World's War Events Volume III Part 3

[Sidenote: A destroyer is torpedoed but does not sink.]

I don't suppose I can tell you which boat either, if the authorities won't. You do not know any one on board of her, however. They saw it coming, jammed on full speed, and nearly cleared it. It took them just at the stern and blew off about 30 feet as neatly as son would bite the end off a banana. The submarine heard the explosion, of course, from below, and came to the surface to see the "d.a.m.ned Yankee" sink, only to find the rudderless, sternless boat steaming full speed in a circle with her one remaining propeller, and to be greeted by a salvo of four-inch sh.e.l.ls that made her duck promptly. The man killed saw the torpedo coming and ran aft to throw overboard some high explosives stowed there--but he didn't quite make it.

[Sidenote: Damaged destroyers somehow get back to port.]

Our destroyers are really wonderful boats--you can shoot off one end of them, ram them, cut them in two, and still they float and get to port somehow.

Some time ago, on a pitch-dark night, one of them was rammed by a British boat and nearly cut in two. Was there a panic? Not at all. As she settled in the water, they got out their boats and life-rafts, the officers and a few selected men stayed on board, and the rest pulled off in the darkness singing, "Are we downhearted? No!" and "Hail, hail, the gang's all here." She floated, though with her deck awash; the boats were recalled, and they brought her in. She is fixed up and back in the game again now.

OCTOBER 25.

[Sidenote: British destroyers fight raiders.]

[Sidenote: The Admiral strict as a Prussian.]

Where did you hear that about two destroyers being sunk off the coast of Ireland on September 3? False alarm. Of course, you have read in the papers about the convoy destroyed in the North Sea by German raiders.

The two British destroyers with the convoy stood up to them and fought as a bulldog would fight a tiger--and with the same result. Somebody was arguing with the Admiral, our boss, to the effect that it would have been better for them to have saved themselves, trailed the raiders, and sent radio, so that the British cruisers could have intercepted and destroyed them. Said the Admiral, "Yes, it would have been better, but I would court-martial and shoot the man that did it." He's a wonder to serve under, as grim and strict as a Prussian, but very just, and runs things in a way that secures all our admiration--though we may fuss a bit when, expecting two or three comfortable days in port, we get chased out on short notice into a raving gale outside.

A BRITISH DOCK YARD, NOVEMBER 4.

[Sidenote: A friend on hospital duty.]

There are lots of our army people here. Some of them are just pa.s.sing through, while others are stationed at near-by training camps or hospitals. I was wandering around the big hotel here, when I saw a familiar face in army uniform, and who should it be but M----. Much joy!

He is near here, on temporary duty at a British hospital. I had him over to the ship for lunch, and hope to see him again. I certainly respect that boy. He has no military ambitions, and wishes the war were over, so he could get back to his wife and children; but _he_ answered the call while others were hiding behind volleys of language, and he is here to see it through. I am afraid he is homesick and lonely, for it is harder for a boy who does not know the English than for us hardened mercenaries, who are accustomed to hobn.o.b with everybody from Cubans to Cossacks.

[Sidenote: The American uniform and the British.]

I will be glad when American Army and Navy uniforms are designed by a tailor who really knows something about it. Alas, our people are distinctly inferior to the British in the cut of their jib. I think it is the high standing collar that queers us. It is only at its best when one stands at Attention--head up, chest out, arms at side--being distinctly a parade uniform. The British, with their rolling collar, and coat tight where it may be, and loose where it needs to be, are, you might say, less military and better dressed.

Tell the Enfant that I am very proud when he gets gold honor-marks on his school-papers, and I think that it probably means about the same as a star on a midshipman's collar. (That ought to get him.)

I must close and get a bit of sleep. It seems as if, when it is all over, all the heaven I will want, is to be with you and son again, perfectly quiet.

AT SEA, NOVEMBER 16.

[Sidenote: True democracy is in a way inefficient.]

I think a true democracy is necessarily inefficient in a way. The only really efficient government in the world is the one which we intend to pull down, or else go down ourselves, trying to!

Can't you imagine, in the dim Valhalla beyond, how the archer of Pharaoh, the swordsman from the plains before Troy, and the Roman legionary will greet the hurrying souls of the aviator, the bomb-thrower, and the bayonet-man with, "Brother, what were you?"

I'd hate to have to explain to their uncomprehending ears what a conscientious objector is!

DECEMBER 2.

[Sidenote: a.s.suming command.]

Well, to-day is one of the big days of my life, for I a.s.sumed command of this little packet. I put on my sword and fixings and reported to Captain Paine, who was most benevolent. Several of us went on sh.o.r.e to celebrate with a little dinner. Some of the boys just over joined in, and we became involved with some Highland officers of a fighting regiment famous throughout Europe for the last three hundred years.

One's first ship, like the first baby is an event that cannot be duplicated.

DECEMBER 21.

[Sidenote: A jammed rudder leaves the destroyer unmanageable.]

I needed your letter, being about twenty years older than I was a week ago. No, no harm done. Just had my first experience of what it means under certain circ.u.mstances to be in command. Went out with certain others on a certain job. All went well, though we had a poor grade of oil in our bunkers and were burning more than we should ordinarily.

Then, through certain chances, we had to go farther than expected.

