THIRD BATTLE OF BULL RUN WITH AEROPLANES CARRYING LIQUID CHLORINE
I now come to those memorable weeks of November, 1921, which rank among
the most important in American history. There was first the battle that
had been preparing south of the Potomac between von Mackensen’s advancing
battalions and General Wood’s valiant little army. This might be called
the third battle of Bull Run, since it was fought near Manassas where
Beauregard and Lee won their famous victories.
Although General Wood’s forces numbered only 60,000 men, more than half
of them militia, and although they were matched against an army of
150,000 Germans, the American commander had two points of advantage, his
ten miles of entrenchments stretching from Remington to Warrenton along
the steep slopes of the Blue Ridge mountains, and his untried but
formidable preparations for dropping liquid chlorine from a fleet of
aeroplanes upon an attacking army.
In order to reach Washington the Germans must traverse the neck of land
that lies between the mountains and the Potomac’s broad arms. Here clouds
of greenish death from heaven might or might not overwhelm them. That was
the question to be settled. It was a new experiment in warfare.
I should explain that during previous months, thanks to the efficiency of
the Committee of Twenty-one, great quantities of liquid chlorine had been
manufactured at Niagara Falls, where the Niagara Alkali Company, the
National Electrolytic Company, the Oldburg Electro-Chemical Company, the
Castner Electrolytic Alkali Company, the Hooker Electro-Chemical Company
and several others, working night and day and using 60,000 horsepower
from the Niagara power plants and immense quantities of salt from the
salt-beds in Western New York, had been able to produce 30,000 tons of
liquid chlorine. And the Lackawanna Steel Company at Buffalo, in its
immense tube plant, finished in 1920, had turned out half a million thin
steel containers, torpedo-shaped, each holding 150 pounds of the deadly
liquid. This was done under the supervision of a committee of leading
chemists, including: Milton C. Whitaker, Arthur D. Little, Dr. L. H.
Baekeland, Charles F. McKenna, John E. Temple and Dr. Henry Washington.
And a fleet of military aeroplanes had been made ready at the immense
Wright and Curtiss factories on Grand Island in the Niagara River and at
the Packard, Sturtevant, Thomas and Gallaudet factories, where a force of
20,000 men had been working night and day for weeks under government
supervision. There were a hundred huge tractors with double fuselage and
a wing spread of 200 feet, driven by four 500 horse-power motors. Each
one of these, besides its crew, could carry three tons of chlorine from
Grand Island to Washington (their normal rate of flying was 120 miles an
hour) in three hours against a moderate wind.
I visited aviation centers where these machines were delivered for tests,
and found the places swarming with armies of men training and inspecting
and testing the aeroplanes.
Among aviators busy at this work were: Charles F. Willard, J. A. D.
McCurdy, Walter R. Brookins, Frank T. Coffyn, Harry N. Atwood, Oscar
Allen Brindley, Leonard Warren Bonney, Charles C. Witmer, Harold H.
Brown, John D. Cooper, Harold Kantner, Clifford L. Webster, John H.
Worden, Anthony Jannus, Roy Knabenshue, Earl S. Dougherty, J. L. Callan,
T. T. Maroney, R. E. McMillen, Beckwith Havens, DeLloyd Thompson, Sidney
F. Beckwith, George A. Gray, Victor Carlstrom, Chauncey M. Vought, W. C.
Robinson, Charles F. Niles, Frank H. Burnside, Theodore C. Macaulay, Art
Smith, Howard M. Rinehart, Albert Sigmund Heinrich, P. C. Millman, Robert
Fowler.
In the balloon training camps, I noticed some old-time balloonists,
including: J. C. McCoy, A. Leo Stevens, Frank P. Lahm, Thomas S. Baldwin,
A. Holland Forbes, Charles J. Glidden, Charles Walsh, Carl G. Fisher, Wm.
F. Whitehouse, George B. Harrison, Jay B. Benton, J. Walter Flagg, John
Watts, Roy F. Donaldson, Ralph H. Upson, R. A. D. Preston and Warren
Rasor.
Five days before the battle the hundred great carriers began delivering
their deadly loads on the heights of Arlington, south of the Potomac,
each aeroplane making three trips from Niagara Falls every twenty-four
hours, which meant that on the morning of November 5, 1921, when the
German legions came within range of Leonard Wood’s field artillery, there
were 5,000 tons of liquid chlorine ready to be hurled down from the
aerial fleet. And it was estimated that the carriers would continue to
deliver a thousand tons a day from Grand Island as long as the deadly
stuff was needed.
