TRAGEDIES AND RESCUES
During the first three months of war duty, June, July, and August, the
_Corsair_ steamed 11,738 miles, which was the greatest distance logged
by any of the yachts during the same period. There was little time
or opportunity for the grooming and tinkering which a pleasure craft
is presumed to receive. Blow high, blow low, she went to sea at the
appointed hour and the fires were never dead under the boilers. In her
forward deck-house was a couplet, carved on a panel of wood, which she
was living up to in full measure:
“_North, East, South and West,
The Corsair sails and knows no rest._”
The first cruise of August took the yacht to Saint-Nazaire, on the
4th, in company with the _Aphrodite_, _Kanawha_, and _Noma_, to escort
a group of empty transports to sea. This was safely accomplished,
and the _Corsair_ returned to Brest where the _Celtic_ was waiting
to be guarded through the danger zone. For lack of destroyers it was
the business of the yachts to take the big ships out after they had
discharged their troops or supplies. Having parted company with the
_Celtic_ at Fourteen West and wished her good luck, the _Corsair_
hastened back for coal and further orders, which were to cruise in
the regular patrol area. The American steamer _Carolyn_ was expected,
inbound and running alone, and the _Corsair_ searched a waste of waters
until the magic of the radio found the unseen ship and whispered to her
this comforting message:
I am thirty miles west of you. Pass north of Belle Isle and I will
intercept you at daylight, in time to escort you into Quiberon Bay.
The skipper of the _Carolyn_ had become a trifle confused in his
bearings and was glad to be led to a safe anchorage where he could join
a coastwise convoy for Bordeaux and so reach his destination.
To the _Corsair_ then fell the experience of protecting a cargo steamer
whose speed was so slow that she crept through the dangerous stretch of
sea like a rheumatic snail and was a tempting target for any prowling
submarine. It was all in the day’s work, although a bit trying to the
nerves, and Commander Kittinger’s report indicates the nature of the
task:
The _Corsair_ was assigned to escort duty with the American steamer
_Manto_ bound from Saint-Nazaire, France, to America. A conference was
held with the captain of the _Manto_ at Saint-Nazaire on the evening
of August 22nd, the day before sailing. The _Manto_ is a small,
low-powered steamer under charter by the Navy Department. The captain
stated that he could make between eight and nine knots in favorable
weather, but with a head sea and a stiff breeze he could not make more
than six knots.
At 10.12 A.M., August 22nd, the _Manto_ was ready and got under way
with _Corsair_ escorting. The route was laid through Chenal du Nord
and into Quiberon Bay at Croisic. During this time the _Manto_ was
able to make about six knots on the course, not zigzagging in these
waters. After entering Quiberon Bay she was able to make eight knots.
The wind continued in force from the west and at 3.55 P.M. the convoy
and escort anchored at Quiberon Peninsula to await more favorable
weather.
The wind continued in force and direction during the night, but to
avoid further delay a start was made at 5.23 A.M., August 24th. After
clearing Teignouse Passage, took up Base Course 275°. Convoy was
unable to make more than five knots good into the rough head sea and
strong breeze from west. Escort steamed at ten knots and zigzagged at
45° and 60° on each side of Base Course in order to keep position.
This continued throughout the morning and at noon Penmarch Point was
still in sight.
During the afternoon the force of the wind diminished and the convoy
made better headway. By noon, August 24th, the wind became a light
breeze and the convoy was making about eight knots good on the Base
Course. After noon the barometer fell decidedly, decreasing a half
inch in eight hours, and with it the wind increased to a strong breeze
with an overcast sky and driving rain squalls which reduced the
visibility to practically nil. The convoy dropped back to about five
knots.
[Illustration: A FRENCH FISHING SMACK WHICH DARED THE RUTHLESS WARFARE]
[Illustration: THE S.S. MANTO, WHICH SPED THROUGH THE WAR ZONE AT FIVE
KNOTS]
Up to the time of darkness the convoy and escort were making so little
progress that a hostile submarine would have been able to manœuvre
and attain any position desired for attack. After darkness the lack
of visibility was the best protection that could be had. I believe
that the best scheme for getting a low speed vessel of the _Manto_
type through the danger zone from Saint-Nazaire would be to have
her proceed from thence to the Brest rendezvous with the convoy using
the protected inshore waters. After arrival at Brest she should await
favorable weather so that she could be escorted through the danger
zone at her best speed.
