Dennis Dowd, of Brooklyn, N. Y., is so far the only American volunteer
aviator killed while in training. Dowd, who had joined the Foreign
Legion, shortly after the war broke out, was painfully wounded during
the offensive in Champagne. After his recovery he was transferred, at
his request, into aviation. At the Buc school he stood at the head
of the fifteen Americans who were learning to be aviators, and was
considered one of the most promising pilots in the training camp. On
August 11, 1916, while making a flight preliminary to his brevet, Dowd
fell from a height of only 260 feet and was instantly killed. Either he
had fainted or a control had broken.
While a patient at the hospital Dowd had been sent packages by a young
French girl of Neuilly. A correspondence ensued, and when Dowd went to
Paris on convalescent leave he and the young lady became engaged. He
was killed just before the time set for the wedding....
In a few days every one in this Anglo-American alliance was calling
each other by some nickname and swearing lifelong friendship.
"We didn't know what you Yanks would be like," remarked one of the
Englishmen one day. "Thought you might be snobby on account of being
volunteers, but I swear you're a bloody human lot." That, I will
explain, is a very fine compliment....
Considering the number of machines that were continually roaring above
the field at Luxeuil it is remarkable that only two fatal accidents
occurred. One was when a British pilot tried diving at a target, for
machine-gun practice, and was unable to re-dress his airplane. Both
he and his gunner were killed. In the second accident I lost a good
friend--a young Frenchman. He took up his gunner in a two-seated
Nieuport. A young Canadian pilot accompanied by a French officer
followed in a Sopwith. When at about a thousand feet they began to
manoeuvre about one another. In making a turn too close the tips of
their wings touched. The Nieuport turned downward, its wings folded,
and it fell like a stone. The Sopwith fluttered a second or two, then
its wings buckled and it dropped in the wake of the Nieuport. The two
men in each of the planes were killed outright.
Next to falling in flames a drop in a wrecked machine is the worst
death an aviator can meet. I know of no sound more horrible than that
made by an airplane crashing to earth. Breathless one has watched the
uncontrolled apparatus tumble through the air. The agony felt by the
pilot and passenger seems to transmit itself to you. You are helpless
to avert the certain death. You cannot even turn your eyes away at the
moment of impact. In the dull, grinding crash there is the sound of
breaking bones....
In spite of their bombardment of open towns and the use of explosive
bullets in their aërial machine guns, the Boches have shown up in a
better light in aviation than in any other arm. A few of the Hun pilots
have evinced certain elements of honour and decency. I remember one
chap that was the right sort.
He was a young man but a pilot of long standing. An old infantry
captain stationed near his aviation field at Etain, east of Verdun,
prevailed upon this German pilot to take him on a flight. There was
a new machine to test out and he told the captain to climb aboard.
Foolishly he crossed the trench lines and, actuated by a desire to give
his passenger an interesting trip, proceeded to fly over the French
aviation headquarters. Unfortunately for him he encountered three
French fighting planes which promptly opened fire. The German pilot was
wounded in the leg and the gasolene tank of his airplane was pierced.
Under him was an aviation field. He decided to land. The machine was
captured before the Germans had time to burn it up. Explosive bullets
were discovered in the machine gun. A French officer turned to the
German captain and informed him that he would probably be shot for
using explosive bullets. The captain did not understand.
"Don't shoot him," said the pilot, using excellent French, "if you're
going to shoot any one take me. The captain has nothing to do with the
bullets. He doesn't even know how to work a machine gun. It's his first
trip in an airplane."
"Well, if you'll give us some good information, we won't shoot you,"
said the French officer.
"Information," replied the German, "I can't give you any. I come from
Etain, and you know where that is as well as I do."
"No, you must give us some worth-while information, or I'm afraid
you'll be shot," insisted the Frenchman.
"If I give you worth-while information," answered the pilot, "you'll
go over and kill a lot of soldiers, and if I don't you'll only kill
one--so go ahead."
The last time I heard of the Boche he was being well taken care of.