Go, get 'em! The true adventures of an American aviator of the Lafayette flying corps who was the only Yankee flyer fighting over General Pershing's boys of the Rainbow division in Lorraine

Front matter

V/ILLIAM A.WELLMAl^

Mardchal des Log OF THE Lafayette Flying *

Class Book..

Introduction

It was a drowsy, peaceful day in early May. War seemed remote, an evil unreality. Lured from my writing by the insistent call of Spring, I left my desk and strolled instinctively toward Boston's breathing space, the " Common " of historic memories, whose easterly mall, honored in bearing the name of Lafayette, was now lined with a row of trim green and white cottages dedicated to the comfort of the boys who wear the khaki or the blue. Before the little stage in front of one I saw gathered a thronging crowd that, from a distance, gave the impression of many drones clustered about the opening of a hive.

Such assemblages had become every-day sights and I moved toward it, impelled by a mild curiosity merely; but, when my eyes fell upon the figure which was leaning over the railing in an attitude of stirring appeal, my steps quickened.

vii viii Introduction

The form was that of a stalwart young man clad in the horizon blue of the French army. The uniform stirred my pulses, but it was not that alone which now drew me, magnetlike. It was rather that, even from my distance, I could recognize the bearing and familiar gestures of a youth whom I had known from his childhood and had seen grow up into young manhood from a lad after whom Mark Twain might well have patterned his " Tom Sawyer," or T. B. Aldrich his " bad boy."

I pressed my way through the eagerly listening crowd until I was close enough to the speaker to see the two-winged gold and silver insignia of the Lafayette Flying Corps, the bronze Croix de Guerre suspended from a ribbon upon which gleamed two palm leaves of victory, and, above it, the narrow strip of multi-colored cloth which mutely told the story of a wound received in service.

Others were drinking in the lad's stories of battles waged in mid air by the immortal Gunemeyer, Frank Baylies, David Putnam and Tom Hitchcock — one of them dead, one soon to make the supreme

Introduction ix sacrifice and one a hapless prisoner to the Hun ; — but my thoughts would not behave, and rather kept racing back to those days, so short a while ago, when I had seen the boy dashing down the field on a quarterback run to win a hard fought game for Newton High ; stopping a difficult grounder at short, and, with ease and precision, snapping the ball to first base ahead of an eager runner; or outflying the skating pack in a hockey rink; for, prior to going " over there " to take a notable part in the greatest game of all, he had been an athlete par excellence.

Spoken unconcernedly came the words, " My Nieuport flew a hundred and thirty miles an hour, unless the wind was with it, when . . ." and I shuddered involuntarily, for I remembered the first and only time that I had entrusted my precious life to a motorcycle, having climbed up behind the speaker upon his promise to go slowly, only to be whisked through the streets at a speed which seemed to me fully to equal that of the flying Nieuport.

" You folks think that you are getting a taste of war rations. You don't know what they are," the

Introduction voice continued. " Why, when I landed in New York the waiter apologetically served me with what he called * war bread.' I thought that it was cake." The audience laughed, and his sally took me back to the days when, as a mere lad, he had starred in every local show, as comedian, dancer and singer.

The lad sold another thousand dollars' worth of War Saving Stamps, and ended his informal talk with the words, " I have sometimes been called * a hero,' but I want to tell you men that I am nothing of the kind. The real heroes of this war are the boys in the trenches, who often stand for days in snow, or mud and water up to their knees ; who eat what they can get, and when they can get it; and who never have their names in the paper unless they are wounded or killed. They are the heroes."

Followed by a prolonged burst of applause, he stepped down, and a husky sailor lad sprang into the vacated place and shouted, " I want to take issue with what Sergeant Wellman has just said. He has told you something of what those chaps of the Lafayette Flying Corps have been doing in the air,

Introduction xi though mighty Httle about himself — it wasn't necessary, you read the papers ; — but I want to say to him and to you, that a fellow who has been through what he has, is one hundred per cent, a man/'

We thrill upon meeting an American hero of the great conflict; the thrill is increased if that hero is a townsman of ours; but, if he is also a close friend of long years' standing, it is the greatest of all, and, as I pushed my way forward to grasp the sinewy, bronzed hand of Billy Wellman, the American daredevil of Escadrille N. 87, Lafayette Flying Corps, I thought that none but a real live Yankee lad could have done all that he had done for France and the great Cause, and yet carry his honors so modestly. And my heart echoed the words, " one hundred per cent, a MAN."