By way of variety, the _Corsair_ was next ordered to the English
Channel to pick out the American supply ship _Erny_ from a convoy
escorted by H.M.S. _Devonshire_ and carry her into Saint-Nazaire. This
was the first taste of the Channel Patrol, of cruising in those black
and crowded waters where the numerous routes of traffic crossed and
converged, and ships ran blind with no lights showing, and the risk of
collision was much greater than the chance of submarine attack. The
yachts regularly assigned to this coastwise escort duty saw more of it
than the _Corsair_, but she learned to know the meaning of that lusty
chantey of the war zone, “On the Channel Run”:
“If promotion means nothing to you,
And comfort you can forswear,
And you’re willing to be forgotten,
And to work every day in the year;
If you’re fond of taking your chances,
And the praises of Admirals you shun,
Pick an eight-knot tramp of the N.R.F.
Carrying coal on the Channel Run.
“The job is a stranger to honors,
It’s also a stranger to shame.
There’s naught to win and your life to lose
’Midst its dirt, its dangers, its damns;
But once you have laughed its laughter,
And the cynic has captured your soul,
You can smile at the rest as you do your best
To approach an illusive goal.
“My lad, there is nothing to it,
There’s nothing,—and yet,— and yet,
It is something to strive for nothing;
That is something—don’t you forget.
So if you are in for the game of it,
And you’ve got sufficient nerve,
Pick an eight-knot tramp on the Channel Run,
Of the U.S.N. Reserve.”
The _Corsair_ laid a course for the secret meeting-place where she
hoped to make contact with the convoy and picked up the Lizard Light,
cruising in rough water for a day and a night until the flotilla of
merchant ships was sighted, when she signalled the _Erny_ to follow and
so returned to France. This errand brought the month of August to a
close. It would have seemed incredible to the crew, before they sailed
from home, that they could spend a summer in the war zone and steam
more than eleven thousand miles without seeing a submarine or enjoying
the excitement of a torpedo attack. They had passed large quantities
of floating wreckage, tragic evidence that the enemy was active, and
the S.O.S. calls of frightened ships had often come to the radio-room,
but this was all. One inference was that the yachts had been of real
service and that the U-boats were learning to be wary of them and their
rapid-fire batteries.
The autumn was to be much more eventful. On September 5th the
_Corsair_ stood out from Brest to look for an American supply convoy
which included the valuable steamers _Edward Luckenbach_, _Dakotan_,
_Montanan_, and _El Occidente_. While steering for the latitude and
longitude named in the confidential orders, a small boat under oars and
sail was descried from the bridge. A few minutes later a second boat
was sighted, and the _Corsair_ bore down to save the castaways who were
frantically appealing for help. They were in two dories, eleven men in
all, who were hauled aboard and made comfortable by the crew of the
yacht. They were from the French fishing vessel _Sadi Carnot_ which had
been shelled by a submarine while homeward bound from the Grand Banks
to Saint-Malo with a cargo of salted cod.
Impassioned, with many gestures, these weather-beaten Breton sailors
cursed the Germans who had placed bombs under the hatches of their
beloved bark. The _Corsair’s_ men listened eagerly while they cheered
their weary guests with sandwiches and coffee. Presently a hail from
the bridge announced that another boat was adrift to the westward, and
the mariners of the _Sadi Carnot_ yelled vociferous joy. Five more
comrades of theirs were deftly picked up, leaving three boats still
unaccounted for, and the _Corsair_ searched for them in vain.
Another boat was discovered a little later, it is true, but the men in
it made no sign—four of them, all corpses which washed about in the
water under the thwarts or were grotesquely doubled up like bundles
of old clothes. They were English seamen and the boat bore the name
of the British steamer _Malda_. As one of the _Corsair’s_ signal-men
wrote in his diary; “It was a ghastly sight. The French fishermen we
have on board were almost starved and frozen. They could not have lived
more than another day or so. Imagine their feelings when they saw the
_Malda’s_ boat with the dead men and knew that this would soon have
been their own fate.”
