Chapter IV: Part II: Running The War Zone (1)

FIRST VOYAGE TO LIVERPOOL

S. H.

At 7.34 A. M., December 15, 1917, the _Leviathan_ left her pier in Hoboken for her first trip across the Atlantic. Twelve tugs were employed to assist in swinging the bow of the giant ship toward the sea. The following organizations and numbers of troops were on board, in addition to some notable passengers:

No. 7,254. Organizations—Base Hospital, No. 31, Female; Base Hospital, No. 34, 82nd Brigade Hdqts., 163rd Inf., 164th Inf.; Commanding Officer, Brig. General Edward Vellruth, 82nd Brigade.

The morning was rather raw, with the snow falling heavily, but nothing could dampen the ardor of the 7,254 troops and 2,000 sailors on board. We were about to cross the ocean, most of us for the first time, and the hazard of the perils of the submarine, whose operations were more active at this period of the war than at any other time, and the excitement of the adventure, if nothing else, was sufficient reason for everyone to keep his spirit up.

Passing through Ambrose Channel, the ship headed for the open sea with the compass pointing due east and the propellers revolving at the rate of 158 revolutions per minute, which is equivalent to 21 knots. Until sundown this same night, a zig-zag course was maintained, not because of the danger of submarines, for none were reported off the Atlantic coast at this time, but in order to give the officers and men on the bridge an opportunity to become thoroughly acquainted with this method so as to be familiar with it when in the danger zone.

Abandon ship drills were held this day, all members on board falling in at their respective boats and rafts in a quite orderly fashion and lowering the boats in a remarkably short time.

At 2.00 A. M. the next day, December 16th, lights of western-bound ships were sighted off the port bow. The sky was completely overcast, with a rough northwest sea, accompanied with fresh strong breezes. Our speed averaged 20 knots this day, all 46 boilers in the fireroom being in commission. The clocks were advanced 47 minutes.

The next day a moderate gale was blowing and we passed through heavy rain squalls. Due to the heavy sea our speed was reduced. The sky remained overcast with the barometer dropping steadily giving little hope of the weather moderating. The customary drills of abandon ship and fire alarm were gone through. The water-tight doors, so essential in case of submarine attacks, were tested and found O. K.

The sea moderated sufficiently the next day to allow us to increase speed once more, this time to 21½ knots, although the ship rolled and pitched considerably as the heavy swells struck her, many of the troops on board showing the effects of the inevitable _mal-de-mer_. We passed through a thick fog when off the Grand Banks.

On the 19th, while holding abandon ship drill, twelve rounds of ammunition were fired from the various guns, in order to keep them in tip-top shape and to give their crews the necessary training in loading and firing. At night the sky cleared considerably, the first sign of good weather we had since leaving Hoboken. The barometer rose steadily, a smooth sea running with a moderate breeze. From day to day we continued setting our clocks ahead. Up to this time the entire crew was in ignorance of the ship’s destination, but when the course was changed to northeast, it was quite apparent to us that we were headed for “Blighty.”

We were passing through the Gulf Stream and the weather remained clear and fairly warm. A private in Co. H, 163rd Regt., was placed in the brig for safekeeping, at the request of the brigade commander, demonstrating that the soldiers on board were subject to the same discipline as were the crew. Not long after this a member of the crew was disciplined for failing to wear his life-jacket.

The good weather did not remain with us very long, for on the 22nd the wind picked up to 65 miles an hour. We were rapidly approaching the war-zone and the men were continually cautioned not to neglect wearing their life-preservers at all times, day and night, not to undress upon turning in, and never to strike a match on the open deck at night. In fact, it was contrary to ship regulations for an enlisted man to carry any matches at all about his person. It is a fact that the glare of a lighted match or cigarette is visible for half a mile on the open sea at night and guards vigilantly patrolled the outer decks in order to prevent any neglect along this line.

About midnight, while running close to the danger zone, the wire controlling the siren contracted, due to the extreme cold weather, and like a bolt out of a clear sky, the siren went off automatically. The siren is used only in case of emergency, to notify all hands on board of some impending danger, and going off accidentally as it did caused quite some excitement on board, especially in the case of the Red Cross nurses. Many of the latter had been quite seasick the greater part of the trip, but the excitement tended to relieve them somewhat. After some difficulty the trouble was remedied.

At 4 A. M., the morning of the 23rd, in a treacherous sea, our convoy of American destroyers, the famous submarine annoyers, were picked up. It is hard for one to describe the feeling and excitement of picking up a convoy of destroyers at night and we believe that it is quite impossible for the reader to understand how much it means to 10,000 souls on a ship in the danger zone when the word is passed that destroyers are with us. On the morning of December 23rd, at 4 A. M., out of the black sky just before dawn and in a heavy sea with a strong wind blowing, a small white wake was seen by the lookout on the bridge. At first it was taken for the wake of a periscope and the gun crews were called to quarters, then as the guns were trained on it, a small white flash was seen blinking the American recognition signal, and we then knew that it was one of our destroyers. We picked them up out of the black sky and a heavy sea until there were seven little wasps that spelled danger to the Hun submarine. They sped along with us while we zigzagged in and out on our course. They crossed our bow and ran in and far out on each side of us, always looking for the sub that might be lying in wait for us. Their motto was “go get ’em.” They never waited for a sub to attack first, they always started the fight provided that “Fritz” was willing to show himself and we want to say right here that he was very reluctant to do so when an American destroyer showed itself.

