SMASHED BY A HURRICANE
On the last day of November the _Corsair_ got under way from Brest to
find and escort seven American store-ships which were bringing cargoes
to France. A division of Queenstown destroyers had picked them up at
fifteen degrees West and was guiding them to the rendezvous. With the
_Corsair_ went the _Reid_ and _Preston_, also three French patrol
craft, the _Glaive_, _Claymore_, and _Marne_. As the senior officer,
Commander Seiss, in the _Glaive_, was in charge of the Allied escort
group. The voyage was without notable incident, but the difficulty of
working together in different languages and with a mixed British and
American convoy was indicated by Commander Kittinger in his official
comment:
The senior officer of our escort was in a ship lacking efficient radio
communication. As it is not to be expected that an eight knot convoy
from New York will ever arrive at a rendezvous on a predetermined
course at a predetermined time, the Chief of Escort should be in the
vessel having the best communication. This is especially necessary
during the winter when the daylight periods are short. I do not
believe that the ships of our convoy knew their destination. With
ships on their first trip, as most of these ships were, the masters
of the vessels are not prepared to have another escorting force join
them and proceed to give them orders. This is especially true in the
case of the British ship _Anglo-Saxon_, the master of which could
not understand why an American patrol vessel should tell him to quit
a British convoy. It would facilitate matters if the masters of all
vessels, were informed of their destination and the probable time and
place of their detachment from the New York convoy.
The Chief of Escort did not require the ships to zigzag nor to
assemble in line formation as per doctrine. I do not believe it is
advisable for the Chief of Escort to be a French officer acting with
large convoys of American and English ships.
After this cruise the _Corsair_ was placed in dry-dock at Brest, where
a week was occupied in scraping, painting, and such overhauling as was
necessary. The ship was in surprisingly good condition after six months
of far more severe and punishing activity than she could have been
reasonably expected to perform. Chief Engineer Hutchison and Assistant
Engineers Mason and Hawthorn had kept things running down below without
a serious mishap or delay, although the yacht’s engines had shoved her
through 19,427 miles of sea during this half-year period. The fires had
not died under the boilers for a stretch of five months. It seemed no
longer quite fair to the _Corsair_ to think of her as a pleasure craft.
The words were incongruous. She had proved herself to be a brawny
toiler of the sea.
An examination in dry-dock showed that the hull was almost as undamaged
as when the yacht had sailed overseas. A few butts of the plates
needed calking. A small dent in the keel required new rivets and
two blades of the port propeller had been bent by hitting something
submerged. The crew very much hoped that the obstruction might have
been the submarine which the ship attempted to ram on that moonlit
night of October.
On December 13th the Corsair _returned_ to her mooring buoy after this
little respite in dry-dock and undertook the sooty job of filling
the bunkers. Next day she stood to the southward and found a convoy
waiting in Quiberon Bay. There the transports and supply-ships were
split into two groups. The escort of the fast convoy, fourteen knots,
was in charge of Commander Kittinger and comprised the _Corsair_ with
the three destroyers, _Warrington_, _Roe_, and _Monaghan_, which had
been added to the flotilla. The slow convoy escort, twelve knots, was
under the orders of Lieutenant Commander Slayton in the _Reid_, who had
with him the _Flusser_, _Lamson_, _Smith_, and _Preston_. The whole
destroyer force then available was therefore employed on this cruise,
with the _Corsair_ as the only yacht.
The German submarines had been creeping in to lay mines in the
channels outside of Quiberon, and the yacht _Guinivere_ and four
American mine-sweeping vessels were busy clearing the fairways for
the outward-bound convoys. In clear, pleasant weather the two groups
of transports gained the open sea without running afoul of any mines
and were well on their way by nightfall of December 15th. The sea was
smooth, unseasonably so for the time of year. The air had a nipping
edge, but the temperature was well above freezing and the deck watches
kept warm and dry in the wind-proof clothing which the Navy supplied
for this service. The _Corsair_ and _Monaghan_ held positions on the
right flank of the transports _Madawaska_, _Occidente_, and _Lenape_,
while the two other destroyers trailed or scouted off to the left.
There was no premonition of terrific weather. For several days the
barometer had been almost steady, at 30.50 inches or thereabouts.
During the watch from eight o’clock to midnight of this first day, the
sky clouded and the breeze blew stronger, hauling from northeast to
north with steadily increasing force. The barometer began to drop and
was at 30.00 when the watches were changed. There came a lull in the
early morning, the 16th, when the rain squalls passed over, and with
calm water the convoy steamed at fourteen knots. The _Corsair_ was
somewhat short-handed for this trip. Lieutenant Tod, the navigator, had
been granted leave of absence to go to the United States and Lieutenant
McGuire was acting in his stead. Boatswain Rocco Budani was also absent
on leave.
