Running The War Zone
FIRST VOYAGE TO LIVERPOOL
S. H.
At 7.34 A. M., December 15, 1917, the _Leviathan_ left her pier in
Hoboken for her first trip across the Atlantic. Twelve tugs were employed
to assist in swinging the bow of the giant ship toward the sea. The
following organizations and numbers of troops were on board, in addition
to some notable passengers:
No. 7,254. Organizations—Base Hospital, No. 31, Female; Base Hospital,
No. 34, 82nd Brigade Hdqts., 163rd Inf., 164th Inf.; Commanding Officer,
Brig. General Edward Vellruth, 82nd Brigade.
The morning was rather raw, with the snow falling heavily, but nothing
could dampen the ardor of the 7,254 troops and 2,000 sailors on board.
We were about to cross the ocean, most of us for the first time, and the
hazard of the perils of the submarine, whose operations were more active
at this period of the war than at any other time, and the excitement of
the adventure, if nothing else, was sufficient reason for everyone to
keep his spirit up.
Passing through Ambrose Channel, the ship headed for the open sea with
the compass pointing due east and the propellers revolving at the rate
of 158 revolutions per minute, which is equivalent to 21 knots. Until
sundown this same night, a zig-zag course was maintained, not because of
the danger of submarines, for none were reported off the Atlantic coast
at this time, but in order to give the officers and men on the bridge an
opportunity to become thoroughly acquainted with this method so as to be
familiar with it when in the danger zone.
[Illustration: AT SEA]
Abandon ship drills were held this day, all members on board falling
in at their respective boats and rafts in a quite orderly fashion and
lowering the boats in a remarkably short time.
At 2.00 A. M. the next day, December 16th, lights of western-bound ships
were sighted off the port bow. The sky was completely overcast, with a
rough northwest sea, accompanied with fresh strong breezes. Our speed
averaged 20 knots this day, all 46 boilers in the fireroom being in
commission. The clocks were advanced 47 minutes.
The next day a moderate gale was blowing and we passed through heavy rain
squalls. Due to the heavy sea our speed was reduced. The sky remained
overcast with the barometer dropping steadily giving little hope of
the weather moderating. The customary drills of abandon ship and fire
alarm were gone through. The water-tight doors, so essential in case of
submarine attacks, were tested and found O. K.
The sea moderated sufficiently the next day to allow us to increase speed
once more, this time to 21½ knots, although the ship rolled and pitched
considerably as the heavy swells struck her, many of the troops on board
showing the effects of the inevitable _mal-de-mer_. We passed through a
thick fog when off the Grand Banks.
On the 19th, while holding abandon ship drill, twelve rounds of
ammunition were fired from the various guns, in order to keep them in
tip-top shape and to give their crews the necessary training in loading
and firing. At night the sky cleared considerably, the first sign of good
weather we had since leaving Hoboken. The barometer rose steadily, a
smooth sea running with a moderate breeze. From day to day we continued
setting our clocks ahead. Up to this time the entire crew was in
ignorance of the ship’s destination, but when the course was changed to
northeast, it was quite apparent to us that we were headed for “Blighty.”
We were passing through the Gulf Stream and the weather remained clear
and fairly warm. A private in Co. H, 163rd Regt., was placed in the brig
for safekeeping, at the request of the brigade commander, demonstrating
that the soldiers on board were subject to the same discipline as were
the crew. Not long after this a member of the crew was disciplined for
failing to wear his life-jacket.
The good weather did not remain with us very long, for on the 22nd the
wind picked up to 65 miles an hour. We were rapidly approaching the
war-zone and the men were continually cautioned not to neglect wearing
their life-preservers at all times, day and night, not to undress upon
turning in, and never to strike a match on the open deck at night. In
fact, it was contrary to ship regulations for an enlisted man to carry
any matches at all about his person. It is a fact that the glare of a
lighted match or cigarette is visible for half a mile on the open sea at
night and guards vigilantly patrolled the outer decks in order to prevent
any neglect along this line.
About midnight, while running close to the danger zone, the wire
controlling the siren contracted, due to the extreme cold weather, and
like a bolt out of a clear sky, the siren went off automatically. The
siren is used only in case of emergency, to notify all hands on board of
some impending danger, and going off accidentally as it did caused quite
some excitement on board, especially in the case of the Red Cross nurses.
Many of the latter had been quite seasick the greater part of the trip,
but the excitement tended to relieve them somewhat. After some difficulty
the trouble was remedied.
At 4 A. M., the morning of the 23rd, in a treacherous sea, our convoy of
American destroyers, the famous submarine annoyers, were picked up. It
is hard for one to describe the feeling and excitement of picking up a
convoy of destroyers at night and we believe that it is quite impossible
for the reader to understand how much it means to 10,000 souls on a ship
in the danger zone when the word is passed that destroyers are with us.
On the morning of December 23rd, at 4 A. M., out of the black sky just
before dawn and in a heavy sea with a strong wind blowing, a small white
wake was seen by the lookout on the bridge. At first it was taken for
the wake of a periscope and the gun crews were called to quarters, then
as the guns were trained on it, a small white flash was seen blinking
the American recognition signal, and we then knew that it was one of our
destroyers. We picked them up out of the black sky and a heavy sea until
there were seven little wasps that spelled danger to the Hun submarine.
They sped along with us while we zigzagged in and out on our course. They
crossed our bow and ran in and far out on each side of us, always looking
for the sub that might be lying in wait for us. Their motto was “go get
’em.” They never waited for a sub to attack first, they always started
the fight provided that “Fritz” was willing to show himself and we want
to say right here that he was very reluctant to do so when an American
destroyer showed itself.
It was difficult to carry on signal communication with the destroyers
in a heavy sea; they were submerged in the trough so that their slender
masts looked like periscopes.
THE OUTER GUARD
A tribute to the Destroyers by JOHN OXENHAM
Bold watchers of the deep,
Guards of the Greater Ways,
How shall our swelling hearts express
Our heights and depths of thankfulness
For these safeguarded days?
Grim is your vigil there,
Black day and blacker night;
Watching for life, while knavish death
Lurks all around, above, beneath,
Waiting his chance to smite.
Your hearts are stouter than
The worst that Death can do.
Our thoughts for you!—our prayers for you!
There’s One aloft that cares for you,
And He will see you through.
Don’t think we e’er forget
The debt we owe to you!
Never a night but we pray for you!
Never a day but we say for you—
“God bless the gallant lads in blue!
With mighty strength their hearts renew.
Bless every ship and every crew!
Give every man his rightful due!
And bring them all, Oh, God! safe through.”
A submarine was reported on the surface of the water in the early
afternoon, about seven miles off the starboard beam, but upon her
flashing out the recognition call we immediately knew her to belong to
one of the Allies, very probably British. Soon after this a British
dirigible was sighted dead ahead. She was painted aluminum color,
rendering her almost invisible in the distance and apparently she was
doing scouting duty in these waters.
At 5 P. M., the 23rd, South Stack Lighthouse was passed on our beam, and
we headed our course up St. George’s Channel. After sundown the destroyer
that had our pilot on board took up a position directly ahead of us and
acted as guide for the entire convoy.
Later in the evening, 8.36 P. M., our engines were slowed down to allow
the pilot to board from the destroyer and at 9.42 that night both engines
stopped completely and our anchor was dropped just outside of Liverpool,
England, while the destroyers circled around us during the night,
protecting us from any possible attack. We passed the night in this
anchorage. At 6 A. M. the next day, December 24th, we up-anchored and
headed for the River Mersey, passing close to Bar Light Vessel. One of
the men stationed aboard this vessel gave us a “Merry Christmas” through
a large megaphone. Many of us had almost forgotten that this was the day
before Christmas; in fact, as later events proved, Christmas had very
little cheer for us.
Formby light was passed at 8.45, and Crosby Light 27 minutes later.
We were now in the Mersey, our speed was reduced and because of the
shallowness of the water in the river, men were placed in the chains
to sound continually the depths of the water. We steamed up the river
without mishap and ran alongside the Princess Landing Stage, which
because of the heavy draft of the tide in this river, is a floating
stage. Our lines were thrown to the dock and made fast. No sooner had
this been accomplished than the gangway was thrown over and the soldiers
commenced disembarking. This continued throughout the day.
Shortly after arriving news came to us of the sinking of a British pilot
boat, with the loss of all hands. This same pilot boat had been mined in
almost the same position that we were lying in the night before, in fact
many of us remembered the boat as it was cruising around us, warning all
outgoing ships of the latest submarine activities. It was purely a matter
of luck that we had escaped a similar fate.
The celebrated docking of the biggest ship in the world at Liverpool,
without plans, by Naval Constructor Alfred W. Minuse, N. R., is the
subject of a special article.
