THE CORSAIR STANDS BY
This business gets more interesting every day and is by far the most
fascinating industry I have ever undertaken [declared Lieutenant
Schanze, in letters written during the autumn and winter]. Of course
it is extremely strenuous, the long sea voyages into an eternally
rough ocean, the cold, wet days and nights, and the everlasting vigil
that must be kept despite wind, rain, fog, and storm. It gets to the
nerves of the boys and a few of them show signs of weakening at times,
but on the whole, and in my humble opinion, the _Corsair_ has the most
pugnacious and indefatigable bunch of fighters in the whole Navy.
You see, the _Corsair_ and the _Aphrodite_ were the first American war
vessels to patrol the Bay of Biscay; consequently we are old-timers
here and are looked up to by the others as being well versed in this
game. The hard service is the best thing that could have happened
to us. Being in a war without actually serving on the firing line
would drive me looney, but as things have turned out I have the most
wonderful opportunity to exercise all my mechanical ingenuity and
experience and they have more than stood me in good stead.
This war work agrees with me better than anything I have engaged in.
I am growing stouter and more vigorous and enjoying every minute of
it.... If we bean a submarine and crow about it, everybody ashore
gives us the horse laugh because we did not have the propellers or
conning tower to show for it; and if some misguided sub takes a shot
at us and the torpedo happens to miss and biffs one of the empty
buckets we are escorting over the horizon, the Admiral roars until we
dare not show our faces ashore. I recently heard the anti-submarine
campaign assailed on the ground that the submarines are still at large
and going strong. They are. But the submarine campaign of Germany is
away past its zenith. It was passed several months ago and the lid is
now being nailed down on its coffin.
We are over here in this mess up to our ears and we know what has
taken place when the whole ocean seems to tremble and that sickening,
muffled roar, whose direction defies discovery, comes to our ears. We
know that another torpedo has found its mark. Does it make us gloomy?
It does not. It cheers us up. Why? Because we can instantly diagnose
just how it was done and we recognize that our enemy is becoming more
timid, impotent, and desperate. Very soon every successfully exploded
torpedo will cost the life of the sub that sent it. Instead of being
the terror of the seas that they were last June and July, the U-boats
now advertise the fact that the terror of the seas is the American
destroyer.
The war goes booming along on an ever greater scale, and to those who
are given this opportunity of viewing the panorama, it unfolds itself
with a magnitude that defies all description. Could I but tell you of
the vast works that America alone has put upon the landscapes here in
France, you would believe my enthusiasm exaggerated. Details I cannot
give, but as a comparison imagine a contract for the construction of a
series of communities, each one about as large as Newark was ten years
ago, and imagine them equipped with every modern improvement such as
wharfage on a river-bank formerly barren, manufacturing plants for the
fabrication of everything from wooden legs to steel ships, and then
accept this as a fact already accomplished and doing business, and
you can gather some idea of the tremendous efforts that have been put
forth.
[Illustration: ROLLING OUT TO FIND A CONVOY]
[Illustration: A LITTLE WATER ON DECK]
For all this we are indebted, not nearly so much to the men here
at the front as to those whose untiring efforts at home, in face
of all kinds of criticism of the most venomous kind, have driven
this enormous task to a successful culmination. I have a wonderful
respect for our men at home who have had to stay home and accomplish
things which they could never disclose to a naturally impatient and
clamoring public. Had the Germans done such things as I have seen
here accomplished by Americans, I would have taken off my hat to
them and acknowledged the fact that German efficiency coupled with
the advantages of a despotism was at least worthy of a close look. I
dwell upon this phase of the situation because it has recently come
to my attention, from most reliable sources, that there is a tendency
toward gloom in certain quarters at home. The constant attacks made
by conscientious critics, aside from the braying of the eternally
discontented and the insidious whispers of the disloyal, are liable to
make even the stoutest hearts falter at times.
I cannot too emphatically contradict every reason advanced to sustain
a gloomy attitude of mind. There is every reason for the greatest
enthusiasm and confidence. In fact, we over here on the firing
line have a spontaneous kind of enthusiasm that comes only to the
victorious. This war is a long and ferocious process in which each
battle must be considered as a single shot fired only as a part of the
_ensemble_. On land and sea things look better than they have in a
long time. Every American effort is pure velvet for the Allied side.
I trust our nation will now begin to see that America is a big and
powerful fellow among the nations of the world and that, with just
a little bit of careful attention, this European situation can be
hammered into shape. The women of the country are, after all, pretty
much the whole thing, for they can inculcate the spirit of fight and
of happy confidence that nothing else can put into their boys. If the
mother will adopt the old Spartan admonition of “Come home either with
your shield or on it,” the boys will keep surging into this war with
an ardor that no enemy can stop.
