THE RETURN OF THE "MAYFLOWER"
I
The morning of May 4, 1917, witnessed an important event in the history
of Queenstown. The news had been printed in no British or American
paper, yet in some mysterious way it had reached nearly everybody in the
city. A squadron of American destroyers, which had left Boston on the
evening of April 24th, had already been reported to the westward of
Ireland and was due to reach Queenstown that morning. At almost the
appointed hour a little smudge of smoke appeared in the distance,
visible to the crowds assembled on the hills; then presently another
black spot appeared, and then another; and finally these flecks upon the
horizon assumed the form of six rapidly approaching warships. The Stars
and Stripes were broken out on public buildings, on private houses, and
on nearly all the water craft in the harbour; the populace, armed with
American flags, began to gather on the shore; and the local dignitaries
donned their official robes to welcome the new friends from overseas.
One of the greatest days in Anglo-American history had dawned, for the
first contingent of the American navy was about to arrive in British
waters and join hands with the Allies in the battle against the forces
of darkness and savagery.
The morning was an unusually brilliant one. The storms which had tossed
our little vessels on the seas for ten days, and which had followed them
nearly to the Irish coast, had suddenly given way to smooth water and a
burst of sunshine. The long and graceful American ships steamed into the
channel amid the cheers of the people and the tooting of all harbour
craft; the sparkling waves, the greenery of the bordering hills, the
fruit trees already in bloom, to say nothing of the smiling and cheery
faces of the welcoming Irish people, seemed to promise a fair beginning
for our great adventure. "Welcome to the American colours," had been the
signal of the _Mary Rose_, a British destroyer which had been sent to
lead the Americans to their anchorage. "Thank you, I am glad of your
company," answered the Yankee commander; and these messages represented
the spirit of the whole proceeding. Indeed there was something in these
strange-looking American ships, quite unlike the British destroyers,
that necessarily inspired enthusiasm and respect. They were long and
slender; the sunlight, falling upon their graceful sides and steel
decks, made them brilliant objects upon the water; and their
business-like guns and torpedo tubes suggested efficiency and readiness.
The fact that they had reached their appointed rendezvous exactly on
time, and that they had sailed up the Queenstown harbour at almost
precisely the moment that preparations had been made to receive them,
emphasized this impression. The appearance of our officers on the decks
in their unfamiliar, closely fitting blouses, and of our men, in their
neat white linen caps, also at once won the hearts of the populace.
"Sure an' it's our own byes comin' back to us," an Irish woman remarked,
as she delightedly observed the unmistakably Gaelic countenances of a
considerable proportion of the crew. Indeed the natives of Queenstown
seemed to regard these American blue-jackets almost as their own. The
welcome provided by these people was not of a formal kind; they gathered
spontaneously to cheer and to admire. In that part of Ireland there was
probably not a family that did not have relatives or associations in the
United States, and there was scarcely a home that did not possess some
memento of America. The beautiful Queenstown Roman Catholic Cathedral,
which stood out so conspicuously, had been built very largely with
American dollars, and the prosperity of many a local family had the same
trans-Atlantic origin. It was hardly surprising, therefore, that when
our sailors landed for a few hours' liberty many hands were stretched
out to welcome them. Their friends took them arm in arm, marched them to
their homes, and entertained them with food and drink, all the time
plying them with questions about friends and relatives in America. Most
of these young Americans with Irish ancestry had never seen Ireland,
but that did not prevent the warm-hearted people of Queenstown from
hailing them as their own. This cordiality was appreciated, for the trip
across the Atlantic had been very severe, with gales and rainstorms
nearly every day.
The senior officer in charge was Commander Joseph K. Taussig, whose
flagship was the _Wadsworth_. The other vessels of the division and
their commanding officers were the _Conyngham_, Commander Alfred W.
Johnson; the _Porter_, Lieutenant-Commander Ward K. Wortman; the
_McDougal_, Lieutenant-Commander Arther P. Fairfield; the _Davis_,
Lieutenant-Commander Rufus F. Zogbaum; and the _Wainwright_,
Lieutenant-Commander Fred H. Poteet. On the outbreak of hostilities
these vessels, comprising our Eighth Destroyer Division, had been
stationed at Base 2, in the York River, Virginia; at 7 P.M. of
April 6th, the day that Congress declared war on Germany, their
commander had received the following signal from the _Pennsylvania_, the
flagship of the Atlantic Fleet: "Mobilize for war in accordance with
Department's confidential mobilization plan of March 21st." From that
time events moved rapidly for the Eighth Division. On April 14th, the
very day on which I sent my first report on submarine conditions to
Washington, Commander Taussig received a message to take his flotilla to
Boston and there fit out for "long and distant service." Ten days
afterward he sailed, with instructions to go fifty miles due east of
Cape Cod and there to open his sealed orders. At the indicated spot
Commander Taussig broke the seal, and read the following document--a
paper so important in history, marking as it does the first instructions
any American naval or army officer had received for engaging directly in
hostilities with Germany, that it is worth quoting in full:
NAVY DEPARTMENT
Office of Naval Operations
Washington, D. C.
_Secret and Confidential_
To: Commander, Eighth Division, Destroyer Force, Atlantic Fleet,
U.S.S. _Wadsworth_, Flagship.
Subject: Protection of commerce near the coasts of Great Britain
and Ireland.
1. The British Admiralty have requested the co-operation of a
division of American destroyers in the protection of commerce near
the coasts of Great Britain and France.
2. Your mission is to assist naval operations of Entente Powers in
every way possible.
3. Proceed to Queenstown, Ireland. Report to senior British naval
officer present, and thereafter co-operate fully with the British
navy. Should it be decided that your force act in co-operation with
French naval forces your mission and method of co-operation under
French Admiralty authority remain unchanged.
Route to Queenstown.
Boston to latitude 50 N--Long. 20 W to arrive at daybreak then to
latitude 50 N--Long. 12 W thence to Queenstown.
When within radio communication of the British naval forces off
Ireland, call G CK and inform the Vice-Admiral at Queenstown in
British general code of your position, course, and speed. You will
be met outside of Queenstown.
4. Base facilities will be provided by the British Admiralty.
5. Communicate your orders and operations to Rear-Admiral Sims at
London and be guided by such instructions as he may give you. Make
no reports of arrival to Navy Department direct.
JOSEPHUS DANIELS.
No happier selection for the command of this division could have been
made than that of Commander Taussig. In addition to his qualities as a
sailor, certain personal associations made him particularly acceptable
to the British naval authorities. In 1900, Commander Taussig, then a
midshipman, was a member of the naval forces which the United States
sent to China to co-operate with other powers in putting down the Boxer
Rebellion and rescuing the besieged legations in Pekin. Near Tientsin
this international force saw its hardest fighting, and here Commander
Taussig was wounded. While recovering from his injury, the young
American found himself lying on a cot side by side with an English
captain, then about forty years old, who was in command of the
_Centurion_ and chief-of-staff to Admiral Seymour, who had charge of the
British forces. This British officer was severely wounded; a bullet had
penetrated his lung, and for a considerable period he was unable to lie
down. Naturally this enforced companionship made the two men friends.
