemented for several years and thus would have little impact on the current crisis in Europe.21

Whatever their individual motivations, many young Americans, both men and women, took dramatic action to support the Allies. Thousands journeyed to Europe to drive ambulances, serve with the Red Cross, or perform varied volunteer duties. Others enlisted in the French Foreign Legion and eventually transferred to the aviation forces, forming what ultimately became the Lafayette Flying Corps. Still more traveled to Canada to join the British army or the Royal Flying Corps (RFC). Students at colleges such as Harvard, Princeton, and Yale formed quasi-military units and flying clubs, preparing for the day Uncle Sam might call on them.22

Even before Ingalls arrived in New Haven in September 1916, talk of war and preparedness monopolized much of the academic community’s attention, with the discussion by no means one-sided. Author George Pierson noted, “Yale was far from rising as one man to the support of Belgium and the Triple Entente.” Even as former president Taft called for strict neutrality, scholar George Adams declaimed, “Germany must be defeated in this war.” Initially, though very few students or faculty members favored the Central powers, equally small numbers advocated direct American involvement. Nonetheless, relief efforts to aid the Allies commenced almost immediately, and by 1915, many graduates called on the university to be more active in preparing for possible American involvement. Significantly, Yale president Arthur Hadley seemed “enthralled and excited by the preparedness movement,” and he praised military training for students.23

As early as April 1915, Hadley called for national preparedness, and later that year, he declared military training should have a place on college campuses. Addressing Yale alumni in Cleveland, he argued that the best way to keep the peace was to prepare for war. After visiting Plattsburgh in August 1915 and speaking with General Wood, Hadley in the fall announced plans to establish a field artillery battery on campus, and more than 1,000 undergraduates rushed to volunteer for the 486 available places. The faculty eventually voted to establish a Reserve Officers’ Training Corps unit, a proposal backed overwhelmingly (1,112 to 288) by the student body. The National Security League sponsored mass demonstrations, and preparedness and interventionist speakers including Henry Stimson and Adm. Bradley Fiske addressed undergraduates. In the winter of 1916–17, after years of urging neutrality, William Howard Taft admitted that war could no longer be avoided.

It was in this environment that two dozen Yale students and recent alumni coalesced in 1916–17 to create an aerial defense squadron. The First Yale Unit began as the brainchild of F. Trubee Davison. After his freshman year at college, Davison spent the summer of 1915 in war-torn Paris driving an ambulance. During those months, he met many prominent participants in the effort, including several combat fliers. He first envisioned organizing a volunteer ambulance unit at Yale but later determined to establish an aviation detachment instead. This concept dovetailed with contemporary proposals by John Hayes Hammond Jr., of the Aero Club of America, and Rear Admiral Robert Peary to create a series of aerial coastal patrol groups to protect American shores in case of war.24

By the spring of 1916, Davison had enlisted the support of several young comrades, including Harry Davison, Robert Lovett, Artemus “Di” Gates, Erl Gould, and John Vorys. Riding the wave of preparedness enthusiasm, he also gained the backing of influential private benefactors. Davison approached the Navy Department concerning his scheme and received modest encouragement, though no official support. Nonetheless, in July 1916, the fledgling group commenced training at aviation enthusiast Rodman Wanamaker’s Trans-Oceanic seaplane facility at Port Washington, New York, under the tutelage of pioneer flier David McCulloch.25 Of the dozen college boys who trained that summer, three soloed. Some of them also participated in naval reserve exercises.

Encouraged by the group’s successes, Davison and his mates increased their efforts to gain additional recruits after classes resumed at Yale—among them David Ingalls, just arrived in New Haven and still only seventeen—while intensifying discussions with the navy. In late winter 1917, when entry into the European war seemed inevitable, members of the group, now grown to more than two dozen volunteers, made plans to leave school and enlist. They did so with the support of President Hadley and Dean of Students Frederick Jones. On March 24, 1917, the Yale fliers traveled to New London, Connecticut, to complete the process. A few days later, they boarded a train to Palm Beach, Florida, to initiate instruction.

Commencement of unrestricted submarine warfare the previous winter had pushed the reluctant administration past the breaking point, and even as Ingalls and the rest of the Yalies begin training in Florida, President Wilson addressed Congress, asking for a declaration of war against Germany. The navy and its infant aviation arm would soon be called upon to do their part to defeat the U-boat scourge. The need was huge, the dangers great, and the threat mortal. In the first half of 1917, shipping losses to enemy submarines surged to intolerable levels, reaching nearly nine hundred thousand tons in April. Continued losses of that magnitude would quickly bring Britain to its knees. But in the opening days of hostilities, American naval aviation could not challenge the U-boat. Total flying resources consisted of a few dozen obsolete and obsolescent training aircraft; a lone underpowered, overweight dirigible; two balloons; a single understaffed and underfunded training facility at Pensacola, Florida; two score fliers (but none who had seen combat); and a few hundred enlisted ratings. The navy possessed neither aviation doctrine nor plans. No blueprints for wartime expansion existed, either for personnel or equipment.

Although the navy made modest technical progress in the years after the first fragile airplane took off from an anchored warship in 1910, it still lagged woefully behind the European combatants. In 1916, its three lonely assistant naval attachés posted to Berlin, Paris, and London supplied limited, circumscribed information about conditions in the war zone. A single lieutenant in the offices of the Aid for Material on the staff of the Chief of Naval Operations handled aviation affairs in Washington. A simple description of naval aviation activities in Europe reflects the degree to which the navy fell behind its future allies and enemies.26

By the spring of 1917, Britain’s Royal Naval Air Service (RNAS) operated a growing number of coastal bases stretching from Scotland to the south coast of England and Dunkirk in France, and in April 1917, it initiated the “spider web” antisubmarine patrols over the North Sea. The Royal Navy’s air arm also employed several land-based squadrons on the Western Front, carrying out patrol, reconnaissance, and bombing missions; its aircraft inventory included modern Sopwith Camels and Triplanes, Handley Page heavy bombers, and huge Curtiss-derived Felixstowe flying boats. The RNAS also possessed a large fleet of SS-type airships, along with a well-developed network of training facilities. Kite balloons operated regularly with the fleet. Naval aviators carried out combat missions in the Aegean Sea, at the Dardanelles, and in Egypt, East Africa, and elsewhere. The RNAS had mounted bombing raids against German airship facilities at Friedrichshafen, Cologne, Dusseldorf, and Cuxhaven and against munitions and industrial targets, as well as airborne torpedo attacks at Gallipoli. Britain led the way in marrying aircraft to the fleet, deploying more than a dozen balloon ships, seaplane carriers, and prototype-hybrid aircraft carriers. One of these warships, Engadine, played a small role at the battle of Jutland. More sophisticated vessels were on the way. Other innovations included aircraft with folding wings, designed for easy, onboard stowage; internal air bags to keep downed machines afloat; and use of scout planes aboard battleships and cruisers by means of turret-mounted launching platforms.

Though the RNAS developed the biggest forces, other nations followed suit. Germany built the largest fleet of rigid airships (zeppelins), which conducted extensive scouting/reconnaissance missions for the High Seas Fleet and launched heavy bombing raids against London and other British sites. Germany also constructed numerous seaplane bases on home soil, along the Baltic coast, and in Belgium, and from these locations, it operated the world’s most sophisticated floatplane fighters. In April 1917, German naval air forces initiated a series of torpedo attacks against Allied shipping in the Dover Straits. France constructed a string of antisubmarine patrol stations to guard the English Channel, Bay of Biscay, and Mediterranean Sea, and its naval forces employed kite balloons during convoying operations. Italy developed the speedy, highly maneuverable Macchi flying boat fighters, based on an Austro-Hungarian prototype, and conducted a back-and-forth struggle across the narrow reaches of the Adriatic Sea. In 1916, Austro-Hungarian seaplanes sank a British submarine moored in Venice and shortly thereafter fatally damaged a French submarine at sea. As early as 1915, Russian naval forces in the Black Sea labored, with some success, to sever Turkish sea-lanes, utilizing up to three seaplane carriers.

It was in the shadow of these developments that the United States entered the fray in April 1917. Under forced draft, naval aviation eventually amassed forty thousand officers and enlisted men, augmented by thousands of aircraft and dozens of bases, schools, and supply facilities in Europe and the United States. By autumn 1918, navy fliers were ready to make substantial contributions to the war effort, but the armistice intervened. In the short run, however, before such a force could be assembled and deployed, the country necessarily relied on the efforts of individuals such as David Ingalls and hastily organized groups such as the First Yale Unit to carry out its evolving aeronautical campaign.

1

Training with the First Yale Unit

March–September 1917

David Ingalls spent his initial months in the navy training with the First Yale Unit in Florida and on Long Island, New York, a process directed by Lt. Edward McDonnell, a 1912 graduate of the U.S. Naval Academy (USNA), where he became a champion boxer. McDonnell served at Vera Cruz, Mexico, in 1914 and received the Medal of Honor for heroism under fire. He began flight instruction at Pensacola a few months later and earned his designation as “Naval Aviator #18” (NA #18) in September 1915. In the spring of 1917, the navy ordered him to Palm Beach to direct training of the newly enrolled Yale fliers, assisted by civilians David McCulloch and Caleb Bragg, a small crew of petty officers and mechanics, and an assortment of civilian aides and staff. At the time, the college boys occupied Rodman Wanamaker’s southern Trans-Oceanic facilities on Lake Worth and boarded at the Hotel Salt Air in West Palm Beach.27

Work for the Yalies began immediately upon arrival, with the site and aircraft guarded by local militia. Divided into small crews, the neophytes studied signaling, Lewis machine guns, motor work, dual instruction, and finally solo flight, utilizing Curtiss F Boats—small, two-place, pusher-type, single-engine flying boats.28 Artemus “Di” Gates, who had flown in 1916, led David Ingalls’s crew, which also included Kenneth MacLeish, Kenneth Smith, and Robert “Pat” Ireland.29 Ingalls made his inaugural flight in early April, accumulating two hours of dual instruction in the first week, and he soloed on May 8. By late July, the unit logbook documented Ingalls’s nearly fifty hours in the air.

McDonnell’s work with the Yale Unit in Florida and later in New York mirrored similar ad hoc efforts in many parts of the country. Lacking sufficient capacity at its single training station in Pensacola, the navy turned to a variety of stopgap measures until larger facilities and formal courses of instruction began functioning. A group of Harvard students and a few others trained at the Curtiss Flying School in Newport News, Virginia. A second Yale unit commenced instruction in Buffalo and a third at Mastic, New York. State naval militia units began work at Bay Shore, New York, and Squantum, Massachusetts. Several Princeton fliers gathered in Rhode Island before transferring to Royal Flying Corps schools in Canada. These soon-to-be pilots, joined by a group of enlisted personnel just beginning a course of instruction in France, provided the backbone of early naval aviation efforts. The navy’s frantic actions to speed aviators to the battlefield resembled the even larger campaign by the U.S. Army to supplement its still undeveloped training system. Four aerosquadrons’ worth of pilots trained in Canada in the summer and fall of 1917. In September, the first of 450 fledglings departed for England for flight training. At the same time, hundreds more began receiving instruction in France and even Italy.30

But for most, the shooting war was still a long way off. Instead, the Yalies found Palm Beach a pleasant spot, and when not working, they enjoyed swimming, partying, hunting, athletics, various pranks, and relaxing. The group also began planning to relocate operations to northern waters and in June shifted their base from Florida to the Castledge Estate at Huntington Bay, on Long Island, New York, not far from the Davison home at Peacock Point. Facilities there included hangars, runways, and machine shops accommodating a growing assortment of aircraft, including N-9, R-6, and Burgess-Dunne-type float seaplanes. Training continued; flight tests began in late July and extended into August. Soon, newly commissioned officers received orders dispersing them to Washington, Buffalo, Virginia, Florida, and elsewhere. Many headed overseas, with the first pair departing in mid-August. Ingalls followed a month later.31

Hotel Salt Air, West Palm Beach, Fla., April 29, 1917

My Dear Mother and Dad,

Today we rested and slept, thank goodness. It is Sunday and luckily tomorrow our instructors are going to fly to Miami so we shall have nothing to do. They tried it last Sunday but it didn’t come off for some reason. It is to tell the truth a foolish project anyhow, as it does no-one any good except the fellows that are instructing. Last night there was some excitement at the hangars. About two o’clock one of the soldiers on guard left his post to get a drink and on returning perceived a man stealing towards one of the machines. He immediately yelled halt and called the guard. The man ran out on the pier pursued by the guard who fired continually. All of them however fell over a rope anchoring a machine and before they got up the fellow had gotten far out into the lake in a speedboat. They fired some more till he was out of sight. This morning we all gazed with awe at the holes in trees, pier, ground, etc., from those simple soldiers’ guns.

We had a fine week flying as the juniors had almost all gone North for their initiation, so we got a lot of flying. I am now in a squad with Caleb Bragg as our instructor. He is an old automobile racer and one of the best and most careful men in a flying machine I’ve seen. Since entering this squad I have learnt considerable. Our destination has at last been decided on. We are going to a place called Huntington on Long Island about fifteen miles from Glen Cove. It is an ideal place, well sheltered and equipped, and we ought to have a wonderful time there. Almost died yesterday of surprise for I got a letter from Al. He seems to be in pretty good spirits. I also hear that a lot of fellows including Brewster Jennings have been called for training in small boats to chase submarines. Brewster, the lucky dog, is stationed at Newport. He certainly does not miss much.32 Mother, you needn’t bother about keeping those photographs. It doesn’t make any difference. If I get some good ones I’ll keep them. Am thinking about getting some kind of Kodak like a Brownie to take pictures in the air. Much love, Dave

May 13, 1917

Dear Dad,

Today I just had a swim and some tennis, as we have a pretty darn good time on Sundays. Also received some good news. It has been definitely decided to go north on the 1st June to Huntington. We had a fine week last week. The weather was pretty good and what was even better I at last am flying alone for the last week. It is much more fun, as you can do anything you want, excepting that our Lieutenant [McDonnell] has absolutely forbidden anything but straight flying—no so-called trick flying. Until last Monday I had done nothing but practice starting, landings, and turns, especially landings, which for a beginner are about the hardest things. All but about ten or twelve fellows are now alone so we are really at last progressing. As soon as I got out alone I went up high—about 3,500 feet, as I never went up before, always been practicing landings. It is certainly great up there and you own the world when you get up alone and can do what you want. Up, except on a very rough day, there is almost nothing to do, as it is perfectly calm and I just set and looked down. It’s funny but you never feel sick looking straight down and you can see for miles. I saw several tremendous fish in the ocean, as you can see down very far. There were a few small, light clouds, and I went through them; you can’t see a thing and have to balance by feeling, which is pretty hard. Also a rain cloud or black clouds are full of puffs [of wind] and few people go through them.

