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$p ^ostTnii^ j^ueiiaiill 
 
 A YEAR IN THE NAVY. 
 
 AMERICA AT WORK. With frontispiece. 
 
 A YEAR IN A COAL MINE. With frontispiece. 
 
 HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY 
 Boston and New York 
 
A YEAR IN THE NAVY 
 
A YEAR 
 IN THE NAVY 
 
 . By 
 JOSEPH HUSBAND 
 
 BOSTON AND NEW YORK 
 HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY 
 
 1919 
 
«'»'* 
 
 *-;-H^= 
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1918 AND I919, BY THE ATLANTIC MONTHLY COMPANY 
 COPYRIGHT, 1919, BY JOSEPH HUSBAND 
 
 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 
 
 l.d^ 
 
 JUL 29 !9t9 
 
 ©CI.A530384 
 
TO MY WIFE 
 
PREFACE 
 
 It is my desire in this foreword to call 
 particular attention to the splendid ac- 
 comphshments of two distinguished offi- 
 cers of the United States Navy who with 
 rare ability and perseverance in large 
 measure created and brought to high effi- 
 ciency the great organizations which it 
 was their honor to command, organiza- 
 tions which proved of the utmost signifi- 
 cance to the winning of the war. 
 
 At the Great Lakes Naval Training 
 Station, Captain William A. Moffett, 
 U.S.N., Commandant, developed not only 
 the largest, but unqualifiedly the most 
 efficient, naval training establishment 
 that the world has ever seen, from whose 
 gates thousands of the youth of the Na- 
 tion passed on to their duties with the 
 
viii PREFACE 
 
 ships which made possible the safe trans- 
 portation of men and stores across the sea. 
 But of equal importance was another 
 service of inestimable worth. A thousand 
 miles inland, in the great agricultural cen- 
 ter of the United States, this station be- 
 came under Captain Moffett a power for 
 patriotism. Here the Navy became visu- 
 alized to that part of the population which 
 never before had realized the romance of 
 the sea. The spirit of this vast camp of 
 fifty thousand men; the enthusiasm and 
 discipline of the recruits; the martial mu- 
 sic of its great bands and the pervading 
 spirit of vigorous patriotism, gave to the 
 Middle West a vital and inspiring illus- 
 tration of the true worth of military train- 
 ing and a suggestion of what its consistent 
 continuation might hold in future years 
 for the upbuilding of the moral and physi- 
 cal fiber of the Nation's youth. The credit 
 
PREFACE ix 
 
 for this accomplishment belongs primarily 
 to Captain Moffett; it was he who made 
 the Navy known to inland States which 
 heretofore had barely reaUzed its exist- 
 ence. 
 
 Across the Atlantic, at Brest, in France, 
 under Vice- Admiral Henry B. Wilson, 
 U.S.N., another complicated organization 
 was built and perfected with equal ability, 
 under the diflScult conditions imposed by 
 its situation in a foreign land. In the brief 
 period of our participation in the war, the 
 men of this organization achieved a record 
 and a reputation that can but grow with 
 passing years. Under the command of 
 Vice-Admiral Wilson, the forces of the 
 Navy in French waters escorted, with mar- 
 velous freedom from disaster, vast stores 
 and amighty army through waters infested 
 with the submarines of a daring enemy. By 
 his rare tact and personal charm a spirit 
 
X PREFACE 
 
 of cooperation, confidence, and cordiality 
 was established between the people of 
 France and the naval representatives of ' 
 the United States from Brest to the Span- 
 ish line. An officer and a gentleman, he 
 rendered to his country a quiet service to 
 which it is impossible to accord an ade- 
 quate recognition. 
 
 To the other officers under whom I 
 served at the Great Lakes Naval Training 
 Station and on the several ships to which 
 I was later attached in foreign waters, I 
 wish here to express my deep appreciation 
 for their fine spirit of consideration, help- 
 fulness, and enthusiasm which enabled me 
 to accomplish the more readily the minor 
 duties which 1 was qualified to perform. 
 
 It is, indeed, a rare inspiration to have 
 known and served under these several 
 gentlemen, and the recollection of their 
 spirit and unqualified patriotism brings 
 
PREFACE xi 
 
 the realization that the temper of the 
 glorious Navy of the past still lives to-day 
 and will live as long as the United States 
 endures. 
 
 t 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 I. Ordinary Seamen, U.S.N. 1 
 
 II. Students of the Sea 36 
 
 III. The Transport 71 
 
 IV. The Freight Convoy 108 
 V. Destroyers 139 
 
 VI. Homeward-Bound 156 
 
A YEAR IN THE NAVY 
 
 ORDINARY SEAMEN, U.S.N. 
 
 Forty miles north of Chicago, on the 
 high bluffs that overlook Lake Michi- 
 gan, the Naval Training Station of the 
 Great Lakes stretches a mile back to the 
 railroad tracks from a mile frontage on 
 the shore; and even beyond the tracks the 
 latest additions have crept out on the 
 rolling prairie. Here, covering approxi- 
 mately three hundred acres, the vast 
 camp, with its recent additions to meet 
 the war emergency, houses an average 
 total of twenty-two thousand men — the 
 largest and most complete naval training 
 establishment in the world. 
 
 There had been a heavy blizzard in 
 
2 A YEAR IN THE NAVY 
 
 Chicago the first week in January, and 
 when, on the eighth, I walked up from 
 the railroad station to the great brick en- 
 trance, the ground was deep with snow. 
 Beyond the iron gates, hundreds of sail- 
 ors in white trousers and blue pea-coats 
 were piling the snow back from roads 
 and sidewalks. From the entrance a long, 
 straight road stretched almost to the lake. 
 On either side, and back as far as the eye 
 could see, the substantial brick buildings 
 of the station extended in orderly ar- 
 rangement, like the buildings of a modern 
 university. At the far end the tall, mas- 
 sive clock-tower of the Administration 
 Building rose red against the blue winter 
 sky. High above it, to the right, the slen- 
 der tapering towers of the wireless caught 
 their swinging cobwebs of wires up four 
 hundred feet against the blue. Below, 
 everywhere, the red brick buildings and 
 
ORDINARY SEAMEN, U.S.N. S 
 
 the glitter of sun-touched snow in zero 
 air. 
 
 In the recruiting building a long line of 
 men already were waiting to swear their 
 loyalty to Uncle Sam's Navy, and merci- 
 less hostility to his enemies. One by one 
 we filed into the recruiting-room, where a 
 dozen sailors, in neat uniforms with their 
 yeomen's ratings on their blue sleeves, 
 shamed our motley civilian clothes by 
 contrast. Short and tall, stout and thin, 
 from Texas, Ohio, Colorado, and Min- 
 nesota, in cheap "sport suits," sweaters, 
 caps, derbies, every kind of clothing, with 
 broken dress-suit-cases, cord-bound, with 
 paper bundles, and many with hands 
 empty — here was young America in its 
 infinite variety. 
 
 To the room where physical examina- 
 tions were held we were passed along with 
 our identifying papers. Yellow sunshine 
 
4 A YEAR IN THE NAVY 
 
 shone warmly through high windows; 
 there was the moist smell of steam radia- 
 tors, and the unmistakable and indescrib- 
 able smell of naked bodies which threw 
 my recollection back to school and college 
 gymnasia. At a desk by the window the 
 surgeon faced the room; two assistants 
 stood beside him; along the side of the 
 room three or four yeomen at tables re- 
 corded the results of the examination. 
 
 The test was severe, and from our little 
 squad of seventeen, two were cast out for 
 defective eyesight, one for stricture, two 
 for heart trouble, and another for some 
 imperfection of the foot. Weighed, meas- 
 ured, tested for eyesight and color-sight, 
 identified by scars and blemishes, we 
 dressed and then recorded our finger- 
 prints on the voluminous record, which 
 grew as the examination progressed. It 
 was late afternoon and the electric lights 
 
ORDINARY SEAMEN, U.S.N. 5 
 
 were lighted when we finally stood before 
 the desk of the last officer, and, with right 
 hand lifted, touched the Book with our 
 left and swore to follow the flag by sea 
 or land wherever the fate of war might 
 call us. 
 
 In "Two Years Before the Mast" I 
 recollect the phrase, "There is not so 
 helpless and pitiable an object in the 
 world as a landsman beginning a sailor's 
 life"; and in that long first day of my ad- 
 mission to the Navy I began to realize — 
 in but small measure, to be sure — the 
 tremendous change that I was soon to 
 experience, and the vastness of the educa- 
 tion that I must acquire before I could 
 hope to be of even slight value in a sailor's 
 capacity. 
 
 The Great Lakes Naval Training Sta- 
 tion was originally built in 1911, to care 
 for sixteen hundred men. But with the 
 
6 A YEAR IN THE NAVY 
 
 declaration of war with Germany, the en- 
 largement of its capacity was begun on a 
 stupendous scale. South, north, and west 
 of the station, additional acreage was 
 acquired, and under the direction of en- 
 listed engineers and architects complete 
 villages or camps were built, increasing 
 the capacity of the station to over twenty 
 thousand men. Although the new con- 
 struction was only for emergency pur- 
 poses, on land leased for the duration of 
 the war and a year beyond, nothing was 
 omitted by which the comfort of the men 
 might be increased, their health main- 
 tained, and the efficiency of their training 
 most expeditiously promoted. They were 
 grouped in camps, each holding several 
 thousand men; the barracks of each camp 
 were arranged about a central square or 
 drill-ground, and each camp was provided 
 with its central steam-heating plant. 
 
ORDINARY SEAMEN, U.S.N. 7 
 
 mess-kitchen, laundry, dispensary, hospi- 
 tal, drill-halls, and such buildings as are 
 necessary for the officers and the storage 
 and distribution of supplies, as well as a 
 system of hot and cold water, complete 
 sewerage, electric lighting, and fire hy- 
 drants. 
 
 In order that as much of the material 
 as possible may be salvaged when the war 
 is over and the temporary buildings are 
 taken down, each building was so de- 
 signed that it might be constructed of 
 boards and timbers of stock sizes, without 
 cutting, so put together that the buildings 
 can be resolved into approximately the 
 identical piles of lumber from which they 
 were built. 
 
 Each day hundreds of recruits pass 
 through Chicago on their way to the sta- 
 tion. From every corner of the United 
 States, from every walk of life and repre- 
 
8 A YEAR IN THE NAVY 
 
 senting practically every vocation, they 
 swell the ever-increasing total of our naval 
 forces. For about three months they re- 
 main at the station : three weeks in deten- 
 tion, then to the main camp for intensive 
 training, and finally off to sea. With sea- 
 bags neatly packed and shouldered, the 
 blue-clad contingents depart; not with 
 the great band playing, but by night, at 
 hours unknown to the sleeping world. 
 Under the stars the long trains pause, are 
 loaded, and are gone. A few days later the 
 men are put on shipboard at some At- 
 lantic port. 
 
 In order to prevent recruits who have 
 been exposed to contagious diseases from 
 being immediately admitted to the main 
 camps, to spread contagion among the 
 men, a detention camp is maintained, 
 where every recruit must pass three weeks 
 of complete isolation from the world and 
 
ORDINARY SEAMEN, U.S.N. 9 
 
 the main camp. Dm*ing these three weeks 
 the men are not only regularly examined 
 and constantly observed by the medical 
 staff, but the several vaccinations against 
 smallpox and typhoid are administered, 
 throat-cultures tested, and other physi- 
 cal examinations made, and the elemen- 
 tary principles of seamanship and cleanli- 
 ness are inculcated by the commander in 
 charge of each company of men. 
 
 I had come in my oldest suit, which I 
 planned to throw away as soon as my 
 sailor clothes were issued; and I was a 
 little disappointed to find that I should 
 not get my uniform my first day in camp. 
 My instructions and a friendly sentry di- 
 rected me to Camp Decatur, and here my 
 papers admitted me, past the sentry, 
 who was dressed like an Esquimau in his 
 great brown storm-proof suit, to a large 
 frame building of substantial construction. 
 
10 A YEAR IN THE NAVY 
 
 where I answered the innumerable ques- 
 tions of inquisitive yeomen, and received 
 my temporary pay-number and a hst of 
 clothing and other articles soon to be sup- 
 plied to me. 
 
 It is interesting to learn the care which 
 the Navy Department exercises in thor- 
 oughly equipping its men, and it is par- 
 ticularly gratifying, that, despite the fact 
 that each week many hundred recruits 
 enter the station and are fully equipped, 
 there is apparently an abundance of every 
 article that the recruit requires for his 
 complete outfit. 
 
 A white hammock, a blue mattress 
 (which also serves as a life-preserver at 
 sea), a white cotton mattress-cover, two 
 thick white blankets, and a large bath- 
 towel were immediately given to me, and 
 these were plainly stenciled with my 
 name in black paint, in letters an inch 
 
ORDINARY SEAMEN, U.S.N. 11 
 
 high. With this cumbersome bundle on 
 one shoulder, and in my hand the ancient 
 satchel that I had brought, containing a 
 few toilet articles, I followed my guide to 
 the barrack designated as my home for 
 the three weeks to come. 
 
 Deep-set in snow, the low green build- 
 ings edged the wooded ravines which 
 empty, almost a mile away, into Lake 
 Michigan. In and out, the winding roads 
 led from group to group of buildings. Oc- 
 casional groves of trees hinted of summer 
 shade; but to-night, in the dry cold air, 
 the street lights gleamed as sharply as 
 the stars, and struck a twinkling radiance 
 from the snow. Here and there the tall 
 black stacks of the heating-plants flung a 
 smearing streak of smoke along the light 
 evening breeze; fires fed by strong arms 
 and shoulders which in a few short months 
 may be flinging like banks of smoke from 
 
n A YEAR IN THE NAVY 
 
 racing destroyers to screen the protected 
 fleet from hostile eyes. 
 
 It was almost dark when I reached my 
 barrack, half-way down one of the long 
 streets on the far south side of the deten- 
 tion camp. Each barrack building con- 
 tains two entirely separate barracks, each 
 accommodating one section, or twenty- 
 four men. These buildings are about one 
 hundred and twenty feet long by thirty 
 feet wide, with a dividing partition in the 
 middle, thus making each barrack about 
 sixty by thirty feet. The entrances are side 
 by side, and lead into separate vestibules, 
 which, in turn, open into the "head" or 
 wash-room, and the main sleeping- and 
 living-room. The wash-rooms are fitted 
 with the most modern white vitreous fix- 
 tures; there are hot and cold showers; the 
 floors are of cement, and walls and ceiling 
 are painted white. 
 
ORDINARY SEAMEN, U.S.N. 13 
 
 The main barrack-room occupies the 
 rest of the space, and is Hghted by day by 
 six big windows on each side and four at 
 the south end. Walls, floor, and ceiling are 
 of bright clear matched pine, and the 
 sashes, doors, and casements are painted 
 olive-green. Radiators under the windows 
 keep the room always comfortably warm. 
 At the other end, by the partition which 
 separates the two barracks, is the scullery, 
 which is connected with the main room by 
 a door, as well as by a large opening above 
 a counter over which the food is served. 
 As all food is cooked in the local mess- 
 kitchen, there is no cooking done in the 
 barracks. Below the counter, on pine 
 shelves, scrubbed, as is everything else, 
 after every meal, are neatly stacked the 
 twenty-four white enameled plates, cups, 
 and bowls; and in orderly line on the low- 
 est shelf, lye, soap, cleansers, and so forth. 
 
14 A YEAR IN THE NAVY 
 
 are arranged. On the right hand the wide 
 counter extends along the wall under 
 double windows, and beneath it is a com- 
 partment completely inclosing the gar- 
 bage-can, which can be removed only- 
 through doors opening to the outside of the 
 building, and reached from inside through 
 a circular hole in the counter directly 
 above the can and closed by an aluminum 
 cover. The interior of this compartment 
 is painted white. After every meal the gar- 
 bage-can is removed by two of the men, 
 the contents are burned in the camp incin- 
 erator, the can is sterilized with steam, 
 and the interior of the compartment 
 scrubbed with soap and water. 
 
 On the back wall of the scullery as a 
 white enameled kitchen sink supplied 
 with copious hot and cold water, and be- 
 side it a large metal sterilizer piped with 
 live steam, in which all dishes, knives, 
 
ORDINARY SEAMEN, U.S.N. 15 
 
 forks and spoons and dish-rags are steril- 
 ized for fifteen minutes after every meal. 
 On the fourth wall, a small cupboard with 
 drawers contains the ''silverware" and 
 the writing materials; and on a shelf 
 above are such books and magazines as 
 the men may happen to possess. 
 
 In order to assure further the sanitary 
 condition, a pail of formaldehyde solution 
 is kept at one end of the sink, and in this 
 is submerged the drinking cup, which 
 must be taken out and rinsed before use, 
 and immediately put back into the solu- 
 tion. 
 
 Half of the main room is occupied by a 
 long pine table with a bench on each side, 
 where the men eat, read, and write; and 
 here along the wall is a long row of hooks, 
 on which each man's blue coat and caps 
 and muffler are hung. 
 
 The hammock is a Navy institution. 
 
16 A YEAR IN THE NAVY 
 
 Here, high above the deck, Jack swings in 
 comfort through the night hours. Where 
 many men must be housed in httle space, 
 and where absolute cleanHness is neces- 
 sary, the hammock solves the problem. A 
 single piece of white canvas, six feet long 
 by about four feet wide, is drawn together 
 at both ends by a dozen ropes, the ends of 
 which are braided together to metal rings, 
 to which are fastened the lashings by 
 which the hammock is suspended, tightly 
 stretched between the jack-stays. The re- 
 sult is a contraction of the sides of the 
 hammock, making a receptacle for all the 
 world like a magnified pea-pod in which 
 even an amateur can sleep in comparative 
 safety and comfort. The south end of the 
 barrack-room is given over to the ham- 
 mocks, which are swung between the big 
 iron-pipe jack-stays in two rows of twelve 
 hammocks each, head and foot alternat- 
 
ORDINARY SEAMEN, U.S.N. 17 
 
 ing, at a height of about six feet above the 
 floor. From the center jack-stay are hung 
 our big white bags, containing our belong- 
 ings; and he is indeed unfortunate whose 
 clothes or other possessions are at any 
 time found in any other place. 
 
 I am perhaps elaborating in too great 
 detail on the equipment of the Navy bar- 
 racks, but it is in the belief that too lit- 
 tle is generally known of the marvelous 
 efficiency which is exemplified in this 
 great camp — an efficiency which can be 
 but an expression of a similar efficiency 
 in the great department of which it is a 
 part. 
 
 The barrack was only half occupied, 
 and I was warmly greeted by the men, as 
 complete uniform equipment would not 
 be issued until the section of twenty-four 
 men was completed. The barrack *' chief," 
 appointed by the company commander 
 
18 A YEAR IN THE NAVY 
 
 from among the first recruits in the bar- 
 rack, whose luckless job is to maintain 
 order and neatness among his fellows, 
 without powers of punishment, welcomed 
 me and showed me how to lay my mat- 
 tress in my hammock, fold my blankets so 
 that my name showed clearly, and hang 
 my towel in an equally exact location on 
 the foot lashings of the hammock. 
 
 "Chow!" 
 
 It was only haK-past four, but Jack is 
 an early riser, retires early, and must be 
 fed accordingly, with breakfast at six- 
 thirty, dinner at eleven-thirty, and sup- 
 per at four-thirty. Through the open door 
 two of my new comrades suddenly ap- 
 peared, with a great cylinder swinging 
 between them. Behind them another 
 lugged a huge can, like the old-fashioned 
 milk-can but more complicated in con- 
 struction, while a fourth carried four long 
 
ORDINARY SEAMEN, U.S.N. 19 
 
 loaves of white bread in his arms. Depos- 
 ited in the scullery, the top of the cylinder 
 was undamped, and from it was lifted a 
 series of aluminum containers nested one 
 on another like the vessels in a fireless 
 cooker. And, in fact, here was something 
 not far different; for these containers, 
 filled several hours before in the mess- 
 kitchen, were opened in the barrack as 
 hot as when the food left the fire; and 
 from the apparent milk-can, in reality a 
 glorified thermos bottle, poured steaming 
 coffee into ready cups. 
 