It was difficult to carry on signal communication with the destroyers in a heavy sea; they were submerged in the trough so that their slender masts looked like periscopes.

THE OUTER GUARD

A tribute to the Destroyers by JOHN OXENHAM

Bold watchers of the deep,
Guards of the Greater Ways,
How shall our swelling hearts express
Our heights and depths of thankfulness
For these safeguarded days?

Grim is your vigil there,
Black day and blacker night;
Watching for life, while knavish death
Lurks all around, above, beneath,
Waiting his chance to smite.

Your hearts are stouter than
The worst that Death can do.
Our thoughts for you!—our prayers for you!
There’s One aloft that cares for you,
And He will see you through.

Don’t think we e’er forget
The debt we owe to you!
Never a night but we pray for you!
Never a day but we say for you—
“God bless the gallant lads in blue!
With mighty strength their hearts renew.
Bless every ship and every crew!
Give every man his rightful due!
And bring them all, Oh, God! safe through.”

A submarine was reported on the surface of the water in the early afternoon, about seven miles off the starboard beam, but upon her flashing out the recognition call we immediately knew her to belong to one of the Allies, very probably British. Soon after this a British dirigible was sighted dead ahead. She was painted aluminum color, rendering her almost invisible in the distance and apparently she was doing scouting duty in these waters.

At 5 P. M., the 23rd, South Stack Lighthouse was passed on our beam, and we headed our course up St. George’s Channel. After sundown the destroyer that had our pilot on board took up a position directly ahead of us and acted as guide for the entire convoy.

Later in the evening, 8.36 P. M., our engines were slowed down to allow the pilot to board from the destroyer and at 9.42 that night both engines stopped completely and our anchor was dropped just outside of Liverpool, England, while the destroyers circled around us during the night, protecting us from any possible attack. We passed the night in this anchorage. At 6 A. M. the next day, December 24th, we up-anchored and headed for the River Mersey, passing close to Bar Light Vessel. One of the men stationed aboard this vessel gave us a “Merry Christmas” through a large megaphone. Many of us had almost forgotten that this was the day before Christmas; in fact, as later events proved, Christmas had very little cheer for us.

Formby light was passed at 8.45, and Crosby Light 27 minutes later. We were now in the Mersey, our speed was reduced and because of the shallowness of the water in the river, men were placed in the chains to sound continually the depths of the water. We steamed up the river without mishap and ran alongside the Princess Landing Stage, which because of the heavy draft of the tide in this river, is a floating stage. Our lines were thrown to the dock and made fast. No sooner had this been accomplished than the gangway was thrown over and the soldiers commenced disembarking. This continued throughout the day.

Shortly after arriving news came to us of the sinking of a British pilot boat, with the loss of all hands. This same pilot boat had been mined in almost the same position that we were lying in the night before, in fact many of us remembered the boat as it was cruising around us, warning all outgoing ships of the latest submarine activities. It was purely a matter of luck that we had escaped a similar fate.

The celebrated docking of the biggest ship in the world at Liverpool, without plans, by Naval Constructor Alfred W. Minuse, N. R., is the subject of a special article.

CENTER—WAR PAINT.

LOWER—DISEMBARKING TROOPS (LIVERPOOL).]

LIVERPOOL

J. M.

The first liberty party from the _Leviathan_ while in Liverpool, left the ship at 4.30 P. M. on December 24th, and was due back at noon on the 25th, which was Christmas, and it turned out to be a gloomy, cheerless Christmas, for most of the boys had never been away from home on that sacred day before. Their first impression of the city was a poor one—dimly-lighted streets, cold rain, dark alleys, and foggy river. Dismal, indeed, after leaving a land of sunshine and bright lights and coming to a land mostly of darkness and rain. The sun did not rise during this time of the year until nearly 9 o’clock, at least that was the time that it was supposed to rise, but it was seldom that we had the pleasure of seeing it even for a full hour. Sunset was at 3.30 P. M., or in the vicinity, so it will be seen that the days were real short during this season. To think that we were to spend two months or more in this country! We certainly were sorry for the men who were stationed there and we would not change places with them for a Navy clothing contract. The city appeared remarkably true to type and character described by Conan Doyle in his books. Without a doubt our impression would have been much better if we had been there in time of peace. We did not realize the trials that England had been through in the years before we entered the war. Her best men had gone to fight and her streets had to be kept dark because of air raids. Then there was a food problem. The German U-boats sunk everything possible that came within the range of a torpedo or a gun, so it may be seen that England depended mostly on her ships to bring food to her brave people and armies. When our crew went ashore it was with great dismay that they viewed the food problem—a meat card, a bread card, a tea card, a butter card, were all necessary for a fellow to get a meal, and what was worst of all, there was no sugar for our coffee and not being tea drinkers we were very much grieved to find out that we must use a chemical called saccharine to sweeten our coffee. However, we soon got used to it, but whenever possible we stayed on the ship for meals to make sure of things. It may be mentioned that at the time there was no American Y. M. C. A. in Liverpool. The English “Y” was as bad as the restaurants as far as eating was concerned. The English mode of travel was another puzzle to the American Bluejacket, there being three different class distinctions. It seemed queer to an Englishman that an American sailor should ride in a first class compartment on a train supposed to be only for the “higher class” people. It took our bluejackets quite some time and cost a few black eyes and bumped noses to convince some Englishmen that an American would not stand for any inferior rating.

