Chapter V: Part II: Running The War Zone (2)

We left for our sixth voyage across on July 8th at 6:30 P. M., and by nightfall we were well out to sea escorted by the destroyer _Walke_ which left us the next morning. On the eight to twelve watch that morning we passed a considerable amount of wreckage, probably the result of submarine activities off our coast. Abandon ship drills were held as usual. The weather was fair and warm and a few soldiers were overcome by the heat making it necessary for the troops in some compartments to sleep on deck at night.

The _U. S. S. Covington_ had been sunk by an unseen submarine just prior to our sailing, and with this fresh in our memory it was not necessary to remind the lookouts and gun crews to be especially vigilant and keep a sharp lookout at all times. We sighted our escort of destroyers at 8 A. M., on July 14th and passing through the danger zone safely, we anchored in Brest at 1:50 P. M., July 15th, one of the hottest days we had ever experienced.

With all troops sent ashore and all cargo taken off we embarked our usual quota of passengers and left Brest at three o’clock on the afternoon of July 18th. We had 115 wounded soldiers on board, also the captain and officers of the _U. S. S. Covington_ and the officers and crew of the _S. S. Buffalo_ that had been sunk by submarines. We left with a convoy of four destroyers that stayed with us until noon the next day. The weather was good for the most part and the trip was made without trouble or excitement of any kind. The wounded soldiers were a cheerful lot and were well cared for. Some had been gassed, others lost limbs, but the prospect of home made them all happy.

MCGONIGLE

Among our wounded soldiers was a man named McGonigle who had made the first overseas trip with the first batch of troops the _Leviathan_ carried across. We landed them in Liverpool.

McGonigle belonged to a bombing squad and was wounded. His squad was in a shell hole hurling bombs into the enemy trenches for thirty-six hours. The men were tired and hungry. The Sergeant in charge was giving instructions to the men when a bomb held in the hands of McGonigle exploded blowing off both of his hands and inflicting other minor wounds including the amputation of the great toe of his left foot. Four of his comrades, including the sergeant, were killed by this explosion.

During our westbound trip an entertainment was given for the benefit of the wounded. During a lull between acts McGonigle stood up, and holding up both remaining parts of his arms said he would give a short stump speech. He then told of his accident and was glad to be going back on the ship that took him over, and on which ship he, with sixty other members of his company had volunteered to help the firemen in the fire room. He said he was one of us, a “gob,” for he had helped “deliver the goods.”

July 25th, at nine o’clock we passed Ambrose Light Ship and by 11:30 we were tied to our pier.

_Seventh Voyage Overseas_

With the following troops and passengers on board we left New York at 3:25 P. M., August 3rd:

Troops, 10,893; 55th Infantry; 56th Infantry; 20th Machine Gun Battalion; 36th Div. Displacement Det.; 111th Trench Motor Battery; 88th Div. School Det.; July Auto Replacement Draft; Colonel W. O. Johnson, 56th Inf.

For the first time in the history of the ship we now traveled with other transports—the _Great Northern_ and _Northern Pacific_, sister ships from the Pacific coast. These could speed along with us only in smooth water. In turbulent seas they dropped rapidly astern. The _Great Northern_ reached New York one hour ahead of the _Leviathan_ on one trip, but traveled 100 miles less to do so.

One of our latest destroyers accompanied the convoy for the next twenty-four hours and then the three ships traveled unescorted, in beam-to-beam formation. The weather remained fair for the first four days during which time usual abandon ship drills were held.

On the fifth day, however, we had some rough experiences. A storm broke, the waves rolled high and beat the ships fiercely. It was mid-summer and we were in the Gulf Stream yet the storm was a “whopper.” To add to the excitement the _Northern Pacific_ reported “man overboard,” by a signal from her bridge. Immediately all three ships went into manœuvering formation and circled around the spot. The man overboard was a soldier. It was suicide with him though, for he left a letter of explanation. While circling around in an attempt to pick him up another man from the _Northern Pacific_ went overboard. This was an unfortunate accident. Life buoys were dropped into the high-rolling seas for the lost men, and for an hour and a half we manœuvered around in an attempt to pick these men up, but it was useless. No one could stay afloat in that sea. The _Northern Pacific_ and _Great Northern_ both reported that they could make little headway and finally when the search for the missing men was given up we found it necessary to reduce speed so that the other ships in our convoy could remain in line with us.

