Although there has never been a time among warring peoples when they have not known the advantage of a surprise attack, no other fighting craft has been governed so absolutely by the principle as the submarine. Knowledge of the presence of this vessel gives a foe opportunity, commonly to elude, and often to destroy it. On the other hand, if for a few moments it can choose its position unobserved, it may speedily destroy transport, cruiser, or battleship. It was because of this necessity of secrecy that the British gave out such inadequate reports during the war. The public was told nothing of the force of submarines that the Allies had assembled, or of their zone of operations. Whereas the Admiralty published fairly definite reports of the loss of the Cressy and the Queen Mary, and of the achievements of the Lion and the Broke, they permitted scarcely a mention of any of the 50 or 60 submarines lost by England, or of the several hundred enemy vessels which Allied submarines destroyed. Again, while we heard much in regard to American destroyers operating from Queenstown and Brest, and American transports plying to England and France, our newspapers published hardly a word about the American Fifth Submarine Division that operated from Bantry Bay, Ireland, the Fourth Division based on the Azores, and other divisions that patrolled the American coast, including Panama.

The spell of secrecy for the submarine, though no longer imposed, is not easily thrown off.

This we may especially wonder at in the case of England, for there is no more brilliant chapter in the history of the Royal Navy than that of their submarine service during the War. In proportion to the numbers employed, their losses were heavy, but their successes defy comparison. Let us mention a few of the latter.

In the Baltic, Commander Max Horton in 1915 torpedoed the 13,000-ton battleship Pommern, also two destroyers and two transports; Lieutenant Cromie sank the cruiser Undine of 2650 tons; further, these officers and others sank so many steamers laden with ore from Sweden that they created a panic in shipping circles in Hamburg. In the Dardanelles and Sea of Marmora, 1914 and 1915, Lieutenant Norman Holbrook sank the battleship Messudiyeh; Lieutenant Courtney Boyle sank gunboats, a minelayer, and transports; Commander M. E. Nasmith sank so many supply ships that the Turks attributed the activities of his boat, the only one operating in the area, to II English submarines—which after all was but a slight error, for his boat happened to be the E-II; later Nasmith sank the battleship Haireddin Barbarossa, and that too when she was escorted by a destroyer; Lieutenant D'Oyly Hughes varied the exploits by swimming ashore from the E-ii and blowing up the viaduct of the Ismid Railway; while Commander Nasmith ended the year 1915 in the Sea of Marmora by a record cruise of 48 days, during which he sank 46 enemy ships, including the destroyer Var Hissar and io steamers. Nor would even a casual reference to British submarine operations be complete without mention of the less spectacular but even more important activities in the North Sea; Commander Max Horton sank the German light cruiser Hela and later a destroyer; Commander C. P. Talbot and Lieutenant Commander C. P. Shove each got a destroyer; and Commander Lawrence during the latter part of 1916 torpedoed two of the latest dreadnoughts, Grosser Kurfurst and Kronprinz, and, though failing to sink them, made them useless for months following; the British submarines destroyed altogether 20 of the German U-boats, and as a still more valuable service, they maintained a scouting patrol at all strategic points along the German coast, where as they were constantly in radio communication with the British Admiralty and Grand Fleet they greatly minimized the chances for the German High Seas Fleet, cruisers, or individual raiders to slip out and make a surprise attack. One of the pleasing features of the British successes was the provision their submarines so commonly made for the saving of the crews of German and Turkish supply ships.

In comparison with these operations of the silent British, those of the boastful and vainglorious Germans, directed chiefly against British and neutral shipping, seem mean and paltry. Nor would we compare our own operations with them. 'For not only was the Royal Navy vastly superior in the number and type of its boats, but its submarine craft had for three years been reveling in opportunities such as no longer existed when America entered the conflict. But what history should not fail to record is that American submarines, in spite of great handicaps, joined the fray with a glorious ardor, like that of the American destroyers, and soon had a deterrent influence on enemy operations.

PART I. THE PROBLEM AND PREPARATIONS FOR MEETING IT

In 1917 Germany was staking all on her submarine campaign. She had eliminated Serbia and Maintenegro ; she had overrun most of Roumania and was exploiting whatever wealth remained; she had occupied Poland and a large area of Russia, and was soon to follow this with a treaty, the most humiliating ever forced upon a European country; further she had well-laid plans for crushing Italy. This would leave only France and England among her major enemies. If England, the strongest in resources and fully determined (just as mo years before in the Napoleonic

wars), could be separated from the rest of the world by the undersea boats, and reduced to impotence in one to three months as the naval experts of Germany promised, she could be indifferent as to the later actions of America and all other nations.

Fortunately for civilization, England was not starved out in one month or three; but hard pressed she showed signs of sharp distress. In combating the U-boats the used every known weapon; nets, mines, depth charges, all kinds of armed surface craft, and submarines. America, eager to co-operate, in the very first month after joining the Allies sent a flotilla of destroyers. Two months later she sent a squadron of converted yachts. Then arose the question, should she send her submarines? England was using so many of hers in conjunction with the Grand Fleet and in patrolling the North Sea, that she had not enough to patrol the ship lanes leading from the west to southern Ireland and England. She suggested our entrance into this phase of operations. Should America take the risk?

The risk was undeniably great, not only on account of the character of the service, but because our submarines were relatively unprepared. For years the Government, though carrying through a moderate building program, had been throwing the chief emphasis on battleships and destroyers. Thus when it was proposed to send our submarines across, there were strong objections raised.

These objections were based on the inferiority of our older boats. We had under construction and nearing completion a strong force of 0-boats and R-boats, modern and superior in type; but if America was to send a division with least delay, she must employ those already in commission, many of them the older boats. These had been freely criticized with respect to engines and periscopes. The engines had given trouble because of unreliability, breaking down in heavy weather and at other times as well. Further, they annoyed the crews by excessive smoking and the failure of mufflers and muffler valves, with inadequate provision for ventilation. Their best speed was three or four knots less than that often made by the Huns. The periscopes had lenses with relatively poor optical qualities, of low power only. Besides this, they were non-housing, because of which a boat running at periscope depth in heavy seas was likely to expose the top of the bridge and even the conning tower. The joints of the tube were not entirely tight, with the result that there was frequent annoyance due to leaking and the fogging of the lenses.

Germany had made thorough naval preparations of a general character previous to 1914, and from 1914 to 1917 she had concentrated on submarines. To place ours against theirs seemed at first glance like entering in an athletic contest as the American representative one who was near-sighted and somewhat inferior in speed and endurance, when the rivals had also the great advantage of experience gained from previous contests. Nevertheless, after all had been considered, Captain T. C. Hart. U. S. N., an officer with experience in submarines, was called from transport duty to take over the command of Division Four and Five. As he related afterwards, while he was still debating the wisdom of sending a division across, he suggested " Europe " to four young commanding officers, asking if they could make the voyage. The emphatic reply they instantly gave in the affirmative, and the eagerness they showed in explaining away all difficulties, naturally helped him to reach a decision. About mid-summer, 1917, the Department determined to send Division Five to England.

The Government had been pushing work on the submarines already laid down, which were about the same in number as those in commission. Further, it was soon stripping Honolulu and the West coast, and sending their craft through the Panama Canal. All the submarine bases became centers of activity. Honolulu and San Pedro, on the Pacific, and Panama and New London, on the Atlantic coast. There was the overhauling of all the boats, and many of the older types were again put into commission. And, finally, there was the training of the personnel. In this New London led. Where three small buildings previously had answered all purposes for base work and school, there suddenly sprang up a power house and machine shop, electrical laboratory, torpedo and gun laboratory, magazines, and barracks for officers and enlisted men numbering up to 800.

It was during this period of preparation that there occurred the loss of the U. S. S. F-1. It was on the 17th of December, 1917, when she was on her way to Panama, nine miles northwest of Point Loma, California, that the accident occurred. Out Of the thick fog, at seven in the evening, came the U. S. S. F-3 and with a suddenness that made futile the efforts of officers on the bridge of both boats, the F-3 rammed her sister ship just forward of the main hatch. The impact opened up a big hole in the hull of the F-1 and she went down in 40 seconds. The shock threw the engineer of the F-3 down between his engines and knocked the radio operator off his stool, but fortunately their boat sustained only slight damages. Even before her safety had been made certain, the F-3 stood by and succeeded in rescuing the four of the F-that had been on the bridge, the other nineteen of her complement having gone down with the vessel. The calmness and good discipline of the crew of the F-3 was. illustrated by the radio operator, who before picking himself up reached to his key and sounded that to assure himself that his instrument was ready to respond to orders.