Still, I figured to get back with a moderate margin, when the gale struck us. You may have read of Biscay storms; well, believe me, they are not over-rated. I have seen just as bad, perhaps, but not from the deck of a destroyer. And while I am frantically calculating whether I shall have enough fuel to make port or not, there is a wild yell from the bridge that the rudder is jammed at hard-a-starboard and can't be moved. She, of course, at once fell off into the trough of the sea, and the big green combers swept clear over her at every roll, raising merry hob. All the boats were smashed to kindling-wood; chests, and everything on deck not riveted down, went over the side. In that sea you could no more manoeuvre by your engines alone than you could dam Niagara with a handful of sand. A man alongside of me aft, where we were working on the steering-gear, was swept overboard, but, having a line around his waist, was hauled back like a hooked fish.

All I could do was to steam in a big circle, and at one point would be running before it, and could work for an instant or two with the seas running up to our waists. When they get over your head, you probably won't be there any longer. At that time I didn't really expect to stay afloat, but was too busy with the matters in hand to care. Well, we finally got it fixed, though we could only use about 15 degrees of rudder instead of full.

[Sidenote: Lack of fuel causes worry.]

All this time we were drifting merrily to leeward at a rate that I hated even to guess at, with the certainty, unless matters mended, of eventually piling up on the Spanish coast, then not far away, though I hadn't had sight of sun or stars in days, and didn't know within fifty miles where I was. Well, when I finally headed up into it, I could just about hold her, without making any headway to speak of. You cannot drive a destroyer dead into a heavy sea at full speed without bursting her in two. Still, the situation would have been nothing to worry about much if I had had sufficient fuel. Now, you on sh.o.r.e may fancy that a ship just keeps on steaming till she gets there, whether it takes a month or more; but such is far from the case. Every mile you go consumes just so much fuel, and, if your margin of safety is too small, you are liable to be out of luck. And my calculations showed me that while I was using up oil enough to be making ---- knots, in the teeth of the gale we were only making ---- knots, and that at that rate I never would make port.

[Sidenote: Three courses are possible.]

[Sidenote: The destroyer makes France.]

[Sidenote: Steel the aristocrat among metals.]

There were three courses open to me: to let her drift, consuming my oil, in the hope that it would blow over; to run into a Spanish port; or to run for France, my destination, and, if I fell short of it, to yell for help by radio, and trust to luck that they could send out and pick me up. The first course was too risky. I would be making untold miles to leeward all the time, would probably roll the masts and funnels out of her, and maybe burst down anyhow, too far off for help. The second choice was the safest. I could reach Ferrol or Vigo all right, but they would probably try to intern me; and while I had heard that King Alfonso was a regular guy and a good scout to run around with, the ensuing diplomatic complications would make me about as popular in Allied circles as the proverbial skunk at a bridge-party. So I took the final alternative, and jammed her into the teeth of it for all I thought she could stand without imitating an opera hat or an accordion. And, glory be, she made it, the blessed little old cross between a porpoise and a safety-razor blade! Whether the gale really moderated, or I got more nerve, I don't know; but anyhow I gave her more and more, half a knot at a time, until we were actually making appreciable headway against it. I never thought any ship could stand the bludgeoning she got. It seemed as if every rivet must shear, every frame and stanchion crush, under the impact of the Juggernaut seas that hurtled into her. As a thoroughbred horse starts and trembles under the touch of the whip, so she reared and trembled, only to bury herself again in the roaring Niagara of water.

Oh, you thoroughbred high-tensile steel! blue-blooded aristocrat among metals; Bethlehem or Midvale may claim you--you are none the less worthy of the Milan casque, the Damascus blade, your forefathers!

Verily, I believe you hold on by sheer nerve, when by all physical laws should buckle or bend to the shock!

[Sidenote: Torpedo detonators spilt on deck.]

And so we kept on. Don't you know, how in the stories it is always in a terrific gale that the caged lion or gorilla or python breaks loose and terrorizes the ship? We don't sport a menagerie on the ----, but I did pick up the contents of the dry gun-cotton case, which had broken and spilt the torpedo detonators around on deck contiguous to the hot radiator! And, of course, the decks below were knee-deep in books, clothes, dishes, etc., complicated in some compartments by a foot or two of oil and water.

[Sidenote: Soundings and landmarks.]

Well, the next day we made a little more, and the seas were only gigantic, not t.i.tanic. The oil was holding out better, too, as we struck a better grade in some of our tanks, and I saw that we had a fighting chance of making it. By night I felt almost confident we could, and I really slept some. Next day I expected to make land, but, of course, had little idea how far I might really be from my reckoning. Nevertheless, we sighted ---- Light about where I expected to, and laid a course from there into the harbor. It was a rather thick, foggy day, and pretty soon I noted a cunning little rock or two, dead ahead, where they didn't by any means belong. So I rather hurriedly arrested further progress, took soundings, and bearings of different landmarks, and found that we were some twenty-five miles from our reckoning--so far, in fact, as to have picked up the next light-house instead of the one we thought.

After this 'twas plain sailing, though I had never been into that port before. Made it about noon, took possession of a convenient mooring-buoy inside the breakwater--which buoy I found out later was sacred to the French flag-ship or somebody like that--called on our Admiral there, and was among friends. Yes, by heck, I let 'em buy me a drink at the club--I needed it! Had oil enough left for just about an hour more!

Copyright, Atlantic Monthly, April, 1918.

While the great campaigns were being waged on the western fronts, there was being carried on in a more remote part of the world a series of operations which involved as hard fighting and as many difficulties as were encountered in any other field of action. The campaigns in East Africa which resulted in driving the Germans from their former colonies are described in the following narrative.