... My experiences thus far have brought me more laughs than it
has been my pleasure to have in any other period of time. I must
confess, however, that many of the laughs come when I view some of
the situations in retrospect. At times, especially in the middle of a
ruction, when literally tons of high explosives are being launched, we
are too busily engaged to laugh. On such occasions we have to think
rapidly and work fast.
One incident may be worthy of note. A flock of troop-ships was under
escort through the torpedo zone. The eagle eye of a trained observer
caught the tell-tale symptoms of a submarine trying to manœuvre into
striking position. Activities began at once, if not sooner. Those
of us whose job it was to look after the sub, did it. Those of us
whose job it was to screen the troop-ships, did that. On one of the
transports were many negroes who knew more about shore duties than
seafaring. On the ship they were passengers _pro tem_.
The process of dealing with a submarine certainly must send thrills
through a spectator who has never attended any rehearsals. The negroes
in question were all novices and their chief emotion was primitive
terror. The simultaneous explosion of forty or fifty barrels of
dynamite made the whole ocean heave and rumble. Even those of us who
were used to dropping ’em over and who were braced for the shock, felt
considerably jolted.
The darky soldiers thought the end of creation had sure busted loose
in epidemic form. One of them excitedly dug down into his pack and
fished out a Bible. Opening it on deck, he knelt upon it, wrung his
hands to Heaven and cried in accents that could be heard above the
racket of the explosions, “O Lawd, O Lawd, I’se never gwine roll dem
bones no mo’. Ah promise it. Ah promise it absotively.”
Another one decided that this method of imploring grace was worth
imitating in the terrible crisis, so he rushed over and tried to get
knee-room on the same Bible. Shoving his comrade aside, he managed to
find a sacred anchorage and his supplication was, “Good Lawd Jesus,
lemme see jes’ one green tree. Ah ain’t askin’ you to send me back
home across dis yere big ocean till th’ war is done. Ah’ll stay right
where I is put, but lemme see jes’ one green tree befo’ all dem German
su’marines gobble dis pore niggah like Jonah an’ th’ whale.”
Half an hour after the excitement was over, these devout passengers
were shooting dice as busily as ever. There were negroes in another
unit which we escorted into France. In wandering about the port, they
came across some of their own race, black troopers from the French
African colonies. Negotiations were opened to start a conversation
going, but they could find no common language until one of the
bunch produced a pair of dice. This, it seems, instantly broke
down the barrier, and they soon had going as fine a little game
of international craps as a man ever saw. Both sides whooped and
haw-hawed until traffic was blocked and the police interfered.
The convoy work in which the _Corsair_ took part during the four
months from February 15 to May 30, 1918, comprised the following
cruises, arranged in the form of a summary so as to make the record
more complete and also to suggest the volume of the shipping which was
entrusted to the protection of the yachts and destroyers in French
waters:
Feb. 16-20. (Westbound from Verdon.) Ships in convoy: _Eugene
Grozos_, _Mont Pelvoux_, _Kalfarli_, _Lenape_, _Mariana_, _Lamertin_,
_Mundiale_, _Bergdalen_, _Amphion_, _Northern_, _Joseph Cudahy_,
_Stensland_, _Ariadne_, _Lady of Gaspe_, _Thibet_.
(Vessels in escort.) _Corsair_, _Aphrodite_, _May_, _Regulus_ (F),
_Aventurier_ (F).
Feb. 25-28. (Westbound from Verdon.) Ships in convoy: _El Occidente_,
_Anglo Saxon_, _Erny_, _Borinquen_, _Montanan_, _Aurelien Sholt_,
_Appelus_, _Balti_, _Gusta Vigiland_.
(Vessels in escort.) _Corsair_, _Aphrodite_, _May_, _Cassiope_ (F).
March 7-10. (Westbound from Verdon.) Ships in convoy: _Luckenbach_,
_St. Stephen_, _Millnock_, _Munares_, _Pearl Shell_, _Crecarne_,
_Strathlone_, _Eschwick_, _Stellina_, _Anglo Mexican_,
_Pennsylvanian_, _Hilda_, _Frances L. Kinney_, _Eagle_, _Felix
Taussig_, _Dalblair_, _Camaguey_, _Oslang_.
(Vessels in escort.) _Corsair_, _Aphrodite_, _Nokomis_, _Rivoli_ (F),
_Cassiope_ (F).
March 16-19. (Westbound from Verdon.) Ships in convoy: _Charlton
Hall_, _Santiago_, _Mont Ventoux_, _Penmarch_, _Bay Douglas_, _New
York_, _Dumfurland_, _Alf_, _Beaverton_, _Cantal_, _W. Mace_, _Bay
Nyassa_, _Wachusett_, _El Orients_, _Woonsocket_, _Augvald_, _Ionian_.
(Vessels in escort.) _Corsair_, _Aphrodite_, _Nokomis_, _Rivoli_ (F),
_Marne_ (F).