 We sat down at the long table, and my 
 first meal in the Navy was consumed with 
 alacrity. That meal, and every meal since, 
 has been distinctly good: no relishes or 
 frills, but good food, well-cooked and 
 served hot. I have since seen the mess- 
 kitchen, and its system and cleanliness 
 are beyond reproach. Beans are usually 
 
20 A YEAR IN THE NAVY 
 
 served at one meal a day — big red mealy- 
 beans, cooked almost to a soupy consist- 
 ency. Coffee, tea, and cocoa are served 
 daily, coffee with breakfast and dinner, 
 and tea or cocoa at night; but for some 
 reason unknown to me, all are indiscrimi- 
 nately called "Java." We have meat, usu- 
 ally in a stew, at least twice a day, and al- 
 ways two vegetables with dinner. Bread 
 is provided with every meal, and butter 
 with breakfast. Two or three times a week 
 we have excellent cereal with breakfast, 
 and on the other days soup with dinner. 
 Jam is often served with supper, and we 
 have fresh apples or stewed fruit daily. 
 
 Our barrack contains a strange assort- 
 ment of men, but perhaps no stranger 
 than every other barrack in the camp. 
 Here are two Texas boys, who, during the 
 extreme weather of the past few days. 
 
ORDINARY SEAMEN, U.S.N. 21 
 
 have clung tenaciously to the radiators. 
 One was a farmer-boy, another a fireman 
 on a Southern railroad. The head bell-boy 
 of a Middle-West hotel swings in a ham- 
 mock near my own, and on one side of me 
 is a lithe, alert, blond-haired young man 
 of perhaps four-and -twenty, who in his 
 vicarious career has peddled papers, 
 "ridden the rods," bumming from town 
 to town, driven a motor-truck, won his 
 laurels as a successful prize-fighter, and 
 waited on the table in a city cabaret — of 
 all the men he is one of the most attrac- 
 tive, with a lively humor, a pleasant man- 
 ner, and a quick sense of fair play. He 
 joined the Navy, he told me, because it 
 "offered him the finest opportunity to 
 make a real man of himself." 
 
 Another interesting character is a 
 young Wisconsin farmer-boy. Of French 
 descent, from the old Green Bay settle- 
 
22 A YEAR IN THE NAVY 
 
 ment, he has developed a rugged Ameri- 
 can character, the result of the purifica- 
 tion and enrichment of the blood of an 
 ancient nation by three generations of 
 labor on our northwestern frontier. His 
 bursts of wild laughter and rough horse- 
 play are constantly blended with senti- 
 ment when mention is made of the finer 
 things of life, and with a frank affec- 
 tion for those who show their friend- 
 ship. He was the joint owner of a small 
 farm, which he gave up to join the Navy, 
 with apparently no thought of exemption 
 when duty shone clear. 
 
 I must not forget to mention the pessi- 
 mist of our little company. Away for the 
 first time from home, he weathered the 
 early anguish of nostalgia to settle into a 
 fixed atmosphere of constant gloom. It 
 was he who gathered voluminous data 
 regarding supposititious sickness in the 
 
ORDINARY SEAMEN, U.S.N. 23 
 
 camp, although it would be hard to find 
 anywhere so large a number of men in 
 such splendid health. It was he who al- 
 ways told with sour visage the latest 
 camp-gossip if it held bad future omens. 
 I last saw him on the way to the camp 
 hospital, where he was to have his tonsils 
 removed; and I think he was really com- 
 placent in contemplation of his discom- 
 fort to come. 
 
 Of the Eastern colleges, Amherst and 
 Harvard are represented in our barrack 
 each by one graduate, and there are a 
 number of boys from various State uni- 
 versities of the West. A painter, whose 
 good-natured laziness and rotund figure 
 immediately won him the nickname of 
 ''Butterfly," a hotel clerk, the assistant 
 purchasing agent of a large automobile 
 company, a carpenter, a bond salesman, 
 and a number of youthful clerks and office- 
 
24 A YEAR IN THE NAVY 
 
 boys complete our numbers. It is interest- 
 ing to find how many of the recruits are 
 under draft age. 
 
 It is still dark with the blackness of five 
 o'clock when the barrack chief calls us 
 in the morning with his "Hit the deck, 
 boys." Five minutes to tumble out into 
 the brilliance of the electric lights flashed 
 on sleeping eyes, fold our blankets, lash 
 up our hammocks, and get out our toilet 
 articles, is all the time allowed. In line we 
 answer to our names, and then a rush to 
 the shower-baths, with much friendly 
 "joshing" and cheering as those hardy 
 ones who turn on the cold water spatter 
 the crowd. 
 
 As soon as we are dressed comes the 
 first of our three daily house-cleanings. 
 After the entire room is swept out, all the 
 cracks and corners are cleaned with water 
 and a stiff broom, and then dried with a 
 
ORDINARY SEAMEN, U.S.N. 25 
 
 cloth. Then the floor is mopped and dried, 
 and the whole room carefully dusted. The 
 same complete cleansing is at the same 
 time given to the "head" or wash-room, 
 the scullery, and the vestibule; and after 
 dinner and supper the operation is re- 
 peated. At least twice a week all the win- 
 dows are washed, and a weekly scrub- 
 bing is administered to our benches and 
 tables. 
 
 For four days we cleared the ground 
 immediately about our barracks of the 
 winter's accumulation of snow, which had 
 piled about the buildings in four- or five- 
 foot drifts. With huge improvised sleds, 
 carts, boxes, and every possible kind of 
 receptacle, the forty-eight men in the two 
 barracks beneath our roof loaded the 
 snow and dragged it to a near-by ravine. 
 Under a bright sun shining in a cloudless 
 sky, hundreds of sailors from the other 
 
26 A YEAR IN THE NAVY 
 
 barracks, like the uniformed students of 
 some great university, dashed up and 
 down the sHppery roads with frequent 
 collisions and endless merriment. 
 
 In command of each company of men 
 in the detention camp is a young seaman 
 who has passed through the School of In- 
 struction, where these men are trained to 
 instruct the recruits, not only in the rudi- 
 ments of drill and seamanship, but es- 
 pecially in cleanliness, both personal and 
 general, and in deportment and obedi- 
 ence. Our company commander is a fine 
 big Texan, with a soft southern inflection, 
 a ready smile, and a rigidity of purpose 
 that compels prompt obedience. As likely 
 as not he will appear at five in the morn- 
 ing to catch the laggard riser, or at mid- 
 night to check the man on watch in the 
 barrack-room. By day he is our counselor 
 and guide and drill-master. Under his 
 
ORDINARY SEAMEN, U.S.N. 27 
 
 crisp commands the long blue-clad lines 
 tramp back and forth across the snow- 
 packed drill-ground. "Squads right into 
 line, march ! " and we swing sharply past 
 him. A dozen other companies are drilling 
 also, under their respective commanders. 
 It is an inspiring scene. 
 
 A few days after my arrival our barrack 
 quota was completed, and we marched 
 down to headquarters to receive our com- 
 plete outfit. Up to this time we all had to 
 a certain extent retained our past identity; 
 by the cut and fashion of our garments we 
 clung to our little niche in civil life. But 
 now all past identification was swept 
 aside. Rapidly we stripped, in a great 
 white-painted room, casting to one side 
 all articles we did not wish to save, and 
 tying in a bundle the garments we might 
 wish to send home. Through a door the 
 naked column passed, and here we were 
 
28 A YEAR IN THE NAVY 
 
 sorted into two files, each of perhaps a 
 hundred men. We had brought our big 
 cotton mattress-covers with us, and using 
 these as bags, we passed to the end of the 
 room, across which was a long counter. 
 Behind the counter a dozen men served us 
 with the various articles of our equip- 
 ment, which they tossed, into our bags 
 with lightning-like rapidity and accuracy. 
 And so specialized were they that a single 
 glance at each man as he neared the coun- 
 ter was sufficient measurement by which 
 to supply him with exactly the proper size 
 and fit of garment. With distended bags 
 we paused again in the back of the room, 
 hurriedly dressed, and again formed in 
 line. And now, as we stood fast, inspectors 
 passed rapidly down the columns, to see 
 that each man had been properly provided 
 with shoes, trousers, and other garments 
 of the right size. Wherever anything 
 
ORDINARY SEAMEN, U.S.N. 29 
 
 wrong was discovered, the fault was ira- 
 mediately corrected. 
 
 It may be of interest to enumerate the 
 various articles provided each sailor by 
 the Government for his personal equip- 
 ment. The following items are copied from 
 my "Clothing and Small Store Requisi- 
 tion," and are issued to the recruits as the 
 articles are needed : 
 
 One pair of arctics, one pair of bath- 
 ing trunks, two woolen blankets, whisk- 
 broom, scrub-brush, shoe-brush, assorted 
 buttons, needles, and thread, clothes- 
 stops for tying each garment in a com- 
 pact roll, knitted cap called a "watch 
 cap," cloth "pan-cake" cap, cap-ribbon, 
 comb, two sets of heavy underwear, four 
 sets of summer underwear, woolen gloves, 
 a dozen handkerchiefs, two white hats, 
 jackknife, blue knitted jersey, two white 
 jumpers and trousers, pair of leggins, silk 
 
30 A YEAR IN THE NAVY 
 
 neckerchief, heavy blue overcoat, blue 
 overshirt and trousers, two towels, soap, 
 six pairs of woolen socks, and a pair of 
 high shoes. All this is provided without 
 cost to the recruit. 
 
 To complete our equipment we were, a 
 few days later, supplied with Red Cross 
 "comfort kits," and although they con- 
 tained some duplications of our govern- 
 ment equipment, they filled a big want 
 and were promptly put in use by every 
 one. Socks, mufflers, and wristlets also 
 were given out, and these were particu- 
 larly appreciated, because of the sever- 
 ity of the weather a>nd our out-of-door 
 life. 
 
 There are many hours in Detention, 
 especially after supper, when time hangs 
 heavily, and to the Y.M.C.A. I owe a debt 
 of gratitude for a slim shelf of books 
 over the scullery sink, which the local 
 
ORDINARY SEAMEN, U.S.N. 31 
 
 Y.M.C.A. representative changes weekly. 
 Collected from households throughout 
 the county, these volumes possessed a 
 rare variety. The first week it was 
 "School-Days at Rugby" that stood 
 boldly forth from the best-selling but less 
 enduring volumes of more recent days. 
 The next week came another assortment, 
 and then it was "Trilby," with Little 
 Billee, Taffy, and the Laird, who helped 
 me keep my thoughts from wandering too 
 often homeward. 
 
 Every Saturday morning we are "in- 
 spected." Dressed in our blue suits, we 
 stand at attention, with all our posses- 
 sions spread at our feet on our clean white 
 bags. Every garment is carefully rolled, 
 according to an exact method, into a tight 
 smooth roll, tied three inches from each 
 end with a white "stop," or cord, knotted 
 in a square knot. All the blue bundles are 
 
32 A YEAR IN THE NAVY 
 
 in one row, white bundles in another, and 
 each garment is so rolled that the sten- 
 ciled name of the owner appears in the 
 center of the roll. With swinging swords 
 and full uniform, the officers check up our 
 belongings and their appearance, and 
 carefully inspect the cleanliness of the 
 barrack, running white-gloved fingers 
 along the door-tops, in the sink, and along 
 scullery shelves. A dirty window or a 
 trace of dust brings the punishment of 
 additional work in the week to come; but 
 punishment is rarely necessary. 
 
 Sickness is the constant foe of any large 
 body of men, but there can be little sick- 
 ness here. First of all. Detention itself, 
 through which every man must pass be- 
 fore entering the camp, practically elimi- 
 nates all possibility of the introduction of 
 sickness by fresh recruits. Furthermore, 
 the breaking up of the men in Detention 
 
ORDINARY SEAMEN, U.S.N. 33 
 
 into several sections of twenty-four men, 
 each section segregated from the others, 
 prevents the spread of sickness in the 
 Detention camp. Conveniently located 
 throughout Detention are a number of 
 completely equipped hospitals and dis- 
 pensaries, where the recruits are cared for 
 when indisposed. An amusing rule, but 
 one obviously necessary when the remedy 
 is not palatable, is that the patient for 
 whom pills or gargles are prescribed must 
 present himself at the dispensary at the 
 required hours, and take the remedy un- 
 der the eyes of one of the doctors. 
 
 Filled with healthful work and drills 
 that are a recreation, the days have 
 passed quickly. Each evening we sit at 
 the long white-scrubbed pine mess-table 
 and write letters home, read, study, and 
 sew. Then there is laundry work to be 
 done, for we seem to take pride in wash- 
 
34 A YEAR IN THE NAVY 
 
 ing our own clothes, as it will soon be 
 necessary for us to do on shipboard. Oc- 
 casionally we have an entertainment, 
 which consists of the Y.M.C.A. phono- 
 graph with its dozen worn records, an 
 impromptu sparring bout, or, more often, 
 an improvised band with a strange vari- 
 ety of instruments, to which all keep time 
 with tapping feet and cheers for "Dixie'* 
 and ** Columbia, the Gem of the Ocean." 
 By nine we are ready for our hammocks, 
 and deep breathing and occasional snores 
 are flagrant, often before the guard has 
 opened the last window. Sometimes dur- 
 ing the night I wake with a sudden start, 
 and as my eyes catch the matched-board 
 ceiling so close above me, yellow in the 
 glare of a near-by street light which 
 shines in through the window, my 
 thoughts carry me far away before sleep 
 comes again. I am sure that there are 
 
ORDINARY SEAMEN, U.S.N. 35 
 
 many such thoughts here, although such 
 things are rarely mentioned. 
 
 It was a bright blue morning and the 
 sun was still stalking low behind the trees, 
 when a bugle-note brought me suddenly 
 to a halt. I was passing a turn in the road 
 when it reached me. Everywhere blue- 
 coated men and boys were working; their 
 voices sounded here and there, word- 
 snatches on the breeze. Half a mile away, 
 against the pale western sky, a flagstaff 
 pointed high above the green buildings. 
 Fluttering, a flag was mounting to the 
 peak. I stiffened and a shiver seemed to 
 pass through me, the same emotional 
 shiver that comes when the band goes by. 
 My hand snapped to salute; the flag 
 reached the peak, and the red stripes and 
 star-flecked blue stood out against the 
 sky. 
 
II 
 
 STUDENTS OF THE SEA 
 
 The three longest weeks of my life were 
 my three weeks in Detention, and yet, 
 to make a paradox, the time passed with 
 surprising rapidity. With the soft spring 
 warmth now filling the air, and a brush of 
 green over the surrounding fields, those 
 three snowbound weeks seem long ago. I 
 suppose it is because there have been so 
 many changes since; and every change 
 you make in the Navy seems revolution- 
 ary and drastic. 
 
 There were about two thousand men in 
 Detention — boys, more properly speak- 
 ing, for the average age was slightly less 
 than twenty. Each day a bunch of raw re- 
 cruits began their life there, to fill the 
 places of those who, having passed their 
 
STUDENTS OF THE SEA 37 
 
 period of inspection and having received 
 the various vaccinations, had been trans- 
 ferred to the great camp beyond. For 
 some, an exact three weeks was all that 
 was required; for others, the period was 
 longer; and those who had seen a month 
 in the camp were madly impatient to 
 shoulder their neatly packed hammocks 
 and clothes-bags, and be gone to take up 
 the more intensive training for sea. 
 
 My detention period ended on the 
 morning of the twenty-second day, a fine 
 clear still winter morning, with a below- 
 zero temperature that creaked in every 
 footfall on the dry packed snow. For two 
 days I had been ready, "rairing to go," as 
 the Texas boys called it; and when the mes- 
 sage finally came from the regimental head- 
 quarters, I needed only a few minutes to 
 pack and shoulder my belongings, say good- 
 bye to my companions, and take my way. 
 
38 A YEAR IN THE NAVY 
 
 The Great Lakes Naval Training Sta- 
 tion comprises the main camp, a com- 
 plete naval training establishment of 
 permanent brick buildings, designed to 
 accommodate approximately fifteen hun- 
 dred men. Surrounding this central unit, 
 are the great recent additions, occupying 
 about five hundred acres, with buildings 
 of semi-permanent construction. These 
 camps bear the suggestive names of naval 
 heroes, and each camp is complete in its 
 equipment, a naval training station in 
 itself. To-day the united camps will ac- 
 commodate over thirty thousand men; 
 and since the beginning of the war the 
 station has sent more than sixty thousand 
 men to sea. It was to the main camp that 
 I was transferred from Detention. 
 
 The next few weeks passed with rela- 
 tively little incident. I was quartered in 
 one of the big permanent brick buildings, 
 
STUDENTS OF THE SEA 39 
 
 and the days were so filled with ceaseless 
 activity that time passed quickly. 
 
 In a great room on the second floor our 
 hammocks were swung in two long rows, 
 quite as they were in Detention; but here 
 I was associated with boys who had all 
 been some time on the station, and more 
 was expected of us. Every morning at five 
 the bugles sounded through the camp: 
 first, one far off and very distant to sleep- 
 filled ears; then others took up the sum- 
 mons; and before the last notes were 
 stilled the Master-at-Arms was up and 
 shouting, "Hit the deck, boys!" and we 
 were drunkenly swinging down from our 
 hammocks, a good seven feet, to the floor 
 below. 
 
 The company was divided each week 
 into details, each with its particular work 
 to perform. To our detail the floors, al- 
 ways spoken of as "the deck," were given 
 
40 A YEAR IN THE NAVY 
 
 to be scrubbed, mopped, and dried. An- 
 other detail polished the wash-room or 
 "head," to immaculate brilliancy. I was 
 on a "sidewalk detail," and with half a 
 dozen others cleaned the concrete walks 
 about the building of snow or dust, as 
 conditions demanded. 
 
 There was something about those 
 morning hours that most of all identifies 
 to me my sojourn in the Main Camp. 
 Clear, cold mornings many of them were, 
 when with brooms we brushed a powder 
 of snow from the walk, often by moon- 
 light. Often in those cold dark mornings, 
 as we brushed the kitchen steps of the 
 mess-hall we would scent on the warm air 
 from opened windows a rich fragrance 
 that is unforgettable. Breakfast for the 
 petty officers' mess was on the fires, and 
 the aroma of bacon, with its suggested 
 complement of fried eggs, filled stomachs 
 
STUDENTS OF THE SEA 41 
 
 empty from five to a seven-o'clock break- 
 fast with infinite craving. Reluctantly we 
 turned our faces and bent to our sweep- 
 ing. Then as the moon slowly set behind 
 the mess-hall, the dawn flushed the East 
 with light behind the black silhouette of 
 the Administration Building, and with 
 fingers numb with cold we tramped back 
 to the barrack. 
 
 Two thousand sailors ate together in 
 each of the two dining-rooms of the main 
 mess-hall. It was a well-ordered crew, but 
 the sound of so many voices, and the rat- 
 tle of knives, forks, and dishes made a 
 tumult that could be heard a block. At 
 noon a part of the band played, while we 
 ate, all the popular airs that the boys 
 seemed never to tire of. It was fulsome 
 music, with much brass and a great beat- 
 ing of drums; but it's the way to make 
 "Over There" send a thrill through you. 
 
