sea full of salt water. That was the awful fact that stared us in the
face as the days slid by--no gettin' away from it--a certain knowledge
that the water in those barrels was gettin' lower and lower.
Six days--seven days--eight days. . . . Over a week adrift, drenched to
your skin all the time, cold as ice at nights and hot as fire by day.
Crackers and bacon . . . bacon and crackers . . . and not enough of
either to last much longer--and then what? . . .
We didn't talk much. Even the kids, when they weren't asleep in a sort
of stupor, would stare out at sea. Then on one mornin' we made out smoke
on the horizon! It was an hour of rejoicin'. We were that wild with joy
we stood up and yelled until our voices cracked. We raised our wet
shirts on an oar and waved them, but it was no use. The smoke vanished,
they had never seen us.
Some of the men sat down and cried like babies. I wanted to, God knows,
but it's responsible I felt for those youngsters. Now supposin', I'd
keep tellin' meself, that one of them was me own kid. Would I be after
lettin' him see that I'd be givin' up all hope? Not much I wouldn't, so
I tried to cheer them along.
Half a cup of water a day was each man's portion. Half a cup, when
you're burnin' up with thirst and there's water all around you. Just
what you're longin' for and it's cool and wet and--salty. We knew it
would lead to madness to drink that stuff, but we all wondered in our
hearts how long before we would have to.
We found if we sucked on buttons it helped a little to keep our dry
throats moist, but our tongues were swollen and our lips were parched.
There was a Norwegian aboard. He had been torpedoed before. He had great
ideas as to what we ought to do, but the trouble was he couldn't speak
English, and none of us knew Norwegian, so we couldn't get him at all.
Nine days--ten days--eleven days . . . the water in the barrels was down
so low that I tried reducin' me drink to a quarter of a cup a day. It
was then I got on to the fact that Terry was actin' queer. The Norwegian
put me wise. He pointed to the ocean and patted his mouth, then he
jerked his thumb at Terry. I called the boy up sharp.
"Drinkin' salt water, eh?" I snapped.
He looked up. "What's that to you?" His eyes looked hot and feverish,
his cheeks were flushed.
"You cut it out," I ordered. I almost choked as I said it. What if it
had been me own kid?
"All right," he growled.
But he didn't stop. At night he scooped up cupfuls of it--he and the
other youngsters, and one mornin' we had four ravin', crazy boys on our
hands. They were stronger than we were and when they tried to jump
overboard we couldn't stop them. We did our best to save them, but they
fought us with the strength of fiends. We couldn't get them back into
the boat--we lost all four of them. After that I don't remember much.
For two weeks the water held out, but we were afloat four days longer.
We were semi-conscious by that time--nothin' troubled us.
An English fishin' smack picked us up and took us to a lighthouse off
the Irish coast. When I came to I found meself bein' fed water a
spoonful at a time. Sure, I couldn't take more if I wanted to, me tongue
was that thick. I stayed there three weeks, when they sent me to Ireland
and I lay in hospital there for a month. From the windows I could see
the treetops and a glimpse of the heavens, but do you know it seemed to
me that the sky in America was a heap bluer and the leaves a world
greener and, oh, how I wished for a sight of the wife and the kid!
So they brought me home and here I am. I'm not after sayin' me father
was a prevaricator--no, indeed! But I _am_ sayin' that where your folks
is there will your heart be also, and, take it from me, the fellow who
wrote, "There's no place like home" knew what he was talkin' about!
There ain't--be it County Cork or old New York!
CHIEF PHARMACIST'S MATE HALL SPEAKS:
[Illustration: Marines on the job--manning the anti-aircraft guns.]
PRISONERS OF WAR
I WANT to be a doctor, that's why when the war came I turned to the
Hospital Corps. I had heard of the advantages you derive from the
instruction and the experience you get in that branch of service, and,
besides, I liked the crowd of men going in for it. One high school had
its whole football team in the corps. I figured if it was good enough
for a star quarter-back it was good enough for yours truly.
I went in as an apprentice, of course, but I soon got onto the fact that
I needn't stay one for the rest of my life if I really wanted to get
ahead. Naturally it meant work and lots of it, but why stay in the
"pick-and-shovel" class if you don't have to?