March 20-21. (Eastbound to Gironde.) Ships in convoy: _Mercury_,
_Tenadores_.
(Vessels in escort.) _Corsair_, _Noma_, destroyers _Balch_, _Winslow_,
_Sampson_, _Porter_, _Drayton_, _Parker_.
March 25-27. (Eastbound to Gironde.) Ship of convoy: _Mallory_.
(Vessels in escort.) _Corsair_, _Noma_, _Wakiva_, destroyers _Rowan_,
_Winslow_, _Benham_.
April 3-4. (Eastbound to Gironde.) Ships in convoy: _Powhatan_,
_Martha Washington_, _El Occidente_.
(Vessels in escort.) _Corsair_, _Noma_, destroyers _Duncan_,
_Caldwell_, _Sampson_, _Winslow_, _Parker_, _Connyngham_.
April 8-22. _Corsair_ acting as communication ship, at Verdon, and
overhauling machinery at Bordeaux.
April 24-27. (Westbound from Verdon.) Ships in convoy: _Indiana_,
_Clare_, _Alexander Kielland_, _Daphne_, _Lyderhom_, _Peter H.
Crowell_, _Canto_, _Kentuckian_, _Hunwood_, _Seattle_, _Oregon_,
_Californian_, _Mocassin_, _Munindies_, _Munaires_, _Lake Tahoe_,
_Santa Rosalia_, _Drake_, _Amphion_, _Oregonian_, _Newton_.
(Vessels in escort.) _Corsair_, _Aphrodite_, _Nokomis_, _Wakiva_,
_Rivoli_ (F).
May 5-9. (Westbound from Verdon.) Ships in convoy: _Mesopotamia_,
_Jean_, _West Wind_, _Guantanamo_, _Monticello_, _Cristobal_,
_Margaret_, _American_, _Iroquois_, _Chian_, _Artemis_,
_Buenaventura_, _Sudbury_, _Lamertin_, _Edith_, _Nyanza_, _Amiral
Grouse_, _Ariadne_.
(Vessels in escort.) _Corsair_, _Aphrodite_, _Wakiva_, _Rivoli_ (F).
May 13-16. (Westbound from Verdon.) Ships in convoy: _El Capitan_,
_Munsano_, _Castleman_, _Bergdalen_, _Westerner_, _Clara_, _Vaarli_,
_Lake Placid_, _Gusta Vigiland_, _Winnebago_, _Luckenbach_, _Joseph
Cudahy_, _Saxolin_, _Robert H. Thomas_, _Quincy_, _Thorwald
Halvorson_, _Andre_.
(Vessels in escort.) _Corsair_, _Aphrodite_, _Nokomis_, _Rivoli_ (F).
May 21-23. (Westbound from Verdon.) Ships in convoy: _Matsonia_,
_Powhatan_, _Martha Washington_, _El Oriente_, _Minnesotan_.
(Vessels in escort.) _Corsair_, destroyers _Wadsworth_, _Nicholson_,
_Monaghan_, _Roe_.
May 27-30. (Westbound from Verdon.) Ships in convoy: _Shoshonee_,
_Crown of Seville_, _Walter Munson_, _Tunica_, _West Arrow_, _East
Gate_, _Charlton Hall_, _Luciline_, _Absaroka_, _Westbridge_,
_Corozal_, _Lorna_, _Westward_, _Pensacola_, _Millinocket_,
_Darnholm_, _Admiral Neilly_, _Elmore_, _Sagua_, _Tamano_, _Texas_,
_New York_.
(Vessels in escort.) _Corsair_, _Aphrodite_, _Nokomis_ _Aisne_ (F).
Industriously employed in this service with the convoys, the _Corsair_
encountered no slant of misfortune until June. Then came the loss of
the fine cargo steamer _Californian_ with holds and decks full of
several million dollars worth of supplies for the American Army in
France. This disaster was not the result of submarine attack. The ship
was unlucky enough to bump a German mine about fifty miles off the
entrance of the Gironde River while nearing port with the convoy and
escort.
The _Corsair_ stood by and made every possible effort to save the
precious _Californian_ endeavoring to haul her along at the end of a
tow-line, but the damage was vital and salvage hopeless. It was one of
those numerous episodes of the warfare at sea, as waged by the enemy,
which seemed so enormously wasteful, so impossible for civilization
to endure, this senseless obliteration of property on a scale without
precedent in the whole history of mankind.
[Illustration: THE SINKING CALIFORNIAN. GOING, GOING, ALMOST GONE!]
[Illustration: CALIFORNIAN SURVIVORS ABOARD THE CORSAIR]
The _Corsair_ found the convoy of eight ships in the afternoon of June
20th and took position with the other escort vessels, _Aphrodite_,
_May_, _Nokomis_, and two French patrol boats. They steamed toward
the coast at eleven knots without misadventure until early in the
morning of the 22d. Then the _Californian_ made a turn to the right,
quitting the formation, and slowed speed until she came to a halt.
