Hero of the Angry Sky. David S. Ingalls
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