42 A YEAR IN THE NAVY 
 
 Mess was served by a white-clad "mess 
 detail," and everything was put on the 
 white board tables with a filled plate at 
 each place, before the men marched in. 
 Navy slang is required, and were a bill-of- 
 fare printed, you would see "Java" for 
 tea or coffee, "punk" for bread, "sand" 
 for salt, and something that sounds like 
 "slumguUion" for any kind of stew. 
 
 Our days were filled with drilling in the 
 drill-hall, and, in fact, the greater part of 
 the time of the recruit while on the station 
 is taken up with foot-drill. It is difficult to 
 teach seamanship to landsmen on a sta- 
 tion, especially during the winter months; 
 and even were an intensive course in sea- 
 manship practical, it could not give the 
 fundamental value derived from these 
 few weeks of drill. It is impossible to de- 
 scribe the change which this work quickly 
 brings in the whole physical and mental 
 
STUDENTS OF THE SEA 43 
 
 bearing of the recruits. From a mob of 
 slouching individuals, a few short weeks 
 of training develops a company of alert 
 and well-set-up men. Back and forth on 
 the smooth floor the companies pass, 
 white-shod legs swinging in perfect syn- 
 chronism, shoulders thrown back, and 
 chins drawn in above bare throats. On 
 every shoulder the gun-barrels slant in 
 parallel lines; feet beat a drum cadence 
 on the floor. Company commanders and 
 petty officers shout crisp commands; 
 there is a rhythm of drums; the dark blue 
 lines break to form "Company square," 
 or "on right into line." 
 
 On Wednesday we passed in review be- 
 fore the commanding officer. With our 
 leggins and braids scrubbed to snowy 
 whiteness, we swung down the hall be- 
 hind the band. There are bands and 
 bands, but the Navy bands play a music 
 
44 A YEAR IN THE NAVY 
 
 of their own; there is a spirit in their fast 
 marches that makes you forget every- 
 thing; you would follow on anywhere. 
 
 Often in the early morning, while we 
 were still sweeping the sidewalks, distant 
 calls and cheers would tell us of a draft 
 leaving for sea; and sometimes we would 
 see the long dark columns marching to 
 their trains. There was no band at their 
 head, but none was needed; and even the 
 intermittent cheers from opened windows 
 brought a vivid realization of why we 
 were here and what it was all about. 
 
 Curiously, there is little discussion of 
 the war at the station. There is too much 
 to occupy us, to leave time for specula- 
 tion. Every one knows he will some day go 
 to sea; a vague realization to most of the 
 boys, for very few have ever seen the 
 ocean, and many have never even seen 
 anything bigger than a row-boat. The 
 
STUDENTS OF THE SEA 45 
 
 general desire is to see Paris, and it is con- 
 fidently assured that this will be granted, 
 and that at some later date we shall prob- 
 ably march in triumph through Berlin, 
 with the station band at the head playing 
 a Sousa march. Then we will all come 
 home and be comfortable heroes for the 
 rest of our days. Germany is personified 
 in the Kaiser; and whenever he is men- 
 tioned, it is usually in relation to some 
 picturesque form of personal violence 
 that the speaker hopes he may wreak 
 upon him. It is a happy-go-lucky crowd, 
 filled with youth and enthusiasm. 
 
 In connection with the cheerful uncon- 
 cern of the average recruit, it is hard not 
 to mention its relation to the effect which 
 the death of one of the boys has upon his 
 fellows. In so large a community sickness 
 is sometimes fatal; and although, consid- 
 ering our numbers, these occasions are 
 
46 A YEAR IN THE NAVY 
 
 rare, there is now and then a call for a 
 "firing squad," if a sailor's burial is to be 
 held in Chicago or some near-by town. At 
 these times the prospect of a trip, despite 
 the occasion, brings many times the re- 
 quired quota of volunteers, and the squad 
 invariably departs with a holiday aspect. 
 On their return the two chief topics of 
 conversation center on the appearance of 
 the deceased and the meals which the 
 party enjoyed; and the next day we are 
 drilling again, and the world moves quite 
 as cheerfully as before. 
 
 In the eyes of our captain we are boys, 
 and, to be sure, our average age is scarcely 
 twenty. In those years between seventeen 
 and twenty character is moulded, and it 
 is here that the navy in general, and per- 
 haps this station in particular, performs 
 its greatest service to the country. From 
 these months of healthful exercise and 
 
STUDENTS OF THE SEA 47 
 
 clean environment comes a strengthening 
 of the moral as well as the physical fiber; 
 there is born a sense of unity, order, and 
 discipline; right and wrong are clearly sep- 
 arated and character is brought forward 
 as an honorable and desirable attribute. 
 
 In an essay, "A Twentieth-Century 
 Outlook," written not long before his 
 death, the late Captain A. T. Mahan 
 voices an opinion that finds fulfillment in 
 the Great Lakes Station, by a happy coin- 
 cidence to-day commanded by a man at 
 one time his aide: 
 
 "Is it nothing, in an age when authority 
 is weakening and restraints are loosening, 
 that the youth of a nation passes through 
 a school in which order and obedience and 
 reverence are learned, where the body is 
 systematically developed, where ideals of 
 self-surrender, of courage, of manhood, 
 are inculcated, necessarily, because of 
 
48 A YEAR IN THE NAVY 
 
 fundamental conditions of military suc- 
 cess? Is it nothing that youths out of the 
 fields and the streets are brought to- 
 gether, mingled with others of higher in- 
 tellectual antecedents, taught to work 
 and to act together, mind in contact with 
 mind, and carrying back into civil life 
 that respect for constituted authority 
 which is urgently needed in these days 
 when lawlessness is erected into a religion? 
 It is a suggestive lesson to watch the ex- 
 pression and movements of a number of 
 rustic conscripts undergoing their first 
 drill, and to contrast them with the fin- 
 ished results as seen in the faces and bear- 
 ing of the soldiers that throng the streets. 
 A military training is not the worst prepa- 
 ration for an active life, any more than 
 the years spent at college are time lost, as 
 another school of Militarians insists." 
 In connection with the part the Navy 
 
STUDENTS OF THE SEA 49 
 
 plays in preparing boys "for an active 
 life," no better illustrations could be 
 found to verify Admiral Mahan's conten- 
 tion than here before my eyes. Foremost 
 come those general fundamental build- 
 ers of character which are here taught 
 and inspired — subordination, discipline, 
 team-play, cleanliness, and the readiness 
 instantly to obey. With minds and bodies 
 well-ordered, the boys are separated into 
 groups, to specialize according to their 
 past experience or inclination. In the Yeo- 
 man School hundreds of young men are 
 learning stenography, typewriting, and 
 the fundamentals of their mother tongue. 
 For paymaster advancements others are 
 taking up studies, including finance, po- 
 litical economy, geography, and mathe- 
 matics. In the Department of Public 
 Works, engineers, architects, and drafts- 
 men are being made. Here, with the in- 
 
50 A YEAR IN THE NAVY 
 
 spiration of the tapering towers, often lost 
 aloft in morning mists, others learn to 
 send "winged words.'* In the hospitals 
 some are taught the merciful arts of heal- 
 ing, and almost a thousand, under the 
 guidance of the world's greatest band- 
 master, are learning to stir men's souls 
 with music. But chief of all, in the many 
 schools for seamanship, they are learning 
 to guide our argosies from sea to sea, in 
 the peaceful years to come, and to bring 
 back the heritage of the past. Nor must 
 I fail to mention that great school of 
 ground aviation, where several thousand 
 are learning the intricacies of our com- 
 ing navy of the sky. We have here a vast 
 university, with a curriculum that builds 
 strongly for the future. 
 
 My departure from the main station to 
 one of the big outlying camps came — as 
 
STUDENTS OF THE SEA 51 
 
 all things seem to come in the Navy — at 
 a minute's notice. It was a Saturday, and 
 I was already in line to march out for 
 thirty-six hours' "shore leave," when the 
 order came for me to "shove off" for 
 Camp Perry, to take up the job of assist- 
 ant company commander in the Sixth 
 Regiment. 
 
 The rank of company commander is 
 peculiar, I believe, to the Great Lakes 
 Station. From the recruits, from time to 
 time, men are selected to act as chiefs of 
 companies of approximately one hundred 
 and fifty men. They are to their compa- 
 nies as a captain in the army is to the men 
 under him — a commander in drills, re- 
 sponsible for the welfare, cleanliness, and 
 comfort of the men, and responsible fur- 
 ther for the condition of the barracks in 
 which they live. In the front of each bar- 
 rack, facing the company street, is the 
 
62 A YEAR IN THE NAVY 
 
 room of the company commander and his 
 assistant. In the rear, in two long bar- 
 racks, the men swing the white hammocks 
 from iron jackstays high above the deck. 
 Under the company commander are the 
 company clerk, who checks the muster- 
 roll and attends to the clerical details, 
 and two chiefs of section, who exercise an 
 under-authority over the men and lead 
 their respective sections in drill. 
 
 Camp Perry was filled with men who 
 had practically completed their sojourn 
 on the station, and many of them were 
 serving their second "hitch," or reenlist- 
 ment in the Navy. I had, up to this time, 
 known only the credulous recruit, and my 
 new experience with a crowd erudite in 
 station ways was at first discouraging. In 
 the eyes of a sea-going "salty" sailor we 
 are all landsmen, and hence "rookies," 
 until we have made one cruise; but even 
 
STUDENTS OF THE SEA 53 
 
 among rookies there are grades of distinc- 
 tion, and'every man is almost childishly 
 eager to have, at least, a "sea-going" ap- 
 pearance, although he may never have 
 smelled salt water. Our leggins, for in- 
 stance, when new, are a rich tan color, but 
 the constant scrubbing of months bleaches 
 them snowy white. Accordingly, the few 
 weeks' recruit soon learns to spend in- 
 credible energy bleaching his leggins 
 by artificial means, to approximate the 
 longer enlisted men, and any recipe is 
 eagerly accepted to attain the desired end. 
 I remember, in Detention, how a number 
 of the boys utilized the otherwise futile 
 can of talcum powder provided in our Red 
 Cross kits to powder their leggins each 
 morning. And an enterprising tailor in the 
 near-by city of Waukegan must have ac- 
 quired a small fortune sewing stiff with 
 cotton thread the brims of our white hats. 
 
54 A YEAR IN THE NAVY 
 
 to give them the desired "salty" appear- 
 ance. 
 
 There are many types of men here, but 
 they quickly become distinguishable and 
 fall into natural groups. Of these one is 
 the "hard-boiled" variety that delights 
 in harmless bullying, and when given a 
 little authority, becomes sometimes a 
 burden to the rest of the community. 
 Most of our "hard-boiled" members have 
 achieved their reputation with the hope 
 that it would give them a bearing sup- 
 posedly more seafaring. There are a few 
 who are natural bullies, but they are the 
 minority; in the majority of cases, how- 
 ever, the men are without affectation, 
 natural in their ways and speech, glad to 
 exchange letters from home, and una- 
 shamed to show their finer emotions 
 when the occasion arises. 
 
 There were about fifteen hundred men 
 
STUDENTS OF THE SEA 55 
 
 in the Sixth, and for the most part they 
 were enhsted in the ground-aviation 
 branch of the service — expert motor 
 machinists from the great automobile 
 factories of Detroit, taxi-drivers, garage 
 workers, machinists, and a general mix- 
 ture of various trades combined into one 
 unit. Several of the men in my company 
 wore red "hash marks" — a diagonal 
 band of red on the sleeve, just above the 
 cuff, each mark signifying an enlistment 
 in the Navy. To these was accorded a natu- 
 ral deference due to their long experience, 
 and their habits of dress and speech were 
 quietly observed as a pattern to follow. 
 From them also, in the few idle periods 
 that were allowed us, came tales of foreign 
 ports, of target practice, of the fleet, and 
 of "shore liberty" in every quarter of the 
 world, with the inevitable wind-up of a 
 free-for-all to the ultimate victory of the 
 
56 A YEAR IN THE NAVY 
 
 Yankee tar over the crew of some foreign 
 battleship. 
 
 Our entertainment is well provided. In 
 the great drill-halls are shown nightly the 
 latest moving-picture films, and on fre- 
 quent occasions complete theatrical pro- 
 ductions are gratuitously staged by the 
 managements of the Chicago theaters. 
 Never, I imagine, have some of the actors 
 and actresses received such ovations. 
 Only a few nights ago I attended a vaude- 
 ville performance. Three thousand sailors 
 crowded the front seats in the vast drill- 
 hall. A sailor orchestra played the over-: 
 ture. Then, before the curtain appeared a 
 woman in an evening gown of the rich 
 theatrical vogue, and to the silent hall she 
 sang a new topical song, to the effect that 
 we had crossed the Delaware, we had 
 crossed the Rio Grande, and we would 
 cross the Rhine. At the last note a roar 
 
STUDENTS OF THE SEA 57 
 
 burst from the audience. Again and again 
 she repeated the last verse; and when she 
 finally left the stage, she was weeping, and 
 the crowd had taken up the refrain under 
 the guidance of the waving arms of the 
 leader of the orchestra. 
 
 The manly art of self-defense is not 
 neglected in our curriculum, nor, for that 
 matter, are any of the sports that bring 
 recreation to healthy men and boys. A 
 former champion of the Atlantic fleet, 
 now an ensign, U.S.N., is in charge of the 
 boxing, and from our great numbers is 
 drawn a wealth of pugilistic material. On 
 Wednesday evenings in the winter, and in 
 summer in the afternoons in a natural 
 amphitheater, the talent of the several 
 camps is matched in the ring; and before 
 the cheering white-clad audience nerve, 
 skill, and determination are matched in 
 clean-cut bouts which give indication of 
 
58 A YEAR IN THE NAVY 
 
 the spirit that is here undergoing training 
 to meet on another day, in more bloody- 
 fields, an antagonist who may not play 
 so closely to the rules of the celebrated 
 marquis. 
 
 Athletics are an important part of the 
 life of a sailor. On sea there are frequent 
 boat-races between ships of the fleet, and 
 at the station we find equivalent competi- 
 tive exercise in boxing, track-races, and 
 football and baseball games between the 
 teams of the several camps. In winter the 
 basket-ball team makes a fairly extensive 
 tour of the country, and such trips of the 
 athletic teams have their positive value in 
 attracting young men of virile type to the 
 Navy. Wrestling is another sport that 
 brings to the front the manhood of the 
 boy, and I have seen a thousand faces 
 tense in the white electric light following 
 the snaky twistings of the heroes of the 
 
STUDENTS OF THE SEA 59 
 
 padded ring, impulsive cheers recognizing 
 the subtlety of each particular hold. In 
 the basement of one of the main buildings 
 is a large white swimming-pool; on the 
 floor above, a complete gymnasium stands 
 open for the use of the sailors; and in an- 
 other part of the same building is a bowl- 
 ing-alley. Jack's physical fitness and en- 
 tertainment seem assured. 
 
 It would be ingratitude to fail to men- 
 tion the various buildings maintained 
 through different organizations by pub- 
 lic contribution, for the recreation and 
 amusement of the enlisted men. First, if 
 for no other reason than by the scope of 
 its operation, is the Y.M.C.A., and the 
 Great Lakes is fortunate in possessing at 
 least half a score of these practical build- 
 ings. In them are provided writing mate- 
 rials and desks, and this alone, I am confi- 
 dent, is responsible for fifty per cent of 
 
60 A YEAR IN THE NAVY 
 
 the "letters home" — letters that with- 
 out this simple suggestion might never be 
 written. Here also are big warm stoves, 
 magazines, and occasional moving pic- 
 tures in the evening. I am sorry that the 
 rules of the station, due primarily to the 
 frame construction of the buildings, pro- 
 hibit indoor smoking. It is the only thing 
 of the kind that the Y.M.C.A. cannot 
 afford us. 
 
 Similar buildings are maintained with 
 equal efficiency by the Knights of Colum- 
 bus; but there are two other activities 
 which seem to me to deserve perhaps even 
 more detailed mention than the forego- 
 ing, because of the fact that the more 
 limited scope of their operations has given 
 them less general publicity. 
 
 The Young Women's Christian Asso- 
 ciation fills an unquestioned place in the 
 life of our station. There is something. 
 
STUDENTS OF THE SEA 61 
 
 truly, in the *' woman's touch" that can 
 be found in no organization under mascu- 
 line direction; and to boys and men far 
 separated from mothers, wives, sisters, 
 and sweethearts, the open fires, chintz 
 curtains, and dainty furnishing of the 
 Y.W.C.A. Hostess Houses give a touch 
 of femininity that is tacitly appreciated. 
 But the even greater function of these 
 houses, presided over by gracious women, 
 whose presence is an inestimable service, 
 is their contribution to the station of a 
 meeting place for men and women; a right 
 environment, where mothers and fathers 
 may^meet their boys, and where Nancy 
 may meet Jack for a cup of tea and a sand- 
 wich, and listen to something or other on 
 the phonograph while conversation flows 
 on in the quiet channels of decent sur- 
 roundings. 
 
 The other organization that I have in 
 
62 A YEAR IN THE NAVY 
 
 mind is the American Library Associa- 
 tion. During the past two months I have 
 been stationed "west of the tracks,'* in 
 Camp Perry, and, later, in Camp Dewey. 
 Midway between is the building of the 
 A.L.A., and here I quickly found a quiet 
 haven for study, in a big, warm, well- 
 aired building, filled with books that met 
 every desire of study or relaxation, pre- 
 sided over by intelligent gentlemen eager 
 to give their help to the war by sharing 
 with the boys their wider intellectual 
 points of view. 
 
 Our health is a matter of no less con- 
 cern, however, than our mental welfare, 
 and in this matter the Government shares 
 no responsibility with outside interests. 
 Needless to say, our hospitals, dispensa- 
 ries, and so forth are of the highest order 
 of efficiency; but a description of these is 
 
STUDENTS OF THE SEA 63 
 
 but the description of efficient hospitals 
 anywhere. It is the incidentals that give 
 the pictures. In our barracks our ham- 
 mocks swing side by side in double rows 
 down the dormitory. To check the spread 
 of colds and contagious diseases, the hos- 
 pital authorities installed movable cot- 
 ton curtains, which each night are eas- 
 ily adjusted between the heads of the 
 hammocks. These "sneeze curtains," as 
 they were immediately dubbed, very soon 
 had an appreciable effect on the sickness 
 lists of the regiments. 
 
 Happy is the sense of humor of the 
 sailor. Several times each week we are in- 
 spected for indications of measles or scar- 
 let fever. As the first sign is a rash on the 
 stomach, it is here that we are inspected. 
 There is a cry by whoever first sees the 
 visiting surgeon, of *' Attention!" then 
 comes the word, "Belly inspection," and 
 
64 A YEAR IN THE NAVY 
 
 we fall into line, and with our blouses and 
 shirts pulled up above our breeches march 
 past the doctor. It was a Texan who, with 
 a fine disregard for the majesty of our 
 gold-striped surgeon, secured from the 
 clothing depot a paper stencil, such as 
 we use to mark our clothing, and with 
 black paint lettered his bare stomach 
 with "Good-morning, doctor." There are 
 times when even an officer laughs. 
 
 All Texas has certainly enlisted in the 
 Navy, and as our average age is below the 
 draft age, it suggests even to the casual 
 that the spirit of the Alamo goes march- 
 ing on. Tall and lean, they come from 
 Texas towns, villages, and the open 
 plains. All speak with the rich accent of 
 the South, but most of all they are dis- 
 tinguished by. their native manners, 
 which seem to be invariably present. Few 
 of them have ever seen a boat, but all of 
 
STUDENTS OF THE SEA 65 
 
 them are eager to leave their native ele- 
 ment and become sailors. They are a 
 splendid class of men, a type that seems 
 to exemplify the ideal American. 
 
