NAVAL AVIATION WATCHED OVER SHIPS AND SEARCHED THE SEAS—FIRST OF U. S. ARMED FORCES TO LAND IN FRANCE—FOUGHT ENEMY AIRCRAFT FROM HELIGOLAND TO POLA—ATTACKED U-BOAT BASES IN BELGIUM—NAVAL AVIATORS, IN TRAINING AND SERVICE, FLEW FIFTEEN MILLION MILES.

The first of the armed forces of the United States to land in France were naval aviators—seven officers and 123 men, under command of Lieutenant Kenneth W. Whiting. One group, sailing on the Neptune, arrived June 5, 1917, at Pauillac, the port from which Lafayette sailed for America to join the struggling colonists in their war for independence. The other, on the Jupiter, reached St. Nazaire June 9, sailing through the very waters in which John Paul Jones operated in the Revolution. Eight miles up the river Loire lies Paimboeuf, where Jones in the Ranger arrived November 30, 1777. Fifteen miles away is Quiberon Bay, where the French, February 14, 1778, fired the first foreign salute to the American flag.

Naval aviation stations were erected at both Pauillac, which is on the Gironde river near Bordeaux, and at Paimboeuf, so the operations of America's flying navy in the World War were over the very waters where the name and fame of the first American navy were established 140 years before.

We had stations all along the coast of France—at Dunkirk, St. Ingelvert and Autingues, headquarters of the Northern Bombing Group; L'Aber Vrach, Brest, Ile Tudy, Le Croisic, Fromentine, St. Trojan, Treguier, Arcachon, La Trinite, La Pallice, Le Fresne, Oye, Guipavas, Paimboeuf, Pauillac, Rochefort, St. Ingelvert, and Gujan, with a training school at Moutchic.

In Ireland we had stations at Queenstown, Berehaven, Lough Foyle, Whiddy Island and Wexford; in England at Eastleigh and Killingholme. We aided Italy in fighting the Austrians, with our training school at Lake Bolsena and an operating station at Porto Corsini, on the Adriatic, across from the Austrian naval base at Pola. Our aviators flew across the Alps and the Adriatic sea; they patrolled the waters along the French coast, protecting the vast Allied shipping going into and out of the French ports, and guarding the convoys of American troops, munitions and supplies. Our Northern Bombing Group bombed the German submarine bases and ammunition and supply depots in Belgium. Operating with their British comrades, our aviators flew over the North Sea and battled with German aircraft over Heligoland Bight, almost within sight of the home bases of the German fleet. They took part in the North Sea patrol in connection with the movements of the British Grand Fleet, and those assigned to the British stations at Felixstowe and Portsmouth had a part in the famous Dover Patrol that kept clear the road from England to France.

The United States Navy had 44 aviation stations and units in Europe, with a record of 5,691 war flights, covering a distance of 791,398 miles. This does not include 18,000 flights that were made in training. Forty-three submarines were attacked from the air, our aircraft being credited, according to the records of Naval Aviation, with sinking two U-boats, with probably sending down two more, and damaging others. An even more striking evidence of efficiency was the fact that during the last ten months of the war no surface craft convoy protected by American naval aircraft in the war zone was successfully attacked by an enemy submarine.

Attacking the German U-boat bases, Bruges, Zeebrugge, Ostend, and the airdromes and air stations and other enemy establishments in Flanders, the Northern Bombing Group, which operated in connection with the British Royal Air Force, dropped more than 155,000 pounds of bombs, destroying hangars and other structures, blowing up ammunition dumps and now and then bringing down a kite balloon, spreading such havoc that it shook the nerve of the German crews that handled the Teuton aircraft in western Belgium.

Our first naval "ace," Lieutenant David S. Ingalls, was attached to this Northern Bombing Group, being first assigned to Royal Air Force Squadron No. 213. His spectacular performances began on August 11, 1918, when, in company with a British officer, he shot down a two-seater machine in a running flight over the German lines. The night of the 13th, flying over the German airdrome at Varsenaere, and dropping to a point where his plane nearly touched the ground, he sprayed 450 rounds from his machine-gun into the wondering Teutons, who were making desperate efforts to get him with their anti-aircraft guns. Swinging in a wide circle, he again swooped down on the hangars and let loose four bombs in the midst of the camp, putting out searchlights, scattering Germans and mussing up things generally. At the Uytkerke airdrome he repeated the stunt he worked at Varsenaere, firing 400 rounds into the German hangars, and dropping bombs upon the Fokkers grouped on the field below.