Eliot Harlow Robinson.

Contents

CHAPTER PAGE

Introduction vii

I Overseas i

Chapter I

On the forenoon of Saturday, the twenty-ninth day of March, Nineteen hundred and Seventeen, I came dejectedly out from beneath the gilded dome of the Massachusetts State House on Beacon Hill, having just been rejected for admission to the Naval Aviation service of the United States.

On the forenoon of Friday, the twenty-ninth day of March, Nineteen hundred and Eighteen I was honorably discharged, because of injuries received in action, from the Lafayette Flying Corps of the historic Foreign Legion of France. I had, eight days previous, been shot down from a height of something over three miles above the lines in Lor-

Go, Get 'Em!

raine, held by the Rainbow boys of General Pershing's original Expeditionary Force.

The twelve months' period which intervened between those two dates covers what I have reason to believe will be the most interesting and thrilling chapter in my Book of Life when it is finally closed. Yet, unlike many chapters of '' hair breadth 'scapes and moving accidents," I would be only too glad to live it — or most of it — over again, and it is my sincerest hope that, before the present ghastly war is ended, I may at least have the chance of living out its sequel, in the uniform of my own country.

I write this in no spirit of bloodthirstiness or bravado. I have more reason than most for wanting to see the war end, and my hope that it may not, until I am able to get back into the fight among the clouds, is based upon the firm belief that an early peace would mean but one thing — VICTORY FOR THE HUN!

And " Peace without Victory,'' or any peace, short of a complete and crushing victory for America and her allies, would spell a world catastrophe.

This story of my year in the French service is not to be in any sense a treatise on what a Prussian victory would mean to civiHzation; but, before I have finished my narrative, I hope that I shall have shown you in some measure why I feel as I do.

That is my primary object in writing it; the secondary one is in order that those who chance to read it may have a fuller conception of what air fighting means and is, for it has already become a great factor in warfare, and will, I firmly believe, become the greatest factor in achieving the ultimate decision.

Finally, I hope that the story of my experiences and battles may — in some measure — " stiffen the sinews and summon up the blood " of the youth of America, so that all, who are able, will go and do likewise, and in fuller measure than has yet been possible in my case.

It is a fascinating game — this flying and fighting in the air — and it cannot but appeal to every red-blooded Yankee, for we are a nation of athletes, and I can truly say, having tried my hand at al-

Go, Get 'Em!

most all branches of sport, that none other begins to compare with it.

Probably, indeed, it was the sporting instinct which first drew me into the great conflict, for I cannot lay claim to having had any heroic idea of yielding myself a sacrifice for the cause of humanity, although something approaching that spirit may have later been engendered in me, as it must be in every man who, at close range, sees the Barbarous Hun in his assault on everything that is pure, fair and worthwhile in the world.

Nor can I lay claim to any remarkable foresight in anticipating in March that America would soon be mixed up in the fight, and in trying to get into it in the branch of the service that most appealed to me.

At the time when my decision was made I was twenty years old, living in Cambridge, Massachusetts, and engaged in the wool business, and for some time I had looked forward to nothing more exciting in life than the everyday battle in that highly peaceful pursuit. Nevertheless, the germ of adventure was in my blood and, as I have hinted, every form of athletic exercise and conflict had always strongly appealed to me. I had engaged in almost every kind, too, while in the Newton High School — where I suppose I had the reputation of being a pretty bad boy — and I had fought, boxed, played football, baseball, hockey and every kind of a mad prank all my life.

Doubtless these all had a part in making me physically fit for what was coming, for although, when my major adventure began, I was but five feet nine and one-half inches tall and weighed only one hundred and forty pounds, I was as " hard as nails." Incidentally, while I was " over there " I increased my height one inch and my weight eighteen pounds.

Some little time before the date of my decision, the United States had established a training school for naval aviators at Squantum, only a few miles from Boston, on the old field which was once a place famous for the earliest aerial meets. The newspaper accounts of the work being carried on

Go, Get 'Em!

there, and the occasional sight of an airplane passing high over the city had stirred my imagination and my eagerness to fly, too, until it could not be repressed.

Without announcing my determination to any one, I went to the State House and put in my application for enlistment in the air-branch of the service.

The officer in charge of the enlistments questioned me briefly about my life, and, when he asked me if I were a college graduate and I answered in the negative, he told me that there was no chance for me then, and added that the service was full and probably would be for some time.