I never enjoyed anything as much as going up there and guess I’ll have to do it again soon. The only trouble being it takes a lot of time and you get no experience, as it is so calm, while from about 1,200 feet down there is almost always a lot to keep you busy, as even on a pretty calm day there are loads of puffs and pockets, so you are always on edge. Till Wednesday I took along a sand bag, but didn’t from then on. It was to keep the balance the same, in place of the instructor. Our boat happens to be nose heavy, however, and it is very hard to fly alone, so we are always going to use a sand bag.

Wednesday I almost got into bad trouble. Having left the sand bag behind, the machine was very tail heavy with a tendency to climb and it was work to keep pushing down the “flippers” to go level. Then when I started to come down from about 1,000 feet for my first landing I started off at too steep an angle and went so fast that my goggles began leaking and my eyes watered till I couldn’t see at all, so I leveled off to what seemed about right and pulled off the glasses, so I could see all right, but being afraid of coming down too steeply again I went to the other extreme and pancaked down for the last 200 feet, much too flatly, losing all speed and thus use of my controls. Fortunately, I appreciated it after dropping 100 feet and made a good landing, but if I hadn’t and a bad puff had hit me I would have made a bad landing. Just after, when coming down again to land a bad puff hit me and I got into a sort of sideslip—not a bad one, and I got out of that all right. A sideslip is when you get rocked over sidewise at such an angle that the machine starts to slide down edge first. You seem to come to a stop in forward motion and it is a horrible feeling.33 Fortunately it was not a bad one, however, and I righted the machine before it got much speed. Also it was high up. Height is the most important thing, as if you should ever get into a sideslip at about 100 or 200 feet before you could get out you would hit the water sidewise, which would bust things up. That was a bad day for me. I don’t know why, one seems to fly rather erratically and I made a lot of routine landings, in addition to the first one, which was really dangerous. The lack of the sand bag helped in putting the bow up and tail down on landing, also helped in my pancaking, as I had to push the controls as far forward as possible to get out of the pancaking, and then barely did. That afternoon the Lieutenant took up our machine and made a rotten landing and said that we always had to carry the sand bag, as it was hard to run it otherwise. That sand bag certainly made a difference and I flew pretty well then, and Friday, till our plane’s engine busted and now we have to put in a new one, and there being no engines ready, we had no flying Saturday and won’t get any till Tuesday.

It is funny how much feeling there is about flying. Everybody is jealous—talks about how others go and always count the bumps if anyone makes a bad landing. A bump is when you do not slip into the water just right and sort of bump into the air. A couple of inches difference in where you level off or a touch of the controls at not the right time will sometimes bump you up 30 feet or higher. Usually though you just go up a foot or two and that is a bad landing, but most everybody bumps sometime. I was certainly put in a better humor after flying so badly Wednesday when I saw everybody almost when they came in bump, and the Lieutenant gave them the deuce. Luckily I made a good landing coming in so that was all right. But someone else who was out saw me make some rotten ones and I got the—pretty well.

Well, Dad, I’ve got to go to dinner. Sorry I didn’t write you before about what I was doing, but I wanted to fly alone first. Lots of Love, Dave

Ingalls Memoir re: Palm Beach

The first crew I was on was in charge of “Di” Gates, with “Ken” MacLeish, “Ken” Smith, and “Pat” Ireland. The competition was keen between crews. Each wanted to have the best machines and the most flying. So we went at it hard when anything needed fixing. To work one had to have tools, and to keep a machine in good shape you tried to find the best motor cover. “Di” would tell us to get something and leave us to go and get it. As burglars we were good. We became very clever at picking up good motor covers that were lying about. When we had wangled something we wished to keep we painted a big number on it. And friends were base enough to call us crooks!

There was never a thought about how much or how little we were working. The more we did the more we flew, and that was the mark we were shooting at. But it did come as a slight shock, after we had been there almost two months and had lugged gas and oil daily to the machines, to have Lotta Lawrence come wandering along with two empty cans and ask where a guy could procure some petrol.34

According to Harry Davison:

One day Crock [Ingalls] and I certainly slipped it over the rest of the outfit. We got up long before it was light and went down to the machines. We got old Number 3 out just as dawn was breaking. Then we had one of the prettiest flights that ever happened, for about an hour. We went up about 3,000 feet and watched the sun rise. Everybody was terribly snotty about it when we came down. They all tried to work this same stunt, but Lieutenant McDonnell forbade it after that.35

U.S. Naval Reserve Flying Corps Detachment36

Huntington, Long Island, July 1917

Dear Mother and Dad,

Sorry not to have been able to write you before but we have had a busy time taking a test on a book by a man named Loening. Isn’t it just the luck, since you left we have had wonderful flying weather and have been flying a lot. For instance yesterday I had two hours and my time is very short because they are giving extra to a lot such as Ireland, etc., to make them catch up. (I had been sick.) Thursday the two N-9 machines arrived and are now in commission. They are pontoon machines and pretty handy good machines. Also Monday we received a Wright Martin pontoon machine, a wonder.37 More machines are coming soon. In a little more than a week we are going to take our tests for Naval air pilots, which I hope will not be hard. Saturday we had quite a time, first in the afternoon several of us including little me flew over to the Davisons,38 circled around the polo field a bit on which thousands had aggregated, and then landed, watched a base ball game between our team and one from Mineola, our side winning, then flew back. There was a lot of trick flying by the Mineola land machines, and at one time there were at least 25 or 30 machines up. It must have been quite a sight. Saturday night I had dinner at the Davisons and then went to a dance at H. P. Whitney’s. Had a great time Sunday and came back that night on the yacht with all the wireless girls to accompany us.39 Am feeling rather sleepy now as I went out to dinner Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday after you left, also last night, so have now sworn off parties with Harry. Must stop, lots of love, Dave

According to William Rockefeller:

We [Rockefeller, Ingalls, and MacLeish] made several flights over submarines operating in the [Long Island] Sound while they tested out various devices by means of which they hoped to be able to detect the presence of aircraft. Submarine officers also took flights with us to observe the visibility of subs while submerged under different conditions. I had my one and only trip in a submarine at this time, as the officers kindly let us go out with them when we were not otherwise occupied. I don’t want another ride. All I remember is a good deal of noise, being told I was under the Sound, seeing the water go through the little glass portholes in the conning tower, or whatever it is called, and coming up again.40

Reginald “Red” Coombe said of flying at Huntington:

The flying got a little smoother as time went on. . . . It was not an uncommon thing to see Ingalls flying upside down or doing tailspins in the largest boat.41

On Board Whileaway,42 July 31, 1917

My Dear Mother,

Awfully sorry not to have had a second to write you before but we’ve been awfully hard worked. Also we’ve had a couple of accidents, about which I hope you won’t worry. Harry had a fall from side slipping then nose dived from about 500 feet, and two days after Truby [Trubee Davison] did the same thing from about 300 feet. Harry was absolutely unhurt, thank goodness, but Truby was not so lucky as he did something to his back. The doctors say he will be alright in about three months.43 So, as a result they have let up on us a lot, as I believe they think the fellows were a bit tired. So today we are spending this afternoon on the boat and this morning I slept all morning. Now I am feeling fine and hope to take my test for naval pilot next Monday. About eight fellows, the ones who flew last summer, passed their tests Saturday, Sunday and Monday and most of them will be going to other places to instruct.44 In about two weeks we’ll probably be separated all over the country instructing. As soon as some decent machines are made, say two months, fifteen of us are probably going abroad first to instruct there. I don’t know who will go. I hope you are having a great time, as good as I had last summer, also Al. Please give my love to all the Tafts. With love, Dave

Reg Coombe recalled:

I remember one day the phone rang up in the house and it was Washington on the wire. The news soon spread around and pretty soon all the Unit that were left were around that room waiting to hear what the news was, and the chief yeoman who was on the wire would repeat the orders as they came along: Landon, France; then a big yell; Ingalls, France, and so on.45

2

Early Days in Europe

September–December 1917

During the summer and early fall of 1917, several members of the Yale Unit received orders to proceed overseas, where the navy had begun creating an extensive system of patrol stations, flight schools, and supply bases from scratch. With aviation officers in very short supply, the Yale gang offered nearly the only available source of additional trained personnel. In fact, the navy had not yet dispatched a single flying officer to Europe for combat duty. A small force of 122 enlisted men, the First Aeronautic Detachment, reached France in early June, their exact training and mission yet to be determined. Four commissioned fliers accompanied them—Kenneth Whiting, Godfrey Chevalier, Virgil Griffin, and Grattan Dichman—with orders to oversee training of their enlisted charges. They later assumed a variety of administrative and staff positions. A few other aviators arrived during the summer, either to investigate conditions in Europe, to gather technical information, or to fill out expanding staffs in Paris and elsewhere. Until the navy’s new ground and flight schools in the United States functioned smoothly, however, pilots to conduct antisubmarine missions necessarily came from the first college groups hastily trained in the spring and summer of 1917.46

Bob Lovett and Di Gates of the Yale Unit departed first for the war zone, sailing to England in mid-August.47 Fellow unit members John Vorys and Al Sturtevant soon followed.48 A larger contingent, consisting of David Ingalls, Freddy Beach, Sam Walker, Ken Smith, Reginald Coombe, Chip McIlwaine, Henry Landon, and Ken MacLeish, received orders to travel in late September aboard the old liner Philadelphia, now pressed into service as a transport.49 They all looked forward to their new duties with a mixture of excitement and trepidation. David Ingalls began keeping a diary, what he called “this simple book,” while aboard Philadelphia, and with only a few interruptions, he continued to do so until the war ended fifteen months later.

Like so many Americans crossing the submarine-infested Atlantic in the fall of 1917, Ingalls experienced the exhilaration and occasional panic of traversing the war zone. According to cabinmate Henry “Hen” Landon, they heard many wild rumors and thrilling stories while aboard, so many that they slept in their clothes, with their .45 service Colts close by. When fellow aviator Ken Smith spotted a porpoise knifing through the waves, Landon “nearly died in [his] tracks,” expecting an explosion to send their ship to the bottom.50

Despite such fears, the crossing proved relatively peaceful. Ingalls and the others landed safely in Liverpool, the great entrepôt on the Irish Sea, and had their first real contact with a nation at war. One enlisted sailor on his way to NAS Dunkirk called Liverpool “a quaint looking old city,” nothing like those at home, lacking skyscrapers and featuring crooked streets “that could break a snake’s back.”51 Newly arrived Americans spotted women working everywhere, out in the streets and in all the stores. Then it was on to London, where Ingalls and his companions toured the metropolis and began their naval duties, sometimes with comical results. They found the wartime scene eye opening—railroad stations crowded with troops and ambulances full of casualties just back from the front. Ubiquitous wounded soldiers sported blue stripes on their sleeves that indicated they could not purchase alcohol; authorities claimed abstinence promoted convalescence. Only a few months removed from happier college days, the Americans sensed despair in the populace.52

Ingalls and the others quickly checked in at the Savoy Hotel and readied themselves to report to navy headquarters at 30 Grosvenor Gardens. This formal duty required being properly turned out, a task somewhat beyond the ken of recently minted ensigns. Ingalls and two friends appeared in the service’s new forest green aviators’ uniforms, with Sam Browne belts and swagger sticks. The others donned dress blues, yellow gloves, and swords, but they could not quite figure out how to wear the ceremonial weapons. A few sarcastic remarks from headquarters staff sent the youngsters packing with, according to Ken Smith, “our tails between our legs.”53

Embarrassed but unbowed, they visited British military facilities before continuing on to Paris. On October 9, Ingalls departed London, headed for the Continent via a Channel steamer out of Southampton. The crowded vessel carried hordes of soldiers returning to the front, nurses, and civilian officials, and accommodations could not be found. Instead, the Americans made the best of it, eventually landed at Le Havre, and attempted to negotiate customs and baggage handlers with a working vocabulary of only three or four French words. After an interminable railroad journey, they reached Paris at three o’clock in the morning, piled into a small fleet of decrepit taxicabs, and eventually washed ashore at the Grand-Hôtel.

War-torn France presented an arresting and varied tableau. George Moseley, a football star at Yale and friend of many in Ingalls’s unit, noted that “women customs officials and examiners were the first sign we had of the lack of men.” Continental timekeeping also intrigued him, with its “22 hours 40 minutes instead of 10:40,” and a visit to the barbershop proved dispiriting, “full of common French soldiers, the poilus in their blue uniforms. . . . They seemed very sad, never smiling, and lonely talking now and then.” Moseley could not escape wartime realities: “I noticed a number of women who were standing back of me (they were all in mourning, nearly all the women in France are in mourning).” Bob Lovett echoed these maudlin observations. Writing home to the convalescing Trubee Davison, he reported, “The condition of France you would be heartbroken. She is staggering with the weight of the war’s toll, but even more to my mind under graft, honest to goodness rotten politics, and self-interests. . . . We have heard stories about men shooting their officers from sheer desperation rather than spend another winter in the hell of the front.”54

After reporting to aviation headquarters at 23 Rue de la Paix,55 Ingalls and the recent arrivals received orders, somewhat to their surprise, to head down to the infant navy school at Moutchic, about thirty miles from Bordeaux near the Bay of Biscay, rather than the French school at Tours where earlier aviation candidates had trained. There, they would learn to pilot larger aircraft such as the Franco-British Aviation (FBA) and Donnet-Denhaut flying boats,56 similar to the types purchased for use at American patrol stations then under construction along the coast.

Sunday, September 23, 1917. This was a bit of a gloomy day, saying goodbye to Mother and Dad at the dock.57 Unlike the good Lord we seemed to have picked on the seventh day to start our work. But then we had no personal choice, nor did we know ahead of time, for the powers that be figured out the only way to keep the Huns from knowing when a boat was to sail was not to know themselves. But here were most of the other seven who were to go to France on the Philadelphia of the American Line. [Freddy] Beach, [Sam] Walker, [Reg] Coombe, [Hen] Landon, [Chip] McIlwaine, [Scab] Smith. [Ken] MacLeish was not there, nor did he come later, but missed the boat and probably took the next ship.58 When I arrived at the dock with my mother and father and saw a boat tied up there I thought it was a tender to take us out to our own ship. And then the little thing turned out to be the good ship Philadelphia and it was actually our liner. All I’d read about the luxurious liners had given me great ideas. All that kept me going was that I’d also read about Columbus and his skiff.

