I’ll tell you what the Duvals have done for me and let you judge what
kind of friends they are. First, they invited me to Christmas dinner,
and having failed to reach me, invited me again for New Years. They have
insisted that I stay with them, and so I have had dinner and afternoon
tea here every afternoon and stayed all night since that time, and have
spent my four days’ leave with them. During that time their interest in
my pleasure has not relaxed in the least, yet there has been no feeling
they were neglecting their duties for my pleasure. Finding that I loved
music, there has been hardly an afternoon that other people of musical
talent were not invited to tea, the Duvals, themselves, being very
musical. Among these people have been some of the finest women of
France, many of them daughters of French nobility of the last three
centuries.
On January 3 the aviation school gave itself over to a fête day in honor
of a delegation of the neutral countries of the world. All the guns were
firing from morning until night, and all the aeroplanes were constantly
in flight. The delegation consisted of the principal dignitaries of the
countries they represented and were arrayed in gorgeous attire.
Conducted about in automobiles by the commandant of the school, they
beheld with strained dignity, the war preparation of France. We pilots
discussed among ourselves these dukes and lords of different skins, whom
the French call “Neuters.” The work finished and pomp dismissed, I went
as usual in the officers’ special truck to Arcachon. The array of
automobiles before the door warned me of what was coming, so I swallowed
my surprise successfully when I was ushered in among the array of
“high-heads” to inspect their medals at close range. As I passed from
room to room all the Duvals, each in turn, stepped out from their
“Neuter” guests with marked cordiality to say how glad they were to see
me, and where it was convenient, introduced me to the others as an
“American aviator in the French Foreign Legion.” It always pleased me to
note the embarrassment of the duke or prince in question when he tried
to decide whether or not he should shake hands with me. When they seemed
anxious to do so, I permitted it. Then Catherine Duval, the daughter,
led me to the next prettiest girl in the room and said I would find her
charming. We talked of music and the difference between French and
American girls. Meanwhile, the “Neuters” were trying to make their
school-French a common meeting ground.
In the next room, the sister of my partner was occupied with a gentleman
from Argentina. She being a very charming girl, he proceeded to scatter
“bouquets” with glances ardent. “Of course,” said she, “while you are
paying me pretty speeches here, your brother may be suing the favor of
some general’s daughter in Berlin.” The “Neuter” lapsed to more
commonplace remarks. If you knew what the French have endured, you could
excuse her frankness.
Among those present were first consul to the king of Spain, the prince
of Siam, and others of the same hue. They departed, and as I happened to
be near the door when the migration started, most of them thanked me for
their pleasant time; the rest admitted the honor. Then we had a little
music feast; the girl with whom I had talked has a voice which would be
ready for Grand Opera in three years. Oh! They are all so absolutely
charming that I shall never be content till you meet them. You may begin
to plan now on a trip to France after the war.
They had not told me of their intention to entertain this delegation
lest perhaps I would not have come. How courteous. But they didn’t know
me.
Their family is numerous. The man in charge of the delegation was a
cousin. Another cousin is on the staff of the school here at Cazaux,
having been incapacitated by service at the Front; he said he would be
pleased to do anything he could for me at the school. Another cousin, an
aviator, with eight Boche to his official credit, and twice as many
actually, who is chief of his escadrille and came down to this school to
give lectures, has been staying here for four days. He is twenty-four,
and a charming fellow. I asked if he would permit me to apply for
admission to his escadrille, and he said he also would make the request,
and that it might well be accomplished. It might mean a matter of life
and death some day to be in the escadrille whose chief was personally
interested in one. Two years ago, this boy’s brother was brought down in
a fighting plane. Two days later the father and mother took this boy to
Paris and enlisted him in aviation to fill his brother’s place—and he
has filled it. Do you get the spirit?
A captain whom I met here was a civilian at the beginning of the war.
His son enlisted in the infantry, and he enlisted, too, that he might be
by his son’s side. His son died in his arms. Now the father is a
captain, but his lips turn white when he speaks of the Germans. Do you
get the spirit?
The First Dragoons are a company of cavalry whose ranks have been filled
by certain families for generations. One of them was killed. The boy’s
father, a captain of infantry, resigned his position and enlisted as a
private to fill that place in the First Dragoons which had been occupied
by his son, his father, and his grandfather before him. Do you get the
spirit?
Do you see why I say that the United States can still bare its head to
France without loss of self-respect? Do you see why, though American, I
feel it something of an honor to remain for a time in the French Army?
Just to give you an idea of what I have in mind, I’ll tell you the
possibilities, but bear in mind that is all conjecture, guided more by
my own reason than by knowledge of what is taking place. At first, all
men entering United States aviation were made first lieutenants. Some of
these, still unable to fly, are in this country helping to build
barracks. Others were taken from the French Army as first lieutenants
and are already making use of their experience at the Front. It is now
the policy of the United States to give first lieutenancies to aviators
only when they get to service at the Front; they are second lieutenants
until then. In other words, they started out by throwing first
lieutenancies about before they could judge the men that were getting
them, and they are having to back down by making men of superior
training inferior in office to men who have received commissions without
the training. This is obviously unfair, and although I can see why it is
necessary, I do not propose to suffer by their mistake and permit myself
to be cramped in service by accepting too low a position in the U. S.
Army. We signed papers applying for the offer of first lieutenancy about
four months ago, and no steps have been taken until very lately. Now
some of the men have been released from the French Army, but are not yet
taken into the U. S. I may be among them and will find out when I go to
Paris. I think, however, that an intentional failure to sign a duplicate
application for release from the French Army may have prevented my
release. In that case, I can go into a French escadrille and get a
couple of months’ service and experience with the French before they can
accomplish anything with their red tape. By that time, U. S. aviation
will be turning out men and planes in preparation for the summer or fall
drive, and will need men with practical experience as heads of the
escadrille which they will want to put on the Front. As there are so
many first lieutenant aviators, it will be necessary to make the chiefs
of their escadrilles captains. By that time I will have had experience,
a clear record, and a good recommendation from the French. It seems
reasonable to me that I will be in a position then to ask for a
captaincy, and it is this course of action that I propose to follow. In
staying with the French I must be self-supporting. If I do not play my
cards correctly I might be refused a commission in the U. S. Army, but
that would be rather unlikely. It really depends greatly upon that
signature of release from the French. I feel, however, that I will
eventually get what I deserve—whatever that may be—and I await results.
Meanwhile, I am serving the Cause as much as an aviator can.
I have before me another letter to you as long as this, which I will not
mail until I talk with Countess Duval in Paris, whom the letter
concerns.
My love is with you all. Be content that you are in America. Coal may be
high—but it is better than no coal. People in France don’t eat butter.
Lump sugar is jewelry.
Ever your son,