The following extracts from "The Big D Log," the weekly paper of the U. S. S. Delaware, were published during the winter and spring of 1920. At this time the personnel of the navy was at a very low state. Demobilization, high cost of living, high wages outside, and general unrest had taken away so many of the older men that the proportion of new, inexperienced and very young in our crew was unusually large. From her first year of commission, 1910, the Delaware had made a fine record for shooting, steaming, and general efficiency. She was one of the always reliable and, through good management being usually ready for whatever might turn up, she was lucky enough to get into many good things, including service with three other American battleships in the Grand fleet in the North Sea, beginning in December, 1917. With this background, the Delaware began the 1920 winter training in the West Indies, the oldest among eight battleships. Towards compensating for the great shortage of experienced naval men and with a view to dispel the apparent advantages of the newness and later improvements of the other ships, it was endeavored through a page in the weekly paper, signed by "The Captain," to make the men realize that the man's the thing that counts and to convince each man that his help was important in keeping up the ship's former high standing as a live member of the fleet.
Every Man's Interest
It is an old navy saying that a ship is known by her boats, and this is as true to-day as it ever was, but there are also other outward appearances by which a ship's general condition is judged—the behavior of her officers and men on shore, her signaling, and the attention paid by individuals to the looks of their ship as seen from passing ships and boats.
Keeping ships together stimulates pride in ship-keeping. It is an inspiring sight, when a smart ship stands into anchorage—everything shipshape alow and aloft, crew alert, all hands interested in doing it well. But only one man leaning on the rail instead of standing at attention, or lounging in a gun port, or sticking his head out an airport—any such thing the rival ship sees and it spoils the picture.
Ship's boats have occasionally figured in international incidents. The gig of the U. S. Cruiser Yorktown, over 20 years ago, while waiting for the captain in a foreign port, was attacked by a crowd of roughs. More recently, at Tampico, the Dolphins gig was interfered with by local authorities. In all such cases, the behavior of the crew becomes especially important, to uphold the dignity of their ship and flag, at the same time giving no cause of offense, which might aggravate the situation. While among only our own kind, little occurs outside the ordinary, but we should never, on that account, let ourselves forget that boats represent the ship, nor let boat duty slack down, lest we be caught untrained or careless when the test comes.
In navy life, the unexpected often happens. Naval forces are continually being sent to places of disturbance, to restore or maintain order or to assist in some local need. In such circumstances, the behavior of the crew comes all the more into view. Two battleships suddenly left Guantanamo Bay one day several years ago, to assist in feeding and policing the earthquake stricken people of Kingston, Jamaica. Then, one night at Port of Spain, Trinidad, the crew of the old New York policed and put out a large fire on shore. Instances of guard duty in local revolutions are too numerous to mention. In one, where the railway system of a whole country was tied up, our naval force soon had it running again.
When men are on duty, whether on board or ashore, there is something or some one at hand as a reminder, but also when not on duty, we still represent our ship and the navy, particularly on shore. Our navy has traditions extending back nearly 150 years. Much is expected of naval men, and happily they are continually adding to the reputation of their uniform.
Walking one Sunday in Potomac Park, Washington, I saw a man struggling to move his car, parked at the roadside. Dozens of men passed by without lifting a finger. Then my wife squeezed my arm, as four sailors, chancing along, took it all in at a glance, boosted the car out into the road and went on their cheerful way. "Sailor men, every time!" my wife said.
In a foggy and windy night on Long Island Sound, an elderly lady, making her first trip by the Fall River Line, became very fearful, as the boat heaved and creaked and the whistle blew repeatedly. Her daughter tried to calm her but the elder lady refused to go to her room, even to go inside. A naval petty officer, happening to overhear, said: "I am a navy man, ma'am, and know that there is no danger now, but if there should be, I will look out for you myself. I will come to your room and see you safe ashore.'' He was at once so sympathetic and sensible, the elder lady first consented to go inside and then, upon his taking the number and location of her room and again reassuring her, she retired with complete confidence.
So, let every man who wears the uniform remember to wear it worthily, whatever happens. The navy's record is not made only by a few but by the great majority, to which every man, no matter what his rank or rating, should elect himself to belong.