The destroyers were picked up on the morning of August 10th and we passed through the war zone without trouble or excitement and anchored in Brest at 10 A. M., August 11th.

Forty-eight hours later we were steaming on our westbound voyage again, the _Great Northern_ and _Northern Pacific_ being with us. The weather was fine and we made good speed. On the 14th, at 9 A. M., a submarine was sighted on our starboard quarter between our ship and the Northern Pacific, but it was not fired at, nor did it attempt to do any damage. It might have been a submarine of the Allies. The destroyers left us this same evening and with fair weather and smooth seas, which were fully appreciated, we made Ambrose Channel on August 20th and docked soon afterwards.

_Eighth Overseas Voyage_

The following is an extract copy of the readings in the ship’s log upon our leaving New York for the eighth trip overseas. This was on the 31st of August and for the second time the transports _Great Northern_ and _Northern Pacific_ accompanied us.

SHIP’S LOG

The ship’s log August 31st, 1918, Meridian to 4 P. M.

Draft—Ford. 42´ 0´´, Aft. 40´ 10´´—Mean 41´ 5´´.
1:19 P. M. Hauled out F. deck gangway.
1:26 P. M. Let go all lines.
1:40 P. M. Started astern.
1:47 P. M. All clear of dock.
2:06 P. M. Passed Statue of Liberty.
2:48 P. M. Passed Governor’s Island.
3:08 P. M. Passed Robbins Reef.
3:15 P. M. Passed Staten Island.
3:38 P. M. Entered Ambrose Channel.
3:59 P. M. Passed Romer Shoal.

4 P. M. TO 8 P. M.

4:25 P. M. Passed fairway buoy.
4:38 P. M. Stopped to discharge pilot and put paravanes over.
4:44 P. M. Proceeded.
4:57 P. M. Ambrose Channel Light Vessel abeam.
5:12 P. M. Standard speed 130 revolutions.
5:29 P. M. C/c (change course).
5:51 P. M. Increased speed to 150 revolutions.
4-5 P. M. Ave. rev. all shafts 78.1, steam 220 lbs., injection 70.
5-6 P. M. Ave. rev. all shafts 121.2, steam 220 lbs., injection 74.
6-7 P. M. Ave. rev. all shafts 140.3, steam 215 lbs., injection 72.
6:45 P. M. Commenced zig-zag.

8 P. M. TO MIDNIGHT

8:30 P. M. Stopped zigzagging.
10:15 P. M. Cut out boiler No. 3 in No. 2 fireroom and No. 7 in
No. 4 fireroom.
8-9 P. M. Ave. 2 rev. all shafts 150.1, steam 215 lbs.
9-10 P. M. Ave. 2 rev. all shafts 150.0, steam 215 lbs.
10-11 P. M. Ave. 2 rev. all shafts 150.1, steam 215 lbs.
11-12 P. M. Ave. 2 rev. all shafts 149.9, steam 215 lbs.

Troops, 10,541; 142d Field Artillery; Evacuation Hospital No. 16; Base Hospital No. 54, Female; Base Hospital No. 63; Base Hospital No. 81; Base Hospital No. 82; Infantry Auto Replacement Draft; 59th Pioneer Infantry; 808th Pioneer Infantry; Colonel Wm. G. Ownbey.

Upon our reaching Sandy Hook the pilot boat approached and launched a small row boat which made for our gangway. This boat came to get the pilot who had seen us safely through the channel, and to take him to another ship coming into New York. Pilot McLoughlin waved good-bye to the troops on board and was cheered as he left.

Immediately before proceeding to sea the paravanes were lowered over the ship’s side. The paravanes are ingenious torpedo-shaped contrivances so constructed as to fend off from the ship’s side dangerous floating objects such as mines. The upper section of a paravane is equipped with a jaw-shaped arrangement, so made as to clip the cable extending between a mine and its anchor. The “P. V.’s,” as they are sometimes called, are launched over the side from the forward part of the vessel and while in the water are supported by a wire cable from the deck of the ship and by a heavy chain extending upward from the keel.

