“LAFAYETTE, WE ARE HERE!”
The _Corsair_ stood out to sea with the transports and the escort in
the morning of June 14th after a thick fog had delayed the departure
for several hours. As finally selected, the ship’s company consisted
of 130 officers and enlisted men. The shifting fortunes of war were to
scatter most of them to other ships and stations during the long exile
overseas, and when the battered yacht came home, only Commander Porter
and Lieutenant McGuire and eighteen of the crew of this first muster
roll were left on board.
Changes were so frequent that from first to last almost three hundred
men served in the _Corsair_.[1] The ship proved to be a training
school for officers, and made an exceptional record in that thirteen
of her enlisted force and one warrant officer won commissions during
the war, some taking the examinations while on foreign service and
others being sent to Annapolis for the intensive course of three months
and receiving the rank of temporary ensigns in the regular naval
organization. On deck and below, men were rated as petty officers as
rapidly as they displayed aptitude, and few of the crew failed to
advance themselves. The spirit of the ship was eager and ambitious
from the start and drudgery could not dull it.
As a proper man-of-war the _Corsair_ lived a complex and disciplined
programme of duty through the twenty-four hours of the day. When she
steamed past Sandy Hook, outward bound, the complement included a chief
boatswain’s mate, one boatswain’s mate, six coxswains, seven gunner’s
mates, four quartermasters, nineteen seamen, nineteen ordinary seamen,
three electricians, four radio operators, a carpenter’s mate, two
ship-fitters, a boiler maker, a blacksmith, a chief machinist’s mate,
one machinist’s mate, a chief water tender, two water tenders, four
oilers, twenty-one firemen and coal passers, a chief yeoman, three
yeomen, a hospital apprentice, a bugler, a cabin steward, four ship’s
cooks, and eight mess attendants.
The complete roster of the ship on this famous day of June 14, 1917,
was as follows:
Lieutenant Commander T. A. Kittinger, U.S.N. (Commanding)
Lieutenant Commander W. B. Porter, N.R.F. (Executive)
Lieutenant Robert E. Tod, N.R.F. (Navigator)
Lieutenant R. J. McGuire, (JG) N.R.F. (First Lieutenant)
Lieutenant J. K. Hutchison, (JG) N.R.F. (Engineer Officer)
Ensign A. K. Schanze, N.R.F. (Gunnery Officer)
Ensign J. F. W. Gray, N.R.F. (Communications Officer)
Assistant Surgeon E. V. Laub, N.R.F.
Assistant Paymaster J. J. Cunningham, N.R.F.
Machinist W. F. Hawthorn, N.R.F.
Machinist A. V. Mason, N.R.F.
Boatswain R. Budani, N.R.F.
Aguas, I C. F1c.
Ashby, C. N. Sea. 2c.
Balano, F. Sea.
Barko, A. W. G.M. 3c.
Barry, H. A. Sea.
Bayne, C. S. Sea.
Bedford, H. H. F1c.
[2]Benton, E. M. Sea.
Bischoff, H. J. F2c.
Bonsall, T. C. Cox.
Breckel, H. F. Elec. 1cR.
[2]Brillowski, A. J. F2c.
Byram, C. S. F2c.
Carey, N. J. Bugler
[2]Carroll, O. W.T.
Clinch, T., Jr. Elec. 2cG.
Coffey, A. H. Sea.
Connolly, C. Yeo. 3c.
Copeland, A. T. Sea.
Cure, H. S.C. 2c.
Curtin, J. J. F1c.
Davis, I. S. Elec. 2cR.
De Armosolo, V. M. Att. 3c.
Donaldson, S. J. Sea. 2c.
Duke, W. M., Jr. Sea.
Egan, L. C. G. M. 3c.
Emmons, L. C. Sea. 2c.
Evans, W. F. Sea.
Farr, F. S. Q.M. 2c.
Feeley, N. M.Att. 1c.
[2]Flynn, J. S. M.Att. 1c.
[2]French, L. A. Sea.
Fusco, N. S.C. 3c.
Ganz, C. A. M.M. 2c.
Gilhooley, J. P. G.M. 3c.
[2]Gillette, H. E. F2c.
Goring, H. D. H.A. 1c.
Graul, R. W. F1c.
Gray, A. O. Sea. 2c.
Griffin, L. H. F3c.
Haase, H. E. G.M.3c.
Haling, C. W.T.
Hamilton, C. Blacksmith
[2]Hanley, J. M.Att. 1c.
[2]Heise, W. F. F1c.
Herrman, H. Oiler
Hill, F. C. C.M. 3c.
Hiss, S. W. F1c.
Hollis, L. R. Sea. 2c.
Houtz, E. L. Sea.
Jetter, R. T. Sea.
Jones, R. D. Oiler
[2]Jones, T. W. F1c.
Kaetzel, H. D. Sea. 2c.
Keenan, A. E. B.M’ker.
Kerr, G. M. Sea.
[2]Kleine, J. F. Oiler
Leal, R. M.Att. 3C.
Lewis, F. W. Cox.
Lindeburg, F. R. Sea.
Loescher, H. A. Elec. 2cG.