The promptness with which work began after the declaration of war is indicated by the history of the U. S. S. L-2. On 13 April, 1917, they received orders to mobilize. At once they began drills of all kinds. On the 21st they painted the outside of their vessel standard light gray. They kept up the drills, and for the benefit of officers engaged in harbor defense they ran through an experimental seine, a part of which they carried away without being impeded in any way. On the 5th of May they proceeded to the Philadelphia Navy Yard for overhauling. This was long and thorough with the effecting of various alterations suggested by the British. On the 12th of November it was completed. Then after a month of testing and drills, on 4 December, 1917, the L-2 started with the rest of the Fifth Division for Ireland, by way of the Azores.

The number of qualified submarine men was small in comparison with the sudden demand. An idea of the practice required for the making of a crew out of raw material is suggested from the following adapted from the War Diary of the U. S. S. E-2:

25 March, 1918, Navy Yard—Crew mustered at quarters and ship placed in commission. Taking on stores preparatory to sailing.

26 March—Taking on stores, and going over machinery and apparatus.

27 March—At 3.00 p. m. got under way for New London, Conn., in company with S. P. Owera. Ran well for two hours, when main clutches gave way off Execution Rocks. Took tow line from Owens.

29-31 March Submarine Base, New London, Conn.—Working on clutches and machinery.

April—Made first submerged run in the river; down two hours. (Crew green and inexperienced; prospects of good material, but hard work needed to develop it.)

3 April—Cruised 43 miles, Long Island Sound.

5 April—Under way at 4.00 p. m. for tactical exercises. In column, M-I, D-2, D-3, E-2, and G-2 stood out to Block Island Sound. On signal, went ships right 900 and executed crash dive. First one under; stayed flown one-half hour. Came to surface and proceeded to Gardiner's Bay. Anchored in cove at 8.30 p. m., and charged batteries at intervals all night. Cruised 27 miles.

6 April—At 4.45 a. m., up anchor. Returned to Base. Flotilla commander held inspection. Cruised 27 miles.

7-11 April—Overhauling machinery and preparing engine for trial trip.

12 April—Got under way at 1.15 p. m. for Long Island Sound. Made partial running dive; down one half hour. At 4.35 p. m. met Division and took place in column: L-5, E-a, D-r, D-2, D-3, G-2. Passed through Race, sea rough, and on signal made crash dive; first one under; stayed down one-half hour. (Nearly all the crew were sea sick, and the chief gunner's mate, who was the diving rudder man, was the worst; as the prospects for the crash dive were not encouraging, the Commanding Officer took the diving rudder himself. At 70 feet we got away from the roll, and the crew pulled together a little, only to lose themselves again when we came to the surface. This shows how necessary it is to have a seasoned crew for such work.) After coming to surface, steamed to rendezvous three miles off Montauk Point. Anchored for an hour; then got under way at 9.00 P. m. to pass through patrol line and make practice attack on vessel in Fort Pond Bay. Nearly ran on Cerebus Shoal. Got through patrol lines, and at midnight attacked tank steamer. Started back for Base. Cruised 48 miles.

13 April—Returning to Base from midnight in driving snow storm. Arrived at Base, 4.10 a. rt.). Cruised 21 miles.

15 April—At 10.43 a. m. left Base for full power engine run. Went out to sea and ran for New York. Had a submarine patrol with us to keep vessels from mistaking our identity. Engines ran splendidly. Ran to midnight, covering 151 miles.

16 April—Still running full power. About Loo a. m. nearly ran down two-masted sailing vessel which was carrying no lights. (Her skipper swore loudly through megaphone.) Rounded Ambrose Light Ship at 1.30 a. m. and stood back for New, London. When we were off Montauk Point, an airplane circled over us and came so near that we exchanged greetings. Also sighted dirigible on patrol. Arrived at Base at 4.00 p. m. Power trial successful. Total distance, 321 miles; average speed, 12.88 knots per hour.

19 April, Block Island Sound—Called all hands at 6.00 a. m. for emergency drill. Cleared dock in six minutes. Dived in pond, lying on bottom in 45 feet. Then blew tanks, and started out of pond on engines. When outside, executed crash dive. Came to surface and steamed for New London. At 4.00 p. m. joined Division coming out of New London for maneuvers Stood out through Race on port beam of Fulton, and made crash dive. Came up and steamed for Watch Hill Point. Lay in wait for Fulton. When she was sighted, made quick dive and approached her to attack. Fulton was zig-zagging, causing us some difficulty in getting in good position for a shot. Came to surface and returned to Great Salt Pond. Anchored there about 7.30 p. m. Got under way at 9.00 p. m. to attack Fulton, which was then anchored about four miles off coast. Could not see Fulton as she showed no lights, but guessed her position by seeing lights of submarine chasers. Dived and started on attack. Ran with periscope above water till we sighted patrol boats; then dived under them and stayed down. After running about four miles, made porpoise to look for Fulton. Saw her about 300 yards dead astern. We had passed directly under her. Making a shaft) turn we simulated firing. The attack was successful. Came to surface, and started ahead on engines for Long Island Sound. On the way the gyro compass went wrong, and as no one had discovered the fact we found ourselves out at sea, having fortunately passed by some bad shoals. At midnight, still under way, having made five submerged runs; under for four hours, covering 20 miles. Cruised on surface this day 61 miles.

20 April—At midnight still under way. Anchored at 2.00 a. m. off Montauk Point, and charged batteries till 7.00 a. m. Then got under way to circumnavigate Block Island without being seen by chasers. Sighted six chasers and made crash dive, staying down two hours. Then came quickly to surface, and hooking on both engines returned to New London, arriving there at 3.00 p. m. (Crew pretty well exhausted.)

26 April—Stood. out with maneuvering division at 6.20 p. m. Got signal to make crash dive just as we reached the Race and had a tow crossing ahead. Nearly dark and tide running strong. Got below surface in 50 seconds, and to 6o feet in one minute and 35 seconds. As we slowed the motors, the tide suddenly started us down. Tried to hold her by

speeding up motors, but hit bottom at too feet. Blew tanks and came up. Found tide had set us very near to Gull Rocks. Fulton came along and nearly ran us down, as we had just come up and showed no lights.

May—At 8.58 a. m. proceeded up the Bay to Test Barge. Submerged and fired Whitehead torpedo to try out tube mechanisms. Fired two Mark VII, Mod. 4, B. L. torpedoes and one Type 0 torpedo. Found that deflection of torpedoes was caused by above water tubes of barge, as submerged firing gave perfect runs.

3 May, Newport, R. I.—Took aboard allowance of Mark VII, Mod. 4, torpedoes with war heads and torpedo equipment. At 1.35 p. m. proceeded across Bay to Bailey's Point and carried out experiment with mine apparatus. At 3.27 p. m. exchanged 'calls with U. S. S. Hannibal.

 

It is interesting to note on reading the complete War Diary of the E-2 how her crew had grown in efficiency. This was shown not only in their keeping at sea for long or short runs regardless of the weather, but also in their coming to know their engines and making them run with a regularity earlier believed impossible. Also it is to be noted how much more rapid had become the operations of the crew, as indicated by their reducing the time for a quick dive2 by nearly one-half.

At 8.30 p. m. on the i6th of May, after nearly two months of this intensive training, the E-2 received the welcome orders "to proceed to sea for war service." Two hours and a half later she was under way with the L-5 attended by the U. S. S. Owera. Four torpedoes had been made ready and loaded into tubes, for orders directed that she should "sink any submarines encountered."

PART II. OPERATIONS OF THE AMERICAN SUBMARINE PATROL

I. ON THE AMERICAN COAST

The visits of the Deutschland and the U-53 while we were yet writhing in our neutrality were undoubtedly intended to give America a warning not to show too much concern over German piracy in European waters. Like most of the Boche threats this served to instruct rather than to terrify. No sooner had the Administration realized that war was inevitable than it took measures for the protection of Boston, New York and Long Island Sound, Philadelphia, Chesapeake Bay, and Panama.

For the defense of the Canal, preparations on the part of both Army and Navy had been unusually complete, and there seemed little danger. However, as this was a strategic point towards which much shipping converged, it was deemed prudent to keep some of the older submarines patrolling there. Compared with operations in the Irish Sea where there was the stimulation of frequent contact with the enemy, the service off Colon was deadly dull. The nearest a German submarine is supposed to have approached was the Virgin Islands, landing at Porto Rico to obtain fresh provisions. And even this was but a rumor, never officially confirmed.

Two weeks before the German submarines appeared off the North Atlantic coast early in the summer of 1918, the Navy Department had received a warning from the British Naval Intelligence Department. What experiences our submarines had as they went out to meet the peril may be seen from the various war diaries.