 Among the men who were directly un- 
 der me in the regiment was a short sandy 
 fellow who, I learned, had spent a number 
 of years as a sailor on West Coast freight- 
 ers. Twice shipwrecked, he had finally 
 retired from seafaring to the less tempes- 
 tuous occupation of a gold-prospector in 
 Alaska. On a periodic trip to a near-by 
 town he had learned that the country was 
 at war, and without stopping to dispose 
 of his claims, — • which held greater possi- 
 bilities of wealth with every telling, — he 
 hurried to the States and enlisted in the 
 Navy. His chief desire while on the sta- 
 tion was to climb one of the four-hundred- 
 foot radio towers and perform a hand- 
 spring on the top; a desire, happily for 
 
66 A YEAR IN THE NAVY 
 
 life and limb, never to be gratified. As it 
 was, his leisure time was completely filled 
 by embroidery and the weaving of mats 
 and fringes from rope-ends. 
 
 In the same barracks slept a young ex- 
 minister of the Gospel, whose slight figure 
 and quiet manner contrasted with the 
 rugged physique and picturesque speech 
 of the gold-prospector. They were both 
 willing workers, and a friendship sprang 
 up between them, for each found in the 
 other qualities for wonder and admi- 
 ration. I never heard the history of the 
 minister, but there was in the intensity of 
 his patriotism a promise for his future. 
 
 Many of the men were married, and on 
 Wednesday afternoons, which were set 
 apart for visitors, wives and children were 
 much in evidence. One of the men, a dark 
 boyish-looking fellow, with fine wide-set 
 eyes and constantly smiling mouth, had 
 
STUDENTS OF THE SEA 67 
 
 particularly attracted me by his quiet 
 willingness. He had been a motor expert 
 in one of the big automobile factories at 
 Detroit, and threw up a high-pay job to 
 join the Navy. One Wednesday afternoon 
 he proudly introduced me to his wife and 
 three-year-old daughter. Later, the wife 
 told me of her pride in her husband's en- 
 listment and her satisfaction in having 
 been able to find a good position for her- 
 self in order to keep up the earning capac- 
 ity of the family in his absence. 
 
 I was listening one morning to a fellow 
 company commander drilling his com- 
 pany in the street before their barracks. 
 The men were listless, and there was ab- 
 sent from the drill the smart precision that 
 instantly identifies the drill-work of a sailor. 
 Without long patience he finally halted 
 his men, and in a few short sentences de- 
 manded their attention. One sentence in 
 
68 A YEAR IN THE NAVY 
 
 particular I shall never forget, for it is a 
 crystallization of the spirit of the Station. 
 
 "Don't just do your bit," he said; 
 "the men on this station do their best." 
 
 There is another phrase that is in a 
 sense our motto. It is, "For the good of 
 the ship." Landlubbers though we are, 
 we are taught by our captain to consider 
 our camp as a ship in which we must take 
 a true sailor's pride, whose reputation is 
 entrusted to us, a sacred thing. All our 
 speech must be nautical, our life is nauti- 
 cal, and although we live on land, our 
 floor is our deck; when on the station, we 
 are on board ship; and to step outside the 
 gate is to "go ashore." For the good of the 
 ship we are taught that the Navy in gen- 
 eral, and our station in particular, are 
 judged by our behavior and appearance. 
 To go on liberty requires personal cleanli- 
 ness; to remain on liberty demands ex- 
 
STUDENTS OF THE SEA 69 
 
 emplary behavior. It is a single but an 
 inclusive creed, that guides the accumula- 
 tive spirit of youth. 
 
 A few, weeks ago we passed in review 
 before the Secretary of the Navy. With 
 our regimental colors standing out in a 
 strong cold breeze from the Lake, we 
 formed in the one wide street and swung 
 into line behind our band. I was marching 
 near the head of the column, and as we 
 turned a bend in the road I looked back 
 at the regiment, extended at right angles 
 to the foremost company. Fifteen hundred 
 strong, four abreast, we jBUed a long half- 
 mile of road. The sky was blue, and the sun 
 heightened the brilliance of white caps 
 and leggins and caught here and there a 
 flash from gray gun-barrels. In the middle 
 of the column, the red bars of the flag 
 made a dash of color, and beside it the 
 blue regimental flag, with its yellow de- 
 
70 A YEAR IN THE NAVY 
 
 vice of the Aviation, flapped in the breeze. 
 From every regimental street similar col- 
 umns were emerging. Bands were every- 
 where playing, the music in wind-torn 
 fragments sounding now and again loud 
 in our ears. 
 
 Before the Administration Buildings 
 we finally formed, and for an hour we 
 marched past the reviewing stand. Men 
 from every state in the Union, brought 
 together by a common call, we went past. 
 The great band, massed together, thun- 
 dered its music. From roofs, flagstaffs, 
 and towers multi-colored signal flags 
 dipped and waved. High against the blue 
 above us was the flag of our country. 
 Here was America, with its answer to the 
 world. Here were the inheritors of Perry, 
 Decatur, Hull, Farragut, and Dewey. 
 Here were men from whose number 
 would come new heroes. 
 
Ill 
 
 THE TRANSPORT 
 
 From Alaska and the Western islands, 
 from the Pacific slopes, from the great 
 Northwest and Southwest, from the Mis- 
 sissippi Valley, the Gulf States, and the 
 Eastern States, they have congregated; 
 drawn together, forming and reforming 
 into ever-increasing armies, miners and 
 bank clerks, college professors and farm- 
 ers' sons, these vast legions have been 
 gathered, silently and almost unobserved, 
 into a handful of seaport towns; and from 
 these ports of embarkation America's 
 Army of Liberty, without interruption, 
 passes across three thousand miles of sea 
 to foreign lands. Beyond conception is the 
 number that has been transported; nor 
 has the tide yet reached its height. In the 
 
72 A YEAR IN THE NAVY 
 
 wonder of their gathering and in the glory 
 of their deeds beyond the seas, perhaps 
 have been unnoticed some aspects of their 
 transit. Impatient hours are their hours of 
 travel across the sea. But to those whose 
 duty it is to insure their safe and speedy 
 passage, they are long hours of anxious 
 expectancy. The description of a single 
 passage across the Atlantic will tell the 
 tale. Be there a thousand or ten thousand 
 within the narrow hull, the general as- 
 pects are the same. 
 
 The city's streets reflected the wither- 
 ing heat of early August, and that heat, 
 on a certain August morning, was the 
 city's chief concern. As I passed down 
 through the canon walls of buildings, I 
 felt a certain resentment that these mil- 
 lions of people were taking up their daily 
 labors apparently unmoved by the vast 
 
THE TRANSPORT 73 
 
 emigration that passed almost unnoticed 
 before them. I was proud to be a partici- 
 pant in this mighty movement, and yet I 
 was envious of these busy people, envious 
 of the uninterrupted even tenor of their 
 lives. 
 
 There was a slight coolness on the 
 river, but beyond the portal of the ferry 
 came again the heat of pavements and the 
 dry hot smells of city streets. Long rows 
 of buildings stretched north along the 
 river, and above the roofs here and there 
 towered high sparless masts and huge 
 funnels painted in strange bands of color, 
 emitting thin wisps of smoke or steam 
 which rose almost perpendicularly into 
 the air. Along the rough pavement passed 
 an interminable procession of rumbling 
 trucks piled high with great boxes sten- 
 ciled with addresses over-seas. Soldiers 
 and sailors moved along the sidewalk. 
 
74 A YEAR IN THE NAVY 
 
 There was a restless but ordered sense of 
 activity. 
 
 Beyond the guarded gates to one of the 
 nearest piers the steel shed-like building, 
 which enclosed the dock-ends and ex- 
 tended its two-story projections out along 
 each pier, opened wide black doorways. 
 Through them electric trucks passed in 
 and out from the yards crowded with 
 freight to the dark interior. 
 
 Inside the building was the same or- 
 derly confusion. Up to the high ceiling 
 against every wall was piled an infinite 
 variety of boxed, baled, and crated ma- 
 terial: wagons, gun-carriages, aeroplanes 
 and caissons, provisions of every descrip- 
 tion, medical and commissary supplies, 
 lumber, canvas, rope and wire, barrels, 
 casks, and metal cylinders of fluid. Be- 
 tween the barricades of freight, and al- 
 most indistinct in the gloom to sun-dazed 
 
THE TRANSPORT 75 
 
 eyes, a long line of soldiers stretched far 
 down the building, and beyond a distant 
 corner out on the enclosed pier to the 
 gangways to the ship. They were hot, 
 dirty, and tired with long hours of railway 
 travel, and they moved forward in slow 
 advances of ten or a dozen feet, resting 
 their packs, meanwhile, on the concrete 
 floor and leaning on the polished blue 
 barrels of their rifles. Bronzed with their 
 months of training, their dark faces of- 
 fered little contrast to the rakish service 
 caps of khaki or the drab of service uni- 
 forms. They were tired, but their disci- 
 pline was unbroken, and there was a no- 
 ticeable gayety in the ranks and the spirit 
 of a holiday already at hand. 
 
 Here a regiment of pioneers, weather- 
 beaten faces making dark contrast to 
 straight blue eyes and sun-faded hair. 
 Matching them in appearance was a regi- 
 
76 A YEAR IN THE NAVY 
 
 ment of city-bred, whose recently broad- 
 ened shoulders swung easily beneath the 
 heavy packs. Glistening with rivulets of 
 sweat, the black faces of the negro com- 
 panies responded to every diversion with 
 instant smiles and laughter. Among the 
 men passed and repassed officers in smart 
 inconspicuous uniforms. They were young, 
 for the most part, but here and there 
 were older faces. 
 
 The doors of the pier shone with sun- 
 light that filtered down between the pier- 
 shed and the high side of the waiting 
 transport. At each door the narrow gang- 
 way ascended sharply to the ship's side. 
 At two gangways the troops were em- 
 barking; at the others stevedores were 
 loading supplies and freight. 
 
 There was no view of the vessel, only 
 glimpses of plates of rivet-studded steel 
 through square sunlit openings — steel at 
 
THE TRANSPORT 77 
 
 this door painted a sky-blue, and at the 
 next door and the door beyond in slanting 
 stripes of black and white camouflage. 
 There was a smell of salt water in the air 
 and a reminiscent tang of other seafaring 
 days in a huge coil of tarred hawser. 
 
 Beyond the steep ascent of the gang- 
 way there was light and a sudden sense of 
 heat. Like a mighty building the sides of 
 the transport lifted high against the roof 
 of the dock-shed and extended from the 
 head of the basin to the river at the far 
 end. Abaft the forward cargo-deck, the 
 superstructure rose deck on deck to the 
 culminating sweep of the bridge, full sixty 
 feet above the greasy water of the slip; 
 and above the cargo-deck the foremast 
 and the mainmast rose high against the 
 blue sky, dwarfing the stocky kingheads 
 which directed the long cargo booms. 
 Across the face of the ship the blue, white. 
 
78 A YEAR IN THE NAVY 
 
 black, and gray camouflage shattered the 
 otherwise orderly outline, giving to the 
 vessel the fantastic appearance of some 
 gayly painted plaything of a giant. 
 
 In the shadows of the decks, white-clad 
 oflScers directed the chaos of the embarka- 
 tion; and up the gangways and down the 
 black hatches in the deck two inter- 
 minable files of soldiers issued like brown 
 ropes from the doorways of the pier and 
 smoothly slid across the narrow strip of 
 water, to be coiled away somewhere in 
 the caverns below the decks. 
 
 A dozen women in cool blue Red 
 Cross uniforms mingled with the crowd. 
 Y.M.C.A. workers busily offered their 
 final services. Trunks and boxes, officers' 
 baggage, came over the side and were 
 snatched off by perspiring men and hur- 
 ried below. Everywhere were ceaseless 
 activity, heat, the confused sounds of 
 
THE TRANSPORT 79 
 
 many voices, and the smells of the ship, 
 the water, and sweating bodies. 
 
 The embarkation was completed, and 
 the long tan lines that for seeming hours 
 had mounted steadily the slender gang- 
 ways had terminated in the steel decks 
 below. We lunched in the once richly deco- 
 rated saloon where men and women had 
 gayly gathered in long voyages to the dis- 
 tant Orient. But to-day the central table 
 was lined with naval officers, and on either 
 side, at other tables, sat the several hun- 
 dred army officers who were accompany- 
 ing us. In the soldiers' quarters galley- 
 fires had been long lighted and dinner was 
 being rapidly served to the men. With cup 
 and tin plate in hand, they passed in line 
 before the serving-tables, then scattered 
 about the decks and voraciously devoured 
 their first meal on shipboard. 
 
 All afternoon the loading of baggage 
 
80 A YEAR IN THE NAVY 
 
 and supplies was continued. Everywhere 
 about the decks the soldiers wandered, 
 examining their new surroundings or 
 clustering about boxes and hatch-covers 
 to write last letters before departure. 
 Night came. Far across the river a myriad 
 lights gleamed like faint stars against the 
 soft sky. From the darkening river rose 
 the voices of passing vessels, ferries call- 
 ing out to each other in the growing dusk, 
 deep resonant whistles of ocean vessels 
 and the raucous cries of tugboats. Below 
 decks on the transport a piano dominated 
 all local sounds with the staccato metallic 
 notes of the latest music-hall melodies. 
 About the piano a hundred soldiers gath- 
 ered in a hollow circle, in which two negro 
 soldiers, streaming with sweat, clogged 
 violently, with white flashes of smiles and 
 clapping hands. From the roofs of the 
 dock-sheds bright flood-lights illuminated 
 
THE TRANSPORT 81 
 
 the transport with an unreal dayhght, and 
 far above their glare, in the still hot roof 
 of the sky, faint stars shone with a pale 
 white luster. 
 
 It was midnight. Diiven by the intense 
 heat from below decks, the sleeping sol- 
 diers incrusted every level surface of the 
 ship. On every square foot of deck, on life- 
 boats, on life-rafts and piles of still un- 
 stowed baggage, on booms, hatch-covers, 
 and gratings, they flung their bodies in 
 sleep. Upturned to the glaring lights and 
 the stars beyond, white faces lay as on 
 some strange field of battle. Here and 
 there half -naked bodies turned or twisted 
 heavily. Broad chests rose and fell in even 
 breathing; bare feet extended stark and 
 white against the deck. A man with a 
 dark mustache across his lip cried out 
 a sharp incoherent sentence of foreigp. 
 words. Beside him a tall young man with 
 
82 A YEAR IN THE NAVY 
 
 clean-cut, boyish features tossed rest- 
 lessly. As he shifted his weary body, his 
 arm fell across the sleeping man beside 
 him. I watched the arm unconsciously 
 and almost tenderly tighten about the 
 stolid figure, and then, as the touch 
 brought back some far memory to his 
 dreams, I saw his body relax, the fitful 
 tossing ceased, and he sank into tired 
 sleep. 
 
 It is late afternoon of the second day. 
 For almost twenty-four hours we have 
 been ready, awaiting the word which 
 would send us on our way. During these 
 long hours the soldiers swarmed restlessly 
 about the ship. At frequent intervals the 
 army band blared noisily popular patri- 
 otic airs, and the men roared out the ring- 
 ing choruses in appreciation. But now 
 there are certain signs which to an ob- 
 serving eye indicate nearing departure. 
 
THE TRANSPORT 83 
 
 The pilot, a young man with a jaunty 
 black-and-white checked cap, is on the 
 bridge chatting with the captain. Quietly, 
 all but two of the hawsers have been 
 cast off, and all but one gangway have 
 been lowered away from the side. A vi- 
 bration trembling deep within the great 
 ship indicates that our engines are turn- 
 ing over. That test alone is indicative. 
 The wail of our siren rises loud above the 
 roofs, and now every man realizes that 
 the long journey is at hand. There is a 
 noticeable quiet. 
 
 Four tugs, with much churning of green 
 water, puff noisily into the slip and fasten 
 like leeches against our bow and stern. 
 Soldiers crowd the rails. Every one is on 
 deck. From the upper deck, directly be- 
 low the bridge, where I am standing with 
 several of the ship's officers, I watch with 
 dull emotion these last material sever- 
 
84 A YEAR IN THE NAVY 
 
 ings from a land that holds all that is life 
 to me. 
 
 Bells jangle deep in the engine-room. 
 The tugs surge against the ship. Suddenly 
 I become conscious that we are moving. 
 With my eye I line up a deck-stanchion 
 with a mark on the dock-shed. The cheer- 
 ing becomes general, a wild triumphant 
 tumult of sound, a roaring of these thou- 
 sands of American voices. 
 
 The dock-sheds are deserted. No an- 
 swering cheers meet our ears. From a 
 doorway appears a single Irish stevedore, 
 who waves his arms to us. All the cheering 
 instantly focuses on him; he becomes to 
 us America, and the roar of triumphant 
 farewell swells up from the packed decks. 
 
 Slowly we slide past the dock and out 
 into the stream. On the forward deck the 
 army band smashes into the chorus of 
 *'Over There." Instantly the voices re- 
 
THE TRANSPORT 85 
 
 spond. It is tremendous, and there is a 
 lump in my throat and tears of emotion 
 stand in my eyes. 
 
 A cool breeze sweeps up the river. 
 Piled high in lofty towers and pinnacles, 
 the great city rises from the blue water, 
 a gleaming silhouette against the sky. 
 About its feet innumerable wharves, like 
 extended fingers of a giant hand, clutch 
 the water. A ferry-boat crowded with re- 
 turning workers slides past us; there is a 
 flutter of handkerchiefs from its decks. 
 The band strikes up the "Star-Spangled 
 Banner." Slowly we glide down the river, 
 our decks massed with khaki-clad sol- 
 diers. The band plays continuously and 
 the men join in every chorus, volleys of 
 cheers drowning the music as ferries and 
 pleasure vessels pass us. The long pile of 
 gleaming buildings mounting to a single 
 crag of white drops behind and we glide 
 
86 A YEAR IN THE NAVY 
 
 slowly past the green park at the island's 
 point. Against the clear sky the gray cob* 
 webs of the bridges stand out in delicate 
 tracery. Ferries and excursion boats pass 
 close to us, and upturned women's faces 
 send us a last farewell. 
 
 From the after gun-deck I watch the 
 towers darken in the soft evening light 
 and sink slowly into the horizon. In the 
 widening bay a great argosy rides at an- 
 chor. There are graceful sailing ships of 
 other days, rejuvenated to begin a new 
 life of usefulness. There are steel cargo- 
 carriers, stolid honest burghers of the sea, 
 strangely bedizened in their mad dress of 
 camouflage; and between them dart the 
 smart gray patrol boats. 
 
 Gray green, the massive figure of Lib- 
 erty seems to pass us. Behind her the dis- 
 tant shore lies low on the horizon. The 
 sun dips behind it and is gone. With arm 
 
THE TRANSPORT 87 
 
 uplifted the symbolic goddess seems to 
 tender us a silent benediction. 
 
 We pass the Narrows and steam slowly 
 through the passage in the great steel net 
 that guards the harbor. On either hand, 
 behind the soft green hills, must lie the 
 guns that guard the sea-gate to the city. 
 At last, the open sea! 
 
 The channel buoys drop behind us and 
 suddenly I am conscious that the land has 
 sunk below the horizon. Night begins to 
 close down rapidly on the darkening sea. 
 There is a steady whirring far above, and 
 out of the sky appears a sea-plane that has 
 come to escort us. Ahead, another strange 
 shape looms in the sky, a silvery cigar al- 
 most invisible against the gray. A minute 
 later it passes over us and our decks are 
 white upturned faces. From the left a long 
 rakish craft climbs over the horizon, its 
 graceful sides and low funnels patterned 
 
88 A YEAR IN THE NAVY 
 
 with converging stripes of white and black. 
 Behind the destroyer is the gray bulk of 
 a tall-stacked cruiser. A mile farther a 
 submarine awash falls in on our right. 
 Sky and sea merge slowly into night, and 
 in the deepening dusk the escorting ships 
 become phantom shapes that the eye must 
 strain to see. Our long voyage is begun. 
 