[Illustration: UPPER—A STORM.
CENTER—WAR PAINT.
LOWER—DISEMBARKING TROOPS (LIVERPOOL).]
LIVERPOOL
J. M.
The first liberty party from the _Leviathan_ while in Liverpool, left
the ship at 4.30 P. M. on December 24th, and was due back at noon
on the 25th, which was Christmas, and it turned out to be a gloomy,
cheerless Christmas, for most of the boys had never been away from home
on that sacred day before. Their first impression of the city was a poor
one—dimly-lighted streets, cold rain, dark alleys, and foggy river.
Dismal, indeed, after leaving a land of sunshine and bright lights and
coming to a land mostly of darkness and rain. The sun did not rise
during this time of the year until nearly 9 o’clock, at least that was
the time that it was supposed to rise, but it was seldom that we had the
pleasure of seeing it even for a full hour. Sunset was at 3.30 P. M., or
in the vicinity, so it will be seen that the days were real short during
this season. To think that we were to spend two months or more in this
country! We certainly were sorry for the men who were stationed there
and we would not change places with them for a Navy clothing contract.
The city appeared remarkably true to type and character described by
Conan Doyle in his books. Without a doubt our impression would have been
much better if we had been there in time of peace. We did not realize
the trials that England had been through in the years before we entered
the war. Her best men had gone to fight and her streets had to be kept
dark because of air raids. Then there was a food problem. The German
U-boats sunk everything possible that came within the range of a torpedo
or a gun, so it may be seen that England depended mostly on her ships to
bring food to her brave people and armies. When our crew went ashore it
was with great dismay that they viewed the food problem—a meat card, a
bread card, a tea card, a butter card, were all necessary for a fellow
to get a meal, and what was worst of all, there was no sugar for our
coffee and not being tea drinkers we were very much grieved to find out
that we must use a chemical called saccharine to sweeten our coffee.
However, we soon got used to it, but whenever possible we stayed on the
ship for meals to make sure of things. It may be mentioned that at the
time there was no American Y. M. C. A. in Liverpool. The English “Y” was
as bad as the restaurants as far as eating was concerned. The English
mode of travel was another puzzle to the American Bluejacket, there being
three different class distinctions. It seemed queer to an Englishman
that an American sailor should ride in a first class compartment on a
train supposed to be only for the “higher class” people. It took our
bluejackets quite some time and cost a few black eyes and bumped noses
to convince some Englishmen that an American would not stand for any
inferior rating.
The English money was not such a puzzle as we had expected to find it.
In a few days and with the loss of a few dollars in short change we soon
learned to count it. We even have reason to believe that during our first
few liberties ashore we actually received full value for our money in
some instances. One of the many questions asked us on our return was: How
and what are the English girls like? Gee! what a question to deal with.
Well, here goes for a hard try to be fair in all cases. We found that
most English girls are not stuck up and are always willing to speak to
a “gob” if he so desired. They are more masculine than our girls. Girls
run after a car and hop on it while it is going at a good speed, and as
far as good looks are concerned there are pretty girls and then there are
others—of course this may be found the world over and in any country.
The streets of the city were, for the most part, narrow and nearly
always muddy and if a fellow came back to the ship without wet feet it
was something unusual. There were shows of different kinds: vaudeville,
drama, and musical comedy, not forgetting the movies and Charlie Chaplin.
The shows helped to fill up a great lot of our time.
We were not at all sorry when we were told that we were to leave in a
few days, as all the necessary work had been finished. The ship had been
camouflaged in a most queer design by English experts, which made it
appear more grotesque than ever.
The camouflage design was so perfect that when the destroyer convoy met
us at sea it was necessary for them to approach us in the shape of a
fan to make sure as to the direction we were going. Many persons have
been misled as to the real use of camouflage on ships. Contrary to most
beliefs it is not to make a ship absolutely invisible to a submarine, but
to deceive the eye of the periscope in the submarine. A ship is disguised
so that from a distance it appears to be going in an opposite direction,
or on an angle to the real course traveled.
On Lincoln’s Birthday the _Leviathan_ left Liverpool. We had gone through
a rough vigil. If one were to ask us what it was we liked best in
Liverpool we would have answered, “The first ship back to the states,”
for Liverpool, with its bleak, dimly-lighted streets and the piercing,
foggy atmosphere was no attraction.
We were in a heavy sea practically from the time we left the Mersey until
within a day or two of New York.
One interesting event occurred soon after our departure. The _Porter_,
one of the crackerjack destroyers, sighted a suspicious spar in the
water. With an abrupt change of course, and almost turning in her own
length, she made direct for the object, dropping a 300-pound depth
charge of T. N. T., which blew the spar to atoms. At this time the crew
was down “chowing,” enjoying the famous _Leviathan_ “turnovers.” The
explosion of this charge shook the ship and all hands rushed on deck.
HIGH SEAS
The violent seas broke over our fo’castle, throwing the spray as high as
the flying bridge, 100 feet above the water. It tore gun rails apart,
lifted lifeboats from their fastenings, opened shell cases and did
considerable all-around damage. Some good came of it—the first division
men found no reason to wash down decks for some time to come.
The destroyers were unable to keep up with us, and it is remarkable that
they stayed with us as long as they did. The sea proved too much for
them. When caught in the trough formed by two high waves, hardly more
than the top of their stacks and masts was discernible. They trailed
behind us the entire next day, within radio call, and turned back upon
receiving word from us that we were out of the danger zone. The danger
from submarines was rather slight when it is considered how difficult a
matter it would be for them to launch a torpedo accurately in a heavy sea.
We continued upon our course without event until off the Grand Banks of
Newfoundland. Here we ran into a fog so thick that it was impossible to
see our bow from the bridge, and every minute for eight hours of this
day our steam fog whistle blew steadily, warning all nearby ships of our
approach.
Nantucket Lightship, the first indication of land, was reported by
one of the signal boys on the night of February 18th. Montauk Point
and Shinnecock Lights soon followed and the next morning found us at
the entrance to New York Harbor, our first overseas trip successfully
completed.
The ship was brought up the river to the dock in the thickest fog seen
for years. Capt. W. S. McLaughlin gauged the turn nicely and Capt. W. J.
Bernard had a tug stationed at the end of Pier 4 to guide the _Leviathan_
in by whistle signal. It was a highly creditable performance.
_Second Trip to Liverpool_
After a stay of thirteen days in New York, during which time our supplies
were replenished and minor repairs and alterations were made, we steamed
out of New York Harbor on March 4th, for our second trip overseas. On
board we had 8,242 troops, with the following organizations:
120th Field Artillery, 121st Field Artillery, 2nd Motor Mechanics, 9th
and 10th Brigades, 20th F. A., 5th Div. School; Maj. Gen. J. T. Dickman.
Accompanying us was H. B. Davison, Chairman of the War Council, American
Red Cross. After passing out of the channel we dropped our Pilot at
Sandy Hook and once more set our course at 90 degrees headed due east.
Fire Island Light was passed abeam at 2.43 the same afternoon. We were
making a standard speed of 20 knots which was maintained throughout the
day while the weather remained clear and the sea smooth. After sundown
the ship was darkened with the exception of a few blue lights, commonly
known as battle lights, located at the various watertight doors and at
the stairways. For two days following, the weather remained moderate
with occasional rain squalls and light northeast winds. From this time
on all of our watertight doors were kept closed while an army guard kept
constant watch on all doors to see that they were not tampered with or
opened. Abandon ships drills were held each day and it may be mentioned
that there was ample lifeboat equipment for every soldier aboard. Each
soldier was provided with a lifebelt. On the afternoon of March 7th smoke
was sighted dead ahead, we discovered it was a British cruiser and a half
hour later we passed her, on our starboard beam 15,000 yards distant. On
this same day a soldier on board was placed in solitary confinement for
making seditious remarks.
At 6.15 A. M., March 9th, the following radio message, which was sent
broadcast to all ships, was received:
“Vessels may meet three Allied submarines now proceeding from
New London to Bermuda. Not escorted at present.”
We entered the War Zone on the eight to twelve watch on the morning of
March 11th, picking up our escort of destroyers, seven in number.
The rendezvous is previously arranged by cable and the destroyers are
picked up by wireless from 24 to 36 hours before meeting. The times of
arrival at the rendezvous are exchanged, and the meeting place arranged.
After picking up our escort, of which the Destroyer _Manly_ was the
senior ship, we proceeded on a zigzag course heading again for Liverpool.
While passing through St. George’s Channel the _Manly_ was seen to
suddenly swerve out of the formation and while only 800 yards from
our port bow she commenced firing with her forward battery and fired
a five-inch shell apparently at some suspicious object sighted. She
immediately dropped a depth charge. It was so close that the _Leviathan_
shook from stem to stern and many thought that we had struck a mine.