By noon of this second day the wind had risen again, and this time
it was boisterously in earnest, with a weight that swiftly tore the
sea into foam and tumbled it in confusion. The barometer was still
“falling gently,” as noted in the ship’s diary, and hung at 29.30
until the weather was at its worst. The _Corsair_ pluckily clung to
her station with the tall transports until 2.30 in the afternoon,
although the seas had begun to pile on board of her. The destroyers
of this escort group concluded to turn tail to it and run for shelter
before the storm increased to hurricane violence, but the five other
destroyers with the twelve-knot convoy, the _Smith_, _Reid_, _Lamson_,
_Flusser_, and _Preston_, stubbornly held on and so were fairly caught
in it along with the _Corsair_.
When it became impossible to smash ahead any longer without suffering
serious damage, every effort was made to signal the senior naval
officer of the transports, by semaphore and flag hoists, but no
response could be made out. The big ships, riding high, were able to
snore through the wicked seas at ten or twelve knots, but the yacht and
the wallowing destroyers had to slow down and ease up or be swept clean.
[Illustration: HOW THE HURRICANE SEAS POUNDED THE YACHT. “THE POOR OLD
SHIP WAS A MESS”]
Aboard the _Corsair_ it was decided to make for Brest as a refuge, but
this course brought the sea too much abeam, as was discovered after
three hours of reeling progress which slowed to ten knots. When the
afternoon darkened into dusk, the shouting gale had so greatly risen in
fury that it menaced destruction. The destroyers had vanished in the
mist and murk, endeavoring to save themselves and fairly rolling their
funnels under. The Bay of Biscay earned an evil reputation long,
long ago, but very seldom does it brew such wild weather as this great
blow of December, 1917. French pilots and fishermen could recall no
storm to match it in twenty years.
It was the supreme test for the _Corsair_, a yacht which was, after
all, handicapped for such a struggle. Officers and men prepared her to
face it as best they could, but she could not be “battened down” like
the rugged ship that is built to tramp the world. The deck-houses,
contrived for comfort and convenience, presented an expanse of large
windows and mahogany walls and were exposed to the battering of the
seas. There was no passageway below to connect the fore and after parts
of the yacht. As a war-vessel, she was already stripped of all extra
fittings, and all that could be done was to make everything secure and
meet it in the spirit of that famous old chantey of the Western Ocean:
“She is bound to the west’ard,
Where the stormy winds blow;
Bound away to the west’ard,
Good Lord, let her go!”
The medium-sized destroyers, like the _Reid_ and _Preston_, which also
weathered this hurricane, had a narrow beam and a shallow draft that
made them roll terrifically, but, on the other hand, they could be
sealed up like bottles, and they dived through it with no great risk of
foundering even when swept from end to end. With less than half the
tonnage of the _Corsair_ they had ten thousand horse-power to whirl
their triple screws. The decks might be washed clean of gear, but there
were no houses to be knocked to pieces. The popular fancy that the
destroyer is a fragile craft was disproved in the war zone. There were
no more seaworthy, tenacious ships afloat.
Concerning what happened during this black night when the _Corsair_
seemed to be washing to pieces and her holds were flooding, there were
various versions and opinions. Most of the youthful landsmen, convinced
that the yacht was going to the bottom, were frightened out of a
year’s growth and not in the least ashamed to admit it. If they said
their prayers, it was to be counted in their favor. The professional
seafarers had their own misgivings, but with the stubborn, unreasonable
confidence of their kind, they somehow expected to pull her through,
believing in the ship as long as she was able to float. This was
particularly true of Lieutenant Commander Porter, who had lived with
the _Corsair_ for so many years that she was almost a part of himself.
He knew her moods, her strength and her weakness, and because she had
never failed him he could not have been persuaded that she was unable
to survive.
Man has contrived many cunningly ingenious structures, but none of them
nobler than a staunch and well-found ship. The _Corsair_ was a shell
of thin steel plates, but every line and curve and hollow of them had
been influenced by the experiences of centuries of warfare with the
sea. A good ship is, in a way, the heritage from unnumbered builders
who, patiently, intelligently, wrought in wood by rule of thumb to
fashion the frames and timbers and planking of frigates and barks and
stately clippers long since vanished. The _Corsair_ was given beauty,
to a sailor’s eye, but there was more than this—the indomitable quality
of resistance which is like the will to endure.
