On the 12th of October, twenty small airplanes flying in a V formation,
at such a height they resembled a flock of geese, crossed the river
Rhine, where it skirts the plains of Alsace, and, turning north, headed
for the famous Mauser works at Oberndorf. Following in their wake
was an equal number of larger machines, and above these darted and
circled swift fighting planes. The first group of aircraft was flown by
British pilots, the second by French and three of the fighting planes
by Americans in the French Aviation Division. It was a cosmopolitan
collection that effected that successful raid.
We American pilots, who are grouped into one escadrille, had been
fighting above the battlefield of Verdun from the 20th of May until
orders came the middle of September for us to leave our airplanes, for
a unit that would replace us, and to report at Le Bourget, the great
Paris aviation centre.
The mechanics and the rest of the personnel left, as usual, in the
escadrille's trucks with the material. For once the pilots did not
take the aërial route but they boarded the Paris express at Bar-le-Duc
with all the enthusiasm of schoolboys off for a vacation. They were to
have a week in the capital! Where they were to go after that they did
not know, but presumed it would be the Somme. As a matter of fact the
escadrille was to be sent to Luxeuil in the Vosges to take part in the
Mauser raid.
Besides Captain Thénault and Lieutenant de Laage de Mieux, our French
officers, the following American pilots were in the escadrille at this
time: Lieutenant Thaw, who had returned to the front, even though his
wounded arm had not entirely healed; Adjutants Norman Prince, Hall,
Lufbery, and Masson; and Sergeants Kiffin Rockwell, Hill, Pavelka,
Johnson, and Rumsey. I had been sent to a hospital at the end of
August, because of a lame back resulting from a smash up in landing,
and couldn't follow the escadrille until later.
Every aviation unit boasts several mascots. Dogs of every description
are to be seen around the camps, but the Americans managed, during
their stay in Paris, to add to their menagerie by the acquisition of
a lion cub named "Whiskey." The little chap had been born on a boat
crossing from Africa and was advertised for sale in France. Some of the
American pilots chipped in and bought him. He was 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.
"Whiskey" got a good view of Paris during the few days he was there,
for some one in the crowd was always borrowing him to take him some
place. He, like most lions in captivity, became acquainted with bars,
but the sort "Whiskey" saw were not for purposes of confinement.
The orders came directing the escadrille to Luxeuil and bidding
farewell to gay "Paree" the men boarded the Belfort train with bag
and baggage--and the lion. Lions, it developed, were not allowed in
passenger coaches. The conductor was assured that "Whiskey" was quite
harmless and was going to overlook the rules when the cub began to roar
and tried to get at the railwayman's finger. That settled it, so two of
the men had to stay behind in order to crate up "Whiskey" and take him
along the next day.
The escadrille was joined in Paris by Robert Rockwell, of Cincinnati,
who had finished his training as a pilot, and was waiting at the
Reserve (Robert Rockwell had gone to France to work as a surgeon in one
of the American war hospitals. He disliked remaining in the rear and
eventually enlisted in aviation)....