When the U.S.S. President Lincoln was sunk by the German submarine U-90 on May 31, 1918, there was an exhibition of cool courage and efficient performance of duty in the face of impending death that will fill a bright page in the records of the deeds of the men of our navy. The crew of the ship was composed largely of young men who, a few months before, had been engaged in the various pursuits of civil life, but the work and experiences during the preceding winter months, when the ship had voyaged back and forth across the ocean, had been a good school and under the guiding hand of the few officers and men of sea experience, this crew met the test in a way that was truly remarkable and the memory of their clock-like performance of duty will always fill with pride the heart of the commanding officer. Colonel Clopton, the commanding officer of the troops on board, afterwards said that the scenes attending the sinking of the ship "seemed like a moving picture" and it was difficult to believe that the ship was really sinking.
We had made five trips to France, having transported about twenty-five thousand soldiers to help "lick the Hun" and we had almost come to believe that the ship bore a charmed life and that she would not be sunk—such is the way that the human mind adjusts itself to conditions imposed upon it.
We had sailed with many ships in convoy groups, running at night without lights with ships a few hundred yards on each side of us, and we had almost come to regard the danger of collision with other ships—and this was an ever-present danger at night—as more perilous than the danger from the enemy's submarine.
On our previous voyage, however, we had sighted what we believed to have been a submarine, but as he was directly ahead of us in the edge of a fog, he was unable to attack and disappeared before we could fire at him.
We left Brest, France, about dark on May 29 in company with three other naval transports, the Susquehanna, the Antigone, and the Ryndam, and we were escorted by American and French destroyers until dark on May 30, when these boats left us to join a large convoy of ships bound for France. We hoped to pass safely through the remaining part of the war zone under the cover of darkness of that night.
On the afternoon of the thirtieth we had held Memorial Day services in honor of devoted Americans, dead on land and sea, and, in our safety, our hearts went out to those boys in the trenches and on the seas who still faced sudden danger and who might be, at that very hour, giving their lives for Liberty.
As the destroyers, one by one, disappeared in the darkness, we took up the duties of an added vigil, for we had on board many wounded heroes going back to "God's country" to regain their strength, and the long night watches must be kept with diligence until we had passed safely through the remainder of the war zone. We trusted to the darkness as an added measure of safety, for, on the morrow, we would be clear of the U-boats' hunting ground.
The morning of May 31 broke fine and clear, the sun shone brightly and as we were then in about longitude 17 degrees west and about 500 miles from the coast of France, we felt that the worst dangers of another voyage through the war zone were over and that New York and home were only a little way before us. Satisfied that all was well, a few minutes before nine o'clock I went into the cabin under the bridge, entered my stateroom for a wash, and then walked into the cabin again for breakfast. At that instant there came a terrific crash and a loud explosion and I noticed that most of the furniture in the stateroom and cabin was wrecked and tossed about.
Starting for the companion way, I was met at the door by the messenger from the bridge, Seaman Leslie Lowenstein, who reported, "Sir, the officer of the deck says we are hit."
Once on the bridge, I found the fact too true; we had been hit, not once, but thrice. The port side of our devoted ship was riddled. The U-90, a speedy German submarine commanded by Captain Remy, had haunted our wake since midnight for a chance to strike. With the dawn that chance had come, and, with hell-born aim, he sent us to our doom.
As I reached the bridge, I found that the officer of the deck, Lieutenant Martin, U.S.N.R.F., had sounded the alarm and the call to "battle stations" and had stopped the engines. The gun crews had been on watch at the guns and were ready to fire, but there was nothing to shoot at. The submarine had only exposed his periscope long enough to get his aim, fire, and dive. The track of the torpedoes indicated that he was near the ship on our left, the Ryndam, about 800 yards distant, when he fired. Afterwards we found this to have been the case, and the Ryndam had tried to ram the submarine, but he was so close to the ship that she could not turn onto him before he dived out of sight.
The four ships were in line abreast and the sub had picked the President Lincoln as she was much larger than the others.
All the officers and men and the army passengers went to their stations and the reports of readiness came to the bridge, quite in the usual way as had been done at drill.
The engineer officer Reported the engines and boilers "secured" and ready for orders. There was no undue hurrying or confusion. The carpenter's repair parties, went below decks and inspected the conditions of the bulkheads and the holds adjacent to the ones flooded with water. This was a dangerous duty, as if the bulkheads should suddenly give away the ship might sink so quickly that these men could not have escaped to the upper decks, but there was no flinching of these men and I was kept informed of the condition of the holds, and interior spaces.
From my position on the bridge, I could see the boat crews standing by their boats all along both sides of the ship and other groups of men were standing by the life rafts. At the guns on the forecastle and on the main deck aft, the gun crews were searching for something to fire at.