Her crew could be seen jumping into the boats and letting them drop
from the davits. There was no more ado about it than this, no sound
of an explosion nor any disturbance of the sea. It was an uncanny,
inexplicable thing to witness. From the bridge of the _Corsair_ it was
easy to perceive that the sailors of the _Californian_ were proceeding,
earnestly and eagerly, to abandon ship. It was done without disorder,
but they were wasting no time.
The _Corsair_ promptly swung to go near, at the order of Lieutenant
McGuire, who was the officer of the deck. The yacht moved to the
rescue with a speed which surprised even the _Californian_. Already
the long, deep-laden steamer was settling by the head. One of the
little French escort vessels had also hastened to the scene, but as
she rolled in the trough of the ground swell, the sea slapped across
her deck and the first boat to pull away from the _Californian_ found
so much difficulty in trying to lay aboard that the men semaphored the
_Corsair_: “Will you please come and pick us up?” Presently the master
of the big steamer and many of his crew were scrambling up the side of
the _Corsair_, where Commander Porter strongly urged that an attempt be
made to save the _Californian_. He was ready to tow if the water could
be kept down in the flooded compartments. It was a sporting chance, but
better than letting the ship drown before their eyes.
Cheered by this readiness to lend a hand, the executive officer of
the _Californian_, with sixteen volunteers from their crew, returned
on board and a ten-inch manila hawser was passed from the _Corsair_.
Because the bow of the stricken ship had filled so fast and was almost
buried in the sea, the hawser was made fast astern and the _Corsair_
tried to tow her wrong end to, as offering the least resistance.
The sluggish mass moved very slowly, perhaps two knots, but it was
impossible to steer it. The plucky _Corsair_ dug her toes in, as
one might say, and pulled like a thoroughbred horse harnessed to a
wagonload of stone.
When this first attempt proved futile, it was decided to try towing
by the bow, but while they were dragging the hawser forward the
engine-room bulkheads collapsed with a roar and the sea rushed in to
fill the dying ship. She went down by the head, the stern rearing
higher and higher in air, until the great hull towered in a vertical
position, and there it hung for an amazingly long time. It was surmised
that the bow had struck the bottom of the sea. Then the stern slowly
dropped and vanished while the crew of the _Corsair_ watched and
wondered and felt very sad at heart.
No lives were lost; this was the redeeming feature, and the eighty-five
officers and men of the _Californian_ were all safely aboard the
yacht where they were as hospitably cared for as the crowded quarters
permitted. On the decks of the lost steamer were hundreds of Army
motor-trucks, and one of the _Corsair’s_ men, for lack of anything
better to say, was heard to murmur as the sea swallowed them up:
“There’s some water in your carbureters this trip, and that’s no
foolish jest.”
The dog rescued from the _Californian_ remained aboard the _Corsair_ as
a souvenir and mascot, but the life in the Bay of Biscay was not to his
taste, in spite of the efforts of the crew to make him feel at home. He
was therefore detached and assigned to the U.S.S. (Auxiliary) _Balti_
and sent to the United States, but fell down a hatch at Hoboken and was
a total loss. For an epitaph, Kipling’s line seems apt, “We’re safer at
sea again.”
Commander Porter’s official account of the loss of the ship reads as
follows:
_June 22, 1918_
From: Commanding Officer,
To: Commander U.S. Naval Forces in France,
Via District Commander, Rochefort.
At 4.50 A.M. observed the U.S.S. _Californian_ stop, turn to the
eastward, and abandon ship. The _Corsair_ immediately went about
and closed on the _Californian_. At 5.15 A.M. two boats from the
_Californian_ were alongside and survivors came on board. I informed
their Executive Officer that we were close to land and suggested
that it might be possible to get the ship into port. He immediately
ordered his firemen into a boat and returned to the _Californian_. The
_Corsair_ circled about the ship.
At 7.05 A.M. all hands abandoned the _Californian_ and came on board
the _Corsair_. The captain informed me that he could do nothing as the
engine-room was filling with water. I told him that we would attempt
to tow. He returned to the _Californian_ with a boat’s crew, taking
the end of our tow-line with him. As the _Californian_ was down by the
head and we had a fair wind, our tow-line was made fast to the stern.
At 7.55 A.M. we started ahead. At 8.20 A.M. it was found that we
could not handle the ship by the stern; stopped and attempted to take
the line forward. Before it could be made fast, the ship settled
so rapidly that the crew was obliged to abandon her, and we hauled
the tow-line on board. At 8.54 A.M. the bow of the _Californian_
went down, apparently resting on bottom. At 9.04 A.M. the stern
disappeared and _Corsair_ proceeded. While waiting we hoisted two of
the _Californian’s_ boats on board. During these operations one French
destroyer stood by.