Loftus, J. P. C.B.M.
Luke, E. E. C.M.M.
Marsden, C. Cox.
Marsh, A. J. Sea.
Martin, O. F. F1c.
Martinez, M. M.Att. 3c.
McClellan, R. B. B.M. 1c.
Miller, A. E. Yeo. 2c.
Montaux, R. C. Cox.
[2]Moore, J. E. Sea. 2c.
Moore, W. C. G.M. 2c.
Mulcahy, W. W. Cox.
Mullins, T. Q.M. 1c.
Murphy, W. F. Sea.
[2]Nardo, S. M.Att. 1c.
Nolan, F. M.Att. 2c.
Outwater, H. Sea.
Paulson, G. C. Yeoman
Pease, A. E. F1c.
Phillips, E. S.C. 2c.
[2]Plummer, J. A. Elec. 2cR.
Prindle, E. B. Q.M. 2c.
Rachor, J. Cox.
Rahill, W. J. Sea.
Regent, A. A. Sea. 2c.
Reynolds, F. J. Sea. 2c.
Robertson, C. Oiler
Rubein, S. F1c.
[2]Schlotfeldt, H. B. F2c.
Schmidt, H. L. S.F. 2c.
Seger, R. G. Sea.
Sellers, E. H. Sea. 2c.
[2]Sholander, E. Sea. 2c.
Simpson, J. F. G.M. 3c.
Skolmowski, S. J. Sea. 2c.
Smith, A. C., Jr. Q.M. 2c.
Smith, J. F1c.
Smock, T. F. Sea. 2c.
Stephenson, H. F1c.
Sullivan, V. J. F.2c.
Swan, M. H. Elec. 3cR.
Tepelman, L. W. F1c.
[2]Teuten, W. W. F1c.
Thysenius, E. Cabin St’rd
Tibbott, D. W. Sea.
Tucker, R. S.C. 3c.
Underbill, P. W. Sea. 2c.
Valyon, L. J. Sea. 2c.
[2]Van Camp, L. R. Sea.
Wallace, E. C.W.T.
Walters, F. Sea. 2c.
Washburn, C. F. Sea. 2c.
Waters, C. W. Yeo. 2c.
Walters, F. Sea 2c.
[2]Wheatcroft, W. A. S.F. 2c.
Wyllie, A. A. G.M. 1c.
Wysocki, P. P. Elec. 3c.
Many of these patriotic pilgrims were about to undertake their first
voyage on blue water, nor could they foresee how much piteous woe can
be caused by the uneasy motion of a ship. The _Corsair_ was a lively
boat, as the saying is, for her hull was not moulded like a fat-bellied
merchantman, and she lifted to the seas with the graceful stride of a
Yankee clipper. And so when the transports plodded out into the wide,
wet Atlantic, not a few of the bold mariners of the _Corsair_ devoutly
wished they had enlisted in the Army. They were not disgraced, however,
for many a hard-shell of the regular Navy has confessed to the pangs
of seasickness. The nervous thoughts of submarines were forgotten in
wrestling with the immediate tribulation. The great adventure was not
what it had been cracked up to be.
[Illustration:
_Copyright by Kadel and Herbert, N.Y._
SOME OF THE OFFICERS AND CREW, BEFORE LEAVING NEW YORK]
Among the bluejackets was a Princeton undergraduate, Arthur Herbert
Coffey, rating as a seaman, whose misfortune it was to suffer serious
trouble with his eyes, so that he was sent home shortly after the
_Corsair_ reached France. Later he entered the aviation service and
died of influenza on December 31, 1918, greatly mourned by his former
shipmates. He wrote, at some length, his impressions of the voyage and
so entertainingly caught the spirit of it that he must be permitted to
tell you how they went rolling out to find the “Bay of Biscay, O”:
I shall never forget the morning of June 14th as long as I live. It
was three A.M. and very foggy when our bos’n’s mate roused us from our
hammocks and told us to “rise and shine” as we were going to shove
off. I’ll admit that I had many fears and misgivings at these harsh
words, “shove off.” I had never been out of sight of land before in
my life, and to cross the ocean on your first trip in a yacht three
hundred feet long seemed to me to be some adventure, just then. Up
to that time I hadn’t given it much thought. In fact, I had been
impatient for the event, like the rest of the men, but as I was
pulling on my socks that morning (and three A.M. is a rotten time of
day anyhow), I began to reflect that perhaps I had been just a little
bit hasty in rushing into the war. And I couldn’t help thinking how
pleasant it would be to be snoring in a good, soft bed at Princeton
with nothing between me and complete enjoyment of the day excepting a
ten-thirty recitation hour.
Well, I got dressed anyway and turned to. We dropped down the river
slowly and anchored off the Battery, for the fog was so thick that you
could hardly see your hand before your face. All about us there was
the moaning of fog-horns and I felt forlorn inside. But soon the fog
lifted a bit and that, together with Bill Rahill’s grin, made things
feel a little bit better. “Well, we are off for the big stunt,” I
said to myself. “I wonder when we’ll see this old town again.”