The English money was not such a puzzle as we had expected to find it. In a few days and with the loss of a few dollars in short change we soon learned to count it. We even have reason to believe that during our first few liberties ashore we actually received full value for our money in some instances. One of the many questions asked us on our return was: How and what are the English girls like? Gee! what a question to deal with. Well, here goes for a hard try to be fair in all cases. We found that most English girls are not stuck up and are always willing to speak to a “gob” if he so desired. They are more masculine than our girls. Girls run after a car and hop on it while it is going at a good speed, and as far as good looks are concerned there are pretty girls and then there are others—of course this may be found the world over and in any country. The streets of the city were, for the most part, narrow and nearly always muddy and if a fellow came back to the ship without wet feet it was something unusual. There were shows of different kinds: vaudeville, drama, and musical comedy, not forgetting the movies and Charlie Chaplin. The shows helped to fill up a great lot of our time.

We were not at all sorry when we were told that we were to leave in a few days, as all the necessary work had been finished. The ship had been camouflaged in a most queer design by English experts, which made it appear more grotesque than ever.

The camouflage design was so perfect that when the destroyer convoy met us at sea it was necessary for them to approach us in the shape of a fan to make sure as to the direction we were going. Many persons have been misled as to the real use of camouflage on ships. Contrary to most beliefs it is not to make a ship absolutely invisible to a submarine, but to deceive the eye of the periscope in the submarine. A ship is disguised so that from a distance it appears to be going in an opposite direction, or on an angle to the real course traveled.

On Lincoln’s Birthday the _Leviathan_ left Liverpool. We had gone through a rough vigil. If one were to ask us what it was we liked best in Liverpool we would have answered, “The first ship back to the states,” for Liverpool, with its bleak, dimly-lighted streets and the piercing, foggy atmosphere was no attraction.

We were in a heavy sea practically from the time we left the Mersey until within a day or two of New York.

One interesting event occurred soon after our departure. The _Porter_, one of the crackerjack destroyers, sighted a suspicious spar in the water. With an abrupt change of course, and almost turning in her own length, she made direct for the object, dropping a 300-pound depth charge of T. N. T., which blew the spar to atoms. At this time the crew was down “chowing,” enjoying the famous _Leviathan_ “turnovers.” The explosion of this charge shook the ship and all hands rushed on deck.

HIGH SEAS

The violent seas broke over our fo’castle, throwing the spray as high as the flying bridge, 100 feet above the water. It tore gun rails apart, lifted lifeboats from their fastenings, opened shell cases and did considerable all-around damage. Some good came of it—the first division men found no reason to wash down decks for some time to come.

The destroyers were unable to keep up with us, and it is remarkable that they stayed with us as long as they did. The sea proved too much for them. When caught in the trough formed by two high waves, hardly more than the top of their stacks and masts was discernible. They trailed behind us the entire next day, within radio call, and turned back upon receiving word from us that we were out of the danger zone. The danger from submarines was rather slight when it is considered how difficult a matter it would be for them to launch a torpedo accurately in a heavy sea.

We continued upon our course without event until off the Grand Banks of Newfoundland. Here we ran into a fog so thick that it was impossible to see our bow from the bridge, and every minute for eight hours of this day our steam fog whistle blew steadily, warning all nearby ships of our approach.

Nantucket Lightship, the first indication of land, was reported by one of the signal boys on the night of February 18th. Montauk Point and Shinnecock Lights soon followed and the next morning found us at the entrance to New York Harbor, our first overseas trip successfully completed.

The ship was brought up the river to the dock in the thickest fog seen for years. Capt. W. S. McLaughlin gauged the turn nicely and Capt. W. J. Bernard had a tug stationed at the end of Pier 4 to guide the _Leviathan_ in by whistle signal. It was a highly creditable performance.

_Second Trip to Liverpool_

After a stay of thirteen days in New York, during which time our supplies were replenished and minor repairs and alterations were made, we steamed out of New York Harbor on March 4th, for our second trip overseas. On board we had 8,242 troops, with the following organizations:

120th Field Artillery, 121st Field Artillery, 2nd Motor Mechanics, 9th and 10th Brigades, 20th F. A., 5th Div. School; Maj. Gen. J. T. Dickman. Accompanying us was H. B. Davison, Chairman of the War Council, American Red Cross. After passing out of the channel we dropped our Pilot at Sandy Hook and once more set our course at 90 degrees headed due east. Fire Island Light was passed abeam at 2.43 the same afternoon. We were making a standard speed of 20 knots which was maintained throughout the day while the weather remained clear and the sea smooth. After sundown the ship was darkened with the exception of a few blue lights, commonly known as battle lights, located at the various watertight doors and at the stairways. For two days following, the weather remained moderate with occasional rain squalls and light northeast winds. From this time on all of our watertight doors were kept closed while an army guard kept constant watch on all doors to see that they were not tampered with or opened. Abandon ships drills were held each day and it may be mentioned that there was ample lifeboat equipment for every soldier aboard. Each soldier was provided with a lifebelt. On the afternoon of March 7th smoke was sighted dead ahead, we discovered it was a British cruiser and a half hour later we passed her, on our starboard beam 15,000 yards distant. On this same day a soldier on board was placed in solitary confinement for making seditious remarks.