What the object was we do not know, but if it was a sub, we extend our
most heartfelt sympathies to the families of the crew. We proceeded on
our trip without further event and the following afternoon found us in
Liverpool once more. Immediately upon arriving the disembarking of troops
and baggage was begun. The next morning, before all troops had left the
ship, it was necessary for us to proceed to dry dock while the tide was
high. One of the river ferry-boats unfortunately passed too close to us
and suffered considerable damage, although she had been properly warned
to give us right of way.
Safely moored in Gladstone Dock this same afternoon, the disembarking
of troops was continued and completed the next morning. It was fine to
see regiments of American troops, with flags unfurled and bands playing
popular Yankee airs, marching to war. The boys aroused the admiration of
the English.
Our stay in Liverpool, from March 12th to April 10th, was similar to the
previous one. Minor repairs were made and our troop-carrying capacity was
increased.
English contractors had been coaling the ship for at least three weeks
and a few days before sailing it was found necessary for the crew to take
this work in hand. The men worked faithfully, night and day, for each
additional ton placed in the bunkers brought them so much closer to
America—“God’s Country.”
GERMAN PRISONERS
On April 9th, thirty-seven German prisoners, captured by the destroyers
_Fanning_ and _Nicholson_ when they bombed and sank the U-58, were
brought on board under guard for transportation to the United States.
These prisoners consisted of thirty-three enlisted men, one warrant
officer, and three commissioned officers. They were young men, their
senior officer had been awarded the Iron Cross.
Previous to their arrival arrangements had been made by the ship to guard
them on the trip over. Twelve shot-guns of English make were purchased
ashore and sawed off by the ship’s armorer to make them more effective
for this sort of work. The aft brig was put in readiness for the enlisted
prisoners, while staterooms on “C” deck were set aside for the officers.
Chief petty officers were detailed to guard the officers on the trip
over, while the guarding of the enlisted men was taken care of by the
regular ship’s guard. Each prisoner wore a patch of red cloth on his
right leg to signify that he was a prisoner of war.
The C. P. O.’s guarding the prisoners had been torpedoed by a submarine a
short time previous and bore no great love for their charges.
It was quite a jolt to their high pride to be captured by the “Yanks” and
sent home by the “Yanks” on a German ship taken over by the “Yanks,” but
the enlisted men seemed pleased that they had been captured and their
lives were at least safe. Incidentally they showed no good feelings
toward their former officers. One of the men, a machinist, had formerly
been a bartender in Boston and one of the officers had been engaged in
business in Cincinnati some years prior to the war.
The officers were a dignified set and they seemed surprised that they
were not given unusual consideration. For instance, one of them asked his
guard why he did not have hot water in his room. He was not highly elated
when the guard retorted, “You people built the ship, why didn’t you pipe
it to suit yourselves?”
The German officers dined in the Ritz-Carlton Mess Hall, where our own
officers dined, but at a table set aside for them and under guard.
On April 13th, while en route to New York, we fired flat nose shells from
each gun for tests. The German prisoners below thought we were firing
at another of their “subs” and were much excited. The prisoners showed
much interest as to what arrangements had been made for their abandoning
ship, if occasion required, and did not seem any too pleased when they
were informed that the same arrangements had been made for them as they
had made for the lost souls on the _Lusitania_. Of course this was not
literally true.
It might be mentioned that their first meal aboard this ship consisted of
a favorite dish, frankfurters and sauerkraut. This was not pre-arranged,
but incidentally happened to be on the menu that night.
The trip home was without further event, except for a small iceberg
sighted the second day out. We arrived in Hoboken on the afternoon of the
17th, and were welcomed by the usual crowds that lined the docks. The
German submarine prisoners were taken off and placed under marine guard,
and thence sent down to Fort McPherson, Ga.
The German officers moved off with disdain but their enlisted men waved
a cordial good-bye to the ship and her crew. This incident illustrated
their phase of mind, finally culminating in the mutinies of the German
sailors at Kiel and Wilhelmshafen and effectually prevented a clashing of
the German fleet and the Allied Navy.
_Third Trip Overseas_
Late in the afternoon of April 24th, the _Leviathan_ cast off her lines
once more, after a short stay of only seven days in Hoboken. The patent
log, which registers the speed of the ship, was streamed from the
taff-rail upon our departure and a standard speed of eighteen knots was
maintained until past Ambrose Channel Light Vessel.
Troops and organizations on board were as follows:
Troops, 8,909. Men in 11th Infantry; 15th Machine Gun Battalion; Base
Hospital No. 20, Female; Base Hospital No. 30, Female; 304th Field
Artillery; 306th Field Artillery; 302d Supply Train of the 77th Div. N.
A.; Brig. General Walter H. Gordon, 10th Infantry Brigade.
Exceptionally mild weather was encountered on the entire trip across,
especially in the Gulf Stream, the temperature of the water at times
running as high as 73 degrees. Numerous flying-fish and schools of
Porpoise were observed from day to day. The spouting fish would cause us
to keep our gaze fixed upon him. Gliding through the water he greatly
resembles the wake of a periscope.
The opinion was expressed on board that this time France would be our
destination. Our cargo holds were loaded to the top with all sorts of
army equipment, camouflaged artillery wagons, automobile trucks, shell
cases, etc. After the fourth day out the men on the bridge knew for an
absolute fact, by the course steered, that we were heading for France and
many of us already saw ourselves walking up the main street of Paris with
a girl on each arm. Little did we know how keen our disappointment would
be, for as later events proved, our views of France were to be observed
from a coal barge, three long miles away from the mainland.
Occasionally a convoy of perhaps ten or twelve vessels would be sighted,
hull below the horizon and just the masts visible, presenting a peculiar
sight, keeping pace with us for a few hours and gradually disappearing.
It was unusual for a lone ship to be sighted, for the safest method of
travel was in convoy, escorted by cruisers or destroyers. Extremely
precautionary methods were always taken with ships sighted without
escort, a change of course usually effected to give such vessels a wide
berth. They were always looked upon with suspicion by us, especially
sailing vessels, for instances have been reported of German U-boats
rigging up two or three sails and floating on the surface of the water to
resemble harmless, slow-moving schooners.
PRECAUTIONS TAKEN
In addition to these we gave wide berth to any floating objects observed,
such as barrels, spars, wooden cases, etc., for fear that these were
dangerous mines. On one occasion, while in the danger zone, our starboard
guns were fired on a suspicious object which later proved to be a
spouting black-fish. Absolutely no chances were taken. Our motto, because
of the 12,000 souls aboard, was “Safety First.” A transport, especially
one nearly 1,000 feet long, presents a huge target for a U-boat, and must
necessarily act on the defensive, not offensive.
Everything went well on this journey until very close to land. We were
escorted by the usual destroyers and were prepared to make land fall,
when the good weather we had been having was interrupted by an extremely
heavy fog. Although still in the danger zone our speed was necessarily
decreased. It is almost impossible to navigate in a thick fog and
consequently our engines were brought almost to a standstill. Looking
out on our starboard beam, through the thick fog, an object was seen to
approach us. This proved to be one of our destroyers, which hove close
to. Through a megaphone an officer on our bridge shouted, “We don’t know
where we are. Do you?” To which came the most disappointing answer, “No.”
Here was a ticklish situation. Floundering around in a section of water
that was a hot-bed for submarines, we were all considerably on the alert.
Suddenly through the thick fog, from the destroyer, came the report,
“Black and white buoy on starboard beam.” All breathed a sigh of relief,
for that buoy signified mid-channel and that we were following a course
that would lead us direct to our destination. This was a bit of clever
navigation, even if we say so ourselves.
We entered the harbor of Brest, France, on the afternoon of May 2d, just
as the fog lifted. Our eyes beheld a beautiful harbor, surrounded on the
mainland by the prettiest green fields and old-fashioned farm-houses,
with a clear sky overhead and a hot sun beating down on the deep, blue
water of the Goulet. Our mooring was made to a large buoy, for in
Brest there are very few docks and none large enough for a ship of our
dimensions.
Hastily the disembarkation of troops and cargo was begun and
simultaneously the crew turned to on the coal barges with a will,
shovelling 4,600 tons of coal in the ship’s bunkers within 48 hours.
The colored men from the stevedore regiments stationed at Brest, assisted
materially in this work, coaling from barges on the starboard side of the
ship, while two regimental bands retained on board to entertain the men
filled the air with the latest “jazz” band music.
We were soon under way again leaving Brest on the evening of May 5th,
bound for New York.
[Illustration: AEROPLANE VIEW OF BREST]
[Illustration: COALING SHIP AT BREST]
BREST
Brest is a seaport in the northwest of France, department of Finisterre.