On this raid, which occurred September 15, Ingalls led a formation of five in a wing of twenty biplanes. Returning from Uytkerke, he sighted an enemy two-seater Rumpler going west from Ostend. With Lieutenant H. C. Smith, of the British Air Force, Ingalls turned out of formation, swung in over the shore, and attacked. The Rumpler turned and dived toward Ostend, the Camels following. Firing 400 rounds from ranges of fifty to 200 yards, they chased the enemy plane to the Ostend piers, when the Rumpler went down out of control, burst into flames and crashed just off the beach.

Three days later Ingalls made one of the most spectacular flights on record. In company with two English pilots, he sighted a kite balloon at 3,500 feet elevation near La Barriere. Crossing the coast line, they attacked. The German kite reeled under the rapid fire, and as it fell, its two observers opened up their white parachutes and jumped. Ingalls gave the balloon another spraying with bullets and it burst into flames. Falling, the blazing balloon landed on a hangar. There was an explosion, followed by a fire that destroyed the entire station. The flames were visible as far as Nieuport.

On September 22, in company with four other machines, Ingalls flew all over Flanders, committing depredations on German hangars, and ammunition trains. Four bombs were dropped on the ammunition dump at Handezeame, blowing up a string of wagons loaded with shells. Flying over Wercken, bombs were landed on a hut filled with explosives, setting it on fire. Swinging around over the railway station at Thourout, where the Germans had an enormous supply dump, two more hits were made. On the way back, his fourth trip for the day, he bombed a horse transport, and he and his companions by bombs and machine-gun fire killed or wounded some twenty-five Germans and thirty-five horses.

With three other machines, Ingalls was, on September 24, flying over the lines at 16,000 feet elevation, when twelve Fokkers were seen approaching. Though outnumbered, the speedy Allied planes quickly broke up the German formation. The famous British Captain Brown, of Squadron No. 213, swung into and gunned a Fokker after a thrilling high bank, and the German fell to earth three miles below. Another Fokker had got on the tail of one of the Allied machines and by a well-aimed shot punctured its gasoline tanks. Ingalls came to the rescue, fighting off the enemy and in a few minutes shooting him down. The fourth plane was hard at it, too, succeeding in shooting down another Fokker, after following it down to within a few feet of the ground. Thus three Fokkers were accounted for in a few minutes.

On another occasion, Ingalls, single handed, attacked six biplanes, driving down one of them and eluding the five pursuers. The first of October he engaged in three successive raids in one day. His second point of attack was a large farm building at Cortemarck, used as a shelter for troops. More than 200 Germans were gathered there. Crashing through the roof, a bomb dropped by Ingalls exploded in their midst, dealing death and destruction.

I wish it were possible to recount all the daring deeds performed by our Navy and Marine Corps aviators, who with the British and on their own engaged in constant attacks on the German bases in Belgium, but Ingalls' exploits are enough to give an idea of the work performed by this Northern Bombing Group. And all this was "land duty," a task seldom assigned to navies.

The Navy's "regular job," far the greater part of its work, was patrolling the long coast lines, watching for submarines, and furnishing aerial escort for the convoys of troop, supply and merchant ships that moved in a constant stream to and from European ports. Covering vast areas of water, they flew hundreds of thousands of miles, and they were always on the job.

Though the U-boats usually "ducked" when a seaplane or dirigible balloon was sighted, aircraft often managed to spot them, and took part in some exciting encounters. One remarkable engagement, a gunfire fight between seaplane and submarine, took place off Dunkirk on August 13, 1918.