I had the watch in the crow’s nest that afternoon, from two to four,
and enjoyed myself very much. It had turned out to be a fine day, the
sun was bright, and we had lots of company, seven ships in all, four
transports, a cruiser, and two destroyers. After an hour in the crow’s
nest I happened to glance down at the deck and noticed some very odd
actions among the crew. Several of them were leaning over the rail
and appeared to be staring very intently at something in the water. I
watched them for a while and then suddenly it occurred to me that they
were seasick.
I felt like a hardened old sailor, for here I was high up in the
crow’s nest, swaying from side to side, right over the water, and in
tip-top form with a husky appetite for the next meal. I still felt
fine when I climbed down to the deck, but was too wise to kid anybody.
And it was a good thing I kept quiet, for an hour later I was as
miserable as the rest of them. We certainly had a seasick crew for a
couple of days. The green firemen were so sick that they were unable
to stoke properly and we failed to keep up with the rest of our convoy.
We kept dropping farther and farther behind, the firemen still shy
their sea-legs and also some of the crew. Nobody saw the doctor
and the paymaster for four days.... Then the doctor made a brief
appearance in the sick-bay. He looked at a cut in a man’s hand,
clapped his own hand over his mouth, and we didn’t see him again for
two days more. But he came around in fine shape after that, on the job
every minute, although he was not needed often, I am glad to say.
To make a long story short, we abandoned all hope of staying with the
first division and ploughed along by ourselves for a few days, then
picking up the second group consisting of four transports and the same
type of escort. Everything went along smoothly for four days and then
our destroyers came out to meet us from Queenstown. There were five of
them and a bully good sight they were to us who were getting pretty
close to the danger zone with our precious transports. The destroyers
came zipping up like gray streaks and were on us almost before we knew
it. We stood on deck and cheered ourselves hoarse. They were the boys
who had gone over early, the first of the Navy to see active service.
They were glad to see us, too, it appeared, and many messages were
wig-wagged back and forth. They fell into position and all hands felt
as safe as a church.
About two o’clock in the afternoon of the next day, I was below
getting a drink of water when suddenly there was a loud explosion. I
remember that at the time I thought somebody had dropped a hatch cover
directly over my head. I realized in a moment that it was something
else, for I heard loud shouts and the tramp of feet on deck. I was
topside in no time and rushed for my gun as I was the loader of Number
Three gun.
The transports had all stopped. One of them, nearest to us, was giving
the submarine warning, a number of blasts on her whistle which sounded
uncanny to us because it was the first time we had heard anything from
the transports since leaving New York. They had moved across the ocean
like so many ghosts. It was a beautiful, clear day and the sea was as
smooth as a carpet.
I took my position at the gun, broke open a box of ammunition, and
laid hands on a shell. The doctor came rushing aft with a handful of
cotton which he told us to stuff in our ears. Then we were all set
to be torpedoed. I wasn’t scared—I was too busy, I guess—but I was a
little bit jumpy. I looked at my watch and it was just five minutes
of two. I wondered how long it would take our yacht to sink after the
torpedo hit us.
The transports, as I have said, were making no headway and were
all grouped together like a flock of frightened sheep, while the
destroyers were just getting into motion. This was one of the
prettiest sights I ever saw. No sooner had the transports halted than
the destroyers, six in all, darted out in a fan-shaped formation and
then worked back and forth, looking for all the world like greyhounds
on a scent. And maybe they didn’t make knots! We were moving at top
speed ourselves, but those destroyers gave us the impression that
we were standing still. Zoom, one would cut across our bow at about
thirty knots, then another would flash astern at the same rate.
For a time we could discover nothing else out of the ordinary. Then
suddenly the captain of Number Four gun gave a yell and pointed
astern. “There she goes!” he shouted. “It’s a torpedo as sure as
you live, or I never saw one.” We all rubbered astern with our eyes
sticking out like onions, and there, sure enough, was a wake foaming
along at tremendous speed about fifty yards away, but it was not
heading in our direction, thank goodness. I don’t know whether it was
a torpedo or not. I have never seen one, but our regular Navy men
swore it was.
The paymaster was sure it was, although he had never seen one either,
and he dashed up and down the deck, clapping his hands and loudly
exclaiming, “Oh, it is a torpedo! It is a torpedo!” This relieved the
strain considerably. We all laughed until we almost cried. The officer
upon the after deck-house suddenly cried out, “Stand steady, boys.
Don’t get excited. A school of porpoises is coming toward us.” We saw
them, and I imagine there would have been a heavy mortality in that
bunch of porpoises if the keen-eyed officer had not warned us in time.
That was about all I saw of the submarine attack, but I heard other
stories from the deck and bridge. The explosion at the outset had been
caused by the dropping of a depth charge from a destroyer, quite close
aboard the _Corsair_. No wonder I thought somebody had banged a hatch
cover over my head! The firemen below thought we had been torpedoed
and were all for erupting on deck for a breath of fresh air. That
depth charge was powerful. Our men said they saw the destroyer’s stern
lift high in air while a great spout of water leaped just astern. We
saw oil smeared over the water and I hope the destroyer was given
official credit for sinking a submarine.