The actual work of dropping these chlorine bombs upon the enemy was
entrusted to another fleet of smaller aeroplanes gathered from all parts
of the country, most of them belonging to members of the Aero Club of
America who not only gave their machines but, in many cases, offered
their services as pilots or gunners for the impending air battle.
“What is the prospect?” I asked Henry Woodhouse, chief organiser of these
aeroplane forces, on the day before the fight.
He was white and worn after days of overwork, but he spoke hopefully.
“We have chlorine enough,” he said, “but we need more attacking
aeroplanes. We’ve only about forty squadrons with twelve aeroplanes to a
squadron and most of our pilots have never worked in big air manoeuvres.
It’s a great pity. Ah, look there! If they were all like Bolling’s
squadron!”
He pointed toward the heights back of Remington where a dozen bird
machines were sweeping through the sky in graceful evolutions.
“What Bolling is that?”
“Raynal C.--the chap that organised the first aviation section of the New
York National Guard. Ah! See those boys turn! That’s Boiling at the head
of the ‘V,’ with James E. Miller, George von Utassy, Fairman Dick, Jerome
Kingsbury, William Boulding, 3rd, and Lorbert Carolin. They’ve got
Sturtevant steel battle planes--given by Mrs. Bliss--yes, Mrs. William H.
Bliss. She’s one of the patron saints of the Aero Club.”
We strolled among the hangars and Mr. Woodhouse presented me to several
aeroplane squadron commanders, Cornelius Vanderbilt, Robert Bacon,
Godfrey Lowell Cabot, Russell A. Alger, Robert Glendinning, George
Brokaw, Clarke Thomson, Cortlandt F. Bishop; also to Rear Admiral Robert
E. Peary, Archer M. Huntington, J. Stuart Blackton, and Albert B.
Lambert, who had just come in from a scouting and map-making flight over
the German lines. These gentlemen agreed that America’s chances the next
day would be excellent if we only had more attacking aeroplanes, about
twice as many, so that we could overwhelm the enemy with a rain of
chlorine shells.
“I believe three hundred more aeroplanes would give us the victory,”
declared Alan R. Hawley, ex-president of the Aero Club.
“Think of it,” mourned August Belmont. “We could have had a thousand
aeroplanes so easily--two thousand for the price of one battleship. And
now--to-morrow--three hundred aeroplanes might save this nation.”
Cornelius Vanderbilt nodded gloomily. “The lack of three hundred
aeroplanes may cost us the Atlantic seaboard. These aeroplanes would be
worth a million dollars apiece to us and we can’t get ‘em.”
“The fifty aeroplanes of the Post Office are mighty useful,” observed
Ex-Postmaster-General Frank H. Hitchcock to Postmaster-General Burleson.
“It isn’t the fault of you gentlemen,” said Emerson McMillin, “if we did
not have five thousand aeroplanes in use for mail carrying, and coast
guard and life-saving services.”
This remark was appreciated by some of the men in the group, including
Alexander Graham Bell, Admiral Peary, Henry A. Wise Wood, Henry
Woodhouse, Albert B. Lambert, and Byron R. Newton, head of the Coast
Guard and Life Saving Service. For years they had all made supreme but
unavailing efforts to make Congress realize the value of an aeroplane
reserve which could be employed every day for peaceful purposes and would
be available in case of need.
“Five thousand aeroplanes could have been put in use for carrying mail
and express matter and in the Coast Guard,” said Mr. McMillin, “and with
them we could have been in the position of the porcupine, which goes
about its peaceful pursuits, harms no one, but is ever ready to defend
itself. Had we had them in use, this war would probably never have taken
place.”
A little later, as we were supping in a farmhouse, there came a great
shouting outside and, rushing to doors and windows, we witnessed a
miracle, if ever there was one. There, spread across the heavens from
west and south, sweeping toward us, in proud alignment, squadron by
squadron--there was the answer to our prayers, a great body of aeroplanes
waving the stars and stripes in the glory of the setting sun.
“Who are they? Where do they come from?” we marvelled, and, presently, as
the sky strangers came to earth like weary birds, a great cry arose:
“Santos Dumont! Santos Dumont!”
It was indeed the great Santos, the famous Brazilian sportsman, and
president of the Aeronautical Federation of the Western Hemisphere, who
had come thus opportunely to cast his fortunes with tortured America and
fight for the maintenance of the Monroe Doctrine. With him came the
Peruvian aviator, Bielovucci, first to fly across the Alps (1914), and
Señor Anassagasti, president of the Aero Club Argentino, and also four
hundred aeroplanes with picked crews from all parts of South America.
There was great rejoicing that evening at General Wood’s headquarters
over this splendid support given to America by her sister republics.
“It looks now as if we have a chance,” said Brigadier General Robert K.