Remember, We're Americans
From every war, some words come down to us which were the utterances of officers or men under the stress of battle or in a tight place, and such words are treasured and carried along to remind us what stuff our predecessors were made of. From our War for Independence, 140 years ago, we have, for instance, Paul Jones' words, with his ship on fire and sinking, "Surrender? I have just begun to fight!" From the War of 1812, when our young navy made a world reputation, Commodore Perry's message after the Battle of Lake Erie, "We have met the enemy and they are ours." From the Civil War, Admiral Farragut's "Damn the torpedoes! Go ahead!"
There will be several sayings of this kind often repeated from the war just over, and one which deserves to be well remembered came from the U. S. S. Mount Vernon, Captain D. E. Dismnkes, U. S. N., Commanding, on the occasion of her being torpedoed by a submarine off the coast of France. It had been well impressed on the crew that it would take more than one torpedo to sink the Mount Vernon. In one of the lower compartments a number of men were seated at mess when the ship was struck. There was a spontaneous rush for the door, which was natural enough on first impulse, since it was the only way to get on deck. But a petty officer sprang before the others and held up a hand. "Remember we're Americans," he called out, "and there was only one torpedo." Instantly all signs of scrambling haste disappeared, each man going quietly and deliberately to his station and. as we know, thanks to her training, discipline, and cool leadership, the Mount Vernon returned to port safely, earning commendation for her entire crew.
"Remember, we're Americans!" is a good motto for always. Our navy has had a great deal to do with making the word American mean what it does in the world, and it is for us of the navy to-day to do all we can to keep that meaning up to the same standard as in the past, and strive to carry it still higher.
On the ship's flying West Indian trip last December, when we changed uniform so quickly from overcoats to whites, there was one incident that may be mentioned here not inappropriately. When the second day of strenuous watches in the hot fire-rooms came around, with only a scant breeze giving but little cool air below, one of our new young firemen, scarcely heavier than one of the coal buckets he was to handle, passing the Chief on his way to the fire-room, said cheerfully, "This time, Chief, I expect to pass, out, but I am going down there just the same."
A man of such stuff, of course, will not pass out. He has too strong a spirit. When there is work for him to do his one thought is to do it, because his own self-respect demands that all the work assigned to him shall be done well. No slacking, no loose ends, no easy excuses, least of all, no quitting—rather die first. Read all the history that is written and you will find that is the real basis of what has made the reputation of American naval men. Not just to get by with it, not to pass the buck, not to let George do it—but to be always on the job, to put it across, and to aim to lead the procession.
Man Overboard
With another trip ahead of us, between Barbados and Colon, we may wonder whether, this time also, there will be occasion to pick up a man overboard from another ship. Such an event affords a good test of a ship's organization and discipline, showing whether her men are able and ready on the instant, night or day, to make a real rescue. Always provided no harm comes to anyone, such practice as we have had, now three times within a month, is the best kind of training. Action in a real emergency is what tells.
In these days of so much motor boating, the art of pulling a good oar is not so common as it should be. But it takes more than good oarsmen alone to effect a rescue. Careful but rapid lowering, getting the falls and lines properly clear and the boat away from the side, good steering, keen lookout and helpful signaling from the ship, and then safe hoisting—all these are equally necessary. In a word, there must be a good crew both in the ship and in the boat. Every man connected with the life-boat should do his best to become skillful in every part of his duties, from the cry "Man Overboard!" until pipe down afterwards.
Remember that in lowering a boat we stake 14 lives to rescue one. As yet we have had only smooth weather. When wind and sea are up, one must think twice before lowering. Very often it depends upon the skill of the men on board whether the decision must go for or against the poor fellow in the water.
When steaming in formation in bad weather, a man dropped from any but the rear ship may sometimes be picked up by one of the ships following. This happened once in 1908, the fleet being on the way from Manila to Japan. It was blowing a typhoon (Chinese for "great wind") and the sea was far too heavy to think of lowering a boat. A man washed off the deck of the Minnesota was seen by the Vermont, next astern, which steered for him. He caught a line over the bow and came on board before his loss was known by his own ship. Quick work! But don't count on it. You may be in the rear ship, or something may prevent your being seen.
