NOVEL ATTACK OF AMERICAN AIRSHIP UPON GERMAN SUPER-DREADNOUGHT
I come now to the period of my great adventures beginning on New Year’s
Day, 1922, when I sailed from Buffalo aboard the airship _America_ on her
expedition against the German fleet. For the first time in my modest
career I found myself a figure of nation-wide interest, not through any
particular merit or bravery of my own, but by reason of a series of
fortunate accidents. I may say that I became a hero in spite of myself.
In recognition of the service I had rendered in helping to save the great
airship from German spies, I had been granted permission, at General
Wood’s recommendation, to sail as a passenger aboard this dreadnought of
the skies and to personally witness her novel attack with torpedoes
lowered from the airship and steered from the height of a mile or two by
radio control. Never before had a newspaper correspondent received such a
privilege and I was greatly elated, not realising what extraordinary
perils I was to face in this discharge of my duty.
I was furthermore privileged to be present at a meeting of the Committee
of Twenty-one held on the morning of January 1st, 1922, at the Hotel
Lenox in Buffalo. Various details of our airship expedition were
discussed and there was revealed to me an important change in the
_America’s_ strategy which I will come to presently.
Surveying the general military situation, John Wanamaker read reports
showing extraordinary progress in military preparedness all over the
country, especially in states like Ohio and Pennsylvania, where the
women, recently victorious in their suffrage fight, were able to make
their patriotic zeal felt in aggressive legislation. Strange to say,
American wives and mothers were the leaders in urging compulsory physical
and military training, a year of it, on the Swiss plan, for all American
young men of twenty and a month of it every five years afterwards for all
men up to fifty.
The Committee were in the midst of a discussion of Charles M. Schwab’s
plan providing that American soldiers carry armour, a helmet, breastplate
and abdominal covering of light but highly tempered steel, when there
came a dramatic interruption. A guard at the door of the Council Room
entered to say that Mr. Henry A. Wise Wood, President of the Aero Club of
America, was outside with an urgent communication for the Committee. Mr.
Wise Wood was at once received and informed us that he had journeyed from
Pittsburg bearing news that might have an important bearing upon the
airship expedition.
“As you know, gentlemen,” he said, “we have a wireless station in the
tower of our new Aero Club building in Pittsburg. Yesterday afternoon at
three o’clock the operator received a message addressed to me. It was
very faint, almost a whisper through the air, but he filially got it down
and he is positive it is correct. This message, gentlemen, is from Thomas
A. Edison.”
“Edison!” exclaimed Andrew Carnegie, “but he is a prisoner of the
Germans.”
“Undoubtedly,” agreed Mr. Wise Wood, “but it has occurred to me that the
Germans may have allowed Mr. Edison to fit up a laboratory for his
experiments. They would treat such a man with every consideration.”
“They would not allow him to communicate with his friends,” objected
Cornelius Vanderbilt.
“He may not have asked permission,” laughed George W. Perkins. “He may
have rigged up some secret contrivance for sending wireless messages.”
“Why don’t you read what he says?” put in J.P. Morgan.
Mr. Wise Wood drew a folded yellow paper from his pocket and continued:
“This message is unquestionably from Mr. Edison, in spite of the fact
that it is signed _Thaled_. You will agree with me, gentlemen, that
Thaled is a code word formed by putting together the first two letters of
the three names, Thomas Alva Edison.”
“Very clever!” nodded Asa G. Candler.
“I don’t see that,” frowned John D. Rockefeller. “If Mr. Edison wished to
send Mr. Wise Wood a message why should he use a misleading signature?”
“It’s perfectly clear,” explained James J. Hill. “Mr. Edison has
disguised his signature sufficiently to throw off the track any German
wireless operator who might catch the message, while leaving it
understandable to us.”
“Read the message,” repeated J.P. Morgan. Whereupon Mr. Wise Wood opened
the yellow sheet and read:
“Strongly disapprove attack against German fleet by airship _America_.
Satisfied method radio control not sufficiently perfected and effort
doomed to failure. Have worked out sure and simple way to destroy fleet.
Details shortly or deliver personally. THALED”.
This message provoked fresh discussion and there were some, including
Elihu Root, who thought that Mr. Edison had never sent this message. It
was a shrewd trick of the Germans to prevent the _America_ from sailing.
If Mr. Edison could tell us so much why did he not tell us more? Why did
he not say where he was a prisoner? And explain on what he rested his
hopes of communicating with us in person.
“Gentlemen,” concluded Mr. Root, “we know that Germany is actually
embarking a new army of half a million men to continue her invasion of
America. Already she holds our Atlantic seaboard, our proudest cities,
and within a fortnight she will strike again. I say we must strike first.
We have a chance in Boston Harbour and we must take it. This single coup
may decide the war by showing the invader that at last we are ready.
Gentlemen, I move that the airship _America_ sail to-night for Boston
Harbour, as arranged.”
