Perils and Triumphs of Submarine-Hunting--The Loss of our First
War-Ship, The Converted Gunboat "Alcedo"--Bravery of Crew--"Cassin"
Struck by Torpedo, But Remains in the Fight--Loss of the "Jacob
Jones"--Sinking of the "San Diego"--Destroyers "Nicholson" and "Fanning"
Capture a Submarine, Which Sinks--Crew of Germans Brought Into Port--The
Policy of Silence in Regard to Submarine-Sinkings
But as in the pursuit of dangerous game there is always liable to be two
angles to any experience--or say, rather, a reverse angle, such as the
hunted turning hunter--so in the matter of our fight against the
submarine there are instances--not many, happily--where the U-boat has
been able to deal its deadly blow first.
The first of our war-ships to be sunk by a submarine was the naval
patrol gun-boat _Alcedo_, which was torpedoed shortly before 2 o'clock
on the morning of November 5, 1917, almost exactly seven months after we
entered the war. She was formerly G. W. Childs Drexel's yacht _Alcedo_,
and Anthony J. Drexel Paul, an officer in the Naval Reserve, was on her
at the time. The vessel was the flag-ship of one of the
patrol-flotillas, and for months had performed splendid service in the
North Sea.
The torpedo that sunk the vessel came without warning, and so true was
the aim that the war-ship went down in four minutes, carrying with her
one officer and twenty of the crew. Commander William T. Conn, U.S.N.,
who commanded the vessel, in telling later of the experience, paid a
high testimonial to the coolness and bravery of the crew. Eighty per
cent of the men were reserves, but regulars could have left no better
record of courage and precision.
"Here," said Commander Conn, "is a story that indicates the kind of men
we have in the navy. I had a young lad in my crew, a yeoman, and one day
I sent for him and told him that if we were ever torpedoed he was to
save the muster-roll, so that when it was all over it would be possible
to check up and find who had been saved. Well, the _Alcedo_ was
torpedoed at 2 o'clock one morning, and in four minutes she disappeared
forever. Hours afterward, when we were waiting to be picked up, I saw my
yeoman, and I said:
"'Son, where is my muster-roll?'
"'Here it is,' he replied, as he reached inside his shirt and pulled it
out.... And that same boy, in the terrible minutes that followed the
loss of our ship, found a broken buoy. He was holding on to it when he
saw one of our hospital stewards, who was about to give in. He struggled
to the side of the steward and with one hand held him above the water
while with the other he clung to the buoy. He held on until both were
saved."
While the _Alcedo_ was the first war-vessel to be sunk by a submarine,
the first war-ship to be stricken in torpedo attack was the destroyer
_Cassin_, one of the vessels that raced out of Newport to rescue the
victims of the ravages of the German U-boat off Nantucket, in October,
1916. The _Cassin_ was on patrol duty and had sighted a submarine about
four miles away. The destroyer, in accordance with custom, headed for
the spot, and had about reached it when the skipper, Commander Walter H.
Vernon, sighted a torpedo running at high speed near the surface, and
about 400 yards away. The missile was headed straight for the midship
section of the war-ship. Realizing the situation, the commanding officer
rang for the emergency full speed ahead on both engines, put the rudder
hard over, and was just clear of the torpedo's course when it broached
on the water, turned sharply and headed for the stern of the vessel.
Here stood Osmond Kelly Ingram, gunner's mate, at his gun. He saw that
if the torpedo struck at the stern it would, aside from working initial
damage, cause the explosion of munitions stored on the after deck.
Thereupon, knowing that the torpedo was going to strike about where he
stood, he ran to the pile of munitions and tumbled them into the sea.
The explosion occurred as he was at work, and he was blown into the
ocean and lost. But he had not died in vain, for the secondary explosion
that he feared was averted by his act of supreme sacrifice.
Fortunately, only one engine was disabled by the explosion, and the
destroyer was thus permitted to remain under way. She zigzagged to and
fro, hoping to get a chance at her assailant, and in about an hour the
German submarine commander decided that it was a good time to come to
the surface for a better look at the destroyer. As the conning-tower
came into view the _Cassin's_ gunners delivered four shots, two of which
fell so close to the U-boat that she submerged and was not seen again.
In the meantime the crew, with splendid team-work, set about repairing
the damage and attending to the five men who were wounded, none
seriously.
After a while British war-ships came up and the _Cassin_ returned to
port. Admiral Sims mentioned Commander Vernon and his officers in
despatches to Secretary Daniels, and more than a score of the seamen
were cited for coolness and efficiency.