Commander Taussig had had many occasions to recall this association
since, for his wounded associate was Captain John R. Jellicoe, whose
advancement in the British navy had been rapid from that day onward. On
this same expedition Captain Jellicoe became a sincere friend also of
Captain McCalla, the American who commanded the _Newark_ and the
American landing force; indeed, Jellicoe's close and cordial association
with the American navy dates from the Boxer expedition. Naturally
Taussig had watched Jellicoe's career with the utmost interest; since he
was only twenty-one at the time, however, and the Englishman was twice
his age, it had never occurred to him that the First Sea Lord would
remember his youthful hospital companion. Yet the very first message he
received, on arriving in Irish waters, was the following letter, brought
to him by Captain Evans, the man designated by the British Admiralty as
liaison officer with the American destroyers:
ADMIRALTY, WHITEHALL
1-5-17.
MY DEAR TAUSSIG:
I still retain very pleasant and vivid recollections of our
association in China and I am indeed delighted that you should have
been selected for the command of the first force which is coming to
fight for freedom, humanity, and civilization. We shall all have
our work cut out to subdue piracy. My experience in China makes me
feel perfectly convinced that the two nations will work in the
closest co-operation, and I won't flatter you by saying too much
about the value of your help. I must say this, however. There is no
navy in the world that can possibly give us more valuable
assistance, and there is no personnel in any navy that will fight
better than yours. My China experience tells me this.
If only my dear friend McCalla could have seen this day how glad I
would have been!
I must offer you and all your officers and men the warmest welcome
possible in the name of the British nation and the British
Admiralty, and add to it every possible good wish from myself. May
every good fortune attend you and speedy victory be with us.
Yours very sincerely,
J. R. JELLICOE.
At this same meeting Captain Evans handed the American commander another
letter which was just as characteristic as that of Admiral Jellicoe. The
following lines constitute our officers' first introduction to
Vice-Admiral Bayly, the officer who was to command their operations in
the next eighteen months, and, in its brevity, its entirely
business-like qualities, as well as in its genuine sincerity and
kindness, it gave a fair introduction to the man:
ADMIRALTY HOUSE,
QUEENSTOWN,
4-5-17.
DEAR LIEUTENANT-COMMANDER TAUSSIG:
I hope that you and the other five officers in command of the U.S.
destroyers in your flotilla will come and dine here to-night,
Friday, at 7.45, and that you and three others will remain to sleep
here so as to get a good rest after your long journey. Allow me to
welcome you and to thank you for coming.
Yours sincerely,
LEWIS BAYLY.
Dine in undress; no speeches.
The first duty of the officers on arrival was to make the usual
ceremonial calls. The Lord Mayor of Cork had come down from his city,
which is only twelve miles from Queenstown, to receive the Americans,
and now awaited them in the American consulate; and many other citizens
were assembled there to welcome them. One of the most conspicuous
features of the procession was the moving picture operator, whose
presence really had an international significance. The British
Government itself had detailed him for this duty; it regarded the
arrival of our destroyers as a great historical event and therefore
desired to preserve this animated record in the official archives.
Crowds gathered along the street to watch and cheer our officers as they
rode by; and at the consulate the Lord Mayor, Mr. Butterfield, made an
eloquent address, laying particular emphasis upon the close friendship
that had always prevailed between the American and the Irish people.
Other dignitaries made speeches voicing similar sentiments. This welcome
concluded, Commander Taussig and his brother officers started up the
steep hill that leads to Admiralty House, a fine and spacious old
building.
Here, following out the instructions of the Navy Department, they were
to report to Vice-Admiral Bayly for duty. It is doing no injustice to
Sir Lewis to say that our men regarded this first meeting with some
misgiving. The Admiral's reputation in the British navy was well known
to them. They knew that he was one of the ablest officers in the
service; but they had also heard that he was an extremely exacting man,
somewhat taciturn in his manner, and not inclined to be over familiar
with his subordinates--a man who did not easily give his friendship or
his respect, and altogether, in the anxious minds of these ambitious
young Americans, he was a somewhat forbidding figure. And the appearance
of the Admiral, standing in his doorway awaiting their arrival, rather
accentuated these preconceptions. He was a medium-sized man, with
somewhat swarthy, weather-beaten face and black hair just turning grey;
he stood there gazing rather quizzically at the Americans as they came
trudging up the hill, his hands behind his back, his bright eyes keenly
taking in every detail of the men, his face not showing the slightest
trace of a smile. This struck our young men at first as a somewhat grim
reception; the attitude of the Admiral suggested that he was slightly in
doubt as to the value of his new recruits, that he was entirely willing
to be convinced, but that only deeds and not fine speeches of greeting
would convince him. Yet Admiral Bayly welcomed our men with the utmost
courtesy and dignity, and his face, as he began shaking hands, broke
into a quiet, non-committal smile; there was nothing about his manner
that was effusive, there were no unnecessary words, yet there was a real
cordiality that put our men at ease and made them feel at home in this
strange environment. They knew, of course, that they had come to
Ireland, not for social diversions, but for the serious business of
fighting the Hun, and that indeed was the only thought which could then
find place in Admiral Bayly's mind. Up to this time the welcome to the
Americans had taken the form of lofty oratorical flights, with emphasis
upon the blood ties of Anglo-Saxondom, and the significance to
civilization of America and Great Britain fighting side by side; but
this was not the kind of a greeting our men received from Admiral Bayly.
The Admiral himself, with his somewhat worn uniform and his lack of
ceremony, formed a marked contrast to the official reception by the
Lord Mayor and his suite in their insignia of office. Entirely
characteristic also was the fact that, instead of making a long speech,
he made no speech at all. His chief interest in the Americans at that
time was the assistance which they were likely to bring to the Allied
cause; after courteously greeting the officers, the first question he
asked about these forces was:
"When will you be ready to go to sea?"
Even under the most favourable conditions that is an embarrassing
question to ask of a destroyer commander. There is no type of ship that
is so chronically in need of overhauling. Even in peace times the
destroyer usually has under way a long list of repairs; our first
contingent had sailed without having had much opportunity to refit, and
had had an extremely nasty voyage. The fact was that it had been rather
severely battered up, although the flotilla was in excellent condition,
considering its hard experience on the ocean and the six months of hard
work which it had previously had on our coast. One ship had lost its
fire-room ventilator, another had had condenser troubles on the way
across, and there had been other difficulties. Commander Taussig,
however, had sized up Admiral Bayly as a man to whom it would be a
tactical error to make excuses, and promptly replied:
"We are ready now, sir, that is, as soon as we finish refuelling. Of
course you know how destroyers are--always wanting something done to
them. But this is war, and we are ready to make the best of things and
go to sea immediately."
The Admiral was naturally pleased with the spirit indicated by this
statement, and, with his customary consideration for his juniors, said:
"I will give you four days from the time of arrival. Will that be
sufficient?"
"Yes," answered Taussig, "that will be more than ample time."
As we discovered afterward, the Admiral had a system of always "testing
out" new men, and it is not improbable that this preliminary interview
was a part of this process.
During the period of preparation there were certain essential
preliminaries: it was necessary to make and to receive many calls, a
certain amount of tea drinking was inevitable, and there were many
invitations to dinners and to clubs that could not be ignored. Our
officers made a state visit to Cork, going up in Admiral Bayly's barge,
and returned the felicitations of the Mayor and his retinue.
Naturally both the Americans and their ships became objects of great
interest to their new allies. It was, I think, the first time that a
destroyer flotilla had ever visited Great Britain, and the very
appearance of the vessels themselves aroused the greatest curiosity.
