The Lafayette Escadrille: A Photo History of the First American Fighter Squadron

by Ruffin, Steven

  A cenotaph honoring Chapman. It is located near the graves of his family members in the Saint Matthew’s Episcopal Churchyard, Bedford, New York. (Dana Garrow)

  The old Ferme Ste. Catherine farmhouse, which was located just across the dirt road from the hangars at Behonne aerodrome. Note the damaged roof, which was probably caused either by a German aerial bombing attack or an airplane crashing into it. (Willis B. Haviland Collection)

  The farmhouse, as it appeared in 2014. The sagging roof visible on the left remains as evidence of the World War I-era damage. Of the nine different locations from which the squadron operated during its 22-month existence, its stay at Behonne was the longest—from May 20 to September 14, 1916—and one of the most photographed. (Steven A. Ruffin)

  The painted advertisement that is still visible on the farmhouse. (Steven A. Ruffin)

  William Thaw (far left) jokes with Charles Nungesser in front of the old Ferme Ste. Catherine farmhouse at Behonne, early July 1916. At the far right, Capitaine Georges Thénault stands with an unidentified fourth officer. (Washington and Lee University Archives)

  The same scene as it appeared in 2014. One can almost imagine the four long-dead aviators still standing there. Even the sagging roof at the upper right looks the same after nearly a century. (Steven A. Ruffin)

  Didier Masson’s Nieuport 11 N.1314 “X” at Behonne with the Ferme Ste. Catherine farmhouse in the background. The circumstances of its demise are not known. (Willis B. Haviland Collection)

  There are no wrecked airplanes in this 2014 picture of the same spot, but the scene is otherwise similar to the above. (Steven A. Ruffin)

  The men of the Escadrille Américaine stayed at the Grand Hôtel de la Pomme d’Or during their second stint in Luxeuil. The building looks much the same today, although the Pomme d’Or is now a café, rather than a hotel. (Steven A. Ruffin)

  A piece of Kiffin Rockwell’s crash wreckage from the North Carolina Museum of History (above) and a marker in a small memorial park dedicated to the fallen American aviator (below). The marker is located near his crash site, just outside of Roderen. On September 26, 1916, Paul Pavelka and Capitaine Thénault accompanied Paul Rockwell to the frontlines to see where Kiffin had fallen. Later that day, Pavelka wrote in a letter to James McConnell, “We did not see much, as the machine had been taken away, all there was left was a deep hole where his motor had embedded itself, and a few fragments … most of which was covered by his blood.…” (Eric Blevins, North Carolina Museum of History; Steven A.Ruffin)

  Rockwell’s grave, as it appears today in the Luxeuil city cemetery. With the possible exception of Victor Chapman, Rockwell was the only American killed while serving with Escadrille N/SPA.124 whose body has remained in its original burial site. Kiffin’s family elected to honor his wish, which he related to Paul Pavelka the evening before his death, to be buried near where he had fallen. Several other markers in both France and the United States honor Rockwell’s memory today. (Steven A. Ruffin)

  Capitaine Thénault addresses the mourners at Kiffin Rockwell’s funeral, held in the cemetery at Luxeuil on the morning of September 25, 1916. He stated in his eulogy, “On the night of his death, when we were gathered together, I said to his comrades, ‘the best and bravest of us all is no more.’” One person not in attendance was Bert Hall, who was—according to Paul Rockwell—in Paris “peddling” the story of Kiffin’s death to the newspapers. True or not, Paul believed it and spent the rest of his life denigrating Bert’s name. (Washington and Lee University Archives)

  Rockwell’s grave appears at the lower left of this 2014 photograph just as it does in the one taken in 1916. (Steven A. Ruffin)

  The funeral procession for Norman Prince marches through downtown Luxeuil. It was a repeat of the one held for Kiffin Rockwell only three weeks earlier. Here, the camera is pointed northward up Rue de Grammont. (Washington and Lee University Archives)

  A similar camera view in 2014. (Steven A. Ruffin)