From the War Diary of the U.S.S.N-2³

21 July, 1918, at Provincetown, Mass.—[Lieutenant H. C. Frazer, U. S. N., commanding.] Received telegraph orders from district commander relative to the enemy submarine which sank three barges off Chatham. Accompanied by S. C. 263, put to sea at 11.30 a. m.

22 July—Lying in awash condition. At 3.00 a. m. under way on half switch, course 900 true. At 5.20 a. m. made a crash dive and began periscope patrol on half switch. Depth 17 feet. Came to awash condition, then submerged. S. C. 251 cruised astern of us at a distance of one and a half to two miles. Whenever we came to the surface, she came alongside and gave whatever information she had picked up by radio watch. At 7.24 p. m. came to surface, awash condition. At 8.30 p. m. began charging batteries, air banks, and the four torpedoes in tubes.

From the War Diary of the U. S. S. N-3

23 July, 1918—[Lieutenant A. G. Dibrell, U. S. N., commanding.] At 2.55 a. m., the sea being smooth, the moon full, and the weather hazy, sighted a steamer on our starboard beam in moon's rays 800 yards distant. A moment later sighted another vessel on our port quarter headed straight for us. Thinking that the latter, which was indistinct in the mist, might be a submarine cruiser attacking the steamer we prepared to attack her. The vessel astern, however, was soon recognized to be a transport. I fired Very's pistol, giving preliminary recognition signal, a green cartridge, and then picked up the flash light to make the recognition signal "D. D." The preliminary recognition signal was answered on the transport by one long and three short blasts on the whistle. As I made the "D. D.", I heard the order given from the bridge of the transport, "Fire." I yelled, "Don't fire, this is an American submarine." But as I yelled, the gun was fired and the shell hit the N-3 at frame No. 79 just at the water line. The transport was not more than 50 yards away, and we could see a great many men on deck and hear them talking. Then I heard the order given to load. By this time five or six had gathered on our bridge, and we shouted, "Don't fire." "Don't shoot. This is the N-3." All the time we were making the recognition signal with the blinker light. When the shot was fired, other ships began scattering, and we expected to be fired on by each in turn.

At this time, 3.10 a. m., the chief gunner's mate reported that water was coming into the torpedo compartment rather fast; at which I gave orders to blow as much oil aft as the after tanks would hold and all then remaining in the forward fuel tanks overboard, at the same time to blow forward trimming, adjusting, and auxiliary overboard, and flood the after trim.

A destroyer then came in sight on our starboard quarter 200 yards distant. I made the preliminary recognition signal, and started to signal that we had been hit and request him to stand by. But as soon as he saw our green rocket, he went hard left and headed straight for us. We went full speed astern to prevent his ramming us. He continued to turn towards us, although our flag held between two men was plainly exhibited over the marker buoy with a flash light on it. At the same time We were making the recognition signal and yelling that we were an American submarine. When the destroyer was 20 yards off, I heard the officer on the bridge give hard right and he grazed our bow, which was pointed hard left. Smoke and flame were pouring from his stacks. Fortunately, however, we had been recognized by the destroyer, which proved to be the U. S. S. Preble, Lieutenant Mack in command. He now stood by and sent Lieutenant Evans over in a boat to see if we needed assistance. This we declined when we succeeded in stopping our leaks by caulking.

We picked up an unexploded British 7.5-inch shell in our forward superstructure [fired by the British transport]. As we examined our injuries, we found 17 rivets sheered at the water line, frame No. 79 bent and twisted, hole in the superstructure, anchor lost, forward diving rudder bent and knuckle joint sheered, and torpedo expulsion tank dented. Torpedo compartment was flooded to the height of the combing between the forward battery compartment and torpedo compartment.

There were no casualties. The electricians are particularly to be commended for standing unflinchingly by their motors and giving prompt response to orders.

We were probably not seen until we gave recognition signals. Are recognition signals worth the paper they are written on?

Lieutenant Dibrell's experience was by no means an isolated one, for since one of the successful ways of attacking the wily Fritz was to shell him or ram at sight, every submarine, according to orders, was to be regarded as hostile until proved otherwise. Consequently, friendly craft constituted the greatest danger to our submarines and likewise to the British.

As the N-3 came limping back to New London, bow rudders out to avoid sinking, she was met by the N-5, going out to relieve her on patrol. It happened to be the N-5's first patrol, and her commanding officer, as he admitted later, seeing what were the experiences he was about to face, felt his heart grow heavy.

The N-5 had her area of operations well south of Block Island including the lanes of the incoming and outgoing ships of New York. A considerable part of the day she spent on submerged patrol, but if no vessel was near,, at set times she would come to the surface, raise her radio masts, and listen in for orders from Arlington or Siasconset or other stations—each would repeat them as it opened up at its appointed hour. In this way she would get information where the German submarines were operating, and plot their positions when word came of their sinking ships.

While on patrol she kept strictly to her designated area, with instructions to leave it only on contact with the enemy. But during the latter half of August she operated with a schooner laden with stores and serving as a floating base ; they had a roving commission, cruising all the way from George's Bank, Newfoundland, to Cape May. The United States never employed any mystery ships on the Atlantic coast, but they did purchase and commission three schooners, manned by officers and sailors in uniform, which they sent out attended by submarines. It was hoped that the schooners would enable certain of the submarines to keep to sea much longer, and incidentally if Germans interested in sinking fishing boats and merchantmen should attack the schooners our own submarines might seize the opportunity to make contact. It was on the return of the N-5 from a week's hard but uneventful patrol that orders came for her to put to sea two days later with the schooner; or floating base, Charles E. Whittemore. The commanding officer and several of the crew were sick with "flu," all were tired out. Nevertheless, there was no hanging back.

It was originally planned for the N-6 as well as the N-5 to accompany the Whittemore. One was to be towed for two days, while the other cruised about at will. The schooner carried provisions and oil enough for a month. But on their way to Block Island, the steering gear of the N-6 jammed, throwing her across the bows of the N-5, who rammed her. Thus the N-6, having her port forward hydroplane carried away and a hole stove in her forward torpedo compartment, had to put back to New York for repairs.

The N-5 proceeded on with the Whittemore. During much of the day she was towed, connected with the schooner also by telephone. In order to relieve the crew from the strain incident to the long cruise, one-half were quartered on the schooner, and a shift including officers was made every 24 hours. They failed to sight any Hun. Otherwise, everything went well till the first week of September, when as they meandered along several hundred miles from land they ran into a heavy storm. The gale ripped the canvas of the schooner to shreds, and gave trouble to the N-5, for the pumps not functioning properly she flooded out her main motors. The two vessels then parted company, leaving Lieutenant W. S. Seibert, U. S. N., the commanding officer of the N-5, and half her crew on board the schooner. Her executive, Lieutenant J. M. Creighton, U. S. N., and eight or ten men brought her in safely, though not without some adventures.

When nearing Nantucket Light Ship, as they thought—they had been running for some time in a fog—instead of picking up one light ship they discovered four. Creighton, who was on the bridge, trusting that he had not been seen, tried to slip back into the fog. Whereupon he saw one of the ships detach itself from its companions, and head towards him. With his pumps out of commission, it was impossible for him to submerge. Therefore, in accordance with instructions, he hove to, broadside on, and began making recognition signals. The steamer kept coming towards him, and by occasionally zig-zagging brought both bow and stern guns into action. She fired 30 rounds, non-ricochet shells, which if they had ever struck would have ended the N-5, but fortunately all were over or short. When she was about woo yards away, Creighton picked up the megaphone and hailed. Then the steamer changed to shrapnel, which fell 5o yards short. Finally, she got word by hail that she.was firing on the U. S. S. N-5, broken down. The steamer proved to be an English transport. She never gave her name, but with the assurance, "We'll report you by radio," she departed in the fog.

There are so many stories told that show the inadequacy of the recognition signals, or the ignorance displayed by those to whom they were made, that it is worthy of note that the N-7, when off Nantucket in thick weather, met the destroyer U. S. S. Bell, Commander Douglas Howard, U. S. N., commanding, and made recognition signals without disaster.

Another class of service given to our submarines, when the Germans became active off our coast in the summer of 1918, was the assisting in the escorting of troop ships until they were several hundred miles out to sea. The fear was that a Hun, if he succeeded in sending home a torpedo, would later hover near the doomed ship as it fell behind and shell the American troops in lifeboats and on rafts. It might be impossible for the destroyer escort to prevent this if at the same time one or more Huns were also attacking the head of the convoy. It was believed that the Germans would take especial pleasure in such a feat for its advertising features; to announce that their submarines were destroying American troops by the thousand before they were past the mid-Atlantic would have been as cheering in their gathering gloom as the advance of several miles towards Paris. Some idea of the difficulties of this escort duty may be had from the records of the 0-4 and the 0-6.