We were now fully set and ready for our voyage, the _Great Northern_ taking up a position on our starboard beam and the _Northern Pacific_ on our port beam. The three ships in line presented a formidable appearance as they plowed the smooth seas at a rate of twenty knots per hour. Zigzag plans were communicated to the _Great Northern_ and _Northern Pacific_ by the _Leviathan_, the senior ship, and from dawn to dark on this day and every day thereafter until reaching port all three ships, upon the ringing of the zigzag clock, sheered off simultaneously, first to port, then to starboard, then to port again, the zigzag pennant on our yard-arm dipping as each change of course was made.

On September 2d, the Captain of the _Great Northern_ signaled to us that his aft gun crew had sighted the feather of a periscope about two miles astern of us, which had disappeared almost immediately and so no shots were fired at her.

A few days later, through signals exchanged between ourselves and the _Great Northern_, we learned that we were to lose Captain Bryan upon reaching New York, and that Captain Phelps of the _Great Northern_ was to be his successor. Captain Bryan, we learned, was to take up a station somewhere in Brazil.

Stormy weather hindered our progress on the fourth day out. The seas were so heavy that both the _Great Northern_ and _Northern Pacific_ found great difficulty in keeping up with us. Finally, the _Northern Pacific_ signaled to us that because of the seas she could make little progress and asked that the standard speed for the convoy be reduced to thirteen knots. This was granted and for fourteen hours the three ships labored in the heavy seas, spray breaking over the fo’castle and reaching to our forward smoke-stack. Toward evening the sea moderated sufficiently to allow the _Great Northern_ and _Northern Pacific_ to increase speed to sixteen and a half knots and then to twenty knots, until we picked up our escort of four destroyers at the ocean rendezvous.

All seven ships proceeded to Brest by the shortest route and in a fairly smooth sea. The _Leviathan_ was shaken by an extremely heavy explosion and its suddenness surprised the men. The Chief Engineer reported everything O.K. down below and as far as we could see on deck there was nothing wrong with the ship; then the blinker light on the destroyer _McDougal_ directly abeam of us, was observed flashing a message to us, which explained everything. The _McDougal_ had accidentally dropped a depth charge from her stern. It wasn’t the first false alarm we had had and it was not to be the last.

Land was sighted on the afternoon of September 7th, and swiftly and smoothly the three transports ran into column formation, with the destroyers abeam and ahead of us, steaming majestically into the harbor of Brest. Looking around after mooring we saw the huge transport _Mt. Vernon_, formerly the German liner _Kronprinzessin Cecilie_, lying in dry dock after running a 250-mile race against threatened disaster. She had been torpedoed at eight o’clock the morning before and only the gallantry of her captain and crew, and the efficient system of water-tight doors, enabled her to make port at a speed of fifteen knots. It was indeed remarkable that we had escaped seeing “subs” the day before, for our course was almost identical with that of the _Mt. Vernon’s_. The _Mt. Vernon_ was repaired and thereafter made two round trips to America and did its “bit” in bringing our soldier boys home.

To give the reader a fair idea of the ship’s routine on entering Brest and while coaling in the harbor, we again quote from the log of the ship:

6 P. M. TO 8 P. M.

6:05 P. M. Pt Du Minou abeam.
6:10 P. M. Mengam lighthouse abeam.
6:20 P. M. Pte Du Portzic lighthouse abeam.
6:27 P. M. Harbor pilot came aboard, proceeded to buoy.
6:30 P. M. Advanced clocks one hour. Engines working as required.

8 P. M. TO MIDNIGHT

8:02 P. M. Arrived at buoy; proceeded to moor ship.
8:33 P. M. Ship moored and engines secured.
8:36 P. M. Secured steering engines.
Draft on arrival 36.7´´ forward, 39.5´´ aft.
Mooring bearings—Pte du Petite Minou, 258½°; Pte de l’Ile
Longue, 191.5°; Pt du Portzic, 278.50.
9:00 P. M. Commenced to unload cargo; continued throughout
watch. Lighter _Knickerbocker_ placed coaling
stages on port and starboard sides.
12:00 Midnight. Three lighters with coal arrived alongside.
Coaling until 4 A. M.
1:15 A. M. Commenced coaling on starboard side.
1:30 A. M. Commenced coaling on port side.
Discharging cargo throughout watch.