  The brothers Prince of Escadrille N.124—Norman (left) and Frederick Jr. Exactly one week after Norman’s death on October 15, 1916, Fred joined N.124 at Cachy. However, in spite of his best intentions, he was never allowed to fly patrols over the lines. His politically connected father, who did not wish to risk losing his only remaining son to the war, successfully pressured French military authorities to transfer Fred out of the combat zone. (Smithsonian National Air and Space Museum)

  A signed photograph of Willis B. Haviland, who fellow squadron member Ted Parsons called “the handsomest man … of the outfit.” Haviland joined N.124 on October 22, 1916, and served with the Lafayette Escadrille for nearly a year. The collection of photographs he accumulated is one of the finest in existence relating to the famed squadron. The French pilot’s badge pictured here and displayed at the French Air and Space Museum is identical to the one Haviland is wearing. The Aéronautique Militaire began issuing this insignia in September 1916, each with its own individual number stamped on the back. (Willis B. Haviland Collection; Steven A. Ruffin)

  Kiffin Rockwell’s medals that his brother Paul donated to the North Carolina Hall of History in 1924. They are now located at the North Carolina Museum of History in Raleigh. At the far left is the Legion of Honor, which Rockwell received posthumously in 1922. His citation described him as, “an American pilot who never ceased to arouse the admiration of his commanders and comrades by his sangfroid, courage, and daring.” (Eric Blevins, North Carolina Museum of History)

  A Savage Arms Company advertising logo. The men of the Lafayette Escadrille saw an image like this on an ammunition box and adopted it as their new squadron insignia. (Willis B. Haviland Collection)

  Russell Smith’s Mark of Distinction portrays William Thaw presenting Escadrille N.124’s new squadron insignia to Capitaine Thénault. The idea of using a Seminole Native American warrior to represent the newly named Lafayette Escadrille was inspired by a logo appearing on a Savage Arms cartridge box. The artist painting it onto the side of one of the squadron’s Nieuport 17s based at Cachy was the mechanic Suchet. Meanwhile, Whiskey sits nearby, contentedly chewing on a paintbrush. (Russell Smith)

  By the Dawn’s Early Light, by Russell Smith, depicts an early morning flight by pilots of the Lafayette Escadrille out of Cachy in the autumn of 1916. It shows William Thaw, flying Nieuport 17 N.1803, leading the flight. He is followed in the foreground by Raoul Lufbery in Georges Thénault’s N.1844, which bears the three horizontal bars of a captain’s rank. In the distance, Dudley Hill is flying his assigned aircraft, N.1950. Each fighter carries a Lewis machine gun affixed to the upper wing, in addition to the belt-fed Vickers gun mounted in front of the pilot and synchronized to fire through the propeller arc. The airplanes’ silver appearance comes from the aluminum-based dope with which their fabric is painted. (Russell Smith)

  A rare authentic example of the original Seminole Lafayette Escadrille insignia, as displayed at France’s Air and Space Museum. It was taken from the fuselage of Raoul Lufbery’s Spad S.238, pictured below. Traces of stains from the adjacent exhaust pipe are still visible on the displayed original. (Steven A. Ruffin; Washington and Lee University Archives)

  The funeral of Paul Pavelka at the French Military Cemetery at Zietenlick, Greece, November 13, 1917. After a lifetime of brushes with death, the world traveler and soldier of fortune met his end on the back of a bucking horse. (Washington and Lee University Archives)

  Paul Pavelka’s burial site in Salonika. His remains were later transferred to the crypt at the Lafayette Escadrille Memorial. (Washington and Lee University Archives)

  CHAPTER 7

  THE BEST AND THE BRAVEST

  So stand to your glasses steady,

  This world is a web of lies.

  Then here’s to the dead already,

  And hurrah for the next man who dies!*

  The rumor had long been that the Escadrille Américaine’s next assignment would be somewhere on the Somme battlefront, a bloody battle of monumental proportions that had
been raging since July. Like most rumors, however, it proved to be false. To everyone’s surprise, the men of N.124 were headed back to Luxeuil and the Vosges sector. Exactly why, no one could guess, since the war’s two biggest battles—Verdun and the Somme—were being simultaneously fought in locations other than Luxeuil.