At 6.15 A. M., March 9th, the following radio message, which was sent broadcast to all ships, was received:

“Vessels may meet three Allied submarines now proceeding from
New London to Bermuda. Not escorted at present.”

We entered the War Zone on the eight to twelve watch on the morning of March 11th, picking up our escort of destroyers, seven in number.

The rendezvous is previously arranged by cable and the destroyers are picked up by wireless from 24 to 36 hours before meeting. The times of arrival at the rendezvous are exchanged, and the meeting place arranged.

After picking up our escort, of which the Destroyer _Manly_ was the senior ship, we proceeded on a zigzag course heading again for Liverpool. While passing through St. George’s Channel the _Manly_ was seen to suddenly swerve out of the formation and while only 800 yards from our port bow she commenced firing with her forward battery and fired a five-inch shell apparently at some suspicious object sighted. She immediately dropped a depth charge. It was so close that the _Leviathan_ shook from stem to stern and many thought that we had struck a mine. What the object was we do not know, but if it was a sub, we extend our most heartfelt sympathies to the families of the crew. We proceeded on our trip without further event and the following afternoon found us in Liverpool once more. Immediately upon arriving the disembarking of troops and baggage was begun. The next morning, before all troops had left the ship, it was necessary for us to proceed to dry dock while the tide was high. One of the river ferry-boats unfortunately passed too close to us and suffered considerable damage, although she had been properly warned to give us right of way.

Safely moored in Gladstone Dock this same afternoon, the disembarking of troops was continued and completed the next morning. It was fine to see regiments of American troops, with flags unfurled and bands playing popular Yankee airs, marching to war. The boys aroused the admiration of the English.

Our stay in Liverpool, from March 12th to April 10th, was similar to the previous one. Minor repairs were made and our troop-carrying capacity was increased.

English contractors had been coaling the ship for at least three weeks and a few days before sailing it was found necessary for the crew to take this work in hand. The men worked faithfully, night and day, for each additional ton placed in the bunkers brought them so much closer to America—“God’s Country.”

GERMAN PRISONERS

On April 9th, thirty-seven German prisoners, captured by the destroyers _Fanning_ and _Nicholson_ when they bombed and sank the U-58, were brought on board under guard for transportation to the United States. These prisoners consisted of thirty-three enlisted men, one warrant officer, and three commissioned officers. They were young men, their senior officer had been awarded the Iron Cross.

Previous to their arrival arrangements had been made by the ship to guard them on the trip over. Twelve shot-guns of English make were purchased ashore and sawed off by the ship’s armorer to make them more effective for this sort of work. The aft brig was put in readiness for the enlisted prisoners, while staterooms on “C” deck were set aside for the officers. Chief petty officers were detailed to guard the officers on the trip over, while the guarding of the enlisted men was taken care of by the regular ship’s guard. Each prisoner wore a patch of red cloth on his right leg to signify that he was a prisoner of war.

The C. P. O.’s guarding the prisoners had been torpedoed by a submarine a short time previous and bore no great love for their charges.

It was quite a jolt to their high pride to be captured by the “Yanks” and sent home by the “Yanks” on a German ship taken over by the “Yanks,” but the enlisted men seemed pleased that they had been captured and their lives were at least safe. Incidentally they showed no good feelings toward their former officers. One of the men, a machinist, had formerly been a bartender in Boston and one of the officers had been engaged in business in Cincinnati some years prior to the war.

The officers were a dignified set and they seemed surprised that they were not given unusual consideration. For instance, one of them asked his guard why he did not have hot water in his room. He was not highly elated when the guard retorted, “You people built the ship, why didn’t you pipe it to suit yourselves?”

The German officers dined in the Ritz-Carlton Mess Hall, where our own officers dined, but at a table set aside for them and under guard.

On April 13th, while en route to New York, we fired flat nose shells from each gun for tests. The German prisoners below thought we were firing at another of their “subs” and were much excited. The prisoners showed much interest as to what arrangements had been made for their abandoning ship, if occasion required, and did not seem any too pleased when they were informed that the same arrangements had been made for them as they had made for the lost souls on the _Lusitania_. Of course this was not literally true.

It might be mentioned that their first meal aboard this ship consisted of a favorite dish, frankfurters and sauerkraut. This was not pre-arranged, but incidentally happened to be on the menu that night.

The trip home was without further event, except for a small iceberg sighted the second day out. We arrived in Hoboken on the afternoon of the 17th, and were welcomed by the usual crowds that lined the docks. The German submarine prisoners were taken off and placed under marine guard, and thence sent down to Fort McPherson, Ga.

The German officers moved off with disdain but their enlisted men waved a cordial good-bye to the ship and her crew. This incident illustrated their phase of mind, finally culminating in the mutinies of the German sailors at Kiel and Wilhelmshafen and effectually prevented a clashing of the German fleet and the Allied Navy.

_Third Trip Overseas_

Late in the afternoon of April 24th, the _Leviathan_ cast off her lines once more, after a short stay of only seven days in Hoboken. The patent log, which registers the speed of the ship, was streamed from the taff-rail upon our departure and a standard speed of eighteen knots was maintained until past Ambrose Channel Light Vessel.