It has one of the best harbors in France and is the chief station of the
French marine having safe roads capable of containing 500 men-of-war
in from eight to fifteen fathoms at low water. The entrance is narrow
and rocky and the coast on both sides is well fortified. The design to
make it a naval arsenal originated with Richelieu and was carried out by
Duquesne and Vauban in the reign of Louis XIV, with the result that the
town was made almost impregnable. Brest stands on the summit and sides of
a projecting ridge, many of the streets being exceedingly steep. Several
of the docks have been cut in the solid rock, and a breakwater extends
far into the roadstead. The manufactures of Brest are inconsiderable, but
it has an extensive trade in cereals, wine, brandy, sardines, mackerel,
and colonial goods. It is connected with America by a cable terminating
near Duxbury, Mass.
The English and Dutch were repulsed at Brest in 1694. In 1794 it was
blockaded by Howe, who won a great victory off the coast over the French
fleet.
Our escort of destroyers remained with us until the following morning,
May 6th, seeing us safely through the war zone. The remainder of our
voyage was accomplished at a speed of twenty knots without event of
importance until arriving off Ambrose Light, the entrance to New York
Harbor. Here a thick fog again delayed us, causing us to drop anchor
until late in the afternoon of the same day, May 12th. The sky cleared
about this time and we proceeded up the channel and to our regularly
assigned berth, making fast to the dock in Hoboken at 9:28 P. M.
When the members of the crew went ashore they were subjected to excited
cross-examination by many people, for rumor had decreed that we had been
torpedoed and sunk with a tremendous loss of life. Of course we were not
permitted to divulge any information along this line, but it was amusing
to hear what interesting stories were narrated by the home-folk and it
was with much satisfaction that we assured them, after the manner of Mark
Twain, that the report of our deaths had been very much exaggerated.
_Fourth Overseas Trip_
The ship remained at her berth in Hoboken from the 12th to the 22d of
May, giving the crew a reasonable amount of shore leave, the men living
in nearby states thus had an opportunity to visit their homes.
At 4:03 on the afternoon of May 22d, we left on our fourth eastward bound
voyage with the following troops:
Troops, 10,577. 43rd Engineers; 108th Supply Train; 131st Infantry; 318th
Infantry; Base Hospital No. 13, Female; Major General A. Gronkhite, 80th
Div.
We followed the regular channel in leaving New York Harbor, and once more
at sea, started on our fourth venture to slip through the blockade of
German U-boats and to land 10,000 more troops to assist in breaking down
the high pride of the German autocracy.
On the afternoon of May 23d, at 4 P. M., while the water-tight door
system was being tested, one of the Army officers accidentally had his
leg caught in a closing water-tight door. These doors are hydraulically
opened and shut and centrally controlled by a lever on the bridge.
Prior to the closing of these doors a warning alarm is sounded, but the
officer, in some unexplainable manner, became confused and suffered a
severe injury.
The ship’s log for the next few days showed the single entry “B,” which
signifies clear weather and absolutely blue sky. The sea was unusually
smooth at this time, hardly a ripple appearing on the surface of the
water.
“CARLTON” TORPEDOED
At 6:37 A. M., May 29th, our escort of destroyers was picked up,
immediately taking up their respective positions abeam and ahead of
the ship. Everything went well until 4:25 this same afternoon, when
we received an S.O.S. from the _U. S. S. Carlton_ that she had been
torpedoed in 47° North Latitude, 11° 20´´ West Longitude, and upon
referring to our charts we found that we would be in that same position
at 9:30 that same evening. It was advisable for us to change our
course in order to steer clear of the possible cruising radius of this
submarine, which we did at 5:05, heading our course to the north. At
10:45 P. M., after passing the approximate position of the sinking of
the _Carlton_, we resumed our direct course for Brest. During this time
signals were exchanged between us and our escort upon the advisability
of sending one of our escorting destroyers to the assistance of the
_Carlton_, but owing to the great value of our own ship and its precious
cargo aboard this was deemed inadvisable. This illustrates what stern
measures necessarily had to be taken in time of war. We were compelled
to leave the crew of a torpedoed ship presumably to their fate for the
greater duty involved upon us. However, later reports showed that the
crew of the _Carlton_ had been rescued by one of the alert destroyers
patrolling the seas in this vicinity.
We did not consider all danger past and as an extra precaution, orders
were issued on board to have all men assigned to duty on life-boats and
similar duties, remain at their stations until further orders. This vigil
continued throughout the night. It was a clear moonlight night, but
moonlight held no charm for us then. The rays reflecting upon the water
lighted up the huge ship and made her a fine target for a lurking U-boat.
ENGAGEMENT WITH SUBMARINE
Communication made with Brest the next morning, May 30th, informed us
that the pilot and pilot destroyer would meet us. However, for a very
good reason we did not pick up a pilot, for on this date, which has
proven memorable in the history of the _Leviathan_, “Fritz” did his best
to make it a Memorial Day for the _Leviathan_ and a Decoration Day for
himself. On the spot that we expected to take our pilot on board we had
our first real engagement with the pirates of the sea. With the hills
of Brest plainly visible on our port bow, the smooth surface of the
water was broken by the wake of a periscope on our port quarter. The
sharp eyes of Lieutenant Beebe, the assistant navigator, saw the danger,
and from his post of observation he reported sharply to the captain.
Captain Bryan was at his side in an instant and—saw—nothing. The “sub”
had “porpoised” under. The young navigator stayed glued to the spot. The
“sub” porpoised up on the surface and this time the captain was looking
over the shoulder of the former blue-jacket, and in an instant things
began to hum. The following entry was made in the ship’s log:
12:29 P. M.—Sighted submarine pursuing us on our port quarter,
about 1,500 yards distant. Ordered full speed, 165 revolutions.
Opened fire with Number Six and Number Eight guns, three shots.
Stopped zig-zagging. Changed course 12:40 P. M.
12:59 P. M.—Submarine appeared again. Opened fire with Number
Six and Number Eight guns. Nine shots.
1:19 P. M.—Submarine appeared again. Opened fire with Number
Six and Number Eight guns. Seven shots.
1:34 P. M.—Threw in manœuvering combination. Standard speed 112
revolutions.
1:45 P. M.—Entering harbor at various courses and speeds.
It was the general opinion among the officers on board that a cordon of
U-boats had been lying in wait, located in such a manner that if the
first submarine failed in her attempt to torpedo us, the others in turn
would be in a position to follow up the attack.
During one attack a French fishing boat appeared between us and our
object of fire, and had a very narrow escape from being struck by one of
our 105 pound explosive shells. The skipper of this boat was taken on
board later. He said he clearly saw the “sub” we were firing at.
The coolness of our commanding officer, Capt. H. F. Bryan, and the
splendid co-ordination of the entire crew, were so perfect, that only
three distinct orders were issued in this moment of peril, as follows:
1. Hold your course. 2. Open fire on submarine, port quarter. 3. Sound
General Alarm.
Every shot fired was greeted by cheers and shouts of encouragement
from the enthusiastic soldiers on the decks, who crowded to favorable
positions to witness the accurate firing of our gun-crews. The Army
Nurses left their luncheon to take a peek at the “fun,” and their
calmness and enthusiasm in the face of a deadly menace were an
inspiration to the sailors manning the big guns. An apt comparison to
this battle would be the excitement incidental to a World Series baseball
game, eleven innings, score: 0-0, and a home-run hit made. Wow!
After the attack no evidence was noted of any of the “subs” having been
sunk, such as oil or scum or floating bits of wreckage. Of course, we did
not turn around or stop to look for this evidence, but inasmuch as none
of the enemy was allowed within torpedo range or cared to show himself
again, he certainly must have taken the accuracy of our gun-fire into
serious consideration.
A disadvantage of our freedom of the press was typically demonstrated in
the U. S. at this time, for the leading newspapers contained all sorts
of misleading accounts, full of far-fetched descriptions of the attack.
One paper stated that twenty U-boats had attacked the _Leviathan_ and
that we had evaded a school of torpedoes. The exact number of submarines
encountered on this day is not known, but it is believed that there were
at least three, and very probably more.
We had a narrow escape though, for just after the first submarine was
sighted, at 12:29 mid-day, our zigzag clock on the bridge rang, 12:30,
notifying us to make an abrupt change of course to port. If this change
had been made the “sub” would have had us broadside on and our entire
length would have been exposed to torpedo attack. Captain Bryan saw this
immediately and issued the above-mentioned order to hold the course.
