_2nd Division, 2nd Engineers, Company “E”_
He was cited four times in Division orders and twice recommended for
the Distinguished Service Cross. He went into the first line at Verdun
March, 1918. When the British were attacked by the Germans in the
vicinity of Beauvais, in April, he received his majority in time to be
in command of a battalion at Château-Thierry.]
“The enemy listed a little more, and our work was done; his shooting
became higher and more erratic, then stopped altogether. We ceased
firing, and turned our attention to fighting the flames roaring up
on high in the fore part of the ship. Luckily, we were able to stop
the engines and keep the ship before the wind. The bridge and all its
precious fittings and contents were doomed, as also the cabins below
it; the officers who occupied them lost all their effects. A fireproof
door in the staircase leading to the lower cabins effectually kept the
fire from spreading in this direction, otherwise there might not have
been very much left of the _Carmania_. The action raged hotly for an
hour; after that, desultory firing was continued until the end.
“Of the two colliers that accompanied the enemy, one steamed away at
the commencement of the action and was never seen again. The other,
and smaller of the two, followed suit until he noticed the plight of
his escort, and returned to pick up the survivors. Anon, an order went
round the decks: ‘All firemen down below.’ The firemen had been doing
yeoman service, running hoses and buckets of water to the scene of
the fire, just as the stewards had distinguished themselves by taking
round water and limejuice to the guns’ crews under shell fire, and
also helping with carrying away the wounded. The reason for this order
was ominous. The yeoman of signals had sighted smoke on the horizon to
the north, and made out a bunch of funnels. It could not but be the
_Dresden_, or whatever German cruiser the armed merchantman we fought
was in company with, returning to the assistance of her consort, who
had been signaling to her during the action. A great pity, indeed, one
of our cruisers was not in touch with us at the time. What a fine haul
it would have been!
_Vale_, CAP TRAFALGAR!
“Just as we got the fire well in hand, and were starting to run to the
American coast, we beheld the most awe-inspiring sight of our lives—the
last moments of an ocean leviathan. The wounded ship, distant from us
about five miles, suddenly lurched over on the starboard beam-ends,
looking for all the world as if she were about to turn turtle. Lower
and lower she went, until her huge funnels were level with the water,
pointing in our direction like two tunnels side by side, and dense
clouds of smoke and steam escaped from all parts of her as from a
volcano in a high state of activity. As quickly again, the mammoth
righted herself; down, down went her bows; up and up her stern, till
quite one-third of the hull stood upright to the sky; then, with a
majestic plunge, she slid beneath the waves, game to the end, for the
last to disappear was the German flag.
“A ring of foam and half a dozen boats crowded with dark forms were all
that were left at 2 p.m. of the brave _Cap Trafalgar_ and her ornate
saloons and winter gardens, the ship that conveyed Prince Henry of
Prussia on his triumphant tour of the South American Republics.”
The casualties of the _Carmania_ are reported to have amounted to nine
men killed and twenty-six wounded out of four hundred and twenty-one
hands all told, a low percentage owing to the wide distribution of the
various parties. The survivors of the _Cap Trafalgar_ landed at Buenos
Ayres consisted of eighteen officers and two hundred and ninety-two
men, which would give her casualties at about eight officers and one
hundred men if she carried the same number of men as the _Carmania_.
Seventy-nine direct hits were counted on the _Carmania_, and
innumerable small holes from splinters; her boats were riddled, as also
masts and ventilators; her rigging and wireless aerial were shot away.