Lufbery is a quiet boy who does good work and when he says he has done something we all believe him. This morning Lufbery brought down a German machine ten kilometers in the German lines. We all know he did because he wouldn’t lie about it, yet not a soul saw it. Thénault immediately went in an automobile to the Commandant of the Armée, and proposed Lufbery for the Médaille. All of us will be damned glad to see him get it, as he deserves it.
By August 16, Luf had been awarded the Médaille militaire and Croix de Guerre with palm and was well on his way to greatness. He was now, as Capitaine Thénault wrote, “scoring successes faster than they could recompense him.”
As of August 11, the squadron’s newest man, Paul Pavelka was on the scene and soon flying regular missions. As a new member of the squadron, he had to accept whatever hand-me-down flying machine was available, which for him was Nieuport 16 N.1131. Pavelka was not thrilled with it, as he wrote on August 14, “I have Victor Chapman’s mechanic and a hoodooed machine with 110 HP motor. It is the one Lieutenant Thaw was wounded in, and all the others have had accidents in it. Norman Prince turned it over so now it has new wings.”
Chouteau Johnson seated in the cockpit of Nieuport 16 N.1131 at Behonne. It is notably equipped with Le Prieur rockets, which were used for “sausage hunting”—shooting down heavily defended, hydrogen-filled observation balloons. Johnson’s personal logo at the time was the “snake-eyes” motif seen here. Paul Pavelka later inherited this machine, which he called “hoodooed,” and with good reason: Bill Thaw had been wounded in it, after which it had suffered a series of mishaps, the last being an in-flight fire with Pavelka at the controls. He barely escaped with his life. (Washington and Lee University Archives)
Pavelka’s luck with N.1131 was no better than that of Thaw or Prince. During an August 15 mission over the lines, it caught fire, forcing him to violently side-slip the plane all the way to the ground, so as to fan the flames away from him. He hit hard and barely had time to jump out and run before it exploded—and before German artillery unleashed their fury onto it. It is unlikely that Pavelka or anyone else shed any tears at the loss of this ill-fated airplane.
On August 25, Norman Prince forced down an enemy airplane behind German lines. McConnell, who like Rockwell, was no great fan of Prince, wrote in a letter that same day:
He was out in morning and claims to have brought down a Boche. He acted like a wild man on landing, turned summersault and yelled. Boche was so far in lines no one saw him. Don’t know if it will be official or not but anyway Norman beat it immediately on permission [leave].
Paul Pavelka in Nieuport 16 N.1208, which he inherited from Bert Hall as a replacement for the doomed N.1131. Pavelka painted it in a personal color scheme that noted World War I aircraft markings expert Alan Toelle likened to a white-faced cow—perhaps symbolic of Pavelka’s days as a cow puncher in the old west. His personal insignia consisted of a “P” and “V” superimposed on one another to look like a branding iron imprint on the cowhide background. The world traveler and former Legionnaire proved to be a capable and well-liked member of the squadron. (National Archives)
Kiffin Rockwell was even more critical of Prince’s claim, as he wrote in a September 1 letter to his brother:
No one thinks X—— got a German, in fact, everyone is sure he didn’t; yet the Captain proposed him for a citation, wanted to propose him for the Médaille, but everyone said if he did they would quit. I am going to have to call him out when he gets back, as he talked awfully big about us behind my back when I was away. We have all agreed to try to run him out of the Escadrille.
On September 9, both Prince and Rockwell, in separate actions, downed an enemy plane. Later that day, Kiffin wrote to Paul, who as a Chicago Daily News correspondent continually badgered Kiffin for information concerning the squadron:
This morning I attacked a Boche at three thousand meters high, killed the observateur the first shot. After that, followed the machine down to eighteen hundred meters, riddling it with bullets. At that height I was attacked at very close range by two other German machines. I succeeded in getting back home.
Life in the Escadrille Américaine had been rocky during its stay at Behonne. Internal strife, daily combat, and painful losses had negatively affected the men, but they were now becoming seasoned veterans. Capitaine Thénault characterized the squadron’s role in the Battle of Verdun as, “the hardest struggle we had to face.”