It was later reported in Brest that another ship had picked up the
_Malda’s_ boat in passing and had discovered that the bodies of
the English sailors were riddled with bullets from a machine gun,
presumably after they had abandoned their steamer.
The _Corsair_ kept on her way and had no trouble in finding her convoy
of four vessels with which she started for Saint-Nazaire at thirteen
knots. Off Belle Isle, the _Montanan_ developed a fit of hysterics and
opened fire on an imaginary flock of submarines which turned out to
be blackfish in a sportive mood. The other merchant steamers promptly
joined in the bombardment and banged away for all they were worth, at
the same time stampeding most zealously. They scattered over the sea
like hunted ducks and the indignant _Corsair_ endeavored to recall and
soothe them.
“We could see what they were shooting at,” noted a quartermaster on
the yacht, “but believed it to be the splash of a big fish. However,
they were thoroughly convinced that Fritz was out to pull some of his
morning hate stuff. The ships of the convoy were so excited that they
shot all over the ocean. One of their shells missed us by a hundred
yards or so and we got sore. I sent them a signal, ‘_Cease firing at
once and come within hail_.’ They paid no attention, but we rounded up
the bunch and escorted them safely into port and then beat it out to
sea again.... We passed close to a submarine last night, but could not
find him. We got the smell of his Diesel engines and I guess he was
charging his batteries and ducked under when he heard us.”
The emotions of this startled convoy were not easily calmed, for
the commander of the _Corsair_ records, an hour after the alarm,
“Proceeding again in close formation. The _Edward Luckenbach_ fired
one shot at a flock of gulls on the water.” Concerning the general
bombardment he officially observes:
The _Montanan_ opened fire at a disturbance made by a large fish,
abeam and to port, distance about one mile. The fish was clearly
seen and observed from this ship when it jumped from the water twice
and then swam away near the surface. A few minutes later a school of
porpoises appeared and all the transports opened fire. The firing was
widely dispersed and apparently not aimed at any visible object. The
shells from the _Montanan_ landed abreast of the _Corsair_. None of
them burst. The _Oise_, a French vessel of the escort, attempted to
investigate the splash made by the fish but had to draw away when
fire was opened at the porpoises.
These false alarms happened often, and during her next tour at sea
the _Corsair_ sounded the call to battle stations on two different
occasions, reported as follows:
(1) Sighted an object which was believed to be a submarine about four
miles ahead. Two submarine warnings were received, one before and one
after sighting object. Upon arriving at point where object had been
sighted, no evidence could be detected of the presence of a submarine.
(2) Sighted object on starboard beam, distance 3000 yards, which
appeared to be a periscope. Informed convoy and headed for object.
No. 1 gun crew opened fire when object became visible in gun-sight
telescopes, followed by fire from convoy. When we approached close to
object it proved to be a black spar, riding about vertical, six feet
out of water. The heavy swell running caused the spar to disappear at
intervals, which gave it the semblance of a submarine operating.
[Illustration: A GROUP OF CHIEF PETTY OFFICERS]
[Illustration: A LIBERTY PARTY AT BREST]
Until the merchant convoys became more accustomed to the routine of
their hazardous employment, they were a source of almost continual
anxiety to the yachts and other naval craft escorting them, and the
work was more harassing than may appear on the surface. As a sample one
may select from the _Corsair’s_ daily experiences such an incident as
the following, under date of September 5th:
Signalled French gunboat _Oise_ to take position on port bow of
leading transport. _Corsair_ took position on starboard bow. The
_El Occidente_ was rapidly gaining position. Proceeded about five
miles and _El Occidente_ turned out of formation and slowed down. I
then ordered _Montanan_ to reduce speed until convoy had caught up
and then proceeded with the _Corsair_ to _El Occidente_. Found out
that this steamer had sighted the ship’s boat of the S.S. _Malda_ with
four dead men in it and had stopped to investigate. I ordered her to
rejoin immediately and cause no further delay, and also to stop using
her signal searchlight as evening twilight had come on. On rejoining,
found that the transports had gotten in line abreast and were all
communicating with each other by signal searchlights. By this time it
was growing dark and it became necessary to order them by radio to
cease signalling with lights. They paid no attention to signals to
form column and continued the formation of line abreast covering about
four miles front. About 9 P.M. the moon rose so that all ships were
visible. Went close to each and ordered them to form column. By 10
P.M. succeeded in getting them in column formation.