They bore only a general resemblance to the destroyers of the British
navy. The shape of their hulls, the number and location of smoke pipes,
the positions of guns, torpedo tubes, bridges, deckhouse, and other
details gave them quite a contrasting profile. The fact that they were
designed to operate under different conditions from the British ships
accounted for many of these divergences. We build our destroyers with
the widest possible cruising radius; they are expected to go to the West
Indies, to operate from the Atlantic to the Pacific, and in general to
feel at home anywhere in the great stretch of waters that surround our
country. British destroyers, on the other hand, are intended to operate
chiefly in the restricted waters around the British Isles, where the
fuelling and refitting facilities are so extensive that they do not have
to devote much space to supplies of this kind. The result is that our
destroyers can keep the sea longer than the British; on the other hand,
the British are faster than ours, and they can also turn more quickly.
These differences were of course a subject of much discussion among the
observers at Queenstown, and even of animated argument. Naturally, the
interest of the destroyer officers of the two services in the respective
merits of their vessels was very keen. They examined minutely all
features that were new to them in the design and arrangement of guns,
torpedoes, depth charges, and machines, freely exchanged information,
and discussed proposed improvements in the friendliest possible spirit.
Strangely enough, although the American destroyers carried greater fuel
supplies than the British, they were rather more dainty and graceful in
their lines, a fact which inspired a famous retort which rapidly passed
through the ranks of both navies.
"You know," remarked a British officer to an American, "I like the
British destroyers better than the American. They look so much sturdier.
Yours seem to me rather feminine in appearance."
"Yes," replied the American, "that's so, but you must remember what
Kipling says, 'The female of the species is more deadly than the male.'"
The work of the Americans really began on the Sunday which followed
their arrival; by this time they had established cordial relations with
Admiral Bayly and were prepared to trust themselves unreservedly in his
hands. He summoned the officers on this Sunday morning and talked with
them a few moments before they started for the submarine zone; the time
of their departure had been definitely fixed for the next day. In the
matter of ceremonial greetings the Admiral was not strong, but when it
came to discussing the business in hand he was the master of a
convincing eloquence. The subject of his discourse was the
responsibility that lay before our men; he spoke in sharp, staccato
tones, making his points with the utmost precision, using no verbal
flourishes or unnecessary words--looking at our men perhaps a little
fiercely, and certainly impressing them with the fact that the work
which lay before them was to be no summer holiday. As soon as the
destroyers passed beyond the harbour defences, the Admiral began, death
constantly lay before the men until they returned. There was only one
safe rule to follow; days and even weeks might go by without seeing a
submarine, but the men must assume that one was constantly watching
them, looking for a favourable opportunity to discharge its torpedo.
"You must not relax attention for an instant, or you may lose an
opportunity to destroy a submarine or give her a chance to destroy you."
It was the present intention to send the American destroyers out for
periods of six days, giving them two days' rest between trips, and about
once a month they were to have five days in port for boiler cleaning.
And now the Admiral gave some details about the practical work at sea.
Beware, he said, about ramming periscopes; these were frequently mere
decoys for bombs and should be shelled. In picking up survivors of
torpedoed vessels the men must be careful not to stop until thoroughly
convinced that there were no submarines in the neighbourhood: "You must
not risk the loss of your vessel in order to save the lives of a few
people."
The Admiral proclaimed the grim philosophy of this war when he told our
men that it would be their first duty, should they see a ship torpedoed,
not to go to the rescue of the survivors, but to go after the submarine.
The three imperative duties of the destroyers were, in the order named:
first, to destroy submarines; second, to convoy and protect merchant
shipping; and third, to save the lives of the passengers and crews of
torpedoed ships. No commander should ever miss an opportunity to destroy
a submarine merely because there were a few men and women in small boats
or in the water who might be saved. Admiral Bayly explained that to do
this would be false economy: sinking a submarine meant saving far more
lives than might be involved in a particular instance, for this vessel,
if spared, would simply go on constantly destroying human beings. The
Admiral then gave a large number of instructions in short, pithy
sentences: "Do not use searchlights; do not show any lights whatever at
night; do not strike any matches; never steam at a slower rate than
thirteen knots; always zigzag, thereby preventing the submarine from
plotting your position; always approach a torpedoed vessel with the sun
astern; make only short signals; do not repeat the names of vessels;
carefully watch all fishing vessels--they may be submarines in
disguise--they even put up masts, sails, and funnels in this attempt to
conceal their true character." The Admiral closed his remarks with a
warning based upon his estimate of the character and methods of the
enemy. In substance he said that were it not for the violations of the
dictates of humanity and the well-established chivalry of the sea, he
would have the greatest respect for the German submarine commanders. He
cautioned our officers not to underrate them, and particularly
emphasized their cleverness at what he termed "the art of irregularity."
He explained this by saying that up to that time he had been unable to
deduce from their operations any definite plan or tactics, and advised
our commanders also to guard against any regularity of movement; they
should never, for example, patrol from one corner to another of their
assigned squares in the submarine zone, or adopt any other uniform
practice which the enemy might soon perceive and of which he would
probably take advantage.
At the very moment that Admiral Bayly was giving these impressive
instructions the submarine campaign had reached its crisis; the fortunes
of the Allies had never struck so low a depth as at that time. An
incident connected with our arrival, not particularly important in
itself, brought home to our men the unsleeping vigilance of the enemy
with whom they had to deal.
Perhaps the Germans did not actually have advance information of the
arrival of this first detachment of our destroyers; but they certainly
did display great skill in divining what was to happen. At least it was
a remarkable coincidence that for the first time in many months a
submarine laid a mine-field directly off the entrance to Queenstown the
day before our ships arrived. Soon afterward a parent ship of the
destroyers reached this port and encountered the same welcome; and soon
after that a second parent ship found a similar mine-field awaiting her
arrival. The news that our destroyers had reached Queenstown actually
appeared in the German papers several days before we had released it in
the British and American press. Thanks to the vigilance and efficiency
of the British mine-sweepers, however, the enemy gained nothing from all
these preparations, for the channel was cleared of German mines before
our vessels reached port.
The night before the destroyers arrived, while some of the officers of
my staff were dining with Admiral Bayly, the windows were shaken by
heavy explosions made by the mines which the sweepers were dragging out.
Admiral Bayly jokingly remarked that it was really a pity to interfere
with such a warm welcome as had apparently been planned for our
crusaders. Even the next night, while the destroyer officers were dining
at Admiralty House, several odd mines exploded outside the channel that
had been swept the previous day. This again impressed our men with the
fact that the game which they had now entered was quite a different
affair from their peace-time manoeuvres.
The Germans at that time were jubilant over the progress of their
submarine campaign and, indeed, they had good reason to be. The week
that our first flotilla reached Irish waters their submarines had
destroyed 240,000 tons of Allied shipping; if the sinking should keep
up at this rate, it meant losses of 1,000,000 tons a month and an early
German victory.
In looking over my letters of that period, I find many references that
picture the state of the official mind. All that time I was keeping
closely in touch with Ambassador Page, who was energetically seconding
all my efforts to bring more American ships across the Atlantic.
"It remains a fact," I wrote our Ambassador, "that at present the enemy
is succeeding and that we are failing. Ships are being sunk faster than
they can be replaced by the building facilities of the world. This
simply means that the enemy is winning the war. There is no mystery
about that. The submarines are rapidly cutting the Allies' lines of
communication. When they are cut, or sufficiently interfered with, we
must accept the enemy's terms."
Six days before our destroyers put in at Queenstown I sent this message
to Mr. Page:
Allies do not now command the sea. Transport of troops and supplies
strained to the utmost and the maintenance of the armies in the
field is threatened.
Such, then, was the situation when our little destroyer flotilla first
went to sea to do battle with the submarine.