From the War Diary of the U.S.S.0-4

18 July, I9I8—[Lieutenant Commander R. H. English, U. S. N., commanding.] Shoved off from dock at 1.30 p. m., with U. S. S. Bagley as escort, and proceeded to Ambrose Light Ship. Arrived at 4.30 p. m. and lay to while awaiting formation of convoy. Made stationary dive to get trim. At 7.30 p. m. headed course 89°, trailing convoy, speed 12 knots. Passed Fire Island Light Ship abeam at 9.5o p. m. At 10.30 p. m. changed course to T44° and maintained this general course during night, running without lights and keeping stern light of escort in sight.

19 July—At dawn nothing could be seen of convoy. At 5.00 a. m. sent signal to escort asking when they had last seen convoy; to which they replied they had not seen them since rounding Fire Island Light Ship. Dismissed escort at 5.15 a. m. and continued course 144° (true), speed 12 knots. At 5.30 a. m. sighted convoy on port beam. The weather being hazy, the outlines of ships in convoy could be seen but faintly. Lost convoy when the U. S. S. Walker crossed in its wake. Picked up convoy again about 7.00 a. m. Trailed convoy as rear guard throughout the day, keeping ships just within sight through glasses. At 3.00 p. m. slowed speed to II knots in order not to crowd too closely. Sea rough, but not heavy. Wind 4 from northeast. Almost entire crew suffering from seasickness, except a few continuous service men.

On the 21st the weather had calmed, and the men on the 0-4 recovered from seasickness. She continued on her easterly course trailing the convoy until the 24th, six days out from New York, when, nothing eventful having occurred and her service with the convoy being completed, she came about and followed a generally westerly course. While returning the crew had practice in submerging and preparing to make an attack. When nearing New York they were fired on by a steamer, 12,000 yards distant; but as her nearest shot fell 4000 yards short, their peril could not be regarded as imminent. Much more disquieting was the experience of the 0-6, which, like the 0-4, was one of our newest submarines. She was equipped with a three-inch gun, and had had target practice at the patrol boat range, Cape Cod Bay. Lieutenant C. Q. Wright, jr., U. S. N., was in command, and he had as his complement, three officers, and 35 men, which was fully a third more than many of the submarines had.

From the War Diary of the U.S.S.0-6

6 August, 1918—Under way at 2.30 p. m. Stood out to Cape Henry. Submerged and obtained trim. Stood down to 2 C. B. Buoy and awaited convoy. Convoy arrived off Buoy at 8.io p. m. Under way at 8.34 p. m. on course 86° (true), speed 12.5 knots, two miles astern of last ship. Convoy carried no lights. Saw blinker tubes several times, but nothing else. Night uneventful.

7 August—At sea on course go° (true), en route to convoy rendezvous. Nothing in sight at daylight. Position at 8.00 a. in., 37-00 N.; 76-06 W. Heard gun firing. Picked up four ships bearing on starboard bow. Assumed they were our convoy, as in haze they appeared to be. Came in behind them and checked course as 90° (true). The last ship was the only one made out distinctly. Drew up to about two miles astern of last ship, and then slowed down to keep that distance. Now made out a total of 24 ships. We assumed that our convoy had made junction with New York convoy, but followed to make sure of junction before returning to Delaware Breakwater. At 3.05 p. m. (75th mer. time) the last ship fired at us, the shell landing close alongside, one to two feet to port and exploding. This ship had a three flag hoist up, which we could not make out, but took for recognition signal. We had hoisted the answering pennant and made reply. Sent men on deck below to get ready to submerge, and stopped the engines. I stayed on the bridge and began waving a flag. The next shell landed just forward of the bow and ricocheted over the bridge. Went below and submerged. The next shell hit the conning tower, and about the same time one hit the steering stand. The next one hit the engine intake pipe. All started to leak. Secured lower conning tower hatch, and flapper valves of others. Voice pipe from conning tower leaked badly; the valve would not close, and water poured over motor controls and wireless. Plugged voice pipe with a potato masher and kept some of the water out.

Headed away from firing ship, until starboard motor controller shorted and blew circuit breaker, and wireless started to spark and short circuit, when I blew tanks and sent men on deck with flags. Starting the engines, we headed away from the firing ship. One destroyer gave chase. After getting tanks dry and reaching a position beyond range of firing ship I stopped the engines, and sending everyone on deck with lifepreservers, and with all available flags attempted to signal to the destroyer. She then swung broadside to and fired several broadsides, all falling short.

Began signaling with whistle. The destroyer finally came within hail, and turned out to be No. so (U. S. S. Paul Jones). Her commanding officer said he could not make out our signals; that he was with a British merchant convoy, and when the last ship reported a submarine he had turned around to chase us. Requested him to convoy us to Delaware Breakwater, as it was dangerous for us to submerge. He radioed the admiral in charge of the convoy and obtained permission.

Lost overboard: Captain's Orderbook, Navigating Notebook, and chart. Damage done: superstructure hit near gun, and slightly damaged; gun hit and probably ruined; conning tower received two direct hits, one piercing, the other denting; steering stand pierced; engine induction pipe pierced; c. t. shears pretty well cut to pieces, and many pipes and electrical leads out; port side light gone.

The British merchant ship that had first fired on the 0-6 showed excellent gunnery, and it was really remarkable that although the captain, executive officer, lookout, quartermaster, and chief gunner's mate of the submarine were on the bridge at various times during the action, no one was killed or wounded. Target practice of this kind, however, must be a bit trying on an officer's nerves.

In the story of the many submarines engaged in patrolling the North Atlantic coast there is a great deal of sameness, but we cannot leave this part of our narrative without an account of the later adventures of the E-2. In spite of the fact that she was a tiny little craft (of 287 tons, surface displacement, 134 feet 10 inches long, 14 feet 6 7/8 inches.beam), and of so distinctly an earlier type that she had been for years out of commission, she gave an extremely good account of herself in the summer and fall of 1918; the crew that Lieutenant Reifsnider had worked so hard to train stood a patrol at one time of 19 days, and in the seven months between I April and 26 October, 1918, cruised on the surface 6039 miles and ran submerged 2414 miles—and this without a serious breakdown of the engines or a casualty of any kind. Further, it was the E-2 that got so hot on the trail of the German U-117, sinking ships off Cape Hatteras, that the large enemy craft, 275 feet long, immediately changed her theater of operations to the northeast, and after a few more inglorious successes made for the other side of the Atlantic. Her commanding officer is reported to have remarked after the Armistice, "There was one little Yankee submarine that pretty nearly got me. He got so near that it wasn't any fun."

On leaving Newport the E-2 had gone to Hampton Roads. With this as her base she was ordered out on patrol. The War Diary relates that on her return she passed in the heavy fog a British steamer, which hove to and trained guns on her. But the signals were at once recognized and the two vessels proceeded on to Cape Henry. Not always was the peril so easily averted. This was shown, a half month later, by another chance meeting not far from Chesapeake Bay Buoy No. 2, where the channel is narrow and not very deep. In order that American submarines might not add to the nervousness of the merchant vessels, who were by this time seeing German submarines in every low dark craft, and also that they might not subject themselves to needless risks, they had been strictly ordered to avoid showing themselves to passing surface vessels. Consequently, when the E-2 was on her way out from Cape Henry, running submerged, and the radio operator, listening on the K-tube, announced a steamer approaching, on bearing 2700, the commanding officer proceeded rather cautiously. Again the radio operator announced the steamer, with the same bearing, only her propellers sounded louder. As yet the E-2 had not a great deal of confidence in the K-tube as an instrument of precision, and further there was so little room in the channel as not to invite extensive maneuvering. So it was decided that the safest course was to go to the bottom, which gave a depth of 50 feet, and rest there. Soon it required no K-tubes to tell them that something was approaching; the churning of the propeller blades could be heard through the hull, and it sounded louder and louder. Just before it reached its maximum, they felt themselves moving; the depth gage showed they had risen four feet. The suction of the propeller was lifting them. Then they felt a slight shock, heard a sound of scraping, and their boat dropped rather heavily to the soft bottom. There was a common feeling of relief as the noise of the steamer died away in the distance and they discovered that the shell of the E-2 was still whole. An hour later, when they came to the surface, they found that the steamer passing over them had struck their forward stub mast, cutting and bending it. This, on the extreme bow, was only two or three feet high. Had the steamer gone about thirty feet to the south in the channel, she would have struck the conning tower, and there would have been no further tidings of the E-2 and her crew.