The _Corsair’s_ crew had been hoping to visit England and the
opportunity came, but not precisely as they might have wished it. The
yacht was ordered to proceed to Devonport on September 13th to load
a cargo of depth charges for the other naval vessels on the French
coast. It was something like asking a man to make a railway journey
from New York to Boston with a stick of dynamite in every pocket of
his clothes. With luck it might be done, but he would feel painfully
eager to avoid any more bumping or jostling than could be helped. And
as has been said, the Channel was an extraordinarily crowded and
darkened thoroughfare. This was getting on with the war, however, and
the unterrified _Corsair_ duly anchored in Plymouth Harbor. Instructed
by Admiralty officers, she shifted to moorings at a jetty of the
British naval docks where a lighter came alongside, and the _Corsair_
bluejackets, with gingerly care, hoisted in almost a hundred “ash
cans.” This quick-tempered merchandise included such items as these:
34 Depth Charges, Type D.
34 Depth Charges, Type G.
14 Boxes Gun Cotton, Dry.
68 Boxes First Fittings.
Of this trip to England, one of the petty officers wrote in his little
notebook:
Caught my first glimpse of John Bull’s country early this morning when
we arrived at Plymouth, a very beautiful spot. A British army camp
is on the hill and we are soon to have a base here. It sounds good
to hear the English language again. Rated liberty and had a splendid
time. I guess we will make some knots on our way back to Brest, as we
have enough TNT on board to blow up the whole fleet. If a submarine
hits us this time—good-night! I hope the luck of the Navy will take
care of the old ship this cruise.
_September 15th._ Got back to Brest at 11 A.M. Our radio picked up
two German submarines near us which were talking with Zeebrugge. They
were probably looking for us and our cargo of mines, but we gave them
the slip. When we hauled out of Plymouth the British jackies on their
warships gave us cheer after cheer—yells of “Hello, Hello, Yanks,”
“Hurrah for the _Corsair_,” and “Three cheers for Uncle Sam.” They
handed us more cheers when we sailed and we gave them as good as they
sent. Plenty of excitement last night. I noticed a rowboat with two
men in it hovering around the ship. I hailed them, but got no answer.
They left, but the same boat approached the gangway an hour later. I
threatened to shoot them and they turned around and vamoosed. I can’t
imagine who or what they were, but it was peculiar that they should
pick this night to hang about, when we had all those mines aboard.
_September 16th._ I had a long talk with a couple of British sailors
off the _Goshawk_. One of them had been in the Jutland battle.
He tells me the Germans have invented an artificial fog to hide
behind, something like our smoke screen, but better. The English are
experimenting with it. They got the fog all right, but it nearly
asphyxiated every man in the ship.... I don’t know what has happened
to all our officers. They are so blamed disagreeable that there is no
pleasing them. They canned Copeland off the bridge and put me back on
signal watches. I wanted to know why I had been rated a quartermaster.
They said it was so I could draw the extra pay. I darn near threw it
in their faces. If I can’t hold the job I don’t want the rate.
The _Corsair_ was again assigned to the convoys and the same chronicler
has this to say of the remaining days of September:
_21st._ Saw a very wonderful sight. Two submarines were reported off
Belle Isle, so we had an extra escort of four seaplanes, four little
fighting aeroplanes, one seventy-five-foot chaser, and a big French
dirigible. They went out to help us carry some empties beyond the
war zone, the same ships we had taken in, _Montanan_, _Dakotan_,
_Luckenbach_, and _El Occidente_. The air craft flew over us fifty
miles offshore. The dirigible made the signal, “_Submarine below_” but
he was so far off that he had submerged when we got there. Another
dirigible came out from Brest and looked us over, but soon went back.
This evening we passed the body of a dead sailor, but did not pick it
up; also an empty dory. _Aphrodite_ and _Alcedo_ are with us.