It is believed by the Commanding Officer of the _Californian_ that
the damage was caused by a mine. Nothing was seen. No radio message
was sent as antennæ was disabled by the explosion. There were no
casualties.
The lost ship was commanded by Lieutenant Commander D. Mahlman,
U.S.N.R.F., and was under charter to the United States Government. To
the Board of Inquiry convened for the purpose, he presented his own
story of the disaster, which was as follows:
At 4.50 A.M. felt an explosion amidships. Stopped the ship and ordered
all hands to stand by the boats. The Engineer Officer reported water
and oil leaking into the forward stoke hold. Sounded bilges and found
three feet in No. 1; No. 2 full; and Nos. 4 and 5 empty. On examining
the engine-room and stoke hold again, I found the water over the floor
plates, the engineers meanwhile having the pumps working on the stoke
hold bilge. The water was steadily gaining so I ordered the boats to
be lowered and the ship abandoned.
Sent two boats away to the U.S.S. _Corsair_ which was standing by,
while I remained on board with Ensign Schwartz and boat’s crew to
investigate further if it were possible to do anything to keep the
ship afloat, the pumps being worked to the full capacity continually.
Soon afterwards two boats from the _Corsair_ returned to the ship with
some of the officers and crew.
Extra efforts were made by the engineer force to gain headway on
the incoming water. When the water had risen to the fire-boxes and
continued to increase, on the report of the Chief Engineer that the
water was beyond control, I ordered all hands to abandon ship. Having
gone aboard the _Corsair_, the Commanding Officer asked me how long
I thought the ship would keep afloat, to which I replied four or
five hours. He then suggested towing, so I returned to the ship with
my Executive Officer and sixteen men, taking a tow-line which was
made fast to the stern, the best method of towing under the existing
circumstances. No results were obtainable and an attempt was made to
shift the tow-line to the bow.
While the tow-line was being shifted forward, from observations made
by me in the engine-room it was evident that the ship could not stay
afloat much longer as she was then rapidly settling by the head.
I again gave orders to abandon the ship, which was done, and the
_Californian_ soon began to sink rapidly, going down bow first until
the stern was almost perpendicular. Later the ship slowly righted and
the stern disappeared entirely at 9.04 A.M. in Latitude 46° 17′ 15″
North, Longitude 2° 10′ 30″ West.
The _Corsair_ had tried and failed, which was ever so much better than
not trying at all, and as one of her men mournfully observed, “With any
sort of a break in luck, we would have salvaged her and a cargo that
was so valuable that the Army organization was figuring out some way of
raising it during the summer.”
[Illustration: A MASCOT FROM THE CALIFORNIAN KNOWN AS “THE MUTT”]
[Illustration: THE NEWFOUNDLAND PUP SAVED FROM THE FRENCH FISHING BARK]
This was the only ship lost out of a convoy with which the _Corsair_
operated during the long period of this service in and out of the
Gironde, from June to November of 1918. On several occasions steamers
were attacked and sunk or damaged just before joining or just after
leaving the escort. These included the _Montanan_, the _Westbridge_,
the _Westward Ho_, the _Cubore_, and the French cruiser _Dupetit
Thouars_. When the S.O.S. calls came, the _Corsair_ hurried to stand
by, but other naval vessels happened to be nearer the scene and were
able to save the survivors, or the ship managed to remain afloat, as
in the case of the _Westward Ho_. A cruise in August, beginning on the
ill-omened 13th, turned out to be anything but monotonous, from start
to finish. The air was full of tragic messages from torpedoed ships. It
was like a dying flurry of the German submarine campaign.
The excitement began with this entry in the _Corsair’s_ record:
S.S. _Tivives_ (third ship in right-hand column) signalled “Torpedo
just passed our stern from starboard.” This ship notified _Aphrodite_
by radio. Went to general quarters and searched but saw nothing except
whales and porpoises. Wind was light and sea smooth. French destroyer
_Aisne_, which was astern of us, apparently intercepted radio as he
was observed to be searching.
A little later in this voyage came the following tale of disaster, as
caught by the radio:
Intercepted from _Marseilles_, “_Montanan torpedoed_.”
Intercepted from _Noma_, “_Westbridge torpedoed_.”
Intercepted from Aphrodite, “_Cubore torpedoed_, 10 P.M. _Friday_.”
The _Corsair_ and _Aphrodite_ had left their outward-bound convoy at
this time, according to orders, to steer for the rendezvous and make
contact with a fleet of fourteen ships bound in for France. During
the night a green Véry light flared against the cloudy sky to the
southward. The _Corsair_ headed for it at full speed, but could find no
ship in distress and it was later conjectured that the signal might
have come from the French destroyers which had remained to pick up the
survivors of the _Cubore_.