 Morning came with dazzling sunshine 
 and a calm blue sea. On right and left the 
 cruiser and destroyer flanked our course. 
 The submarine, sea-plane, and dirigible 
 had disappeared. At noon I began my 
 new duties as Junior Watch-Officer, and 
 took my first of many four-hour watches 
 on the port wing of the bridge. 
 
 The transport bore an enviable history. 
 She was well armed, and her officers dis- 
 played unconsciously in their bearing the 
 training which characterizes the Ameri- 
 
THE TRANSPORT 89 
 
 can naval officer and places him in the 
 enviable position which he holds to-day. 
 The captain, a graduate of the Naval 
 Academy, who had since continuously 
 followed his profession in the regular 
 navy in practically every quarter of the 
 globe, possessed in a high degree those 
 qualifications of professional ability and 
 courtly personality which almost invari- 
 ably stamp our naval officers. Among the 
 other officers were many who had joined 
 the Reserve Force on the outbreak of the 
 war, men whose long experience on mer- 
 chant vessels qualified them highly to 
 perform their present invaluable service. 
 Early in the afternoon faint smears of 
 light smoke edged the horizon, and a few 
 minutes later the funnels of the convoy 
 poked up above it. An hour later we 
 were in the midst. Gathered from un- 
 named ports, these unnamed vessels met 
 
90 A YEAR IN THE NAVY 
 
 on a definite square mile or so of ocean 
 known only to their commanders. Fan- 
 tastically marked with camouflage of va- 
 rious colors, with our escorting cruisers 
 and destroyers circling about us, we made 
 our picturesque formation and began our 
 united progress. 
 
 It may be pertinent at this point to ex- 
 plain that the true purpose of camouflage 
 is not, as is popularly supposed, to render 
 the ship invisible, but rather, by various 
 arrangements of converging bands of col- 
 ors, does it seek to conceal the relative 
 direction or "bearing" of the ship from 
 enemy vessels which may sight it. So suc- 
 cessful is this effect, that I have several 
 times found it necessary to study care- 
 fully a vessel, to determine its actual di- 
 rection; and of the vessels in our convoy 
 one repeatedly gave us trouble, due to the 
 fact that she constantly seemed to be fall- 
 
THE TRANSPORT 91 
 
 ing off an undeterminable number of 
 points from her actual course. 
 
 For four days the heat of a cloudless 
 midsummer sky beat down upon the ship. 
 With the breeze behind us, the movement 
 of air was neutralized and we seemed to 
 pass steadily through an intense calm. At 
 night many of the soldiers slept on deck, 
 and the long promenades were almost 
 impassable with sleeping bodies. Below 
 decks, by day, the soldiers were rapidly 
 accustoming themselves to their new 
 quarters. Meals were served with clock- 
 like regularity to appease appetites sharp- 
 ened by sea air. Daily the band played a 
 concert on the deck, and the other ships 
 of the convoy were a never-failing source 
 of interest. All the day the men basked in 
 the sunshine. It was to the majority of 
 them a long-desired rest after their weeks 
 of arduous training. 
 
92 A YEAR IN THE NAVY 
 
 On the fifth day a hazy sky and rapidly 
 moving gray clouds on the horizon gave 
 promise of a change. By sunset the sky 
 was dark with black clouds, and as day 
 departed, an indescribable blackness set- 
 tled over the ocean. Nowhere was sky or 
 sea clearly discernible, except along the 
 northern horizon, where a pale band of 
 lemon light separated the pall above from 
 the lead-gray of the water and seemed to 
 let in across the sea a heavy ray of light, 
 such as might shine beneath the lowered 
 curtain of a window in a darkened room. 
 Against this clear bar of light the ships of 
 the convoy on our port beam, in black 
 silhouette, perched on the top of the hori- 
 zon from which the ocean, like a blank 
 wall, seemed vertically to descend. Now 
 and then came the rumble of thunder 
 from the south, where against the com- 
 plete darkness of the sky the lightning 
 
THE TRANSPORT 93 
 
 fell from low-lying clouds in straight 
 smooth liquid plunges to the sea. 
 
 At eight I took my watch on the port 
 wing of the bridge. From my high pros- 
 pect the bow of the ship was but indis- 
 tinctly visible; aft, all was engulfed in 
 darkness. The sea was smooth, but the 
 impending storm was appalling. On clear 
 nights it is none too easy to keep for- 
 mation in a convoy, for, as a necessary 
 protection against submarine attack, all 
 lights are extinguished or totally obscured 
 from sunset until dawn; but on such a 
 night the danger of collision was immeas- 
 urably increased. In haK an hour the 
 lightning became incessant, and showed 
 on every quarter of the horizon. Not the 
 traditional jagged flashes, but smooth, 
 falling columns of fire that seemed to pour 
 from the clouds as molten steel is poured 
 from the tapped hearth. Suddenly, the 
 
94 A YEAR IN THE NAVY 
 
 rain began — rain so dense that it ob- 
 scured wholly whatever the darkness had 
 left visible. Blotted out instantly were 
 our companion ships, the incessant light- 
 ning showing only a falling curtain of sil- 
 ver threads, behind which my compan- 
 ions on the bridge seemed to move as 
 vivid black and white figures projected on 
 the screen by a cinematograph. 
 
 One hour later there was a brief respite, 
 and in the abrupt relief, at each lightning 
 flash, I could dimly see the black forms of 
 our sister ships plunging evenly on the 
 long swells. Our formation was still main- 
 tained and all was well. I was soaked 
 through to the skin, but the air was warm, 
 and the heavy coolness of saturated cloth- 
 ing compensated for the fatiguing heat of 
 previous days. 
 
 At intervals the rain fell with even 
 greater violence; and at midnight, when 
 
THE TRANSPORT 95 
 
 my watch was at an end, I left the bridge 
 and groped my way below to my cabin 
 with infinite relief. 
 
 Sunday dawned bright and cool, a 
 heavy brilliant blue sea rolling in deep 
 valleys and high mountains of sparkling 
 water, the highest peaks slashed into fly- 
 ing spray by the knifeblade of a strong 
 northeast wind. Against the blue sky cot- 
 tony clouds tore like clippers before the 
 wind; and over the moving surface of the 
 sea the ships of the convoy, like gayly 
 garbed ladies of the chorus, in their.fan- 
 tastic camouflage, pitched and roUed, 
 taking now and then a flood of green wa- 
 ter over the bow, which poured aft and 
 spouted in cascades from the decks, then 
 settling deep by the stern, with a clear 
 sight under the forefoot. By night the sea 
 had somewhat moderated — a deep ul- 
 tramarine sea flecked with foam, and 
 
96 A YEAR IN THE NAVY 
 
 above it a pale sky of delicious blue, 
 across which heavy pink clouds sailed 
 slowly. 
 
 The soldiers stood the ordeal well, but 
 the motion of the ship did not pass un- 
 noticed and there were not a few cases of 
 violent seasickness. For the ship's officers 
 and crew the storm was a mere detail in a 
 routine in which storms and submarine 
 warnings had become almost monoto- 
 nous. There was a kind of fine fatalism in 
 their attitude. To be sure, the submarine 
 danger was at that time particularly 
 acute, and one officer had left two ships 
 torpedoed beneath him; but the realiza- 
 tion that no precaution or safeguard was 
 being neglected, and that, despite occa- 
 sional sinkings scored by submarines, the 
 Germans were playing a losing hand, 
 kept confidence up to a high degree. 
 
 Too much cannot be said to the credit 
 
THE TRANSPORT 97 
 
 of the reserve officers of the transport 
 service for the efficient service they per- 
 form. Many have voluntarily left posi- 
 tions of command on smaller merchant- 
 men or passenger ships, to accept gladly 
 the more arduous war-service in subordi- 
 nate positions and at a material reduction 
 in compensation. Back and forth, from 
 continent to continent, they are trans- 
 porting our army, running their zigzag 
 courses in darkened convoys, ever ready 
 to show their heels to the lurking foe, 
 or, if necessary, to meet him face to face 
 with steel from well-manned guns and the 
 rocking blasts of depth-charges cast in 
 the sea. Their hours are long; their recrea- 
 tion negligible; I never have heard a word 
 of complaint from their lips. 
 
 Just aft of the mainmast, on the for- 
 ward freight-deck, the superstructure of 
 the ship rises abruptly a full three decks 
 
98 A YEAR IN THE NAVY 
 
 to the bridge, where I stood my watches. 
 From side to side, across the beam of the 
 ship, the bridge extends, a long broad 
 promenade inclosed in the center about 
 the wheel and binnacle, and housed over 
 on each end to protect the watch-officers 
 from the weather. Beside the binnacle, 
 which holds the compass, are the tele- 
 graphs or engine-room signals, by which 
 the speed of the ship is regulated; and 
 here, in fact, are the eyes and the brain- 
 center of the vessel. From the starboard 
 bridge the senior watch-officer gives his 
 orders to the quartermaster at the wheel, 
 and maintains a strict lookout for what- 
 ever of importance may appear on the 
 surroimding sea. On the port side the 
 junior watch-officer also scours the sea 
 and at regular intervals inspects the ship, 
 and performs such other duties as the 
 senior watch-officer may put upon him. 
 
THE TRANSPORT 99 
 
 Behind the bridge is the chart-house, 
 where the navigating officer keeps his 
 charts, astronomical instruments, and 
 chronometers. And above is the signal- 
 bridge, where the signalmen flicker their 
 red and yellow flags in hurried words and 
 sentences to other ships, or hoist aloft 
 the gay, multicolored alphabet flags of 
 the International Code by which coded 
 messages are transmitted. Here too is the 
 blinker by which in peaceful waters night- 
 messages are flashed in dots and dashes of 
 light; and, above all, the fingers of the 
 wireless hold the vessel in close communi- 
 cation with the shore and with a wide 
 radius of vessel-dotted sea. 
 
 The starboard wing of the bridge is held 
 by the senior officer of the watch, and it is 
 here that the captain and the other offi- 
 cers of the ship may be frequently seen. 
 My station was on the port wing where. 
 
100 A YEAR IN THE NAVY 
 
 by day or night, at dawn or sunset, I 
 watched the unending beauty of sky and 
 sea and the long Hne of our flanking con- 
 voy. 
 
 "Smoke on the horizon!" With his 
 glass the captain studied the thin wisp 
 that faintly smeared the pale blue. In- 
 credibly soon the stacks showed above 
 the horizon. The navigating officer joined 
 me. "She's a big one," he commented. 
 Two other ships on either side of the first 
 became visible. Rapidly their hulls came 
 up, the course west and passing a few 
 miles to the south of us. 
 
 Like huge race-horses, they came stead- 
 ily on, spun smoke trailing behind them. 
 The huge liner towered above her com- 
 panions, but all were maintaining an 
 equally high speed. 
 
 "She can carry ten thousand men. 
 Think of it!" said the navigator. 
 
THE TRANSPORT 101 
 
 For a moment I too was staggered at 
 the thought; and then, as my eyes swept 
 the vast heaving expanse of sea, the great 
 vessel became a toy that floated there, 
 a chip with its puny load. Despite the 
 greatest feats of human ingenuity the sea 
 remains incomparable, vast, unconquer- 
 able. 
 
 " Man marks the earth with ruin — his control 
 Stops with the shore." 
 
 Already the great ship was a speck sink- 
 ing below the horizon. 
 
 By night I saw Polaris high on the left 
 dimmed by the multitude of surrounding 
 stars. Ahead, rising from the sea, in the 
 brief hours before the dawn, came Venus 
 and Jupiter, like liquid drops of silver 
 flame. Behind the swinging masts Orion 
 extended his mighty length, and above 
 him, far above the masts, the glittering 
 Pleiades shone like some rare jeweled de- 
 
102 A YEAR IN THE NAVY 
 
 sign of Da Vinci pinned to the silken fab- 
 ric of the night. 
 
 In the strange soHtude of these long 
 night hours, and in a silence broken only 
 by the sound of the sea swirling and foam- 
 ing past our sides, with its brilliant wake 
 of phosphorescent light, or by the sudden 
 shrill of the boatswain's pipe and the 
 heavy footfalls of the changing watch, 
 my thoughts would wander to the peace 
 and simple happiness of all that we were 
 leaving behind us; of the unknown future 
 that was awaiting us; of the hopes and 
 fears of those thousands who slept almost 
 within hand-touch within the thin steel 
 walls; and then, with my eyes aching to 
 pierce the night, to discern the black 
 form of our convoy or to catch the white 
 rushing path of a torpedo that might sud- 
 denly challenge our way, my thoughts 
 would center on the work at hand and on 
 
THE TRANSPORT 103 
 
 the submarine that might even now be 
 trying to pierce the same sm-rounding 
 night with its single eye. Then each break- 
 ing crest became a thing of suspicion, and 
 I was fascinated and buoyant under the 
 still suspense. 
 
 At two-hour intervals I inspected the 
 great vessel from stem to stern. Here in 
 the slow lifting and sinking of the bow 
 there was a noise of parted waters. Every- 
 where watchers scanned the sea, silent 
 sentries paced, prostrate sleepers encum- 
 bered the decks. There was eternal vigi- 
 lance and complete oblivion. Far down 
 in the engine-room sounded the mighty 
 movement of the engines; their tremor 
 pulsed the ship with life. 
 
 In the evenings there were movies 
 in the ward-room. On a sheet fas- 
 tened against the forward bulkhead, the 
 Y.M.C.A. projector cast the reeling com- 
 
104 A YEAR IN THE NAVY 
 
 edy or tragedy — familiar pictures from 
 a land that was home: a flash of American 
 rm-al scenes or a crowded street. It was 
 home — om* United States. How ab- 
 sorbed we became in the incident-crowded 
 skein of some inconsequential and haK- 
 baked scenario! Forgotten for the mo- 
 ment was our present environment. 
 
 From the dark, tobacco-rifted room I 
 groped to the deck to go on my watch. 
 My eyes were dulled for the moment; 
 then, as they pierced the clear night dark- 
 ness and I saw the sea and the stars and 
 the convoy, the magnitude of this great 
 mid-Atlantic drama would burst upon 
 me. Here was a mightier moving-picture 
 than even the imagination could conceive, 
 here was the most tremendous setting, 
 here the actual dangers. Who knew what 
 heroes might be among us an hour hence .^^ 
 
 The destroyers are with us. Out of the 
 
THE TRANSPORT 105 
 
 black night they came straight to the 
 meeting place. The soft graying of night 
 found them racing beside us. At sun- 
 rise the soldiers crowded the rails and 
 watched, fascinated, the strangely painted 
 slender vessels haK smothered in the seas, 
 shaking white torrents from their dip- 
 ping bows, rolling and pitching with tre- 
 mendous motion. They are our protec- 
 tion. We feel strangely safe under their 
 vigilant escort. 
 
 The white church flag, with blue cross, 
 fluttered against a gray sky. From the 
 bridge I could hear now and then the 
 words of the chaplain, words of God and 
 Country and Liberty. The soldiers sur- 
 rounded him. The bandmaster lifted his 
 baton. "Onward, Christian Soldiers." 
 The music of brass was lost in the music 
 of deep voices: 
 
 " Onward, Christian Soldiers.'* 
 
106 A YEAR IN THE NAVY 
 
 It was late morning. From a dozen 
 lookouts within a few seconds had come 
 the cry of "Land ! " On the far horizon for 
 a little space the movement of the line of 
 sky and sea seemed stilled; a low green- 
 gray thread rested along the waters. Men 
 crowded forward. They clung to the 
 shrouds and climbed to every point of 
 vantage. The green line whitened into 
 cliffs, and through the glass appeared the 
 slender white column of a lighthouse. 
 
 The band is on deck. It has played the 
 "Star-Spangled Banner." There is a mo- 
 ment of silence; and then, with a crash of 
 brazen instruments, the "Marseillaise" 
 begins. It is France ! 
 
 The sails of fishing vessels dot the hori- 
 zon. White bold cliffs lift higher; promon- 
 tories jut seaward. A sea-going tug passes 
 close to us, guns mounted fore-and-aft 
 and racks of depth-charges on her f antail. 
 
THE TRANSPORT 107 
 
 From the peak a flag of vertical bars of 
 blue, white, and red greets our eyes. Sail- 
 ors in red-tufted white hats wave to us. 
 
 Now we can see green fields mounting 
 slowly behind the white cliffs. As we near 
 land other lighthouses appear, and now I 
 can plainly see a ruined castle with gray 
 unroofed walls. We are moving slowly in 
 column through the bold entrance to the 
 harbor. Of a sudden appears the city, 
 cast into the circling hillside; gray build- 
 ings with blue slate roofs; the white out- 
 lying walls of green-embowered chateaux; 
 and above the still dark water of the har- 
 bor, the massive walls of ancient fortifica- 
 tions, with turrets and low towers. 
 
 The sky is very blue, the harbor is 
 alive with vessels. The anchor-chain roars 
 through the hawse-pipe. We are swinging 
 slowly with the tide. 
 
 "We are over, over there!" 
 
IV 
 
 THE FREIGHT CONVOY 
 
 We are moored in midstream beside the 
 collier. On either hand the river surges in 
 the swift ebb of the tide, a broad expanse 
 of water tawny with mud. Between the 
 gray side of the yacht and the camou- 
 flaged steel plates of the collier — launched 
 some eight months ago near Cleveland — • 
 the water runs like a millrace and roars 
 ominously, pushing out the bow of the 
 yacht against the tautened lines which 
 hold her to the collier. Beyond the yellow 
 water the low green shores of France fade 
 in the gray mist, and a fine rain is falling. 
 There is a rumble of winches; from the 
 black caverns of the collier a great bucket 
 of coal swings high in the air and dumps 
 on the once immaculate deck of the yacht. 
 
THE FREIGHT CONVOY 109 
 
 Down it swings again into the electric- 
 lighted gloom where negro stevedores in 
 Army drab, from far-away Norfolk and 
 Charlestown, shovel in the coal. On the 
 decks of the yacht the crew, blackened 
 with dust from head to foot, pass down 
 the coal to the fast-filling bunkers. For 
 five hours they have labored unceasingly; 
 by ten to-night the coal will be aboard 
 and the bunkers trimmed. Yesterday we 
 brought in the incoming convoy, to-day 
 we coal, to-morrow we are off again. 
 
 At ten we cast off from the collier and 
 stood down the river to meet the outgoing 
 convoy at the mouth. The clouds have 
 cleared and there are dim stars in the dis- 
 tant sky. It is nearly dawn. Against the 
 black shadow of the shore the lighthouses 
 shine like planets, one with a clear emer- 
 ald gleam far out at sea. At the entrance 
 to the harbor the long white rays of 
 
no A YEAR IN THE NAVY 
 
 searchlights probe the darkness, and be- 
 yond the dark outhne of the breakwater 
 are occasional yellow lights of windows in 
 the town. But in the east, where the river 
 widens into a broad roadstead, a glitter- 
 ing constellation gleams along the water, 
 reaching almost from shore to shore. Here 
 the great argosy of merchantmen rides to 
 the flood. Here are the steel carriers laden 
 with the vast stores that keep in motion 
 our machine of war. Here also is the fleet 
 of emptied freighters that we will escort a 
 few hours later out to sea. Their lights 
 glimmer tranquilly as the white search- 
 lights sweep the entrance. 
 