We had had 146 combats, 13 enemy planes, confirmed as having been brought down, one pilot killed and three wounded. It was a fine record …. and later the survivors were wont to recall this terrible period when they had hardly time to sleep or eat, when they used to sleep fully dressed in their flying suits beneath their planes so as to be ready to start at the first glimpse of dawn. These were the heroic days of the Escadrille, its glorious prime. Prince, Lufbery, Rockwell and Chapman, were you not worthy rivals of the greatest Heroes of any age or country?
William Thaw, gingerly positions his injured left arm as he poses at Behonne on August 24, 1916. He had only recently rejoined the squadron after his serious elbow wound of May 24. Here, he is standing beside his new Nieuport 17 N.1582, marked by his “T” insignia. The squadron had just begun transitioning to the new model. (National Archives)
A US Army neutral observer at Behonne on August 24, 1916, inspecting Raoul Lufbery’s new Nieuport 21 fighter N.1615, in which he had just returned from a patrol. Though similar to the Nieuport 17, it had a smaller 80-horsepower engine and carried only the single machine gun atop the upper wing. Note Lufbery’s personal logo on the fuselage. (National Archives)
* * *
On September 12, 1916, the men of Escadrille N.124 learned they were needed elsewhere and ordered to pack up for another move. More battles and more successes were in the making, but first, they would enjoy a short break and welcome an important new member to the squadron.
A map and diagrammed letter, dated December 25, 1918, that an Alsatian officer sent to Paul Rockwell, showing the exact location of Kiffin’s crash. The letter describes precisely where he had fallen and where a wooden cross had been placed to mark the spot. These documents, along with the many photos taken of the site, helped the author establish its location in 2014. (Washington and Lee University Archives)
The tiny clearing in the midst of the corn stalks where Kiffin Rockwell crashed. (Steven A. Ruffin)
Kiffin Rockwell’s demolished Nieuport 17 N.1811 on September 23, 1916, only minutes after being shot down in aerial combat. His body, visible at the right, had not yet been removed. He landed behind the French trenches in a field of flowers just east of the Alsatian village of Roderen. (Washington and Lee University Archives)
The same scene as it appeared in 2014. The crash site is just inside the field of corn near the center of the photograph. (Steven A. Ruffin)
Archduke Franz Ferdinand and his wife, Czech Countess Sophie Chotek, as they leave the City Hall at Sarajevo on June 28, 1914. Only minutes later, they were shot and killed by a young Serb nationalist, Gavrilo Princip. The assassination of the heir to the Austro-Hungarian Empire led to a domino-like series of political events that culminated in the First World War. (Steven A. Ruffin)
The blood-stained tunic that Archduke Franz Ferdinand was wearing on the day he was assassinated, as it appeared at Vienna’s Military History Museum. (Steve Miller)
The 43 members of the so-called “American Volunteer Corps” march through the Place de l’Opéra in Paris on August 25, 1914, on their way to the Gare Saint-Lazare train station. Leading the way and carrying the flag was René Phélizot, assisted by American poet Alan Seeger. They were on their way to Rouen to commence training as members of the French Foreign Legion. Among this group of men were William Thaw, Bert Hall, Kiffin Rockwell, and Robert Soubiran, all of whom would later become members of the Lafayette Escadrille. According to Paul Rockwell—also one of these volunteers and author of American Fighters in the Foreign Legion, of the approximately 90 Americans who v
olunteered to fight in the Foreign Legion during these early days of World War I, 38 were killed. (Washington and Lee University Archives)
The same view as it appeared nearly a century later. (Steven A. Ruffin)
The bold red line on this map represents the entrenched stalemate of the Western Front as it existed in 1915-1916. It extended southeastward from the North Sea, across France and Belgium, to the Swiss border. Despite numerous major battles and millions of casualties, it changed but little throughout the war. (US Military Academy)
This Eugéne Courboin World War I-era lithograph portrays Uncle Sam shaking hands with the Marquis de Lafayette. It and other works like it exemplified the spirit and the motivation of many of the Americans who volunteered to fight for France. (Library of Congress)