You see, advancement entailed certain responsibility. To be a
pharmacist's mate third class, you are supposed to be of immediate value
to the medical officer in the sick bay of a ship. Once you are a
pharmacist's mate second class, you are supposed to take charge of a
Hospital Corps man's work on board ship, and in case the medical officer
is away for the time being. But to be a pharmacist mate first class, it
may be up to you to take charge of the medical department of a ship to
which no medical officer is attached.
I went to it. I don't suppose I ever worked so hard in my entire life.
But I didn't see the use of being in a corps and staying down in the
coal hole when there was plenty of room on top.
Our duties could be summed up briefly: we nursed the sick, and
administered first aid to accident cases. Some of us were to accompany
expeditionary forces to the front and give first aid to the wounded,
beside assisting at surgical operations. That was about all we had to
do, except to look after the medical stores and property, and know all
there was to know about compounding medicine.
But one of the things I liked best about it was a certain fact that was
brought out strongly--we were in the service to save lives. Get that
into your head! It was drummed into ours. We began to think we were
privileged people because, while we were in the war, it just happened to
be our job to save life instead of taking it.
I don't mean by that that we wouldn't relish a chance to get a crack at
Fritz, the killer of women and babes, but our official task happened to
be helping poor chaps back who had been laid low by a piece of Hun
steel.
Once I had got my rating, I was told to report for duty on a destroyer.
That just about suited me. I had been scared to death that they'd hold
me at a base hospital, with no chance to cross the briny deep, and I
went in search of my chum to say good-bye.
He was a quiet sort of chap, with a pair of horn-rimmed glasses that won
for him the name of "Specs." He was as funny off duty as a goat, but the
best corps man I have ever seen on his job. We were always together. We
had plugged through the course together, and worried about the exams
together, and we had hoped that fate would be kind to us and send us
across on the same ship. But nothing doing. I parted from him with all
kinds of promises to write and went aboard the destroyer.
The first man I saw on deck was "Specs," double glasses and all. I
couldn't believe my eyes. I stared at him like a fool. And by cracky, it
turned out to be his brother, who was coxswain and enough like "Specs"
to pass for himself. Well, needless to say, Trace and I hit it up from
the word go.
We had a few accident cases which kept me fairly busy going over, but as
we came nearer the Zone I got the fever that runs in every man's blood
to catch a sight of Fritz. There were some fellows aboard who had
crossed a half-dozen times without a squint at a submarine and with
nothing fiercer to take a shot at than a sleepy whale.
We were escorting a merchant ship flotilla--a whole flock of us. It had
been an exciting day all right! Early that morning, while it was yet
dark, we had made out what seemed to us to be a ring of little lights
upon the water. Take it from me, we don't rush in on anything like that.
It may be a German's coy trap for blowing you sky high. But we sure
were curious and we circled the lights swiftly, by no means certain but
that every minute would be our last. As we approached them we made them
out. They were lifeboats full of men signaling wildly for help.
We flew to their rescue and picked them up. The lot of them were half
frozen and barely able to tell us the old story of Fritz's stab in the
dark. I had some work to do then! There were frostbitten hands and feet
and ears to care for, and chills and fever to ward off. I worked over
them for hours. We found out that they were the crew of a British cargo
ship and as soon as it was light we landed them at a nearby port and set
out to sea again.
It was a wild morning. The wind had risen to what was fast becoming a
gale. Think of a gale at sea in November! Icy waves sweep your deck and
toss your ship about like a ball in the water. No chance to cook a
mouthful, as nothing would stay on the range long enough--hardtack for
all hands and lucky to get it--stand by as best you can in case of a
lurking Fritz.
The gale grew worse. I had never seen such an ugly storm. The sky was
almost black and the sea was running so high that it seemed as though
green mountains were crashing down upon us as the combers fell. I don't
know how we happened to weather it, but once the wind died down, we saw
some distance away a British destroyer, bobbing about aimlessly on that
wild sea. Her decks had been swept clean, her propellers smashed, her
wireless gone. She was just a plaything of the waves. We went to her
rescue. What was left of her crew was certainly glad to see us. They had
given up all hope of help coming before Fritz saw her.