The American Army had begun to move overseas in a swelling tide of
khaki and the transports came faster and faster. No sooner had the
_Corsair_ seen the last of one group than another was waiting. On
September 28th she left port to seek contact with the store-ships _City
of Atlanta_, _Willehad_, _Artemus_, and _Florence Luckenbach_, and a
British destroyer which was the senior vessel of the escort. Having
found them, the subsequent proceedings were such as sprinkled gray
hairs on the heads of the commander and the officers of the _Corsair_.
The War Diary records it in this summary fashion:
_September 29th._ _Noma_ signalled by blinker tube that _City of
Atlanta_, the last ship of the convoy, was having engine trouble and
could not keep position. Signalled to _Noma_ to stand by her. _Noma_
and _City of Atlanta_ dropped astern and disappeared in the darkness.
[Illustration: THE GUNNER’S MATES AND THE LONG ROW OF DEPTH CHARGES
READY TO PLOP OVER THE STERN]
[Illustration: ANOTHER VIEW OF THE MINE TRACK, SHOWING THE Y GUN OR
DOUBLE MORTAR]
3.32 A.M. Received radio from _Alcedo_, “_I have been rammed by
convoy. Stand by._” Headed back to look for _Alcedo_ and found the
_Willehad_ out of position and making the best of her way to rejoin.
Communicated with the _Willehad_ by megaphone and was informed that
she had fouled the _Alcedo_ but that the yacht had rejoined and was
in position with the escort. During this détour, received from the
_Noma_, “_I am proceeding with the City of Atlanta._” At this time a
large convoy was observed standing to the northward and cutting off
the _Noma_ and _City of Atlanta_ from our convoy.
6.15 A.M. Received from _Noma_, “_Lost City of Atlanta about_ 4.30
A.M. _in passing through large convoy. Is she with you?_” The _Noma_
was instructed to search for the missing ship and escort her in.
8.44 A.M. _Noma_ reported that she had found the _City of Atlanta_ and
was proceeding to _Teignouse Channel_.
So much for the routine of faithful endeavor, continual danger, and
incessant vigilance! The month of October was very different. It was
memorable in the _Corsair’s_ calendar because she fought a submarine,
rescued many survivors of abandoned ships, and saw two fine transports
torpedoed, the _Antilles_ and the _Finland_, with heavy loss of life.
There was no more grumbling at the uneventful drudgery of war. The
crowded activity began on the second day of October when this radio
message was caught and decoded:
To all Allied men-of-war,—from Land’s End:
Picked up five men of French fishing vessel sunk by submarine.
Five boats still adrift—twenty-one men. Position 39-JSD.
The _Corsair_ was in company with the yachts _Wakiva_ and _Alcedo_, and
promptly signalled them to disregard her movements as she was going
in search of survivors. Shortly after noon, the wreck of a schooner
was sighted, the hull awash, and many barrels of oil floating near it.
The _Corsair’s_ gunners fired seven shots into the derelict, but were
unable to sink it and the yacht hastened on her errand of mercy, guided
by the squared areas of the secret chart to which the radio message had
referred. Three hours later the first boat was found, a dory four men
from the French fishing bark, _Saint Pierre_, which had been set on
fire by a boarding party from a U-boat one hundred and eighty miles off
Ushant.
The mate, who was one of those rescued, swore that after the crew
of the _Saint Pierre_ had scrambled into the boats two more large
submarines appeared, and that all three of these infernal sea monsters
had made a circuit of the hapless bark before destroying her. It was
also his belief that each submarine was very formidable, at least a
hundred metres in length and mounting two large cannon.
The crew of the _Corsair_ cheered at the tidings while they sympathized
with the forlorn fishermen. “The U-boats were coming in bunches,”
joyously reflected the deck force, and the “black gang” slung the coal
with an earnest determination to give her twenty knots or blow the
boilers out of her. The ship raced to scan the sea for the other boats
of the _Saint Pierre_ and at 4.35 P.M. heard firing in the direction of
a tall barkentine whose sails gleamed seven miles to the northward.