II
Admiral Sir Lewis Bayly, who now became the commander of the American
destroyers at Queenstown, so far as their military operations were
concerned, had spent fifty years in the British navy, forty years of
this time actually at sea. This ripe experience, combined with a great
natural genius for salt water, had made him one of the most efficient
men in the service. In what I have already said, I may have given a
slightly false impression of the man; that he was taciturn, that he was
generally regarded as a hard taskmaster, that he never made friends at
the first meeting, that he was more interested in results than in
persons--all this is true; yet these qualities merely concealed what
was, at bottom, a generous, kindly, and even a warm-hearted character.
Admiral Bayly was so retiring and so modest that he seemed almost to
have assumed these exterior traits to disguise his real nature. When our
men first met the Admiral they saw a man who would exact their last
effort and accept no excuses for failure; when admitted to more intimate
association, however, they discovered that this weather-beaten sailor
had a great love for flowers, for children, for animals, for pictures,
and for books; that he was deeply read in general literature, in
history, and in science, and that he had a knowledge of their own
country and its institutions which many of our own officers did not
possess. Americans have great reason to be proud of the achievements of
their naval men, and one of the most praiseworthy was the fact that they
became such intimate friends of Admiral Bayly. For this man's nature was
so sincere that he could never bring himself to indulge in friendships
which he deemed unworthy. Early in his association with our men, he told
them bluntly that any success he and they might have in getting on
together would depend entirely upon the manner in which they performed
their work. If they acquitted themselves creditably, well and good; if
not, he should not hesitate to find fault with them. It is thus a
tribute to our officers that in a very short time they and Admiral Bayly
had established relations which were not only friendly but affectionate.
Not long after our destroyers arrived at Queenstown most of the British
destroyers left to reinforce the hard-driven flotillas in the Channel
and the North Sea, so that the destroyer forces at Queenstown under
Admiral Bayly became almost exclusively American, though they worked
with many British vessels--sloops, trawlers, sweepers, and mystery
ships, in co-operation with British destroyers and other vessels in the
north and other parts of Ireland. The Admiral watched over our ships and
their men with the jealous eye of a father. He always referred to his
command as "my destroyers" and "my Americans," and woe to anyone who
attempted to interfere with them or do them the slightest injustice!
Admiral Bayly would fight for them, against the combined forces of the
whole British navy, like a tigress for her cubs. He constantly had a
weather eye on Plymouth, the main base of the British destroyers, to see
that the vessels from that station did their fair share of the work.
Once or twice a dispute arose between an American destroyer commander
and a British; in such cases Admiral Bayly vigorously took the part of
the American. "You did perfectly right," he would say to our men, and
then he would turn all his guns against the interfering Britisher.
Relations between the young Americans and the experienced Admiral became
so close that they would sometimes go to him with their personal
troubles; he became not only their commander, but their confidant and
adviser.
There was something in these bright young chaps from overseas, indeed,
so different from anything which he had ever met before, that greatly
appealed to this seasoned Englishman. One thing that he particularly
enjoyed was their sense of humour. The Admiral himself had a keen wit
and a love of stories; and he also had the advantage, which was not
particularly common in England, of understanding American slang and
American anecdotes. There are certain stories which apparently only an
upbringing on American soil qualifies one to appreciate; yet Admiral
Bayly always instantly got the point. He even took a certain pride in
his ability to comprehend the American joke. One of the regular features
of life at Queenstown was a group of retired British officers--fine,
white-haired old gentlemen who could take no active part in the war but
who used to find much consolation in coming around to smoke their pipes
and to talk things over at Admiralty House. Admiral Bayly invariably
found delight in encouraging our officers to entertain these rare old
souls with American stories; their utter bewilderment furnished him
endless entertainment. The climax of his pleasure came when, after such
an experience, the old men would get the Admiral in a corner, and
whisper to him: "What in the world do they mean?"
The Admiral was wonderfully quick at repartee, as our men found when
they began "joshing" him on British peculiarities, for as naval attache
he had travelled extensively in the United States, had observed most of
our national eccentricities, and thus was able promptly "to come back."
In such contests our men did not invariably come off with all the
laurels. Yet, despite these modern tendencies, Admiral Bayly was a
conservative of the conservatives, having that ingrained British respect
for old things simply because they were old. An ancient British custom
requires that at church on Sundays the leading dignitary in each
community shall mount the reading desk and read the lessons of the day;
Admiral Bayly would perform this office with a simplicity and a
reverence which indicated the genuinely religious nature of the man. And
in smaller details he was likewise the ancient, tradition-loving Briton.
He would never think of writing a letter to an equal or superior officer
except in longhand; to use a typewriter for such a purpose would have
been profanation in his eyes. I once criticized a certain Admiral for
consuming an hour or so in laboriously penning a letter which could have
been dictated to a stenographer in a few minutes.
"How do you ever expect to win the war if you use up time this way?" I
asked.
"I'd rather lose the war," the Admiral replied, but with a twinkle in
his eye, "than use a typewriter to my chiefs!"
Our officers liked to chaff the Admiral quietly on this conservatism. He
frequently had a number of them to breakfast, and upon one such occasion
the question was asked as to why the Admiral ate an orange after
breakfast, instead of before, as is the custom in America.
"I can tell you why," said Commander Zogbaum.
"Well, why is it?" asked the Admiral.
"Because that's what William the Conqueror used to do."
"I can think of no better reason than that for doing it," the Admiral
promptly answered. But this remark tickled him immensely, and became a
byword with him. Ever afterward, whenever he proposed to do something
which the Americans regarded as too conservative, he would say:
"You know that this is what William the Conqueror used to do!"
Yet in one respect the Admiral was all American; he was a hard worker
even to the point of hustle. He insisted on the strictest attention to
the task in hand from his subordinates, but at least he never spared
himself. After he had arrived at Queenstown, two years before our
destroyers put in, he proceeded to reorganize Admiralty House on the
most business-like basis. The first thing he pounced upon was the
billiard-room in the basement. He decided that it would make an
excellent plotting-room, and that the billiard-tables could be
transformed into admirable drawing-boards for his staff; he immediately
called the superintendent and told him to make the necessary
transformations.
"All right," said the superintendent. "We'll start work on them
to-morrow morning."
"No, you won't," Admiral Bayly replied. "We propose to be established in
this room using these tables to-morrow morning. They must be all ready
for use by eight o'clock."
And he was as good as his word; the workmen spent the whole night making
the changes. At the expense of considerable personal comfort he also
caused one half of the parlour of Admiralty House to be partitioned off
as an office and the wall thus formed covered with war maps.
These incidents are significant, not only of Admiral Bayly's methods,
but of his ideals. In his view, if a billiard room could be made to
serve a war purpose, it had no proper place in an Admiralty house which
was the headquarters for fighting German submarines. The chief duty of
all men at that crisis was work, and their one responsibility was the
defeat of the Hun. Admiralty House was always open to our officers; they
spent many a delightful evening there around the Admiral's fire; they
were constantly entertained at lunch and at dinner, and they were
expected to drop in for tea whenever they were in port. But social
festivities in the conventional sense were barred. No ladies, except the
Admiral's relatives, ever visited the place. Some of the furnishings
were rather badly worn, but the Admiral would make no requisitions for
new rugs or chairs; every penny in the British exchequer, he insisted,
should be used to carry on the war. He was scornfully critical of any
naval officers who made a lavish display of silver on their tables;
money should be spent for depth charges, torpedoes, and twelve-inch
shells, not for ostentation. He was scrupulousness itself in observing
all official regulations in the matter of food and other essentials.