4 TO 8 A. M.

Continued coaling and discharging cargo.

The disembarkation of troops and cargo was completed in short order and the _Leviathan_ put to sea once more on the 12th of September. The bodies of thirty-six victims of the _Mt. Vernon_ were on board, each body being draped with the flag which they had heroically died for. These thirty-six victims were trapped in the fire-room of the _Mt. Vernon_ when the torpedo struck her and they had no chance to escape before the water filled the lower compartments. The loss of life would not have been so great had not the ship been torpedoed at a time when the fire-room watches were being relieved, for at such time there are almost double the number of men in the fire-rooms.

Our voyage back was interrupted but once. The _Great Northern_ on our starboard, on the 13th of September, reported a periscope two miles astern of us and traveling to the southward. It disappeared almost as quickly as the periscope encountered on the eastern trip, and consequently no shots were fired at it. A vigilant watch maintained by the lookouts was without result, the submarine did not show itself again. On the 19th of September we were safe in New York Harbor and docked six minutes after the first line was ashore, a record achievement in the log of the capable and efficient docking superintendent, Capt. Walter J. Bernard.

_Ninth Overseas Trip_

We left our pier at Hoboken, September 29th and our ninth voyage overseas was underway. The following troops were on board:

Troops, 9,366; 57th Pioneer Infantry; September Auto Replacements Drafts from Camps McArthur, Humphreys, Hancock and Jackson; Medical Replacement, No. 73; 401st Pontoon Train; 467th Pontoon Train; 468th Pontoon Train; Water Tank Train No. 302; 323rd Field Signal Battalion; Base Hospitals No. 60 and 62, Female; Debarking and Billet Party 31st Div.; Major General Leroy S. Lyon, C. G. 31st Div.

Under clear skies we steamed slowly through the big harbor filled with shipping and proceeded straight to sea, stopping only to drop our pilot, Capt. McLaughlin, of the Sandy Hook Pilot Association and who always piloted the _Leviathan_ in and out of New York Harbor. This trip overseas was to be made memorable by reason of the Army epidemic of influenza on board. Many men and several nurses were obliged to leave the ship just before we cast off our lines and everyone felt that we would have a distressing time going over. While the embarkation troops were lined up on the big pier some of the men dropped helpless on the dock. We were informed that a number of men had fallen by the wayside, limp and listless, on their march from the camp to the scene of transportation. Our first death was recorded the next day out. He was a sailor who did duty in the Hospital Corps. He told the chaplain that he did not want to die because of the great need of his help at home. Out of over two thousand cases of influenza and pneumonia on board, this first case and two naval passengers en route to duty in France, were the only ones to die from the Navy. All the other deaths belonged to the Army, 96 in all.

This was not a bad percentage considering the total number of cases stricken, the hardships and restrictions, the weather conditions, the intense nervous strain in the war zone and the tremendous rolling of the big ship while in the storm. Very few people in the sick spaces got much sleep. Everybody helped during the terrible plague. There was work for all. It was pitiful to see men toppling over dead at your feet. It was like some invisible hand reaching out and suddenly taking them away. It was truly sad and depressing.

The standing lights in the big spaces of the ship were kept dim behind colored glass. Not a light was ever visible from the ship at night and this perfect control of the huge and vast electric circuit of the ship affords a well merited tribute to the officer in charge. Officers on the _Great Northern_ and _Northern Pacific_ as well as of the escort of destroyers who were always with us in the dreaded war zone, complimented us upon the _Leviathan’s_ complete obscuration or darkening of ship. Only once did a light ever show from the big ship and that happened to shine from the room of the officer of the deck who was on duty on the bridge. He had sent a messenger to his room for his raincoat and the boy turned on the light to find his way about the dark room and returning to the bridge in a hurry forgot to extinguish the light. A sharp eyed and vigilant destroyer promptly flashed over a warning signal and the light was extinguished.