It may be of interest to mention something of the shore life-boat service. Our home coast is well provided with life-saving stations, each manned by a keeper and crew, usually nine or ten all told. These are maintained by the United States Government. Along the south shore of Long Island, a stretch of about 100 miles, there are 28 such stations. On the Massachusetts coast there are in addition some stations maintained by that state. On the coasts of Great Britain the life-boats are maintained by voluntary contribution to the British Life-boat Association. During the period of the recent war, although sea traffic was much less than in normal times these British life-boats rescued men from shipwrecks, a few at a time, to a number sufficient to man a dreadnought battleship.
These rescues that the Delaware has actually made should bring it home to every man of the seaman branch that, suddenly, it may be up to him to save a shipmate's life. Now is the time to do a little thinking about it. Imagine yourself the man in the water, unable to reach the buoy, or just holding on with strength fast failing. Every second the boat can save counts. Next, imagine your own feeling as a member of the crew, if the boat arrived too late. Then imagine it when, by the crew pulling every pound that was in them—through knowing how—the man is reached just in time. Only honest individual effort and good work will do that. Bear all this in mind at boat drill and it will seem more worth while.
Stand Up to It
A writer in a small monthly paper called "Gems" says: ''Why is it that we hang up on the chapel wall the soldier's sword but never hang the yard-stick up? There is nothing discreditable in the yard-stick. It is altogether honorable; the man uses it for his own sake. When he takes the sword, he is willing to give everything, even life itself, at the call of the country, and get nothing of this world's goods in return. The sword, like the cross itself, is honorable, not as an instrument but as a symbol of sacrifice."
Many young men and boys enter the navy in a spirit of adventure, undertaking whatever seamy side there may be as a matter of course, not realizing what the hardest of hardships may prove to be. Bad weather, cold, discomfort, long hours, and hard knocks generally will be taken in good spirit. All share them alike. The real test is in each man's regular day's work. To stand up to this faithfully, week in, week out, never slighting the details even when so familiar as to be irksome, forms the sacrifice in every life.
Sacrifices are made to gain what cannot be bought in the ordinary way but must be worked and sweated for. No boat race, ball game, rating badge, good target score, or other success ever comes without persistent, personal effort at the sacrifice of ease and leisure. Sometimes it is the ship that celebrates the success, some times it is a man's friends or his family who find satisfaction and benefit in the result of his efforts. But when a sacrifice is thrown away, no one can feel satisfaction, and it certainly is sacrifice thrown away when, by neglect or slight of some minor duty, an otherwise promising man fails to make good.
We should bear in mind that the great satisfaction which we may take in any kind of success comes from the pleasure it gives to our particular friends on board and to folks at home. They, as well as the ship and ourselves, benefit by our faithful efforts, and the thought of them should stimulate our sense of duty. For their sake, if not for duty's sake alone, one should go at his work promptly and vigorously. To do the work cheerfully in this spirit gets it off one's chest quickly and always makes it seem smaller, because it is so soon out of the way—done.
In battle and excitement no effort or risk may seem too great. The blood is up and a man feels on his mettle. But to stand up faithfully, day after day, to a duty that seems insignificant and easily omitted, is a much harder requirement, because tedious and never-ending. In every case, remember who are behind you, interested in what you make of yourself. They always wish you success and in most cases they expect it. One may count upon sympathy and understanding when failure comes in spite of honest effort, but not so when a man quits. That is the very last thing his people expect of him.
In one of the engagements of the Franco-Prussian War of 1870, the Prussians were getting the best of it and were killing all they could reach, giving quarter to no one. Some distance behind the French line, at the entrance to a small village, stood an old French woman whose only son, all that she had in the world, was in the fight. Scanning each fugitive that passed by, she stood there quietly, gazing along the dusty road towards the front, all through the long, fearful hours. With the waning light of afternoon, the sound of firing slackened and the stream of escaping men grew thin, and thinner, and ceased. Darkness fell on an empty road and all was silent. And then, turning after one last look, she cried out: "Thank God! he did not run away."
Visor Up
The hand salute, which passes when members of the naval and military service meet, originated in the days of Knighthood, many centuries ago. A knight in armor, with helmet on and visor down, covering his face, could not be easily recognized and when two of them met it was customary for the stranger or the junior to raise his visor. The other knight would immediately raise his visor, which corresponded to a return of the salute. When helmets were off, no raising of visors was necessary, just as we do not salute when the head is uncovered. Knights in armor have long departed, but that custom of theirs remains in use, as the military and naval salute all the world over.