The Rockwell brothers, Kiffin (left) and Paul, at Pérignon Barracks, Toulouse, France, September 1914. The two North Carolinians were among the first to volunteer to fight for France. (Washington and Lee University Archives)
A formal studio portrait of Legionnaire Paul Rockwell, April 1915. Of the two brothers, only Paul would survive the war. (Washington and Lee University Archives)
This document, attesting to Kiffin Rockwell’s status as an American citizen and signed by US Secretary of State William Jennings Bryan, was issued to Rockwell on August 6, 1914—the day before he sailed for Europe to volunteer for the French Foreign Legion. One of the biggest concerns of the men who traveled to France to fight was the possibility they would lose their US citizenship. (Washington and Lee University Archives)
Hundreds of young American men saw posters such as this and answered the call, volunteering to drive during their summer vacation from college, while others stayed and served for the duration. Many of these healthy young men in search of adventure eventually volunteered for the air service. Nearly half of the 38 pilots who served with the Lafayette Escadrille started their wartime careers in this manner. (Library of Congress)
World War I-era French Air Service insignia. It is displayed at France’s Air and Space Museum, the Musée de l’Air et de l’Espace, located at Paris-Le Bourget airport. (Steven A. Ruffin)
As a combat pilot, James McConnell was average, but as a writer, he excelled. He began writing articles while in the ambulance service and continued to write after transferring to aviation. While convalescing from a back injury suffered in a crash, he wrote his classic book Flying for France but did not live long enough to enjoy its success. (Steven A. Ruffin)
Kiffin Rockwell proudly displaying his recently purchased uniform with newly acquired wings insignia. Mrs Alice S. Weeks, adoptive mother for many of the Americans serving in France and known as the “maman legionnaire” (Legionnaire Mom or Mother of the Legion), wrote in a letter on October 24, 1915: “Kiffin has come for six days’ leave, and looks very handsome in his new uniform.” Mrs. Weeks was an American expatriate living in Paris; she had lost her own son, Legionnaire Kenneth Weeks, on June 17, 1915. Rockwell’s uniform is now on display at the Smithsonian Institution. (Washington and Lee University Archives; Smithsonian National Air and Space Museum)
Kiffin Rockwell’s wing insignia and hat, as preserved at the Smithsonian Institution. (Smithsonian National Air and Space Museum)
This insignia, as displayed in the French Air and Space Museum at Le Bourget, is the type Westin Birch “Bert” Hall wore on his collar. (Steven A. Ruffin)
The Hôtel de la Bonne Rencontre, was the abode of choice for many American pilots assigned to the Groupe des Divisions d’Entraînement (G.D.E.) at Plessis-Belleville. The G.D.E was the last stop before joining an active squadron. At this aviator pool, located a few miles northeast of Paris, pilots flew as much or as little as they wanted while waiting for a vacancy at the front. This hotel was conveniently located between the train station and the flying field, but all who stayed there agreed that it was anything but luxurious. Edmond Genet called it a “rotten little hotel,” while James Norman Hall described it as a “ramshackle place, with beds on three legs… broken-down chairs, walls covered with hideous paper, and dust and grime over everything.” (Source Unknown)
The Hôtel de la Bonne Rencontre no longer exists, but the building still stands. Though obviously updated, it appears much the same today as it did 100 years ago. (Steven A. Ruffin)
A 1916 German poster touts the Fokker and its deadly machine gun. (Artist Unknown)
A rare, original Nieuport 11 Bébé displayed at France’s Air and Space Museum. This was the type first flown by Escadrille N.124 at Luxeuil in early May, 1916. Light and maneuverable, it featured a .303-caliber Lewis machine gun mounted atop the upper wing, which allowed the pilot to fire directly forward above the arc of the propeller. It was powered by an 80-horsepower Le Rhône air-cooled rotary engine, which rotated with the propeller. The lower wing was smaller than the upper one, making it, technically speaking, a “sesquiplane.” Though this configuration improved the pilot’s downward visibility, it also created structural problems that were never completely resolved. (Steven A. Ruffin)
Kiffin Rockwell accomplished a rare feat on May 18, 1916, by downing an enemy aircraft in his first air-to-air combat—using only four rounds. Although undoubtedly as much luck as skill, it placed the squadron of all-American volunteers on the scoreboard on only its sixth day of wartime operations. On the right, we see the tunic Rockwell was wearing, courtesy of the North Carolina Museum of History. (Washington and Lee University Archives; Eric Blevins, North Carolina Museum of History)