Rules and prohibitions were minute and precise and were always strictly enforced. A lighted cigarette upon a dark deck high in the air may be seen a half a mile at sea and thus would enable an enemy submarine to radio a lookout warning to another “sub” lying in wait ahead. These pests of the deep generally worked in pairs. To show how strict the rules were one man was court martialed and sent to prison, an officer was court martialed and reduced, and an army chaplain, who was assisting the chaplain of the ship in administering to the dying, was threatened with court-martial because he had opened a port slightly in response to a dying soldier’s request for air. These penalties may appear to be unduly harsh, but where the safety of thousands depends upon the minute obedience of the individual why “the punishment fits the crime.”

The army nurses were like ministering angels during that dreadful scourge. They were brave American girls who had left home and comfort in order to undergo peril and sacrifice abroad. Surely they have earned a place in Heaven. The bluejackets on board were second to the nurses in their unwearying patience and generous self-denial. When the army nurses left the ship in Brest, they wept and bade the sailors an affectionate good-bye.

BURIAL OF THE DEAD

Upon our arrival in Brest we had on board 96 dead soldiers and three sailors. 58 of the former were buried in France, 33 were brought back to the States and seven were buried at sea in the war zone on the morning after we left Brest. We remained in Brest three days and left on the third evening at 5:30 P. M. The next morning at sunrise, after an imposing prayer by the chaplain, the flag was half-masted, taps were sounded, three volleys fired and the coffins containing the bodies of the dead soldiers were lowered gently into the sea. The ship was speeding at 21½ knots.

After seven days of mostly fair weather and without trouble from submarines, we docked in New York on the morning of October 16th. It was a nerve-racking voyage and we were all greatly relieved that the trip was over.

_Tenth Overseas Trip_

At 11:10 of the morning of October 27th we left New York bound overseas for the tenth and last trip. We had no idea that this was to be our last run of the German blockade with our precious cargo of Yankee doughboys. On this trip we carried the Tank Corps, who had for their motto: “Treat ’em rough!”

Troops, 8,123; Adv. School 8th Division; Casual Companies A, B, C, 487, 488, 489, 490; Tank Corps; 335th Btn. Tank Corps.; Adv. Debarking and Billet Group 8th Division; 336th Btn. Tank Corps; 337th Btn. Tank Corps; Attached Medical Personnel; Base Hospital No. 103; 540th Service Btn.; October Auto Repl. Draft Camp Gordon; Casual Co. No. 452; Base Hospital No. 106; Surgical Group No. 4; Colonel M. A. Elliott, 8th Division.

There had been rumors of peace while we were in New York and we had a sort of hunch that the war could not last much longer. The boys that we were taking over on this trip expressed disappointment, for they, too, had the same hunch, and regretted that they would never reach the front before the Armistice was signed.

On this trip we did not go to France, but to Liverpool instead, and as the ship needed certain repairs that would require drydocking we landed our soldiers in England. The trip was without any particular excitement and when we met our escort of destroyers they signaled that all German “subs” in that area had been recalled on October 21st. However, we took no chances and our gun crews remained at their posts as usual and were as vigilant as ever. November 3rd we were in Liverpool. On going into the channel a dense fog enveloped the river and we were obliged to go ahead at a low speed with the result that the tide receded before we could tie up to the landing stage and we were stuck in the mud for about seven hours.

While thus stranded we landed most of our troops and at midnight we were tied up at the landing stage. Next morning, we went into drydock. While we were in drydock the Armistice was signed and then—oh boy—we celebrated.

We were allowed liberty from 1 P. M. on that day and immediately the “gobs” and doughboys started for the main part of the city and mingled with the great crowds who paraded, held impromptu meetings and generally “went wild.” The celebration continued for nearly a week and the American soldiers and sailors participated with great spirit.

Thanksgiving day found us still in drydock and this was another big day for our crew, for a football game had been previously arranged between the army engineers and our crew and everyone was keyed up to the highest pitch.

Practice was held for two weeks on a cinder field adjoining the drydock yards. It was found necessary to have our football togs made in Liverpool by a woman dressmaker, as no sporting goods store carried them. Thanksgiving day came. There was a grand and glorious dinner and then we all proceeded to Everton Football Field in Liverpool which is credited with being the best field in England. It had been raining all day—usual Liverpool weather—a steady downpour and the field was muddy and slow. On one side of the field were the sailor rooters and on the other side the soldiers. Two bands enlivened proceedings. The first quarter ended 0-0 and through a hard and cleanly fought game the teams battled to a tie, 0-0. The navy team had made a remarkable showing and considering circumstances did well in preventing the army from scoring. The _Leviathan_ boys had not practiced as long as the army, who had been playing all season, and furthermore the army had at least 8,000 men to pick from while the navy had but 2,000. Credit must be given to Lt. R. H. Jones, who coached the team and its success was greatly due to his hard work.