The hatch just abaft the bridge was open, as men had been engaged in handling coal in that hold when the torpedoes struck the ship and some of these men only barely escaped the inrushing water. The executive officer, Lieutenant Commander Lind, U.S.N., and I watched water rise in this hatch and the engineer officer reported water entering the engine room. The men on watch in the engine and fire rooms under the direction of Lieutenant Baker, U.S.N.R.F., performed their duties with characteristic coolness and efficiency and escaped to the upper decks without the loss of a man.
It soon appeared that the ship was doomed and orders were given to lower the boats and rafts into the water and a little later all hands were ordered to "abandon ship."
The method which we had adopted required every one except the sick to go into the water and swim to the rafts and then to be picked up by the boats. This was done in order that the boats might be lowered practically empty, with only two men in each boat to handle the falls, so as to prevent spilling men from the boats as they were lowered, which, I had observed, generally occurred on occasions when ships have met with disaster. This plan worked splendidly and it largely accounts for the comparatively small loss of life.
The discipline was perfect. With everyone at his station, I ordered the boats lowered, but as the boats were lowering the ship straightened up on nearly an even keel and I thought that it might not be necessary to leave her. I ordered "stop lowering," but the escaping steam prevented the men from hearing the order. They could see me, however, and on a motion of my hand the boats stopped and were held on their falls. A little later, when it was evident that the ship was doomed, I gave the signal with my hands to lower the boats, and they were promptly lowered, but without undue haste.
As the men stood at their stations, I thought of the famous scenes of the sinking of the British ship Camperdown, which sank with all hands at quarters and the band playing God Save the Queen.
Standing orders required the gun crews to remain at their guns until special orders were given for them to "abandon ship" as there might be a chance to fire on the enemy should he come up to take a look at the damage he had done and to gloat over his prey. He did not appear, but the guns were ordered to open fire in the direction in which he might be as it might prevent another immediate attack. When the guns began firing it was a thrilling and heartening thing to hear the cheers of the men in the water and on the rafts and boats around the ship. They felt that something was being done to "strike back" at the Hun who had, from his hidden position under the water, wounded us to death.
The ship settled gradually, nearly on an even keel, listed a little to starboard and down a little by the stern. It was hard to realize that she was actually sinking before our eyes and we could do nothing to save her.
The chief master-at-arms, Sam Rogers, a sailor man of the old school, devoted to the navy, the ship, her officers and crew, reported to me that the decks were clear of the people. The main deck then being under water, the gun crews were ordered to jump overboard and those of us left went down the ladders into the water and swam to the rafts about a hundred feet from the ship. A few minutes later the ocean seemed to engulf the ship. I noticed the bridge houses and structures crash down under the weight of the waves and then there was nothing except a little wreckage on the surface of the water. Our good ship had gone to her grave, two thousand fathoms under the sea.
The flag was flying on the after-mast when she sank and her guns had been firing up to the last minute, which were fitting honors for the ship which we loved so well, for we had all come to love the "Old President Lincoln" and the hardships of the winter had bound men and ship into a team which loved to undertake difficult things.
It had been about thirty minutes from the time she was struck till the ship sank. The job then was to collect all rafts and boats together and wait—hoping that the destroyers might come to our rescue—in answer to the "S O S" sent by the other ships which were with us. I knew the destroyers were about two hundred and fifty miles away with the other convoy, but I also knew that it was possible that the safety of that convoy might demand the presence of the destroyers, and in that case we should have to wait till they could come from Brest, five hundred miles away. This would mean more than a day and in that time the weather and sea might become so rough as to wash all those on the rafts into the sea. I felt confident of assistance from Admiral Wilson, however, if he had received the radio message, and this confidence proved to be fully warranted, for when Admiral Wilson received the radio reporting the sinking of the ship, he promptly detached one destroyer, the Warrington, and an hour later sent another, the Smith, from the cargo ships convoy to our rescue. In speaking of this afterwards, Admiral Wilson said he fully realized the military necessity for protecting the supplies in those ships which were vital to fill the needs of the army but the thoughts of the crew of the President Lincoln adrift on the ocean five hundred miles from land appealed to him above everything else and be promptly sent the destroyers to our assistance. The American navy, thank God, has not yet reached the point where a bale of hay or a side of beef is worth more than a sailor's life.
But the work of collecting the boats and rafts was soon interrupted and about half an hour after the ship sank we saw what appeared to be a small sailboat approaching, but we knew this could not be and that it was the enemy's submarine returning to look us over and probably take some prisoners. It was really hard to realize that we were at last to look the enemy in the face, but it was a bitter thing to know that we could no longer contend with him and were practically at his mercy.