 The sky pales perceptibly in the east. 
 From the town a bell strikes the hour of 
 five. I am on the bridge, and as 1 count 
 the strokes I think that it is an hour be- 
 fore midnight at home. In the breaking 
 day a French patrol boat comes out from 
 
THE FREIGHT CONVOY 111 
 
 behind the mole and passes us on her way 
 down the channel. Rapidly the clouds 
 break into flame and a cold, clear breeze 
 comes in from the sea. The ancient town 
 becomes visible in the curve of the shore, 
 the spires of the churches, the dark bulk 
 of the dirigible shed, and, toward the sea, 
 the high white summer homes of the newer 
 part of the town along the cliff. 
 
 In the great semicircle of the French 
 coast which swings from Brest to the 
 Spanish line are many harbors such as 
 this, harbors whose names sound fre- 
 quently in the early history of our nation, 
 and whose names bear new significance in 
 its latest history of to-day. Nantes recalls 
 the Ranger and John Paul Jones; Qui- 
 beron Bay, a few miles north of it, is 
 memorable for that first salute to the 
 Stars and Stripes by a foreign nation^, 
 when the guns of Admiral Le Motte 
 
112 A YEAR IN THE NAVY 
 
 Piquet's ships gave it recognition. There 
 is Brest, rich in memories of our first great 
 seaman, and there is L'Orient where the 
 Bonhomme Richard sailed out on her 
 memorable cruise that ended with her en- 
 gagement with the Serapis off Flambor- 
 ough Head. 
 
 To-day the names of Brest, Nantes, 
 L'Orient, Bordeaux, and Bayonne are 
 forming new associations. Waters that in 
 the lives of the oldest inhabitants have 
 seen only the fleets of fishermen and an 
 occasional steamship are to-day crowded 
 with the shipping of the Allied world. On 
 a coast where the American flag found its 
 first recognition by a French admiral, it is 
 to-day recognized at a thousand mast- 
 heads at every port. Great wharves have 
 sprung up about the harbors and along 
 the rivers. American merchantmen, con- 
 voyed by American converted yachts and 
 
THE FREIGHT CONVOY 113 
 
 destroyers, discharge American cargoes 
 for American armies overseas. The flag 
 has come to its own again. 
 
 It is day. In the bright smishine almost 
 a hundred ships swing slowly at their an- 
 chor chains, a vast floating island of steel 
 hulls, forested with slim, sparless masts 
 and faintly smoking stacks. Our anchor is 
 lifted and the chain rumbles up through 
 the hawse-pipe. Slowly we steam past a 
 wide mile of vessels to our position. 
 
 Here are the flags of the nations of the 
 world, but by far most numerous are the 
 Stars and Stripes. The red flag of the 
 English merchantman is much in evi- 
 dence, and so are the crosses of Denmark, 
 Sweden, and Norway and the tri-color of 
 France. From a big freighter flies the sin- 
 gle star of Cuba. The red sun of Japan 
 and the green and yellow ensign of Brazil 
 snap smartly in the breeze. A few of the 
 
114 A YEAR IN THE NAVY 
 
 freighters are painted a leaden gray, but 
 for the most part they are gay with cam- 
 ouflage. The spattered effects of the ear- 
 her days are now replaced by broad bands 
 of flat colors. Black, white, blue, and gray 
 are the favorites, slanting to the bow or 
 stern and carried across life-rafts, boats, 
 superstructures, and funnels. Even the 
 motor trucks on the deck of a big Ameri- 
 can are included in the color plan. Some 
 appear to be sinking by the head, others 
 at a distance seem each to be several ves- 
 sels. It is a fancy dress carnival, a kaleido- 
 scope of color. One and all they are of 
 heavy and ugly lines. On forward and 
 after decks the masts seem designed only 
 to lift the cargo booms and spread the 
 wireless. They are broad of beam, mon- 
 strous, ungainly. The oil burners are even 
 more unshiplike, for a single small funnel 
 is substituted for the balanced stacks of 
 
THE FREIGHT CONVOY 115 
 
 the coal-burners. Fore and aft on the gun- 
 decks the long tubes of the guns point out 
 over bow and stern. Yankee gun crews, 
 baggy blue trousers slapping in the 
 breeze, stand beside them and watch us 
 pass. Blue-clad officers peer down at us 
 from the bridges. Aloft, hoists of gay sig- 
 nal flags, red, yellow, white, and blue, 
 flutter like confetti in the air. From signal 
 bridges bluejackets are sending sema- 
 phore signals with red and yellow flags. A 
 big American ocean-going tug churns 
 through the fleet. On our right is a 
 French mine-layer, long rows of mines 
 along her deck. Fast motor boats sHde in 
 and out among the vessels. Above, like 
 dragon-flies, three seaplanes circle, the 
 droning snarl of their motors coming in 
 sudden bursts of sound along the wind. 
 
 The outward-bound convoy of empty 
 freighters is ready. Bursts of steam from 
 
116 A YEAR IN THE NAVY 
 
 bows indicate that anchor engines are 
 lifting the big mud-hooks from the har- 
 bor's floor. One by one the ships steam 
 slowly out of the harbor; converted 
 yachts and small French destroyers on 
 either side. Out where the entrance broad- 
 ens to the open sea a big kite balloon tugs 
 at the small steamer far beneath it, and 
 seems to drag it by a slender cord of steel. 
 As we pass the farthest channel buoy a 
 barque stands in from the sea and passes 
 us. The centuries meet. Trim and grace- 
 ful, with clean-cut lines and tapering 
 masts and spars, the ship seems to rush 
 through the green water, a white bone in 
 her teeth, and her canvas bellying like 
 clouds before the wind. Along her side is 
 painted a broad white band broken at 
 regular intervals with squares of black 
 simulating the gun-ports of a fighting 
 ship. She might belong to the fleet of 
 
THE FREIGHT CONVOY 117 
 
 Nelson or of Villeneuve; a century has 
 worked no changes in the sea or the back- 
 ground of the low French coast. Then my 
 eyes turn to the long line of stout steel 
 freighters, wisps of smoke streaking from 
 their funnels against the sky, heavily 
 plodding into a head sea and wind. Gone 
 is the beauty and elegance of wooden hull 
 and sky-flung sails. 
 
 Each trip that we make is for the most 
 part exactly like the others. From some 
 crowded harbor we escort a fleet of empty 
 freighters far out beyond the Bay of Bis- 
 cay. Here, beyond the active submarine 
 zone the yachts and small French patrol 
 boats leave the convoy and a few hours 
 later, or perhaps a day or night, we meet 
 an incoming convoy on some prearranged 
 square mile of the Atlantic Ocean and es- 
 cort it to the port. Every hour is filled 
 with unceasing vigilance; no chance is 
 
118 A YEAR IN THE NAVY 
 
 taken; the safe delivery of our charge is of 
 paramount importance. No matter what 
 conditions of weather prevail the work 
 goes on. In fog and rain, in high seas and 
 in the teeth of northwest gales, the little 
 vessels perform their unremitting duty. 
 By day the convoys move forward along 
 a base course, zigzagging to the right or 
 left of it, now ten degrees, now fifteen, 
 now twenty or thirty, according to a 
 prearranged plan, with the precision of 
 a company of well-drilled infantry. In 
 front, in the rear, and on the flanks the 
 escorting yachts and destroyers execute 
 their individual zigzags to cover every ex- 
 posed part of the convoy. By this system 
 of zigzag the accurate aiming of a torpedo 
 by a submarine is rendered difficult, for if 
 a periscope is lifted and a bearing of a 
 ship is taken, that ship will probably be 
 headed on another course, with necessa- 
 
THE FREIGHT CONVOY 119 
 
 rlly a different bearing from the submerged 
 submarine by the time the torpedo can be 
 fired. Few are the cases to-day when the 
 submarine actually shows itself by day. 
 The first sight of the periscope may be 
 when it is first lifted at a distance of sev- 
 eral miles when the submarine will follow 
 the convoy on a parallel line to determine 
 its bearings and finally will converge to- 
 wards it at an angle of forty-five degrees 
 on the bow of the convoy. Having deter- 
 mined the bearing and range the subma- 
 rine will submerge. Only once more will 
 the periscope appear, this time at a dis- 
 tance of about three hundred yards. Then 
 it will be visible only a few seconds; just 
 long enough to take final aim. Difficult to 
 detect in a calm sea, except from the wake 
 which it may create, it is practically in- 
 visible in a wind-torn sea slashed with 
 white caps. 
 
120 A YEAR IN THE NAVY 
 
 From the crow's nest, from the super- 
 structure, and from the bridge a dozen or 
 more pairs of sharp eyes are constantly 
 searching the sea with glasses to detect a 
 sign of the submarine's presence. Like all 
 the converted yachts, we carry a small 
 but efficient battery of high-power guns, 
 capable of doing considerable damage if 
 there is a chance for their use; but it is not 
 on guns that we rely nor are our guns the 
 weapon most feared by the submarine. 
 On the graceful f antail of the yacht, along 
 three short steel racks, lie a number of 
 steel cylinders, of ordinary ash-can size 
 and appearance, ready at a second's no- 
 tice to be rolled one by one over the 
 stern. Charged each with over three 
 hundred pounds of the highest explosive, 
 these depth charges are controlled by a 
 hydrostatic apparatus to explode at any 
 depth for which they may be set. Within a 
 
THE FREIGHT CONVOY 121 
 
 radius of fifty to seventy-five yards their 
 impact can destroy a submarine and their 
 effect is noticeable over a wide area. It 
 is this form of weapon, scattered by the 
 yachts and destroyers, according to a sys- 
 tem based on the known maneuvering 
 abiHty of the submarine, that has accom- 
 pHshed most in destroying the menace of 
 the seas. 
 
 By night our greatest danger Hes not so 
 much in submarine attacks as in colhsion 
 with vessels of the convoy, the escort, or 
 other passing ships. Not a light is shown; 
 with ports darkened and all illumination 
 even below decks reduced to a minimum, 
 the great convoys and their escorts pursue 
 their ghostlike way. In the blackest nights 
 the compass is the only guide, and with 
 lookouts straining their eyes to pierce the 
 darkness each ship swings steadily on. 
 When the moon is up, even though the 
 
123 A YEAR IN THE NAVY 
 
 sky is overcast, there is ample light to lo- 
 cate the low, black masses of the ships on 
 the horizon. Such nights are ideal, for 
 they are too dark for probable attack and 
 yet there is enough light by which to 
 see. The bright moonlight requires the 
 same precaution as daylight. Night is the 
 breathing-time for the submarine, and it 
 is then that they come to the surface and, 
 with hatches open, charge their batteries 
 and communicate with one another by 
 wireless. And when caught in this condi- 
 tion the submarine is easy prey. 
 
 In the fall and winter months it is al- 
 most invariably rough in the Bay of Bis- 
 cay. Built for quiet steaming along sum- 
 mer shores from port to port the yachts 
 have been required to perform a duty for 
 which they were neither intended nor de- 
 signed. The yacht to which I am attached 
 bears little resemblance to-day to what it 
 
THE FREIGHT CONVOY 123 
 
 must have been in the days of peace. 
 Where a crew of twenty or twenty-five 
 once Hved, to-day a hundred and twenty- 
 five are quartered. Bunks fill former 
 smoking-room and library. Rough parti- 
 tions divide the owner's cabin; mahogany 
 and brass and white enamel are buried 
 under half a dozen coats of battle gray. 
 The concussions of depth charges have 
 broken glass and ripped white tiles from 
 bathroom walls. Gun-racks and cutlasses 
 line bulkheads of mahogany. White decks 
 once smooth as velvet are torn and splin- 
 tered by the wear of a year and a haK 
 of bitter service. Aft, where once wicker 
 chairs and gay pillows filled the broad 
 curve of the stern, are guns, steel am- 
 munition chests, and launching tracks 
 heavy with depth charges. In the deep 
 waters of the Bay lie two of her sisters, 
 one rammed at night, another sunk by a 
 
A YEAR IN THE NAVY 
 
 torpedo; a third yacht Hes broken on a 
 reef. 
 
 I have been particularly interested in 
 the officers and the crew of this little 
 vessel, and I believe they are typical of 
 most of the ships performing this weary- 
 ing duty; it gives an interesting sidelight 
 on American adaptability. Our Captain, 
 a "two-and-a-haK striper," is a regular 
 Navy man and a graduate of the Naval 
 Academy. He is still in his twenties and is 
 receiving this training as a preparatory 
 course to a more important command. 
 The rest of the officers are Reserves, 
 ranging in age from twenty to forty-six, 
 drawn from every part of the country and 
 representing a variety of vocations. One 
 dealt in fire insurance before the war, an- 
 other was a capitalist; there is a patent 
 lawyer, a college undergraduate, an ath- 
 letic instructor, an advertising man, a 
 
THE FREIGHT CONVOY 135 
 
 broker, and a manufacturer. We hail from 
 Massachusetts, New York, Virginia, Min- 
 nesota, California, Washington, and Illi- 
 nois, and here we are, on the Bay of 
 Biscay, and, thanks to the Navy Depart- 
 ment and the training it has given us, we 
 are doing the work in hand; not like regu- 
 lars, perhaps, but still doing our best. 
 
 The crew is a fine, enthusiastic aggrega- 
 tion of American youth salted with a gen- 
 erous sprinkling of men who have seen 
 service before the war in the Navy or 
 on merchantmen. "Mac," with a sailor's 
 roll in his wiry legs, knows "no home but 
 the ship" and has been at sea for twenty 
 years, since his first voyage at the age of 
 thirteen. Many of the youngsters are in 
 for a full four-year "hitch" as a part of 
 their education and for a chance to see 
 something of the world. They won't re- 
 gret it and many will make it their life- 
 
126 A YEAR IN THE NAVY 
 
 work, for there will be room for the right 
 men in the future Navy of the United 
 States. There is a young coxswain who 
 taught country school in a Kansas village, 
 a quiet little fellow with precise English 
 and an absolute unconcern for seafaring 
 ways. Another youngster, from Boston, is 
 the entertainer of the "glory hold." He 
 has never missed a chance to make a 
 liberty on shore, and invariably returns 
 materially strengthened in his rampant 
 admiration of the places, people, and cus- 
 toms of his native land. "Biarritz is all 
 right," I heard him remark after a visit to 
 that fashionable resort, "but give me Re- 
 vere Beach for a real place." And there is 
 nothing in all Europe that can compare 
 with his native Boston. It's the same 
 with the rest of them. Everything re- 
 ceives an invidious comparison with the 
 American equivalent and each trip on 
 
THE FREIGHT CONVOY 127 
 
 shore strengthens their proud American- 
 ism. 
 
 But to return to the convoy. There was 
 a heavy sea roUing in over the bar, and 
 outside the bottle-green waves made the 
 yachts and destroyers toss heavily. An 
 hour later, under a dark, clouded sky, the 
 convoy was pitching and rolling in a con- 
 stantly growing sea, and as night came, 
 wind and driving blasts of fine rain added 
 to the discomfort. I went on the bridge 
 at eight, a perilous climb from the ward- 
 room up over slippery decks and the 
 swaying ladder to the bridge. In the utter 
 blackness the other ships of the convoy 
 and escort had disappeared. There was no 
 light of moon or stars and even a flash of 
 light on any ship was forbidden. Only 
 before the helmsman's face shone the 
 dim slit in the binnacle through which he 
 watched the compass swinging madly on 
 
128 A YEAR IN THE NAVY 
 
 the gimbles. The sea was black with 
 slashes of dead-white spray running along 
 the wave crests, and as our bow sank into 
 each wave, it cast a white millrace of foam 
 aft along our sides, the ship shuddering 
 heavily at the impact. Over the breast- 
 high canvas along the bridge the wind 
 flowed like rushing water, heavy blasts 
 soaked with spray striking our faces like 
 blows from a flat board. I left the bridge 
 at midnight, but sleep was almost impos- 
 sible, for the rolling and pitching of the 
 yacht continued with increasing violence. 
 Day dawned with a low, gray sky and a 
 heaving leaden sea lashed white in the 
 wind, the water streaked with soapy ed- 
 dies blowing to windward. East and west 
 along our course the convoy staggered on. 
 The formation was broken, but all were 
 accounted for. Still clinging to the out- 
 skirts the yachts and destroyers rose and 
 
THE FREIGHT CONVOY 139 
 
 disappeared between the waves, their 
 smoke streaming back flat from their 
 stacks along the wind. During the morn- 
 ing the hfeboats swung from davits on 
 our upper deck were several times dragged 
 in the water by a heavy roll, and a big sea 
 smashed in the wardroom windows and 
 deluged the officers' quarters with a cou- 
 ple of barrelfuls of water. 
 
 The wind dropped somewhat during the 
 afternoon, and by evening the clouds had 
 broken and here and there bright stars 
 flashed for brief moments a promise of 
 better weather to come. The following day 
 dawned with a splendor of gold and rose- 
 stained clouds piled against the east and a 
 clear blue sky above. The sea was rich 
 with the brilliant ultramarine of deep 
 water, and as the sun rose above the 
 clouds the white crests caught a pink 
 tinge from the sunlight. In the clear, cold 
 
130 A YEAR IN THE NAVY 
 
 air came now and then from the oil-burn- 
 ing freighters invisible wisps of smoke like 
 the strong smell of a smoking kerosene 
 lamp. 
 
 With the first tinge of dawn comes one 
 of the most favorable times for a sub- 
 marine attack — the other being the hour 
 of twilight — for it is possible for a sub- 
 marine to locate and follow a convoy un- 
 observed during the night and make the 
 attack with the first morning light. With 
 dawn also comes a renewed vigilance on 
 the part of the escort and convoy, out- 
 looks are increased and the sea is thor- 
 oughly scanned for a tell-tale slick of oil 
 from a submarine's exhaust; for flocks of 
 birds hovering over refuse cast up from a 
 submarine, or for a chance glimpse of a 
 silvery periscope among the waves. 
 
 For a number of days we plodded west- 
 ward, the convoy in orderly formation 
 
THE FREIGHT CONVOY 131 
 
 pursuing a constantly varied zigzag, and 
 the escort in front, behind, and on either 
 flank zigzagging more or less independ- 
 ently. Late one afternoon, after an hour 
 of fluttering signal flags and much signal- 
 ing by semaphore, we parted from the 
 convoy and with the other ships of the 
 escort, and in the soft twilight stood north 
 to the rendezvous of the incoming convoy. 
 I went on the bridge at four in the 
 morning. It was still night with a dim 
 mist of stars and a jet-black sea heaving 
 in long swells. Behind the wheel the 
 helmsman stood, a shrouded figure in 
 his wind-and-rain suit, the peaked hood 
 drawn over his head. On either wing of 
 the bridge were similarly clad lookouts. 
 Hot coffee and bread had just been 
 brought up from the galley by the messen- 
 ger. We had picked up the incoming con- 
 voy at one and the officer of the deck 
 
133 A YEAR IN THE NAVY 
 
 pointed out, through our night-glasses, 
 their dark forms hke low mounds on the 
 black horizon. 
 
 The night watches, on a still night, are 
 filled with a silence that is intensified by 
 the motion of the ship and the soft pres- 
 sm*e of the wind. Dawn comes slowly with 
 gray white light that gradually defines 
 the ship and the figures of the watchers on 
 the bridge. Then comes a moment when 
 the other ships become definite. On this 
 particular morning a soft haze filled the 
 air. As the reflected glow of the sun, still 
 below the horizon, caught the eastern 
 clouds, the convoy, a great flotilla of 
 black objects, appeared resting quietly 
 like a flock of gulls on the sea. Then as the 
 dawn brightened a low-voiced whistle on 
 one of the distant vessels broke the still- 
 ness, the long and short blasts sounding 
 a signal letter. One by one the others 
 
THE FREIGHT CONVOY 133 
 
 answered, deep bass voices, melodious, 
 resonant, calling to one another like sea- 
 fowl greeting the day and assuring them- 
 selves of the others' presence. 
 