One of our officers told me that more than one submarine must have
been in the attack, and that the activity of the destroyer escort
drove them off. There was one incident which some of the men thought
rather a joke, but I felt sorry. In the morning an old British tramp
picked us up, and seeing all the destroyers, etc., concluded that we
were good company to travel in, so she stuck with us all the forenoon,
keeping a mile off to port. No sooner did she hear the submarine
warning than she lit out at full speed, about ten knots, for safer
waters. Two hours after that, our radio men got an S.O.S. from her,
that she had been torpedoed and was sinking. It seemed too bad that we
couldn’t go and help her.
This submarine alarm was the famous episode which thrilled the American
public as elaborated by George Creel for the newspapers of July 4,
1917. The _Corsair_ witnessed only what occurred among the second
group of transports, and although some of her men declared they saw
the wake of a torpedo, Commander Kittinger failed to confirm it in his
official report of this busy afternoon. Rear Admiral Gleaves carefully
considered the statements of the officers of ships in Group Two and
drew the following conclusions, omitting the names of the vessels
engaged because of the naval censorship in force at that time:
The H, leading the second group, encountered two submarines, the first
about 11.50 A.M., June 26th, about a hundred miles off the coast of
France, and the second submarine two hours later. The I investigated
the wake of the first without further discovery. The J[3] sighted the
bow wave of the second at a distance of 1500 yards and headed for it
at a speed of twenty-five knots. The gun pointers at the forward gun
saw the periscope several times for several seconds but it disappeared
each time before they could get on, due to the zigzagging of the ship.
The J[3] passed about twenty-five yards ahead of a mass of bubbles
which were coming up from the wake and let go a depth charge just
ahead. Several pieces of timber, quantities of oil, bubbles, and
_débris_ came to the surface. Nothing more was seen of the submarine.
The attacks on the second group occurred about eight hundred miles
to the eastward of where the attacks had been made on the first
group.... It appears from reports of the French Ministry of Marine
and from the location of the attack that enemy submarines had been
notified of our approach and were probably scouting across our route.
[Illustration: WITH AMERICA’S FIRST CONVOY. THE TROOP-SHIPS ARE THE
HENDERSON, ANTILLES, MOMUS, AND LENAPE]
[Illustration: THE MINE FUNCTIONS AND A LURKING U-BOAT WOULD FIND IT
EXCESSIVELY UNHEALTHY]
The story of Seaman Arthur Coffey is less exaggerated than might
have been expected in these wholly novel circumstances. It may have
been a torpedo or, perchance, it was a porpoise that was seen from
the _Corsair_. If it was the latter, no blame is to be laid to the
young sailors who were so tremendously excited. To their unaccustomed
eyes the ocean swarmed with periscopes and U-boats. Many a seasoned
skipper had blazed away at blackfish or shivered in his shoes at a
bit of floating spar. The destroyer _Cummings_, at any rate, blew up
something from the vasty deep with the “ash can” that plopped from her
fan-tail. As for the soldiers packed in the transports, all girdled
with life-belts and eyeing the ocean with morbid suspicion, they would
have told you that the submarines were coming at them in droves. It was
one of the dauntless doughboys of this First Expeditionary Force who
wrote home to his trustful kindred:
DEAR MOTHER AND THE FOLKS:
We hadn’t more than got out of New York than you could see submarines
bobbing up all around us. The periscopes were as thick as cat-tails in
a swamp. I counted seventy-five and then the ships began to fire. The
gunner near me fainted. Shell shock, I guess. I sprang to the gun and
began shooting. The first shot I fired hit a submarine square on top
of the back and tore out its whole back-bone, just like tearing out a
whale’s back-bone. There was blood all over the water, and some oil.
I kept on shooting. I sank twelve of the submarines myself. The battle
lasted a good while and I heard that fifty of the submarines had been
destroyed. None of us was killed. The submarines, what was left,
finally quit us. We haven’t seen any more of them. Give this to the
newspapers.
Love to all the folks, from your soldier boy
BILL
At this early period of the naval war, the employment of the depth
charge as the most efficient weapon against the submarine had not
been fully developed. The traditions of accurate gunfire as the best
offensive were not easily set aside. It was true of the destroyers at
Queenstown, as of these yachts bound to France, that their crews felt
sublimely certain of smashing Fritz with the batteries at which they
drilled like so many skilled football teams. Soon they came to realize,
however, that the chance of catching the enemy napping on the surface
was extremely remote and that shooting at periscopes, even when they
were not imaginary, was futile business.
The _Corsair_ was armed with four three-inch rifles, and their crews
were very capably trained under the direction of Ensign Schanze. This
armament was not heavy enough to match the guns of a U-boat if the
latter had been plucky enough to stand up to a duel, but it served to
drive him under and to inspire a wholesome respect. The superior speed
of the yacht made her particularly well fitted for using depth charges,
but at the outset she was equipped with no more than ten of the small
and rather crude “Sperry mine” loaded with from thirty to fifty
pounds of TNT. This device was exploded by means of a buoy and wire
cable which unwound as the steel canister plunged through the water,
releasing the detonator at the proper depth. These mines frequently
failed to function and the destructive effect was feeble.