Here was a second fisherman in trouble and a U-boat actually shelling
her within sight of the U.S.S. _Corsair_! Ten minutes more, with
speed worked up to eighteen knots, and the submarine could be clearly
recognized through the binoculars aimed from bridge and crow’s-nest.
Etched very small against the horizon was the deck, like a fine,
black line, and the conning tower as a tiny hump in the middle, while
a gun winked as a red spark, and the water splashed high near the
target of a sailing vessel and was visible as so many white specks
resembling dabs of cotton. The _Corsair_ was then four miles distant,
too far to use her own guns effectively. The submarine delayed five
minutes longer, rolling on the surface and using her battery in order
to sink the fisherman without wasting a precious torpedo on a victim
so unimportant. Then the cruel U-boat filled her ballast tanks and
submerged as a whale sounds when alarmed. Sighs from the _Corsair’s_
decks were mingled with the deep and hearty curses of the saltwater
vocabulary. The commander expurgated his report when it came to writing
it, and this was his unadorned narrative:
Shortly after this, six dories were observed pulling away from the
vessel. At 5.08 we came up and found her to be the French barkentine,
_Eugene Louise_, from the Grand Banks to Saint-Malo. Searched for
whereabouts of the enemy. A long wake was observed. Ran the ship into
this wake and at 5.16, at the place where it disappeared, let go an
English depth charge, 120 pounds TNT. Circled around and passed close
to survivors’ boats and asked them the location of the enemy. They
were so badly demoralized that they could give no intelligible replies
and pointed generally to the westward. Search was continued and at
5.34 returned and picked up the survivors, the entire crew of the
_Eugene Louise_.
At 5.45 we started ahead at eighteen knots. The first estimate made
of the damage to the _Eugene Louise_ was that her bob-stays had been
carried away and that her topmasts and topgallant-masts would probably
come down. At this time she was hove to with all square sails aback.
The fore-staysails and jib halliards having been let go, the sails
were halfway down the stays. Approaching closer to make a careful
inspection, we found that what appeared to be the bob-stays were a
couple of rope-ends hanging from the dolphin striker to the water.
Attempts were made to persuade the crew to return to the _Eugene
Louise_ and bring her in. The captain consented on condition that the
_Corsair_ should escort him. He was assured that the _Corsair_ would
stand by. After conferring with his crew he asked that one of the
ship’s officers would confirm this assurance in person. The Gunnery
Officer, Ensign Schanze, gave this assurance to the crew in their
own language. A long talk ensued among the Frenchmen of the _Eugene
Louise_. The indications were that they had no intention of boarding
their ship again.
[Illustration: FRENCH FISHERMEN WHO WERE SET ADRIFT]
[Illustration: THE CASTAWAYS FIND A HEARTY WELCOME ON THE CORSAIR]
At 6.19 P.M. proceeded S. 17° East, speed fourteen knots, and
continued search for survivors of the _Saint Pierre_. Opened
communication with some British destroyers and informed them of
the condition and position of the _Eugene Louise_. At 9.08 P.M.
the destroyers radioed that they had the _Eugene Louise_ in tow
and were proceeding to the Scillys. Heard two German submarines
communicating with each other by radio. Five minutes later heard two
more enemy submarines in radio communication. The signals were coming
in very strongly which indicated their close proximity. Under these
circumstances it was considered unwise to take the _Eugene Louise_ in
tow without the presence of escorting vessels.
It was an animated scene aboard the _Corsair_ when the thirty-one men
and officers of the _Eugene Louise_ were disputing whether or not
they should go back to their ship and sail her into port. There were
also two dogs, one of them shaggy and black, who barked in energetic
approval of remaining on the _Corsair_. Their Breton shipmates appeared
to share this opinion. Panic had gripped most of them. They were
literally frightened out of their wits. Red kerchiefs knotted about
their heads, gold rings twinkling in their ears, they looked like
shipwrecked buccaneers, but their spirit was quite otherwise.
The captain of the _Eugene Louise_ was a man of stout heart and,
besides, he owned a share of the barkentine. He raced between bridge
and deck, conferring, imploring, expostulating, but his fishermen
refused to follow him. They were fed up with submarine warfare and,
in their opinion, once was enough. The next U-boat would undoubtedly
cut their throats and it was a long road to Saint-Malo. Their refusal
brought genuine grief to the navigating officer of the _Corsair_.