What may be called the professional language of mariners is curiously
restrained and matter-of-fact. It is to be found in the pages of ship’s
log-books, which are, as a rule, the dryest possible reading. This
hurricane, for instance, in which so many amazing and heart-quaking
things happened, in which the _Corsair_ all but foundered, is dismissed
in such entries as these, so far as the ship’s record is concerned:
8 P.M. to Midnight:
8.25 changed course N.N.E., speed 7 knots. 8.45 changed course N.
Hurricane blowing from North. Sea very rough. Ship making no headway
and shipping a great deal of water forward and over stern. 11.00
reduced speed to 5 knots. Possible to steer ship only by using
propellers as well as rudder.
R. J. MCGUIRE
_Lieutenant (J.G.), U.S.N.R.F._
Commences and until 4 A.M.:
Hove to with head to wind, speed about 2 knots, whole gale with
frequent hurricane squalls from N. At 3.00 a heavy sea came on board
and stove the forward deck-house. Seas also carried two French mines
overboard and both mines exploded astern. Changed course to South
and ran before gale at 5 knots. Manhole plate to lazarette washed
off and large quantity of water entered, flooding engine-room. Water
waist-deep in crew quarters and six feet deep in No. 1 hold.
W. B. PORTER
_Lieutenant Commander, U.S.N.R.F._
4 to 8 A.M.:
Running before heavy Northerly gale on South course, speed 6 knots.
Very heavy following seas which broke on board very frequently. At
7.30 motor sailer broke loose but was secured with some injuries. Very
heavy rain and hail squalls. Ship’s decks continually flooded.
R. J. MCGUIRE
_Lieutenant (J.G.), U.S.N.R.F._
8 A.M. to Meridian:
Steaming on course S. by W.—112 W. Speed 7 knots. Sea very rough.
Hurricane blowing from North. Frequent heavy rain and hail squalls.
Ship taking considerable water over the stern. Continued running
before storm.
A. K. SCHANZE
_Ensign, U.S.N.R.F._
Meridian to 4 P.M.:
Steaming on course S. by W.—112 W. Speed 7 knots. At 12.42 changed
course S. 31 W. Hurricane blowing from North. Seas very large and
coming over quarter-deck and both sides.
J. F. W. GRAY
_Ensign, U.S.N.R.F._
The war diary compiled by Commander Kittinger for the Navy Department
is somewhat more explicit, but displays no signs of emotion. One begins
to catch glimpses of the situation, however, and even to conclude that
this intrepid naval officer would have felt much safer ashore. He also
commits himself to the statement that the wind blew with hurricane
force. A sailor will seldom go as far as this. When he does, you may
be sure that old Boreas is giving the ship about everything he has in
stock. What the agitated land-lubber calls a storm, and refers to it as
a narrow escape, the skipper jots down as “a strong breeze”; or if it
blows hard enough to snatch the hair from a cat’s back he may stretch
a point and log it as a “moderate gale.” There seems to have been no
disagreement among the experts that the _Corsair_ poked her nose into a
_bona-fide_ hurricane, to be certified as such.
It was believed at this time, 8.25 A.M. [states the commander’s
report], that the storm had reached the maximum and in a few hours
it would moderate and permit shaping the course and returning to the
base. The sea kept getting higher and higher and speed was reduced
to six and then to five knots. The ship steered poorly and it was
necessary to use the engines to keep her headed to the sea. At 9.20
P.M. took a heavy sea over port side which stove in the deck-house
abreast the engine-room hatch. The sea was kept about one point on the
starboard bow to prevent taking water in large quantities down the
engine-room hatch. The gangways were awash and it was impossible to
keep water from going down the breach.
The condition of the wind and sea did not improve and at 2.55 A.M.,
December 17th, a heavy sea broke forward and completely carried away
the hatch covering of No. 2 hatch and demolished the forward bulkhead
of the forward deck-house and stove in the roof forward to about half
way aft. This admitted great quantities of water below and conditions
became dangerous.
Two French mines were washed overboard which exploded about two
minutes apart. These mines had been set in a safe position and were
inspected before dark. Apparently the safety pins had worked out of
position during the buffeting of the heavy seas. The others stowed on
deck were inspected and it was found that some of the safety pins had
worked out of position.
At 3 A.M. the ship turned and ran before wind and sea. The water
below had gotten about one foot over the engine-room floor plates
but was soon under control. The ship made better weather but was by
no means out of danger. Fortunately no seas broke over the stern
although quantities of water were taken over which came through the
after skylights which had been damaged earlier. At daylight the next
morning it was found that a great deal of damage had been done to all
skylights, deck-houses, boats, and deck fittings, and that both the
after deck-houses had been started on the port side.