The Navy Department later perfected a terrific “ash can” packed with
three hundred pounds of high explosive which was set off by means of
a hydrostatic valve and could be relied upon to devastate a submarine
a hundred feet below the surface of the sea. These great bombs were
dropped, not one or two in an attack, but fairly dumped overboard
by the dozen or the score in a cataclysmic barrage, after listening
devices had located and “fixed” the enemy. The “Y gun,” or twin
mortar, was also invented to hurl these metal kegs a considerable
distance from the ship. Such were the perfected tactics learned from
experience, which would surely have doomed the U-boat to extinction if
the armistice had not intervened. The _Corsair_ was fitted out in this
manner later in her service, but she blithely sailed for the war zone
with her four small guns and a few “Sperry pills” and could have felt
no more pride in her task if she had been a first-class battleship.
Concerning the voyage, Commander Kittinger reported as follows, in the
War Diary of the yacht:
Got under way at 4 A.M., June 14th, and stood down the river,
anchoring at 6 A.M. off Governor’s Island on account of fog. Got under
way again at 9.40 A.M. Laid to off Ambrose Light Vessel at 1.20 P.M.
Joined Group No. 1 at 1.50 P.M. and took departure from Ambrose Light
Vessel at 2.09 P.M., standard speed 12 knots. At 2.30 P.M. weather
became misty again which necessitated closing in to keep the convoy
in sight. The 4 to 8 P.M. watch had difficulty in keeping steam for
12 knots. Blowers were used to assist. Ship lost distance which was
recovered in the next watch and position maintained.
At 11.40 P.M. the fog set in thick and lasted until about 1.25 A.M.,
June 15th. At 3.20 A.M. the convoy was sighted on the port bow,
distance four miles. During the watch the ship logged over 12 knots
by revolutions of main engines, but due to deep draft was unable to
keep up. The blowers were run continually to assist. The forward
boiler could not be lighted off as it was banked in with reserve
coal supply. Between 4 and 5 A.M. while cleaning fires the speed by
revolutions dropped to 11 knots. A moderate sea was running which
caused seasickness among the firemen. The firemen were drafted from
the U.S.S. _Delaware_ through the receiving ship at New York and were
unfamiliar with firing Scotch boilers and not accustomed to the quick
and deep roll of small ships. Most of them became useless during the
cleaning fire period and their places were taken by petty officers of
the engine and fire-room watch. The ship continued to lose distance
astern of convoy, a logged speed of 10½ knots being maintained. I gave
this matter my personal attention and every effort was made to rejoin
the convoy. From noon to midnight an average speed of 11¾ knots was
logged. At 4.45 P.M. the _Wilkes_ came within hail and made inquiries
as to the cause of the _Corsair’s_ inability to keep in position.
_June 16th._ An average speed of 10½ knots was logged for the day. I
found that the seasoned men, most of them petty officers, were showing
fatigue due to the hard steaming qualities of the ship. A number of
volunteers from the deck force went below and passed coal and handled
ashes to assist. The reserve coal from the dead fire-room was removed
to allow the forward boiler to be lighted off. Group No. 1 was not
seen this day. Group No. 2 was sighted astern at 3.40 A.M. Lighted
fires in boiler No. 1 at 6 P.M.
_June 17th._ Maintained about 11 knots (by revolutions). Some of the
firemen who had suffered from seasickness were back at useful work
and the ship had become considerably lighter. At 5 P.M. cut in boiler
No. 1 and increased speed to 13 knots. Between 1 and 2 P.M. two U.S.
destroyers passed six miles to the southward, one heading east and one
west.
_June 18th._ Averaged 13½ knots until 10.40 A.M. when speed was
reduced to 10 knots to lose distance and join Group No. 2.
_June 19th._ Proceeding at reduced speed to allow Group No. 2 to
overhaul.
_June 20th._ Proceeding at reduced speed, about 9 knots, to allow
Group No. 2 to overhaul. It was desirable to keep a speed that was low
but economical to get the mileage for the fuel.
June 21st. Proceeding at reduced speed, about 7 knots. At 3.45 A.M.
sighted Group No. 2 on port quarter,—distance four miles. Changed
course to intercept. At 5.15 A.M. took position on starboard beam
of _Henderson_, distance 2000 yards. At 6 P.M. sighted U.S.S.
_Maumee_ and U.S.S. _Henley_ on starboard bow. The _Burrows_ joined
the _Maumee_ and refueled. At 8.22 A.M. stopped and lowered a boat
and boarded the _Birmingham_ for orders. At 9.35 A.M. proceeded in
formation at 12 knots. Had no trouble in keeping position from this
time on with natural draft. Zigzagged during the afternoon.
_June 22nd and 23rd._ Proceeding with Group No. 2. Zigzagged during
daylight.
_June 24th._ _Momus_ broke out break-down flag and dropped astern of
formation. At 8.17 A.M. sighted three destroyers one point on port
bow. Five destroyers joined escort during the morning.
_June 25th._ Proceeding as before. At 5.30 A.M. steamed at 14 knots.
At noon steamed at 13 knots. Zigzagged during daylight.