Arriving in Brest after all this excitement the ship was made fast to our
usual mooring buoy. The crew as before, turned to on the coal barges and
inspired by the enthusiasm and excitement and experience of that morning,
heaved the necessary amount of coal, 4,500 tons, into the bunkers in
record time. The big ship had discharged its living cargo of thousands
of troops, hundreds of officers and many passengers, had sent loads of
stores to the grim destroyers, including thousands of bags of welcome
mail from the folks at home and then proceeded to sea inspired with
the hopes and desires of clashing with the submarine that had sunk the
_President Lincoln_ the day before. “Up and at ’em” was our slogan.
SECOND SUBMARINE FIGHT
We sailed out of Brest late in the afternoon of June 1st, having on board
many notable passengers. The destroyers _Nicholson_ and _Wadsworth_,
two of our most famous sea-fighters, accompanied us. All hands were set
for another attack. It was not long in coming. At 7:16 P. M. this same
evening, the wake of a periscope was observed on the starboard quarter
by Lieutenant Haltnorth, who quickly passed the word to the bridge where
it was received by Lieutenant J. J. Jones, the Officer of the deck. A
hurried message was sent in to the commanding Officer and at the same
time the general alarm was sounded. The fire-control officer on the
upper-structure took a prompt and accurate range on the hissing white
menace of foam approaching so balefully in the wake of the setting sun.
A few short seconds passed, the arrow on the engine room dial plate spun
around to “full speed ahead,” and the whirr of the electric warnings
quickened the ears of the officers and men on watch in the fire-rooms.
The furnace doors flew open and in the streaming light with bent backs
and broad shoulders, sturdy young Americans poured coal into the great
fires.
A volume of thick black smoke issued from the funnels and at the
same time number seven gun with a venomous roar, let go a shell of
TNT, enveloped in lurid flame and smoke. Number five gun got busy.
The breech-plug closed noiselessly, sharp click, the primer inserted
accurately by the gun-captain, a smooth “Ready” from his lips, and number
five gun hurled a shell of high explosive to blot out from the sea-scape
one of the under-sea Hun boats.
Number seven gun shot again with a reverberating roar, followed again by
number five, the only two guns that could bear upon the Prussian menace.
From the signal-bridge, a green and white submarine warning flag was
fluttering and the destroyers _Nicholson_ and _Wadsworth_, with their
inboard sides awash, turned in a quick endeavor to charge the on-coming
“sub.” The _Nicholson_ was nearer and in few minutes number five and
seven guns ceased firing, for the _Nicholson_ was in direct range
between our ship and the submarine, with huge volumes of black smoke
pouring out of her funnels. The _Nicholson_ made a circuit around the
“sub” which had submerged and promptly and accurately laid a beautiful
barrage of sixteen depth bombs all around the place of disappearance.
The explosions from these depth charges shook the big _Leviathan_,
nearly two miles away by this time. The _Nicholson_, her blinker lights
flashing fitfully through the smoke clouds reported, “We saw periscope
of submarine and laid barrage of depth charges around the spot. We will
report to our Force Commander.”
The _Wadsworth_ had by this time plowed her way up through the seas,
but the Prussian terror of the deep had not taken too kindly to the
overtures of friendship made by the _Nicholson_; and the _Wadsworth_
signaled back to the _Leviathan_, “We see no submarine now.” Both gallant
destroyers quickly turned and resumed their arduous duty of escorting
the fast-moving _Leviathan_. Smoke was pouring from their funnels and
a choppy sea made them bob up and down. A cloud of “V” shaped spray
sparkled in the twilight as they circled in and out off the port and
starboard bow of the queen of the transports.
Twilight in the western sky deepened into long shadows upon the water.
The chaplain of the ship walked out to the windward side of the
navigation bridge and offered the customary sunset prayer for the huge
ship with its women and children passengers, its captain, officers and
crew. This custom of evening prayer was practiced on board every evening
at sunset and prefaced the silent evening prayers of the seamen on the
decks, the gun-crew at the guns, the signal boys on the bridge, the
quartermaster at the wheel and the brawny-chested firemen who stoked the
big furnaces below. In the war-zone none of these brave lads were certain
of seeing another sunrise, so before the ship was plunged into darkness
each night they offered up, while at their different duties and stations,
heartfelt prayers for themselves and their people and loved ones at
home.
The Sunset Prayer at Sea
(Offered Every Evening at Sea by the Ship’s Chaplain)
Thou, O Lord, art in the midst of us, and Thine holy name is
called upon by us; leave us not, O Lord our God.
O Lord, hear our prayer; and let our cry come unto Thee.
Remember, most gracious Virgin Mother, Star of the Sea, that
never was it known that anyone who fled to thy protection,
implored thy aid and sought thy intercession, was left unaided.
Inspired with this confidence, we fly to thee, Virgin of
Virgins, our Mother, to thee we come; before thee we stand,
sinful and sorrowful. Mother of the Word Incarnate, despise not
our petition; but in thy clemency hear and answer us. Amen.
Lord, save us waking, watch us sleeping that we may wake with
Christ and rest in peace.
Visit, we beseech Thee, O Lord, our distant homes and families;
Thine angels guard them with Thy peace and benediction. Bless
this ship we beseech Thee and drive far from it all the
snares of the enemy; guide it upon a tranquil course unto the
wished-for-haven—guard our Captain, his officers and crew, and
the soldier-troops and passengers committed to their care; let
Thy holy angels dwell hereon to keep us in peace and let Thy
blessings be always upon us. Through Jesus Christ, Thy Son, Our
Lord.
Into Thy hands, O Lord, we commend ourselves.
Vouchsafe, O Lord, this night to keep us without harm.
May the Lord Almighty grant us a quiet night and a perfect end.
May the Almighty and merciful Lord, the Father, the Son and the
Holy Ghost bless and preserve us all. Amen.
The ship pursued her course steadily during the night watches and the
men relieved one another at midnight and at 4 A. M. The morning sun
broke clear and clean over the eastern horizon and discovered to us that
our gallant destroyers had left us during the darkness, proceeding by
pre-arranged plan to a similar duty of escorting an east-bound transport
loaded with troops. Our voyage continued without further excitement at a
speed of twenty and a half knots. We arrived in New York the morning of
June 8th and made fast to the dock with little difficulty. No sooner had
our gangplank touched the dock than our mail clerk was seen heavily laden
with eagerly-sought-for mail.
_Fifth Trip Overseas_
Eight days was ample time to give half the crew a five-day leave, and
five days’ leave gave many of the boys who lived within traveling
distance of New York, an opportunity to see home again for a few days.
It was at this time that the one-third fare rate was put into effect for
soldiers and sailors on furlough and it is needless to say this greatly
assisted many boys who did not have the full fare to reach home.
By evening, June 14th, all necessary supplies were loaded in our holds.
Our quota of troops, this trip were as per the following list:
Troops, 10,423; 32d Engineers; 145th Infantry; 146th Infantry; 134th
Machine Gun Battalion; 135th Machine Gun Battalion; Major General C. S.
Farnsworth.
For thirty-six hours after leaving Ambrose Channel Light Ship, just
outside of New York, we were escorted by one destroyer, submarines were
busily engaged off our coast-line these days. After the destroyer left us
we continued on our voyage in the customary manner, holding abandon ship
drills each day and operating the water-tight door system to insure its
being in perfect working order. The weather was extremely warm and as a
consequence it was found necessary to allow the soldiers from the lower
compartments to sleep on the outer decks.
On the 17th, at ten minutes to eleven in the morning, the _Leviathan_
acted queerly, circling around in the smooth sea, which aroused the
curiosity of all on board. This circling was caused by the steering
apparatus going out of commission, but it was soon repaired.
We certainly expected to see more of “Fritz” than ever on this voyage,
but not a solitary event occurred outside the daily routine. Brest,
France, was reached on the morning of the 21st, troops and cargo were
disembarked and we headed for sea once more on the 24th accompanied by
four destroyers.
The return trip was interrupted once. The destroyers had left us after a
day’s journey and no sooner had they done so when our gun-crews opened
fire on a suspicious object astern of us. The destroyers by this time
were on the horizon and hearing the firing of our guns proceeded to
join us once more. Both number five and seven guns fired nine shots at
the object sighted which disappeared immediately and we signaled to our
destroyers that everything was O. K. and that we could proceed once more
unescorted.
The weather for the remainder of the voyage was excellent. Fire Island
Light Ship, which is thirty-two miles from Ambrose Channel, was sighted
July 1st and in a few hours we were tied up at our pier in Hoboken with
another trip to our credit.
_Sixth Trip Eastbound_
Another eight days in New York and another five-day leave for the men of
the crew. The five-day leaves were most welcome after a trip of seventeen
or eighteen days at sea especially when the days consist of vigilant
activity and high tension. The five days soon passed and as soon as we
were provided with sufficient supplies of coal and water our troops came
aboard.