We all got on board with our luggage at about 10:00 and then had to hang around till finally at about 12:30 we pulled out. There were quite a few people, all feeling perhaps a bit low, standing on the wharf as we left. Our ship was painted camouflage—a most awful looking variety of colors probably as much to frighten the Germans as to make the ship offer no definite object to a man training a gun upon it. Our ship also possessed four 4.7 guns, two aft and two forward. To care for these four crews of five sailors and one lieutenant, were stationed on board.59 They were fine men, especially the Lieut. Reef-Kahl, who offered a bit of advice at odd moments during the trip. We got out of sight of land rapidly, passing numerous transports filled with soldiers destined for fame in France. On board there were 34 army men, medical, ordnance, and quartermaster department, four or five women, a few English returning diplomats and ourselves and the crew. Also a few second class. I thought they had the boat going the wrong way. If I’d been in charge I’d have been shipping this crowd to America to get them out of the way.

The next few days were most monotonous—rough, cloudy and a lot of rain, we never saw the sun. We got ourselves settled as we sailed. Hen Landon and I roomed together as far away as we could get from fresh air. There was nothing to do but read the Count of Monte Cristo and play bridge. However, we seven and two diplomats on their way to The Hague, Charles Russell and Lieut. Downs, and Lieut. Munn for Paris service, procured a table to ourselves and had as good a time as one could expect.60 Except for Freddy Beach, everyone was always on deck. Downs afforded more amusement than any clown—for he was always giving advice, could answer any question, and was an authority on all matters. Found immediately that he was slated for the diplomatic service and decided that he was practicing his profession on us. He was also a bad bridge player and a rotten loser—the latter fact was proved every time we played till finally he concealed himself in the engine room or coal bin. Three days out, we entered the war zone and here Downs was a hero. He advised us, and as far as I could see everyone else on board, to get out of uniform and into civilian clothes as fast as possible, because the Germans after torpedoing our ship would come up and shell any life boat with officers in it. He himself changed into civilian clothes, but none of us did, either because we didn’t particularly care or because we were too proud of our uniforms, probably the latter. Everyone gave him the “rahs” all the time, especially Chip, who is rather good at that sort of thing anyway.

About that time, too, we got acquainted with an Australian major, a great boy, who had some wonderful stories. I sometimes wondered whether he had ever heard them before himself. He had lost a leg and received the D.S.O. and was now on his way to enlist in the R.F.C. It seems as though everything in the future will be known by initials. RFC means Royal Flying Corps. DSO means Distinguished Service Cross primarily. Secondarily its meaning is—unmentionable here.

We also became distantly acquainted with a few of the soldiers who were about the crudest bunch I ever saw. Except for a few majors who had been in service they would have been a disgrace to the Devil. The few women on board may have been of a good sort, but Scab Smith was the only one who knows. But at any rate they got up a very punk concert and made $200 for a seamen’s home.61 Nobody else on board got very clubby with us, but we didn’t particularly care, as we certainly hoped that they and we would not go to the same place when we got abroad anyway. As soon as we entered the war zone the weather became perfect and the wonderful days and the full moon scared everyone to death lest the Germans spot us.

Of course as soon as we entered the war zone the weather became perfect and Downs was apparently right when he said that the wonderful days and nights with full moon shining down were most advantageous for the Germans. The night we entered the zone, everyone sat up, especially Downs, till about 1:30! Then Hen Landon and I had a long debate as to whether we should wear our life preservers or our automatics to bed with us. We decided to carry the guns. Then we went to bed and in about five minutes Chip burst in to announce that three destroyers had been sighted and were to convoy us. So we slept well. The weather for the next three days of the trip was great and we enjoyed it immensely. The army officers kept watch to no purpose except [to] satisfy their vanity. Although we offered our services, the lieutenant didn’t need them. We sighted probably three subs, one of which came up about 50 yards off by miscalculation and because we were continually zigzagging, and so fortunately missed us. We sighted land Monday but had to lay at anchor on account of lateness of hour, just outside the bar.62

Tuesday [October 2, 1917]—We awakened to find ourselves at anchor in the river just opposite the landing stage [Liverpool].63 But owing to the large number of ships we could barely land at a dock about 1:45. So we got off and easily got through the customs, found our way by a devious path to the Adelphia Hotel. Storing our luggage, we started off, Scab and I, to look the place over. Then we started to examine England. It is a Hell of a place. At the first store we came upon we purchased sticks and for the rest of the day felt like asses.64 The streets were full of men in khaki, and lots of wounded and convalescent in their light blue uniforms. It looked as though the whole English army had been shot up. It made us both feel pretty low to look at these latter. After [piping?] everything in this hole we returned as arranged to the Adelphia and had tea. Here we saw the elite of Liverpool and weren’t elated. Here too for the first time we suffered privation—we could have but one lump of sugar per person and very little toast. In fact the tea was no success. However we chatted a bit with a couple of U.S. Lieutenants near by and were a bit cheered up. After this we took the 5:20 to London, arriving at about 11:00. We found taxis for our luggage and put up at the Savoy as Scab said we needed gaiety.65

Wednesday [October 3, 1917]—We got up at 10:00 and shopped till lunch, which we had at the Savoy. I felt like the deuce but perked up about lunchtime. After lunch we met a Capt. Libby, R.F.C., who is a peach and is going to U.S. as a Major in Army flying. He doped up a big party for the next night, he, and a Scotch lieutenant in our navy, named Schoen. We slipped up to the Lieut.’s room and they all drank. Chip held up the honor as Scab and I weren’t in their class. Then we had tea and a big dinner—same bunch as on ship and saw “Chu Chin Chou,” which was punk. After it we all went to Murray’s and danced with the worst dancers, ugliest girls I ever had the misfortune to be near.66 Some British navy lieutenant urged us to come to Albert’s rooms to a dance, first ditching the present low ladies. Personally I couldn’t see any difference in them and those at the latter dance. Here there was lots of champagne and most of the crude crowd partook. I danced once with a 1ittle kipper who was as fruity as the rest and then went home to a good bed with Scab. Unfortunately we didn’t lock the door and I woke up to find the light on and a girl pulling Ken out of bed. It seems they had come back from the party with the navy officer and were finishing it up in a room near us. Ken went in there but to my infinite relief in a few minutes came back and advised that he had turned out the lights and slipped out, locking them in.

Thursday [October 4, 1917]—Shopped all day and wrote letters that night as I couldn’t stand the party that the rest went on. Went to attaché.67

Friday [October 5, 1917]—Walked a lot and saw a couple of shows in afternoon and night, ordered a uniform at Burberry’s and some wings. Lunch at Claridges was very good.68 Also went to attaché and at last got some dope. We are to go to France and go to two schools, one first for about four hours in F.B.A. and then to the Mediterranean for real practice. After the show at night I returned to bed but the rest of course went on a [bat?]. Poor Devils.

Saturday, October 6, 1917. Left at 11:30 and went to Felixstowe to the RNAS station there.69 We were met by a couple of autos and officers and from then on were treated like princes. There a lot of officers took us in charge and showed us around and told us some good stories of their work. This is a big station [RNAS Felixstowe] with 24 pilots and lots of men. The hangars are in wonderful shape with dugouts around because of the Boche raids. The first thing they sprang on us was the Porte or “Baby,” a boat of 136 [124]-foot spread, and three 290-hp Rolls Royces. The most gigantic machines I ever saw carrying six men—two pilots as they go out for five or six hours a day at a time. They carry fuel for eight hours and each motor uses 25 gallons per hour. They have four Lewis guns that can fire in almost every direction. They make about 80 and can fly at 45. Next we saw the regular machines—somewhat smaller with two motors, three men, four guns, but still three or four times as big as our “F” boats. Besides these, there were several pontoon machines and one Sopwith “Pup,” a peach of a land machine, little and just the first fighting machine I had ever seen. They also showed us the 230- and 100-pound bombs they carry, either two of the former or four of the latter.70

As this is the biggest and best station they have it is frequently subjected to Boche raids. At 5:00 the gave us tea and sent us to the town where we had supper at the Felixistowe Hotel and then we left on the 7:11 for London, arriving at about 7:45 after a light supper during which I perceived the first good-looking English girl I’ve seen—most of them, by the way, are in terrible shape—bad teeth, big feet and ankles, but with good complexions, and can’t touch the good old U.S. girls. Then I spent an hour writing in this simple book.

Sunday, October 7, 1917. Being the day of rest none of us seven arose till 1:30. Then after exactly 12 hours sleep we were feeling pretty high. From bed we hurried over to the [Ye Olde] Cheshire Cheese for a fair but large luncheon.71 One felt very intellectual sitting in Sam[uel] Johnson’s seat and reading the visitors’ books. Afterwards we saw Sam’s china, watch, etc. The proprietor apparently felt that with Johnson’s chair, etc., his guests would not worry about the quality of the food. From this wonderful display I went back to 108 Savoy and wrote and read till about seven when Chip, Sam, Fred, and I went to the Carlton for dinner.72 Then home again and I read a bit more before slipping between the sheets.

Monday, October 8, 1917. We all got up feeling pretty high and went to the attaché. He gave us some orders and a lot more dope, probably all bull. We were to leave Tuesday. Sam was appointed sort of leader—a hell of a job as it meant looking out for baggage, etc. Went to Burberry’s to hurry on uniform with “Scab.” Also a last bit of shopping. Had lunch about 3:00 at the Savoy and then frocked about till “Scab,” Chip, Sam, Fred, and I went to the Carlton for dinner and then to “Bubbly,” a show in which the leading lady was a friend of Chip’s! Well, the show was darn good, unusually good, and Chip’s girl Teddie Gerard was pretty good.73 He went out to her dressing room in between acts to give her a time[?]. After the show Reg and I went to the Savoy for supper like two confirmed woman haters should and saw Sam come in with his smelt. After it closed up we started up but ran into Chip, Fred, and two girls from the show who kicked me out of our rooms so they could have a party. I slept with Reg.74

Tuesday, October 9, 1917. We got our orders and packed and slipped off about 4:00 for Southampton. I felt awfully low and had a headache. We got to Southampton about 6:30 and tore to the boat, which was to take us to [Le] Havre. But unfortunately it had been too rough for crossings for two days and a tremendous crowd had filled up the boat. So we were unable to get berths. People were buying and selling rights to the stationary chairs in the salon. Lots of Red Cross nurses were left in the same fix. Also the crossing promised to be cold and rough and our supper was rotten. I felt awfully sick, but about ten I managed to get a berth in a room with three other men and went to sleep. Two of the men got sick and it was rough and cold so I slept little but was somewhat better off than the poor devils who sat up in the dining saloon. In the morning I waded out recovered. It seems Sam had been taken with chills during the night. The steward thought he might die, so to warm him up he put Sam in the big bread oven. When I saw him Sam looked as if he had been raised. We docked about 7 A.M.

Wednesday, October 10, 1917. Getting ashore about 8:00 at Havre [put] all of us in a hell of a humor, and sick and tired we beat it for a hotel, procured rooms, and fell asleep. I slept from 9:00 to 4:00 and reckon most of the others did too. Then we had tea and caught the 5:00 for Paris, arriving at 10:30. We took a couple of horse-drawn vehicles and set off to find a hotel. Believe me, Paris was full. After trying several hotels, Hen, Sam, “Scab,” and I got rooms at the Chatham,75 a rotten place, whose bar was already famous among Americans, and the others got in the Grand,76 a very nice place. Even Chip and Hen didn’t care for a party that night. While waiting out a ride, observing naught in my innocence, a sweet-faced little girl passed but stopped and returned to say “Will sleep with me?” probably all she knew. I had learned something in London but realized I would learn more in Paris. However, with perfect sang froid I said, “Sorry, not tonight,” which passed over her head, and I realized that she had learned only as much English as was actually necessary.

Thursday, October 11, 1918. Arose to see Paris for the first time. It wasn’t worth getting out of a nice warm bed. It was raining, cold, disagreeable. Had lunch at the Café de la Paix,77 after which we reported to naval aviation headquarters at 23 Rue de la Paix. We checked up on the regulations and Reg, always a thorough individual, read from his manual that officers reporting for duty should do so in full dress. Well, full dress included some tin swords we’d been forced to buy and had brought with us in much the same spirit as a married man carries with him on a trip his rubbers. Still, Chip, Hen, and I were loath to appear as prescribed. We got ready but delayed till the other four preceded us in full dress to report. So we were in the anteroom and heard our associates enter, garbed as they were in fitting attire. And we listened to a strange voice, “What the hell are you? Where did you get that uniform from? Are you boys in the naval cavalry?” It seems one’s sword should be carried tight against the side hooked in one’s belt, not dragging and swaying full length as ours were; that a U.S. naval aviator should wear ordinary naval officers’ uniform, not one with RFC wings attached; and finally the blue dress uniform was not for reporting at a foreign base. Chip, Ken, and I retreated in good order to our hotels and altered our attack, with the result, “Well, thank God, at least some of you novices have some sense.” Maybe we weren’t thereafter the leading spirits of us seven. Actually, two very nice Lieuts. talked to us [Virgil] Griffin and [Norman] Van der Veer.78 They said we could stay in Paris for a few days and they would take care of our pay accounts, etc.

After leaving the naval office I left the others and walked around for awhile, then went to the Chatham and wrote a couple of letters telling mother and Harry [Davison] what a hell of a trip we had. On the same day who did I run into but Cy Clark, my old friend from St. Paul’s School,79 and Wakeham, who roomed with Red Martin at college.80 I certainly was glad to see an old Boze and arranged to dine with him. Met Cy at 6:30 and had supper in a little restaurant nearby and then went to the Folies Bergères.81 After all, London is a tame city. Here I saw life—about the rottenest life that could be lived and I certainly was disgusted with the French. Here also I ran into Charlie Blackwell, senior in Sheff[ield], St. Anthony.82 After leaving this hole I returned home and read for a bit till Hen came in when we both agreed that the Lord slipped up when he made the French.