 We made our "landfall" on a gray day 
 which gradually brightened, and by after- 
 noon a warm October sun was shining on 
 the green shoal waters of the coast. First 
 appeared a tall white lighthouse, then the 
 thin line of the shore. In the afternoon the 
 wireless reported a submarine eight miles 
 on our starboard beam. A great French 
 dirigible had located it and was follow- 
 ing it until the hurrying destroyers and 
 aeroplanes could complete its destruction. 
 With renewed vigilance we continued our 
 way along the broken coast. Out of the 
 mist the aeroplanes, like the wild geese of 
 the north, winged straight across us and 
 were gone. A half-hour later two dirigi- 
 bles ploughed seaward through the mist. 
 
134 A YEAR IN THE NAVY 
 
 Twilight. In the dusk the familiar 
 flashes of the lighthouses promised a safe 
 arrival. Slowly, in long formation we 
 stood up the harbor. The rattle and roar 
 of descending anchor chains sounded over 
 the quiet water. Another great convoy of 
 twenty-seven steel cargo ships, laden with 
 food, steel, oil, trucks, ammunition, and 
 general supplies, had reached its destina- 
 tion. Four hours later we began to coal. 
 
 I remember on another convoy a night 
 of brilliant stars in a purple sky with fre- 
 quent squalls of rain that swept across it 
 in the cold gale that blew from the north- 
 west. There was a tremendous sea and 
 the ship rode heavily with a constant tor- 
 rent of water breaking over her. Suddenly, 
 far ahead, flashed a signal from another 
 yacht of the escort, "Submarine on port 
 bow." In an instant the gongs were clang- 
 ing below decks and the strident, deep 
 
THE FREIGHT CONVOY 135 
 
 voices of the howlers were adding to the 
 tumult. Up from below decks the crew 
 swarmed into the sudden chill of the 
 spray-soaked air, tying the lashings of 
 their life-preservers as they ran. I hur- 
 ried to my position at the depth charges 
 on the fantail, where already the depth- 
 charge crew were loosening the chocks 
 and standing ready to pull the safety 
 keys, slash the lashings, and cast them 
 loose. At the after guns black groups of 
 half -naked men were gathered, faces now 
 and then faintly illumined in the dim 
 glow of the tiny lights on the range dials. 
 A sudden sea — a wall of black water — 
 submerged us to our waists and poured 
 off as the stern lifted heavily, the scupper 
 drains sucking noisily and the remaining 
 water swashing back and forth across the 
 deck. For an hour we stood in readiness. 
 Then came the order to "secure." Dan- 
 
136 A YEAR IN THE NAVY 
 
 ger, real or speculative, was for the time 
 being past. 
 
 Ever since the United States entered 
 the war, the yachts and destroyers of the 
 merchant convoys have played their si- 
 lent part in the struggle with a submarine 
 enemy. In every kind of weather, month 
 after month, the dull routine of the con- 
 voy work goes steadily on. By night, 
 over the wireless, come the undecipherable 
 messages of talking submarines, the air- 
 flung voices of the convoys, and the near 
 or distant "Alio" of distress. *'We are 
 being shelled by a submarine," may be 
 the words caught by the wireless opera- 
 tor, or the officer on the bridge may see 
 suddenly the flashing signal of distress of 
 a straggler in his own convoy and realize 
 that the sea-sharks have closed in on 
 their victim. There are days and nights 
 when the wardrooms and the crews' quar- 
 
THE FREIGHT CONVOY 137 
 
 ters are crowded with the refugees from 
 sinking vessels. There have been aban- 
 doned merchantmen with their costly car- 
 goes that have been manned and brought 
 half -sinking into port by crews from the 
 yachts or destroyers. There have been 
 open boats strewn with dead and dying 
 that have been sighted far out on the 
 bleak sea, and dead bloated bodies in life- 
 jackets that have gone bobbing past. 
 
 But in spite of every disadvantage, 
 hardship, and discomfort that has ever 
 been known to those who have sought the 
 sea in ships, the officers and men of the 
 American Naval Forces in France have 
 delivered safe to their designated harbors 
 the great and ever-increasing fleets of 
 merchantmen that have kept our battle- 
 line supplied with the sinews of war. 
 Never has the American Navy played a 
 greater and more unostentatious part in 
 
138 A YEAR IN THE NAVY 
 
 the great game of war. And never has 
 been more truly illustrated the words of 
 Washington, pointing so clearly to the 
 future, *'to an active, external commerce 
 the protection of a naval force is indis- 
 pensable." 
 
DESTROYERS 
 
 It was a dazzling blue-and-gold morning 
 when I first saw the destroyers. Out of the 
 night they had come. Like land birds they 
 greeted us on the waste of waters, and as 
 we realized the strength of their protec- 
 tion in this submarine-infested sea that 
 bordered the coast of France, we looked 
 down at them from the high decks of the 
 transports with admiration and watched 
 them swing and plunge at headlong speed 
 in a smother of spray, chisel bows dipping 
 under green water, slender masts reeling 
 in wide arcs, camouflaged sides now visi- 
 ble, now lost to view as they caught the 
 swinging seas. They circled us and took 
 their positions, the tiny flag of the United 
 States snapping from their mainmasts. 
 
140 A YEAR IN THE NAVY 
 
 We felt unutterable comfort in their com- 
 pany. 
 
 A few months later I was ordered to 
 destroyer duty; with the anticipation of 
 this new and thrilling service I took my 
 leave from the converted yachts and the 
 great, lazy storeship convoys of the south 
 and proceeded to Brest, where the destroy- 
 ers of the troopship convoys were based. 
 
 Never can I forget that ancient harbor 
 with the old town cast into its green rim, 
 the narrow, high, rock-walled entrance, 
 and the busy water that lay within the 
 breakwater, where lay the great trans- 
 ports and the repair ships and where the 
 destroyers rested like slender slivers of 
 quivering steel side by side in clusters at 
 the great buoys. At night the blinkers 
 trembled like fireflies from a hundred 
 yards, searchlights combed the sky, red 
 and green running lights trembled on the 
 
DESTROYERS 141 
 
 water, and everywhere were the Hghts of 
 passing small boats. By day all was ac- 
 tivity. In through the narrow entrance 
 came great convoys, liners with decks 
 teeming with khaki-clad armies, brave 
 eyes wonderingly looking down at this 
 distant shore from which so many were 
 never to return, destroyers darting fast 
 through the still waters in escort. And 
 each week departed the outgoing convoys 
 of empty liners, destroyers in escort to 
 return some five days later with other 
 ships and other legions. 
 
 There were eight officers on the Ben- 
 ham and a crew of over a hundred men. 
 A thousand some odd was her ton- 
 nage, eighteen thousand horse-power, oil- 
 burner, turbine-driven, a lean, graceful 
 arrow with a knife-edged bow and four 
 rakish stacks on her low, wave-washed 
 back. Forward, a single gun graced the 
 
142 A YEAR IN THE NAVY 
 
 lofty deck; then the towering superstruc- 
 ture of the bridge, and aft of the bridge the 
 sudden drop to a five-foot free board that 
 extended aft Hke a shaft behind a lance- 
 head to the stern, where Y-gun, Thorny- 
 croft throwers, and depth-charge tracks 
 told the story of her duty. 
 
 It was late in the afternoon. A great 
 liner of the early nineties, a vessel that a 
 generation ago set new records for speed 
 and luxuriousness, lifted her anchor and 
 stood down the channel. In the center of a 
 group of destroyers we cast off our lines; a 
 sudden churning of water under our stern 
 and we slid out into the clear. Slowly we 
 swung around and headed out of the inner 
 harbor at fifteen knots, only a faint quiv- 
 ering of the thin steel shell indicating the 
 presence of the heavy moving machinery 
 that filled the narrow hull. 
 
 There is a monotony in all things, and I 
 
DESTROYERS 143 
 
 suppose that to the officers and men who 
 had innumerable times steamed out of the 
 harbor with a convoy it was an old story 
 now of small interest. But to me it was 
 each time an adventure, and from the 
 first storeship convoy I accompanied out 
 of the Gironde to the last troopship con- 
 voy out of Brest, I always received a thrill 
 of anticipation and a vain hope for the 
 real adventure which meant an actual 
 brush with a submarine. 
 
 On this particular trip, bad weather — 
 no worse than much and better than some 
 — gave the interest. It was a yellow eve- 
 ning and the sun finally settled behind 
 thin clouds and flattened on the horizon. 
 The sea was oily with a long, smooth swell 
 that gave the destroyer a slow, heaving 
 motion as we cut the water at a twenty- 
 knot speed. Behind us the high cliffs of 
 Finistere disappeared in evening mist. On 
 
144 A YEAR IN THE NAVY 
 
 our port beam the darkened transport 
 steamed steadily, silently, and without 
 perceptible movement. Soft stars cau- 
 tiously appeared like white dust-flecks in 
 the darkening blue. 
 
 I climbed down from the bridge and en- 
 tered the passage to the wardroom where 
 a dim blue light brightened automat- 
 ically as I shut the outer door. In the 
 wardroom, safe behind closed port shut- 
 ters, electric lights gleamed against white 
 enameled bulkheads. The ward-room ex- 
 tends athwart ships. It is the living-room 
 and dining-room, a simple white steel cell, 
 furnished with table, chairs, desk, a book- 
 case, and a couple of divans at either end. 
 Forward, extending amidships, is a nar- 
 row passage, on each side of which are the 
 small rooms of the officers, and at the far 
 end is the bathroom, if a single shower 
 deserves the name. 
 
DESTROYERS 145 
 
 Colored and Philippine mess attend- 
 ants were setting the table, and soon after 
 we sat down to dinner, the "Captain," a 
 commander in the regular Navy, at the 
 head, and the Mess Treasm-er at the foot. 
 There were eight of us on the Benham, a 
 couple more than were required, but all 
 the destroyers carried several extra offi- 
 cers in order that the men might be 
 trained for the new construction building 
 at home. Of the eight, four were graduates 
 of the Naval Academy — as fine fellows 
 as I ever hope to meet anywhere. Three 
 were graduates of the short four months' 
 Annapolis course, in private life a lawyer, 
 a cotton manufacturer, and a student, 
 and hailing originally frOm Harvard, 
 Yale, and Columbia. I was the eighth. 
 Though I live long I can never forget the 
 splendid type of American manhood these 
 companions represented. 
 
146 A YEAR IN THE NAVY 
 
 After the dinner was cleared away and 
 the felt cloth was spread on the table, our 
 usual evening began. At eight the deck 
 was relieved and a couple of us left the 
 warmth and light below for a four-hour 
 vigil on the bridge. If the "Duke" and I 
 found one evening free, we invariably 
 played solitaire in heated competition. 
 Wright occasionally afforded music on a 
 mandolin borrowed from the steward, or 
 we read or studied, or more often talked 
 of when the War would end, and how, and 
 home. Such was an evening of relative 
 calm at sea. They were few. 
 
 We left our convoy at ten in the eve- 
 ning, and turning to the northwest, pro- 
 ceeded alone to the rendezvous where 
 we should assemble with other destroy- 
 ers and pick up the incoming convoy. 
 Three great convoys were out at sea and 
 all nearing France. The last great move- 
 
DESTROYERS 147 
 
 merit of American troops was nearing port. 
 
 Day dawned late in a gray sky and dis- 
 closed an empty, heaving sea. A gale was 
 rising and the wind, dead ahead of us, was 
 beginning to make our steering difficult, 
 for the light high bow of the destroyer 
 acted like a sail and tended to blow us off 
 our course. By noon a heavy sea was run- 
 ning, great gray suds-streaked ranges of 
 water that poured over us. With a quick, 
 lifting motion our bow reared on each ad- 
 vancing wave and then seemed to sink or 
 rather fall with the breath-taking sudden- 
 ness of an express elevator. The rolling 
 also had materially increased and we 
 moved from place to place about the deck 
 with difficulty. 
 
 Late in the afternoon the sun racing be- 
 hind a sky of tawny clouds blinked occa- 
 sionally on a maddened sea. On the bridge 
 a constant deluge of water poured over us; 
 
148 A YEAR IN THE NAVY 
 
 a good thirty feet we stood above the 
 water-line, and the wind, its violence aug- 
 mented by our headlong speed, came like 
 knife-blades through each crack or aper- 
 ture in the bridge. Below decks all was 
 heat, cooking, and the reek of fuel oil; 
 topside all was water and the terrific 
 wind. Just before sunset a huge cross- 
 wave carried away the motor dory. The 
 pace was too fast; we were well ahead of 
 the rendezvous; at dusk we turned our 
 stern to the gale and at eight knots rolled 
 slowly before it. In the course of these few 
 hours we later discovered that we had had 
 much ammunition torn away out of the 
 racks, and just before we turned, another 
 big sea had smashed in our motor sailer. 
 Incidentally, this and the motor dory 
 were our only boats. 
 
 The wardroom was awash with about 
 six inches of water that had leaked in 
 
DESTROYERS 149 
 
 at some place — a dirty flood in which 
 floated cigarette stubs, cigar butts, and 
 matches from capsized ash-trays, a couple 
 of old magazines and the "Duke's" deck 
 of playing-cards. With a five-second ca- 
 dence the destroyer rolled with a motion 
 that slopped the dirty flood from side to 
 side like a wave. We had racks on the 
 table and the "boys" made an attempt to 
 serve dinner, but it was useless, and after 
 half the food had been mingled with the 
 flood, we tried our luck with cups of soup 
 and bread-crusts. 
 
 When the weather is lively there is little 
 going to bed on a destroyer, and on this 
 particular trip, for instance, none of us 
 removed his clothes from port to port. To 
 wash is an absurd experiment. To try to 
 shave is an indication of insanity. 
 
 There were eight ships in the incoming 
 convoy. Big fellows they were, all of them. 
 
150 A YEAR IN THE NAVY 
 
 In the wind-swept void of a night of 
 superlative blackness we picked up the 
 other destroyers of the waiting escort, 
 and at about midnight I suddenly felt a 
 vibration shivering through our slim hull. 
 Out of the lightless night, through a sub- 
 marine-infested sea, for a distance of three 
 thousand miles these great ships with 
 their priceless cargo of human freight had 
 steered their certain course to the ren- 
 dezvous, and we, as confident of our posi- 
 tion as a man on a familiar street-corner, 
 waited for them on a tiny patch of storm- 
 swept Atlantic, and met them. 
 
 I went on the bridge at four in the 
 morning. The increased vibration some 
 hours before told me that we had "made 
 contact" and were moving at increased 
 speed. The officer of the mid-watch 
 pointed out the ships of the convoy 
 through his night-glasses, but for five 
 
DESTROYERS 151 
 
 minutes I could see nothing until my 
 eyes became accustomed to the darkness. 
 Then, one by one, I discovered the almost 
 indefinable low, black objects ahead and 
 to the right, now vaguely visible, now lost 
 with the motion of the sea. There was not 
 a gleam of light; there was no sound but 
 the roar of the wind behind us. 
 
 Another day dawned gray and lifeless. 
 I was wet with salt water, and choked 
 with the reek of back drafts of fuel-oil 
 vapor from the stacks and the smoke of 
 cooking from the galley. Also for two 
 hours I was seasick. Why dwell on that.^^ 
 Happily I have been seasick but four 
 times in all. But it is enough to make me 
 understand many things. 
 
 Camouflaged beyond recognition, the 
 transports lunged and lifted wet bows 
 and shook the water from their lower 
 decks. In double lines four wide they 
 
152 A YEAR IN THE NAVY 
 
 proceeded, destroyers on either flank and 
 behind them, and the smoke of another 
 destroyer far ahead. Running now at 
 twenty-three knots before the gale, there 
 was a sense of speed that I have never 
 elsewhere experienced. A great copper pot 
 of hot, thick, black coffee was brought up 
 to the bridge, and a huge tin cup of it put 
 me on my toes again. 
 
 Day was well established, and between 
 breaking, flying clouds now and then 
 showed patches of blue. We were steam- 
 ing at twenty-seven knots to take position 
 ahead of the convoy. There was the Mon- 
 golia, the great transport on which I had 
 come to France. It was the first time I had 
 seen her since. As we tore up behind her 
 I remembered another morning when I 
 came on her bridge at dawn and looking 
 down saw the waiting destroyers dashing 
 about us. A thrill had shivered through 
 
DESTROYERS 153 
 
 me, a wave of emotion — inwardly I 
 blessed them, and the men crowded at 
 the rail and cheered the destroyers as 
 they rocked past, and wondered how they 
 lived and how such ships could endure. 
 
 Rolling and pitching through a smother 
 of flying spray we tore past the two out- 
 board ships of the convoy. Clinging to 
 a stanchion I watched the high, distant 
 decks brown-packed with soldiers. Small 
 part I was playing, but how the realiza- 
 tion that I was *' among those present" 
 thrilled me that gray morning. 
 
 By noon it was gloriously bright and 
 the sea was going down. On the horizon 
 was the smoke of the other convoys. In 
 the wardroom we counted the troop ca- 
 pacity of the various ships of the three 
 convoys, all of which an hour later were 
 in full view at one time — it showed a 
 total of forty-two thousand men. On the 
 
154 A YEAR IN THE NAVY 
 
 Leviathan alone were probably at least 
 a fifth of all. About thirty destroyers 
 composed the several escorts; destroyers 
 from Brest and a bunch from Queenstown 
 — American destroyers, all. There were 
 about twenty-eight troopships in the 
 three convoys. 
 
 Another day and the sun rose in a 
 cloudless sky out of France; as we picked 
 up the familiar shore, the troopships 
 strung out into a long single file, and with 
 destroyers on either side passed through 
 the mine-field and entered the harbor. 
 Overhead two long, yellow dirigibles gave 
 us escort, and a flock of seaplanes soared 
 far up in the sky watching the depths of 
 the blue water. 
 
 A coastal convoy of twenty-six freight- 
 ers was standing out of the harbor as we 
 neared and swung slowly south past the 
 great crags th^t rise from the sea at the 
 
DESTROYERS 155 
 
 south. The blue of sky and sea, the flags 
 and camouflage, the number of the ves- 
 sels, and the faint burst of wind-blown 
 music from military bands on the trans- 
 port decks, made it a day never to be for- 
 gotten. 
 
 It was practically the last great convoy, 
 although we dared not even dream that 
 the end would come so soon. 
 
VI 
 
 HOMEWARD-BOUND 
 
 First to reach the coast of France after 
 the declaration of war, the fleet of con- 
 verted yachts first sailed for home follow- 
 ing the armistice. During the long month 
 following the suspension of hostilities the 
 wide harbor of Brest presented a scene of 
 restless inactivity. The war was ended. 
 The surrender of the German Navy made 
 further sea warfare an impossibility. Af- 
 ter months of hard and monotonous sea 
 duty the first thought of almost every 
 man was of home. 
 
 Then came the announcement that the 
 yachts were to return, and that they 
 would be followed shortly after by the 
 several torpedo boats and the coal-burn- 
 ing destroyers. For weeks the men had 
 
HOMEWARD-BOUND 157 
 
 been sewing the "homeward-bound" pen- 
 nants; a few days of hectic labor landing 
 depth-charges, Y-guns and ammunition, 
 and taking on board stores, and the little 
 fleet was ready for its thirty-five-hundred- 
 mile voyage. 
 
 The yachts had played a very vital part 
 in our naval activities on the coast of 
 France. At the outbreak of the war the 
 relatively few available destroyers were 
 rushed to England, and to the yachts fell 
 the duty of the patrol and escort along the 
 French coast. With the British fleet guard- 
 ing the gates of the north and the French 
 fleet on similar duty in the Mediterra- 
 nean, the full burden of the French coast 
 fell to the yachts, and, later, to the de- 
 stroyers, which were from time to time 
 assigned to these waters, but which were 
 still inadequate numerically even at the 
 close of the war. 
 