For still another reason the Admiral made an ideal commander of American
naval forces. He was a strict teetotaller. His abstention was not a war
measure; he had always had a strong aversion to alcohol in any form and
had never drank a cocktail or a brandy and soda in his life. Dinners at
Admiralty House, therefore, were absolutely "dry," and in perfect
keeping with American naval regulations.
Though Admiral Bayly was not athletic--his outdoor games being limited
to tip-and-run cricket in the Admiralty grounds, which he played with a
round bat and a tennis ball--he was a man of wiry physique and a
tireless walker. Indeed the most active young men in our navy had great
difficulty in keeping pace with him. One of his favourite diversions on
a Saturday afternoon was to take a group on a long tramp in the
beautiful country surrounding Queenstown; by the time the party reached
home, the Admiral, though sixty years old, was usually the freshest of
the lot. I still vividly remember a long walk which I took with him in a
pelting rain; I recall how keenly he enjoyed it and how young and nimble
he seemed to be when we reached home, drenched to the skin. A steep hill
led from the shore up to Admiralty House; Sir Lewis used to say that
this was a valuable military asset--it did not matter how angry a man
might be with him when he started for headquarters, by the time he
arrived, this wearisome climb always had the effect of quieting his
antagonism. The Admiral was fond of walking up this hill with our young
officers; he himself usually reached the top as fresh as a daisy, while
his juniors were frequently puffing for breath.
He enjoyed testing out our men in other ways; nothing delighted him more
than giving them hard jobs to do--especially when they accomplished the
tasks successfully. One day he ordered one of our officers,
Lieutenant-Commander Roger Williams, captain of the _Duncan_, a recent
arrival at Queenstown, to cross the Irish Sea and bring back a ship. The
joke lay in the fact that this man's destroyer had just come in with her
steering gear completely out of commission--a circumstance which Admiral
Bayly well understood. Many officers would have promptly asked to be
excused on this ground, but not this determined American. He knew that
the Admiral was trying to "put something over on him," and he rose to
the occasion. The fact that Queenstown Harbour is long and narrow, not
wide enough for a destroyer to turn around in, made Commander Williams's
problem still more difficult, but by cleverly using his engines, he
succeeded in backing out--the distance required was five miles; he took
another mile and a half to turn his ship and then he went across the sea
and brought back his convoy--all without any steering gear. This officer
never once mentioned to the Admiral the difficulties under which he had
worked, but his achievement completely won Sir Lewis's heart, and from
that time this young man became one of his particular favourites.
Indeed, it was the constant demonstration of this kind of fundamental
character in our naval men which made the Admiral admire them so.
On occasions Admiral Bayly would go to sea himself--something quite
unprecedented and possibly even reprehensible, for it was about the same
thing as a commanding general going into the front-line trenches. But
the Admiral believed that doing this now and then helped to inspire his
men; and, besides that, he enjoyed it--he was not made for a land
sailor. He had as flagship a cruiser of about 5,000 tons; he had a way
of jumping on board without the slightest ceremony and taking a cruise
up the west coast of Ireland. On occasion the Admiral would personally
lead an expedition which was going to the relief of a torpedoed vessel,
looking for survivors adrift in small boats. One day Admiral Bayly,
Captain Pringle of the U.S.S. _Melville_, Captain Campbell, the
Englishman whose exploits with mystery ships had given him worldwide
fame, and myself went out on the _Active_ to watch certain experiments
with depth charges. It was a highly imprudent thing to do, because a
vessel of such draft was an excellent target for torpedoes, but that
only added to the zest of the occasion from Admiral Bayly's point of
view.
"What a bag this would be for the Hun!" he chuckled. "The American
Commander-in-Chief, the British Admiral commanding in Irish waters, a
British and an American captain!"
In our mind's eye we could see our picture in the Berlin papers--four
distinguished prisoners standing in a row.
A single fact shows with what consideration Admiral Bayly treated his
subordinates. The usual naval regulation demands that an officer, coming
in from a trip, shall immediately seek out his commander and make a
verbal report. Frequently the men came in late in the evening, extremely
fatigued; to make the visit then was a hardship and might deprive them
of much-needed sleep. Admiral Bayly therefore had a fixed rule that
such visits should be made at ten o'clock of the morning following the
day of arrival. On such occasions he would often be found seated
somewhat grimly behind his desk wholly absorbed in the work in hand. If
he were writing or reading his mail he would keep steadily at it, never
glancing up until he had finished. He would listen to the report
stoically, possibly say a word of praise, and then turn again to the
business in hand. Occasionally he would notice that his abruptness had
perhaps pained the young American; then he would break into an
apologetic smile, and ask him to come up to dinner that evening, and
even--this was the greatest honour of all--to spend the night at
Admiralty House.
These dinners were great occasions for our men, particularly as they
were presided over by Miss Voysey, the Admiral's niece. Miss Voysey, the
little spaniel, Patrick, and the Admiral constituted the "family," and
the three were entirely devoted to one another. Pat in particular was an
indispensable part of this menage; I have never seen any object quite so
crestfallen and woe-begone as this little dog when either Miss Voysey or
the Admiral spent a day or two away from the house. Miss Voysey was a
young woman of great personal charm and cultivation; probably she was
the influence that most contributed to the happiness and comfort of our
officers at Queenstown. From the day of their arrival she entered into
the closest comradeship with the Americans. She kept open house for
them: she was always on hand to serve tea in the afternoon, and she
never overlooked an opportunity to add to their well-being. As a result
of her delightful hospitality Admiralty House really became a home for
our officers. Miss Voysey had a genuine enthusiasm for America and
Americans; possibly the fact that she was herself an Australian made her
feel like one of us; at any rate, there were certain qualities in our
men that she found extremely congenial, and she herself certainly won
all their hearts. Anyone who wishes to start a burst of enthusiasm from
our officers who were stationed at Queenstown need only to mention the
name of Miss Voysey. The dignity with which she presided over the
Admiral's house, and the success with which she looked out for his
comfort, also inspired their respect. Miss Voysey was the leader in all
the war charities at Queenstown, and she and the Admiral made it their
personal duty to look out for the victims of torpedoed ships. At
whatever hour these survivors arrived they were sure of the most
warm-hearted attentions from headquarters. In a large hall in the Custom
House at the landing the Admiral kept a stock of cigarettes and tobacco,
and the necessary gear and supplies for making and serving hot coffee at
short notice, and nothing ever prevented him and his people from
stationing themselves there to greet and serve the survivors as soon as
they arrived--often wet and cold, and sometimes wounded. Even though the
Admiral might be at dinner he and Miss Voysey would leave their meal
half eaten and hurry to the landing to welcome the survivors. The
Admiral and his officers always insisted on serving them, and they would
even wash the dishes and put them away for the next time. The Admiral,
of course, might have ordered others to do this work, but he preferred
to give this personal expression of a real seaman's sympathy for other
seamen in distress. It is unnecessary to say that any American officers
who could get there in time always lent a hand. I am sure that long
after most of the minor incidents of this war have faded from my memory,
I shall still keep a vivid recollection of this kindly gentleman,
Admiral Sir Lewis Bayly, K.C.B., K.C.M.G., C.V.O., Royal Navy, serving
coffee to wretched British, American, French, Italian, Japanese, or
negro sailors, with a cheering word for each, and afterward, with
sleeves tucked up, calmly washing dishes in a big pan of hot water.
