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One midnight last week the battle was on when Washington flashed a "state of war" warning to the Blue fleet. With lights out and radio silent it moved across the Gulf of Panama in search of the enemy. The Blue's eagle-eyed destroyers were in the lead, the Los Angeles overhead and flagship Arkansas in the rear. Fanwise the Blue spread itself out protectively up and down the coast. At sunrise 36 hours later, scouting planes made their first con tact with the Black fleet moving shoreward in two sections. The old Arkansas, with the heat 133° in her engine room, vainly chased three hostile cruisers who shipped out of range at 32 knots. At dusk another heavy Black column was sighted and viciously attacked by light sea craft in a night engagement. They completely demolished the flying deck of the Black's Langley, thus gaining for the Blues undisputed air control. Thereafter, fighting re solved itself into a series of disjointed engagements.
Just after the Los Angeles with Assistant Secretary Ingalls aboard had made an important "spot," a dozen Black planes whizzed down upon her, riddled her silvery sides. "You're sunk! Pleasant voyages," flashed the umpire's crisp radio to the dirigible which thereafter was forced out of the game. In theory the Hoover Cabinet had lost its most gallant junior member in the wastes of the Pacific.
As the four-day battle was ending by prearrangement the Arkansas was hit by a torpedo and went to the bottom. Sinking, Admiral Willard flashed command of the Blue fleet to Admiral Reeves aboard the Saratoga.
With not one of the 140 ships engaged lost and not one of the 35,900 officers and men scratched, the fleets returned to Pan ama for a post-mortem of their encounter. A final verdict had still to be rendered by Admiral Jehu Valentine Chase, Commander-in-Chief of all U. S. fleets, who, aboard the flagship Texas, umpired the war game with the assistance of a score of rear-admirals.
Unwilling to await the Navy's decision, lay observers awarded the victory to the Blue forces whose aircraft had so damaged the Black ships that no effective landing was possible. Admiral Schofield's transports had been cut to bits; the decks of his battleships were shambles from air-bombs; his cruisers were barely afloat.
David Ingalls was overjoyed. His aircraft had beaten off battleships, saved the Canal, proved their worth. The performance of the Los Angeles so exceeded his expectations that he enthusiastically radioed the Navy Department in Washington that the necessity for continued development of lighter-than-aircraft had been conclusively proved. He contended that the "spot" the dirigible had made was important enough to justify her— and his—sacrifice.
David Sinton Ingalls has a genius for environment—its selection and exploitation. He began by being born well, in Cleveland. His mother was the daughter of the late rich Charles Phelps Taft of Cincinnati and the niece of the late Chief Justice. His father is a vice president of New York Central R. R. He proceeded to St. Paul's School, Concord, N. H., where he quickly developed a dashing stellar proficiency in hockey, a major St. Paul's sport. Here first his squinty smile, his shock of dark hair and high-pitched Taftian chuckle began to add up to that most imponderable of qualities, "Popularity."
Home from the War, he immersed himself in