Soon after this, several lights were sighted close to the water. It is
hard to realize how unusual and arresting was such a phenomenon as this
upon an ocean where ships had long shrouded themselves in darkness,
screening every ray and glimmer lest it might betray them to a lurking
enemy. The vision of officers and lookouts had so adapted themselves
to these conditions that they were able to discern a shadow of a ship
a mile away. In this instance, when vessels’ lights, several of them,
were boldly displayed, the _Corsair_ approached warily until it was
possible to make them out as showing aboard a little flock of Breton
fishermen. It was known that a French submarine was operating in this
patrol area and the officers of the _Corsair_ plausibly assumed that
the lights might be a decoy for Fritz, so they concluded not to meddle
with the situation.
Next morning another bevy of fishing vessels was seen, and the French
submarine was with them, while a steamer was also standing by.
Meanwhile the _Corsair_ and _Aphrodite_ had found the inbound convoy
which had also a destroyer escort, and one of these, the _Lamson_, ran
down to investigate the startling picture of a submarine calmly loafing
about. The Frenchman promptly exploded a smoke bomb as the proper
recognition signal, for he was taking no chances with a venomous Yankee
destroyer which was known to be exceedingly quick on the trigger when
a periscope or conning tower was etched against the horizon. It was
agreed that there were much more healthy pursuits than to be ranging
the Bay of Biscay in a French submarine.
Fortune had been unkind when the _Corsair_ tried to pull the
_Californian_ into port, but the story was a happier one when next she
had the opportunity to snatch a good ship from the greedy maw of the
sea. How it was done is summarized in a letter written by Vice-Admiral
Wilson, after the event:
_U.S. Naval Forces Operating in European Waters_
_Forces in France_
_U.S.S. Prometheus, Flagship_
_Brest, France, 8 October 1918_
From: Commander U.S. Naval Forces in France.
To: Lieutenant Commander W. B. Porter, U.S.N.R.F.
Subject: Commendation.
The Commander U.S. Naval Forces in France takes pleasure in commending
the excellent seamanship and judgment displayed by you in the salvage
of the Norwegian steamship _Dagfin_, as reported in your letter of
September 17, 1918.
The _Dagfin_, a vessel of 2100 tons, loaded with general supplies for
the Italian Government, had been totally disabled for six days with
a broken shaft when sighted by the _Corsair_ on September 10th, in
Latitude 45° 3′ North, Longitude 8° 03′ West. The U.S.S. _Corsair_
under your command maintained touch with the _Dagfin_ until the heavy
weather then prevailing had moderated, and towed her into port, a
distance of three hundred miles through the submarine zone, arriving
at Verdon on September 14th.
(Signed) WILSON
The _Corsair_ happened to find this helpless _Dagfin_ while scouting
in search of a steamer of the convoy which had somehow gone astray.
Insistent radio calls had failed to awaken a response from this missing
_Macona_. She appeared to have lost her bearings and totally mislaid
the rendezvous. The _Corsair_ was too courteous to express annoyance,
but her radio queries became more and more emphatic. The _Macona_ was
as elusive as a Flying Dutchman. At length the yacht concluded that she
had done her honest duty and so turned in the general direction of the
destroyer rendezvous, still keeping an eye lifted for the lost sheep of
the convoy.
At 8.35 o’clock on the morning of September 10th, with the _Macona_
still on her mind and the quest continued, the _Corsair_ descried a
steamer against the misty horizon and soon it was discovered that
she was in distress and making no headway. By way of precaution the
_Corsair’s_ crew scampered to general quarters, because nothing could
be taken for granted in war-time. Bearing down, the yacht hovered close
to a sea-worn, dingy Norwegian tramp which wallowed inert and wore an
air of profound discouragement. The sailors of the _Dagfin_ flourished
their caps and yelled with delight. It was obvious that they yearned
to be plucked out of the submarine zone after six days and nights of
exposure as a stationary target to any U-boat which might wander that
way. Fritz was too unsportsmanlike to hesitate to shoot at a sitting
bird.
The _Corsair_ was willing to undertake a towing job in order to
save the forlorn _Dagfin_ and her cargo, but it was necessary to
ask permission to leave the duty already assigned, and a radio was
therefore sent to the Admiral at Brest. Meanwhile the sea was too rough
to undertake the ticklish manœuvre of hooking onto the melancholy
Norwegian and Commander Porter shouted through a megaphone that he
would return and stand by. There was profound gratitude on the bridge
of the _Dagfin_, but some deep-sea curses along the rail. To have
rescue so near, and to behold the American warship depart! It was too
much like having the cup of salvation snatched from one’s lips. Were
they to be left at the mercy of the hell-begotten submarines?