I have my fears that the Admiral will not be particularly pleased by the
fact that I have taken all these pains to introduce him to the American
public. Excessive modesty is one of his most conspicuous traits. When
American correspondents came to Queenstown, Admiral Bayly would receive
them courteously. "You can have all you want about the navy," he would
say, "but remember--not a word about Lewis Bayly." He was so reticent
that he was averse to having his picture taken; even the moving picture
operator detailed to get an historic record of the arrival of our
destroyers did not obtain a good view of the Admiral, for whenever Sir
Lewis saw him coming he would turn his back to the camera! My excuse for
describing this very lovable man, however, is because he became almost
an object of veneration to our American officers, and because, since for
eighteen months he was the commander of the American forces based on
Queenstown, he is an object of legitimate interest to the American
people. The fact that the Admiral was generally known to our officers as
"Uncle Lewis," and that some of those who grew to know him best even
called him that to his face, illustrates the delightful relations which
were established. Any account of the operations of our navy in the
European War would thus be sadly incomplete which ignored the splendid
sailor who was largely responsible for their success.
Another officer who contributed greatly to the efficiency of the
American forces was Captain E. R. G. R. Evans, R.N., who was detailed by
Admiral Jellicoe at my request to act as liaison officer with our
destroyers. No more fortunate selection could have been made. Captain
Evans had earned fame as second in command of the Scott Antarctic
expedition; he had spent much time in the United States and knew our
people well; indeed when war broke out he was lecturing in our country
on his polar experiences. A few days before our division arrived Captain
Evans had distinguished himself in one of the most brilliant naval
actions of the war. He was commander of the destroyer-leader _Broke_--a
"destroyer-leader" being a destroyer of unusually large size--and in
this battle three British vessels of this type had fought six German
destroyers. Captain Evans's ship sank one German destroyer and rammed
another, passing clear over its stern and cutting it nearly in two. The
whole of England was ringing with this exploit, and it was a decided
tribute to our men that Admiral Jellicoe consented to detail the
commander of the _Broke_. He was a man of great intelligence, great
energy, and, what was almost equally to the point, he was extremely
companionable; whether he was relating his experiences at the South
Pole, or telling us of active life on a destroyer, or swapping yarns
with our officers, or giving us the value of his practical experiences
in the war, Captain Evans was always at home with our men--indeed, he
seemed to be almost one of us.
The fact that these American destroyers were placed under the command of
a British admiral was somewhat displeasing to certain Americans. I
remember that one rather bumptious American correspondent, on a visit to
Queenstown, was loud in expressing his disapproval of this state of
affairs, and even threatened to "expose" us all in the American press.
The fact that I was specifically commissioned as destroyer commander
also confused the situation. Yet the procedure was entirely proper,
and, in fact, absolutely necessary. My official title was "Commander of
the U.S. Naval Forces Operating in European Waters"; besides this, I was
the representative of our Navy Department at the British Admiralty and
American member of the Allied Naval Council. These duties required my
presence in London, which became the centre of all our operations. I was
commander not only of our destroyers at Queenstown, but of a destroyer
force at Brest, another at Gibraltar, of subchaser forces at Corfu and
Plymouth, of a mixed force at the Azores, of the American battle
squadrons at Scapa Flow and Berehaven, Ireland, certain naval forces at
Murmansk and Archangel in north Russia, and of many other contingents.
Clearly it was impossible for me to devote all my time exclusively to
any one of these commands; so far as actual operations were concerned it
was necessary that particular commanders should control them. All these
destroyer squadrons, including that at Queenstown, were under the
command of the American Admiral stationed in London; whenever they
sailed from Queenstown on specific duty, however, they sailed under
orders from Admiral Bayly. Any time, however, I could withdraw these
destroyers from Queenstown and send them where the particular
necessities required. My position, that is, was precisely the same as
that of General Pershing in France. He sent certain American divisions
to the British army; as long as they acted with the British they were
subject to the orders of Sir Douglas Haig; but General Pershing could
withdraw these men at any time for use elsewhere. The actual supreme
command of all our forces, army and navy, rested in the hands of
Americans; but, for particular operations, they naturally had to take
their orders from the particular officer under whom they were stationed.
III
On May 17th a second American destroyer flotilla of six ships arrived at
Queenstown. From that date until July 5th a new division put in nearly
every week. The six destroyers which escorted our first troopships from
America to France were promptly assigned to duty with our forces in
Irish waters. Meanwhile other ships were added. On May 22nd the
_Melville_, the "Mother Ship" of the destroyers, arrived and became the
flagship of all the American vessels which were stationed at
Queenstown. This repair and supply ship practically took the place of a
dockyard, so far as our destroyer forces were concerned. Queenstown had
been almost abandoned as a navy yard many years before the European War
and its facilities for the repair of warships were consequently very
inadequate. The _Melville_ relieved the British authorities of many
responsibilities of this kind. She was able to do three-quarters of all
this work, except major repairs and those which required docking. Her
resources for repairing destroyers, and for providing for the wants and
comforts of our men, aroused much admiration in British naval circles.
The rapidity with which our forces settled down to work, and the
seamanly skill which they manifested from the very beginning, likewise
made the most favourable impression. By July 5th we had thirty-four
destroyers at Queenstown--a force that remained practically at that
strength until November. In 1918 much of the work of patrolling the seas
and of convoying ships to the west and south of Ireland--the area which,
in many ways, was the most important field of submarine warfare--fell
upon these American ships. The officers and crews began this work with
such zest that by June 1st I was justified in making the following
statement to the Navy Department: "It is gratifying to be able to report
that the operations of our forces in these waters have proved not only
very satisfactory, but also of marked value to the Allies in overcoming
the submarine menace. The equipment and construction of our ships have
proved adequate and sufficient, and the personnel has shown an unusually
high degree of enthusiasm and ability to cope with the situation
presented."
It is impossible to exaggerate the enthusiasm which the arrival of these
vessels produced upon the British public. America itself experienced
something of a thrill when the news was first published that our
destroyers had reached European waters, but this was mild compared with
the joy which spread all over the British Isles. The feeling of
Americans was mainly one of pride; our people had not yet suffered much
from the European cataclysm, and despite the fact that we were now
active participants, the war still seemed very far off and unreal. The
fact that a German victory would greatly endanger our national freedom
had hardly entered our national consciousness; the idea seemed dim,
abstract, perhaps even absurd; but in Great Britain, with the guns
constantly booming almost within earshot of the people, the horrors of
the situation were acutely realized. For this reason those American
destroyers at Queenstown immediately became a symbol in the minds of the
British people. They represented not only the material assistance which
our limitless resources and our almost inexhaustible supply of men would
bring to a cause which was really in desperate straits; but they stood
also for a great spiritual fact; for the kinship of the two great
Anglo-Saxon peoples, which, although separated politically, had now
joined hands to fight for the ideals upon which the civilization of both
nations rested. In the preceding two years Great Britain had had her
moments of doubt--doubt as to whether the American people had remained
true to the principles that formed the basis of their national life; the
arrival of these ships immediately dispelled all such misgivings.