Four seaplanes left their station for a routine flight in connection with the Dover Patrol. Eight miles off the coast, between Calais and Dunkirk, Ensign J. F. Carson, one of the pilots, sighted a large submarine, with no identification marks, speeding on the surface in the direction of Holland. Carson challenged it by firing a recognition signal. The U-boat opened fire on the seaplane with shrapnel from its forward gun, firing five shots.

Carson nosed his plane down, his machine-gunner firing on the submarine. As it came into bombing position, he dropped a bomb which hit the vessel, and as it exploded two of the gun crew fell, apparently badly wounded. The U-boat cleared its decks and dived. Just as it plunged beneath the surface, another seaplane came into position and dropped two bombs. One exploded in the splash where the submarine plunged, and the second slightly forward of that point in the curving line of the descending boat. Four minutes later the submarine again came to the surface. But before Carson could get his plane in position for bombing, it again submerged, sliding beneath the waves stern foremost.

Carson unloaded his bombs on the moving wake, and put back to the station for more ammunition. When he returned oil covered the water and a lone life preserver floated near the spot where the submarine went down.

The value of coÖperation between aircraft and vessels was strikingly demonstrated in the sinking of the U-boat called "Penmarch Pete," which was, according to reports received, destroyed by American seaplanes from the Ile Tudy Station and the U. S. destroyer Stewart, on April 28, 1918. Two planes left Ile Tudy that morning, one piloted by Ensign K. R. Smith, the other by Ensign R. H. Harrell, on convoy duty. Zigzagging along the coast nearly due west, at 11:30 o'clock they picked up a convoy of twenty ships heading south, six miles northeast of the Pointe de Penmarch. Heavy fog kept the planes at a low altitude and in the course of maneuvers about the convoy, a stream of air bubbles, denoting the wake of a submarine, was sighted by both planes. Smith descended close enough to the surface to distinguish a large oil patch. He dropped two bombs, the first being apparently a direct hit, and the second within ten feet of it. Dropping a phosphorus buoy to mark the location, Harrell sent down a correspondence buoy in the vicinity of the Stewart, then off the flank of the convoy. The Stewart speeded to the spot, sighted a dark object in the water, and dropped a succession of depth-bombs. "These bombs were dropped so close to the submarine, one on each side and within fifty feet of it, and the force of the explosion was so great," reported Lieutenant Commander Haislip, her commanding officer, "that it seems impossible that the submarine could have survived." For days there rose to the surface quantities of oil, which spread for miles down the coast. The U-boat was later identified as "Penmarch Pete," which had operated off the Pointe for months, and had destroyed over 100,000 tons of shipping.

Working with the British in the early stages of participation, our aviators made numerous flights over the North Sea, flying as far as the German coast. One of the first lost in action, Ensign Albert D. Sturtevant, of Washington, a Yale man, was second pilot of a machine that was attacked by ten German planes. Fighting against overwhelming odds, he went down in flames.

The first enemy plane destroyed by an American aviator was shot down in Heligoland Bight, almost in sight of the great German naval base, by Ensign Stephen Potter, of Detroit, March 19, 1918. His machine was one of a group sent out on long-distance reconnoissance. Nearing the German coast, they were attacked by Teuton planes, and a lively combat ensued. By dashing fighting, Potter succeeded in bringing down an enemy plane, which, set afire, fell to the water and burned up. Putting to flight other German machines, the force returned. It had travelled so far that six and a half hours steady flying were required to reach the base on the British Coast. Six weeks later, April 25, Potter lost his life in a thrilling but unequal encounter over the North Sea.

While on patrol near Hinder Light, Potter and his companion sighted two German planes and, diving, closed in on them, firing at close range. Two more hostile planes appeared overhead, attacking vigorously. Four more enemy planes now appeared in V formation. Of seven Germans in action, four were attacking Potter, whose gun had jammed. Handicapped as he was, Potter began to zigzag. Again and again he dodged them, but at last the enemy machines got him on their broadside, and poured their fire into him. Bursting into flame his machine crashed down. Potter was last seen on the surface of the water in his burning plane, from which arose a cloud of smoke. Two of the enemy circled over, then joined the other five. When the smoke cleared away, there was not even a splinter of wreckage to show where this brave young aviator had gone down.