[Illustration: WHAT WAS LEFT OF THE EMERGENCY WHEEL]
[Illustration: WHEN THE HURRICANE SLAPPED THE WINDOWS]
At 10.00 A.M. took a heavy sea over starboard quarter which stove in
the starboard side of the engine-room deck-house. The wind and sea
continued. It was evident that the ship would not reach a French port
as her safety lay in running before the sea. At noon got a doubtful
fix by observation and shaped course to pass west of Finisterre. At
3.00 P.M. got a good fix by observation which verified the course. At
12.50 A.M., December 18th, passed Cape Villano abeam, distance eight
miles.
Consideration was given to a port of refuge. The nearest available
Allied port was Lisbon which could not be reached until nightfall. As
there was no information concerning entrance to this port, nor a code
for radio communication, I decided to make Vigo, Spain, and rest there
until Lisbon could be made by daylight. Anchored the ship at Vigo at
8 A.M. and communicated with the American Consul and with the Spanish
Military, Naval, and Health authorities. Received weather reports and
other information.
At 5 P.M. got under way and arrived off Lisbon about 8.30 A.M.,
December 19th. Took a pilot on board and obtained permission to enter
port at Cascaes Bay. Moored to buoy off Lisbon at 10.30 A.M. Got into
communication with the Portuguese Naval authorities who viewed the
damage and said that repairs could be effected without difficulty. At
3 P.M., December 20th, took berth alongside of dock at Naval Arsenal
and started repairs.
In their own diaries and letters home, the men of the _Corsair_ managed
to get more excitement out of the hurricane than one might infer from
the tabloid narrative of the skipper. There were unusual features,
such as the explosion of the depth charges which washed overboard and
“functioned perfectly,” blowing up so close astern that many of the
crew supposed the yacht had hit a German mine or the boilers had gone
up. Other “ash cans” were adrift on deck, thumping about with the
drunken motion of the ship or unreeling the cable which detonated them.
In the tumult and commotion of wind and sea, petty officers and seamen
groped to find these perilous metal kegs, diving after them as though
they were so many footballs and trying to hold them fast.
Dave Tibbott, for example, was discovered with a depth charge jammed
against his stomach while he clung to it and the rail. E. L. Houtz won
a letter of commendation from the Secretary of the Navy for clambering
down into the blackness of the lazarette and hoisting out a depth
charge which had plunged into this compartment when the hatch cover
was washed off. The cable had unwound and he followed it down, hand
over hand, so locating the infernal machine. He floundered about with
it, managing to get a footing upon some boxes, and so hung on by the
eyelids until comrades could help him and his burden up the ladder. One
of the quartermasters wrote his own impressions, somehow finding a dry
spot in which to use a pencil:
_December 16th_. Pretty heavy sea, and gale blowing and hitting us
hard. At 2 P.M. asked permission of the convoy to leave for Brest
before the big storm breaks. _Later._ This may be the last entry
I’ll ever make. We are in a hurricane and a mountainous sea. Unable
to proceed without swamping and are now hove to in the teeth of the
gale, barely making headway. The water is about four feet deep on
the decks.... _17th._ A terrible day and none of us expected to live
through it. At 2.45 A.M. there was an awful crash and then a flood of
water poured below. We all thought she had foundered and fought our
way to the topside through water and wreckage.
I had just reached the deck when there was a tremendous explosion
and the ship took a bad list. Water poured in everywhere. I heard
some one yell, “My God, we’re torpedoed,” but I thought it was one of
the boilers. Some of the men were manning the boats, and I had some
battle to get to my station on the bridge without being washed off
like a chip. I had just climbed to the bridge when there was another
explosion, and a flash. My first thought was that we had struck a
mine-field and then I heard one of the officers say that our own mines
were going off.
Ensign Schanze ran aft to see if our stern was gone and found the
watch chasing loose mines all over the deck. As fast as they were
caught, the detonators were removed and they were pitched overboard to
get rid of them. I stood at my post on the bridge expecting the ship
to sink under my feet at any minute. I had made up my mind not to try
to go in a lifeboat on account of the size of the sea, but to grab
something wooden if I could. At this time a heavy rain squall swept
over us. When I saw that the ship was not sinking, I went below to the
engine-room to get warm.
I found conditions pretty serious there, with two feet of water around
the engines and the engineers and firemen working in water up to
their knees. The word was passed that we had turned and were running
before the sea, and as long as the waves did not start breaking
over the stern we could stay afloat. At 7 A.M. the seas got worse
and began coming over. First to go was the engine-room bulkhead. It
caved in with a frightful crash. Our radio also went down. Things
looked mighty unpleasant, believe me, and after a conference with the
executive officer, our commander decided to run straight ahead and try
to fetch the coast of Spain. It was our only chance to save our skins,
so we plugged ahead at a few knots.