I longed to step forward to tell what I knew about Edison, how he was a
prisoner in Richmond, Virginia, and how an effort was actually on foot to
rescue him, but I had promised Miss Ryerson not to betray her brother’s
shame and was forced to hold my tongue. Besides, I could not be sure
whether this wireless message did or did not come from Edison.
The Committee finally decided that the _America_ should sail that
evening, but should change her point of attack so as to take the enemy
unprepared, if possible; in other words, we were to strike not at the
German warships in Boston Harbour, but at the great super-dreadnought
_Bismarck_, flagship of the hostile fleet, which was lying in the upper
bay off New York City.
I pass over the incidents of our flight to Manhattan and come to the
historic aerial struggle over New York harbour in which I nearly lost my
life. The _America_ was convoyed by a fleet of a hundred swift and
powerful battle aeroplanes and we felt sure that these would be more than
able to cope with any aeroplane force that the Germans could send against
us. And to avoid danger from anti-aircraft guns we made a wide detour to
the south, crossing New Jersey on about the line of Asbury Park and then
sailing to the north above the open sea, so that we approached New York
harbour from the Atlantic side. At this time (it was a little after
midnight) we were sailing at a height of two miles with our aeroplanes
ten miles behind us so that their roaring propellers might not betray us
and, for a time, as we drifted silently off Rockaway Beach it seemed that
we would be successful in our purpose to strike without warning.
There, just outside the Narrows, lay the _Bismarck_, blazing with the
lights of some New Year’s festivity and resounding with music. I remember
a shrinking of unprofessional regret at the thought of suddenly
destroying so fair and happy a thing.
I was presently drawn from these meditations by quick movements of the
airship crew and a shrill voice of command.
“Ready to lower! Let her go!” shouted Captain Nicola Tesla, who had
volunteered for this service.
“Bzzz!” sang the deck winches as they swiftly unrolled twin lengths of
piano wire that supported a pendant torpedo with its radio appliances and
its red, white and green control lights shining far below us in the void.
“Easy! Throw on your winch brakes,” ordered Tesla, studying his dials for
depth.
A strong southeast wind set the wires twisting dangerously, but, by
skillful manoeuvring, we launched the first torpedo safely from the
height of half a mile and, with a thrill of joy, I followed her lights
(masked from the enemy) as they moved swiftly over the bay straight
towards the flagship. The torpedo was running under perfect wireless
control. Tesla smiled at his keyboard.
Alas! Our joy was soon changed to disappointment. Our first torpedo
missed the Bismarck by a few yards, went astern of her because at the
last moment she got her engines going and moved ahead. Somehow the
Germans had received warning of their danger.
Our second torpedo wandered vainly over the ocean because we could not
follow her guide lights, the enemy blinding us with the concentrated
glare of about twenty of their million-candle power searchlights.
And our third torpedo was cut off from radio control because we suddenly
found ourselves surrounded y the two fleets of battling aeroplanes,
caught between two fires, ours and the enemy’s, and were obliged to run
for our lives with an electric generator shattered by shrapnel. I was so
busy caring for two of our crew who were wounded that I had no time to
observe this thrilling battle in the air.
It was over quickly, I remember, and our American aeroplanes, vastly
superior to the opposing fleet, had gained a decisive victory, so that we
were just beginning to breathe freely when an extraordinary thing
happened, a rare act of heroism, though I say it for the Germans.
There came a signal, the dropping of a fire bomb with many colours, and
instantly the remnant of the enemy’s air strength, four biplanes and a
little yellow-striped monoplane, started at us, in a last desperate
effort, with all the speed of their engines. Our aerial fleet saw the
manouver and swept towards the biplanes, intercepting them, one by one,
and tearing them to pieces with sweeping volleys of our machine guns, but
the little monoplane, swifter than the rest, dodged and circled and
finally found an opening towards the airship and came through it at two
miles a minute, straight for us and for death, throwing fire bombs and
yelling for the Kaiser.
“Save yourselves!” shouted Tesla as the enemy craft ripped into our great
yellow gas bag.
Bombs were exploding all about us and in an instant the _America_ was in
flames. We knew that our effort had failed.
As the stricken airship, burning fiercely, sank rapidly through the
night, I realised that I must fight for my life in the ice cold waters of
the bay. I hate cold water and, being but an indifferent swimmer, I
hesitated whether to throw off my coat and shoes, and, having finally
decided, I had only time to rid myself of one shoe and my coat when I saw
the surging swells directly beneath me and leapt overside just in time to
escape the crash of blazing wreckage.
Dazed by the blow of a heavy spar and the shock of immersion, I remember
nothing more until I found myself on dry land, hours later, with kind
friends ministering to me. It seems that a party of motor boat rescuers
from Brooklyn worked over me for hours before I returned to consciousness
and I lay for days afterward in a state of languid-weakness, indifferent
to everything.