We towed her to her base and on the way we caught a signal warning us to
keep an extra sharp lookout as a cruiser had been sent to bottom by a
submarine not five miles away. We left the disabled destroyer at her
base and set out for our own; it was about four in the afternoon. The
storm had died down, but the waves still looked wicked and the sky was a
dirty gray.
Fritz was laying for us. I suppose he had seen us taking the destroyer
in and he figured we'd start for home. I guess he decided to make a good
day's work of it by sinking us before he sat down to dinner. Trace was
lookout, and he sighted a small periscope some distance off the port
bow. It extended about a foot out of water and was visible only a few
seconds, but say, did he let out a yell? . . .
We charged them. Three seconds later we dropped a depth charge. That's
quick work for you. Hot on her trail we were and no mistake! Another
destroyer speeded up too and followed the spray that told which way
Fritz was heading. Oh, he was still determined to get one of us, for he
was making straight for a merchant vessel in the convoy. We dropped
another charge.
At that instant the submarine's conning tower appeared on the surface
between ourselves and the convoy. Did we pump hell into her from our
stern gun? We did!
Up came the bow of the submarine. She was down by the stern, but righted
herself and seemed to increase her speed. We were after her like a
streak. We fired from our bow gun. That settled Fritz. For, after the
third shot, the crew of the submarine came on deck and surrendered, by
God! to the U. S. N.!
The whole thing took exactly ten minutes, but it seemed a lifetime to
me!
We approached the submarine to pick up the prisoners, while the other
destroyers kept their batteries trained on the boat. We weren't taking
any chances, for there's no telling if Fritz, with his hands up, won't
pull a trigger with his toes.
We got a line to the submarine, but in a few moments she sank. The line
was let go and the U-boat's crew jumped into the water and swam to our
ship. All of them wore life preservers, but some of the men were
exhausted when they reached the side of our ship, and, as the submarine
sank, several of them were caught by the radio aerial and carried below
the surface before they could disentangle themselves.
Ten of the men were so weak that we had to pass lines under their arms
to haul them aboard, and one chap was in such a condition that he could
not hold a line thrown him. I saw him reach for it and let it slip
through his fingers. I couldn't stand it. I climbed the rail, and,
before they could stop me, I dived in. Someone dived after me. It was
Trace. He felt like I did seeing a man drown before your eyes. More
credit was due him, though, by a long sight, than me, for his job was
coxswain while I was in a corps that was supposed to save life. Fine
corps man I'd have made if, at my first chance to rescue a fellow, I'd
stood by and let him go down!
We were hauled aboard with the German between us. I've never been so
cold in my life. I bet you could hear my teeth chatter clear across the
Atlantic. As for the German, he died in a few minutes' time. The reason
is plain. I wasn't able to give him first aid, being all in myself. I
know I could have pulled him through. Those other chaps were no good at
resuscitation.
We had four German officers and a crew of thirty-five prisoners. The
first lot taken in this war by an American destroyer.
We fed up Fritz on hot coffee and sandwiches. Our method of handling
prisoners is a bit different from the Huns. They were a pretty seedy
lot, but once we had shelled out warm coats and heavy clothing to them,
they perked up a bit and before long the crew began to sing. I listened
to them, but somehow it made me sick. I had heard how they treat our men
when they catch them--they don't get much chance to sing!
The German officers told us that the first depth charge had wrecked
Fritz's machinery and caused him to sink to a considerable depth. If we
did say so ourselves, we were pretty good shots!
There wasn't a mark on the submarine that gave her away, but the
lifebelts did. We got her number. We proceeded to port and there turned
our prisoners over under guard. We felt pretty cocky over it. Or rather
the crew did who had had a real hand in capturing the Germans. I hadn't
done anything. Why they mentioned me in the reports I don't know. I
guess they didn't remember about a corps-man's job including the saving
of life--I did, though. I told you I had studied hard!
FIREMAN SEYMOUR SPEAKS:
FRITZ GETS TAGGED
I BELONG to the Black Gang. You don't hear much about us because our
work keeps us below deck, and it's good hard work when you're making
twenty knots--but I like it. I wouldn't change places with any gun's
crew on earth, although they have more of a chance for their life if
trouble comes. We have duties to perform right in our quarters in case a
ship is struck that keeps us close to the engines--there's always danger
there--especially aboard a coal-burning destroyer--and that's what I
shipped on.