Lost in the English Channel, given up as drowned, Ensign E. A. Stone, of Norfolk, Va., was rescued after such an experience as few men survive. With his observer, Sub-Lieutenant Eric Moore, of the British Air Force, he clung for eighty hours, from Saturday morning to Tuesday night, without food or drink, to the underside of a seaplane pontoon.

Going out on patrol at 9 a. m., at 11:30 the engine "went dead," and the plane was forced to descend to the water in a heavy sea. At 2:30 the plane turned over, and the two men climbed up to the capsized pontoons. With no food or water, soaked and lashed by the waves, there they hung for nearly four days. They saw convoys in the distance, but none came to their assistance. Sunday night a mast-head light was sighted and the ship headed straight for the crippled plane. But when it got within a hundred yards, she put out her lights and turned away.

"She thinks we are Huns," said Moore.

"I hope she does," said Stone, "Then they'll send patrol boats out to get us. We couldn't be worse off if we were Germans."

A seaplane flew near them, on Monday afternoon, but, after circling around, departed. It was not until 6 p. m., Tuesday, that they were rescued by a trawler which had been chasing a submarine.

Every machine from their seaplane base and those from a station on the French coast had searched continuously for the lost aviators as had all the patrols and destroyers in the area.

Ensigns K. W. Owen and J. Phelan, of our Killingholme station, had a somewhat similar experience May 16, near Flamborough Head. Disabled but still afloat, by both getting on one wing they swung the tail of the plane into the wind and managed to head her northwest, and coast about two knots an hour. Four days they kept this up, and then were drenched by a thunderstorm which damaged the wings and carried away their rudder. It was not until one o'clock that night that they sighted what seemed to be a boat in the distance. Using up their last cartridges, they sent a stream of "fireworks" from a Very pistol, but this did the work and in a few minutes a British destroyer drew alongside and took them aboard. They had had nothing to eat during the entire time, their only "provender" being thirty cigarettes. They had drifted 180 miles.

With an excellent training camp at Lake Bolsena and an operating station at Porto Corsini, on the Adriatic Sea, across from the Austrian naval base at Pola, our aviators did splendid service in Italy. Patrolling the Adriatic and bombing Austrian bases was their "regular job." But when, in the later months of the war, we began scattering over Austria American and Allied propaganda, to convince the Austrians of the hopelessness of their position, and which had a powerful effect in inducing Austria to give up the fight, aeroplanes were utilized to drop these thousands of leaflets and papers over cities. It was while on one of these flights that our aviators had an exciting experience and narrow escape.

On August 24, 1918, at 10:30 a. m. a group of five chasse and bombing machines left Porto Corsini for Pola, with a load of "literature." Formed in a flying wedge, the American machines soon came in sight of the high hills back of the Austrian coast, and a few moments later swept over Pola. At 11:20 the planes, at an altitude of 12,000 feet, unloaded their propaganda material over the city while the inhabitants, in response to the siren and bell alarms, sought cover from the bombs they supposed were about to fall upon their heads. Anti-aircraft ordnance filled the air with bursting shrapnel and incendiary explosives, but the aim of the gunners was poor and none of our planes was hit.

No sooner had the documents been dropped than Ensign G. H. Ludlow, the leading pilot, saw five Austrian chasses and two seaplanes rise to give battle to the five Americans. Giving the signal to attack the Austrian machines, Ludlow dived toward them, immediately followed by Ensign Austin Parker and Ensign Charles H. Hammann.

The fight started at an elevation of 7,500 feet while the American planes were still in range of the anti-aircraft defenses. The Austrian planes were much faster than the bomber, which was in the direct line of fire. High explosives, shrapnel, pom-poms and incendiary shells burst all around it, and as the American chasses flew down to give aid, they in turn were subjected to the heavy rain of projectiles. But the Austrian planes were also in the range and the anti-aircraft gunners, fearing they would bring down their own machines, ceased fire, allowing the American bomber to make good its escape.