Early in the afternoon the seas rose sixty feet high, at a safe guess,
and began combing over our stern again. The after bulkheads were now
giving way and it looked like our finish. The skipper had passed the
word for all hands to turn to and save ship. We tore down doors,
lockers, anything for lumber, and set to work reinforcing bulkheads.
As soon as one carried away, we built another. The deck had tons of
water on it and was leaking badly. Also the fire-room was filling up.
The pumps were set going and we kept about even with the water. It
was a flip of a coin whether we would win through and every man was
fighting for his life.
At 6 P.M. the wind and sea decreased a little and the water stopped
coming over. At 10 o’clock we sighted the lighthouses on the Spanish
coast and felt that we had better than an even break of getting into
port. It was a tough experience, one that we don’t care to repeat, and
the poor old _Corsair_ is all in, pretty much of a wreck barring her
hull and engines. The ship’s company are a smashed-up, tired-out lot.
There is hardly a man aboard without an assortment of bruises. My back
is almost broken.
[Illustration: ASSISTANT ENGINEER HAWTHORN AND HIS WATCH]
[Illustration: THE CREW OF NUMBER THREE GUN]
Throughout the ship men were endeavoring to do their duty and to
perform the allotted tasks, just as this quartermaster had struggled
to his station on the bridge when he thought that the _Corsair_ had
been blown up. When one of the boats was in danger of being whisked
away by a breaking sea, young Henry Outwater climbed into it and rove
new falls, sticking to it until he had finished the job of working the
stiff rope through the blocks. He was under water part of the time,
and the fury of the wind was such that “he whipped straight out like
a pennant,” as he afterwards told his mates. At any moment he and
the boat were likely to go careering off together on the back of a
thundering sea. No officer of the _Corsair_ would have ordered him to
risk his life in this fashion. He did it because he thought it ought
to be done, a detail in the line of duty. The same spirit was shown by
Boatswain’s Mate Mulcahy, who noticed that the port anchor needed to
be secured. The ship was plunging her bows clean under as he crawled
forward and fought the smothering seas while he wrestled with the
lashings.
It was bad enough on deck, but worse to be far down below in the
engine- and fire-rooms where the black water swashed to and fro and
rose higher and higher. The pumps had choked with coal and ashes
and it was touch and go before they were finally cleared. In this
immensely difficult task, working mostly under water, Carpenter’s Mate
Evans bravely helped to free the bilge suctions. Engineers, oilers,
water-tenders, and the grimy watches of the furnace gang had dumbly,
courageously run the chance of death by a torpedo through voyage after
voyage. Now the sea had become an enemy even more ferocious than the
U-boat, showing every intention of drowning them where they stood; but
these were no quitters and the ship had steam enough to hold her hove
to or to send her surging off before it. They were alert and steady for
the signals from the bridge and they kept the heart of the ship beating
strong and responsive to the need.
The twin screws helped to steer her, now with a thrust to starboard,
again with a kick to port, whenever the hurricane would have rolled her
helpless. One of the bridge watch, yarning about it in Lisbon, recalled
this incident:
“I went below to roost on the steam pipes and thaw out, and you
couldn’t call that outfit excited at all. What made a hit with me was a
kid of an oiler who stood in the water between the two throttles, with
a grip on each of ’em while he nursed the engines along. He had to help
steer the ship as he got the word, opening up a little on one, shutting
off on the other. Getting drowned was the least of his worries. All he
had on his mind was coaxing the ship as she needed it, and the water
was splashing around his legs, at that.”
“It reminds me,” chipped in another of this reminiscent group. “In the
morning of the big blow, a guy of my division appeared on deck all
dressed up in his liberty blues. The bo’s’n’s mate asked him what he
meant by turning out all dolled up like that. ‘Why, Jack,’ answered
this cheerful gob, ‘I have a date with a mermaid in Davy Jones’s
locker.’”
“Like a couple of huskies of the black gang,” said some one else. “They
were in their bunks snoring away like a pair of whistling buoys, dead
to the world, although the fo’castle was flooded and the water was
sloshing under ’em. The hurricane had worked itself up and was going
strong, but they were off watch and the important business was to
pound their ears. The first depth charge exploded and shook the ship
up, and all hands were beating it for the deck, leaving their clothes
behind. These two birds rolled over and sat up and yawned. ‘Say, bo,
do you suppose we’re torpedoed?’ observes one, sort of casual-like.
‘It sounds and feels like that same little thing,’ replies the other.