Rockwell’s flying insignia, as it appears in color. (US Air Force)
The “Bottle of Death” began life as a very old and rare bottle of whiskey that Paul Rockwell sent to Kiffin in honor of his aerial victory on May 18, 1916. It became a squadron tradition that a pilot who downed an enemy plane earned the right to take a swig from it. After the war, the empty bottle turned up in the estate of William Thaw and now resides in the American Friends of Blérancourt Museum in Blérancourt, France. (Art Resource)
May 20, 1916: a telegram from Norman Prince to Kiffin Rockwell, wishing him “a thousand congratulations” for scoring the new all-American squadron’s first aerial victory. Prince was in Paris at the time, waiting for a replacement airplane to take back to the squadron. (Washington and Lee University Archives)
A World War I-era US Army map showing the location of the flying field at Behonne. Ferme Ste. Catherine was located on a high plateau above the city of Bar-le-Duc, adjacent to the village of Behonne. Verdun was some 30 miles to the northeast. (US Air Force)
A Spad VII fighter, as displayed at France’s Air and Space Museum. Note its complex design and beautiful lines. Famed French ace Georges Guynemer scored several confirmed victories in this original World War I fighter that he nicknamed Vieux Charles. (Steven A. Ruffin)
The internal construction of a Spad XIII fighter, which the Lafayette Escadrille flew in its final months of operation, as displayed at the French Air and Space Museum. This clearly shows the degree of design intricacy and workmanship seen in a typical World War I airplane. This disproves the standard contention that airplanes of this era were primitive or flimsy. In reality, they were—with few exceptions—rugged, beautiful machines with unprecedented performance. (Steven A. Ruffin)
World War I began with the frontline use of relatively primitive aircraft like this Blériot, displayed at the French Museum of the Great War at Meaux. Nearly all aircraft in 1914 were underpowered and lacking in performance, and few carried any weapons at all. (Steven A. Ruffin)
Examples of World War I flight suits used by French airmen, as displayed at the French Air and Space Museum. All were designed to keep the airman as warm as possible. (Steven A. Ruffin)
Didier Masson was, like Raoul Lufbery, of French birth and a well-traveled man of the world. A famous pre-war exhibition pilot, he became one of history’s first combat pilots in May 1913, when he flew bombing raids for General Álvaro Obregón in the Mexican Revolution. He reported to N.124 on June 19, 1916. The tie pin pictured here is identical
to the one Masson is wearing. (Washington and Lee University Archives; US Air Force)
Fellow Legionnaires Paul Rockwell (left) and Paul Pavelka in Paris, November 1915. The exhausted Pavelka had come directly from the trenches to Alice Weeks’ Paris apartment at 80 Rue Boissière. She wrote that he was “caked in mud and his coat nearly shot to pieces.” Rockwell helped him pick nearly a pound of shrapnel out of the lining of the coat he was wearing in this photograph. Soon afterward, Pavelka—to his great relief—made the transfer to aviation. (Washington and Lee University Archives)
The same scene 99 years later—sans Rockwell and Pavelka. It is in front of the Jules Dalou statue, on the southeastern corner of the bridge Pont Alexandre III that spans the Seine River. (Steven A. Ruffin)
Russell Smith’s Hostile Sky depicts Victor Chapman’s last flight on the afternoon of June 23, 1916. On the day of his death, he was carrying a package of newspapers, chocolate, and oranges to wounded comrade Clyde Balsley, who lay suffering in the hospital. (Russell Smith)
Victor Chapman’s marker in the Meuse-Argonne American Cemetery, Romagne, France. The body lying under it was originally buried elsewhere by the Germans and erroneously labeled as that of Clyde Balsley—probably because a letter addressed to Balsley was found on Chapman’s body. However, Paul Rockwell later examined the Graves Registration Service records and related in a March 6, 1929, letter that certain discrepancies he found were inconsistent with this being Chapman’s body. Consequently, this body was never moved to the Lafayette Escadrille Memorial, and the sarcophagus there bearing his name remains empty. (Steven A. Ruffin)
The Lafayette Escadrille: A Photo History of the First American Fighter Squadron Page 9