Troops and organizations on board were as follows:

Troops, 8,909. Men in 11th Infantry; 15th Machine Gun Battalion; Base Hospital No. 20, Female; Base Hospital No. 30, Female; 304th Field Artillery; 306th Field Artillery; 302d Supply Train of the 77th Div. N. A.; Brig. General Walter H. Gordon, 10th Infantry Brigade.

Exceptionally mild weather was encountered on the entire trip across, especially in the Gulf Stream, the temperature of the water at times running as high as 73 degrees. Numerous flying-fish and schools of Porpoise were observed from day to day. The spouting fish would cause us to keep our gaze fixed upon him. Gliding through the water he greatly resembles the wake of a periscope.

The opinion was expressed on board that this time France would be our destination. Our cargo holds were loaded to the top with all sorts of army equipment, camouflaged artillery wagons, automobile trucks, shell cases, etc. After the fourth day out the men on the bridge knew for an absolute fact, by the course steered, that we were heading for France and many of us already saw ourselves walking up the main street of Paris with a girl on each arm. Little did we know how keen our disappointment would be, for as later events proved, our views of France were to be observed from a coal barge, three long miles away from the mainland.

Occasionally a convoy of perhaps ten or twelve vessels would be sighted, hull below the horizon and just the masts visible, presenting a peculiar sight, keeping pace with us for a few hours and gradually disappearing. It was unusual for a lone ship to be sighted, for the safest method of travel was in convoy, escorted by cruisers or destroyers. Extremely precautionary methods were always taken with ships sighted without escort, a change of course usually effected to give such vessels a wide berth. They were always looked upon with suspicion by us, especially sailing vessels, for instances have been reported of German U-boats rigging up two or three sails and floating on the surface of the water to resemble harmless, slow-moving schooners.

PRECAUTIONS TAKEN

In addition to these we gave wide berth to any floating objects observed, such as barrels, spars, wooden cases, etc., for fear that these were dangerous mines. On one occasion, while in the danger zone, our starboard guns were fired on a suspicious object which later proved to be a spouting black-fish. Absolutely no chances were taken. Our motto, because of the 12,000 souls aboard, was “Safety First.” A transport, especially one nearly 1,000 feet long, presents a huge target for a U-boat, and must necessarily act on the defensive, not offensive.

Everything went well on this journey until very close to land. We were escorted by the usual destroyers and were prepared to make land fall, when the good weather we had been having was interrupted by an extremely heavy fog. Although still in the danger zone our speed was necessarily decreased. It is almost impossible to navigate in a thick fog and consequently our engines were brought almost to a standstill. Looking out on our starboard beam, through the thick fog, an object was seen to approach us. This proved to be one of our destroyers, which hove close to. Through a megaphone an officer on our bridge shouted, “We don’t know where we are. Do you?” To which came the most disappointing answer, “No.” Here was a ticklish situation. Floundering around in a section of water that was a hot-bed for submarines, we were all considerably on the alert. Suddenly through the thick fog, from the destroyer, came the report, “Black and white buoy on starboard beam.” All breathed a sigh of relief, for that buoy signified mid-channel and that we were following a course that would lead us direct to our destination. This was a bit of clever navigation, even if we say so ourselves.

We entered the harbor of Brest, France, on the afternoon of May 2d, just as the fog lifted. Our eyes beheld a beautiful harbor, surrounded on the mainland by the prettiest green fields and old-fashioned farm-houses, with a clear sky overhead and a hot sun beating down on the deep, blue water of the Goulet. Our mooring was made to a large buoy, for in Brest there are very few docks and none large enough for a ship of our dimensions.

Hastily the disembarkation of troops and cargo was begun and simultaneously the crew turned to on the coal barges with a will, shovelling 4,600 tons of coal in the ship’s bunkers within 48 hours.

The colored men from the stevedore regiments stationed at Brest, assisted materially in this work, coaling from barges on the starboard side of the ship, while two regimental bands retained on board to entertain the men filled the air with the latest “jazz” band music.

We were soon under way again leaving Brest on the evening of May 5th, bound for New York.

BREST

Brest is a seaport in the northwest of France, department of Finisterre. It has one of the best harbors in France and is the chief station of the French marine having safe roads capable of containing 500 men-of-war in from eight to fifteen fathoms at low water. The entrance is narrow and rocky and the coast on both sides is well fortified. The design to make it a naval arsenal originated with Richelieu and was carried out by Duquesne and Vauban in the reign of Louis XIV, with the result that the town was made almost impregnable. Brest stands on the summit and sides of a projecting ridge, many of the streets being exceedingly steep. Several of the docks have been cut in the solid rock, and a breakwater extends far into the roadstead. The manufactures of Brest are inconsiderable, but it has an extensive trade in cereals, wine, brandy, sardines, mackerel, and colonial goods. It is connected with America by a cable terminating near Duxbury, Mass.

The English and Dutch were repulsed at Brest in 1694. In 1794 it was blockaded by Howe, who won a great victory off the coast over the French fleet.

Our escort of destroyers remained with us until the following morning, May 6th, seeing us safely through the war zone. The remainder of our voyage was accomplished at a speed of twenty knots without event of importance until arriving off Ambrose Light, the entrance to New York Harbor. Here a thick fog again delayed us, causing us to drop anchor until late in the afternoon of the same day, May 12th. The sky cleared about this time and we proceeded up the channel and to our regularly assigned berth, making fast to the dock in Hoboken at 9:28 P. M.