In less time than it takes to tell, Ludlow singled out the center machine of the enemy formation, giving it bursts from his machine-gun, while handling his controls with his knees. He then swung to the left after the second Austrian, Parker continuing the fight with the first. Hammann, in the meantime, engaged two other Austrians which had swung into action. At this juncture Parker's gun jammed, and he was obliged to pull out of the melee.

Ludlow had riddled one of the enemy, which fell to the harbor in a sheet of flame, but his own machine was badly damaged. The right magneto was shot away; the propeller shattered; the engine crank-case punctured, letting out the oil, which was ignited by a spark from the exposed magneto, and the plane burst into flames. Ludlow immediately slipped into a tail-spin, and the rush of air luckily extinguished the fire. One pursuer was thrown off the track, but the other followed him down to 1,500 feet above the water, the last burst from the Austrian completing the wreck of Ludlow's engine, while two bullets passed through his leather helmet and grazed his scalp. Ludlow then went into another spin and, straightening out, made a safe landing on the water three miles west of Pola.

Then occurred a daring exploit. Hammann, by generalship and fighting ability, saved the whole squadron from further loss. With terrific bursts, he drove at the enemy, firing first on their tails and then on their flanks, and finally, with head-on drives, forced the remaining Austrian planes to their base. This gave the slow-going bomber an opportunity to make its final escape, allowed Parker and Voorhees to make good their distance and start for Porto Corsini, and relieved Ludlow from further immediate attack.

During a lull in the fighting Hammann swooped down on the surface alongside of Ludlow and his crippled plane. Austrian destroyers were on their way from the harbor to gather in both planes, and another squadron of Austrian aircraft was taking off for pursuit. Ludlow opened the photographic port of his machine, allowing the boat to flood, kicked holes in the wings to destroy buoyancy, and slipping overboard, swam to Hammann's waiting plane, and climbed up on the fuselage. The machine, a single seater, was so small that he had to sit under the motor, grasping the struts to keep himself from being swept off when it gathered speed. The extra load forced the hull into the choppy sea, where the bow, already damaged by gunfire, was broken in and one of the wing pontoons smashed.

The crippled and overloaded little plane at last managed to rise from the water. Hammann, by gunfire, sank the wreck of Ludlow's machine and, putting on all speed, made for Porto Corsini just in time to escape the leading Austrian destroyer and a squadron of seaplanes coming around the southern end of Brioni Island and making for him.

The plane made the sixty mile flight without mishap, but in landing the smashed-in bow took in enough water to nose the plane over, and, catching a wing tip in the heavy chop, the machine turned over on its back. The aviators extricated themselves from the wreckage, and were rescued by a motor boat from the station. Ludlow had a bad gash in his forehead, in addition to the scalp wounds received in the fight, and Hammann was badly bruised and strained. But both soon recovered and took part in numerous subsequent actions, including raids over the front during the drive just prior to the Austrian collapse.

Before hostilities ended, U. S. Naval Aviation had 18,736 officers and men in service in Europe. The long flights along the British, French and Italian coasts, the patrols far out to sea, the combats with enemy aircraft and submarines form one of the most brilliant chapters of the war.

On this side of the water 24 naval aviation units were in operation, patrolling the coast from Nova Scotia to the end of Florida, with stations on the Pacific and Gulf, and one unit stationed in Panama guarding the canal. The Azores, that half-way station between America and Europe, was guarded by a detachment of Marine Corps aviators. In America our fliers on patrol flew 2,455,920 nautical miles; and advanced training flights, many of which were in the nature of patrols, reached the grand total of 10,949,340 nautical miles. The total flying by our naval aviators in America, the Azores and Europe was more than 15,000,000 miles, for a nautical mile is longer than a mile as measured on land.

Naval Aviation grew, during the war, to a force of approximately 40,000, as follows:

Officers—Qualified aviators, 1,656; student aviators, 288; ground officers, 891; student officers under training for commission, 3,881.

Enlisted men—Aviation ratings, 21,951; general ratings assigned to aviation duty, 8,742.

Marine Corps—Aviation officers, 282; Enlisted men, 2,180.

This force was equipped with 1,170 flying boats, 695 seaplanes, 262 land planes, ten free balloons, 205 kite balloons, and 15 dirigibles. Of this equipment 570 aircraft had been sent abroad, before the armistice.