_June 26th._ Proceeding with Group No. 2, steaming at 13 knots. The
U.S.S. _Cummings_ let go a depth charge at 2.00 P.M. about 600 yards
ahead. Manœuvred for attack. Nothing sighted. Returned to formation.
Two French torpedo craft joined escort about 4 P.M.
_June 27th._ Entered port during mid-watch. Anchored during morning
watch with 32 tons of coal remaining. Arrived at Saint-Nazaire,
France, with Group No. 2 of Expeditionary Force.
[Illustration: THE KIND OF “GOBS” THE COUNTRY WAS PROUD OF MOST OF THIS
GROUP WON COMMISSIONS]
[Illustration:
_Photograph by Underwood and Underwood, N.Y._
THE GERMAN SUBMARINE WAS A TINY TARGET EVEN WHEN ON THE SURFACE]
These were tired and grateful sailors aboard the _Corsair_, for the
slow-gaited transports, thirteen days on the voyage, had caused
continual anxiety among the war vessels of the escort. The first
group had been attacked by submarines, as reported by Rear Admiral
Gleaves, and it was an auspicious omen that every ship and every
soldier had been carried across unharmed. The _Corsair_ had been
compelled to drop back and join the second group, but it was not her
fault. As her skipper in former days, Lieutenant Commander Porter was
unhappy, as you may imagine, although he knew that the yacht would
vindicate herself when in proper trim and with a “black gang” that
could make steam and hold it.
Extra coal and stores had made the draft two feet deeper than normal.
One boiler-room was used for coal stowage, but a speed of fourteen
knots was to be expected under these conditions. The firemen, trained
in a battleship, were green to their task and were bowled off their
pins by seasickness. It indicated the spirit of the ship when the petty
officers, deck force and all, and as many other volunteers as could
find space to swing slice-bar and shovel, toiled in the sultry heat of
the furnaces to shove the ship along. Never again was the Corsair a
laggard. Month after month on the Breton Patrol or with the offshore
convoys, the destroyers were the only ships that could show their heels
to her.
The process of “shaking down,” of welding a hundred and thirty men into
a crew, and teaching them what the Navy was like, had begun with the
hard routine at the docks in Hoboken and Brooklyn. The voyage was the
second lesson and it wonderfully helped to hammer home the doctrines
of team-work and morale, of cheerful sacrifice and ready obedience.
Those who grumbled repented of it later and held it as a privilege that
they were permitted to play the great game. It was while they sweltered
to make more steam and urge the ship to greater speed that an Irish
stoker expressed himself as follows:
“I have heard tell of the meltin’-pot, but ’tis me first experience
with it. Hotter than hell wid the lid off, and ye can see thim all
meltin’, and will ye listen to the names of the brave American lads,
Brillowski, Schlotfeldt, Aguas, and Teuten that signed on to juggle the
coal. An’ will ye pipe off the true-blue Yankee sailors, Haase, and
Skolmowski, Fusco, Kaetzel, and Balano, not to mintion such good old
Anglo-Saxon guys as De Armosolo, Thysenius, and Wysocki. I will make no
invidjous distinctions, but what kind of a fightin’ ship would this be
if ye hadn’t Gilhooley, Mullins, Murphy, Mulcahy, Egan, Sullivan, and
Flynn? The meltin’-pot! ’Tis a true word. An’ may the domned old Kaiser
sizzle in a hotter place, if there is wan.”
One of the boyish bluejackets noted his own change of heart in a diary
which contained such entries as these:
_June 19th._ At 6 A.M. we sighted an empty lifeboat. Don’t know where
it came from, as there was no name. We also saw two objects floating
quite far off and thought they were corpses, but were not sure....
Stood two watches and had an abandon ship drill and gun practice.
Wrote some letters, but don’t know when we can mail them. Sighted a
big whale not fifty yards from the ship. It scared me. I was at the
wheel and thought it was a submarine. Sleeping in my bunk for the
first time since leaving New York.
_21st._ We are having a typical northeaster and the ship is burying
her rails in the sea now and then. We have joined the second group
of the fleet. It consists of the _Birmingham_, four transports, a
destroyer, ourselves, and the _Aphrodite_.... _22nd._ The northeaster
is still on in full blast and the sea is running high. We hope to
reach France Tuesday. The food and the life on this ship are pretty
bad, and when this war is over and I sign off I shall devoutly thank
God.
_23rd._ A pretty bad day all round. High sea, rain, and fog. We are
now in the war zone and zigzagging back and forth across the ocean.
The _Birmingham_ has kept us busy all day with signals. The ship has
been very hard to steer and I am tired out. Broke a filling out of
my tooth and it hurts. Hope I will get a chance to have it fixed in
France. A toothache out here would certainly be bad. Have been unable
to take a bath for a week. Am washing in a bucket of water.
_24th._ Another day of nasty weather. The mid-watch was the worst I
ever stood. The fog was awful and when I was at the wheel we almost
rammed the _Antilles_. We also dodged two suspicious-looking steel
drums that looked very much like mines.... _25th._ Our coal is getting
low and we will surely land some time to-morrow morning. I wish I
could talk French. Everybody is writing letters home to-day. Stood a
terrible watch with Mr. Tod on the bridge. He and Captain Kittinger
took turns bawling me out. I almost rammed a destroyer twice by
obeying orders to the letter, but the officers were in a bad temper
and blamed me. Gad, but I’ll be glad to set foot on dry land.