There wasn't any keeping me out of the navy. We have four honorable
discharges hung up in our house. I used to show them to my kid. He's
five, but awful smart. He knows all about them.
"That's from the War of 1776," he'll say, pointing to the first one.
"And that's from the Civil War, my great Grandpa fought in that."
The third one is for the Spanish-American.
"My grandpa fought in that one," he tells you.
And pretty soon, when this scrap is over there'll be a fourth one
hanging alongside of the others and Bill can look at it and say, "My pop
got that one in the biggest war of all."
I only wish the youngster was old enough to enlist himself. We're a
fighting family. I joined the navy in 1915. I was on a battleship then,
but when war broke they transferred me to a destroyer. We didn't go out
until the cold weather had set in. All of us were given Arctic outfits
and it's lucky we were--we needed them, believe me! You are mighty
grateful for the heavy woollen pants and the jumper with a hood that
covers your ears.
Destroyer duty is the most exciting of all, for, while merchant crafts
go out of their way to avoid submarines, our game is to go out of our
way to hunt them. It was like a game of hide and seek, with a destroyer
"It," trying to tag Fritz if he'd only give us half a chance.
One of Fritz's pet stunts was to send us an S.O.S., giving us the exact
location at sea of a vessel in trouble--oh, he was awful careful to see
that you got it right, all you needed to do was to steam up to that spot
and be blown clear out of creation.
Of course, all the calls for help weren't false. One day we came close
enough to see a cargo ship in flames, and her crew being ordered over
her side to open boats. "Burn the cargo and sink the ship," was Fritz's
creed and if you think that being set afloat in a life-boat in December
is an experience you'll forget in a hurry, you're wrong!
By the time we reached the survivors, half of them were dead--frozen
where they sat, their bodies covered with ice.
We were on duty every minute of the day and night. I don't think any of
the crew slept soundly for the seven months that we stayed at sea
without ever touching shore. Think of it, seven months on a ship that's
never still, zig-zagging, doubling on its own course--charging any
floating objects in hopes of downing a Fritz.
My, but the troopships were glad to see us when we went out to meet
them. We'd shoot up alongside of them, or cut clean across their bow,
playing in front of them like a porpoise, as we asked them what sort of
a trip they had had across and how things were going back home. We'd
come so close to the convoy at times that they could almost reach out
and touch us, then we'd dart away at the drop of a hat.
As Christmas came near, we hoped to touch port. We had been promised a
Christmas ashore, but it seemed we had sudden orders to go out and pick
up a convoy, so we headed for the open sea again.
[Illustration]
Christmas Eve was biting cold. I went up for air and I was glad to hurry
back to the engine room again. It was at least warm down there. The men
who stood watch on deck were muffled to the eyes. I thought of my wife
and the kid. I wondered if he was hanging up his little stocking and
saying a prayer for his dad who was at sea. I hadn't heard a word from
them, of course, since I had left home. But on that particular night
they seemed very close to me. I could almost see our little sitting
room, with a holly wreath in the window. I remembered just the corner
where we always put up the Christmas tree and I thought of the fun we
had trimming it and trying not to make a breath of noise to wake the
kid. All this while I realized dimly that the boat was pitching harder
than ever and my mate broke in with:
"We're in for a gale to celebrate Christmas proper."
We were, all right! They say it was the worst storm that had been seen
off that coast in many a year. It was the highest sea I've ever been on.
You could scarcely keep your feet, and as for food--our Christmas dinner
consisted of hard tack and lucky we were to get that. You couldn't keep
a thing on the ranges except the stationary kettles. They managed to
make something that was supposed to be coffee in those and for
twenty-two hours that was our chow.
There were moments through that long night when I thought we'd turn
clean over. We never expected the rudder to hold with those giant waves
breaking over the deck and turning everything to ice.
All the submarines afloat didn't give me the feeling of nearness to
death that that storm had. I certainly was glad when the sea quieted
down and the sun struggled through the clouds again.
Up to the first of the year we had not had a chance to get a shot at
Fritz. He had been a bit too wily for us, getting in his dirty work
before we arrived on the spot, leaving a trail of burning or sinking
ships but no sign of himself. But we got our revenge. It was in January.