When the members of the crew went ashore they were subjected to excited cross-examination by many people, for rumor had decreed that we had been torpedoed and sunk with a tremendous loss of life. Of course we were not permitted to divulge any information along this line, but it was amusing to hear what interesting stories were narrated by the home-folk and it was with much satisfaction that we assured them, after the manner of Mark Twain, that the report of our deaths had been very much exaggerated.

_Fourth Overseas Trip_

The ship remained at her berth in Hoboken from the 12th to the 22d of May, giving the crew a reasonable amount of shore leave, the men living in nearby states thus had an opportunity to visit their homes.

At 4:03 on the afternoon of May 22d, we left on our fourth eastward bound voyage with the following troops:

Troops, 10,577. 43rd Engineers; 108th Supply Train; 131st Infantry; 318th Infantry; Base Hospital No. 13, Female; Major General A. Gronkhite, 80th Div.

We followed the regular channel in leaving New York Harbor, and once more at sea, started on our fourth venture to slip through the blockade of German U-boats and to land 10,000 more troops to assist in breaking down the high pride of the German autocracy.

On the afternoon of May 23d, at 4 P. M., while the water-tight door system was being tested, one of the Army officers accidentally had his leg caught in a closing water-tight door. These doors are hydraulically opened and shut and centrally controlled by a lever on the bridge. Prior to the closing of these doors a warning alarm is sounded, but the officer, in some unexplainable manner, became confused and suffered a severe injury.

The ship’s log for the next few days showed the single entry “B,” which signifies clear weather and absolutely blue sky. The sea was unusually smooth at this time, hardly a ripple appearing on the surface of the water.

“CARLTON” TORPEDOED

At 6:37 A. M., May 29th, our escort of destroyers was picked up, immediately taking up their respective positions abeam and ahead of the ship. Everything went well until 4:25 this same afternoon, when we received an S.O.S. from the _U. S. S. Carlton_ that she had been torpedoed in 47° North Latitude, 11° 20´´ West Longitude, and upon referring to our charts we found that we would be in that same position at 9:30 that same evening. It was advisable for us to change our course in order to steer clear of the possible cruising radius of this submarine, which we did at 5:05, heading our course to the north. At 10:45 P. M., after passing the approximate position of the sinking of the _Carlton_, we resumed our direct course for Brest. During this time signals were exchanged between us and our escort upon the advisability of sending one of our escorting destroyers to the assistance of the _Carlton_, but owing to the great value of our own ship and its precious cargo aboard this was deemed inadvisable. This illustrates what stern measures necessarily had to be taken in time of war. We were compelled to leave the crew of a torpedoed ship presumably to their fate for the greater duty involved upon us. However, later reports showed that the crew of the _Carlton_ had been rescued by one of the alert destroyers patrolling the seas in this vicinity.

We did not consider all danger past and as an extra precaution, orders were issued on board to have all men assigned to duty on life-boats and similar duties, remain at their stations until further orders. This vigil continued throughout the night. It was a clear moonlight night, but moonlight held no charm for us then. The rays reflecting upon the water lighted up the huge ship and made her a fine target for a lurking U-boat.

ENGAGEMENT WITH SUBMARINE

Communication made with Brest the next morning, May 30th, informed us that the pilot and pilot destroyer would meet us. However, for a very good reason we did not pick up a pilot, for on this date, which has proven memorable in the history of the _Leviathan_, “Fritz” did his best to make it a Memorial Day for the _Leviathan_ and a Decoration Day for himself. On the spot that we expected to take our pilot on board we had our first real engagement with the pirates of the sea. With the hills of Brest plainly visible on our port bow, the smooth surface of the water was broken by the wake of a periscope on our port quarter. The sharp eyes of Lieutenant Beebe, the assistant navigator, saw the danger, and from his post of observation he reported sharply to the captain. Captain Bryan was at his side in an instant and—saw—nothing. The “sub” had “porpoised” under. The young navigator stayed glued to the spot. The “sub” porpoised up on the surface and this time the captain was looking over the shoulder of the former blue-jacket, and in an instant things began to hum. The following entry was made in the ship’s log:

12:29 P. M.—Sighted submarine pursuing us on our port quarter,
about 1,500 yards distant. Ordered full speed, 165 revolutions.
Opened fire with Number Six and Number Eight guns, three shots.
Stopped zig-zagging. Changed course 12:40 P. M.

12:59 P. M.—Submarine appeared again. Opened fire with Number
Six and Number Eight guns. Nine shots.

1:19 P. M.—Submarine appeared again. Opened fire with Number
Six and Number Eight guns. Seven shots.

1:34 P. M.—Threw in manœuvering combination. Standard speed 112
revolutions.

1:45 P. M.—Entering harbor at various courses and speeds.

It was the general opinion among the officers on board that a cordon of U-boats had been lying in wait, located in such a manner that if the first submarine failed in her attempt to torpedo us, the others in turn would be in a position to follow up the attack.

During one attack a French fishing boat appeared between us and our object of fire, and had a very narrow escape from being struck by one of our 105 pound explosive shells. The skipper of this boat was taken on board later. He said he clearly saw the “sub” we were firing at.

The coolness of our commanding officer, Capt. H. F. Bryan, and the splendid co-ordination of the entire crew, were so perfect, that only three distinct orders were issued in this moment of peril, as follows: 1. Hold your course. 2. Open fire on submarine, port quarter. 3. Sound General Alarm.