The sub very soon came among the boats and rafts searching for officers, particularly the commanding officer. He took one man, G.A. Anderson, aboard, but later returned him to his boat. The U-boat commander asked Anderson many questions about the ship, but treated him kindly.
Most of the officers removed their coats and caps so as not to show the marks of their rank. The sub commander asked frequently for the commanding officer, but the men always replied that he had gone down with the ship. At one time the sub was within thirty yards of the boat I was in and the men seemed to enjoy very much telling him that "the captain went down with the ship." By that time he had identified one officer, Lieutenant E.V.M. Isaacs, U.S.N., and had taken him on board. When Isaacs was called from his boat, he said to his men, "Good-bye, men, it is all in the game." This cheerful spirit of Isaacs was characteristic of the entire ship's company, but the later experiences of Isaacs, were to put this spirit to a severe test when he exerted himself to the utmost to escape from the German prisons and finally succeeded after the most thrilling and daring exploits.
The sub remained near us about two hours and went away and returned for a short while, hoping probably that some of the ships which had been with us might return and that he would get a shot at them. This delayed our work and the boats and rafts became widely separated. Although this contingency had been foreseen and many rafts had been lashed together, yet they had drifted apart in groups and it was a hard job to tow them with the boats, which were heavily loaded with men, and this, with the choppy sea, made the rowing hard and we had great difficulty in assembling the boats and rafts.
The danger of a boat or raft being separated from the group was the cause of great anxiety, as in this case, it might drift so far during the night that it could not be found. Everyone did his best, however, and when darkness fell we had all the rafts with people in them, securely tied together and the string of twelve boats was tied to the rafts, so we could then all drift together. We could do nothing more than wait and hope that the destroyers would find us before our scant supply of bread and water became exhausted. Lighted lanterns were suspended from oars hoisted in the boats and "coston flares" were burned every few minutes, but as we were so near the surface of the water, these lights could not be seen more than two or three miles.
There were about four hundred and fifty men in the boats and two hundred and fifty on the rafts. It was intended to change places at daylight so that those on the rafts could come into the boats, as they would be much exhausted after the night on the rafts.
Men and officers were put on watch in each boat and the others told to go to sleep. There was no moon and it became very dark. It was hard to fully realize, even then, that there floating around me on a few boats and rafts, literally on the bosom of the ocean, was that fine body of officers and men who had served so loyally under my command, and that we were all that was left of what, a few hours before, had been a brave ship doing her utmost in our country's service. But I thanked God that I still had so many of them with me, as an approximate muster showed about twenty-five or thirty missing out of a total of about seven hundred on board.
In the blackness and silence of the night with the "slap" of the waves against the boats as we drifted before the wind, it was a time to try our courage and cheerfulness and the light from our little "flare-up" torches seemed so futile in its effort to penetrate the blanket of darkness which covered the ocean.
But the motto of the President Lincoln as printed daily on our little paper, called the Railsplitter in affectionate memory of that great American patriot and President whose name was borne by our ship, was "Loyalty, Efficiency, and Cheerfulness," and it will always be my pleasure to testify that every one measured up to this motto in a way that was truly inspiring, and not a word of complaint, sorrow, or regret was uttered by those men as we lay there in the sea and waited for the hours to pass. The discipline and willingness to obey orders was perfect and no officer ever commanded a more devoted body of men.
About eleven o'clock some one in my boat thought that he saw a light, but after looking eagerly for it without success, we were settling down in the bottom of the boat again, when from another direction, but almost over us, there suddenly appeared in that wall of darkness a "blinking" white light. There was no mistaking the light this time and I thought of the Star of Bethlehem. The light flashed a few times, then darkness again—the enemy's submarine may be lying in wait for the rescuing ship. Then a megaphone calls from the darkness, "Who is there ?" and I reply, "The crew of the President Lincoln," and "Who are you?" "The U.S.S. Warrington" is the reply. And then a cheer that rose from those men, literally from out of the ocean, broke the stillness of the night and in its volume and strength this cheer not only expressed overwhelming joy at the arrival of this ship for our rescue, but to me it expressed a greater joy and feeling of thankfulness that those officers and men had met the crucial test and that they had fully measured up to the spirit and motto of our ship as well as to the tradition of our navy.
Although we had been stabbed to death by an unseen enemy, yet we had at all times prepared for this and were always ready to battle with the enemy under just these circumstances hoping that good fortune might give us a chance for striking an effective blow in return even though the odds were all against us.
The captain of the Warrington, Lieutenant Commander George W. Kenyon, U.S.N., then asked, "How many boats have you?" To my great joy I replied, "All of them."