Our second war-ship definitely known to be sunk by the German submarines
was the destroyer _Jacob Jones_, which was struck at 4.12 o'clock on the
afternoon of December 6, last. The destroyer was on patrol, and nothing
was known of the proximity of the submarine until the torpedo hit the
vessel. The _Jacob Jones_, which was commanded by Lieutenant-Commander
David Worth Bagley, a brother-in-law of Secretary Daniels and brother of
Ensign Worth Bagley, who was killed on the torpedo-boat _Winslow_ in the
fight at Cardenas in the Spanish-American War, went down in seventeen
minutes after she was struck. Gunner Harry R. Hood was killed by the
explosion, but the remainder of the company got safely overside in rafts
and boats. The submarine appeared after the sinking and took one of the
survivors aboard as a prisoner. Lieutenant-Commander Bagley, with five
others, landed in a small boat on the Scilly Islands while other
survivors reached shore in various ways. The _Jacob Jones_ was regarded
by superstitious navy men as something of a Jonah, she having figured in
one or two incidents involving German spies while in this country.
The first and to date the only American war-ship lost in American waters
as a result of submarine attack was the armored cruiser _San
Diego_--formerly the _California_--which was sunk by a mine off Point o'
Woods on the Long Island coast on the morning of July 19, 1918. Facts
associated with the disaster, involving the loss of some fifty lives,
are illuminated with the light of supreme heroism, gallantry, and utter
devotion. In no single instance was there failure on the part of
officers or crew to meet the unexpected test in a manner quite in
accordance with the most glorious annals of the United States Navy.
Point will perhaps be given to this if we picture Captain Harley H.
Christie pushing his way about the welter of wreckage in a barrel,
reorganizing some 800 of his men, who were floating about on every
conceivable sort of object, into the disciplined unit that they had
comprised before they were ordered overside to take their chances in the
ocean. Or again, taking the enlisted-man aspect of the situation, there
was the full-throated query of a husky seaman, clinging to a hatch as
the _San Diego_ disappeared:
"Where's the captain?"
Then a chorus of voices from the water:
"There he is! See his old bald head! God bless it! Three cheers for the
skip!"
There they all were, some 800 men, survivors of a company numbering
thirteen-odd hundred, in the water, out of sight of land, not a ship in
sight--and twelve life-boats among them, cheering, singing, exchanging
badinage and words of good hope.
The _San Diego_, which was one of the crack shooting-ships of the navy,
and had made seven round trips to France in convoy work without ever
having seen a submarine, was on her way from the Portsmouth, N.H.,
navy-yard, where she had been completely overhauled in dry-dock and
coaled, to New York, where her crew were to have had short liberty,
preliminary to another voyage to France. She carried a heavy deck-load
of lumber which she was to take to France for the Marine Corps. She had
in her bunkers some 3,000 tons of coal.
On the morning of July 19, the cruiser, shortly after 11 o'clock, had
reached a point about seven miles southeast of Point o' Woods. The sun
was shining brilliantly, but the coast-line was veiled in a heavy haze.
There was a fair ground-swell running, but no sea. The _San Diego_ was
ploughing along at a fifteen-knot clip, not pursuing the zigzag course
which it is customary for vessels to follow in enemy-infested waters.
No submarine warning had been issued, and, as the vessel was only seven
miles offshore, there may be no doubt that the officers of the war-ship
did not consider the trip as any more hazardous than the hundreds of
journeys she had made along our coast from port to port. The crew were
engaged in the usual routine, with the added labor of getting the vessel
ship-shape after the grimy operation of coaling at Portsmouth. The
explosion came without warning at 11.15 o'clock. It was extremely heavy,
accompanied by a rending and grinding of metal and by the explosion of
the after-powder magazine, which destroyed the quarter-deck and sent the
mainmast, with wireless attached, crashing overboard. The torpedo, or
whatever it was, wrecked the engine-room, demolished the boilers, and
put the electric dynamos out of order.
The thunderous explosion was followed immediately by the insistent whine
of bugles and the clanging of alarm-bells, calling the crew to
battle-stations. And the crew went quietly, without the slightest
disorder. Down in the bunkers, four decks below, was an officer, with a
party of seamen, setting things to rights after the coaling. As the
explosion occurred and the vessel heeled, these men, as though
instinctively, formed into a line, and then without excitement or hurry
climbed the four upright steel ladders to the deck, the officer, of
course, following last of all.