‘I guess we might as well dress and see what it looks like.’ They were
calm and deliberate, just like that, waiting to put on their shoes and
pea-jackets and oilskins, and sort of strolling topside. My theory is
that they had dreamed of being torpedoed and talked about it until the
real alarm had no pep to it at all.”
“Do you fellows remember this? Somebody found ‘Tex’ on his knees, just
after the whole wet ocean spilled into the after hatch. He was not a
prayerful man, as a rule, so the spectator stood by to listen to ‘Tex’
at his supplications. He wasn’t praying for his own life, but for the
safety of Shelton Farr who had tried hard to make ‘Tex’ follow the
course of a virtuous sailor. ‘Oh, Lord, don’t bother about me, but save
Fair,’ was the petition. ‘He is entirely too good to die.’”
“I said my prayers earnest and often,” confessed a stalwart gunner’s
mate. “On the whole, the crowd behaved pretty darn well. I happened to
see two or three boys sort of sticking to each other for comfort, and
there were tears in their eyes and maybe one did blubber a little, but
they were mere kindergarten infants, sixteen or seventeen years old,
and it was a rough deal to hand ’em. A quartermaster came off watch
from the bridge and one of these babies stopped him to ask what the
skipper and Captain Porter thought about it. ‘They say the ship is
going to pull through,’ the quartermaster tells these children. That
was all they wanted to hear. They bucked right up and began to grin.”
To have the deck-houses smashing about their ears was enough to make
the battered crew unhappy, but the most serious accident was the loss
of the heavy round hatch plate which covered the entrance to the
store-room or lazarette. Into this opening the sea poured in torrents
as it broke and roared aboard, and it might have sunk the ship in a
short time. You may be able to fancy how they labored to plug this
hole with anything that came handy, while searching parties crawled
and groped to find the missing hatch plate. Never was a game of
hide-and-seek so desperately energetic. Luckily the metal cover had not
gone overboard and before the holds filled with water it was found and
screwed down to stay.
[Illustration: TEMPORARY REPAIRS, AFTER THE HURRICANE]
[Illustration: WHAT THE FORWARD DECK-HOUSE LOOKED LIKE WHILE RUNNING
FOR LISBON]
Much water flowed down the stairways and ladders when deck-houses
and bulkheads were rent and twisted, and the living quarters were as
wet as a duck farm, but such damage was not vital. When the spacious
forward house, used as the officers’ dining-room, was crushed for half
its length, among the _débris_ flung this way and that was the panel
with the carved couplet:
“_North, East, South and West,
The Corsair sails and knows no rest._”
It was fished out from under the deck planking which had been pried
up by the sea, and the seaman who found it eyed the oaken board in a
pensive manner as he said:
“Truer words were never spoken. The old boat has sailed every which way
in the last two days, including upside down, and you can take it from
me that there’s been nothing restful about her, nothing at all.”
Ensign Schanze tried to tell what happened when next he wrote to the
folks at home and he succeeded very well, adding details and touches
which might otherwise have been overlooked:
Picture to yourself the situation of a ship partly filling with
water, at three o’clock in the morning, in a storm of ever-increasing
violence, everybody on board wet and cold and exhausted, and then
suddenly having a few beer-kegs loaded with dynamite going off just
astern of her. It was a five-reel thriller and no mistake. We took the
seaman’s forlorn hope of turning in that sea and trying to run before
the storm, and we got away with it. The danger in that point of
sailing lies in the possibility of having a sea board you from astern,
and when that happens the ship usually founders.
When I say that the _Corsair_ was wet, I mean wet, not merely moist.
There was not a deck or a room in her, excepting the chart-house,
which had at any time less than six inches of water sloshing about
in it. At the instant just preceding the big smash that made us turn
tail, I had left the bridge to go aft and look the ruins over. The
big sea that squashed us, after doing its dirty work, rushed aft just
as the ship rose to climb the next oncoming wave. At that moment I
had reached the foot of the ladder that leads from the lower bridge
to the main deck. As she was rolling hard and had a foot of water
all over that deck, I was hanging to the hand-rail that runs along
the deck-house. I heard the crash and knew what was stepping in my
direction, so I clawed onto the hand-rail with both hands. The water
came racing aft and piled up against my back until I was in a depth of
at least six feet. My hold on the rail was useless and I was carried
down the deck about a hundred feet in a most undignified attitude, to
wit—in a posture halfway between sitting and lying on my back. Just
as I regained my feet, the first mine went off. You can imagine my
thoughts on the subject.