Captain N. E. Irwin was Director of Naval Aviation, with offices in the Navy Department. Captain H. I. Cone was in general charge of our aviation activities in Europe. Construction and operation of air stations in France were under his supervision until August 1, 1918, when he moved to London, as head of the Aviation Section of Admiral Sims' staff. Then all our forces in France, except the Northern Bombing Group, which was commanded by Captain D. C. Hanrahan, were placed under command of Admiral Wilson, Captain T. T. Craven, as aide for aviation, on his staff, being charged with all aviation matters.

Building more than forty stations in Europe, some of them of huge extent, was a big task in construction. Its accomplishment, under many handicaps and difficulties, reflects the utmost credit upon all concerned. Constructors and aviators displayed such energy and resource, that it was a current saying that, "Naval Aviation can do anything that comes to hand."

They created in a few months stations that, under ordinary circumstances, would have required years to build. Let me give one example illustrative of others. At the big air station at Killingholme, England, contracts for the buildings had been made, but it became evident soon after the arrival of our aviation personnel that unless we did the work ourselves that station would never be built in time to permit active operations or house the men in comfort. But Lieutenant M. E. Kelly, with a detail of 200 American blue-jackets, built in thirty days twenty-eight barrack buildings of brick and concrete, each twenty feet wide and sixty feet long. That is only one instance of hundreds of things done by this force in Europe.

The Navy erected its own aircraft factory at the Philadelphia Navy Yard, which was producing and shipping planes to Europe in the spring of 1918. This immense plant was of inestimable value in carrying out the program of aviation construction, which was pushed all along the line.

Though there was no specific appropriation for erecting an aircraft factory, this was considered so essential that an allotment of $1,000,000 was made for the purpose. I signed the order authorizing the erection of the plant July 27, 1917. Within ten days the contract was let. Naval Constructor F. G. Coburn was detailed as manager. Under his energetic direction, construction was pushed so rapidly that by October 17 the first buildings were up, considerable machinery installed and on November 2 the keel of the first flying boat was laid. The building was pronounced complete on November 20, only 110 days after the contract was awarded. That factory was enlarged until it covered forty acres, with buildings having 888,935 square feet of floor space. At the time of the armistice, there were 3,642 employees engaged in constructing aircraft of the latest type. The value of its war-time output was more than $5,000,000.

Not only did the Navy build and put into operation hundreds of seaplanes, flying boats and other aircraft, but it originated and built the largest seaplanes in existence, the "NC" type, the first of which was completed before the armistice.

Few people seem to realize that these huge "NC" planes—the "Nancys" they were called—which became famous in the first flight across the Atlantic in May, 1919, were built for war use, and that the work of developing this new type was begun only five months after we entered the war. It takes a long time to develop a new type of such magnitude.

All nations recognized the need of larger seaplanes, able to cruise hundreds of miles and return without refueling. Shipping space was so valuable that taking to Europe the large numbers of planes the Army and Navy had contracted for was a serious problem.

The Chief Constructor of the Navy, Admiral Taylor, had often discussed these problems with me. One day in September, he sent for Naval Constructors G. C. Westervelt and J. C. Hunsacker. "I want a plane designed that will fly across the Atlantic," was the surprising task he assigned them. Admiral Taylor's daring idea aroused my warmest enthusiasm. He and his force began work at once. No flying boat of anything like that size and power had ever before been produced. There were all kinds of problems to be solved; numerous experiments had to be made concerning every detail. By the end of 1917 all the main elements of the design had been formulated, and early in 1918 the work of construction was begun. The NC-1 was completed by the first of October, and the first test flight made three days later. This was so successful that, on November 7, just before the armistice, she flew to Washington, where she was inspected, going thence to Hampton Roads and back to Rockaway.

Our dream of building a plane that would fly across the Atlantic had been translated into reality. Six months later the NC-4 made the first flight from America to Europe, from Rockaway, Long Island, to Nova Scotia, the Azores, Portugal and England, landing at Plymouth, the port from which, three centuries before, the Pilgrims had set sail for America.