Almost instinctively the minds of the British people turned to the day,
nearly three hundred years before, when the _Mayflower_ sailed for the
wilderness beyond the seas. The moving picture film, which depicted the
arrival of our first destroyer division, and which was exhibited all
over Great Britain to enthusiastic crowds, cleverly accentuated this
idea. This film related how, in 1620, a few Englishmen had landed in
North America; how these adventurers had laid the foundations of a new
state based on English conceptions of justice and liberty; how they had
grown great and prosperous; how the stupidity of certain British
statesmen had forced them to declare their independence; how they had
fought for this independence with the utmost heroism; how out of these
disjointed British colonies they had founded one of the mightiest
nations of history; and how now, when the liberties of mankind were
endangered, the descendants of the old _Mayflower_ pioneers had in their
turn crossed the ocean--this time going eastward--to fight for the
traditions of their race. Had Americans been making this film, they
would have illustrated another famous episode in our history that
antedated, by thirteen years, the voyage of the _Mayflower_--that is,
the landing of British colonists in Virginia, in 1607; but in the minds
of the English people the name _Mayflower_ had become merely a symbol of
American progress and all that it represented. This whole story appealed
to the British masses as one of the great miracles of history--a
single, miserable little settlement in Massachusetts Bay expanding into
a continent overflowing with resources and wealth; a shipload of men,
women, and children developing, in less than three centuries, into a
nation of more than 100,000,000 people. And the arrival of our
destroyers, pictured on the film, informed the British people that all
this youth and energy had been thrown upon their side of the battle.
One circumstance gave a particular appropriateness to the fact that I
commanded these forces. In 1910 I had visited England as captain of the
battleship _Minnesota_, a unit in a fleet which was then cruising in
British and French waters. It was apparent even at that time that
preparations were under way for a European war; on every hand there were
plenty of evidences that Germany was determined to play her great stroke
for the domination of the world. In a report to the Admiral commanding
our division I gave it as my opinion that the great European War would
begin within four years. In a speech at the Guildhall, where 800 of our
sailors were entertained at lunch by the Lord Mayor, Sir Vezey Strong, I
used the words which involved me in a good deal of trouble at the time
and which have been much quoted since. The statement then made was
purely the inspiration of the moment; it came from the heart, not from
the head; probably the evidences that Germany was stealthily preparing
her great blow had something to do with my outburst. I certainly spoke
without any authorization from my Government, and realized at once that
I had committed a great indiscretion. "If the time should ever come," I
said, "when the British Empire is menaced by a European coalition, Great
Britain can rely upon the last ship, the last dollar, the last man, and
the last drop of blood of her kindred beyond the sea." It is not
surprising that the appearance of American ships, commanded by the
American who had spoken these words seven years before, strongly
appealed to the British sense of the dramatic. Indeed, it struck the
British people as a particularly happy fulfilment of prophecy. These
sentences were used as an introduction to the moving picture film
showing the arrival of our first destroyer division, and for weeks after
reaching England I could hardly pick up a newspaper without these words
of my Guildhall speech staring me in the face.
Of course, any American admiral then commanding American naval forces in
European waters would have been acclaimed as the living symbol of
Anglo-American co-operation; and it was simply as the representative of
the American people and the American navy that the British people
received me so appreciatively. At first the appearance of our uniforms
aroused much curiosity; our tightly fitting blouses were quite different
from the British sack coats, and few people in London, in fact, knew who
we were. After our photographs had appeared in the press, however, the
people always recognized us in the streets. And then something quite
unusual happened. That naval and military men should salute my staff and
me was to have been expected, but that civilians should show this
respect for the American uniform was really unprecedented. Yet we were
frequently greeted in this way. It indicated, almost more than anything
else, how deeply affected the British people were by America's entrance
into the war. All classes and all ages showed this same respect and
gratitude to our country. Necessarily I had to attend many public
dinners and even to make many speeches; the people gathered on such
occasions always rose _en masse_ as a tribute to the uniform which I
wore. Sometimes such meetings were composed of boy scouts, of schoolboys
or schoolgirls, of munition workers, of journalists, or of statesmen;
and all, irrespective of age or social station or occupation, seemed
delighted to pay respect to the American navy. There were many evidences
of interest in the "American Admiral" that were really affecting. Thus
one day a message came from Lady Roberts, widow of the great soldier,
Field-Marshal Earl Roberts, saying that she was desirous of meeting the
"American Admiral." I was very glad to go out in the country and spend a
Sunday afternoon with her. This charming, white-haired old lady was very
feeble, and had to spend most of her time in a wheel-chair. But her mind
was bright as ever, and she had been following the war with the closest
attention. She listened with keen interest as I told her all about the
submarines, and she asked innumerable questions concerning them. She was
particularly affected when she spoke about the part the United States
was playing in the war, and remarked how much our participation would
have delighted the Field-Marshal.
I have already given my first impressions of Their Majesties the King
and Queen, and time only confirmed them. Neither ever missed an
opportunity to show their appreciation of the part that we were playing.
The zeal with which the King entered into the celebration of our Fourth
of July made him very popular with all our men. He even cultivated a
taste for our national game. Certain of our early contingents of
soldiers encamped near Windsor; here they immediately laid out a
baseball diamond and daily engaged in their favourite sport. The Royal
Family used to watch our men at their play, became interested in the
game, and soon learned to follow it. The Duke of Connaught and the
Princess Patricia, his daughter, had learned baseball through their
several years' residence in Canada, and could watch a match with all the
understanding and enthusiasm of an American "fan." As our sailors and
soldiers arrived in greater numbers, the interest and friendliness of
the Royal Family increased. One of the King's most delightful traits is
his sense of humour. The Queen also showed a great fondness for stories,
and I particularly remember her amusement at the famous remark of the
Australians--perhaps the most ferocious combatants on the Western
Front--about the American soldier, "a good fighter, but a little rough."
Of all the anecdotes connected with our men, none delighted King George
so much as those concerning our coloured troops. A whole literature of
negro yarns spread rapidly over Europe; most of them, I find, have long
since reached the United States. The most lasting impression which I
retain of the head of the British Empire is that he is very much of a
human being. He loved just about the same things as the normal American
or Englishman loves--his family, his friends, his country, a good story,
a pleasant evening with congenial associates. And he had precisely the
same earnestness about the war which one found in every properly
constituted Briton or American; the victories of the Allies exhilarated
King George just as they exhilarated the man in the street, and their
defeats saddened him just as they saddened the humblest citizen. I found
in His Majesty that same solemn sense of comradeship with America which
I found in the English civilians who saluted the American uniform in the
street.
As an evidence of the exceedingly cordial relations existing between
the two navies the Admiralty proposed, in the latter part of May, that I
should assume Admiral Bayly's command for several days while he took a
little vacation on the west coast of Ireland. Admiral Bayly was the
Commander-in-Chief of all the British forces operating on the Irish
coast. This command thus included far more than that at Queenstown; it
comprised several naval stations and the considerable naval forces in
Irish waters. Never before, so I was informed, had a foreign naval
officer commanded British naval forces in time of war. So far as
exercising any control over sea operations was concerned, this
invitation was not particularly important. Matters were running smoothly
at the Queenstown station; Admiral Bayly's second in command could
easily have kept the machine in working order; it was hardly likely, in
the few days that I was to command, that any changes in policy would be
initiated. The British Admiralty merely took this way of showing a great
courtesy to the American navy, and of emphasizing to the world the
excellent relations that existed between the two services. The act was
intended to symbolize the fact that the British and the American navies
were really one in the thoroughness of their co-operation in subduing
the Prussian menace. Incidentally the British probably hoped that the
publication of this news in the German press would not be without effect
in Germany. On June 18th, therefore, I went to Queenstown, and hoisted
my flag on the staff in front of Admiralty House. I had some hesitation
in doing this, for American navy regulations stipulate that an Admiral's
flag shall be raised only on a ship afloat, but Admiral Bayly was
insistent that his flag should come down and that mine should go up, and
I decided that this technicality might be waived. The incident aroused
great interest in England, but it started many queer rumours in
Queenstown. One was that Admiral Bayly and I had quarrelled, the British
Admiral, strangely enough, having departed in high dudgeon and left me
serenely in control. Another was that I had come to Queenstown, seized
the reins out of Admiral Bayly's hands, thrown him out of the country,
and taken over the government of Ireland on behalf of the United States,
which had now determined to free the island from British oppression!