Troops, 10,534; 313th Infantry; 314th Infantry; 311th Machine Gun
Battalion; 310th Machine Gun Battalion; Base Hospital No. 67; Base
Hospital No. 68; Base Hospital No. 7; Base Hospital No. 47; 304th Field
Signal Battalion; Brig. General Wm. J. Nicholson, 79th Div.
We left for our sixth voyage across on July 8th at 6:30 P. M., and by
nightfall we were well out to sea escorted by the destroyer _Walke_ which
left us the next morning. On the eight to twelve watch that morning
we passed a considerable amount of wreckage, probably the result of
submarine activities off our coast. Abandon ship drills were held as
usual. The weather was fair and warm and a few soldiers were overcome by
the heat making it necessary for the troops in some compartments to sleep
on deck at night.
The _U. S. S. Covington_ had been sunk by an unseen submarine just prior
to our sailing, and with this fresh in our memory it was not necessary to
remind the lookouts and gun crews to be especially vigilant and keep a
sharp lookout at all times. We sighted our escort of destroyers at 8 A.
M., on July 14th and passing through the danger zone safely, we anchored
in Brest at 1:50 P. M., July 15th, one of the hottest days we had ever
experienced.
With all troops sent ashore and all cargo taken off we embarked our usual
quota of passengers and left Brest at three o’clock on the afternoon of
July 18th. We had 115 wounded soldiers on board, also the captain and
officers of the _U. S. S. Covington_ and the officers and crew of the _S.
S. Buffalo_ that had been sunk by submarines. We left with a convoy of
four destroyers that stayed with us until noon the next day. The weather
was good for the most part and the trip was made without trouble or
excitement of any kind. The wounded soldiers were a cheerful lot and were
well cared for. Some had been gassed, others lost limbs, but the prospect
of home made them all happy.
MCGONIGLE
Among our wounded soldiers was a man named McGonigle who had made the
first overseas trip with the first batch of troops the _Leviathan_
carried across. We landed them in Liverpool.
McGonigle belonged to a bombing squad and was wounded. His squad was
in a shell hole hurling bombs into the enemy trenches for thirty-six
hours. The men were tired and hungry. The Sergeant in charge was giving
instructions to the men when a bomb held in the hands of McGonigle
exploded blowing off both of his hands and inflicting other minor wounds
including the amputation of the great toe of his left foot. Four of his
comrades, including the sergeant, were killed by this explosion.
During our westbound trip an entertainment was given for the benefit of
the wounded. During a lull between acts McGonigle stood up, and holding
up both remaining parts of his arms said he would give a short stump
speech. He then told of his accident and was glad to be going back on the
ship that took him over, and on which ship he, with sixty other members
of his company had volunteered to help the firemen in the fire room. He
said he was one of us, a “gob,” for he had helped “deliver the goods.”
July 25th, at nine o’clock we passed Ambrose Light Ship and by 11:30 we
were tied to our pier.
_Seventh Voyage Overseas_
With the following troops and passengers on board we left New York at
3:25 P. M., August 3rd:
Troops, 10,893; 55th Infantry; 56th Infantry; 20th Machine Gun Battalion;
36th Div. Displacement Det.; 111th Trench Motor Battery; 88th Div. School
Det.; July Auto Replacement Draft; Colonel W. O. Johnson, 56th Inf.
For the first time in the history of the ship we now traveled with other
transports—the _Great Northern_ and _Northern Pacific_, sister ships from
the Pacific coast. These could speed along with us only in smooth water.
In turbulent seas they dropped rapidly astern. The _Great Northern_
reached New York one hour ahead of the _Leviathan_ on one trip, but
traveled 100 miles less to do so.
One of our latest destroyers accompanied the convoy for the next
twenty-four hours and then the three ships traveled unescorted, in
beam-to-beam formation. The weather remained fair for the first four days
during which time usual abandon ship drills were held.
On the fifth day, however, we had some rough experiences. A storm broke,
the waves rolled high and beat the ships fiercely. It was mid-summer
and we were in the Gulf Stream yet the storm was a “whopper.” To add to
the excitement the _Northern Pacific_ reported “man overboard,” by a
signal from her bridge. Immediately all three ships went into manœuvering
formation and circled around the spot. The man overboard was a soldier.
It was suicide with him though, for he left a letter of explanation.
While circling around in an attempt to pick him up another man from the
_Northern Pacific_ went overboard. This was an unfortunate accident.
Life buoys were dropped into the high-rolling seas for the lost men, and
for an hour and a half we manœuvered around in an attempt to pick these
men up, but it was useless. No one could stay afloat in that sea. The
_Northern Pacific_ and _Great Northern_ both reported that they could
make little headway and finally when the search for the missing men was
given up we found it necessary to reduce speed so that the other ships in
our convoy could remain in line with us.
The destroyers were picked up on the morning of August 10th and we passed
through the war zone without trouble or excitement and anchored in Brest
at 10 A. M., August 11th.
Forty-eight hours later we were steaming on our westbound voyage again,
the _Great Northern_ and _Northern Pacific_ being with us. The weather
was fine and we made good speed. On the 14th, at 9 A. M., a submarine
was sighted on our starboard quarter between our ship and the Northern
Pacific, but it was not fired at, nor did it attempt to do any damage. It
might have been a submarine of the Allies. The destroyers left us this
same evening and with fair weather and smooth seas, which were fully
appreciated, we made Ambrose Channel on August 20th and docked soon
afterwards.
_Eighth Overseas Voyage_
The following is an extract copy of the readings in the ship’s log upon
our leaving New York for the eighth trip overseas. This was on the 31st
of August and for the second time the transports _Great Northern_ and
_Northern Pacific_ accompanied us.
SHIP’S LOG
The ship’s log August 31st, 1918, Meridian to 4 P. M.
Draft—Ford. 42´ 0´´, Aft. 40´ 10´´—Mean 41´ 5´´.
1:19 P. M. Hauled out F. deck gangway.
1:26 P. M. Let go all lines.
1:40 P. M. Started astern.
1:47 P. M. All clear of dock.
2:06 P. M. Passed Statue of Liberty.
2:48 P. M. Passed Governor’s Island.
3:08 P. M. Passed Robbins Reef.
3:15 P. M. Passed Staten Island.
3:38 P. M. Entered Ambrose Channel.
3:59 P. M. Passed Romer Shoal.
4 P. M. TO 8 P. M.
4:25 P. M. Passed fairway buoy.
4:38 P. M. Stopped to discharge pilot and put paravanes over.
4:44 P. M. Proceeded.
4:57 P. M. Ambrose Channel Light Vessel abeam.
5:12 P. M. Standard speed 130 revolutions.
5:29 P. M. C/c (change course).
5:51 P. M. Increased speed to 150 revolutions.
4-5 P. M. Ave. rev. all shafts 78.1, steam 220 lbs., injection 70.
5-6 P. M. Ave. rev. all shafts 121.2, steam 220 lbs., injection 74.
6-7 P. M. Ave. rev. all shafts 140.3, steam 215 lbs., injection 72.
6:45 P. M. Commenced zig-zag.
8 P. M. TO MIDNIGHT
8:30 P. M. Stopped zigzagging.
10:15 P. M. Cut out boiler No. 3 in No. 2 fireroom and No. 7 in
No. 4 fireroom.
8-9 P. M. Ave. 2 rev. all shafts 150.1, steam 215 lbs.
9-10 P. M. Ave. 2 rev. all shafts 150.0, steam 215 lbs.
10-11 P. M. Ave. 2 rev. all shafts 150.1, steam 215 lbs.
11-12 P. M. Ave. 2 rev. all shafts 149.9, steam 215 lbs.
Troops, 10,541; 142d Field Artillery; Evacuation Hospital No. 16; Base
Hospital No. 54, Female; Base Hospital No. 63; Base Hospital No. 81; Base
Hospital No. 82; Infantry Auto Replacement Draft; 59th Pioneer Infantry;
808th Pioneer Infantry; Colonel Wm. G. Ownbey.
Upon our reaching Sandy Hook the pilot boat approached and launched a
small row boat which made for our gangway. This boat came to get the
pilot who had seen us safely through the channel, and to take him to
another ship coming into New York. Pilot McLoughlin waved good-bye to the
troops on board and was cheered as he left.
Immediately before proceeding to sea the paravanes were lowered over the
ship’s side. The paravanes are ingenious torpedo-shaped contrivances
so constructed as to fend off from the ship’s side dangerous floating
objects such as mines. The upper section of a paravane is equipped with
a jaw-shaped arrangement, so made as to clip the cable extending between
a mine and its anchor. The “P. V.’s,” as they are sometimes called, are
launched over the side from the forward part of the vessel and while in
the water are supported by a wire cable from the deck of the ship and by
a heavy chain extending upward from the keel.