Friday, October 12, 1917. After breakfast, Hen and I reported and received orders to leave Paris Saturday night or Sunday morning for Bordeaux. I also was informed in a nice way that I was an ass for leaving my commission and pilot’s license behind. I had written for them the night before. Until they come I’ll get no pay. Pay reminds me that on Thursday I went to Morgan Harjes and got them to cash a check for $200 and I deposited another for $100. Mr. Harjes, an old friend of Dad’s, was not to be seen.83 After doing my bit at the naval office I met Cy at the hotel and we got two friends of his, Wakeham and Ted Blair, also a classmate from school. After they had all they could stand at the Creole bar we went to the Chinese Umbrella for lunch,84 meeting then Alan Winslow,85 C.B.’s roommate. It seems this is the meeting place of Americans, American food being the reason. Why do Americans stick to their own kind of food in France? After lunch I wrote and then went to the Ritz for tea.86 Then the same bunch with Scab went to Joseph’s and had a big dinner there. Got back about 10:30.

Saturday, October 13, 1917. Reported as usual, but missed breakfast. Scab and I had an early lunch after signing at the Yale Club. Saw Maury Jones,87 Win Little there. Met Charley at the hotel and went to [the American] hospital at Nieully [-sur-Seine] and saw Harry Thompson, wounded by shell in transport.88 Then packed, bought wristwatch, and went to Ritz for tea. Then returned and went to Café Paris89 for dinner with Sam, George Haven, and Reg. Scab said he was going to bed, we left him. As we walked into the restaurant who should we see but Scab and some smelt. He had apparently discovered a rather unique cure for his malady. He got fussed and came over to us and asked how he could get rid of her. How should we know? Then he slipped outside door and left her to eat and pay for the big dinner. Went to bed early, but Hen didn’t get in until 5:30.

Sunday, October 14, 1917. We got up at 6:30 and took the 8:25 for Bordeaux. We went through Tours and saw all the way down to the coast beautiful scenery. Picturesque old chateaus and ruins. Had lunch in a real dining car. Arrived at 6:30, met Bob [Lovett], one of our [Yale] Unit, who was second in command at the U.S.N. station at Moutchic,90 and had dinner and stayed at Terminus Hôtel. Bob, with his customary gravity and sincerity, tried to discourage us with tales of how awful the place was—all mud and rain.

Monday, October 15, 1917. Arose, breakfasted, and met Bob. Then we bought blankets, boots, and raincoats, till what was left of our money ran out. According to Bob it was the weather, not the Huns we were to fight. Had lunch at Bob’s hotel and then met Harry LeGore.91 Then we jumped into a slow truck and started for Moutchic. It was a 12-mile an hour Packard truck and we didn’t arrive till about 6:30. (From then on I hated a Packard.) 49 kilometers. We agreed we’d never be truck drivers, not while we could, say, stoke a liner. We didn’t stop at the station long but went to Lacanau and had a great dinner and went to sleep in a hotel.92

Tuesday, October 16, 1917. The truck had arrived to take us to Moutchic when we arose and we hurried through, or rather it hurried through, some rotten coffee. When we arrived at Moutchic they were hard at work setting up hangars, building barracks, etc. There were two long rows of tents and two barracks, several office buildings and some store houses and the nice house in which the officers lived a luxurious life.93 We looked the place over, saw to our orders, and then Chip, Hen, Scab, and I were sent to Hourtin in a truck while Sam, Fred, and Reg were told to stick around a day and then go and stay at Bordeaux until orders were received.94 We arrived at Hourtin about 12:00 and reported. Also saw Al [Sturtevant] and John [Vorys] who were still there. Then we were sent to the village to eat a rotten meal. After it we came out four miles and saw to our luggage and tents. The camp is practically a small village. Besides the French officers house, where we Americans also eat, there are a lot of small houses for the men and their wives and mistresses. Also a few barracks and a lot more under construction. Several store houses, two large and excellent shops, three hangars. There were about 40 or 50 U.S. [Americans] there.95 The U.S. live in tents off to one side between the French and the German prison camp, to act as a buffer between maybe, though we soon found the Huns were like unto lambs.

Immediately upon arriving we went out to the sand spit in a boat from which all the flying is done. It is about ¾ of a mile from the hangars or a mile around. The hangars are on a narrow inlet. There is a swamp around the lake on several sides, the soil is very sandy, in fact the whole place for miles inland, I forgot to say that the ocean is only three miles off, used to be nothing but sand dunes till this government planted pines all over. So now when it rains as it had done for the last two weeks the water runs right off. After hanging around till about 5:00 we all walked back. We had supper with the French officers at 7:00 and then sat around a fire between the tents and listened to heartrending by Chip, Al, John, and Hen. We hit the hay pretty early.

Wednesday, October 17, 1917. About 6:00 we woke up and believe me I never was so cold. After dressing in about two seconds and swallowing a couple of cups of the best and hottest coffee that was ever boiled and a hunk of war bread, we hurried out to the boat to go to the hangar. We sat around till 8:20 when we went to the mess hall—or officers’ house and had some awfully good hot chocolate and more bread. Then we went out to the point again and sat around some more. Pretty soon there was a big smash and we looked up to see the remains of a plane that hit on the edge of the marsh. Then there was the darndest noise imaginable as all the Frenchies talked at once and everyone ran to the launches to go to the scene of the disaster. A Frenchy had tried like a fool to turn near the ground and banked so much that also slipping a bit he caught one pontoon on a bush and smashed up. He was not hurt at all.

After the excitement was over we sat around till about 11:00 when flying was stopped. We sat around our tents till 12:30 when we had a fine lunch. At about 3:00 out to the point again. During the afternoon two of these simple Frenchies at different times came crashing into machines beached there. Nothing much was broken thankfully. About 5:30 flying was called off for the afternoon and the first day had passed without a flight on our part. However Al and John both soloed—each having had about four flights in the three weeks they had been waiting. Supper at 7:00, a little bull and then sleep.

Thursday, October 18, 1917. It was pretty warm when we got up at 6:00 and hurried out to the sand spit. Sat around till 8:30 and then came in for chocolate and toast. Just when we arrived at the beach again some French fool starting out circled to clear a sand bar extending from the point and losing his head crashed a wing into the hull of Douno’s boat. Douno was to be our instructor, so we were laid off. We had the customary wonderful lunch and went out to the beach. When Douno told Chip and me that we’d get no flying till next day we returned and took a bath. As our luxurious suite had no tub we stood in a tent [and] used a couple of towels and pails of hot and cold water. It was great. However, we both missed flights as Douno got another boat. That afternoon John and Al both stuck on the sand bar and were promptly razzed. After supper I wrote till about 10.

Friday, October 19, 1917. Arising a bit late, Scab and I just swallowed a cup of coffee, grabbed some bread, and made the boat. After sitting around till 8:30 I started for chocolate, but saw Douno coming out with his machine so waited. I finally got out and had a rotten ride. The machine handled very stiffly and did not respond well to the controls and the engine had only just enough power to get us off the water. These F.B.A. boats are somewhat similar to an F boat but have 130 H.P. motor instead of 100. They climb pretty fast, and with a good motor get off easily. But one can’t use the rudder to speak of, especially on a left turn, one merely banks and slips around. My God, what a machine! I wondered why the crashes were so few. Soon after my ride of about five minutes Douno got a better machine and gave me a good ride. We made a lot of landings, it was hard for me to land this far enough back on the tail. They can be landed on the step, but should be landed very far back.

In the afternoon as we were going out a call was received for the bomb carriers so Douno and another took two of them out. They are called DDs [Donnet-Denhauts] and are a very nice looking machine, larger than the F.B.A., with 200 H.P. motor. The first fellow up solo came down to land near us, got scared and just as he was about to land on the step, pulled back the stick, went straight up, slipped back and to the right, caught one wing, and fell into the water just turned around. Somehow it didn’t sink. He was not hurt, nor was the machine in any way injured. One of the monitors, without any inspection, immediately took it up and tested it, then he turned it over to Hen who was our first to solo. After him Scab and later Chip. I did not have a turn till late and then the beach captain said it was too glossy.96 Chip got stuck on the bar and has to set up drinks for all. Al finished up his two hours and will leave for Saint Raphael as soon as possible.97 The enlisted men move into barracks here today, but we are in the cold. It is fine weather, new moon tonight. Only one D.D. returned, the other was left out in the ocean. The one saw a boat within three miles of the boat on water but didn’t trouble to stop and ask for help. They merely telegraphed to Verdun to send out a boat.98 Nice fellows. No telling where the two poor devils will drift to.

Saturday, October 20, 1917. The water was very smooth and glassy so I didn’t solo till about 9:00 and thus missed chocolate again. It is a long wait for one cup of coffee and a small slice of bread at 6:00 then nothing till 12:30. However, I got up finally and took a couple of turns. About 30 minutes after I came in Chip came in and they sent out a sailor with his boat. Just after the motor started and fortunately before he left the water the strap on top to lift the boat came loose, caught in the propeller, and ripped the upper wing from the front straight apart. Also made a tremendous hole in the lower wing and the engine fell down and forward, just back of the pilot’s head. If it had happened in the air, “C’est la guerre.” Just then I got another flight, three turns, and felt right at home. No flying Saturday afternoon, so Chip, Hen, and I walked to Hourtin. Scab felt badly the night before and though he flew was still low. We had tea at Hourtin and got some chocolate. As we were leaving Al and John came through on their way to Moutchic as they were finished. Also a lot of sailors. Then we walked back and had dinner; it’s about 4-1/2 miles.

Sunday, October 21, 1917. Although it is the day of rest we rise at 6:15 and the bad news—no coffee and bread. After sitting around for a while suffering from cold and famine, I slipped to camp and procured a large hunk of war bread and some chocolate and brought it out. It was welcome. Then about 9:30 I got up to take four turns. I was feeling pretty good so I did three spirals and made large [toures de pistes? (triangular cross-country flights)]. When I came in, the beach captain said I was finished. At first he intended to beach me four days, but then decided that I could just go to St. Raphael. No more flying here. As my feet were sore from walking to Hourtin, stayed in camp, read, and played bridge in the afternoon. Also had a slick bath. Scab, Hen, and Doc [Stevens] walked to the ocean and took a swim.99 When they got back, about six o’clock, Hen, Chip, Scab, and I went to the canteen, a sort of recreation room, and treated all the visitors to champagne. There were about nine of them, and they are a fine bunch of men, all petty officers. They have most of the officers here [shamed?] a mile.

Monday, October 22, 1917. Big day, as I slept ’til 8:15, being finished here. After the chocolate and toast, Chip and I went out to the beach saw Scab and the finish. Cabot telephoned to Moutchic that we were done.100 About 10 the boat brought out Reg and Sam, who had taken Al and John’s place. Fred still at Moutchic. Due to the party last night; they got a ride and said it was easy. All four of us thought it was darned hard the first ride. They were sore at Bob for the way they had been treated and advised us not to stay at Moutchic when we left here. After lunch Cabot and I played Fearing and Chip bridge.101 Dr. Stevens, Scab and Hen went for a walk. Later Chip and I rode to Hourtin on Sam and Reg’s bicycle and had chocolate and bought some postcards. Supper lasted two and a half hours. Those Frenchmen sit and talk ’til one goes wild.

Tuesday, October 23, 1917. Cabot telephoned and Moutchic said they would send a truck for us. Packed in the morning. Rained most of the day. Played bridge in morning and afternoon. Tea about 3:30, telephoned again, heard that they weren’t going to send for us. They don’t seem as considerate as they might be. So Cabot and Fearing persuaded the French to send us over in one of their camions. We loaded up and left about six. Taking [Montrelay?] as far as Hourtin. He, finished there, was going to St. Raphael. We arrived at Moutchic at seven, got a lukewarm greeting, heard there were no orders, and were sent to Lacanau-Ocean to wait.102 It is at the end of a little railway to Bordeaux, on which there is one train each way each day. We stayed at the bathroom-less hotel (and by the way in our three weeks stay we were unable to find even a single outhouse in the place). Had a wonderful dinner at the café and some Madeira. Bed about ten. Hen, Scab and I had a triple room.

Wednesday, October 24, 1917. Arose 9:30, walked around resort, after some cool chocolate and toast with Chip. This used to be an old resort. There are two or three hotels, a café, bathhouse, casino, skating, dancing and tennis, and a number of private houses, very picturesque along the oceanfront. A very pretty little place. Some way back from the sea are the houses of the all-year inhabitants. From the appearances there must be about 15 altogether. The little railroad ends here, two trains a day, one at 6:30 am goes to Bordeaux and at 5:30 pm from Bordeaux. The whole place, like the rest of the coast here about, used to be nothing but sand dunes ’til the government planted pines. So it is very uneven ground, little hills all over. All the pines are slashed and cups placed to gather the turpentine. Forgot to say Beach went back on truck to Hourtin last night. At 12:30 we had a fine lunch. After it we walked to Moutchic, saw Bob, Dichman, Callan, Lieuts., Paymaster Michel.103 They had erected another hanger, built up the sea wall, cleared out a lot of the ground, and put up a Y.M.C.A. building and another building; and had about 10 machines set up. They had flown a bit. They sent us back in truck and we had fine dinner and played bridge. [Cabot and Fearing lunched then.]104

Thursday, October 25, 1917. Chocolate at 10:00, rain and cold. Played bridge all morning. Good lunch. Took walk with Chip. It is a hell of a deserted place now. More bridge, left at 5:00 got ride part way to Moutchic on French camion. Saw Bob who said that he would take me with him to fly Nieuports and go to Dunkirk.105 Ran back in 30 min. Took a cold rub, had good supper, more of that good Madeira, more bridge. Also wrote Frank and Mother.

Friday, October 26, 1917. Cloudy, rose at 9:00. Walked to Moutchic with Scab. Wonderful lunch there, steak and onions, spaghetti, peas. Chip and Hen arrived after lunch. We all got a flight. They had been giving the observers practice shooting with a Springfield at silhouettes on water. Chip made a hell of a landing, I was accused of pancaking and D[ichman?] gave us the razz. Walked back, bridge, good dinner and more bridge.

Saturday, October 27, 1917. Chip and Hen left for Bordeaux on 6:30. Truck arrived 8:30 to take Scab. Orders were for him to take a number of men and go to Le Croisic under Griffin and Corry.106 A good station. Certainly was sorry to see Scab go. Sat around all morning; wrote L.H.,107 Al, and Mother. Punk lunch. Read a bit. The rain let up and Fearing, Cabot, and I walked to Moutchic. There were Fred, Sam, Reg, and Scab. The first was on his way to Bordeaux then Hourtin to finish. The last three were on their way to Le Croisic. Bob had word that I was to go to Issoudun, Pau, and Cazaux to fly Nieuports108—the first is I think land school, second aerobatic, third firing. If it happens I’II have a great time and plenty to do, ending with Dunkirk. Sat around, saw off the four with a lot of enlisted men. 13 for Le Croisic, then walked home. Good dinner eggs and toast. Read till 9:30, also three hands of bridge.