We had met a string of troop and cargo ships from the States, which we
were escorting to port. We were so near the coast that I guess most of
the boys aboard were getting their things together preparatory to
landing.
It was eight o'clock in the morning and I don't suppose any of us really
dreamed of a submarine turning up so close to shore, when suddenly the
shrill whistle from a transport made the air around it blue with its
noise! A second later came the roar of guns and I knew sure enough that
some tin fish had welcomed us!
I stood by in the engine room, which was my place in time of danger,
listening with all my ears to the boom of our own guns. Oh, we were
after Fritz all right!
The rumor drifted in to us that there were ten periscopes to be seen,
but soon it came down to three. The guns from all the ships
thundered--it was as if a battlefield were transported to the Atlantic
Ocean.
The roar of guns deafened you, but you certainly got a thrill you never
forgot. We worked like fiends. We knew they needed speed as never
before. We were like cats after a mouse.
Someone sent up a shout and word came that oil had begun to show on the
water--that meant one less submarine afloat! Again the roar of
guns--again the shout! Two Fritzes sunk. . . !
In the midst of the firing came a strange new sound--a buzzing overhead.
French airships to the rescue! They were not more than two hundred yards
above us, dropping bombs as they flew. I listened for the sound of
cheering--it came! A third Fritz sunk. In port the sinking was
officially verified--three German submarines destroyed, read the record.
Not bad, eh?
I don't believe a gun on any of the transports or destroyers was cold
for fully two hours. When it was over, I went on deck for a breath of
air. I was sweating like a horse and shaking all over from the strain.
The instant I stepped on deck, Fritz got a shot at us, splintering our
deck and taking one of my fingers along as a souvenir.
Now I ask you, wasn't that rum luck? If I'd only stayed below where I
belonged, I'd still be plus a finger. The ship's doctor finished up the
job, but I couldn't use that hand, and, believe me, it made me sore as
anything. I knew I'd miss all the sport going by having to be sent home.
I tried to argue with him. But he wouldn't listen to me--home I must go.
There wasn't any two ways about it--orders is orders.
I traveled back on a transport. I was all right. My hand was healing
fine. I wanted to stand watch on the way across, but they wouldn't let
me. Treated me like a blooming invalid and gave me a month's liberty to
get well. Well! I was well ten minutes after it happened.
No, I didn't tell my wife how I lost it. I said I'd been mixed up in an
accident in the engine room. That was pretty near the truth. You can
slip so easily with the ship pitching and rearing that it isn't hard to
lose an arm that way. Oh, if I was to tell her that a sub carried part
of my hand away, she'd worry to death about having me go to sea again.
I'll break it to her after the war. Just now there's one thing on my
mind--just one--to get back somehow in the Black Gang. I can handle a
shovel--my arm's a bit stiff yet, but I'm all muscle. Believe me, they
aren't going to shelve me just because one finger's gone! Not by a long
sight!
I'm not going to miss one minute of this scrap if I can help it. My
kid's going to be proud of my record before I get through--wait and see
if he isn't!
WARRANT CARPENTER HOYT SPEAKS:
THE FLOWER OF FRANCE
EVER see those red poppies that grow by the roadside in France? They
always make me think of Angele. They are so graceful and vivid and gay.
It almost seems as though they enjoyed watching the soldiers march past,
they spring up so close to the road. All the war that has swept through
the land has failed to kill the crop. You will find innumerable scarlet
patches of them nodding their brave little heads to the boys as they
tramp by--cheering them on--for all the world like France's
daughters--bless them!
I was one of the first Americans to go across after our declaration of
war on Germany. Those were the days when the German propagandists in
this country knew more about the movements of our fleet than we did
ourselves.
They called upon us formally a way off the French coast, with two
torpedoes. But they were bad shots, so their visiting cards never
arrived and we continued our course without any further opportunity of
making their acquaintance.
As we neared the coast the water became clotted up with wreckage--boxes
and barrels and floating planks--yes--and bodies, too. I've never seen a
sight to equal it and I have crossed eight times all told. But in the
beginning of the war Fritz was pretty active. Never a day passed that we
received less than seven or eight S.O.S. calls. Oh, Fritz was having it
all his own way then. We've changed all that--rather!