We were now fully set and ready for our voyage, the _Great Northern_
taking up a position on our starboard beam and the _Northern Pacific_ on
our port beam. The three ships in line presented a formidable appearance
as they plowed the smooth seas at a rate of twenty knots per hour. Zigzag
plans were communicated to the _Great Northern_ and _Northern Pacific_
by the _Leviathan_, the senior ship, and from dawn to dark on this day
and every day thereafter until reaching port all three ships, upon the
ringing of the zigzag clock, sheered off simultaneously, first to port,
then to starboard, then to port again, the zigzag pennant on our yard-arm
dipping as each change of course was made.
On September 2d, the Captain of the _Great Northern_ signaled to us that
his aft gun crew had sighted the feather of a periscope about two miles
astern of us, which had disappeared almost immediately and so no shots
were fired at her.
A few days later, through signals exchanged between ourselves and the
_Great Northern_, we learned that we were to lose Captain Bryan upon
reaching New York, and that Captain Phelps of the _Great Northern_ was
to be his successor. Captain Bryan, we learned, was to take up a station
somewhere in Brazil.
Stormy weather hindered our progress on the fourth day out. The seas were
so heavy that both the _Great Northern_ and _Northern Pacific_ found
great difficulty in keeping up with us. Finally, the _Northern Pacific_
signaled to us that because of the seas she could make little progress
and asked that the standard speed for the convoy be reduced to thirteen
knots. This was granted and for fourteen hours the three ships labored
in the heavy seas, spray breaking over the fo’castle and reaching to our
forward smoke-stack. Toward evening the sea moderated sufficiently to
allow the _Great Northern_ and _Northern Pacific_ to increase speed to
sixteen and a half knots and then to twenty knots, until we picked up our
escort of four destroyers at the ocean rendezvous.
All seven ships proceeded to Brest by the shortest route and in a fairly
smooth sea. The _Leviathan_ was shaken by an extremely heavy explosion
and its suddenness surprised the men. The Chief Engineer reported
everything O.K. down below and as far as we could see on deck there was
nothing wrong with the ship; then the blinker light on the destroyer
_McDougal_ directly abeam of us, was observed flashing a message to us,
which explained everything. The _McDougal_ had accidentally dropped a
depth charge from her stern. It wasn’t the first false alarm we had had
and it was not to be the last.
Land was sighted on the afternoon of September 7th, and swiftly and
smoothly the three transports ran into column formation, with the
destroyers abeam and ahead of us, steaming majestically into the harbor
of Brest. Looking around after mooring we saw the huge transport _Mt.
Vernon_, formerly the German liner _Kronprinzessin Cecilie_, lying in dry
dock after running a 250-mile race against threatened disaster. She had
been torpedoed at eight o’clock the morning before and only the gallantry
of her captain and crew, and the efficient system of water-tight doors,
enabled her to make port at a speed of fifteen knots. It was indeed
remarkable that we had escaped seeing “subs” the day before, for our
course was almost identical with that of the _Mt. Vernon’s_. The _Mt.
Vernon_ was repaired and thereafter made two round trips to America and
did its “bit” in bringing our soldier boys home.
To give the reader a fair idea of the ship’s routine on entering Brest
and while coaling in the harbor, we again quote from the log of the ship:
6 P. M. TO 8 P. M.
6:05 P. M. Pt Du Minou abeam.
6:10 P. M. Mengam lighthouse abeam.
6:20 P. M. Pte Du Portzic lighthouse abeam.
6:27 P. M. Harbor pilot came aboard, proceeded to buoy.
6:30 P. M. Advanced clocks one hour. Engines working as required.
8 P. M. TO MIDNIGHT
8:02 P. M. Arrived at buoy; proceeded to moor ship.
8:33 P. M. Ship moored and engines secured.
8:36 P. M. Secured steering engines.
Draft on arrival 36.7´´ forward, 39.5´´ aft.
Mooring bearings—Pte du Petite Minou, 258½°; Pte de l’Ile
Longue, 191.5°; Pt du Portzic, 278.50.
9:00 P. M. Commenced to unload cargo; continued throughout
watch. Lighter _Knickerbocker_ placed coaling
stages on port and starboard sides.
12:00 Midnight. Three lighters with coal arrived alongside.
Coaling until 4 A. M.
1:15 A. M. Commenced coaling on starboard side.
1:30 A. M. Commenced coaling on port side.
Discharging cargo throughout watch.
4 TO 8 A. M.
Continued coaling and discharging cargo.
The disembarkation of troops and cargo was completed in short order
and the _Leviathan_ put to sea once more on the 12th of September. The
bodies of thirty-six victims of the _Mt. Vernon_ were on board, each
body being draped with the flag which they had heroically died for. These
thirty-six victims were trapped in the fire-room of the _Mt. Vernon_
when the torpedo struck her and they had no chance to escape before the
water filled the lower compartments. The loss of life would not have been
so great had not the ship been torpedoed at a time when the fire-room
watches were being relieved, for at such time there are almost double the
number of men in the fire-rooms.
Our voyage back was interrupted but once. The _Great Northern_ on our
starboard, on the 13th of September, reported a periscope two miles
astern of us and traveling to the southward. It disappeared almost
as quickly as the periscope encountered on the eastern trip, and
consequently no shots were fired at it. A vigilant watch maintained by
the lookouts was without result, the submarine did not show itself again.
On the 19th of September we were safe in New York Harbor and docked six
minutes after the first line was ashore, a record achievement in the log
of the capable and efficient docking superintendent, Capt. Walter J.
Bernard.
_Ninth Overseas Trip_
We left our pier at Hoboken, September 29th and our ninth voyage overseas
was underway. The following troops were on board:
Troops, 9,366; 57th Pioneer Infantry; September Auto Replacements Drafts
from Camps McArthur, Humphreys, Hancock and Jackson; Medical Replacement,
No. 73; 401st Pontoon Train; 467th Pontoon Train; 468th Pontoon Train;
Water Tank Train No. 302; 323rd Field Signal Battalion; Base Hospitals
No. 60 and 62, Female; Debarking and Billet Party 31st Div.; Major
General Leroy S. Lyon, C. G. 31st Div.
Under clear skies we steamed slowly through the big harbor filled with
shipping and proceeded straight to sea, stopping only to drop our pilot,
Capt. McLaughlin, of the Sandy Hook Pilot Association and who always
piloted the _Leviathan_ in and out of New York Harbor. This trip overseas
was to be made memorable by reason of the Army epidemic of influenza
on board. Many men and several nurses were obliged to leave the ship
just before we cast off our lines and everyone felt that we would have
a distressing time going over. While the embarkation troops were lined
up on the big pier some of the men dropped helpless on the dock. We
were informed that a number of men had fallen by the wayside, limp and
listless, on their march from the camp to the scene of transportation.
Our first death was recorded the next day out. He was a sailor who did
duty in the Hospital Corps. He told the chaplain that he did not want
to die because of the great need of his help at home. Out of over two
thousand cases of influenza and pneumonia on board, this first case and
two naval passengers en route to duty in France, were the only ones to
die from the Navy. All the other deaths belonged to the Army, 96 in all.
This was not a bad percentage considering the total number of cases
stricken, the hardships and restrictions, the weather conditions, the
intense nervous strain in the war zone and the tremendous rolling of the
big ship while in the storm. Very few people in the sick spaces got much
sleep. Everybody helped during the terrible plague. There was work for
all. It was pitiful to see men toppling over dead at your feet. It was
like some invisible hand reaching out and suddenly taking them away. It
was truly sad and depressing.
The standing lights in the big spaces of the ship were kept dim behind
colored glass. Not a light was ever visible from the ship at night and
this perfect control of the huge and vast electric circuit of the ship
affords a well merited tribute to the officer in charge. Officers on
the _Great Northern_ and _Northern Pacific_ as well as of the escort of
destroyers who were always with us in the dreaded war zone, complimented
us upon the _Leviathan’s_ complete obscuration or darkening of ship.
Only once did a light ever show from the big ship and that happened to
shine from the room of the officer of the deck who was on duty on the
bridge. He had sent a messenger to his room for his raincoat and the boy
turned on the light to find his way about the dark room and returning to
the bridge in a hurry forgot to extinguish the light. A sharp eyed and
vigilant destroyer promptly flashed over a warning signal and the light
was extinguished.