Sunday, October 28, 1917. Arose 10 A.M. Fine day now. Walked about four miles on beach. Rain. Lunch at cafe. Paymaster of Bordeaux and an English-speaking smelt lunch at our hotel. After lunch Hen, Chip, Fred arrived with chocolate and a pair of goggles for me. Said Chevalier and Bartlett were at Moutchic.109 Played bridge till 5:00 walked seven miles on beach, cloudy. Dinner, bridge, sleep.

Monday, October 29, 1917. Hen left at seven in truck for Le Croisic. Later Cabot and Fearing walked to Moutchic. I had break at 10:30, read till 12:30, had lunch at cafe with Cabot and Fearing, and Chip. Had flight in morning. Then we walked to Moutchic and Chip and I had flights. I took up Fearing. Saw Di there, was awfully glad to see him again. He expects to be stationed there. Too bad to waste such a good flyer there. No more dope. Got letters from Mother, Dad, Louise [Harkness?]. First mail, hurrah. Dinner and lost 46 francs in game. Hell. Good weather all day, thank God.

Tuesday, October 30, 1917. Got up late. Cold, windy, cloudy. Played bridge till lunch, more bridge, walk. Dinner at cafe. More bridge. Chip and I had the darndest luck imaginable, have lost steadily for four days. Rain most afternoon.

Wednesday, October 31, 1917. Got up at 9:00. Hell of a day. Rain. Played bridge all morning and afternoon, short walk. Fearing got orders in morning to go to Paris. He left at 6:30 for Moutchic on his way to Paris. Certainly sorry to see him go, he’s a great fellow. Left me his leather coat. Dinner and bed. Today Chip and I evened up in bridge for all we lost.

Thursday, November 1, 1917. Walked to Moutchic. Lovett would never send even a truck for us. Not much flying, there is no castor oil.110 Seems to me they might show a little pep there and get some. Walked back for lunch at cafe. Then bridge. Di came over and we walked around, supper at cafe, walked halfway back with Di.

Friday, November 2, 1917. Up at 9:30 and shaved. Bridge, lunch, walked to Moutchic. We get a hell of a lot of walking. It’s 3-1/2 miles to Moutchic. Sat around and tried to get pay from the new paymaster. He’s tighter than the old one. Once spent a whole day with the new paymaster trying to get some advance pay. Ensign Jorgenson executive officer is back.111 Got letter from B.L. [Bob Lovett]. Back for supper, bridge, having planned to go to Bordeaux in morning, necessitates getting up early.

Saturday, November 3, 1917. Left here 7:30 in truck for Moutchic then Bordeaux. Di, Chip, C[abot?] and I, also lots of sailors, 1 hr 40 min trip. Shopped. Lunch at Hôtel de France, with Harry LeGore and Capt. Fitz of Marine Corps. Got a room. We went to a public bathhouse, and I went in and was given a little bathroom with a tub, water, and chair. Believe me, I needed a bath and took about two minutes to get in the tub. About as I got well soaped I happened to look up and there by my tub was a young French dame with an armful of towels. I told her I was used to washing myself and to get the hell out of the bathroom. I guess I’m too bashful and shy ever to be a good Frenchman. I got haircut also. Bought a new bag, etc. Had some chocolate, ice cream, and patisserie. Took 5:05. Arrived at 8:00, supper at cafe. Chip got off at Moutchic. Had supper there and then walked back. It started to rain then so he didn’t have to. Certainly was great to get into a tub. First time for three weeks. We left our wash at Moutchic. No mail for any of us. Also no orders.

Sunday, November 4, 1917. Big day, lots of traffic for this place. Sailor boy with his lass over here for couple of days. Lunch here. Then walked to sand spit from which they expect to fly. Coming home C. and Chip refusing to take an old crockman‘s (myself) advice, lost themselves and arrived on the beach five miles from here. Di and Dichman walked over with our mail, but we missed them. Later Jorgenson and Paymaster came over. Dinner, bridge and bed. Rain in morning.

Monday, November 5, 1917. Fine day. Short walk, lunch with Chip at cafe, walked to Moutchic. No flying for us, but others did. Dichman brought back Fred and oil from Hourtin. After dinner Di brought over four lt(jg) docs who are to stay with us.

Tuesday, November 6, 1917. Up early walked to Moutchic. No flying though perfect weather. Di came back for lunch. Fooled around with a football. Walked back and had a flight. Fellow leveled off about 20 ft. high and landing in a crosswind crushed down on right wing. No hurt, machine well smashed.

Wednesday, November 7, 1917. Wrote mother.112 Otherwise bored.

Thursday, November 8, 1917. Mail from Mother, Dad, Bert Hadden. Never enjoyed anything more.

Friday, November 9, 1917. In afternoon walked to Moutchic. No flying. Planned trip to Bordeaux.

Saturday, November 10, 1917. Got up at 6:00. Took truck to Bordeaux. After shopping all morning we met Harry LeGore and Capt Fitz, who is Major now, for lunch. Chip, being sick, did not accompany us. At the hotel, there were a lot of high army officers, generals, etc., going back to U.S. I had my weekly bath before lunch. It was splendid. Left Bordeaux at about 4:00 in truck and arrived here at 6:15.

Sunday, November 11, 1917. Customary morning. After lunch we received some enlisted men in a camion who had orders for us to report to Moutchic at once. There were orders for Bob, Di and me to go to Paris—Ho for Dunkirk and some excitement. We leave Tuesday.113

Monday, November 12, 1917. Rode to Moutchic, persuaded the Paymaster to part with some money—it was an all moving job. Had lunch there and then rode back. Packed and had a big farewell dinner at the cafe.

Tuesday, November 13, 1917. Bob Lovett, Di Gates, and I received our orders to proceed to Paris, with Dunkirk on the horizon after some more training. Left Lacanau-Ocean at 6:30 for Moutchic. Took on board Di, Bob, O’Connor, Young, Hough, Velie, Parker.114 Were in Bordeaux about one hour to get truck, washed, and passes. We left at 11:05 for Paris. On board were lots of Y.W.C.A. fruits [derogatory term for young women]. They were an awful bunch and had the best of everything. Lunched in dining car and arrived in Paris at 8:45. Finding our baggage, etc., we got to the Chatham, had a bit of supper and Di and I went for a walk. Nothing doing.115

Wednesday, November 14, 1917. Reported at nine. Then wandered around with Di trying to find a dentist to replace a lost filling I missed. Met Lieut. Swazzy’s wife and took her to lunch, a French girl who speaks English infinitely better than the bunch of French and English we’ve seen lately. Reported again at two. Dinner at hotel on Rue Damon, Olympia, which was punk. Like the Folies Bergeres. Saw Ehrhart at dinner. May I be permitted to say there is nothing narrow about a Parisian education. Aside from a trip to the French field at Villa Coublay [sic],116 where we saw thousands of machines of every sort of make, our jobs were uninteresting, but not so our pleasures. And I saw lots of Americans I had known—Hunty Ehrhart, Elmendorf Carr, Tommy Hitchcock, Cord Meyer, Quentin Roosevelt, and a lot of others, and made an inspection tour of the Hanriot factory.117

Thursday, November 15, 1917. Reported at 9:00. Did odd jobs. Lunched at Café Parie, dined at Ritz with Fearing and Bob. Then went to a very good French show. Di went out on party.

Friday, November 16, 1917. Busy all day. Di got orders to go to Havre for six trucks and get them. 50 men came in from Havre and Di, McKay, and I met them, picked 25 for Dunkirk and sent them off. Dined at Maxims.118 Di was suddenly sent to Dunkirk. We were told we were waiting to get our training at the U.S. Army Field at Issoudun, and Ken MacLeish was appointed to take Di’s place.

Saturday, November 17, 1917. Di left at 6 A.M. I was put in charge of the men at office. All the new men got lost and were not rounded up till 2 P.M. Van der Veer, a snotty mean man, raised the devil about it. Lunched at Chinese Umbrella and dined at Maxims, then came home and went right to bed.

Sunday, November 18, 1917. Reported at 10:00. One man answered for another at roll call and was caught. I gave him hell and reported it. Van called him and the man he reported for up and was about as nasty as a slave driver. They got a deck court.119 Lunched with Elmendorf Carr and an English lieutenant. Then Bob, Griffin, Hull, and Doc, and I went to Villa Coublay, the French experimental station outside Paris. Here there are about 15000[?] machines in a tremendous field with hundreds of hangers. All sorts of machines and experiments were there. We saw only one flight as it was very foggy. Inspected the Hanriot, which is to be our machine. It looks fine and beats and out-climbs the SPAD and others.120 Also saw two German Rumpler’s 260 H.P. two-seater fighters.121 Noted clever gun mounts. Dined at Ciro’s.122

Monday, November 19, 1917. Frocked around the office. Shaw reporting for Archer, said he was going to desert and hadn’t reported. Later the M.P. brought him in. Sentenced to 20 days brig on water and bread. Poor devil. Lunch at Chinese Umbrella. Dined at Maxims.

Tuesday, November 20, 1917. Di, Bob and I and the pilots for Dunkirk were ordered to the Hanriot factory [at Billancourt, a suburb of Paris] to work while waiting the three weeks till they will be ready. It is a fine place. Turning out six or seven machines a day. Wonderful new machine [Hanriot HD.3], 260 hp with five guns and two men under construction.123 A lot of Sopwith machines are made there, two-seaters about three years old, but still good and a single pontoon not much.124 The machine we are to use [the Hanriot HD.2] carries one machine gun, makes 115, stagger about 1/2 cord, 3-1/2 hours range, lands about 40 and looks fine. It has 130 [hp] Clerget [rotary motor]. These are about the best motors, though slightly heavier than the other rotating motors. Most of the Hanriots are bound for Italy. They out-climb and beat the SPAD over 300. Learned that 10 were already at Dunkirk.125 Lunch at Chatham, excellent, went to H [headquarters] and dined at Henri’s and went to Follies. Pretty good. Letters from Dad and Mother.

Wednesday, November 21, 1917. Arrived at about 10:15 and looked around. Talked to the Sopwith inspector. Lunched at Ciro’s—the place to lunch, dropped in at Rumplemires [Rumplemeyer’s] and went to D’Iena to get pay and mail.126 One from Dad and Mother and Alice. Also . . . Di wrote Bob, he’s stuck at Havre no trucks and can’t get away. Dined at Maxim’s. Bob’s friend Sonia was there but left early.

Thursday, November 22, 1917. Saw Dichman at breakfast and Bartlett. There is a big conference here now all C.O.s of the stations came to Paris.127 Lunched at Ciro’s and saw Tom Hitchcock, Q[uentin] Roosevelt and Cord Meyer. They say that Issoudun is in bad shape with measles and mumps. Means we’ll probably be here another month. At factory noted wings of H.D. spar’s shape I covered to seem solid. All small parts of three-ply wood. Very strong but one wing can be lifted easily on one finger. Entering edge one pipe, trailing three, all together eight. Also noted new machine. The ailerons flippers are worked by hollow tubing of steel alloy very light and strong. Sampson motor 260—4 machine guns, 130–140 mph. Dined at Maxim’s. I could get food and liquor all right, but otherwise my French failed to improve. Before supper, engaged a French girl to teach us the damned language. Some say the proper way is to live with one of them. Maybe; I know I had enough with an hour a day.

Friday, November 23, 1917. Lunched at Ciro’s, stopped at office for mail and heard that Ken [Smith] had been lost at sea at 2 o’clock.128 Ken was out patrolling in a flying boat with a couple of observers and miles out the motor stopped and Ken landed in the sea. Although it was pretty rough the ship held together pretty well and the boys stuck up a distress signal and spent the time when not seasick bailing out water and gradually cutting off parts of the wings as their machine went to pieces. They had the radiator water and a couple of sandwiches. Sixty hours after they lit a destroyer found them and took them off. Before they were able to get a line from the boat to the destroyer, the damn thing sank. Finely figured, I’d say. No mail. Dinner at Madam Bonard.

Saturday, November 24, 1917. Out to factory and then came back here after lunch and there was Di back from Havre. He and I went to the D’Iena [headquarters] where he got his orders to Dunkirk immediately. Certainly am sorry he is not to fly avion de chasse with us. Ken MacLeish is coming instead. Then we met Griffin, Bartlett and Dichman and Bob, went to Villa Coublay. Arriving late we saw some flying.129 I had an early dinner and [French?] lesson. Di and Bob went to the Yale dinner.

Sunday, November 25, 1917. French lesson at 11:00, lunch at Ciro’s with Hull, Bartlett, Bob and Di. Then Di and I went to Villa Coublay and saw the Morain [sic] monoplane.130 It flew circles around a SPAD. Absolutely incredible speed—it must have been 20 mph faster than the SPAD. Light dinner and movies.

Monday, November 26, 1917. Cashed a check at Morgan Harjes and shopped. Di ordered magazines, etc. Last night Bob received a package of clothes etc., from U.S. Met Bishop and Mac Whitney at Chinese Umbrella at lunch.131

Tuesday, November 27, 1917. Dined with Evelyn Preston,132 father’s brother, Miss Stephens, and head of YWCA. Then saw some of Parisian life, was disgusted.

November 28, 1917. Di left and Ken MacLeish arrived to take his place.

November 29, 1917. Thanksgiving, had a fine time dining with Mrs. Bowler, daughters Jane and Alice, and Chase Davis [from Cincinnati].

Friday, November 30, 1917. Ken and I had tea with Mrs. Buswir.

Hotel Chatham, Paris, Nov. 30, 1917

My Dear Mother,

Yesterday we learned, much to our delight, that we are to go to England very soon for our land training before returning to the water machines. As conditions are not now favorable for our attending the U.S. school here in France for quite some time, an attempt was made to send us to England and so far it is successful, so within a week or so I hope to be again in London. It will be a great relief to have a little more flying. I imagine from then on we shall have all we want.

Lately I’ve been having a fine time, as Mrs. Bonand [Bonard?] is awfully nice and when she informed several other old friends of yours that I was at hand and would not, with a little care, be a disgrace to them, one and all are very cordial. Wednesday afternoon I went to tea at Madame Bonand’s [Bonard?] and met a number of people. Yesterday, Thanksgiving Day, Mrs. Bowler invited me to the most wonderful American Thanksgiving dinner I ever had. She has two daughters, one in the YWCA and the younger working at the British embassy, who are great. A Cincinnati man, Chase Davis, and I, were guests and we enjoyed ourselves thoroughly. I hope to see Miss Bowler in London, as she returns Saturday and we may go any time now. This afternoon I am going to call on Mrs. Buswir, I think it is, and take Ken along. Ken has taken Di’s place with us to fly the small fast machines as the latter is too heavy and has gone to his station. The rest of us will have possibly two months more training.