On deck the 6-inch starboard and port batteries were blazing away, not
only at objects that might turn out to be periscopes or submarines, but
in order to call assistance; for the wireless was out of commission, and
there was not a sail or a hull in sight.
After a few minutes, the bugles sounded the order "Prepare to abandon
ship." This applied to every one but the gun crews, who had to remain at
their stations for at least five minutes after the process of
abandonment was put into operation. The post of one of the gun-crew
officers was in the fighting-top of the basket-mast forward, his duty
being that of spotter of his crew. As he hurried along the deck to his
station the crew lined up along the port rail with life-preservers and
were jumping into the sea as ordered.
There were comrades who had been killed or maimed by the shifting
deck-load of lumber; there were comrades who, in jumping into the sea,
had struck their heads against the steel hull, breaking their necks, and
yet there the rest stood in line, waiting for the orders that would send
them overboard.
"Isn't this a crime," laughed one of the seamen, "just after I had got
on my liberty blues and was all set for the high spots in New York!"
"Gripes! My cigarettes are all wet! Who's got a dry one?"
"Look out there, kid; be careful you don't get your feet wet."
Twelve life-boats were overside, set adrift in the usual manner to be
filled after the men were in the water. Then, of course, the sea was
littered with lumber and all sorts of debris which would keep a man
afloat.
While the abandonment of the ship was under way, the officer who had
been in the bunkers, and whose station was in the fighting-top, hurried
upward to his post. The port guns were still being served, but their
muzzles were inclining ever downward toward the water. In his
battle-station this officer directed the firing of the port guns until
their muzzles dipped beneath the surface of the sea. There were three
officers with him in the fighting-top and three seamen. Below they saw
the perfect order which obtained, the men stepping into the sea in
ranks, laughing and cheering.
Presently this officer sent one of the seamen down the mast to get
life-belts for the group of men in the spotting-station. By the time he
returned the bugles were ordering the total abandonment of the vessel.
So the little group made their way, not to the deck, which was now
straight up and down, but to the starboard side of the hull, upon which
they could walk, the vessel then being practically on her beam ends.
Trapped at their stations on the port side were members of the 6-inch
port battery. One of them was seen by a comrade just before rising
waters shut him from view. The sinking man nodded and waved his hand.
"Good-by, Al," he said.
As the officer who had been in the fighting-top jumped clear into the
sea, the vessel began to go down, now by the head. Slowly the stern
rose, and as it did so, he says, the propellers came into view, and
perched on one of the blades was a devil-may-care American seaman,
waving his hat and shouting.
The vessel, the officer says, disappeared at 11.30 o'clock, fifteen
minutes after the explosion occurred. There was some suction as the _San
Diego_ disappeared, but not enough, according to the calculation of the
survivors with whom I talked, to draw men to their death.
In the course of another hour, Captain Christie had collected as many of
his officers as he could, and the work of apportioning the survivors to
the twelve boats and to pieces of flotsam was carried on with naval
precision. One man, clinging to a grating, called out that he had
cramps. A comrade in one of the boats thereupon said the sailor could
have his place. He leaped into the sea and the man with cramps was
assisted into the boat.
While this was going on a seaplane from the Bay Shore station passed
over the heads of the men in the water. The seamen did not think they
had been seen, but they had been, and the aviator, flying to Point o'
Woods, landed and used the coast-guard telephone to apprise the Fire
Island coast-guards of the disaster. From this station word was sent
broadcast by wireless. In the meantime, Captain Christie had picked two
crews of the strongest seamen and had them placed in No. 1 and No. 2
life-boats. These men were ordered to row south-west to Fire Island and
summon assistance.
In one boat thirteen men were placed; in the other fourteen. As the
captain got the boat-crews arranged, his barrel began to get waterlogged
and became rather precarious as a support; whereupon a floating seaman
pushed his way through the water with a ladder.
"Here, sir," he said, "try this."
Thus it was that Captain Christie transferred to a new flag-ship.
The boat-crews left the scene of the disaster at 12.35, and they rowed
in fifteen-minute relays from that hour until quarter past three. Before
they had gone four miles merchant ships were rushing to the spot, as set
forth in the wireless warning. These merchantmen got all of the men
afloat in the water--or a vast majority of them--and took them to the
naval station at Hoboken.
At the time of the disaster and for twenty-four hours thereafter there
was some doubt whether or not the _San Diego_ had been lost through
contact with a mine, or was struck by a torpedo launched from a
submarine. Submarine activities off Cape Cod the following Sunday,
however, gave proof that the undersea boats had made their second
hostile visit to our shores.