Steering northward to take another look for the _Macona_, Commander
Porter changed course to sweep a wider area and, after several hours,
received a radio reply from Brest, “_Stand by Dagfin. Tug will be sent
when weather moderates._” This order was to be obeyed, blow high, blow
low, and through two stormy days the _Corsair_ rolled and plunged
within sight or signalling distance of the _Dagfin_ before any attempt
could be made to board her. It was a furious gale, with squalls of
snow and sleet, and the _Corsair_ was so knocked about while heading
into it that she had to turn and run before the sea under steerageway
of four knots. The water came piling over the stern until the depth
charges had to be shifted amidships to change the trim of the ship and
lift the overhang a little. It was a man’s-size job, from beginning to
end, this playing friend in need to the _Dagfin_.
With a sea anchor out, the _Dagfin_ had been lying broadside to the
waves, and this could not have increased the comfort of her crew. She
was swept and drenched and miserable, and, at best, there is no luxury
in a two-thousand-ton Norwegian tramp. At last the wind lost something
of its evil temper and the sea was less confused. On the morning
of September 12th the _Corsair_ tried to get a line aboard, after
receiving another radio from Brest, “_Take Dagfin in tow when weather
permits_.” It was still too rough to put a boat over, so Commander
Porter steamed to windward and attempted to float a line, buoyed by
empty boxes, to the _Dagfin_, but the freighter’s drift was so much
greater than the yacht’s that this scheme failed.
[Illustration: THE DAGFIN, BROKEN DOWN AND HELPLESS. THE CORSAIR STANDS
BY]
Nothing daunted, the skipper of the _Corsair_ hauled his own ship
around to leeward and deftly placed her where the line floated so close
to the _Dagfin_ that it was caught and hauled up by a boat-hook as she
drifted upon it. To this light line the _Corsair_ secured one hundred
and fifty fathoms of ten-inch manila hawser, and the _Dagfin_ heaved
it aboard with a turn about the winch. To the end of the hawser the
Norwegians bent fifty fathoms of chain, for the longer the tow-line
the easier the strain in heavy weather. The _Corsair_ secured her end
of the hawser by means of a wire span leading to the two after gun
mounts, and then she was ready to go ahead and pull her heart out. It
is needless to remark that the yacht had not been designed or built to
yank disabled freighters through the Bay of Biscay in the tail-end of a
nasty gale of wind.
They went ahead, _Corsair_ and _Dagfin_, and worked up to a speed of
five knots, reducing it a trifle when the strain seemed too great. They
slogged along in this manner until 8.30 P.M. when the chain parted and
the _Dagfin_ went adrift. Commander Porter describes the rest of it in
his report:
We observed that the _Dagfin_ had broken adrift, and when attempting
to haul in our tow-line I found that it was weighted with the
_Dagfin’s_ chain which had parted in the hawse-pipe. A six-inch line
was bent and used as a messenger to the forward capstan, but as this
would hold only four turns, which rendered, the starboard capstan was
used to assist. No lead blocks of sufficient size were available to
keep the line clear of the deck-house, and both houses were damaged.
It was difficult to stopper and secure the messenger to the wet
hawser. This was chafed its entire length, although the ship went
ahead slowly to angle the hawser slightly and reduce the bend over the
lip of the chock.
After three hours’ work the hawser was all in and the chain let go.
Had conditions been favorable, of course the chain could have been
hove in through the hawse-pipe, but I desired to intercept the French
tug _Penguin_, sent out from Brest, which was then close by. The
strain had unlaid the hawser, and releasing the chain allowed the
turns to take up again. Removing numerous kinks from a wet, ten-inch
rope is a long, tedious job.
As the tug had passed us in the night and was not in sight at
daylight, I closed in to pick up our tow. Attempting to throw a line
on board, we could not get near enough to reach, as there was still
a moderate swell and we were both rolling and surging. A boat was
lowered and our hawser bent to the _Dagfin’s_ cable, and at 7.45 A.M.
we went ahead at six knots. The average speed for twenty-six and a
half hours was actually six and a quarter knots.
At 8.15 the _Penguin_ arrived and I had difficulty in communicating,
as she could not comprehend semaphore signals nor was our language
perfectly clear to them. Our radio communication had been very good,
although I was more reluctant to use it than was the _Penguin_,
especially in stating latitude and longitude. To my question, “What
are your orders?” the reply was, “Bordeaux.” She also informed me that
she could tow four knots and as this would not bring us into port
before dark of the following day, I decided to continue towing and
requested that the _Penguin_ escort. I considered that the advantages
of greater speed and a much shorter time at sea gave us the larger
margin of safety.
In my opinion (with a very limited experience in towing) the method
adopted was by far the best way of towing a ship. Not only is the
windlass usually the strongest and most convenient place to secure
to, but in the absence of a very long hawser the weight of chain
sagging down makes an effective spring. There was never any undue
strain and the _Dagfin’s_ chain could not have parted if it had been
in good condition.