However, in a few days Admiral Bayly returned and all went on as
before.
During the nearly two years which the American naval forces spent in
Europe only one element in the population showed them any hostility or
even unfriendliness. At the moment when these lines are being written a
delegation claiming to represent the "Irish Republic" is touring the
United States, asking Americans to extend their sympathy and contribute
money toward the realization of their project. I have great admiration
for the mass of the Irish people, and from the best elements of these
people the American sailors received only kindness. I have therefore
hesitated about telling just how some members of the Sinn Fein Party
treated our men. But it seems that now when this same brotherhood is
attempting to stir up hatred in this country against our Allies in the
war, there is a certain pertinence in informing Americans just what kind
of treatment their brave sailors met with at the hands of the Sinn Fein
in Ireland.
The people of Queenstown and Cork, as already described, received our
men with genuine Irish cordiality. Yet in a few weeks evidence of
hostility in certain quarters became apparent. The fact is that the part
of Ireland in which the Americans were stationed was a headquarters of
the Sinn Fein. The members of this organization were not only openly
disloyal; they were openly pro-German. They were not even neutral; they
were working day and night for a German victory, for in their misguided
minds a German victory signified an Irish Republic. It was no secret
that the Sinn Feiners were sending information to Germany and constantly
laying plots to interfere with the British and American navies. At first
it might be supposed that the large number of sailors--and some
officers--of Irish extraction on the American destroyers would tend to
make things easier for our men. Quite the contrary proved to be the
case. The Sinn Feiners apparently believed that these so-called
Irish-Americans would sympathize with their cause; in their wildest
moments they even hoped that our naval forces might champion it. But
these splendid sailors were Americans before they were anything else;
their chief ambition was the defeat of the Hun and they could not
understand how any man anywhere could have any other aim in life. They
were disgusted at the large numbers of able-bodied men whom they saw in
the streets, and did not hesitate to ask some of them why they were not
fighting on the Western Front. The behaviour of the American sailors was
good; but the mere fact that they did not openly manifest a hatred of
Great Britain and a love of Germany infuriated the Sinn Feiners. And the
eternal woman question also played its part. Our men had much more money
than the native Irish boys, and could entertain the girls more lavishly
at the movies and ice-cream stands. The men of our fleet and the Irish
girls became excellent friends; the association, from our point of view,
was a very wholesome one, for the moral character of the Irish girls of
Queenstown and Cork--as, indeed, of Irish girls everywhere--is very
high, and their companionship added greatly to the well-being and
contentment of our sailors, not a few of whom found wives among these
young women. But when the Sinn Fein element saw their sweethearts
deserting them for the American boys their hitherto suppressed anger
took the form of overt acts.
Occasionally an American sailor would be brought from Cork to Queenstown
in a condition that demanded pressing medical attention. When he
regained consciousness he would relate how he had suddenly been set upon
by half a dozen roughs and beaten into a state of insensibility. Several
of our men were severely injured in this way. At other times small
groups were stoned by Sinn Fein sympathizers, and there were many
hostile demonstrations in moving-picture houses and theatres. Even more
frequently attacks were made, not upon the American sailors, but upon
the Irish girls who accompanied them. These chivalrous pro-German
agitators would rush up and attempt to tear the girls away from our
young men; they would pull down their hair, slap them, and even kick
them. Naturally American sailors were hardly the type to tolerate
behaviour of this kind, and some bloody battles took place. This
hostility was increased by one very regrettable occurrence in
Queenstown. An American sailor was promenading the main thoroughfare
with an Irish girl, when an infuriated Sinn Feiner rushed up, began to
abuse his former sweetheart in vile language, and attempted to lay hands
on her. The American struck this hooligan a terrific blow; he fell
backward and struck his head on the curb. The fall fractured the
assailant's skull and in a few hours he was dead. We handed our man
over to the civil authorities for trial, and a jury, composed entirely
of Irishmen, acquitted him. The action of this jury in itself indicated
that there was no sympathy among the decent Irish element, which
constituted the great majority, with this sort of tactics, but naturally
it did not improve relations between our men and the Sinn Fein. The
importance of another incident which took place at the cathedral has
been much exaggerated. It is true that a priest in his Sunday sermon
denounced the American sailors as vandals and betrayers of Irish
womanhood, but it is also true that the Roman Catholics of that section
were themselves the most enraged at this absurd proceeding. A number of
Roman Catholic officers who were present left the church in a body; the
Catholic Bishop of the Diocese called upon Admiral Bayly and apologized
for the insult, and he also punished the offending priest by assigning
him to new duties at a considerable distance from the American ships.
But even more serious trouble was brewing, for our officers discovered
that the American sailors were making elaborate plans to protect
themselves. Had this discovery not been made in time, something like an
international incident might have resulted. Much to our regret,
therefore, it was found necessary to issue an order that no naval men,
British or American, under the rank of Commander, should be permitted to
go to Cork. Ultimately we had nearly 8,000 American men at this station;
Queenstown itself is a small place of 6,000 or 7,000, so it is apparent
that it did not possess the facilities for giving such a large number of
men those relaxations which were necessary to their efficiency. We
established a club in Queenstown, provided moving pictures and other
entertainments, and did the best we could to keep our sailors contented.
The citizens of Cork also keenly regretted our action. The great
majority had formed a real fondness for our boys; and they regarded it
as a great humiliation that the rowdy element had made it necessary to
keep our men out of their city. Many letters were printed in the Cork
newspapers apologizing to the Americans and calling upon the people to
take action that would justify us in rescinding our order. The loss to
Cork tradesmen was great; our men received not far from $200,000 to
$300,000 a month in pay; they were free spenders, and their presence in
the neighbourhood for nearly two years would have meant a fortune to
many of the local merchants. Yet we were obliged to refuse to accede to
the numerous requests that the American sailors be permitted to visit
this city.
A committee of distinguished citizens of Cork, led by the Lord Mayor,
came to Admiralty House to plead for the rescinding of this order.
Admiral Bayly cross-examined them very sharply. It appeared that the men
who had committed these offences against American sailors had never been
punished.
Unless written guarantees were furnished that there would be no hostile
demonstrations against British or Americans, Admiral Bayly refused to
withdraw the ban, and I fully concurred in this decision. Unfortunately
the committee could give no such guarantee. We knew very well that the
first appearance of Americans in Cork would be the signal for a renewal
of hostilities, and the temper of our sailors was such that the most
deplorable consequences might have resulted. We even discovered that the
blacksmiths on the U.S.S. _Melville_ were surreptitiously manufacturing
weapons which our men could conceal on their persons and with which they
proposed to sally forth and do battle with the Sinn Fein! So for the
whole period of our stay in Queenstown our sailors were compelled to
keep away from the dangerous city. But the situation was not without its
humorous aspects. Thus the pretty girls of Cork, finding that the
Americans could not come to them, decided to come to the Americans;
every afternoon a trainload would arrive at the Queenstown station,
where our sailors would greet them, give them a splendid time, and then,
in the evening, escort them to the station and send a happy crowd on
their way home.
But the Sinn Feiners interfered with us in much more serious ways than
this. They were doing everything in their power to help Germany. With
their assistance German agents and German spies were landed in Ireland.
At one time the situation became so dangerous that I had to take
experienced officers whose services could ill be spared from our
destroyers and assign them to our outlying air stations in Ireland.
This, of course, proportionately weakened our fleet and did its part in
prolonging the war.