Rules and prohibitions were minute and precise and were always strictly
enforced. A lighted cigarette upon a dark deck high in the air may be
seen a half a mile at sea and thus would enable an enemy submarine to
radio a lookout warning to another “sub” lying in wait ahead. These
pests of the deep generally worked in pairs. To show how strict the
rules were one man was court martialed and sent to prison, an officer
was court martialed and reduced, and an army chaplain, who was assisting
the chaplain of the ship in administering to the dying, was threatened
with court-martial because he had opened a port slightly in response
to a dying soldier’s request for air. These penalties may appear to be
unduly harsh, but where the safety of thousands depends upon the minute
obedience of the individual why “the punishment fits the crime.”
The army nurses were like ministering angels during that dreadful
scourge. They were brave American girls who had left home and comfort in
order to undergo peril and sacrifice abroad. Surely they have earned a
place in Heaven. The bluejackets on board were second to the nurses in
their unwearying patience and generous self-denial. When the army nurses
left the ship in Brest, they wept and bade the sailors an affectionate
good-bye.
BURIAL OF THE DEAD
Upon our arrival in Brest we had on board 96 dead soldiers and three
sailors. 58 of the former were buried in France, 33 were brought back
to the States and seven were buried at sea in the war zone on the
morning after we left Brest. We remained in Brest three days and left
on the third evening at 5:30 P. M. The next morning at sunrise, after
an imposing prayer by the chaplain, the flag was half-masted, taps were
sounded, three volleys fired and the coffins containing the bodies of
the dead soldiers were lowered gently into the sea. The ship was speeding
at 21½ knots.
After seven days of mostly fair weather and without trouble from
submarines, we docked in New York on the morning of October 16th. It was
a nerve-racking voyage and we were all greatly relieved that the trip was
over.
_Tenth Overseas Trip_
At 11:10 of the morning of October 27th we left New York bound overseas
for the tenth and last trip. We had no idea that this was to be our last
run of the German blockade with our precious cargo of Yankee doughboys.
On this trip we carried the Tank Corps, who had for their motto: “Treat
’em rough!”
Troops, 8,123; Adv. School 8th Division; Casual Companies A, B, C, 487,
488, 489, 490; Tank Corps; 335th Btn. Tank Corps.; Adv. Debarking and
Billet Group 8th Division; 336th Btn. Tank Corps; 337th Btn. Tank Corps;
Attached Medical Personnel; Base Hospital No. 103; 540th Service Btn.;
October Auto Repl. Draft Camp Gordon; Casual Co. No. 452; Base Hospital
No. 106; Surgical Group No. 4; Colonel M. A. Elliott, 8th Division.
There had been rumors of peace while we were in New York and we had a
sort of hunch that the war could not last much longer. The boys that we
were taking over on this trip expressed disappointment, for they, too,
had the same hunch, and regretted that they would never reach the front
before the Armistice was signed.
On this trip we did not go to France, but to Liverpool instead, and as
the ship needed certain repairs that would require drydocking we landed
our soldiers in England. The trip was without any particular excitement
and when we met our escort of destroyers they signaled that all German
“subs” in that area had been recalled on October 21st. However, we took
no chances and our gun crews remained at their posts as usual and were
as vigilant as ever. November 3rd we were in Liverpool. On going into the
channel a dense fog enveloped the river and we were obliged to go ahead
at a low speed with the result that the tide receded before we could tie
up to the landing stage and we were stuck in the mud for about seven
hours.
While thus stranded we landed most of our troops and at midnight we were
tied up at the landing stage. Next morning, we went into drydock. While
we were in drydock the Armistice was signed and then—oh boy—we celebrated.
We were allowed liberty from 1 P. M. on that day and immediately the
“gobs” and doughboys started for the main part of the city and mingled
with the great crowds who paraded, held impromptu meetings and generally
“went wild.” The celebration continued for nearly a week and the American
soldiers and sailors participated with great spirit.
Thanksgiving day found us still in drydock and this was another big day
for our crew, for a football game had been previously arranged between
the army engineers and our crew and everyone was keyed up to the highest
pitch.
Practice was held for two weeks on a cinder field adjoining the
drydock yards. It was found necessary to have our football togs made
in Liverpool by a woman dressmaker, as no sporting goods store carried
them. Thanksgiving day came. There was a grand and glorious dinner and
then we all proceeded to Everton Football Field in Liverpool which is
credited with being the best field in England. It had been raining all
day—usual Liverpool weather—a steady downpour and the field was muddy
and slow. On one side of the field were the sailor rooters and on the
other side the soldiers. Two bands enlivened proceedings. The first
quarter ended 0-0 and through a hard and cleanly fought game the teams
battled to a tie, 0-0. The navy team had made a remarkable showing and
considering circumstances did well in preventing the army from scoring.
The _Leviathan_ boys had not practiced as long as the army, who had been
playing all season, and furthermore the army had at least 8,000 men to
pick from while the navy had but 2,000. Credit must be given to Lt. R.
H. Jones, who coached the team and its success was greatly due to his
hard work.
Several English newspaper men were present to witness and report the
game. Following is an account of the game from their viewpoint:
A demonstration of the nearest approach to actual warfare
was given this afternoon at Everton Field by the American
bluejackets of the _Leviathan_ and the American Army Engineers
of Knotty Ash. The game greatly differs from the English rugby
and is the nearest thing to warfare that we have ever seen. We
were greatly surprised that there were not more casualties than
there were, for the opposing teams went at each other as though
they were deadly enemies about to destroy each other by brute
force.
On Thanksgiving evening various dances and receptions were held for the
Americans in Liverpool by the people of that city, and though we were
3,000 miles from the States we had a most enjoyable time. We certainly
had lots to be thankful for.
On December 2nd we began to take on wounded soldiers that had been in
hospitals in England and were waiting transportation to the States.
We left Liverpool on December 4th, at 11 A. M., for Brest, France. We
arrived in Brest the next morning at 11 A. M. and immediately started to
coal ship and take on troops. This required three days and on December
8th at 2 P. M. we left France with our first load of home-going troops;
they certainly were a happy lot of men. On the way over we encountered
occasional rough weather, but this did not prevent us from speeding up
and we arrived at Sandy Hook on December 15th where we anchored for the
night owing to a dense fog.
As we made our way up the channel the next morning a great reception was
given the troops on board. Our coming had been flashed by wireless and
was heralded by all the newspapers. Numerous boats came out to meet us
and bells and sirens rent the air. It was a typical New York welcome—big
and hearty.
There were tears of gladness in the eyes of many of the soldiers on that
frosty morning. It was the first time that they had seen their own
land in many months and this coupled with the deep feeling and spirit
manifested by the people for the returned heroes, touched all hearts.
Just one year from the date that we started our first trip overseas, we
had brought back some of the first returning troops of the war. We tied
up to our pier at 8 A. M. and the next day a leave party of half the
ship’s company left for a ten-day leave over Christmas.
_Christmas Aboard the Leviathan—1918_
J. M.
Four days after our arrival in New York the crew was paid and it was
suggested that we have a Christmas party on board ship for as many
orphans as could be taken care of. The idea met with unanimous approval
and as each man was paid he donated as much as he could afford. The
amount collected was sufficient to take care of 1,200 homeless children.
Notices were sent to different orphan asylums and on Christmas morning
the happy children came aboard for a good day’s fun.
The children were shown over the ship and a number who went on exploring
tours of their own came to grief, tumbling out of stacks and ventilators
and as black as the ace of spades. But that did not matter, it was all
in their day’s fun and when dinner time came and the bugler sounded mess
call they did not have to be informed what the call meant. They knew
it was for dinner, why bless me, hadn’t they smelt the odor of roast
turkey all over the ship. The dinner consisted of turkey, candied sweet
potatoes, asparagus, celery, peas, cake, apples, oranges and bananas,
milk, cocoa, and ice cream of three different kinds. All of this was
prepared in the ships galley by the ship’s cooks and bakers and was a
great compliment to their efficiency. But they enjoyed preparing it,
you bet they did. After the children had eaten everything in sight and
pocketed what was left, the mess hall was cleared of tables and benches
and all the children gathered around the giant Christmas tree to receive
a present. There was a Santa Claus, some say it was one of our chief
petty officers, but most of us, the children most of all, believe he was
the original St. Nick himself, for he certainly was generous with his
presents. There was more than enough to go around—many of the children
received two presents.
[Illustration: CHILDREN’S CHRISTMAS PARTY]
The children were rounded up at 4 o’clock. As the time neared for one
group of boys to depart it was found that two were missing and after an
hour’s search they were found in the main engine room being entertained
by the men on watch.
When the children had gone the sailors came in for their presents. Each
man aboard received a bag from the Red Cross. The bags contained candy,
cigarettes, pipes and tobacco and were donated by individual women from
all over the country. The gifts were greatly appreciated by the “gobs,”
one of whom voiced the sentiments of all on board by exclaiming that the
Red Cross, take it from him, was “some Santa Claus.”