158 A YEAR IN THE NAVY 
 
 Designed for summer seas and short 
 runs between sheltered harbors, these 
 frail pleasure vessels, stripped of their 
 luxurious furnishings and equipped with 
 guns and depth charges, had fought the 
 submarine from the rocky coast of Finis- 
 tere across the stormy Bay of Biscay 
 south to the Spanish line. Much credit 
 goes unquestionably to the destroyers, 
 but to the yachts belongs credit in per- 
 haps even greater measure because of 
 their physical unfitness for the service 
 they so valiantly performed. 
 
 It was a gray morning and frequent 
 rain squalls rode in from the sea on the 
 chilling wind. Piled up from the harbor's 
 edge, rising in row on row of winding 
 streets of slate-roofed, gray-stone build- 
 ings, the city terminated in the slender 
 spire of the cathedral. At its feet the an- 
 cient fortress guarded the harbor. For 
 
HOMEWARD-BOUND 159 
 
 generations the eyes of sailors had seen 
 the city unchanged by passing years; but 
 never in its long history, which began in 
 Roman days, had the eyes of the city 
 gazed out upon such a scene as the harbor 
 presented in these last weeks which fol- 
 lowed the war. 
 
 Along the sheltering lee of the break- 
 water, a great fleet of American vessels 
 extended from the shore to the break- 
 water's end. Here were gathered many 
 of the transports, strangely painted in 
 confusing camouflage of white, gray, 
 blue, black, and green; from great buoys 
 the destroyers, knife-like hulls of steel, 
 their backs bristling with funnels and 
 slender masts, swung in groups like 
 strange water insects. Here, too, were the 
 yachts, graceful despite their shorn bows 
 and overladen decks, aristocrats in battle 
 gray. Beyond the breakwater, in the outer 
 
160 A YEAR IN THE NAVY 
 
 harbor, were huge Hners whose decks 
 so recently had swarmed with khaki- 
 clad legions. Everywhere countless motor 
 launches, manned by blue-clad, white- 
 capped sailors, darted and circled. The 
 harbor was alive with vessels. 
 
 Of all the yachts, the Christabel was 
 the smallest, the oldest, and the slowest of 
 the fleet. Yet on her gray funnel a white 
 star, her mark of honor, recalled, to those 
 who remembered, the story of her battle 
 with the German submarine U-56 which, 
 shattered by the Christabel's depth- 
 charges, sought desperate refuge in a 
 Spanish port, where it was promptly in- 
 terned for the duration of the war. Built 
 in 1893, the Christabel boasted of two 
 hundred and forty-eight tons and a 
 length of one hundred and sixty-four feet 
 over all. For the first year, immediately 
 following her trip across the Atlantic, she 
 
HOMEWARD-BOUND 161 
 
 saw continuous service without overhaul 
 or repair. And on that gray morning she 
 was ready for her long return. 
 
 I am perhaps most interested in the 
 Christabel because of her brave history 
 and because it was to her that I was as- 
 signed for my homeward passage, but the 
 other yachts of the homeward-bound fleet 
 deserve equal mention. In the second di- 
 vision, to which the Christabel was at- 
 tached, were also the May, the Rem- 
 lik, and the Wanderer. The first division 
 comprised the Vidette, Corona, Sultana, 
 Emeline, and Nokomis. Both divisions 
 sailed on the same morning and both di- 
 rected their course to New York by way 
 of the Azores and Bermuda. 
 
 There was a sudden burst of cheering 
 from the Bridgeport, the big gray repair 
 ship of the base. Slowly, through the clus- 
 ters of vessels, the yachts of the first di- 
 
162 A YEAR IN THE NAVY 
 
 vision stood out of the harbor. One by one 
 they passed through the lane of open wa- 
 ter, their crews swarming on the decks, 
 hundred-foot homeward-bound pennants, 
 slender red, white, and blue ribbons, loop- 
 ing and curving on the breeze from the 
 trucks of their mainmasts. From every 
 vessel cheers sped them on their way; sig- 
 nal boys in syncopated semaphore flicked 
 red and yellow words of bon voyage from 
 the waiting to the departing; whistles sa- 
 luted their outgoing. 
 
 Two hours later came the signal for the 
 departure of the second division. Slowest 
 of all, the Christabel was to lead our pro- 
 cession. On the long journey it was she 
 who would set the pace. Our moorings 
 were cast off; the bells of the telegraph 
 jangled in the engine-room; on the upper 
 deck forward of the pilot-house I stood 
 with the captain and several of the other 
 
HOMEWARD-BOUND 16S 
 
 officers. As we gathered way the sinu- 
 ous pennant on our mainmast snapped 
 smartly along the breeze at right angles to 
 our course. We turned the end of the break- 
 water. The whaleback of a French subma- 
 rine passed us and recalled the days that 
 were gone. Slowly we turned to the west. 
 The harbor, a great circular lake, lies 
 behind the rocky cliffs through which the 
 narrow entrance passes straight to the 
 sea. As we stood down the channel the 
 town slid slowly behind the outjutting 
 cliffs. My thoughts held only pleasant 
 memories of the weeks that I had passed 
 in the shadow of the ancient city, but in 
 my heart was a deeper happiness, and al- 
 ready I began to estimate the probable 
 duration of our passage and anticipate 
 that morning or evening, as it might be, 
 when the low coast of America would rise 
 against the sky of my own country. 
 
164 A YEAR IN THE NAVY 
 
 Two great vessels were entering the 
 harbor as we passed out to sea. Sleek, in a 
 fresh coat of gray, the Leviathan towered 
 above us. High up above the precipice of 
 her side deck upon deck piled incredibly 
 aloft; and still beyond, the monstrous 
 triple stacks pointed skyward. From her 
 rails hundreds of small white faces peered 
 down on us, and I believe we all felt a 
 pleasure in the thrill of our adventure 
 which became visualized by this absurd 
 comparison. 
 
 The entrance widened. On the left 
 great rocks, strange shapes in wave-worn 
 stone, outcropped from the sea like giant 
 bathers around whose bodies showed the 
 ominous white of breaking surf. On the 
 right the high cliff turned northward. 
 Here were the white towers of Saint- 
 Mathieu and beyond, low-lying Oues- 
 sant. 
 
HOMEWARD-BOUND 165 
 
 It was a gray day, with a heaving dull- 
 green sea and a steady wind from the 
 southwest that heaped an occasional wave 
 over our restless bow. A month's sea voy- 
 age is a long prospect and the first day 
 was quickly passed in completing our 
 final preparations. Built primarily for 
 pleasure cruising in smooth waters, the 
 discomforts that were to await us became 
 soon apparent, for by midnight the fre- 
 quent seas shipped aboard began to perco- 
 late through the decks strained by the 
 wear and tear of long months of arduous 
 service, and a fine drip of salt water, im- 
 possible to check, soon soaked the ofii- 
 cers' cabins and crews' quarters, wetting 
 clothing and bedding, and driving the 
 officers to restless sleep on the pitching 
 deck of the ward-room. 
 
 For two days the weather steadily in- 
 creased, and on the afternoon of the third 
 
166 A YEAR IN THE NAVY 
 
 day the barometer began to joggle down 
 to depths that augured badly for our 
 progress. Four hundred miles off the coast 
 of Spain in a rising gale may be fun for 
 liners, but as I looked out over the great 
 azimuth of the sea cresting in racing 
 waves, suds-streaked and breaking white 
 into spume that was flung like; blizzard 
 gusts of snow before the gale, and watched 
 the slender hulls of our three companions, 
 now lost between the seas, now rising high 
 on a crest, red bilges showing as they 
 rolled, I thought of Gonzalo's remark: 
 *'Now would I give a thousand furlongs 
 of sea for an acre of barren ground." 
 
 Night shut in with a single yellow 
 gleam of light that was extinguished like a 
 candle. Against our frail pilot-house the 
 wind hammered with battering blows. 
 Now and then, as a sea met the Christabel 
 broad on her bow, there was a shock of a 
 
HOMEWARD-BOUND 167 
 
 collision, and, if at that instant we were 
 not clinging fast, we were slung helpless 
 across the deck to crash with a mess of 
 other things adrift against the opposite 
 bulkhead. In the half -lee of the pilot- 
 house I stood my watch, deluged by head- 
 long seas thrown up by our bow and flung 
 high above us. Through the darkness of 
 this mad, wet, swinging world I could see 
 now and then the lights of the May on our 
 port beam and the emerald gleam of her 
 starboard running light, and far astern 
 the masthead lights of the Remlik and the 
 Wanderer plunged and lifted, appeared 
 and disappeared, like sea fireflies, 
 i It was about eleven when the quarter- 
 master at the wheel turned and flung to 
 the captain and two of us who were with 
 him in the pilot-house, the pungent sen- 
 tence, "The wheel 's jammed. Sir." In the 
 half -second which followed I realized with 
 
168 A YEAR IN THE NAVY 
 
 vivid intensity that extreme peril was at 
 hand. Slowly we swung into the deep 
 trough of the seas and a second later a 
 wave struck us on the beam with a shock 
 that seemed capable of crushing us. The 
 impact was terrific. Then, slowly, the elec- 
 tric lights died low, the glowing fila- 
 ments suffused a dull pink light, and all 
 was darkness. At the same moment the 
 door of the pilot-house was flung open 
 and on the rush of wind that followed I 
 caught the words of a sailor who was 
 shouting that something in the side of the 
 after-deck house was smashed in, the en- 
 gine-room was flooding, and the dynamo 
 was under water. 
 
 Happily, the steering-gear was cleared 
 by the shock of another sea; we again 
 headed slowly into the gale, and the 
 pumps disposed of an inconvenient couple 
 of tons of sea water. A door and window 
 
HOMEWARD-BOUND 169 
 
 in the after-deck house, which the sea had 
 torn away and through which the waves 
 were pouring, were barricaded with mess 
 tables from the crew's galley and once 
 more the electricity made light and signal- 
 ing and radio communication possible. 
 
 In the next two hours other seas tore 
 away the ladder from the main deck to the 
 pilot-house and snatched a motor boat 
 from its lashings and cast it far astern of 
 us. It was a wild, sleepless night, and 
 when in the early morning the barometer 
 began to steady, we thanked fortune that 
 things had been no worse and began to 
 have thoughts of food and sleep. 
 
 There is a wild and terrifying majesty 
 in a storm at sea ; but I think the aspect of 
 the sea in the several days immediately 
 following is even more impressive. With 
 the moderating of the wind, the rapid suc- 
 cession of the waves lengthened into a 
 
170 A YEAR IN THE NAVY 
 
 long, unending sequence of mighty swells. 
 Under a brightening sky, through which 
 came fitful bursts of pale sunshine, the 
 leaden ocean seemed to be moving rapidly 
 to the east, great, even, smooth ridges of 
 water stretching from horizon to horizon 
 and following each other like ranks of in- 
 fantry. Slowly the yachts mounted each 
 swell, dipped over its summit, and slid 
 down into the broad valley beyond. And 
 hour after hour the interminable progres- 
 sion of swells passed beneath us. 
 
 At noon each yacht reported to the flag- 
 ship by hoists of multicolored signal flags 
 the position and the coal and water ex- 
 pended and on hand, and by night the 
 glittering blinker lights on the yardarms 
 spelled in dots and dashes of lights the 
 words of our communications. 
 
 In the storm which we had passed 
 through, a quantity of sea water had 
 
HOMEWARD-BOUND 171 
 
 seeped into our fresh-water tanks and for 
 the rest of the trip to the Azores we drank 
 brackish water and none for the last 
 thirty-six hours, when even that was gone 
 and our condenser was shut down for lack 
 of coal. All the food was more or less 
 spoiled and the condition of the living- 
 quarters below decks was indescribable. 
 But most serious was our coal consump- 
 tion, which had been so increased by the 
 strain required to buck the storm and by 
 two days' extra steaming which the bad 
 weather had required, that forty-eight 
 hours before reaching Ponta Delgada, our 
 objective in the Azores, we were forced to 
 pick up a line from the May and, with 
 banked fires under our old Scotch boilers, 
 to proceed ignominiously under tow. 
 
 I shall never forget the last night of the 
 eventful first "leg" of our "homeward- 
 
172 A YEAR IN THE NAVY 
 
 bound." The warmth of summer had set- 
 tled over the December sea. Very distant 
 in a faintly misted sky the stars again ap- 
 peared. Then, far off on the low black rim 
 of ocean, winked an elusive point of light, 
 a lesser star resting on the sea. We had 
 made our "landfall"; broad on our star- 
 board bow was the distant flash of the 
 lighthouse on the eastern coast of the 
 island of San Miguel. 
 
 Night paled and dawn flamed up from 
 the sea, touching the western clouds with 
 a brush of rose; up-pom-ing from below 
 the horizon waves of incandescent saffron 
 the sky deepened into blue. White planets 
 and a thin white strip of brittle moon de- 
 fied the day, and lingered in the sky. Up 
 from the fringe of surf the smooth, green 
 volcanic hills of San Miguel lifted from 
 the sea on our right, high Mount Pica 
 cloaked in a mantle of purple clouds. 
 
HOMEWARD-BOUND 173 
 
 Ahead, the town of Ponta Delgada, be- 
 hind the breakwater, clung to the shore 
 Hke a pile of gleaming shells upcast on the 
 beach. 
 
 We neared the entrance. Beside us the 
 gray graceful yachts of the first division, 
 whom we would have beaten in despite 
 their head start, if the Christabel's coal 
 had lasted, steamed with us. The harbor 
 was cluttered with vessels. Here were 
 other yachts from Gibraltar and the 
 Mediterranean, our own divisions, rev- 
 enue cutters and gun-boats, sub-chasers, 
 colliers, freighters, and at the entrance 
 the squat monitor Tonapah. It was very 
 gay and warm and restful after the past 
 few hectic days. 
 
 For three days we lay in the harbor fill- 
 ing our bunkers with coal and our tanks 
 with fresh water, and in the spare hours 
 wandering through the clean old town 
 
174 A YEAR IN THE NAVY 
 
 with its narrow streets of plaster houses 
 tinted soft blue, pink, green, or yellow, 
 and out into the fertile green country be- 
 yond, where long high walled fields and 
 gardens reached far up the smooth, steep- 
 domed hills almost to the windmills 
 which perpetually waved thin sailed arms 
 high above all. During these days Ameri- 
 can bluejackets swarmed everywhere, and 
 the interest displayed by the surprising 
 majority in the natural and historical 
 points of interest recalled similar impres- 
 sions of like nature which have convinced 
 me that to "join the Navy and see the 
 world" is no empty phrase for the right 
 kind of a boy. 
 
 In three short days we were ready for 
 the second and longest leg in our journey, 
 the run to Bermuda. In the smother of a 
 windy rain squall, we stood out of the 
 harbor and by twilight the great cliffs and 
 
HOMEWARD-BOUND 175 
 
 conical volcanic mountains of the island 
 had sunk beneath the horizon. In two 
 weeks we expected to reach Bermuda, 
 gauging our speed by that of the Christa- 
 bel and further qualifying our progress 
 by the fact that it would be necessary to 
 tow her for a number of days. 
 
 There was but little incident to break 
 the monotony of the long days that fol- 
 lowed except the routine of our duties. 
 For the most part, the weather was calm, 
 but the yachts rolled heavily in the con- 
 stant swells and sleep was difficult and the 
 cooking and serving of meals a precari- 
 ous operation. During my long hours on 
 the bridge I watched the gulls that fol- 
 lowed us on our passage, soaring and 
 floating like swift white slivers of cloud 
 by day, and by night like ghostly bats 
 passing and repassing above us, gray 
 shadows in the moonlight. 
 
176 A YEAR IN THE NAVY 
 
 A great moon, that waned slowly as the 
 nights passed by, lighted the sea. There 
 were frequent squalls of rain and the sky 
 by day or night was a constantly shifting 
 setting of cumulous or nebulous cloud 
 manes. From these high mountains, the 
 moon burnished its path on the shifting, 
 heaving ocean, racing from cloud to cloud, 
 star-accompanied, in feverish haste to ful- 
 fill her nightly run. The green and red 
 gleam of the running lights, the white 
 beacon at the masthead and the yellow 
 glow of the binnace, these and the moon 
 and stars lighted our way. 
 
 At times during the long hours of the 
 midwatch the blinker of the May, in dia- 
 mond glittering flashes, spelled out to us 
 fragments of "press news" caught by her 
 wireless, the chronicle of the doings of our 
 distant and busy world of which we were 
 once a part, but from which we were now 
 
HOMEWARD-BOUND 177 
 
 far removed, and the happening there 
 seemed of but Httle consequence to us. 
 
 Each day at noon the clocks were set 
 back from fifteen to twenty minutes and 
 by that much we all felt the nearer home. 
 Never in those months at sea, have I been 
 able to forget "what time it is now at 
 home," and French time was always dis- 
 torted to me by just the five hours' dif- 
 ference between it and the hour at home. 
 
 Christmas morning dawned in an al- 
 most cloudless sky. It was warm and in 
 the soft air was the earthy fragrance of 
 land. The sea was calm, and when I came 
 on deck in the first gray light that comes 
 an hour before sunrise, we were steaming 
 slowly through the still water with the 
 low shore of Bermuda on our bow. 
 Slowly, the light welled up and touched 
 the thin clouds in the east. The pale sky 
 became a soft emerald that faded imper- 
 
178 A YEAR IN THE NAVY 
 
 ceptibly into blue with ribbons of flame 
 that laced across it. 
 
 Through a calm, milky-blue ocean, past 
 guiding buoys that marked our channel, 
 through the narrow cut in the island's rim 
 we steamed to the harbor and dropped our 
 anchor under the walls of St. George's. 
 
 Two days later we stood north again. 
 Our original orders had directed us to sail 
 for New York, but at Bermuda had come 
 new orders assigning the yachts to vari- 
 ous ports along the eastern coast. It was a 
 disappointment to all of us, for both men 
 and officers had anticipated our entrance 
 to our greatest seaport, and had held the 
 faint hope that some recognition for the 
 long months of arduous service that had 
 been performed would be given to us. But 
 such could not be, and on the third day the 
 May and the Remlik left us on their way 
 to Norfolk, and the Christabel and the 
 
HOMEWARD-BOUND 179 
 
 Wanderer began to buck a rising gale off 
 Hatteras with bows pointed straight for 
 New London. 
 
 From a summer sea we passed rapidly 
 into the cutting winds and cold waters of 
 the north. Wind-and-rain clothing, heavy 
 boots and knitted socks and scarfs began 
 to appear. Through a long day and night 
 when icy spray, hail and stinging rain 
 swept the bridge with its machine-gun fire, 
 we stood our watches, warmed and spirited 
 with the thought of rapidly nearing home. 
 
 In a dark night, varied with squall 
 clouds and hurried gusts of snow, the 
 lookout in our foretop gave cry of "land," 
 and soon after the flash of Montauk light 
 was visible from the deck. All night the 
 ship was alive with activity. No one 
 seemed able to sleep and there was an 
 endless washing, and pressing of clothing 
 and uniforms. 
 
180 A YEAR IN THE NAVY 
 
 At dawn we swung into the broad open- 
 ing between Montauk Point and Block 
 Island and a few hours later our anchor 
 dropped in the dark water of the Thames. 
 It was a quiet homecoming. No whistles 
 greeted us; no throng of spectators saw 
 our arrival. Silently, as they had labored 
 in the long months of war, the yachts re- 
 turned. But if there was no studied wel- 
 come, the familiar shores of our own land 
 and the houses and buildings of an unmis- 
 takable American city told us that we 
 were home again. 
 
 For the last time we dropped anchor, 
 and lowered the " homeward-bound." 
 
 THE END 
 
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