Nothing would have pleased Lieutenant Robert E. Tod more than to sail
the barkentine _Eugene Louise_ into the nearest French port, and he had
already volunteered for the job.
He was a faithful and zealous officer of the _Corsair_, but, after
all, she was a steam kettle and his heart went out to the spars and
stays and canvas of a sailing vessel and the winds that served to steer
her by. Such had been his own training as a yachtsman, and he knew he
could shove this French square-rigger along for all she was worth,
with thirty nimble Breton sailors to swarm aloft. Alas, Captain Pierre
Catharine, of the _Eugene Louise_, could not argue his frightened
crew into accepting this sporting proposition. It was left for the
industrious British destroyers to take her to safety at the end of
a tow-line. The news was gratifying, when received later, that the
barkentine with her cargo of fish, so welcome to the Breton villages,
had been rescued from the brutal destruction of the enemy. One of the
_Corsair’s_ deck force sadly noted in his journal:
I also volunteered to go with Commodore Tod as quartermaster for
signals, but our skipper decided to leave her derelict. It was a great
disappointment. Mr. Tod thanked me for offering to take a chance on
the barkentine, which I appreciated.
During the night of this same day the _Corsair_ was zigzagging toward
Brest at twelve knots when she encountered one of the submarines which
had been running amuck among the fishing vessels. The weather was
hazy and obscured and an occasional rain squall drove across the ship.
The bridge and deck watches were peering into the gloom which lifted
between the squalls to let a watery moon gleam through. Lieutenant Tod
was officer of the watch and Quartermaster Augustus C. Smith, Jr.,
stood at the wheel. At 11.25 P.M. one of the whistling flurries of rain
and wind had passed and the sea was visible in the illumination of the
misty moonlight.
No more than five hundred yards away the outline of a large submarine
was clearly discernible as it rested at leisure upon the surface of the
water, having emerged, no doubt, to open hatches and give the crew a
breathing spell. This was a sight which the crew of the _Corsair_ had
dreamed of. It was too good to be true. Quartermaster Augustus Smith, a
bland, unruffled young man in all circumstances, had an uncommonly keen
pair of eyes and he did not have to be informed that yonder was the
enemy. He spun the wheel at the order. Lieutenant Tod threw the handle
of the engine-room indicator to emergency speed, and the _Corsair_
swung to rush straight at the U-boat, hoping to ram.
Commander Kittinger and his executive, Lieutenant Commander Porter,
instantaneously appeared upon the bridge, while Ensign Gray dashed for
the chart-house deck to make certain that the forward gun crew had
sighted the submarine for themselves. There was excitement, but no
confusion. Long training and disciplined habit had prepared them all
for such an episode as this, like sprinters set and ready on the mark.
No time was lost in wondering what ought to be done. Those who hunted
Fritz had to be quickwitted or else he would scupper them.
The submarine, caught napping, went ahead on its oil engines, moving
slowly on the surface and almost in the same direction as the plunging
_Corsair_ whose forward battery endeavored to bear on the mark, which
was difficult for lack of a bow-chaser. Number Two gun barked once and
the shell kicked up foam astern of the U-boat which was submerging in
the very devil of a hurry, as one may imagine. Before the _Corsair_
could fire again, the conning tower had vanished and the gray shape of
the slinking submarine was slanting downward in a “crash dive.”
The yacht had three hundred yards to go before she passed over the
spot. Her keel failed to strike and rip through the thin plates of
the German craft which was, perhaps, thirty feet beneath the sea, but
a bubbling wake was visible and into it the depth charges began to
drop from the stern of the _Corsair_. The gunner’s mates played no
favorites, but let go an English “ash can” with 120 pounds of TNT, then
two French “Grenades Giraud,” and finally an American Sperry bomb.