Another heritage from the knights is the narrow commission pennant, flown at the ship's main truck. An old-time ship that flew a "Knight's pennant" was thereby marked by the State. She was thus distinguished from other vessels, engaged in private pursuits, which might or might not be lawful and honest—often they were not, from our point of view. When a ship flies an Admiral's flag instead of her commanding officer's pennant, it is a similar survival. The Admiral's flag—which we speak of as a personal flag in distinction from the national ensign—corresponds to the silken, embroidered, gilded, or otherwise gorgeous banner or standard which, in the Middle Ages, marked the presence of a personage of higher degree of rank and authority than a knight.
Knights were authorized—one might say, commissioned—fighting men, just as men-of-war are commissioned fighting ships. On being authorized to bear arms, knights took oath to act always honorably and in righteous cause, never to use their power to do wrong or injustice. In other words, they swore to be clean fighters and to support order and right, which the State ever stands for. So to-day, members of the army and navy, on entering, swear allegiance and obedience, to uphold the laws, the honor, the safety of their country.
The old knights and their customs were the best of their day. They lived and fought for the general good and safety, not for their own gain, and they were always careful to observe the rules and customs of their order. Their place has been taken by the army and navy, but the principles remain the same, and such of the old customs as still survive deserve our cordial observance. Customs do not come down through a thousand years unless they possess real value.
The hand salute belongs to the Services. Outside they do not do it just right—watch them and see; it is not quite natural. But with us it is the recognition sign of our own kind, for all grades alike. The youngest recruit and the oldest captain make the same salute to an admiral, and he makes the same return to each of them, to captain, lieutenant, and apprentice seaman. Respect and courtesy work both ways, and all ranks and ratings stand on the common ground of sworn upholders of the law and order, the honor, and the safety of the State. Some people think of the salute only as a mark of subordination, but it means much more than that. As the silent password of a great body of men devoted to the service of order and right, it signifies the respect and good will necessary for proper team work, implying a sense of the common bond which unites high and low together in worthy, unselfish purpose.
The history, traditions, and customs of Knighthood centuries ago and of the Navy to-day are marked by dignity, courtesy, and good will among all members. That is something which visitors to ships almost invariably comment upon and admire, the more so the longer they stay on board. Bear these things in mind in connection with the salute—its old historical origin, its same meaning to-day, and its full significance—which is as if you said, on meeting a strange officer, "I may not know you personally, sir, but I recognize you as an officer, and you may count on me to know my job and do it, should we ever serve together."
The Man's the Thing
In Great Britain's war with the black natives of Zululand in South Africa, about 40 years ago, although the British troops had the advantage of fire arms and modern army equipment, the black warriors, armed only with spears, kept their enemy's hands full and inflicted losses on them. The British soon found that the Zulus apparently neither slept nor rested. The slightest relaxation of vigilance brought in an attack; any incautious strayer or straggler never returned. By these tactics and the fierceness of their onslaughts, the Zulus so wore upon their invader that what the British had looked upon as an easy campaign soon took on a very serious aspect before it could be turned in their favor.
The Zulus fought to win and they understood the value of discipline and courage toward that end. To any sentry that slept on post the Chief awarded death, as a matter of course, and he was killed on the spot by a spear-thrust. Another custom was related to me by a British officer of that campaign. In one engagement a certain band of Zulus were reported to the Chief as not having done well. After the fight was over they were summoned before him to answer the charge of cowardice. The Chief ordered them all to be stripped of their arms and shields and then lined up, unbound and free, before the assembled Zulus. A detachment of warriors was then ordered to attack them.
As the deadly spears brought down one after another, the unarmed and defenseless accused men stood motionless as statues, outwardly indifferent to the execution of their mates on either hand. The Chief with his counselors scrutinized them for any least sign of flinching. Seeing none, he ordered the spear-throwing to cease, satisfied that the cowardice charge had been disproved.
Such a test could be used only by savages, but among them the prevalence of treachery, superstition, and panic necessitated extreme measures to obtain high results. Zulu war-training taught men to fight unheeding of odds, and so they would wait in ambush motionless for hours, until some unwary step brought a victim, and with only their spears in hand would charge upon artillery, rifle fire, and bayonets, stopped only by death. It was a striking example of resolute spirit overcoming material odds, illustrating Napoleon's oft-quoted saying that the men's spirit is worth three times the material factor.