Somehow this rejection, after I had set my mind upon getting into the big game in which I felt that America was soon to play an active part, fixed my determination to do something, and do it quick.

Several chums of mine had already enlisted in, and returned from, ambulance work at the front, and during the next few days, while I was on the road on business, I thought the matter over seriously. One evening, in the week which followed, I was in Worcester ; and while there suddenly made up my mind to join one of the American ambulance units, and go to France for the purpose of helping French and English lives, if I was not to be allowed to prepare myself to take German ones. A Rector, living in my old home city of Newton, had told me about the Harjes-Norton Ambulance Corps of New York, and I made up my mind to get into that, if I could.

Acting impulsively on the idea I called Mr. Norton — its American sponsor — by long distance telephone, explained my desire to him, and asked if I might see him and be examined. His answer was a prompt, " Yes."

Still keeping my plans almost wholly to myself I obtained letters of recommendation from Professor Samuel Williston, of the Harvard Law School, a relative of mine, and the Reverend Edward SulHvan, of Grace (Episcopal) Church in Newton Centre, in whose choir I had formerly sung, and went at once to see Mr. Norton, — a splendid type of American who had, I was told, practically given up a big law practice to engage voluntarily in that glorious work.

He talked pleasantly with me for a few moments, asked me if I could drive an automobile and, upon being told that I could, accepted my services. I signed for the customary six months' period.

Upon my return home I told my family what I had done, and, although it was not difficult to see that the news came as a shock to my little mother, she merely smiled and told me that she was glad that I had taken the step.

The period of waiting for notice to leave for France was passed impatiently, for I have always wanted to do things in a hurry. Meanwhile America entered the war; but the die was cast as far as I was concerned — what the future might hold here was problematical, and I was only confirmed in my decision to get to the front at once.

Word came at last. I was to sail on the French liner, Rochambeau — most appropriately named, as it eventuated — on the twenty-second day of May.

Accompanied by my mother, I went to New York in time to receive my equipment, which included a well-filled duffle bag and everything but the uniform, and on the scheduled day I said my farewells and boarded the ship bound overseas.

The Rochamheau, although a second-class liner, was fast. She carried a good-sized, mixed passenger list, some of my fellow voyagers being French people returning home; but in the main they were Americans who were ^* going over " for purposes connected with the war — among them Miss Anne Morgan, whose work for the Red Cross has been so wonderful.

My small stateroom held four bunks, and two of my roommates and new acquaintances — who were also going to join units of the American Ambulance corps — warrant a word of mention.

One was a Mr. Brown of Minneapolis, whom, because of his size and rotundity, we called " Buster." Like most men of avoirdupois he was goodnatured and jolly, and kept me laughing the whole trip. One of his favorite pranks was to climb into his upper berth long after the occupant of the one beneath it had gone to bed and to sleep, using the latter's face as a stepladder.

The other, with whom I became closely acquainted, was " Bill " Cody, from Chicago — a tall, splendidly proportioned young chap, who was as wild a Westerner as ever had been his world-famous uncle, " Buffalo Bill/'

Another of the passengers with whom I early struck up a warm friendship was a man who had apparently been selected by Fate as her agent in changing the course of my life. This was Reginald Sinclair, of New York, familiarly known as " Duke," and he was a prince. Later he was to be my close companion in the flying school, and the biggest man there, for he stood over six feet-two, and was in build the type which is now winning for our '^ Sammies " the vigorous name of '' Huskies." '* Duke " was not an Adonis, nor was it his wealth that earned him a place well entrenched in our hearts, but it was because he was a good sport

Overseas n and so generous that he would any time have given the shirt off his back to help a friend. Perhaps the expression is not v^ell chosen, for at Avord most of us were quite willing to get our shirts off, for reasons which you will read later.

He was going over expressly to enlist in the Lafayette Flying Corps, and, as we became acquainted, and he told me about his plans and the work of that organization, he planted the seeds of desire anew in my own mind. During the trip they grew rapidly, and, by the time I had reached France, I was crazy to change over, especially as my companions told me that it was done frequently, and that the Harjes-Norton Corps was only too glad to have its men do it.

There was also another man on board who was going for the same purpose as Sinclair; but I shall not mention his name — it is not a popular one among American aviators of the Lafayette Corps. It is enough to say that he failed to graduate from the first — or " ground " — class in the school at Avord; but, when he returned to America, he leetured extensively on aviation and " fighting in the air."