Every shot fired was greeted by cheers and shouts of encouragement from the enthusiastic soldiers on the decks, who crowded to favorable positions to witness the accurate firing of our gun-crews. The Army Nurses left their luncheon to take a peek at the “fun,” and their calmness and enthusiasm in the face of a deadly menace were an inspiration to the sailors manning the big guns. An apt comparison to this battle would be the excitement incidental to a World Series baseball game, eleven innings, score: 0-0, and a home-run hit made. Wow!

After the attack no evidence was noted of any of the “subs” having been sunk, such as oil or scum or floating bits of wreckage. Of course, we did not turn around or stop to look for this evidence, but inasmuch as none of the enemy was allowed within torpedo range or cared to show himself again, he certainly must have taken the accuracy of our gun-fire into serious consideration.

A disadvantage of our freedom of the press was typically demonstrated in the U. S. at this time, for the leading newspapers contained all sorts of misleading accounts, full of far-fetched descriptions of the attack. One paper stated that twenty U-boats had attacked the _Leviathan_ and that we had evaded a school of torpedoes. The exact number of submarines encountered on this day is not known, but it is believed that there were at least three, and very probably more.

We had a narrow escape though, for just after the first submarine was sighted, at 12:29 mid-day, our zigzag clock on the bridge rang, 12:30, notifying us to make an abrupt change of course to port. If this change had been made the “sub” would have had us broadside on and our entire length would have been exposed to torpedo attack. Captain Bryan saw this immediately and issued the above-mentioned order to hold the course.

Arriving in Brest after all this excitement the ship was made fast to our usual mooring buoy. The crew as before, turned to on the coal barges and inspired by the enthusiasm and excitement and experience of that morning, heaved the necessary amount of coal, 4,500 tons, into the bunkers in record time. The big ship had discharged its living cargo of thousands of troops, hundreds of officers and many passengers, had sent loads of stores to the grim destroyers, including thousands of bags of welcome mail from the folks at home and then proceeded to sea inspired with the hopes and desires of clashing with the submarine that had sunk the _President Lincoln_ the day before. “Up and at ’em” was our slogan.

SECOND SUBMARINE FIGHT

We sailed out of Brest late in the afternoon of June 1st, having on board many notable passengers. The destroyers _Nicholson_ and _Wadsworth_, two of our most famous sea-fighters, accompanied us. All hands were set for another attack. It was not long in coming. At 7:16 P. M. this same evening, the wake of a periscope was observed on the starboard quarter by Lieutenant Haltnorth, who quickly passed the word to the bridge where it was received by Lieutenant J. J. Jones, the Officer of the deck. A hurried message was sent in to the commanding Officer and at the same time the general alarm was sounded. The fire-control officer on the upper-structure took a prompt and accurate range on the hissing white menace of foam approaching so balefully in the wake of the setting sun. A few short seconds passed, the arrow on the engine room dial plate spun around to “full speed ahead,” and the whirr of the electric warnings quickened the ears of the officers and men on watch in the fire-rooms. The furnace doors flew open and in the streaming light with bent backs and broad shoulders, sturdy young Americans poured coal into the great fires.

A volume of thick black smoke issued from the funnels and at the same time number seven gun with a venomous roar, let go a shell of TNT, enveloped in lurid flame and smoke. Number five gun got busy. The breech-plug closed noiselessly, sharp click, the primer inserted accurately by the gun-captain, a smooth “Ready” from his lips, and number five gun hurled a shell of high explosive to blot out from the sea-scape one of the under-sea Hun boats.

Number seven gun shot again with a reverberating roar, followed again by number five, the only two guns that could bear upon the Prussian menace.

From the signal-bridge, a green and white submarine warning flag was fluttering and the destroyers _Nicholson_ and _Wadsworth_, with their inboard sides awash, turned in a quick endeavor to charge the on-coming “sub.” The _Nicholson_ was nearer and in few minutes number five and seven guns ceased firing, for the _Nicholson_ was in direct range between our ship and the submarine, with huge volumes of black smoke pouring out of her funnels. The _Nicholson_ made a circuit around the “sub” which had submerged and promptly and accurately laid a beautiful barrage of sixteen depth bombs all around the place of disappearance. The explosions from these depth charges shook the big _Leviathan_, nearly two miles away by this time. The _Nicholson_, her blinker lights flashing fitfully through the smoke clouds reported, “We saw periscope of submarine and laid barrage of depth charges around the spot. We will report to our Force Commander.”

The _Wadsworth_ had by this time plowed her way up through the seas, but the Prussian terror of the deep had not taken too kindly to the overtures of friendship made by the _Nicholson_; and the _Wadsworth_ signaled back to the _Leviathan_, “We see no submarine now.” Both gallant destroyers quickly turned and resumed their arduous duty of escorting the fast-moving _Leviathan_. Smoke was pouring from their funnels and a choppy sea made them bob up and down. A cloud of “V” shaped spray sparkled in the twilight as they circled in and out off the port and starboard bow of the queen of the transports.