The E-2 then kept on to her billet off Cape Hatteras, and in this patrol cruised for 8o hours submerged and for 62 hours on the surface. Commonly, the difficulty when running submerged was in keeping warm, but here, where they were evidently operating in the Gulf Stream, they had the opposite experience. The temperature in the central operating space—the E-2 was all one compartment—was 93°; and between the engines 114°. At all times when submerged there was discomfort caused by the boat's sweating. This worked hardships to the crew as shown by the record of one of them being taken with chills and fever and another being laid up with rheumatism; further it was a constant menace to the electrical installation. In this particular the German boats with their wooden sheathing had an evident advantage.

In the next patrol the E-2 came upon signs of U-boats' work. While running with periscope exposed they sighted the wreck of a schooner bottom up. On coming to the surface they found the vessel, which was about 16o feet long, drifting with several shell or bomb holes through the bottom.

It is interesting in this patrol to note the record of time when they ran submerged: 10 July, 9.4 hours; II July, 12.9 hours; 13 July, 14.1 hours; 14 July, 17 hours; 15 July, 13 hours; 16 July, 13.1 hours; 17 July, 13 hours. On the 14th, when they made their longest run, the War Diary reads:

Made one dive this day.

Submerged 17 hours at 4 knots.

Submerged at 4.30 a. m., and came to surface at 9.30 p. m. During the entire run, vessel was controlled by bow rudders only and no change in ballast was necessary. Air purifying apparatus was started during the ninth hour.

After the fourteenth hour the breathing of the crew became more rapid, though no other effects were noticed until coming to the surface after 17 hours. When the conning tower hatch was opened, a fog formed in a low line throughout the vessel, and an odor akin to sewer gas was noticeable; three men immediately vomited, and several others had headaches, but no lasting bad effects were apparent.

It was no small achievement at the end of this patrol to report: "Personnel maintained good health and spirits, though conditions were trying due to length of time submerged."

It was at this time after the E-2 had returned from her third patrol that the Helvetia, a three masted schooner, was fitted out by the Navy Department to operate with our submarines against enemy raiders. On her were stowed spare parts, stores, and battery water. She carried a deck load of fuel oil in barrels. Her cargo hold had been converted into crew's quarters, and several additional deckhouses had been built. The schooner flew a commission pennant and carried a naval crew. Entirely unarmed, she relied on the accompanying submarine for protection. Associated with her as the task force, were the E-2 and the L-5. The plan was that the submarines should alternate, one trailing or being towed by the schooner, and the other operating independently. At five day intervals they met at an appointed rendezvous and relieved each other. The schooner carried special lookouts in her crosstrees and on sighting anything reported to the task commander on board the schooner, who in turn sent the necessary information and instructions to the submerged submarine.

It was on 8 August, only two days after the sinking of the Diamond Shoal Light Vessel and a steamer in that vicinity, that the force under the command of Lieutenant Commander L. D. Causey, U. S. N., secretly left Hampton Roads, the two boats departing in the early evening and running submerged. The next morning at 7.00 the E-2 met the Helvetia, while the L-5 cruised independently according to the general plan.

At about 10.00 a. m. the E-2 took the end of a 300-foot wire cable, seven-eighths of an inch in diameter, from the schooner and securing this to her towing hook was towed astern. At first she submerged to periscope depth, but when at noon the Helvetia signaled that a steamer was ahead, she went down to 6o feet and remained at that depth until the steamer had passed. Towing was not always the simplest matter, as will be seen from the following:

1.50 p. m. Helvetia came about, but made a good deal of leeway before filling away on the new tack. This loss of speed caused the E-2 to go down to about 70 feet. We used motors in attempting to maintain proper position, and adjusting pump to get positive buoyancy. On coming to periscope depth we found ourselves close alongside the Helvetia's lee bow and heading bow to stern. The towing hook had been released before we came to the surface, but the cable had not released due to its lead abeam.

It was on the 17th of August, nine days after leaving Hampton Roads, that there came what promised to be the great opportunity of the E-2, but what turned out to be the great disappointment. Since early morning just before dawn the E-2 had been submerged, trailing behind the Helvetia in the monotonous patrol, which continued for seven hours without a single communication from the schooner. And when at twenty minutes of one, the E-2 came up at periscope depth under the weather quarter of the Helvetia, the only message the latter signaled was, "Can give you a tow line." In order to make fast the tow line, and to give the crew a slight relief, the E-2, six minutes later, came to the surface on the weather side of the schooner.

While the crew were preparing to make fast the tow line, the commanding officer sighted a bark to leeward, hull down. This surprised him, for according to orders he was not to expose the submarine when any vessel was on the horizon, and to guide him in his movements he was to be informed by telephone or signal when any was sighted. Later, when he had dropped astern on the tow line, he noted that the bark had changed the appearance of her sails. Picking up his binoculars, he was puzzled by sighting two objects: one that looked like a square sail on the horizon, evidently the bark, but also another to the left that appeared to be the top of two masts coming up over the horizon.

Immediately he signaled to the Helvetia, "What is that to left of bark?"

"Can't make it out," came the reply.

A few minutes later this vessel to the left was seen to be rapidly approaching the schooner by crossing ahead from port bow.

Orders were immediately given on the submarine," Open towing hook! Rig for diving!" At the same time the Helvetia signaled, "Better prepare for trouble."

As there was no strain on the tow line, the towing hook did not open, and nearly a minute was lost in sending a man forward to open it and cast off the line—a long and anxious minute, for the commanding officer had made out the approaching vessel to be a large enemy submarine.

Starting ahead on both motors, he made a quick dive to thirty feet. With the eager expectation of finally engaging a German submarine, he ran submerged for several minutes, making all torpedoes ready for firing. Meanwhile he was calculating the probable position of the enemy (four and a half miles distant when last seen), taking into consideration her speed and course. When he thought he was near, he slowed down to four knots, and porpoised, but failed to sight any vessel except the Helvetia. Next he gave orders to stop the motors, and the radio operator listened on the " ells " but could hear nothing. The more sensitive Y-tube, having been carried away in the course of the towing, could not be used.

And so they continued searching for four hours and a half, at one time sighting a swamped lifeboat and considerable wreckage but nothing with it. Finally at about half-past six they came to the surface, when, on learning from the Helvetia that they heard something on their listening gear bearing on their port beam, they immediately submerged again and continued the search. Two hours later when darkness took away the last chance of sighting the foe, the officers and crew of the E-2 reluctantly admitted that the wily Hun had eluded them.

The German as later learned, was the U-117, Kapitanleutnant Froschen. She was said to have been put into commission in the beginning of the summer and had left on her first cruise—to America—about the middle of July. On the 10th of the next month she sank eight small fishing schooners off Nantucket shoals. After sinking a steamer off Long Island she proceeded down the coast laying mines at regular intervals between Sandy Hook and Cape Hatteras. She was just finishing with a Norwegian bark, when the E-2 first sighted the two, and had evidently intended next to attack the schooner, but took fright and fled. Her next sinking of ships was in the vicinity of Cape Race, New Foundland, and it was not long before she was on her way home.

The E-2 had failed to destroy the German raider, or even to get within striking distance. Why she had failed was well characterized by the commander- of Submarine Division Two as he forwarded the report of the operations of the E-2, 8-27 August: " . . . . It is lamentable that the schooner which was to be the eyes of the force should have failed at this critical time to carry out her part of the program." This was the only good opportunity to sink a German submarine in home waters that ever came to our boats, and the opportunity was lost because the personnel of the Helvetia had been lax in doing the most important thing assigned them.

It appeared from the log of the schooner that the masthead lookout reported at nine o'clock in the morning of the fateful day an object alongside of the bark, but that the captain of the Helvetia, who had seen but a few months of naval service, failed to report this to the task force commander, as by instructions he should have done, even if it had been the merest point on the horizon. Had this information been passed on to the E-2 during the morning or when she first came to the surface, it is not at all improbable that creeping up on her busy and unsuspecting enemy she might have torpedoed her.

There was an exhibition of the good nerves and clear vision of the officers of the E-2 early next morning, when they sighted an object to southward that sure enough was a submarine standing towards the Helvetia. They dived, and starting towards her made all preparations for attack. The sea was choppy, but porpoising at intervals they kept a favorable bearing on the submarine and approached to a position, 5oo yards distant, where there was a fair chance of sending home a torpedo. Then they made out the recognition marks of the L-5, which the rough sea and the small amount of periscope exposed had prevented their recognizing sooner.