During the trip over I proved to my own satisfaction that I was a good sailor, for I was not sick, although the Atlantic was very rough. Aside from the tossing we got, the voyage was uneventful, and but two incidents on shipboard stand out in my memory as worthy of record.

One had to do with a slender little clergyman, and a fascinating little French actress who was returning to Paris after performing all winter with the French Players in New York. The passengers held a Red Cross benefit performance in the main saloon one evening, and her act was the last on the bill, the announcement being made that she would be auctioned off to the highest bidder, whose would be the privilege of kissing her.

She was brought in, dressed to represent a flower, the clothes basket which contained her being the flower pot, and her singing and dancing act was a tremendous hit. Then the bidding began at a lively rate, and in the midst of it the little minister appeared in the doorway. He was just in time to hear the bid, "one-twenty-five," called out. The next was "two-fifty," and he stepped forward eagerly and bid "three." Moreover he stayed in the game until he had bought her for " five."

Like a good sport, although not without embarrassment, he advanced to kiss her, amid laughter, cheers and applause.

" First pay the five hundred francs," cried the auctioneer.

" Five hundred francs. " gasped the minister. " Why, I ... I thought it was five." It was a facer for him, but he came to the mark, although he had to borrow from all his friends in order to do it. I rather guess that the experience taught him a salutary lesson about mixing with Mammon.

The other incident occurred one morning when we were two days' distant from our destination. We had been sailing unconvoyed, and undisturbed by the new devils of the deep, although every precaution had been taken to guard against them, such as the closing and darkening of all portholes with steel covers and canvas, and the '' dousing " of every " glim " on deck at night.

I v^as on deck, looking idly across the sailless sea and wondering if I should ever behold a submarine, when the ship suddenly veered almost at right angles to her former course, and the look-out cried out excitedly and pointed over the bow. There, bisecting our path, and only a few yards away, was a moving white line which beyond doubt marked the course of a deadly torpedo.

The U-boat from which it had been shot was not to be seen ; but, for some hours, the Rochambeau zig-zagged and twisted like the pursued in a game of hare and hounds, and on that, and the following, night we were forced to remain fully dressed on deck or in the main cabin.

Nothing happened, and there was little excitement manifested by the passengers; but it is safe to say that the feeling of imminent danger was in everybody's mind.

I passed the trip in playing cards and idling, for the most part; but I managed to turn a little time to profit by picking up some rudimentary French from two charming Parisian children and their pretty nursemaid, who were among those returning home.

Ten days after we left America the shores of southern France showed on the eastern horizon and brought to me the thrill that every argonaut must feel when the land which holds his particular golden fleece first appears before him. Our first stop was to be Bordeaux, and, as we entered the ever narrowing Garonne River and sailed close to the banks, I gained my first impression of the new old-world. It was a pleasing one.

In the distance the country rose in rolling hillocks, and near at hand on either side I could see the beautifully cultivated squared ofif fields and the odd little villages, over the cobbled streets of which bumped antiquated appearing buggies.

This sail upriver brought me also the first aspect of war, for we passed so close to a big fence-enclosed field with rough barracks on one side, and holding several hundred German prisoners, that the passengers shouted out invectives at them. They merely gazed stoHdly back.

Presently we docked and were examined by the custom and army officials, but my own examination was cursory, for my passport explained my mission, and it took only a moment to go through my meager luggage.

At Bordeaux my former companions left me, to hurry on to their respective destinations, and I was alone, very much a stranger in a strange land. Everything looked odd to my New England eyes — the stone houses and stores, the roughly paved streets, and the people, with whom I had no means of holding conversation. It all engendered a peculiarly helpless feeling in me, and this increased as I began to realize that the passers-by were recognizing me as an American and smiling pleasantly.

The address of my hotel — the De Bayonne — had been written for me on a slip of paper, and this I handed to a cab-man outside the dock. He nodded, slung my duffle bag and grip aboard his rickety hack, and I followed them.

When we arrived at the hotel I asked him, in EngHsh, of course, what the tax might be. He doubtless guessed my meaning; but that was more than I could do when he answered, of course in French; so I handed him a five franc note (I had changed my American money on ship-board). My jehu laboriously counted out about a handful of strange-looking chicken-feed as my change and, not knowing what a proper tip would be, I compromised by handing it all back to him. He seemed satisfied.