But later belief was that the cruiser was sunk by a mine planted by the
submarine. One of our most illustrious exploits, indeed, occurred hardly
a fortnight before the loss of the _Jones_, when two destroyers, the
_Nicholson_ and _Fanning_, steamed into their base with flags flying and
German prisoners on their decks.
It was a clear November afternoon, and the destroyer _Fanning_ was
following her appointed route through the waters of the North Sea. Off
to starboard the destroyer _Nicholson_ was plunging on her way, throwing
clouds of black smoke across the horizon. Near by was a merchant vessel,
and the destroyers were engaged in taking her through the dangerous
waters to safety. The air was so clear that minutest objects on the
horizon were easily picked up by the questing binoculars of the men on
watch. Suddenly came a cry from one of the forward lookouts:
"Periscope, two points off the starboard bow!"
The call sounded from stem to stern, and instantly the alarm to general
quarters was sounded while the helm was thrown hard over. The signalman
bent over his flag-locker and, in compliance with the order of the
commander, bent flags onto the halyards, giving the location of the
submarine to the _Nicholson_, while heliograph flashes from the bridge
summoned her to joint attack. The waters were smooth, with a long swell,
and the lookout had seen a scant eighteen inches of periscope, which had
vanished immediately it fell under his vision. Undoubtedly the observer
at the other end of the submarine's periscope had seen the _Fanning_ at
about the same time the presence of the undersea craft was detected. It
had appeared about 400 yards from the destroyer's course.
In less time than it takes to tell, the _Fanning_, with throttles
suddenly opened, plunged into the waters where the periscope had last
been seen. And at the proper moment the commander, standing tensely on
the bridge, released a depth-bomb from its fixed place. The explosive,
300 pounds in weight, sank with a gentle splash into the rolling wake of
the destroyer and, at the depth as regulated before the bomb was
released, it exploded with a terrific report.
Up from the ocean rose a towering column of water. It hung in the air
for a moment like a geyser, and then gradually fell back to the level of
the sea. A score of voices proclaimed the appearance of oil floating
upon the water. Oil is sometimes released by a submarine to throw an
attacking destroyer off the scent; but this time there were bubbles,
too. That was quite significant. Then while the _Fanning_ circled the
spot wherein the explosion had occurred, the _Nicholson_ stormed up, cut
across the supposed lurking-place of the submarine, and released one of
her depth charges. She, too, circled about the mass of boiling,
oil-laden water.
For several minutes the two destroyers wheeled in and out like hawks
awaiting their prey, and then suddenly there was a cry as a disturbance
was noted almost directly between the two craft. The rush of water grew
in volume until, as the men of the destroyers watched with all the ardor
of fishermen landing trout, the U-boat came to the surface like a dead
whale.
But the Americans were cautious. While stricken the undersea craft might
show fight. So with guns and torpedo-tubes trained upon the submarine,
they waited. But there was no fight in that boat. The depth charges had
done their work thoroughly. While the visible portion of the hull
appeared to have been uninjured, it was perfectly clear that the vessel
was not under perfect control. Her ballast-tanks were damaged, which
accounted for a bad list.
The explosions of the depth-bombs had hurled her to the bottom, where
she retained sufficient buoyancy to catapult to the surface. As the
conning-tower came into sight the _Nicholson_ fired three shots from her
stern gun. The U-boat then seemed to right herself, making fair speed
ahead. The _Fanning_ headed in toward her, firing from the bow gun.
After the third shot the crew of the German vessel came up on deck,
their hands upraised.
While approaching the craft both the destroyers kept their guns trained
for instant use, but, as it turned out, precautions were unnecessary.
Lines were thrown aboard the submersible and were made fast; but the
U-boat, either stricken mortally or scuttled by her crew, began to
settle. Lines were hastily cast off, and the boat sought her long rest
upon the bottom of a sea to which no doubt she had sent many harmless
vessels.
The crew of the U-boat, all of whom had life-preservers about their
waists, leaped into the water and swam to the _Fanning_; most of them
were exhausted when they reached the destroyer's side. As the submarine
sank, five or six men were caught in the wireless gear and carried below
the surface before they disentangled themselves. Ten of the men were so
weak that it was necessary to pass lines under their arms to haul them
aboard. One man was in such a state that he could not even hold the line
that was thrown to him.
Chief Pharmacist's Mate Elzer Howell and Coxswain Francis G. Connor
thereupon jumped overboard and made a line fast to the German. But he
died a few minutes after he was hauled aboard.