Several English newspaper men were present to witness and report the game. Following is an account of the game from their viewpoint:

A demonstration of the nearest approach to actual warfare
was given this afternoon at Everton Field by the American
bluejackets of the _Leviathan_ and the American Army Engineers
of Knotty Ash. The game greatly differs from the English rugby
and is the nearest thing to warfare that we have ever seen. We
were greatly surprised that there were not more casualties than
there were, for the opposing teams went at each other as though
they were deadly enemies about to destroy each other by brute
force.

On Thanksgiving evening various dances and receptions were held for the Americans in Liverpool by the people of that city, and though we were 3,000 miles from the States we had a most enjoyable time. We certainly had lots to be thankful for.

On December 2nd we began to take on wounded soldiers that had been in hospitals in England and were waiting transportation to the States. We left Liverpool on December 4th, at 11 A. M., for Brest, France. We arrived in Brest the next morning at 11 A. M. and immediately started to coal ship and take on troops. This required three days and on December 8th at 2 P. M. we left France with our first load of home-going troops; they certainly were a happy lot of men. On the way over we encountered occasional rough weather, but this did not prevent us from speeding up and we arrived at Sandy Hook on December 15th where we anchored for the night owing to a dense fog.

As we made our way up the channel the next morning a great reception was given the troops on board. Our coming had been flashed by wireless and was heralded by all the newspapers. Numerous boats came out to meet us and bells and sirens rent the air. It was a typical New York welcome—big and hearty.

There were tears of gladness in the eyes of many of the soldiers on that frosty morning. It was the first time that they had seen their own land in many months and this coupled with the deep feeling and spirit manifested by the people for the returned heroes, touched all hearts. Just one year from the date that we started our first trip overseas, we had brought back some of the first returning troops of the war. We tied up to our pier at 8 A. M. and the next day a leave party of half the ship’s company left for a ten-day leave over Christmas.

_Christmas Aboard the Leviathan—1918_

J. M.

Four days after our arrival in New York the crew was paid and it was suggested that we have a Christmas party on board ship for as many orphans as could be taken care of. The idea met with unanimous approval and as each man was paid he donated as much as he could afford. The amount collected was sufficient to take care of 1,200 homeless children. Notices were sent to different orphan asylums and on Christmas morning the happy children came aboard for a good day’s fun.

The children were shown over the ship and a number who went on exploring tours of their own came to grief, tumbling out of stacks and ventilators and as black as the ace of spades. But that did not matter, it was all in their day’s fun and when dinner time came and the bugler sounded mess call they did not have to be informed what the call meant. They knew it was for dinner, why bless me, hadn’t they smelt the odor of roast turkey all over the ship. The dinner consisted of turkey, candied sweet potatoes, asparagus, celery, peas, cake, apples, oranges and bananas, milk, cocoa, and ice cream of three different kinds. All of this was prepared in the ships galley by the ship’s cooks and bakers and was a great compliment to their efficiency. But they enjoyed preparing it, you bet they did. After the children had eaten everything in sight and pocketed what was left, the mess hall was cleared of tables and benches and all the children gathered around the giant Christmas tree to receive a present. There was a Santa Claus, some say it was one of our chief petty officers, but most of us, the children most of all, believe he was the original St. Nick himself, for he certainly was generous with his presents. There was more than enough to go around—many of the children received two presents.

The children were rounded up at 4 o’clock. As the time neared for one group of boys to depart it was found that two were missing and after an hour’s search they were found in the main engine room being entertained by the men on watch.

When the children had gone the sailors came in for their presents. Each man aboard received a bag from the Red Cross. The bags contained candy, cigarettes, pipes and tobacco and were donated by individual women from all over the country. The gifts were greatly appreciated by the “gobs,” one of whom voiced the sentiments of all on board by exclaiming that the Red Cross, take it from him, was “some Santa Claus.”