As it was out of the question to sleep in any of the regular living
quarters, our men clustered around the engine-room hatch and in the
blower-rooms and got what sleep they could in that manner. None of the
officers got any sleep for thirty-six hours. At one time, when we were
running before the storm, I looked into one of the blower-rooms and
saw a man seated in about six inches of water, fast asleep. Tommy, the
ship’s cat, was asleep in his lap. A comber boarded us over the side
and increased the depth of water so that the next roll of the ship got
Tommy very wet. He jumped from a sound slumber in the man’s lap to a
wide-awake and frightened posture upon the man’s shoulder. Another sea
climbed aboard to disturb poor Tommy again, so he perched himself upon
the man’s head and there he stayed for two hours.
I saw Commander Porter get into an argument with a big boarding sea
and my next view showed him lying alongside the outer rail in water
two feet deep. There is no sense in arguing with a sea like that. One
must go where it takes him and be glad when he is jammed into a secure
corner.
Several boxes and packages came aboard for me just before this trip,
each marked “To be Opened on Christmas,” so I carefully stowed them
away. The hurricane flooded my room, of course, and drenched all my
precious holiday packages. Despite the big flood, everything came
through in fairly good order, barring the Christmas cakes, which
turned into a beautiful clinker after they had been dried out on a
steam radiator. Now we have to dig them apart with an ice-pick.
The walnuts and Brazil nuts sent by my loving friends did very well
in the storm. They went adrift early in the excitement and got caught
in the bilge strainer during the time we were pumping the water out
of the ship. The chief engineer found them all when he put on his
diving suit to see what kept the pumps from working, and I claimed the
whole bunch, knowing full well they were mine. Several odd socks also
mingled with the bilge strainer, but they were not mine. The captain,
Gray, and I had a nut party in my room on Christmas night and very
much enjoyed the bilged nuts.
Yeoman Connolly was not likely to forget the night of the storm which
caused him to say of his own emotions:
All went well, except for a few seas we took over the side, until
three o’clock Monday morning. I was in my bunk below decks at the time
and, by the way, all I had on in the line of clothing was my underwear
and the heavy sweater sent me from home. It was the first time since
the day I watched the _Antilles_ go down that I had turned in without
all my clothes on. We figured that we were free from the danger of
submarine attack in such a rough sea, hence our “nighties.” I fell
asleep about midnight and was slumbering peacefully when I heard and
felt an explosion and woke to find everybody making for the hatches.
Dazed, I ploughed through about four feet of water, almost naked, and
popped on deck. There it looked to me as though the old ship had been
almost blown in two. Deck-houses and hatches were all messed up and
the yacht seemed to be slowly settling. We made for the boats only to
find them smashed, and then waited for orders.
The cry went round, “All hands save ship,” and if you hear that
once you’ll never forget it. By this time I had scooted through the
yeoman’s office and grabbed enough clothing together so I could lend
a hand on the topside. It was the coolness of the officers and men
that saved us from watery graves. We tore apart every table and door
below decks to mend things until we could make port. I don’t believe
the ship will ever go to sea again, except that she may be put in good
enough shape to take us back to France from Lisbon about the middle of
February or thereabouts.
Of the destroyers which were caught offshore and rode out the
hurricane, the _Reid_ was blown into Oporto, severely knocked about.
Her log recorded:
_December 17th._ Torpedo truck carried away and washed overboard.
Lost machine lathe and wherry. Whaleboat smashed and ice-box,
life-preserver locker and vegetable locker broken loose by seas
breaking aboard. Lost life-buoy light, compass binnacle light, guard
to wheel chains, etc. 8 A.M. to noon, steaming as in previous watch.
Having serious main engine bearing trouble, due to salt water in
lubrication system. At 9 A.M. passed U.S.S. _Corsair_ close aboard
and asked her to stand by and assist us back to Brest. (_Corsair_
had answered our S.O.S. from near by.) Lost sight of _Corsair_ at
10.30 A.M., due to rain squalls and heavy weather. Foot of water in
firemen’s compartment through hatch, and engine-room and all other
compartments flooded.
The engine-room log of the _Reid_ makes interesting reading, for the
_Corsair_ was in much the same plight:
Heavy sea swept over engine-room hatch at 4.30 A.M., carrying away
ventilators and lathe and flooding engine-room. Glass covering to oil
manifold carried away and settling tank flooded. Bearings running
warm. Too much water running from sea.
The _Smith_ destroyer lost both masts and a fireman overboard who was
rescued after an hour when the cook swam to him with a line. The paint
locker was stove in and the yeoman’s office washed out, which meant the
loss of many painful hours of paper work. The vessel spent two weeks
in dry-dock in Brest. The _Roe_ and the _Monaghan_ were nearer the
coast, and although each lost a mast they scudded for shelter in time
to avoid the worst of the blow. The _Flusser_ and the _Warrington_ were
badly battered and had to lay off for repairs. The _Preston_ limped
into _Lisbon_, sighting the _Corsair_ just outside the port, and the
two ships remained there together until they could be made fit for sea
again.