Twilight in the western sky deepened into long shadows upon the water. The chaplain of the ship walked out to the windward side of the navigation bridge and offered the customary sunset prayer for the huge ship with its women and children passengers, its captain, officers and crew. This custom of evening prayer was practiced on board every evening at sunset and prefaced the silent evening prayers of the seamen on the decks, the gun-crew at the guns, the signal boys on the bridge, the quartermaster at the wheel and the brawny-chested firemen who stoked the big furnaces below. In the war-zone none of these brave lads were certain of seeing another sunrise, so before the ship was plunged into darkness each night they offered up, while at their different duties and stations, heartfelt prayers for themselves and their people and loved ones at home.

The Sunset Prayer at Sea

(Offered Every Evening at Sea by the Ship’s Chaplain)

Thou, O Lord, art in the midst of us, and Thine holy name is
called upon by us; leave us not, O Lord our God.

O Lord, hear our prayer; and let our cry come unto Thee.

Remember, most gracious Virgin Mother, Star of the Sea, that
never was it known that anyone who fled to thy protection,
implored thy aid and sought thy intercession, was left unaided.
Inspired with this confidence, we fly to thee, Virgin of
Virgins, our Mother, to thee we come; before thee we stand,
sinful and sorrowful. Mother of the Word Incarnate, despise not
our petition; but in thy clemency hear and answer us. Amen.

Lord, save us waking, watch us sleeping that we may wake with
Christ and rest in peace.

Visit, we beseech Thee, O Lord, our distant homes and families;
Thine angels guard them with Thy peace and benediction. Bless
this ship we beseech Thee and drive far from it all the
snares of the enemy; guide it upon a tranquil course unto the
wished-for-haven—guard our Captain, his officers and crew, and
the soldier-troops and passengers committed to their care; let
Thy holy angels dwell hereon to keep us in peace and let Thy
blessings be always upon us. Through Jesus Christ, Thy Son, Our
Lord.

Into Thy hands, O Lord, we commend ourselves.

Vouchsafe, O Lord, this night to keep us without harm.

May the Lord Almighty grant us a quiet night and a perfect end.
May the Almighty and merciful Lord, the Father, the Son and the
Holy Ghost bless and preserve us all. Amen.

The ship pursued her course steadily during the night watches and the men relieved one another at midnight and at 4 A. M. The morning sun broke clear and clean over the eastern horizon and discovered to us that our gallant destroyers had left us during the darkness, proceeding by pre-arranged plan to a similar duty of escorting an east-bound transport loaded with troops. Our voyage continued without further excitement at a speed of twenty and a half knots. We arrived in New York the morning of June 8th and made fast to the dock with little difficulty. No sooner had our gangplank touched the dock than our mail clerk was seen heavily laden with eagerly-sought-for mail.

_Fifth Trip Overseas_

Eight days was ample time to give half the crew a five-day leave, and five days’ leave gave many of the boys who lived within traveling distance of New York, an opportunity to see home again for a few days. It was at this time that the one-third fare rate was put into effect for soldiers and sailors on furlough and it is needless to say this greatly assisted many boys who did not have the full fare to reach home.

By evening, June 14th, all necessary supplies were loaded in our holds. Our quota of troops, this trip were as per the following list:

Troops, 10,423; 32d Engineers; 145th Infantry; 146th Infantry; 134th Machine Gun Battalion; 135th Machine Gun Battalion; Major General C. S. Farnsworth.

For thirty-six hours after leaving Ambrose Channel Light Ship, just outside of New York, we were escorted by one destroyer, submarines were busily engaged off our coast-line these days. After the destroyer left us we continued on our voyage in the customary manner, holding abandon ship drills each day and operating the water-tight door system to insure its being in perfect working order. The weather was extremely warm and as a consequence it was found necessary to allow the soldiers from the lower compartments to sleep on the outer decks.

On the 17th, at ten minutes to eleven in the morning, the _Leviathan_ acted queerly, circling around in the smooth sea, which aroused the curiosity of all on board. This circling was caused by the steering apparatus going out of commission, but it was soon repaired.

We certainly expected to see more of “Fritz” than ever on this voyage, but not a solitary event occurred outside the daily routine. Brest, France, was reached on the morning of the 21st, troops and cargo were disembarked and we headed for sea once more on the 24th accompanied by four destroyers.

The return trip was interrupted once. The destroyers had left us after a day’s journey and no sooner had they done so when our gun-crews opened fire on a suspicious object astern of us. The destroyers by this time were on the horizon and hearing the firing of our guns proceeded to join us once more. Both number five and seven guns fired nine shots at the object sighted which disappeared immediately and we signaled to our destroyers that everything was O. K. and that we could proceed once more unescorted.

The weather for the remainder of the voyage was excellent. Fire Island Light Ship, which is thirty-two miles from Ambrose Channel, was sighted July 1st and in a few hours we were tied up at our pier in Hoboken with another trip to our credit.

_Sixth Trip Eastbound_

Another eight days in New York and another five-day leave for the men of the crew. The five-day leaves were most welcome after a trip of seventeen or eighteen days at sea especially when the days consist of vigilant activity and high tension. The five days soon passed and as soon as we were provided with sufficient supplies of coal and water our troops came aboard.

Troops, 10,534; 313th Infantry; 314th Infantry; 311th Machine Gun Battalion; 310th Machine Gun Battalion; Base Hospital No. 67; Base Hospital No. 68; Base Hospital No. 7; Base Hospital No. 47; 304th Field Signal Battalion; Brig. General Wm. J. Nicholson, 79th Div.