Somewhat later this same young man was jotting down:
Whoever reads this diary will probably notice my changed attitude
toward what we have to put up with. What seemed unbearable a few
months ago amounts to nothing, now that we have become hardened to all
things. I have read the whole diary through and laughed at my early
grouches.
And so the _Corsair_ came to France and rested in the quaint old port
of Saint-Nazaire while her men beheld the troops of Pershing’s First
Division stream down the gangways and receive a welcome thrilling
beyond words, the cheers and outstretched hands, the laughter and
the tears of a people who hailed these tall, careless fighting men
as crusaders come to succor them. This was a sight worth seeing and
remembering. And when the American sailors went ashore there was an
ovation for them, flowers and kisses and smiles, and if such courtesies
were bestowed upon the bluejackets of the _Corsair_, they gallantly
returned them, it is quite needless to say.
Seven of the crew were granted liberty for a hasty trip to Paris.
Seaman Arthur Coffey was in the party and his written impressions
convey a glimpse of what it meant to these young Americans to come into
contact with the sombre realities of the struggle which France was
enduring with her back to the wall. It surprised and amused them to
find the American infantrymen already so much at home in Saint-Nazaire
that their liveliest interest was in shooting craps at the street
corners:
Here were soldiers and sailors who had just crossed an ocean full of
hidden terrors [observed Arthur Coffey], and most of them were to
face worse terrors later on, but did they consider these things? Not
for a minute! They had money in their pockets and beer under their
belts and this “spiggoty” currency, as they called the wads of paper
notes, made them feel like millionaires. The marines had not arrived
to police the streets, so they rattled the dice in crowds. For all
they saw or cared, they might have been in their own home towns,
perfectly indifferent to their surroundings. The French onlookers were
different. They were appraising these new comrades-in-arms, whispering
among themselves, admiring the equipment and the rugged stature of
these soldiers from beyond the seas. We watched the fun until it was
time to find the train for Paris and moved away with cries of, “Shoot
the cinq-froncs,” “Fade him for a cart-wheel, Bill,” “Come on, you
baby,” ringing in our ears.
We got aboard the right train with the kind assistance of a
French lady who interpreted for us. It was great luck to get the
seventy-two-hour leave, and the crowd was congenial, five men from
Princeton, one from Yale, and one from Cornell. The trip to Paris was
lengthy because we had to travel second class and sit up all night,
being Navy gobs and not officers. The French took us for plain,
ordinary bluejackets and fraternized at once. Their style of opening
a conversation was to sit and look at you for a time, smile, and then
having attracted your attention, with a terrifying grimace ejaculate:
“_Le boche, ah-h-h-k!_” drawing a hand across the throat. This done
they would beam expectantly and, needless to say, we responded with
grimaces even more terrifying and repeated the formula. Having
mutually slit the gullet of the hated foe, I would add, to show off
my French, “_Je n’aime pas le boche!_” Then the way was opened for a
conversation.
“_Parlez-vous français, monsieur?_” “_Mais un peu, monsieur_,” I
would say, and then bang away with the stereotyped sentence, “I have
studied French two years at school and I can understand the language
pretty well, but I cannot speak it.” As soon as my friend, the French
soldier, heard me rip off this sentence he would open his eyes and
say, “_Parlez bien français, monsieur_” and then start talking so fast
that I could not understand a word, and this would be the end of the
conversation, on my part, at least.
Some of my companions, however, were even worse performers than I.
Poor old Bill Rahill, who was in my class in college, had taken
economic courses and so knew no modern languages. All he could say was
“_Oui_” and “Non comprenny, monsieur,” at which I would nudge him and
ask if it were not better, perhaps, to have a little culture and know
something about a foreign language than to be cluttered up with the
Malthusian theory or some other rot like that.
We had a great time on that train to Paris. At the first long stop
almost everybody got out and went into the waiting-room, or saloon,
and bought various refreshments. We had seen no grass or green trees
for two weeks, so we piled out and made for the beautiful lawn near
the station. We rolled on the grass and sniffed the pine trees. We
were like cats that had been shy of catnip for a long time. I suppose
the French people thought we were crazy, but we didn’t care, and it
certainly did feel good to have the green earth under our feet again.
[Illustration: BOATSWAIN’S MATE SEGER, FROM PASSAIC]
[Illustration: THE TALL ONE IS PHARMACIST’S MATE FEELEY HIS FRIEND IS
MESS ATTENDANT MARTINEZ]
Then we wandered into the restaurant and loaded up with cheese and a
couple of yards of war bread, and one of the fellows bought several
bottles of champagne at a ridiculously low price. Thus armed, we
climbed into the train where we met two French soldiers who were
returning to the trenches. They let us try on their helmets and
gas-masks and they spoke a little English, so with plenty of gestures
we got on very well. They said they knew we were Americans because
we talked through our noses. We took that good-naturedly, but I
noticed that my brother gobs began to speak way down in their throats
right after that. We chewed on the war bread and washed it down with
champagne. That is a great breakfast combination, you can take my word
for it. And then some one piped up a song. “Buck” Bayne, Yale 1914,
was handy at fitting words to college airs and we soon had a fine
concert going. One of the ditties, I remember, went like this, to the
tune of “Cheer for Old Amherst”:
“Good-night, poor U-boats,
U-boats, good-night!