2. THE PATROL ABOUT THE AZORES

A few months after our declaration of war a German raider had appeared off Ponta Delgada, and tested the temper of the people by saluting them with shells. It may have been only a feint, but it gave rise to the suspicion that the enemy had their eye on the important shipping in the vicinity. To guard against the danger, the United States early placed there a small naval force, which included the submarines K-1, K-2, K-5, K-6, and E-1 constituting Submarine Division Four.

The K-2, -5, and -6, as they left the Philadelphia Navy Yard, 7 October, 1917, for New London, supposed that they were merely to be the training division at the Submarine Base. The idea that they would be the first boats to go across hardly entered their minds, because requests for housing periscopes, bridges, and other equipment believed to be necessary for war work had been disapproved. When they reached New London, they received an order that no one was to be allowed ashore except on duty and by express permission. This mystified most of the officers as much as the men, and they could only speculate what it meant. On the 12th, when they had been joined by the K-1, they sailed for Provincetown and then to Halifax—still not knowing what was to be their duty.

At Halifax, after taking on fuel and 10 days' provisions, they were given a sealed package of charts, with instructions not to open them until ordered to do so. It was only as they were well out of Halifax, when they read the signal flying from the tender U. S. S. Bushnell, "Destination, Ponta Delgada," and opened the charts, that they understood they were bound for the Azores and for service "over there."

They had a rough, disagreeable passage, and as only one of the boats had a bridge, they found some difficulty in operation. Onone of their number the lookout sat out his watch on a saddle rigged up on the periscope; on another, he was described as perched "astride the periscope shears, hanging on for dear life—the boat sealed up with the exception of the induction valve, and the cold seas washing completely over the conning tower." The more serious feature was the frequent minor break-downs of engines on two of the submarines, because of which all had 'to lie to and drift while repairs were being made.

It was a welcome relief that came on the evening of the 27^th as they entered Ponta Delgada and secured alongside the Bushnell. Life took on the aspect of luxury as they had a bath and shave and turned in for a real sleep.

But the rest was brief. At four the next morning, working parties were turned out to unload from the Bushnell stores, provisions, spare parts, and personal belongings. Officers and men were so busily engaged that they did not stop to ask where they were going to live. The unloading was carried on with all haste possible, the supplies being put on the dock near the fish market, and carted from there up to a small store house near the main square of the town. It was a strange atmosphere that they suddenly found themselves in, and one officer relates that in spite of the hurrying he could not close his eyes to the funny little Portuguese children scooping up the sugar that dropped from an occasionally torn bag, eating it with an equal amount of dirt with greatest delight.

About midnight, they saw the reason for the haste, when the Bushnell cast off and sailed for home. She was returning for the next division of submarines, which was to go to Ireland. The U. S. S. Tonopah had been designated as the tender for the Fourth Division; but as at this time she was engaged in renewing her boilers, it had been decided, rather than to delay sending a force to the Azores, to leave them for a while without a mother ship—an evidence of the urgent need and also of the Department's confidence in the resourcefulness of our young officers.

The breakwater, along which the submarines were secured, was to be the home of officers and men for several weeks, and certain phases of their life were so primitive that they jocosely spoke of themselves as "cave dwellers." It is described as "up- wards of half a mile in length, about 40 feet in height, consisting of a series of arches filled in with cement and stone blocks on the sea side, where it is further strengthened and protected by huge boulders and rocks which are brought down from the quarries from time to time, and dumped into the sea. On the land side, a shelf, perhaps so feet wide, and about six feet above the water level, forms a platform on which there may eventually be built docks and ship wharves. During our stay there were big piles of sand heaped on this platform."

Of their life there we have the following picture:

Left to our own devices, we set to work to make these "holes in the wall" habitable [the arches were about 25 feet high, and gave a floor space of 30 by 20 feet]. One was designated the "Office," in which the boxes of records were placed; planks laid across the boxes made a table for the yeoman, who soon had his typewriter set up and the " Incoming " and " Outgoing " baskets ready for business. One corner of the Office was given over to the stowage of the officers' trunks and personal effects. Some one found an old ship's ventilator, which inverted with the large belled mouth turned outboard made an excellent fireplace, in which we soon had a roaring driftwood fire. Adjacent holes were allotted to each boat, and the men turned to building bunks and bag racks. Another hole became the crew's mess hall and galley. Wood, canvas, and scraps of tin and sheet iron found about the breakwater were pressed into service to help convert the seawall into a home.

On 1 November, the K-2 left for the first patrol in an area around the island of San Miguel. She encountered heavy weather before her return, and the cave dwellers also had a full experience of it.

A southwest blow with heavy rain squalls reduced our home to a sad condition of dampness and chill. Huge seas, driven before the gale, hurled themselves at the breakwater, sending green water completely over the top, and swirling in back eddies into the holes. Clothes, bedding, records, everything we had, was drenched with salt water, and even our fireplace failed in its efforts to cheer us up. A council of war was called to decide the question of more suitable quarters, and it was agreed to try to rent some place in town where we could at least stow our belongings. This resulted in the rental of the third floor of the Hotel Novo Central—a loft up under the roof, whither we sent our trunks and where some of the officers tried to sleep. More spacious or better furnished quarters were not to be had, because the Division was without a paymaster, and the division commander was not authorized to expend funds. For the enlisted men, we obtained the use of a school room in town, where half the crews of all boats could alternate in sleeping—this with the idea of getting the men out- of the boats as much as possible between patrols. Empty gasoline drums were converted into shower baths, and every effort made to give the men a change of surroundings.

The following month, the E-1, and the seven L-boats bound for Ireland by way of the Azores, had an unusually complete experience in navigating submarines through winter storms. Sailing from Newport on 4 December, they ran into a hurricane, and heavy seas washed over them during most of the trip. Lieutenant J. C. Van de Carr, U. S. N., who had the L-Io, notes in his War Diary, "The boat rolled as much as 69° on a side. About one-half the men are sick, a few very sick . . . . It was the worst storm I ever encountered in a submarine, and was probably a record for our submarine navy." The most detailed account is the record of the E-I, commanded by Lieutenant Eric L. Barr, U. S. N.

Adapted from the War Diary of the U. S. S. E-I

7 December, 1917—The promised storm arrived about io.00 last night. At one o'clock the commanding officer was called to the bridge by the officer of the deck, who reported that the towing tug had stopped and we were in danger from the L-11 drifting down on us. Immediately we made preparation for letting go the tow line. The wind was blowing a gale from the northeast, and the seas were running high. It proved that the tug had not stopped, but could make no headway against the wind and sea. The word was given to slip the tow line, but for some reason it would not slip. To send a man forward to release it would have been futile, and like sending him to certain death. Closing the releasing gear, we hung on.

 

The storm increased in violence, and at 3.00 a. m. we were driven from the bridge by heavy seas which broke clear over us. Securing what we could, we cut away what was left of the bridge screen that we might have an unobstructed view through the eye ports, and then sealed up. The steersman steered from the conning tower, where he could just make out the towing lights of the tug, but the air got so bad in the conning tower that we had to relieve him every half hour. Krug, seaman, took his turn, but being too weak to stand had to give up. Elmore then took double watches. Thus we kept on till daylight. The tug had, meanwhile, made repeated signals for us to let go. We again released tow line, but could see through the periscope that the ring on the towing pennant had fallen back over the releasing bolt, as there was no strain on the hook to release it. After 20 minutes a sea lifted the tow line clear, and we were henceforth fighting our battle alone.

The wind shifting to the southeast, we started one engine and turned away from the tug and the L-11 to get clear. A rain squall followed, and after it was past the Bushnell was nowhere in sight. The gyro compass, which had proved utterly unreliable in the heavy rolling, was stopped; the cutwater compass was from one to three points out, but it mattered little. We had to keep the seas ahead or a little on the bow, or we would roll so as to take them down the engine induction. That was right over our after battery. As the battery deck covers of rubber were torn and worn out, nothing but painted canvas kept the salt water out of the battery. Salt water meant chlorine—a real danger when the seas were going clear over the bridge, so that no one could have stayed outside. To meet this new difficulty we stretched a hammock under the induction and led it to the midship well. This kept most of the water, and the rest we dried up with swabs and waste.

We had now lost sight of the Lykens [the tug] and the L-11. We kept on to the southeast until noon, when the wind changed to the southwest. Then running before it, we headed east northeast. The gale had by this time become a cyclone, and one sea that came crashing down on top of our after deck smashed in all the deck locker doors. The next one lifted them off, and with them off our mooring lines came out. One, fouling the port propeller and diving rudder, put them out of commission. Since it was impossible to get on deck to clear it away, we could after this use the port engine only for charging batteries. The wind hauling to the northwest, we headed around and ran before it about east southeast.