You probably read in the paper about Ken R. S[mith] having been compelled to land at sea while patrolling and spent 60 hours before he was picked up. The machines are pretty strong and sea-worthy, as may be seen by that, as it was pretty rough. Although out that long, all three of the men are all right and in fine shape again, though they were exhausted slightly when picked up. I’ve seen a lot of fellows I know around here, especially Terry Bob who was at S.P.S. [St. Paul’s School] and came over at the beginning of the war in Ambulance, enlisted in French aviation, flew at the front for about two years, and is now a Capt. in our aviation. It is very interesting to hear the stories of some of these fellows when they will open up. Bart [Read],133 Aut, and Harry D[avison] are expected here soon, hurrah! All of our old unit will soon be here.

I was greatly amused last night when Mrs. Bowler said that Mrs. Bonard had come to her in great fear of how young D.S.I. was getting along here alone in Paris, but next day said she was feeling better, as I evidently greatly surprised her by not drinking and smoking. Well, mother, what do you think? Yesterday I got two packages from you; the first one some chocolate, etc., in fine shape. The chocolate is great and when I finally get settled the prunes will be most useful, so packages come and are very welcome. Love, Dave

Saturday, December 1, 1917. Took in and sent off 100 men from Britain to Dunkirk.134

Sunday, December 2, 1917. Read and wrote.135

December 3, 1917. Lunched at Tipperary, fine place. Wrote Dad all the Navy’s troubles.136 [See letter following.]

Hôtel Chatham, Paris, Dec. 3rd, 1917

Dear Dad,

I received your letters of Oct. 29 and Nov. 11, enclosing a letter of introduction to Mr. Thomas of American Express Co. and two papers—my oath of allegiance and my commission papers. Thank you ever so much, also please thank Mr. Taylor, as it will be invaluable to have some one here to fall back on in case of trouble.

Naval aviation here seems to be getting along very well now as we have several stations underway and some doing active work, but it seems to me they are not yet going at it in the right way. So far we of the [Yale] Unit and a few older men are the only naval pilots trained in flying sent from the United States. The large number of men who have been sent over have had no previous training or practically none. Most of them are men who, on enlisting, were immediately shipped across regardless of their ability or adaptability for aviation. All the flyers here, except us few, have been trained here, first on land machines, then at several French water schools. These men, turned out as pilots ready for active service, have had very little time in the air and from my observation do not in any way seem to be the picked men that a country of our size and resources should send to the front. The observers, for most of the water machines carry more than one man, have gone through the French water observers’ school. These men have had a very primary course in bombing and machine gun work. The mechanics, men picked from different positions of life, are not trained mechanics; some of them with perhaps a small knowledge of engines, have been sent through factories rapidly, listening to lectures mostly in French, a few translated, and they have had to pick up what they could in, at most, three weeks. The rest are learning from these and from trying to take care of the machines at the stations.

Now, to take the case of the pilots. Here, it is at best a long and inefficient course because of the great scarcity of materials, oil, gas, training machines, etc. The pilots, except for a comparatively small number, will be used for patrolling and convoying. They do not need advanced training in different types of machines and machine guns. They need merely plenty of flying in large machines with practice in rough weather and rough landing. With everything at hand and plenty of materials these men could be more easily and cheaply trained in the U.S. than here.

The observers for these large patrol machines in the same manner could be easily trained by a great deal of experience in machine gun work and especially bombing in the best large machines at home. As a patrolling machine does not necessarily have great speed, the observers would be able, on our machines, to have the same conditions in practice that they would have later when actively engaged. Thus the pilots and observers could have plenty of practical training.

Now from the number of pilots and observers, those who showed themselves superior could be taken out of the school and placed in another small school or else sent to an army school where the pilots could take a long and careful course on fast machines and could take also a course in the school of fire and in acrobatics. The observers could also take a course in bombing and machine gun work on the faster, lighter land machines. The mechanics should be men preferably taken from the class of mechanics, thoroughly drilled on aeroplane motors and if necessary sent through a factory over here if said station does not use our American motor.

When these men arrived here, the pilots for patrol could take perhaps a few hops at the school here in their future machine and then be ready and fit for work. The bombers and mechanics would be ready and able to do their work immediately upon arriving. The small number of pilots for fast single-seaters could take the short course at the army school here, and would soon be ready for duty. If necessary, the observers for the fighting planes could likewise attend for a short term the army school here. Conditions here make a man’s complete training at any one of the three divisions long, inefficient, and practically impossible, while at home there is every facility to train any required number of men quickly, cheaply, and efficiently. As yet no trained man has been sent over. Of course, I know that pilots are being trained in A[rmy], but this branch is by no means one-third of aviation. When I left, there were no schools for mechanics and a school for bombing and machine gun work was unthought of, especially in naval aviation are the two latter most important.

An example of the sort of mechanic we have now can be shown in the case of Ken S[mith]. He with an observer and mechanic landed at 2 P.M., 60 miles off shore, when the motor died. Not until night fell did the mechanic find out that the first tank being empty, the second tank was not feeding, being stopped up. The men, therefore, were unable to get off that afternoon when it was calm, and when the small trouble had finally been set aright next morning the sea was too rough to get off, in an attempt a wing was broken and as a result the men were nearly lost, spending 60 hours on the water before the boat filled and sank. For just such reasons we want the very best mechanics.

Take the importance of an expert observer—the simplest case being on a patrol boat, the Navy hopes that the aeroplane will occasionally see a submarine. If the machine does and is not noticed ’till it is near, the observer may get a good crack at it. After patrolling perhaps for weeks without getting a shot, the observer must be able to make good at every occasion when luck is with him. With one shot a month perhaps he must be sure. Therefore, every effort must be made to give the men expert training bombing.

The situation then is train the men in the States, giving them what they need most, plenty of experience on any flying machine and plenty of practice dropping bombs and shooting machine guns from any machine and plenty of experience in dealing with any aeroplane motor. This has to do only with the men themselves. About the machines, until the Liberty motor or some American motor is a success,137 I suppose we’ll use the foreign machine, but now the need is for men who can fly and shoot and bomb and fight. I hope we will soon get some encouragement by receiving some capable men and remarkable machines. The longer I stay here the more I am convinced that to conquer the Germans, we must first conquer them in the air.

I expect to leave for England to train on land machines and go through the school of fire and acrobatics in a few days now, so I’ll spend Xmas in England, together with Bob and Ken, Di having dropped out on account of weight. Love, Dave

Tuesday, December 4, 1917. Sam [Walker] left for Le Croisic.

Wednesday, December 5, 1917. Saw a good show at the Alhambra.138

Thursday, December 6, 1917. Saw Chevalier. Also Winterbottom and Porterfield, English officers. We are getting darn sick of hanging around Paris.

Friday, December 7, 1917. Feeling low, slept most of morning. At 12:00 Bart [Read] and Moseley Taylor appeared. We had lunch with them, frocked around, then got package from Kirt from Alice. Curt [Read], [Edward] Shorty Smith, Phillip Page, [Ashton] Tex Hawkins also arrived then.139 Had dinner and went to show.

Saturday, December 8, 1917. Received word to leave for England to train week from Monday. I feel ill. Day in bed.

Sunday, December 9, 1917. Encore

Monday, December 10, 1917. Had dinner with Bart, Mose [Taylor], Pete Taige, Grub Clover, Fry Spenser.140

Tuesday, December 11, 1917. Bob [Lovett] going to England for administration.141 Shorty to take his place, Scab arrived from Le Croisic. Packed, bed 12:00. Left at 9:10. After a delightful trip we arrived at Boulogne. As we were late, we missed the boat. We also missed our baggage. Therefore we spent a night in a wretched hotel. The best hotel was full—the Folkstone. Found our bag in morning. Took 12:00 boat. Smooth and fair trip, arriving at Folkstone at 2:15. Made quick connections and arrived in London at 4:30. Tried the Carlton and Piccadilly [hotels] and then stopped at the Savoy. Saw the “13th Chair.”142

Friday, December 14, 1917. Reported at 30 Grosvenor Gardens [and] found that as usual Van [der Veer] had made a mistake.143 Gosport could take one of us a week.144 Saw [Philip] Page there. Sent Hen [Landon] some cigarettes. Called up Alice Bowler, and then dined with her [ ]. So we had some more pleasures—in London—perhaps not the same as Paris, but O.K. for all that, and some excitement.

Saturday, December 15, 1917. Reported at 30 [Grosvenor], lunched with Alice and saw “Chu Chin Chou.” Dinner at Carlton and saw “Arlette.”145

Sunday, December 16, 1917. Frocked around, rotten day. Ken saw [Laurence] Callahan,146 our old friend.

Monday, December 17, 1917. My khaki suit was altered, left my blues too, also coat. Lunched with Alice at cute little restaurant, Au Petite Blanche. Also dined with her and saw “Brewster’s Millions.”147 Saw Mrs. and Mr. Burton. On reporting learned we too were to go to Gosport.

Tuesday, December 18, 1917. Got transportation and orders. Shopped a bit, in afternoon Shorty and I went to Hendon,148 but not having a pass we failed to get into the R.F.C. station there. At 6:30 Shorty and I started for dinner and show. A raid started and we could not get a taxi. Managed to get Al[ice] and then we had dinner at the Ritz. The raid was not very exciting, a.a. guns booming, and once an aeroplane passed straight above us. The motors could be heard but the aeroplanes were invisible. This lasted about two hours. Few people remained in the streets, taxies did not move, telephones were stopped, everything just waited. After dinner we found a taxi and got Sister [Dorothy Foster] and saw “Dear Brutus,” a very good show.149 Had a great time.

3

With the RFC at Gosport, Turnberry, and Ayr

December 1917–March 1918

Of the American naval air stations established in France in 1917, only Dunkirk on the English Channel coast near the Belgian border exposed aviators to encounters with enemy aircraft. Lumbering flying boats conducting antisubmarine patrols proved easy prey for German warplanes and thus required armed escorts—fast, maneuverable, single-seat chasse (pursuit) machines. To obtain the trained pilots necessary to fly these aircraft, the navy made arrangements with the American army to instruct a dozen enlisted aviators at their new school at Issoudun, France.150 Others were recruited from among American pilots then serving with French escadrilles. The RFC took three additional officer-pilots (David Ingalls, Ken MacLeish, and Edward “Shorty” Smith) for advanced instruction at the School of Special Flying at Gosport, near Portsmouth. Evelyn Preston, a friend and correspondent of many members of the Yale Unit’s social set, reported, “Bob, Dave Ingalls, and Ken MacLeish are the ones chosen for acrobatic work. Do you realize they are the only three out of the whole naval aviation that were chosen, and all of them the outcome of Huntington?”151

The School of Special Flying began as something of an experiment, founded in the summer of 1917 under the direction of Lt. Col. Robert Smith-Barry. An officer of forceful personality and strong views, Smith-Barry learned to fly in 1911 at Larkhill in Wiltshire and at the Central Flying School at Uphaven. He enlisted in the Royal Navy in 1914, flew night antizeppelin patrols, and later commanded No.60 Squadron. Known as both brilliant and eccentric, he received permission to reorganize the flying school at Gosport. Sir Hugh Trenchard, one of Britain’s most important military aviation pioneers, claimed that Smith-Barry taught the world how to fly. According to a detailed report later compiled by Ken MacLeish, Smith-Barry “wrote repeated letters to the War Department,” arguing it was a waste of time to train men at the frontline squadrons.152 The appropriate authorities must have agreed, for the number of training fatalities and the performance of woefully unprepared replacement pilots seriously impaired morale and operations. Lee Kennet noted in The First Air War, 1914–1918, that “wastage” at RFC training institutions in 1917 reached as high as 17 to 28 percent. Military historian John Morrow called Smith-Barry’s reforms “sorely needed,” citing the crudeness and inadequacy of even advanced training. French (and later American) flight instruction was more deliberate but much safer. In fact, American training, as measured by accidental deaths, was the least dangerous of all—50 percent safer than the French regimen and nearly five times safer than the British.153

Given a chance to establish his own school, Smith-Barry personally selected the staff. His methods emphasized dual instruction, trainee-instructor communication via a speaking tube, complex aerial maneuvers, acrobatics, and forced landings, with a focus on increasing student confidence. More than anything else, he designed the Gosport school to train instructors in new methods and attitudes. Smith-Barry mandated extensive preflight briefing and detailed explanations for students. There was little or no red tape. As long as a man did his work, no questions were asked. According to Ingalls and MacLeish, the instructors were a fine bunch of men, very good fliers who had served at the front for a year or two and who now, for the first time, were really learning how to fly. There were plenty of machines available and an excellent shop where aircraft could be completely repaired and reconditioned. Moreover, the surrounding countryside offered many good landing fields. Maintenance crews typically reported about 7:30 am to inspect and ready aircraft, with further inspections and repairs carried out between 1:30 and 2:00 pm and again between 4:30 and 6:00 pm. Flying commenced at 9:00 am and continued until 12:30 pm; it resumed at 2:00 and finished at 4:00. Aircraft averaged five hours aloft each day.

The initial work for the Americans lasted only a few days, however, due to the Christmas holidays, and Ingalls and his pals returned to London and a joyous reunion with a gaggle of naval aviators. They headed back south on December 27, and as the only students present, enjoyed the undivided attention of their RFC instructors. Taking advantage of whatever good weather existed, the Americans went flying on New Year’s Day. They made rapid progress and within a week soloed in Sopwith Camels, among the most dangerous aircraft on the Western Front. Ingalls reported to his father, “The machine handles so lightly that anything can be done and it is so easy that you simply couldn’t fly straight if you wanted to.” With its tremendous torque and tricky fueling system, the Sopwith Camel was a remarkably maneuverable and deadly fighter, responsible for more Allied victories (1,294) than any other aircraft. It was also responsible for hundreds of deaths from accidents and training mishaps. The combination of careless or inexperienced handling, aircraft size, torque-producing rotary engine, small wingspan, and weight placement led to frequent fatal spins while in flight. To counteract torque on takeoff, for example, required the use of right full rudder until enough speed had built up for the tail fin to be effective. Otherwise, the airplane might ground loop and crash on the starboard wing tip.154

Fair weather breaks were few and far between. Ingalls told his father, “The weather has been rotten. Wind, clouds, snow, and worst of all, fog.” MacLeish echoed those thoughts, observing, “Rain and hail have lost their fascination. Snow is quite the thing to fly in.”155 In mid-January, flying conditions grew so bad that Gosport temporarily suspended operations. The Yalies returned to London for a short sojourn at the American Officers Club, attended the theater, and reported to Adm. William Sims and Capt. Hutch Cone, who urged them to finish their work quickly. In the following weeks, they resumed training in a program punctuated by dramatic flights and near disasters. On more than one occasion, they fought mock battles in the skies above southern England. At other times, they took cross-country jaunts that tested their endurance, ingenuity, and navigational skills.