The Hotel de Bayonne was small, but astonished me by its elaborate and almost gorgeous decorations, and I soon found that it held an excellent restaurant, for this was the first thing that I visited. By following the simple method of pointing at items near the top, middle and bottom of the menu I obtained a very fair meal of soup, veal, lentils, bread and the ever-present " confiture " — a sort of jam, without which no self-respecting French meal is complete — and red wine.

As the pangs of hunger began to be appeased I paid more attention to my neighbors, many of whom were fascinatingly pretty French girls, with merry lips and languishing dark eyes. And I could not talk French! Right then I resolved to master the language at once.

In the hotel was a man who had charge of shipping my ilk to Paris, and he gave me my ticket and directions for finding the depot, where an electric sign pointed me to the right train. No seats or berths (it was now evening) were to be obtained, so, lonesome enough, I stood in the aisle for a while, and finally took a couple of blankets from my duffle bag and went to sleep on the floor. It seemed quite warlike.

At seven the following morning we reached the city with the magic name, and, following the old procedure, I took a taxicab to the headquarters of the Harjes-Norton Ambulance Corps, to report my arrival.

Chapter II

The very first person whom I met there, standing in the doorway, was a tall, blond chap who somehow looked mightily familiar. He turned out to be none other than the son of my Latin professor back in High School days — the only man who could make me behave, and that merely by a patient, troubled look. His name was Phil Davis, and perhaps I was not glad to see a countryman and an old neighbor ! ^ Abroad, any one from the same city is a neighbor, of course.

We chatted for some few moments. He told me that he had gone over in the ambulance service and

1 Philip W. Davis, to whom Sergeant Wellman gives much of the credit for his own enHstment in the aviation service and who was one of the three boys from Newton, Massachusetts, who figure in this story, was later transferred to the American Army as a lieutenant, and was reported to have been shot down behind the German lines and killed on June second. — The Editor.

shifted to aviation — all the red-blooded men were doing it now, he said.

That was the last straw; / determined to shift immediately.

Davis also spoke a serious word about the real war situation, and began to open my eyes to the truth, and the desperate need of France. The impression which his words made upon my mind was reflected in a letter that I wrote home to mother a few days later, and in which I told her what I had done.

*' Why, mother, we (at home) don't realize the seriousness of this war. France is almost wiped out, and they are ' playing on their nerve.' Most of their wonderful men and boys are gone. England has started, but many claim that if we had not come to the rescue when we did, the Germans would have won the war inside of six months. Their fighting ability and their cruelty cannot be described. They are devils, and unless appearances are mighty deceitful they will be able to hold out for a long while. . . . There is nothing in the world that Our Country should not do for France at this time."

The words spoken by Davis drove the last rivet in my resolve. I said that I meant to follow suit, and he briefly outlined the necessary procedure.

I went at once into the office and, after reporting to Mr. Norton's brother there, told him of my desire and determination. He was all kindness and released me from my former contract.

Without delay I found my way to 23 Avenue Bois de Bologne, where I found Dr. Edmund Gros, a distinguished-looking man of middle years, with graying hair and a close clipped mustache, who was in charge of the Paris enlistments in the Lafayette Flying Corps. He greeted me warmly when I introduced myself and explained my reason for visiting him.

After Dr. Gros had read my letters of recommendation, which I had wisely brought along with me, he said that if I passed the physical examination, which I should return to take that afternoon, he would accept me. I lunched at a nearby restaurant, but, having heard something of the severity of the tests given our would-be aviators at home, was too excited over the prospect to eat a great deal.

Then, after a brief walk through the unfamiHar streets, I returned to Dr. Gros's office. It was not long before I had learned that the French and American examinations, given prospective flyers, were quite different things. When a thug is pounding at one's very doors, the owner of the house does not stop to search for his latest model automatic pistol, but grabs whatever he can lay his hands on to beat off the intruder. That was the case with France. She was not spending months in developing the most theoretically perfect airplane, or in securing and training men who were theoretically the best qualified to run it. Rather her motto was " get men and machines into the air as quickly as possible."

History will write the story of the results.

So it was that my examination was simple in the extreme. It merely consisted of heart tests, after I had hopped about the floor a few times ; eye tests by reading a few letters across the room ; balancing on one foot with my eyes closed to prove that I had a fair sense of equilibrium; and a few other balancing tests, during which I was whirled around on a piano stool with eyes closed and then requested to walk a straight line, with them open. Weight and measurements followed, and it was all over, and I was pronounced physically fit for the aerial service of the historic French Foreign Legion, of which the Lafayette Flying Corps was a part.