  They would soon find out the reason for this inexplicable move, but first, they would enjoy a rest that their arduous months at Behonne had earned them. The battle-weary pilots were to leave their equally battle-weary planes at Behonne and receive the newer and better Nieuport 17, a few of which had already arrived. While they waited for the replacement aircraft, Capitaine Thénault directed his pilots to leave immediately for Luxeuil—via the “scenic route” through Paris, some 125 miles in the opposite direction. For the tired and edgy American pilots, it was the place that, even in the midst of a world war, remained the “City of Light.” It was where they would find friends, comfortable beds, good food, plenty of strong drink and adult entertainment—and more available and willing women than existed anyplace else on the face of the earth. Consequently, on September 14, they boarded the train in Bar-le-Duc and headed toward their idea of paradise.

  Whiskey and another Rockwell

  Thénault’s dog, Fram, was loved by all the men, but she answered only to the Capitaine. The squadron needed a proper mascot, one that would reflect the character of the unique squadron, and this seemed the appropriate time to acquire one. While in Paris, one of the American pilots answered a newspaper ad placed by a Brazilian dentist trying to sell a four-month-old lion cub he had acquired for his office as a novelty. He had decided that it was getting too big and rambunctious to keep, so he was trying to unload it. The men decided that Escadrille N.124 would be the perfect home for it. After pooling their available resources, they acquired the little animal and brought him back with them on the train to Luxeuil. The unusual baby feline needed an equally distinctive name, and when he was observed lapping from a saucer containing a few drops of whiskey, the issue was settled.

  Whiskey soon became the most famous and most photographed member of the Escadrille Américaine. The cute, gentle, and adorably playful cub went everywhere the men did and provided the type of companionship and distraction they needed. The exotic animal also added to the allure of the all-American squadron, bringing it even more into the public eye.

  It was also during this period of R&R that the squadron’s star pilot, Raoul Lufbery, managed to get himself into a bit of a jam. On September 16, he sent a telegram to Capitaine Thénault informing him that he was in jail! It seems that Luf had a difference of opinion with a train station official at Chartres. When the official made the mistake of getting physical with the stocky, tough-minded ace, Luf traumatically extracted several of the man’s teeth—and ended up with a 30-day sentence in the stockade. Thénault quickly went to his rescue, making apologies and explaining that the man they had incarcerated was not a common criminal but rather, a decorated hero with four confirmed aerial kills under his belt. The authorities relented and released the pugilistic pilot to the custody of his Capitaine.

  The escadrille also welcomed yet another new member to its fold while in Paris: a new American pilot to replace the fallen Victor Chapman.

  15. CAPORAL ROBERT LOCKERBIE ROCKWELL, who happened to be a distant cousin of Paul and Kiffin Rockwell, was the 15th American to join the Escadrille Américaine. He was born in Cincinnati, Ohio, on March 28, 1892, to Marion and Mary Rockwell. In 1913, after two years of college, he entered New York University’s school of medicine to become a physician. However, in early 1915, he decided to travel to France to serve as an intern at the American Hospital of Paris. He worked for the next year dressing wounds and performing other medical duties, before deciding to take a more active role in the war and volunteer for aviation. On September 17, 1916, Capitaine Thénault met with the newly winged pilot in Paris and selected him for Escadrille N.124. Caporal “Doc” Rockwell accompanied Thénault and the other pilots back to Luxeuil and would soon become an integral part of the squadron. He would never return to medicine.

  Kiffin Rockwell, William Thaw, and Paul Pavelka in Paris, September 1916, playing with their new mascot, “Whiskey.” The men of Escadrille N.124 acquired the four-month-old lion cub while there on leave. James McConnell called him a “cute, bright-eyed baby lion who tried to roar in a most threatening manner but who was blissfully content the moment one gave him one’s finger to suck.” This was Kiffin’s final visit to Paris and the last time he would see his brother Paul. He had only a week longer to live. (Washington and Lee University Archives)