Not surprisingly, the rapid pace of instruction and abominable weather led to frequent mishaps. In early January, Shorty Smith nearly died while looping at twenty-five hundred feet when a loose seat belt caught the stick and he lost control of his Avro.156 That same day, Ingalls flew into a maze of telephone lines but managed to land his damaged plane. Two weeks later, MacLeish smashed the propeller and undercarriage of his Camel while stunting with an instructor. Nonetheless, increased confidence brought aerial high jinks. The young ensigns enjoyed “buzzing” less experienced pilots, the “Huns,” or looping within a few hundred feet of the ground. They also loved “bush-bouncing,” racing along mere feet above the ground and then hopping over houses, trees, and startled farmers and their animals. Nineteen-year-old Ingalls enthused, “It must have been very exciting to see [four] Camels tearing along just over the ground.” When returning to the aerodrome, they sometimes landed within a few feet of the hangars.

Madcap flying did not, however, divert the Americans from their true purpose at Gosport. During his weeks at the school, MacLeish made careful notes about British flight instruction methods, hoping to use the information to improve the American system. After passing through the course, he recommended that all navy flight training begin with land machines and that instructors be chosen on the basis of their interest in the pupils, flying proficiency, ability to effectively impart knowledge, and satisfaction with their jobs, with a focus entirely on instructing. Ingalls compiled a similar report.

At the beginning of February, the three navy aviators finished work at Gosport and relocated to Turnberry, a famous golf resort overlooking the Firth of Clyde, now transformed into the RFC’s No.2 (Auxiliary) School of Aerial Gunnery. The school offered concentrated instruction in the mechanics, use, and maintenance of automatic weapons. Lectures and demonstrations filled the days, with evenings devoted to copying notes and studying. Ingalls described how he spent his time “sitting on hard wooden benches in sorts of classrooms, studying twice as hard as I ever did in school.” MacLeish called the pamphlets they read “really libraries” and claimed he got to bed just in time to wake up for breakfast. Very little flying occurred, as the nature of the course and perpetual fog and drizzle precluded active operations. Ingalls and the others boarded in either the grand Turnberry Hotel or one of several substantial adjacent holiday villas. When not studying or seeking shelter, the officers played bridge, what Ingalls called “England’s national game.”157

Hurrying along to complete their training, Ingalls, MacLeish, and Smith soon shifted billets again, moving to nearby Ayr, home of the No.1 School of Aerial Fighting and Gunnery. Lt. Col. Lionel Wilmot Brabazon Rees, VC, an experienced pilot and squadron commander with eight confirmed victories, served as commandant. It was said that “his experience and example were employed in the training of the offensive spirit exemplified by his actions.”158

The presence of many non-English pilots at Turnberry and Ayr reflected dramatic changes in the composition of the RFC manpower pool. Aggressive battlefield tactics, high operational tempo, inadequate training, and obsolescent equipment generated extremely high casualty rates. Ultimately, new pilots from Ireland, Scotland, and the Dominions replaced such losses. In March 1918, nearly one-quarter of all the RFC pilots in France were Canadian, and by September 1918, according to one veteran, “the majority of the best pilots . . . hail[ed] from Canada, Australia, South Africa, and so forth.” In addition, more than 300 Americans flew with British squadrons, and of that number, nearly 30 became aces, 51 were killed in combat, and 32 became prisoners of war (POWs).159

Following successful completion of their work at Ayr, the Americans returned to Dunkirk, with patrol operations scheduled to begin in late March. During this same period, David Ingalls took the time to prepare reports on the training regimen he experienced. His detailed and lively descriptions and analysis of the instruction program at Gosport, Turnberry, and Ayr are among the best available.

Wednesday, December 19, 1917. At last Shorty [Smith] and I left dear old London at 11:35 from Waterloo [Station]. Of course there was a thick fog, when isn’t there in this beclouded country, and train was a couple of hours late, so we arrived about 4:15. An R.F.C. man and machine met us and took us to assistant C.O., Wells, major, a perfect prince. We were introduced to our instructors, shown rooms, signed up our nearest relatives,160 always a pleasant reminder of the hereafter, and given tea. Then we met Ken [MacLeish]. He’d been flying a lot. We saw a bit of flying and had a fine dinner.

Thursday, December 20, 1917. Rose at 8:00. No flying on account of heavy mist. This school is really for instructors, the course is two weeks. That’s advancement; teach the teachers. Could be applied in most schools for mentality improvement. Machine is A.V. Roe, called Avro. It’s a two-seater, very handy and easy to fly, also a few Camels and S.E.5s. It is rather extraordinary to learn that most experienced pilots don’t know how to fly perfectly. Here the finishing touches are put on, every stunt is taught, side slip landings, perfectly balanced turns, etc. The idea of the school is to train men to all instruct in one way on a fast two-seater, also, instead of the present way of starting on an old Farman and working up. There are a few beginners here to prove that the method is right and they have turned out very good flyers.161

The school is an experiment. Lt. Colonel [Robert] Smith-Barry is in charge—he originated the idea. Under him is Wells. There is no red tape. As long as a man does his work no questions are asked. There is great freedom, the instructors are a fair bunch of men, very good flyers, of many experiences. Many of the pupils are majors, etc., who have flown even at the front for a year or two and who are now for the first time learning how to really fly. Many have Huns to their credit, and many have decorations. In instructing, the instructor first does a thing, then you follow in loops, etc. By means of simple metal tubing with rubber ends conversation is easy. There are plenty of machines and good mechanics and an instructor to a man almost, so you learn quickly or are advised to try for the commissary department. There is also an excellent shop where machines can be completely made. The country all around is full of good landing fields.

The barracks, offices, mess halls, etc., are within an old fort surrounded by a moat with drawbridges.162 It is wonderfully picturesque. The rooms are great, though cold, with fires kept up by a batman. What an institution, the Batman! My first experience with a valet. There are also reading rooms, etc. The food is O.K. and there are no rules or regulations, only an unwritten law to do your flying and do it well. A paradise for a flyer. The only other sort of duty is to practice on the range with shotguns, pistols, or machine guns.

The men are mostly experienced fighters and a great bunch. The hangars, etc., are just beside the fort in a large perfect field. On one corner is also a range etc., for elementary machine gun practice. The field is about two miles from Gosport. As there was no flying, we walked to Gosport where Shorty cabled his girl that he was well and lonesome. As Ken asks almost nightly for some message for Priscilla [Murdock], I, this old bachelor, am again stuck to a bunch of born lovers. I foresee a hell of a time in one respect—these two are going to waste a lot of our time writing and talking about their fiancées. Sometimes I thank God I am still unshackled. Sometimes I sort of wish I were. If I am sociable and write my family whenever they write their future families, my old man will wonder what the Hell!. After a great lunch I read and wrote till tea and dinner. More reading.163

Friday, December 21, 1917. Started out a good day, after breakfast at 9:00, I had a wonderful hop with my instructor. I did more stunting in fifteen minutes than I knew there was. I like something that is touchy, at least in an aeroplane. I learned how to do vertical turns and tail spins, and tried a couple of landings. Never again will I fly a water machine in preference to land. It is wonderful. It was warm flying, as we only went up to 3,000 feet, although the thermometer was about 20 today. The continued banks made us a bit sick, but I soon recovered, and found Shorty all in from his flight. Afternoon mist and no flying, so walked to Gosport.

Saturday, December 22, 1917. After my second flight in morning when I had a great time and learnt to land the bloody bus, and learned more of stunting. Then learned the place closed up for Christmas. Ken, Shorty, and I went to Portsmouth for lunch, took an afternoon train 2:35 for London. Got rooms at the Curzon near A.O.C. [American Officers Club] where we had dinner and saw “A Little Bit of Fluff.” Very funny, a bit crude.164

Sunday, December 23, 1917. Had lunch at A.O.C. and then went for a walk with Alice [Bowler] and had tea at Ritz.

Monday, December 24, 1917. Saw about mail, talked to [W. Atlee] Edwards, where I saw [Carl] Hull. Lunched and saw Al [Sturtevant], John [Vorys], Bob [Lovett]. Did a lot of what you do in London. Had dinner with Alice at The Chinese Restaurant, very peculiar and very cheap. Saw movie after.165

Tuesday, December 25, 1917, Xmas. Hell of a note. Maybe I feel the way I did the first two weeks away at boarding school, maybe a little worse. Took Alice to Westminster Abbey, big reunion lunch at A.O.C., wrote a number of letters. Then Shorty and I had dinner at Almonds Hotel with Alice and Dorothy Foster, Joe Foster’s sister, who is in R.C. [Red Cross] here.166 We then went to a dead dance, then to Murray’s. After a lot of trouble we found a taxi. By the time we left Murray’s, Christmas was long past. A hell of a Xmas we all agreed. Especially as I haven’t had any mail since two days before leaving Paris over two weeks. I’m very much afraid I was just a bit low.

Wednesday, December 26, 1917. Saw Edwards and arranged our mail if we even get any forwarded. Took Alice to lunch at La Petite Riche, very nice, and saw the “Saving Grace,” very good show. Had tea at the Carlton. Then the old five had a farewell dinner at A.O.C. and Shorty, Ken and I went to see “The Boy.”167

Thursday, December 27, 1917. We got up at 6:30 to catch a train, which Ken said left at 8:15 A.M. On arriving at Waterloo Station about 40 minutes ahead of time, we found that it was 8:15 P.M. and our train didn’t go till 9:35. After a haircut at Savoy I couldn’t get a taxi and had to run like the Devil all the way to the station and just got on as train was leaving. After finding Ken and Shorty in a second class compartment, the first were all taken, we had a rotten trip, arriving about 12:30 to find that school didn’t open till Friday, so after lunch and a rubber of bridge I walked to Portsmouth and back.

Friday, December 28, 1917. Hotter weather, long walk. After lunch, short flight making many landings.

Saturday, December 29, 1917. Cloudy at 2,300 feet, and very rough flying. Short flight, I then soloed. As soon as I got up to about 2,000 feet, making turns all the time, I looped six or seven times, tried three or four tail spins, several rolls and more loops. I couldn’t seem to get on to the rolls, came out in a tail spin motor full on several turns. Looping was easy, though I hung on to the stick like death as I did loose loops and there was not great centrifugal force. Then I tried a few landings and one spiral and came in a bit sick as I had been throwing the machine around a good bit. After about an hour, I felt fine and after lunch got up again. First I tried a number of landings in small fields and also tried landing in one spot, it is much easier than a water machine as you can side slip off altitude very fast. Then I started for quite awhile and did some fairly respectable rolls. Came down and took a look at the R.N.A.S. station nearby and then came in after about 45 minutes. My thumb was cold and stiff from [so much] buttoning the motor and after landing as I taxied in my thumb wouldn’t keep the button off and I got off the ground near the hanger. After cutting the gas I made a hell of a landing and lost the propeller dead motor. I certainly was disgusted with myself as Capt. [Dirk] Cloete, my flight C.O., was watching me come in. However, I felt much at home and had a very good time and think I learnt a lot about flying. Didn’t have sickness afterwards. Shorty, whose stomach has been causing him trouble, also is feeling much better and soloed this morning too. No mail yet and we three are pretty sore at the mail service in Paris, they were holding it till enough came to fill a bag, till Edwards telephoned.168

[Gosport] December 29, 1917

Dear Dad,

After leaving London Thursday morning, we were certainly glad to get here, although late as usual. On account of the holidays everything has been a little slack here, but Monday a new bunch of people came in and things will probably take a big brace. Just now we Americans are the only pupils, so we are getting some good work in.

Yesterday I got only one flight, a short one in the afternoon, with a young Englishman who is my instructor now. He is just a kid, but a very good flyer. For some reason a young Englishman seems very much younger than an American of the same age. There were heavy clouds at 2,300 feet and it was rough as the deuce, with a strong wind of twenty-five miles per hour. After about ten minutes instructing, I at last got off alone. I’ve been dying to get up alone and certainly had a time. As there were a lot of machines around, I had to keep a good lookout, as it is surprising how quickly you come together. I climbed to about 2,000 feet, doing several vertical turns on the way up. Then I leveled out, got up some speed, pulled back the stick and looped for the first time.

It is customary to cut the motor at the top or a little beyond, but I cut too soon for the first two loops, but it made no difference. At the top, as I was doing some very tight loops, not knowing how much strain the machine would stand, centrifugal force did not quite hold me in, though I held myself there by a very tight grasp on the stick. Of course, I had a belt on too, as a precaution, but it is not necessary. After five or six of these, to get the hang of it, I tried rolling, which is sort of turning upside down and then right side up again while going somewhat straight ahead. It is awfully peculiar, and I couldn’t seem to get the hang of it at first, but ended up in a tail-spin which is simply diving straight and revolving rapidly. This last is the most dangerous stunt, as the machine is almost entirely out of control. It is a great strain on the machine. Well, I would cut the motor and get out of this, usually not until I had dropped 600 or 700 feet, and kept trying until I got into a fairly respectable roll. These machines, being large and two-seaters, of course don’t roll very well anyway.

Then I did a few tumbler air turns, getting into a tail spin the first few times. It seems everything ends up in a tail-spin, if not done correctly. Following these I just mixed up stalls, side-slides, loops, etc., for a while and wasn’t flying straight a quarter of a mile. Well, as I say, I was getting cold and a bit sick, so I came down, tried a few landings, and came in. It was the best flight I ever had, Dad, and I certainly enjoyed it.

Sunday, December 30, 1917. Rather punk day but I got up with [Cloete] and found I was rotten at turns. Learnt turn and also side slips and landing cross wind. Then tried it alone and learnt a lot. Feeling a bit low so sat around all afternoon as there was no flying. Two more pupils have come here.