That lively historian of the _Reid_, Seaman (later Lieutenant) Timothy
Brown, added some bits of life in a storm which the crew of the
_Corsair_ considered appropriate to their own unhappy hours:
As the elements continued to harry us, I could notice a changing
sentiment among certain members of the crew. Several expressed the
opinion that she would soon break in two in the middle. It was only a
question of time. Others were too far gone to have any opinion about
anything, and these afflicted ones lay helpless, clutching at whatever
they could gain a hold. They were attended by their close friends. Our
lawyer clung to a table and scribbled on a pad. He was framing a poor
devil’s will. A brave lad from the Middle West suggested that it might
be well to throw out some ballast—too much water was flowing through
the hatches to feel comfortable. He said we might spare a ton or two
from the forward hold which was crammed with provisions. A deck-hand
passed the buck to the engineering department, which he said was
about to sink the ship with enough truck to outfit several auxiliary
cruisers, including solder bars, sal ammoniac, bolts and nuts, brass
unions, rat-tail files, tallow candles, and flake graphite. None of
the engineering department people would give up a pound. The only
volunteer was a seaman who said, if necessary, he could spare a guitar.
... I reached the bridge deck unobserved and was drinking in the
glorious sight. It felt fine to be so high that nothing could hit
you but the spray. I hooked my elbow around a metal support of the
searchlight platform. The officers had no good hand-holds and were
slipping about like drunken men on roller skates. Our captain was
almost unrecognizable in a saffron-colored slicker that hung down
to his heels, and on his head was perched a sou’wester to match. He
reminded me of the old salt who swings an enormous fish over his
shoulder and advertises cod liver oil. Our junior lieutenant appeared
to have unusually good sea legs, for he could stand with his arms
folded, shifting from foot to foot, stolid and Napoleon-like. Our
ensign was staggering under the weight of a life-preserver and a
number of coals, all bundled up like an Eskimo, nothing showing but
his eyes. Our chief petty officers, hanging under the wings of the
chart-house, had not shaved for days and looked as if they might
have made good if given a try-out as modern Captain Kidds. Grotesque
figures draped in horse-cloth outer clothing, topped with hoods,
aviator style, hovered wherever they could find a corner.
Blown far away from her base port in France, the _Corsair_ was thankful
to find shelter in the Spanish harbor of Vigo as a brief respite. She
could not be called crippled, as a matter of fact, for in a rough
sea she picked up speed to twelve knots and so made a landfall. Her
condition was that of a pugilist with a broken nose, blackened eyes,
and a few teeth missing, who still “packs a punch” and has no idea of
taking the count. The _Corsair_ no longer resembled a trim, taut, and
orderly ship of the American Navy, nor would her weary crew have cared
to line up for an admiral’s inspection. They wore whatever clothes they
could lay hands on, and might have spilled out of the fo’castle of a
Cardiff collier. All that really concerned them was the hope of getting
dry and eating a few regular meals.
There were obvious reasons why Commander Kittinger preferred to seek
some other port than Vigo in which to repair and refit for several
weeks. The American Consul warned him that the Spanish authorities were
bound by the laws of neutrality to intern the ship until the end of the
war, a fact of which he was well aware. On the other hand, the senior
Spanish naval officer of the port waived such formalities aside and
most courteously assured the _Corsair_ that she would not be meddled
with and was at liberty to remain for necessary repairs and to depart
when they were completed.
[Illustration: CLEANING UP AT LISBON, AFTER THE HURRICANE]
Without doubting his word in the least, it was common knowledge that
pro-German sentiment was strong in the Spanish ports and the enemy’s
espionage system extremely well organized. Lisbon was near at hand
and Portugal was an active ally of the United States. The _Corsair_,
therefore, went to sea, after a few hours at Vigo, and steamed into
the wide bay of the Tagus next morning and so found a friendly
destination and a people who welcomed her with warmest hospitality to
one of the most beautiful cities of the world.
The war had touched it lightly. The contrast with France, so tragic
and worn and imperilled, was singularly impressive. Brilliant with
sunshine, Lisbon smiled from her seven hills and her tropical gardens,
and the seafarers of the _Corsair_ thought of Brest, gloomy and
rain-swept, given over to the business of war, the gateway of the
thronging transports which were hurrying the manhood of America by the
million, to the blood and misery of the trenches.