Evans. “The Germans will attack at daybreak and--by the way, what’s the
matter with our wireless reports?” He peered out into the night which was
heavily overcast--not a star in sight. He was looking toward the radio
station a mile back on the crest of a hill where the lone pine tree stood
that supported the transmission wires.
“Looks like rain,” decided the general. “Hello! What’s that?”
Plainly through purplish black clouds we caught the shrill buzz of
swift-moving aeroplanes.
“Good lord!” cried Roy D. Chapin, chief inspector of aircraft. “The
Germans! I know their engine sounds. Searchlights! Quick!”
Alas! Our searchlights proved useless against the thick haze that had now
spread about us; they only revealed distant dim shapes that shot through
the darkness and were gone.
“We must go after those fellows,” muttered General Evans, and he detailed
William Thaw, Norman Prince and Elliot Cowdin, veterans of many sky
battles in France and Belgium, to go aloft and challenge the intruders.
This incident kept the camp in an uproar half the night. It turned out
that the strange aeroplanes had indeed been sent out by the Germans, but
for hours we did not discover what their mission was. They dropped no
bombs, they made no effort to attack us, but simply circled around and
around through the impenetrable night, accomplishing nothing, so far as
we could see, except that they were incredibly clever in avoiding the
pursuit of our airmen.
“They are flying at great speed,” calculated A. F. Zahm, the aerodynamic
expert of the Smithsonian Institution, “but I don’t see what their
purpose is.”
“I’ve got it,” suddenly exclaimed John Hays Hammond, Jr. “They’ve sprung
a new trick. Their machines carry powerful radio apparatus and they’re
cutting off our wireless.”
“By wave interference?” asked Dr. Zahm.
“Of course. It’s perfectly simple. I’ve done it at Gloucester.” He turned
to General Evans. “Now, sir, you see why we’ve had no wireless reports
from our captive balloon.”
This mention of the captive balloon brought to mind the peril of Payne
Whitney, who was on lookout duty in the balloon near the German lines,
and who might now be cut off by enemy aircraft, since he could not use
his wireless to call for help. I can only state briefly that this danger
was averted and Whitney’s life saved by the courage and prompt action of
Robert J. Collier and Larry Waterbury, who flew through the night to the
rescue of their friend with a supporting air squadron and arrived just in
time to fight off a band of German raiders.
I deeply regret that I must record these thrilling happenings in such
bald and inadequate words and especially that my pen is quite unequal to
describing that strangest of battles which I witnessed the next day from
the heights back of Remington. Never was there a more thrilling sight
than the advance of this splendid body of American and South American
aeroplanes, flying by squadrons in long V’s like flocks of huge birds,
with a terrifying snarling of propellers. To right and left they
manoeuvred, following wireless orders from headquarters that were
executed by the various squadron commanders whose aeroplanes would break
out bunting from time to time for particular signals.
So overwhelming was the force of American flyers, all armed with machine
guns, that the Germans scarcely disputed the mastery of the air, and
about seventy of their old-fashioned eagle type biplanes were soon
destroyed. Our total losses here were only eleven machines, but these
carried precious lives, some of our bravest and most skilful amateur
airmen, Norman Cabot, Charles Jerome Edwards, Harold F. McCormick, James
A. Blair, Jr., B. B. Lewis, Percy Pyne, 2nd, Eliot Cross, Roy D. Chapin,
Logan A. Vilas and Bartlett Arkell.
I turned to my friend Hart O. Berg, the European aeroplane expert, and
remarked that we seemed to be winning, but he said little, simply frowned
through his binoculars.
“Don’t you think so?” I persisted.
“Wait!” he answered. “There’s something queer about this. Why should the
Germans have such an inferior aircraft force? Where are all their
wonderful Fokker machines?”
“You mean--”
“I mean that this battle isn’t over yet. Ah! Look! We’re getting our work
in with that chlorine.”
It was indeed true. With the control of the skies assured us, our fleet
of liquid gas carriers had now gone into action and at many points we saw
the heavy poison clouds spreading over the enemy hosts like a yellow
green sea. The battle of chlorine had begun. The war of chemistry was
raining down out of the skies. It is certain that nothing like this had
ever been seen before. There had been chlorine fighting in the trenches
out of squirt gun apparatus--plenty of that in 1915, with a few score
killed or injured, but here it came down by tons over a whole army, this
devilish stuff one breath of which deep into the lungs smote a man down
as if dead.
The havoc thus wrought in the German ranks was terrific; especially as
General Wood took advantage of the enemy’s distress to sweep their lines
with fierce artillery fire from his batteries on the heights.
“We’ve got them going,” said I.