As Shakespeare said, "the man's the thing." The spirit with which he tackles his job is what we must look to for success. Fortune is a fickle dame, never won by faint hearts, any more than other fair ladies are. Obstacles and handicaps melt away, lions in the path slink out of sight, when fronted by a hardy resolute will.
Commenting on the winter's athletics, the Commander-in-Chief said that the Delaware's high standing in general excellence shows again that results lie with the men, whether the ship be old or new. Number one is Arizona, vintage of '16, the newest battleship present, and following close after her comes the oldest, our Delaware. Without her crew, a ship is but an empty, silent hulk. The men transform her into a thing of life, her spirit being their spirit. Said the Chief of Naval Operations on coming aboard, "The old Delaware! She has always been a good ship."
So, while on liberty you may rightfully let your chest out a bit and wear your Delaware ribbon with pride unsurpassed. Her name has been well upheld by her present crew, and you may with truth assure your friends that, while other battleships may be newer, no ten-year veteran ever had such a record as Delaware's, especially as the fleetest of the fleet. Though not yet at the top, we are on our way.
P. S. And don't forget that the Delaware counts on your services promptly when your liberty is up. Especially you young ones, remember that you have now become important to your ship, and your "job awaits you there."
No Consolation Prize
In the fleet's winter athletic season, which finished with our departure from Guantanamo, the Delaware's high standing in general excellence was attained by salting away a few points in nearly every event. Many competitions offered points for second, third, and fourth places as well as for first, and so there was usually hope for some reward, by pulling hard, doing one's best clear through to the finish, even though outclassed for first place from the start by some other team or crew better prepared. Where so many compete, second, third, and fourth places are in reality winners over all the rest of the field. Though not the highest they are still winners. This is the only justification in a military service for giving any reward whatever for any place but first. These lower awards are given to stimulate competition and encourage sustained effort and to emphasize that a game is not lost until it is won. But where only two compete, there is no second prize, no consolation for the loser.
One sometimes hears, "Yes, they won, but we put up a mighty good game." Better let the winner say that of you, when you lose. When you say it of yourself, you are letting yourself down easy in defeat, an attitude that has no place in the navy. A navy must aim only to win, never a thought for second place.
Nelson said one day "If there were 11 sail and we took 10, being able to take also the eleventh. I would not call it well done.'' What a very superior ship that one would be in which this principle of Nelson's was lived up to all through! Another British admiral when urged by his chief of staff, after one success, to push the campaign with still more vigor and make a quick end of it by one big killing, replied "No, no; we have done very well as it is" and he let a great opportunity pass. Here we have the true expressions, one of the ever winning spirit, the other of the complacent loser. In the navy, well enough is not good enough—only the best will answer. That is the only spirit to bring victory.
Every one of us, of whatever rank or rating, is in a daily competition which scores for or against the ship according as we do our parts. Each turret, each division, each gun's crew tries to surpass the others, but beyond that, in every line of duty, large and small, there is a higher standard by which the performance of duty is measured. It is a competition between you and the standard. Either you are forgetful, half-hearted or otherwise slack, and you fail, or else you do your work thoroughly well, and succeed. There are no points for halfway—except hope for the future, and hope counts only when followed by actual results. A high score in target shooting, a table of shining mess gear, a part of ship or gun compartment which the captain can't find anything the matter with, a trim and unscarred boat, a neat and tidy uniform, complete—all these things win points for first place. The hard work that goes before is like the training and practice of a boat's crew. The test of the whole ship comes at Admiral's inspection, at target practice, and at speed trials. The ship then gets only the points that her officers and crew have earned. A single lagging oar may lose a boat race. So in a ship, a weak man's work shows a loss to the whole ship. In contrast, the man who is steady, attentive, and alive at his work stands high with his mates, and his influence, as well as his work, helps the ship.
One of the chief signal quartermasters in the fleet wrote a set of "Signal Bridge Commandments" beginning, "When you go on watch, bring your brains with you." This applies equally all over the ship. Think what you are doing, bear in mind that it is the ship you are doing it for, and remember what the name of the Delaware stands for and has always stood for during lo years in the fleet. On the Theodore Roosevelt calendar for May the motto is "Whatever your work may be, do it up to the handle, and when you have time, enjoy yourself in games and sport. If you are a real man, you will wish to do them well too."