All four of the Allied gifts for Fritz functioned with terrific
effect. The _Corsair_, charging ahead at full speed to avoid being
hoisted herself, was shaken as though she had hit a reef. The sea was
violently agitated in a foaming upheaval. The men asleep below decks
came spilling up through the hatches, convinced that the ship had been
blown up. One of the French fishermen vowed that he had a glimpse of
the shadowy shape of the submarine as it passed directly under the
_Corsair_. It seemed reasonable to assume that the four depth charges
had been placed where they would do the most good. Nothing could
survive the destructive effect of the solid wall of water impelled
by these explosions. And the submarine had been near enough, in all
probability, to receive the force of these rending shocks.
The _Corsair_ moved ahead for five minutes, along the track which the
U-boat had taken when it submerged. There was the hope that it might
rise to the surface disabled, but the moonlit surface of the sea was
unbroken. The mist had cleared and the sky was bright. Swinging about,
the _Corsair_ retraced her path on the chance of finding some sign
or token of a shattered U-boat. Soon she ran through a spreading oil
slick, a patch of greasy calm amid the glinting waves, and the smell of
mineral oil was strong. They sniffed it greedily aboard the _Corsair_
and the French fishermen forgot to mourn the _Eugene Louise_. It was
their belief that the glorious American Navy had evened the score with
the Boche. The bluejackets were of the same opinion and felt confident
that the _Corsair_ would be awarded a star to display on her funnel,
the _Croix de Guerre_ of the sea, to show that she had bagged her
submarine.
The officers were not quite so cock-sure. Daylight might have disclosed
some bits of _débris_, enough wreckage to substantiate the claim beyond
a shadow of doubt, but the mere presence of floating oil was no longer
admitted as final proof either by the American Navy Department or the
British Admiralty. Submarines were apt to leak a certain amount of fuel
oil, or to blow it through the exhaust when running on the surface, and
it was suspected that Fritz had learned the trick of opening a valve in
order to delude the pursuers into the belief that they had crippled or
smashed him.
In this instance, however, the circumstantial evidence was very
strongly in favor of the _Corsair_, even though officials ashore
might decline to give her documentary credit. The submarine had been
unusually close aboard, almost under the ship, when four depth charges
were let go and all exploded perfectly. Commander Kittinger was so
reluctant to claim too much that he presented no more than the terse
facts and let the matter rest with that. Earlier in the war, destroyers
had been granted the star on a funnel for evidence no more conclusive
than this—depth charges dropped within a fatal radius and the presence
of abundant fuel oil as the aftermath.
[Illustration: GUNNER’S MATES BARKO AND MOORE, AND A DEPTH CHARGE]
[Illustration: WATCHING THE APHRODITE GO OUT ON PATROL “HOPE SHE GETS
A SUB”]
It is highly probable that the _Corsair_ wiped one U-boat from the
active list on this moonlit night in the Bay of Biscay and her crew had
the right to feel pride in the exploit. That careful, well-poised petty
officer, Quartermaster Augustus Smith, who saw the whole show from his
station at the wheel, took pains to write down his own observations
which confirmed, in every respect, the conclusions of Commander
Kittinger and his officers:
On the night of October 2, 1917, at 11.25 P.M., a dark object was
sighted by the officer of the deck, bearing about three points on the
port bow. The officer of the deck, after looking at the object with
the night glasses, called out that it was a submarine. The order was
given for full left rudder and to steady on the submarine which was
then plainly visible in the moonlight. At the same time emergency
speed was rung up and before we had swung to the new course we were
fast gaining speed. The captain almost immediately came on the bridge
and ordered that a shot be taken at the submarine which was about
three hundred yards away and moving slowly on the surface in the
general direction we were steering. We swung a little to starboard
and one shot was fired which cleared the periscope and showed the
submarine distinctly for a second.
From the way the _Corsair_ answered the rudder we were making fine
speed. The submarine completely disappeared when we were just a little
way off. As we crossed her apparent course we began dropping depth
charges, four in all. As we passed over her position we went full
right rudder, dropping two of the cans as we swung. We then steadied
on North 74° East, the original course, and ran it about five minutes.
We then slowed to thirteen knots and went full right rudder, and
steadied on South 80° West. Returning over the spot where the charges
had exploded, we ran into a great slick of oil that seemed to spread
out for several hundred yards. A strong odor of oil could be smelled,
even on the bridge.