In the early morning of September 14th the _Corsair_ trailed into the
mouth of the Gironde, doggedly kicking along at six knots, with the
Norwegian water-bruiser dragging in her wake. There the _Penguin_ took
hold and the yacht went on alone to a berth at Pauillac, none the
worse for the experience. It was all in the job, not so sensational
as dropping depth bombs on a submarine, but perhaps requiring more
courage, endurance, and seamanship. Commander Porter’s description
of the tussle with the hawser is highly technical, but one catches
glimpses of the hard and heavy toil of the sea and the ability to do
the right thing in time of stress which comes only with experience. The
sailors of the _Corsair_, many of them landlubbers only a year before,
were learning the tricks of the trade.
It was back to the convoys again, the same old round of discomfort at
sea and coaling ship in port, but the spirit of the great adventure had
not been dulled. By way of change and respite, the _Corsair_ was twice
chosen to carry distinguished official visitors from one French base
to another. The first occasion was on August 24th when the passengers
comprised the party of members of the House Committee on Naval Affairs
who were inspecting for themselves the American naval and military
forces overseas—Chairman L. P. Padgett, D. J. Riordan, W. L. Hensley,
J. R. Connelly, W. B. Oliver, W. W. Venable, J. C. Wilson, T. S.
Butler, W. J. Browning, J. R. Farr, S. E. Mudd. J. A. Peters, and F. C.
Hicks.
They were the guests of the _Corsair_ from Royan to the great American
aviation base at Pauillac, and their enthusiastic approval of the work
of the Navy in the war was pleasant for the crew of the _Corsair_
to hear. Their report, later submitted to the Secretary of the
Navy, contained this non-partisan opinion, signed by Republican and
Democratic members alike:
The committee visited and inspected the United States naval activities
at Bordeaux, Moutchic, Pauillac, Rochefort, La Rochelle, La Pallice,
Fromentine, Paimbœuf, Saint-Nazaire, Montoir, Le Croisic, L’Orient,
Île Tudy, and Brest. The amount of money expended at these various
stations mounts into the hundreds of millions of dollars and the
activities involve the employment of thousands upon thousands of men.
They represent activities on land and water, under the water, and in
the air. They involve transportation of troops, munitions, equipment,
food, and clothing from the United States into France of the value
of untold millions. The duties and responsibilities of the Navy were
to escort and convoy ships transporting troops, and all manner of
effort and activity in the air, patrolling the seas against German
submarines, and safeguarding the arrival and departure of ships, the
construction of bases for the operation and the care of the enormous
aviation organization, and also at the various bases providing first
aid and hospital accommodations for the sick and disabled and the
establishment of sanitary conditions, housing facilities, and numerous
other activities essential to the proper care of the men, besides the
many other efforts essential to the successful prosecution of the war.
[Illustration:
_Copyright by Underwood and Underwood, N. Y._
ADMIRAL HENRY T. MAYO, COMMANDER-IN-CHIEF OF THE ATLANTIC FLEET]
The whole work was so colossal that while there may have been mistakes
and matters subject to criticism in small details, they were lost in
the magnitude of the success accomplished. Taken as a whole, by and
large, the Navy has achieved a great work and is entitled to approval
and commendation.
Late in October the word came to the _Corsair_ that the
Commander-in-Chief of the Atlantic Fleet, Admiral Henry T. Mayo, and
staff, would be graciously pleased to use the yacht (or fourth-class
gunboat, to be precise) to take them from Royan to Pauillac. Now a
four-starred admiral is absolutely top-hole in naval rank and dignity,
and the three gold stripes above the broad band on his sleeve are
viewed with awe and bedazzlement by the younger officers. To be a
vice-admiral, or even a rear admiral, is a resounding distinction, but
an admiral is so much more imposing that there are very few of him
extant.
You may be sure that the _Corsair_ was fit for minute inspection when
the Commander-in-Chief of the Atlantic Fleet stepped aboard at Royan,
with side boys at the gangway and the boatswain’s mate to pipe him
with proper ceremony. The ship’s officers found him to be the affable
gentleman and manly sailor which his reputation in the Navy had led
them to expect. Admiral Mayo later recalled this trip in a letter to
the writer of this story of the Corsair, and was kind enough to say:
_Department of the Navy_
_General Board_
_Washington, August 22, 1919_
DEAR SIR:
Your letter of August 12th with reference to the war story of Mr. J.
P. Morgan’s yacht _Corsair_ reached me while absent on leave. My only
opportunity to observe the _Corsair_ was in a very short trip during
which I was a passenger on board, but I do not hesitate to say that I
received a most favorable impression as to the condition of the ship
and the efficiency of the personnel at that time, and that the reports
as to the general efficiency and good work of the vessel during her
service on the French coast were of an extremely high character.
(Signed) HENRY T. MAYO