We’ve got your number;
You’re high as a kite.
Good-night, poor U-boats,
You’re tucked in tight.
When the U.S. fleet gets after you,
_Kaiser, good-night_!!”
Before long we had a crowd around that train compartment that you
couldn’t get through to save your neck. The Frenchmen all applauded
the _Corsair_ glee club and yelled for more, but we felt too
conspicuous and so we persuaded the _poilus_ to sing some funny trench
songs, which we couldn’t understand, but we laughed and slapped them
on the back as though we knew every word.
Next morning we arrived in Paris, and, with a few other men from our
ship, were the first American sailors in that city since our country
had declared war. You can imagine what that meant to us, how the
people greeted us with cordial affection and kindness. Thank God, the
Frenchmen did not try to kiss us! If the Paris girls had insisted,
we should have submitted like gentlemen. We put up at the Hotel
Continental, and were more than amused at the expressions on the faces
of several dignified English officers when they saw seven common
bluejackets of the American Navy blow in and eat breakfast next to
them.
That day we ran into lots of friends who were in the American Field
Ambulance Service, attached to the French Army, and they told us
gloomy tales about the war outlook. They said the Russians were
through, that the French were literally shot to pieces, and that the
job of finishing the war was up to us. Imagine it—I, who had hoped in
May that the Russians would keep on retreating so that I could get
a chance to see the show before it was over, was now wishing that
the war would end. I have seen the light since that day. We fellows
were really feeling the war for the first time when we noticed that
the streets of Paris were filled with crippled men and with women in
mourning.
We spent two busy days in mixing with soldiers of all nations and
doing Paris. The troops who impressed us most, even more than the
French, and that is going some, were the Canadians. They gave us such
a rousing welcome that it was like being home again. They were so
glad to see us that they almost wrapped themselves around our necks.
“Hello, Jack,” was their invariable greeting. “How are things over
in the States?” “It’s sure good to see you.” “When are your troops
coming over?” “What, you came across with some of them?” “The devil
you say!” “Well, all I hope is that they give us a chance to fight
alongside the Yanks. We’ll go through Fritz so fast that he won’t know
what hit him.”
While we were knocking about Paris with the Canadians, our money was
no good. They insisted on buying us drinks, cigarettes, and acted as
interpreters. There was nothing they wouldn’t do for us. Our spirits
began to rise at once. We asked them about all the pessimistic rumors.
Were they true? “Hell, no,” said they. “Why, there’s nothing to it.
Shell ’em a bit, then shell ’em some more, and when you go over the
top, Fritz just sticks up his hands and yells that he’s your kamerad.”
“As soon as he sees the cold steel, up goes his bloody hands,” one
little chap confided to me. And he had such a look in his eye when he
said it that I think my blooming hands would have been up if he had
said the word.
They were the most confident lot of men I ever saw. This was the first
visit to Paris for most of them. They had been out there for two
years, getting leave only among the little villages back of the line,
but they didn’t seem to mind going back to the trenches. And they were
always talking about the war and their campaigns. The soldiers of
other nations seemed fed up with it, but not so with the Canadians.
Why, I heard two of them, a private and a captain, in a heated
argument across a table as to how they could capture Lens without
letting the Germans destroy the coal mines. The private leaned over
and poked the captain in the stomach to emphasize a point, and the
captain tried to out-shout his companion. One would have thought them
to be a couple of privates.
On the morning of the third day we left Paris for our port. Dave
Tibbott, a classmate of mine, practiced talking French to a lad in the
train, and Bill Rahill said “_Oui_” and “_Voilà_” to a pretty girl who
shared the compartment. She seemed to be partial to Bill’s smile, for
we all had him beaten on slinging the French. When she left the train,
Bill helped her out and kissed her hand by way of farewell. When we
kidded him about it, he defended himself on the ground that they did
such things in France and one must follow the customs of the country.
We had many yarns to spin when we boarded our ship and we were
careful to tell the boys about the fine baths in the hotel, although
we omitted the fact that there was no hot water. When we described
the wonderful soft beds, it looked as though there might be a lot of
desertions from the _Corsair_.
* * * * *
I saw many interesting sights during my stay in French waters, but my
eyes went bad and they put me ashore where I stayed a month and a half
waiting for a ship to take me home. I was finally sent back to the
United States in August and, to my great sorrow, received a medical
discharge. The life is hard in the Navy in the war zone, harder than
anything I had ever done before, but I would give ten years of my life
to have been able to stick it out with the boys on the old _Corsair_
and do my share.
FOOTNOTES:
[1] See Chapter XIV.
[2] Returned home on ship twenty-three months later.
[3] Destroyer _Cummings_.