Berg shook his head.
“Not yet.”
If General Wood had been able to hurl his army forward in a desperate
charge at this moment of German demoralisation it is possible we might
have gained a victory, but the risks were too heavy. The American forces
were greatly outnumbered and to send them into those chlorine-swept areas
was to bring the enemy’s fate upon them. Wood must hold his men upon the
heights until our artillery and poison gas attack had practically won the
day. Then a final charge might clinch matters--that was the plan, but it
worked out differently, for, after their first demoralisation, the enemy
learned to avoid the descending danger by running from it. They could
avoid the slowly spreading chlorine clouds by seeking higher ground and,
presently, they regained a great measure of their confidence and courage
and swept forward in furious fresh attacks.
Even so the Americans fought for hours with every advantage and our
artillery did frightful execution. At three o’clock I sent off a cable
to the _Times_ that General Wood’s prospects were excellent, but at
half-past four our supply of liquid chlorine was exhausted and news came
from Niagara Falls that a German spy on Grand Island had blown up the
great chlorine supply tank containing 20,000 tons. And the Niagara
power-plants had been wrecked by dynamite.
Still the Americans fought on gallantly, desperately, knowing that
everything was at stake, and our aeroplanes, with their batteries of
machine guns, gave effective assistance. Superiority in numbers, however,
soon made itself felt and at five o’clock the Germans, relieved from the
chlorine menace, advanced their heavy artillery and began a terrific
bombardment of our trenches.
“Hello!” exclaimed Berg suddenly. “What’s that coming?”
He pointed to the northeast, where we made out a group of swiftly
approaching aeroplanes, flying in irregular order. We watched them alight
safely near General Wood’s headquarters, all but one marked “Women of
1915,” which was hit by an anti-aircraft gun, as it came to earth, and
settled down with a broken wing and some injuries to the pilot, Miss
Ethel Barrymore, and the observer, Mrs. Charles S. Whitman, wife of
Senator Whitman.
This was but one demonstration of the heroism of our women. Thousands had
volunteered their services as soon as the war broke out and many, finding
that public sentiment was against having women in the ranks, learned to
fly and to operate radio apparatus and were admitted in these branches of
the service. Among the women who volunteered were hundreds of members of
the Women’s Section of the Movement for National Preparedness, including
members of the Council of Women, Daughters of American Revolution, Ladies
of the G. A. R. (National and Empire State), United Daughters of the
Confederacy, Association Opposed to Woman’s Suffrage, Civic Federation
Woman’s Department, Society United States Daughters of 1812, Woman’s
Rivers and Harbors Congress, Congress of Mothers, Daughters of
Cincinnati, Daughters of the Union, Daughters of the Revolution, and
National Special Aid Society.
These organisations of American women not only supplied a number of
skilled aeroplane pilots, but they were of material help in strengthening
the fighting forces, as well as in general relief work.
As the shadows of night approached we were startled by the sudden sweep
across the sky of a broad yellow searchlight beam, lifted and lowered
repeatedly, while a shower of Roman candles added vehemence to the
signal.
“Something has happened. They’ve brought important news,” cried my
friend, whereupon we hurried to headquarters and identified most of the
machines as separate units in Rear Admiral Peary’s aero-radio system of
coast defence, while two of them, piloted by Ralph Pulitzer (wounded) and
W. K. Vanderbilt, belonged to Emerson McMillin’s reefing-wings scouting
squadron.
We listened eagerly to the reports of pilots and gunners from these
machines, Marion McMillin, W. Redmond Cross, Harry Payne Whitney
(wounded), William Ziegler, Jr., Alexander Blair Thaw, W. Averill
Harriman, Edwin Gould, Jr. (wounded), and learned that a powerful fleet
of enemy aircraft, at least 500, had been sighted over Chesapeake Bay and
were flying swiftly to the support of the Germans. These aeroplanes had
started from a base near Atlantic City and would arrive within half an
hour.
A council of war was held immediately and, acting on the advice of
aeroplane experts, General Wood ordered the withdrawal of our land and
air forces. It would be madness to attempt further resistance. Our army
was hopelessly outnumbered, our chlorine supply was gone, our air fleet,
after flying all day, was running short of gasoline and its weary pilots
were in no condition to withstand the attack of a fresh German fleet. At
all costs we must save our aeroplanes, for without them the little
remnant of our army would be blind.
This was the beginning of the end. We had done our best and failed. At
six o’clock orders were given that the whole American army prepare
for a night retreat into the remote fastnesses of the Blue Ridge
Mountains. We had made our last stand east of the Alleghenies and fell
back heavy-hearted, leaving the invaders in full possession of our
Atlantic seaboard.