The darkness came, and still the seas would allow no one on the bridge. With the darkness it became difficult to keep before the sea, and when we broached slightly the seas flooded the engine induction. It was not long before we had to stop the engine, seal up completely, and run on one motor, batteries in multiple. After six hours of this the air became so oppressive that we were compelled to open the induction and run the engine a short time to ventilate the boat. We attempted no watch that night but ran blind. The officer of the watch would look through the periscope every five or ten minutes to see if by any chance a light was near. We were unable to show bridge lights, for ours had all been grounded in the first few hours of the storm. This had caused two fires, which were put out by cutting circuit below. The engine signals had also grounded and had to be disconnected. All but one electric cooker had grounded, but that did not bother us much as no one thought a great deal about eating. A few of us forced ourselves to eat a handful of crackers and a piece of bread at meal hours, but there was no pleasure in it.

The steersman, seated on the forward end of the table, was lashed in place. He did well if he kept to a point and a half either side of the course. The engine room watch were the only ones on their feet. They had to hang on. If any one wanted to move about the boat he had to crawl. We were rolling from 450 to 600 on a side. To look through the periscope an officer had to hang on overhead, and more than once it happened that some one rolling across the deck knocked the officer's feet out from under him leaving him swinging like the pendulum of a clock.

8 December—Morning came at last with indications of a clearing sky. We started the starboard engine, running at lowest speed to keep the racing within safe limits. The sky later cleared, but as the wind and sea continued high, it was impossible to get on the bridge for a sight. In the forenoon watch, Towers fell over at his work in the engine room and was too weak to get up. He was put in a bunk forward alongside of Krug. Both were picked men, and held to their post until physically unable to stand. But they were new men and showed the need of training; the old men stood up and did their work.

 

At I.00 p. m. we picked up a radio from the Bushnell, giving Bermuda as a rendezvous. That night when the wind and sea abated a little, we made good speed, floating the battery on the line to keep the propeller from racing.

9 December—At 8.00 a. m. we sighted a big freighter through the Periscope. Not being in condition to dive we changed our course two points to pass a little farther astern. He saw us at the same time, and putting on full speed began zig-zagging. Had he known how harmless was a submarine in that storm, he would have saved himself trouble. The roll of the boat brought the vertical wire of the periscope Io° off the bow, first on one side and then on the other. It would have been impossible to make torpedo adjustments. We received another radio from the Bushnell, but this was fainter. A near noon sight, obtained at much risk to the observer and the sextant, showed us about 270 miles to north and east of our position computed by dead reckoning. We distrusted the accuracy of our sight, but determined to buck the gales and waste no time looking for the Bushnell.

Io December—The wind died down, but the overcast sky and rapidly falling barometer gave warning of trouble ahead. The seas were heavy with no apparent direction. Getting the gunner's gang out on deck, we attempted to clear the port propeller, but gave it up as every little while a sea would roll clear over the decks. The commanding officer took his forenoon watch on the bridge. The wind soon began in puffs. Then a new storm blowing from the south and later southwest broke. The bow radio mast went by the board, and one of the bow rudder guards was wrenched off, drifting to leeward. Very soon we were driven in off the bridge, and had more of the relentless pitching and rolling and the torture of stifling air. It was a repetition of the first day's storm, only more violent. In order to hold to our course we took the seas broad on the bow and let her roll. . .

12 December—At daylight the sea was smooth but there was a heavy ground swell. Stopping, we cleared away the wreckage of the bow radio mast, and then running the radio telescopic mast two-thirds up we rerigged the antennae. The gunner's gang tried again to clear the line from the port propeller. Elmore, chief gunner's mate, having stripped went over the side with a heavy line around him, tended from the deck; swimming to the tail he stood on the skegs, then at a favorable opportunity dived and hung on to the skegs with one hand while he cut the five-inch line from the propeller with a knife. He had to go under three times before it was cleared, working as the boat rose and fell with the sea. He then examined the diving rudder, but he found this so badly fouled that he was unable to free it. Elmore showed that he had been knocked about, for he was bruised in a number of places, but not so as to be incapacitated for duty.

At noon we were able to get sights and exact position for the first time since separating from the rest of the fleet. We then changed our course to southwest by west one-half west, speed II knots. Our port engine now began to slow down, because of dirt or some other foreign matter getting under the foot valves of the fuel feed pump.

13 December—The port engine ran slower and slower, until finally we were compelled to give it a superficial cleaning. At noon we sighted a steamer two miles away. When she saw us she headed our way. As we could not dive, we had an anxious moment. Stopping with broadside turned towards her we hoisted No. 6 colors at the radio yard and began signaling by wigwag from the deck. She kept her guns trained on us, but did not fire. At 500 yards she stopped, looked us over, and decided to go on. She was the Julius Caesar of Genoa, bound for Norfolk. Stating that diving rudders had carried away, we asked her to convoy us to Bermuda, fearing that Allied ships mistaking our identity might fire. This took her one point off her course, but she came around and convoyed us to the south end of the island and sent a radio concerning our arrival. At 7.00 p. m. we approached the entrance of the harbor, exchanging signals by searchlight with the harbor patrol, who ordered us to lie off till daylight. We obtained permission to anchor on the 10-fathom line, which we did at 7.30 p. m.

14 December—About Loo a. m. a thunder squall struck us, and at 2.50 a. m. when our anchor cables parted we began drifting towards the reefs to the northward. We got under way at 3.00 a. m., and steamed about the front of the harbor till daylight. We took a pilot aboard at 7.00 and stood into the harbor at 10 knots. We secured alongside the Bushnell a little before 8.00 a. m. We moved into quarters in the casemate during the afternoon. The crew subsisted on Royal Navy rations.

15 December—The commanding officer went on board U. S. S. Prometheus, which was tied to the inside of the quay to see about repairs.

The vicissitudes of the E-1 have been given with considerable detail, but they were not more severe than those of the other boats in the division. In fact the L-9, which turned back and made Boston, encountered even rougher seas and in addition very cold weather. The honors of the voyage belong especially to the L-1, L-2, L-10, and L-11. These four, early becoming separated from the Bushnell as well as from one another, failed to catch the signal appointing Bermuda as a rendezvous. Left to their own judgment, they individually decided to risk a 1700 mile run to Ponta Delgada, through wintry seas, with machinery that had never before proved equal to such a test. In this they knew well enough that if their engines broke down they could expect no assistance from ships they were unlucky enough to encounter. But after many days of weather like that described, and other hardships such as diminished rations, they succeeded in reaching their destination. The others followed about two weeks later, when minor repairs had been made.

The Fourth Division, whom they found at Ponta Delgada, had not encountered any Huns, but had now for two months and a half been making patrols with as much regularity as possible. They had been relying entirely on themselves for repairs, and it was a surprise to many that the boats could be kept going with so few facilities. For this the machinist's mates deserve no small credit. This division had as their area of operations the waters surrounding the Azores to a line 300 miles outside. This was much too large a zone for five small submarines to cover with any thoroughness. Patrol after patrol brought the same report of heavy weather, endless rolling, vast expanses of storm-tossed seas, but never a Hun and rarely a surface craft to vary the monotony. Most of the time they ran on the surface to cover as much area as possible on the usual lines of approach to the islands. When the big convoys, somewhat later, began to cross by the southern route, they would scout in the probable direction of attack by an enemy submarine.

On 23 November, 1917, the German radio press had proclaimed the existence of a war zone around the Azores, in which any vessels venturing did so at their peril. This aroused in the Fourth Division great expectations of meeting the enemy, but nothing came of it. As was learned later, the Germans published the threat in the hope that it would divert some of the Allied force concentrated about the British Isles. Reports of enemy submarine operations in the vicinity of the Azores were few and far between. Between the 24th and the 26th of November a raider sank five ships in the vicinity of Madeira; on the 12th of December a submarine shelled the town of Funchal, Madeira; on the 27th of December another sank a Portuguese barkentine south of the island of Pico, Azores. The first two were beyond the range of the American patrol, especially at a time when the fuel oil left by the Bushnell, a month and a half previous, had to be most carefully economized; the third afforded a chase in which all joined, but as the Hun had a start of several hundred miles and also the advantage of speed, they never had a chance.

They attempted to make use of lookouts in the hills, who now and then reported a suspicious looking craft seen passing the island, but as these reports did not reach them till a day or two had elapsed after the craft was sighted they were not of great value.

One of the embarrassing features of the patrols was the breaking down of the engines. An officer writes:

Nurse them as we would, we could never be sure that the old two-cycle engines would stand the strain of long running in rough seas with propellers racing, and it was rather the rule than the exception for a boat to return with only one engine in operation, and that one sadly in need of repair. With the facilities for repair work of the poorest, and with very inadequate spare parts, the time in port between trips, which should have been rest periods, was devoted to engine overhaul—working the men in three shifts through the day and night, getting the machinery ready for the next patrol. The spirit of the men under these trying conditions was admirable.