  Kiffin Rockwell’s Last Flight

  The good life at Luxeuil resumed as it had before, only this time, the men boarded at Auguste Groscolas’ elegant Grand Hôtel de la Pomme d’Or. After four long months of nearly daily combat in the deadly skies over Verdun, the pilots felt as though they were once again vacationing at a resort spa. Until the new airplanes were ready, they occupied themselves with such activities as trout fishing, gathering wild mushrooms, attending parties given by the airmen of the British Royal Naval Air Service, with whom they shared the airfield, and attending dances in town, where they taught the local girls the latest steps. It was, as James McConnell wrote, “about as much like a war as a Bryan lecture.” Kiffin Rockwell noted that, “the same old girls are here but look a little worked out after the summer.” His assessment was that, “from now on, it will be bad weather and no flying….” He was wrong about that. Two days later, he was back in the air, making the last flight of his life.

  On September 19, six new Nieuport 17s—the latest in the rapidly evolving Nieuport series—arrived. These machines, powered by 110-horsepower Le Rhône rotary engines and fitted with larger wings, performed better than the old Bébé. More importantly, they were among the first to be equipped with Vickers belt-fed machine guns and synchronization gear. This allowed the men of N.124—like their German adversaries—to safely fire straight ahead through the spinning propeller. To increase their firepower, and also because the new Vickers still had a dangerously strong tendency to jam, most of the pilots also retained their Lewis gun mounted atop the upper wing. Now that they had the best flying weapon available, they waited impatiently as the mechanics readied the new planes for aerial combat.

  The purpose for the move back to Luxeuil was eventually revealed: Escadrille N.124 had been sent there specifically to fly escort for the French Groupe de Bombardement 4, led by the famed—and infamously reckless—Capitaine Felix Happe. “Le Corsaire Rouge,” as the bearded French pioneer of strategic bombing was known, had already lost an appalling number of his Maurice Farman and Breguet bombers and their crews. An upcoming operation, still in the planning stages, would be even more dangerous: Happe and his British Royal Naval Air Service counterparts would join forces to pound important munitions centers just across the German border with a series of bombing raids. Because the element of surprise was key, Happe requested that the men of Escadrille N.124 lay low for the time being, so as not to reveal their presence.

  This proved to be an unrealistic request for the two aggressive pilots that Thénault called “fanatics”—Kiffin Rockwell and Raoul Lufbery. After languishing on the ground for more than a week, they finally had new fighting machines and were itching to get back into the fray. Consequently, they ignored Happe’s request and began venturing out over the lines.

  On the morning of September 23, 1916, Rockwell and Lufbery took off in search of trouble, and they found it. They engaged a flight of Fokkers, but when Lufbery’s machine gun became inoperable, they withdrew so he could land at the closest field—the aerodrome at Fontaine-lès-Luxeuil—and correct the problem. Rather than land and wait for Lufbery, the aggressive Rockwell decided to return to the lines alone. It was a dangerous thing to do, but as Thénault later wrote, “the blood of his soldier ancestors ran ever hot in his veins.”

  Capitaine Felix Happe commanded the French Groupe de Bombardement 4 at Luxeuil that the men of Escadr
ille N.124 were sent to protect. The tall, bearded, and utterly fearless officer was one of France’s most revered air heroes. The enemy also recognized his value by allegedly placing a 25,000 DM bounty on his head. (Washington and Lee University Archives)

  Upon reaching the lines, Rockwell sighted a lone German two-seater below him—a rare opportunity. The wiser, more cautious approach would have been to maneuver for an attack from behind and below. From that angle, the enemy rear gunner would be unable to fire his deadly swivel-mounted machine gun without shooting off his own airplane’s tail. Instead, the impetuous Rockwell dove from directly above, guns blazing. It was a fatal mistake. French observers on the ground watched as he dove past the German two-seater, nearly colliding with it. As his plane continued downward, it dove ever steeper, eventually shedding one of its wings. The broken Nieuport then plummeted straight down until it impacted the ground at terminal velocity just behind the trenches, a few hundred yards east of the village of Roderen—and only a couple of miles from the spot where his first victory fell back on May 18. The crash was devastatingly violent, but it caused Rockwell no pain: the enemy gunner, who had been firing back at him the entire time, scored a direct hit. Rockwell’s body was found lying next to the wreckage with a three-inch hole blown through his chest.