Once aboard, the prisoners were regaled with hot coffee and sandwiches,
and so little did they mind the change to a new environment that,
according to official Navy Department report, they began to sing. They
were fitted with warm clothes supplied by the American sailors, and in
other ways made to feel that, pirates though they were, and murderers as
well, the American seafaring man knew how to be magnanimous.
The submarine bore no number nor other distinguishing marks, but her
life-belts were marked on one side "Kaiser," and on the other "Gott."
The _Fanning_ steamed to port at high speed, and at the base transferred
the prisoners under guard, who as they left the destroyer gave three
lusty hochs for the _Fanning's_ men. Then the _Fanning_ put out to sea a
few miles, and after the young American commander had read the burial
service, the body of the German seaman who had died was committed to the
depths. The commander of the _Fanning_ was Lieutenant A. S. Carpender, a
Jerseyman, who in his report gave particular praise to Lieutenant Walter
Henry, officer of the deck, and to Coxswain Loomis, who first sighted
the submarine.
This was by no means the first time a submarine had been sunk by an
American destroyer, but in accordance with the British policy, the
Americans had withheld all information of the sort. However, this was
such a good story, and the capture of prisoners so unusual, that by
agreement between the Navy Department and the British Admiralty, the
salient details of this encounter were given to the public.
The idea of secrecy was devised by the British at the very outset, the
purpose being to make the waging of submarine warfare doubly
objectionable to the men of the German Navy. It is bad enough to be lost
in a naval engagement, but at least the names of the ships involved and
the valor of the crews, both friend and enemy, are noted. But under the
British system, a submarine leaves port, and if she is sunk by a
patrol-vessel or other war-ship, that fact is never made known. The
Germans know simply that still another submarine has entered the great
void.
It adds a sinister element to an occupation sufficiently sinister in all
its details. There may be no doubt that the policy of silence has had
its effect upon the German morale. That crews have mutinied on the high
seas is undoubted, while we know of several mutinies involving hundreds
of men that have occurred in German ports--all because of objections to
submarine service. It is even said that submarine service is now one of
the penalties for sailors who have offended against the German naval
regulations, and there are stories of submarines decked with flowers as
they leave port, a symbol, of course, of men who go out not expecting to
return--all for the glory of the man known throughout the American Navy
as "Kaiser Bill."
It is thus unlikely that such success as might--or may--attend the
efforts of our coast-patrol vessels to dispose of the submarines which
come here will not be published unless the highly colored complexion of
facts warrants it. One may imagine that service in a submarine so far
from home is not alluring, and still less so when submarines sent to the
waters of this hemisphere are heard from nevermore.
Just how unpopular the service has been may be adduced from chance
remarks of German submarine prisoners who come to this country from time
to time. The men of the U-boat sunk by the _Fanning_ made no effort to
conceal their satisfaction at their change of quarters, while Germans in
other cases have told their British captors that they were glad they had
been taken.
There is the story of the storekeeper of the German submarine which sunk
several vessels off our coast last June. He said he had formerly served
on a German liner plying between Hoboken and Hamburg, and his great
regret was that he had not remained in this country when he had a
chance. Life on a submarine, he said, was a dog's life.
Even under peace conditions this is so. The men are cramped for room, in
the first place. In a storm the vessel, if on the surface, is thrown
almost end over end, while the movement of stormy waves affects a boat
even thirty feet below the water-level. Cooking is very often out of the
question, and the men must live on canned viands. They have not even the
excitement of witnessing such encounters as the vessel may have. Three
men only, the operating officers, look through the periscope; the others
have their stations and their various duties to perform. If a vessel is
sunk they know it through information conveyed by their officers. There
was a story current in Washington before we entered the war, of a
sailor, a German sailor who had had nearly a year of steady service on a
submarine. He was a faithful man, and as he was about to go ashore on a
long leave, his commanding officer asked what he could do for him.
"Only one thing," was the reply. "Let me have one look through the
periscope."
In the past year the Allies have been employing their own submarines in
the war against the German undersea peril. This has been made possible
by the perfection of the listening device before referred to by which
the presence of a submarine and other details may be made known. But it
is a dangerous business at best, and not largely employed, if only for
the reason that patrol-vessels are not always likely to distinguish
between friend and foe. We have in mind the tragic instance of the
American cruiser which fired upon a submarine in the Mediterranean,
killing two men, only to find that the vessel was an Italian undersea
boat. Of course our deepest regrets were immediately forthcoming, and
were accepted by the Italian Government in like spirit.