An experience of the K-6 gives a vivid idea of the weather that prevailed during the winter months and the unprotected state of the submarines. This is described as follows:

On the night of February 1-2, 1918, we were lying just to the southward of the entrance to Ponta Delgada. Heavy seas and a gale from the southwest compelled us to keep the motors turning over slowly in parallel, in order to maintain position, and to ease the motion of the ship. About eleven-thirty, an unusual pounding aft gave the impression that the seas had carried away a section of the tail plating—by no means an uncommon occurrence. Had this been the case, the plate would have eventually become detached and the noise would have ceased. But the pounding increased, seeming to be the worst when the boat was lifted on a wave and the tail slapped down into the trough of the sea. About twelve-thirty the signal was given to the man at the controllers to go ahead, in order to put her head up to the sea. A rasping, grinding sound immediately followed, that indicated only too clearly that the propellers were fouled. Then for a time it ceased; then recommenced as the stern fell into the trough of the sea again. Instinctively, something told us what had happened—the connecting rod to the after horizontal rudders had carried away, allowing the rudders to hang down vertically. As the boat pitched and tossed in the sea, these unattached rudders were swung over and under the propellers by the force of the waves, alternately hanging down clear of the blades, and the next instant thrown over on top of them. Already our propellers had been chewed to pieces in those few revolutions before we realized what was wrong, and we were helpless to maneuver the boat. In less time than it takes to tell, the boat had swung into the trough of the sea, and was rapidly making leeway to the northwestward. A look at the chart showed us that we were on a lee shore that promised us no soft landing place if some means of propulsion were not devised to keep us off shore. Galera Point lay dead to leeward—a sheer cliff rising right out of several hundred fathoms, without a sign of beach or shelf to land upon. Our propellers were useless; the cliffs were less than five miles away; had we had canvas for a sail, it wouldn't have lasted ten minutes in the gale that was blowing. So the captain radioed for assistance, and at four fifty-five a small mine sweeper stood out toward us. Dawn was just breaking when they attempted to run us a line. With the seas breaking completely over us, it was a difficult operation to handle towing gear. The first line, a 5-inch manila, parted as soon as the sweeper put a strain on it. Next they tried wire, but we were unable to handle it; only two or three men could go on deck at a time, and they could not haul the cable aboard. Two 5-inch lines were then run to us by the crew of a wherry that they launched and handled in excellent style, but both of these parted as the single one had done. In attempting to hoist the wherry again, the boat was dashed against the side of the sweeper, the crew escaping by jumping for the rail. It was now ten o'clock in the morning and we had been set in to within a mile and a half of Galera Point. If anything was to be done it must be done quickly. Acting on this thought, the captain of the sweeper put her head to the sea, and by skillful maneuvering, gradually brought her down upon us stern to. She came closer and closer until it seemed that we must inevitably crash into each other. Now her stern was abreast our bow; now her counter overhung our bullnose. If we rose on the next wave we would surely plow through her stern. But as luck would have it, the next wave lifted both of us together, and during that brief space of time, they had thrown the eye of a 3-inch wire sweep over the windlass casting on our deck—literally lassoed us. Just once we bumped as the sweeper started ahead—a glancing blow that made us hold our breaths but did no damage to either vessel. At eleven twenty-seven the return to port was begun. Hearts were never lighter than when we saw the rocky cliffs of Galera Point receding. In the days of work that followed, repairing the broken connecting rod to the rudders, and straightening the propeller blades, which had to be done by hand on a wooden form, the crew spoke jokingly of their "flirtation with Madam Galera."

During the entire period, of very nearly a year at this station, the American submarines never once made contact with the enemy. That was the hard, discouraging feature of their war service. They could stand what seemed like being forgotten for a while by home, as they waited for the Tonopah, braving the inconveniences and discomforts, but to be thus utterly neglected by the enemy took the spirit at times quite out of them. At moments they felt as useless and foolish as a policeman walking up and' down an empty street. The Navy Department, however, looked on their service quite differently. They emphasized the fact that the Germans were keeping away from what they had proclaimed a "barred zone" in quite a different sense. This, as the Fourth Division were assured, "materially aided the routing of convoys by the southern route."

The Eighth Division

The Eighth Division, Submarine Force, consisting of the 0-3 to the 0-/o inclusive, was organized during the latter part of the war for service off France, but since they got no farther than the Azores it may be mentioned here.

With their tender, the U. S. S. Savannah (formerly the Hamburg-American steamer Saxonia), they left Newport, Rhode Island, on 2 November, 1918. This division was especially well equipped and well trained, and was made up of our newest submarines. On their way to the Azores they had the not uncommon autumn experience of head winds and heavy seas. But they kept their formation on the Savannah and were constantly on the alert for enemy vessels that never appeared. Before they had reached the Azores, the Armistice had been signed. So after a brief stay they retraced their course to Bermuda and then went to Charleston, South Carolina. During a scant six weeks they had voyaged about 5000 miles, with two stops of about eight days each.

The performance of the 0-5 on this cruise was particularly creditable. When the plans were maturing for sending the Division across, this vessel had suffered a sad accident, caused by the failure on the part of a recent addition to the crew to attend to the ventilation when the batteries were being charged, with the result that hydrogen collected and exploded as the hatch was opened suddenly. In consequence the commanding officer, Lieutenant Commander G. A. Trever, U. S. N., and the third officer, Ensign (T) W. J. Sharkey, U. S. N., lost their lives. Lieutenant Commander R. H. English, U. S. N., in spite of the fire that followed the explosion, immediately entered the boat and with noble devotion risked his own life to rescue Trever, who was still alive, from the mass of wreckage under which he had been buried. This happened on 5 October, 1918, and for nine days Trever battled for life but finally succumbed after having both legs amputated.

Lieutenant Commander L. F. Reifsnider, U. S. N., who had previously had the E-2, was then ordered to this command. When he came to his new ship, a week and a half after the disaster, he was confronted by utter confusion. Nothing had been done beyond clearing out the wreckage, and the destruction caused by the explosion and the fire that had raged for several hours after gave a most disheartening appearance. Further, the crew were not far from a state of demoralization. Repair work was begun at the New York Navy Yard, where the vessel was lying, but the other boats of the Division coming here at this time required to be docked preparatory to the trip to European waters; and their needs drew men from the 0-5. When the Division left, the latter part of October, going to Newport for final preparations, they expressed to the officers on the unfortunate ship sympathy on their being left behind. It speaks well for the officers and crew of the 0-5, and for the efficiency of the New York Navy Yard, that 25 days after the explosion had wrought such havoc, the 0-5 went to sea for war service, and she went in time to sail with the rest of the Division for the Azores. They had some troubles with the engines at the start, causing the 0-5 to be towed a short time by the Savannah, but they soon corrected all difficulties, and before the end of the voyage this ship was among the most reliable.

The Third and Sixth Divisions

While long voyages are being considered, mention should also be made of what the Third and Sixth Divisions accomplished. The former, which consisted of the K-3, K-4, K-7, and K-8, carrying their base along in a rickety collier taken from the Germans, proceeded from Hawaii to Key West, and there took up the tedious grind of off-shore patrol, covering the Straits of Florida and the Gulf of Mexico. This was a very efficient division, and had not the outbreak of war found it at Hawaii, it would very likely have been the first in the war zone. The Sixth Division comprised the L-5, L-6, L-7, L-8, and Alert. The last, formerly a sailing ship, was one of the oldest ships in the Navy; it had been supposed that she would end her days at Hawaii, for the reason that she would not be able to get anywhere else to die. But she sailed with the Third Division to the Atlantic coast, and later with the Sixth Division, which had been ordered to the Azores about the same time as the Eighth. Both divisions had about the same kind of weather, but it was harder on the Sixth, for the boats being older encountered greater difficulties in the heavy seas. Arriving at the Azores, the Sixth, like the Eighth, were turned back on the signing of the Armistice. On the return voyage, they received orders at Bermuda to proceed all the way to San Pedro, California. It was an extremely long voyage, but they made it without trouble to anyone except themselves. This was commonly regarded as one of the best long-distance, seagoing performances ever made by our submarine navy, perhaps the best.

1. For a full account see Newbolt's Submarine and Anti-submarine, New York, 1919.

2. Quick dive bids fair entirely to supplant the earlier and less appropriate term crash dive.

3. To meet the needs of this article, the writer has not hesitated in quoting the war - diaries to condense, and to make slight changes in diction for the sake of clearness.

 

(To BE CONCLUDED)