Monday, December 31, 1917. Hell of a day. Late getting up so missed almost all breakfast. Went to Portsmouth and bought chocolate and waffles. Then hurried back for lunch as it cleared a bit. Took up my machine at about 2:20. Very foggy, also heavy clouds at 1,500 feet. Kept getting worse, almost hit several other machines, no fun so I came in soon. Ken landing behind another machine smashed wing skid. The new bunch of pupils have arrived, so mess is full again. Also USA men have arrived, none are officers yet, none have flown. Received four French learning books from Mrs. Burton, also letter from Di. No mail or packages from home yet. Shorty not having heard from his girl is wild. Ken got a lot of mail also from Priscilla.

January 1, 1918. Rotten day—no flying in morning—cold. After lunch cleared up and flying. At 2,300 feet clouds 400 feet thick going through nice and clean—most wonderful sight imaginable. I stayed till cold— . . . and stunting. Under clouds very foggy and rough. Lately I’ve been practicing forced landings, shutting the motor off at about 1,000 feet and then picking a field and landing in it. I find you can land almost anywhere without trouble. Big day, first mail three months. Dad, Ma, and Kate. 35 minutes in Avro.

January 2, 1918. Avro: 85 [minutes], 35 in morning, 50 after lunch we forced landings. Shutting off at 1,000 feet and picking fields and landing. Received letter from Dad dated November 8.

January 3, 1918. Avro: 45 [minutes]. Another perfect day. Rose 7:00 and practiced landings an hour. You can land almost anywhere, but this morning I found the other place. Was side slipping down, felt something catch, feeling heavy drag and ailerons busted. Landed, just missing deep ditch. Found had carried away five telephone wires, all still hanging on front. Aileron wire underneath torn away. Cloete came for me and had a laugh. The instructors keep a good eye on their pupils. He’d brought me a mechanic and flew me home with him. Later had flight then walked to Portsmouth with Ken and Shorty and back. Arranged to have gunnery any day. And so we carried on. Flying if you could see through the fog across the field, and shooting clay pigeons or reading and eating otherwise.

[Gosport] January 3, 1918

Dear Dad:

Yesterday I received a letter written by you on Nov. 8th just after you had been to Fort Sherman but I don’t think that temptation there could hold a candle to what it is here.169 However, I am taking the best possible care of myself, not only because of the moral side of the question, but also because of the terrible effects, which latter has been brought home to me by the pitiful condition of several of the men directly under me. As the main trouble with my receiving mail is due to the absolute inefficiency of the postal department headquarters in Paris I have decided to accept Ken’s suggestion having my mail sent through a bank here of which his aunt is president or manager. So if you will please address letters in the future and packages to Ensign D. S. Ingalls, U.S.N.R.F., care of Carson Pirie Scott et cie, 42 Faubourgh Poissioniere, Paris, I hope to get my mail in two weeks as Ken does.170

For the last three days I have been having lots of flying, and so also lots of fun. The first day was very cloudy but after getting up to about 3,000 feet I was above the clouds in the sunlight and, Dad, it was by far the most beautiful sight I have ever seen. It was quite warm and the huge billows of clouds below covered the entire horizon, and seemed to offer a big feather bed to light on. The clouds were of course sort of uneven, tremendous mountains with valleys in between. Every now and then machines would sort of rise out of the clouds and the sun would stream on the wings. Yesterday was very clear and I learned a lot about vertical turns. These men come back from the front to this school, where flying is taught scientifically and perfectly and are absolutely overwhelmed by the amount they do not know. Practically no one who has not been here can make a perfect turn.

Today I had my first smash, fortunately a minor one. I was practicing landings, the damn foolishness of myself is awful, small fields, cutting my motor as if it had quit on me, and picking a field and landing, when I caught seven or eight telephone wires. I had not seen them nor had any idea what I hit, but my ailerons failed to work so I kept on and landed, almost in a ditch. Well, after landing on the brink of said ditch I climbed out and found the control wire running to the bottom of the lower wing carried away, otherwise everything OK. As I couldn’t fix it I kicked myself around the field for about ten minutes when my flight commander, who had been told of a machine down, landed, left a mechanic, and took me home. Since then I have been having my leg pulled as the English say. Well, as you used to say when I smashed up an auto, it is a good thing so long as nobody is hurt, as you have the experience. I certainly will try to keep my eyes open.

But yesterday Shorty Smith almost ended his career and taught us all a good lesson. He went out and upon getting to about 2,500 feet looped. The strap to hold you in the front seat had been left lying on the seat loosely fastened, and when upside down with the stick pulled way back, the strap swung around and over the stick, holding it way back. This of course held the elevators way up so the machine started on a second loop with Shorty pushing for all he was worth. As he had cut the motor the machine merely pointed straight up, stalled, tail-slipped, dove down, then started up again. Fortunately his ailerons and rudder would still work. After stalling, it would of course dive several hundred feet before gaining enough speed to pull him up again. After coming down by the above process to about one hundred feet Shorty was a bit worried, but being a plucky little devil he didn’t lose his head. Just as he started to go up to stall, here he saw he would, in the ensuing dive, hit the ground head on, so he cleverly side-slipped by using the ailerons and everything just happening to work out fortunately he pulled it out of the tail-slide a few feet before crashing and landed all right with only a wing slightly damaged and the aileron wing slightly broken.

He says he thought an awful lot on the way down, as it took quite some time, but he always had the hope of leveling off just as he hit. He says he didn’t think of side-slipping till he saw he’d lose out if he didn’t do something when he leveled off at about 180 feet. He says his brain was in good condition then. That taught us to look out for anything that would catch the stick and proves that one has wonderful control in pretty adverse conditions. Even my being able to land trailing seven or eight telephone wires after a hard shock shows that it takes a hard bump to bust anything. Well, Dad, try this new address for awhile, will you, Aff yours, Dave

P.S. Please tell mother to send some of that chocolate. D.S.I.

January 4, 1918. 30 Avro, heavy mist @ 300, had gunnery @ 8:00, Lewis and Vickers, short flight, very jerky. Coming in wind caught me from behind and carried me on into another machine. Cloete advised care. Said few days and take up Camel. Friday afternoon is holiday so talked and read.

January 5, 1918. 70 Avro. Fine day, no gunnery so we later had 20 minutes. After lunch another solo. Then Cloete taught me correct rolls, loops, and fluttering leaves, last a new stunt Cloete just learnt.171 All are trying it. Ralph Bahr, Toronto, Canada, got back from London. Canadians seem as cold-blooded as English. After bed Bahr taught us a lot of English slang.

January 6, 1918. Dud day and bad headache [after gunnery stand?].

January 10, 1918. I finally took a ride in a Camel, a scout, single-seater fighting machine. It’s so touchy it just seems to jump if you shiver, and goes into a spin every time you take a turn unless you do it perfectly. I was full of pride that I got back in the same world as when I started. Then later we three went to London again for some excitement. Alice is still to be found. We learned from headquarters we were to hurry through Gosport and proceed to Turnberry, the British finishing school for machine gunnery, and then go to Ayr for a course on aerial fighting.

So on the 13th we left at 6:10 for our finale at Gosport to find dud weather for several days. More bridge than flying. Ken and Shorty got more damn mail. They gloat over me till I think I’ll advertise for a girl, one who will write a lot. That’s all a girl is good for if she’s in the old U.S.A., at least as far as I’m concerned. Me, I like them closer at hand.172

[Gosport] January 14, 1918

Dear Dad:

We negotiated the battle of London safely for the three days’ leave we were afforded, staying at the American Officers Club, seeing shows and talking to many interesting officers, Army and Navy, who are always stopping there on their way to and from France and America. Among others we saw Admiral Sims for a minute, and Capt. [Hutch] Cone,173 who, as you probably are aware, is at the head of naval aviation. The latter expressed a desire for our finishing up quickly, from which I derived that the men who are going to make up the flights that we are to command have almost completed their course of training at the U. S. Army aviation school for scout pilots in France [Issoudun]. Of these men’s ability to fly and fight the machines we are to use I have unfortunately not a very high opinion. First, because they are not a particularly capable lot although selected as the best from the exceedingly miscellaneous and rather inferior lot of men first sent over. I think I have previously written you concerning the type of men who arrived in France about the time I did. Secondly, because they have not had a great deal of time in the air. And thirdly because from what I have learned of the school, their training cannot have been as complete nor as thorough as the work they are to do demands. Although I fully appreciate the impossibility of such an act, still I am very sorry that they too could not have had the wonderful training that the English have so kindly given us. To be sure they have received the best instruction that the Navy could offer and I hope it is better than I have predicted.

According to a letter from “Di,” who is executive officer at our future station [Dunkirk], it is progressing as well as could be hoped from the disadvantage of its location—it is constantly bombed by aircraft, which occasionally breaks up the monotony of the construction work. Evidently the authorities here have also received orders to hurry us through, and I expect practically to live in a Camel this week, after which we will immediately be sent to Scotland for I imagine at least two weeks, probably three, training in gunnery and aerial fighting. From here we shall return to France with all the customary naval delay, and probably spend several weeks waiting in Paris, and then perhaps longer for our men to study up on some technical point highly important practically, such as the use of a compass or something like that, which has been sadly neglected.

Here the weather has been rotten. Wind, clouds, snow, and worst of all, fog. Any weather seems to bring on a heavy ground mist preventing flying. Today it did not clear up until afternoon very late and by that time it was almost tea time, everyone was compelled to adjourn for that important event. However, we have all been given a private Camel, to fly our heads off, which is just what we all want.

The new allotment or class came in this afternoon—they change every two weeks. We feel like old timers now, just imagine me at tea explaining to an R.F.C. flight commander, who had spent two years at the front, how to work the type of motor used here and how to put one of these dual-machines into a tail-spin. This new bunch are a bit uneasy because this afternoon before flying became possible two of the best instructors went up and did the most wonderful flying imaginable. Even the old timers had to stand around in awe. You see if these men pass here well they do not send them back to the front immediately, but are given a much needed rest for a month instructing—so they are pretty keen to do their best. By that time they are fed up and dying to get back to the front again, and they are then in wonderful shape. A great many, almost all in fact, of this class are Canadians, who I find are a great deal like Americans and have often spent a lot of time in the States, so one feels almost as if it were an American station.

Well, Dad, here’s hoping for a few weeks good weather. Please tell mother I received a perfectly great chamois vest-coat today, which is just what I’ve been wishing Santa Claus would send. As ever aff. Yours Dave

[Gosport] January 17, 1917

Dear Dad:

Although the weather has been rotten so far this week, yesterday was passable, and I had about an hour and a half [flying]. As we now each have a Camel to ourselves, if the weather permits we can fly as much as we want. Until yesterday afternoon I had not become accustomed to the way the Camel handled, as it is a long step from an Avro, the slow dual machines, to a scout, especially a Camel, as it is about the trickiest and hardest to fly. What helped more than anything else to make me accustomed to the machine was that late in the afternoon as I was fooling around, looping, etc., an instructor also in a Camel suddenly appeared diving at me, and for about ten minutes we chased each other around. It was the most enjoyable and exciting time I have ever had. One forgets about simply flying and does so instinctively, keeping one’s eye always on the other fellow, and also a general lookout for other machines. It is really remarkably how close two machines can come together without colliding.

Another funny thing, Shorty had just been up before in the same Camel—it is painted a peculiar color, and we had fooled around together, quite a bit apart however. Well at first I thought this must be Shorty again, but in about a second I saw I was wrong for from quite a distance the difference in the two men’s flying ability became quite apparent. To tell the truth whereas Shorty and I had each lots of fear of colliding, when this fellow came around I never thought about it. He had perfect control and I just never thought about running in to him. It seemed to me that the danger of collision is when two machines are just fooling around, thinking themselves alone.

Well, as I have said, from this little encounter I got lots of confidence and for the rest of the afternoon felt perfectly at home. The machine handles so lightly that anything can be done and it is so easy that you simply couldn’t fly straight if you wanted to. But very foolishly I did a lot, six or seven, tail-spins just before coming in and as the darned little machine spins at a terrible rate I felt rotten for two or three hours afterward. Also, I have broken all speed records that I’ve made before, as several times looking at the air speed indicator in a dive it would be registering 190 or more. If the weather doesn’t improve we’ll be here another week. Suits me all right.

Dad, the tobacco here is rotten. When you go to New York could you send me some M.M. (medium strength) tobacco. At the “M.M. Importing Co.” address I think 11 E. 45th St. New York. They might be able to send a pound every three or four weeks.174 Did you send my license as a naval aviator? It has not yet arrived. Of course the last mail from you was dated I think Nov. 23 or so. So it may come any time now. I was just talking to an R.F.C. fellow about Dunkirk. He says it isn’t bad in summer but Hell in winter so we’re in no hurry to get there. Well, dinner is served so must go. Aff. Dave.

January 21, 1918. We’ve been doing a lot of huffing in our Camels, that is, we go up and have mock air battles.175 It’s good practice for the future, provided we get to that future. Ken generally puts it all over me. He has acquired a damn fine reputation here and is considered one of the best pupils the school has had. However, I can hold my own with Shorty and there’s still time for practice before we get to the front. We flew over to Beaulieu for lunch at the school there and were well entertained.176 We had to laugh that afternoon. Some new bird got stuck in one corner of the field and a mechanic went out and got him started, then got on the wing while they just taxied back. The fool bird got going too fast and damned if he didn’t leave the ground and the mechanic’s love of the earth got control over him so he let go and gravity did the rest. He only broke one leg and an arm.

January 22, 1918. Lots of huffing. Ken didn’t hang it on me so much. Later a fellow named Gross crashed in a field nearby. Ken was flying near and pulled him out of the machine and then got help. Gross is still unconscious. This class is getting so good now that they land all over and in every direction till it’s as much as your life is worth to get into the field without landing on somebody or him on you. Ken’s instructor, Williams, lit on somebody this afternoon. The two schools, gunnery and aerial fighting, will probably not be quite so comfortable and easy going as this one. As far as I can find out now, a week at each place suffices for the course, so we’ll not be there long unless the weather is dud. . . .

[Gosport] January 24, 1918

Dear Dad:

I was very glad to receive some mail from you and Mother dated Dec. 6–12. All of this has doubtless been lying around the mailroom at 4 Place d’Iena, and I hope by now you are sending my mail to Carson Pirie Scott and Co. You certainly must be busy now and I don’t suppose you are home very much. It’s lucky that Mother is so deeply interested in and hard at work for the Red Cross. I’ll be nineteen now, in a few days,177 and hope to celebrate my birthday in London, as I think we shall leave this school Saturday the 26th and go to Scotland, passing through London. As is customary when traveling under our good navy’s orders, we shall probably be delayed in London for several days. This will not be so bad, however, as there is usually plenty to do there.