In speaking of this afterwards Kenyon said that he had dreaded to ask this question as he feared that the boats and rafts would be widely separated and adrift on the ocean, making it difficult, if not impossible, to find all of them. Such would have been the case had we not provided against this by lashing the rafts together in groups and even then these groups would have been widely scattered but for the hard work and determination of the men, under the encouragement of the officers, who labored hard at the oars all that day, pulling the boats which were heavily loaded with men, a great many of whom were weakened by seasickness. But these men stuck to the job and I shall never forget their loyalty and willingness under these trying circumstances.
The Warrington reported that the destroyer Smith was also coming to our rescue and she arrived about an hour afterwards under the command of Lieutenant Commander J.H. Klein, U.S. Navy.
The transfer from the boats and rafts to the destroyers was promptly accomplished, the darkness causing some difficulty, but this also served as a protection against another attack from the submarine had he been waiting for this purpose.
We had about four hundred and fifty men on the Warrington and two hundred and fifty on the Smith. The Warrington was quite crowded, but the hot food and cordial welcome we found on those ships almost caused us to forget our troubles. I particularly remember two soldiers who were totally paralyzed and who had been tenderly cared for by our hospital corpsmen. They were placed in the officers' beds and it was a pleasure to see their smiles of cheerfulness and relief after the dangers they had passed through.
A muster showed that we had lost three officers and twenty-three men. Two of the officers, Lieutenant Commander Whiteside (M.C), the senior doctor, and Lieutenant Commander Mowat (P.C), the senior paymaster, were last seen on the after deck of the ship and for some unexplained reason failed to escape from the ship. The other officer, Ensign Johnson (P.C), the junior paymaster, was on a raft near the ship with another man but the raft was drawn under the water when the ship sank and although the man escaped, Ensign Johnson lost his life. He had joined the ship just before we sailed from New York on our last trip and I learned afterwards that he had made especial efforts to be assigned to sea duty on a ship going through the war zone.
Seven of the men were at work in the forward compartment just above the place of the explosion of the two torpedoes and they were either killed by the explosion or immediately drowned by the inrushing water. The other men were on rafts in the vicinity of the hole made by the third torpedo in the after part of the ship and in some way they were drawn under and did not escape.
The loss of the seven men could not be avoided as their fate was sealed when the torpedo exploded, but it is a cause for deeper sorrow and regret that the three officers and the sixteen men did not escape, as they had a chance to do so. It is sad to remember that at one minute they were there on the decks of the ship cheerful and without fear, although the ship was rapidly sinking, and almost in the twinkling of an eye the scene had changed and they were engulfed by the sea. But when the many chances of death to those in the various parts of the ship are remembered, we are thankful that the loss was not greater.
Too much praise cannot be given to Kenyon of the Warrington for his skillful navigation when coming to our rescue. He ran a distance of 250 miles and he so correctly allowed for our drift from the. position reported by radio from the other ship that he practically ran on top of us in our boats, a mere speck on the ocean, in the middle of a black night. And we had drifted fifteen miles from the reported position.
At daylight on June 1 we searched the vicinity for other survivors and, finding none, we began the return trip to Brest. About 1:00 p.m. another suspicious looking "sail" was sighted and the destroyer Smith rushed to the spot, but the "sail" was an enemy submarine and she dropped twenty-two depth charges in the hope that she might get the U-boat. There was no further evidence of the sub and we were left to conjecture as to whether this "sail" had been a sub and, if so, whether our shipmate. Lieutenant Isaacs, was on board. We were not to know the answer until five months later when Lieutenant Isaacs escaped from the German prison camp after performing one of the most thrilling individual exploits of the war. Isaacs then established the fact that the Smith had attacked the U-90 and that the sub narrowly escaped destruction. The captain of the submarine had sighted the approaching destroyer and promptly dived to a considerable depth. The men at the hydrophones reported the sound of the destroyer's propellers and then they heard the depth bombs explode, followed by others closer to the sub. One was so close as to violently shake the boat and Isaacs thought the seams of the boat would open. Then the explosions appeared to be further away and the danger was over.
In the early morning of June 2 another destroyer from Brest joined us, bringing supplies of food and fuel oil for the Warrington, as her supply was nearing exhaustion.
We arrived at Brest about noon of that day where we received a warm welcome from Admiral Wilson and our friends who had so recently wished us "good luck" for our voyage to America.
Our sister ship, the U.S.S. President Grant, was there and she sailed a few days later and we gave her our hearty cheers as she quietly put to sea to take her chances through the war zone and we wondered what fortune was awaiting her beyond the headlands of Brest.
I have spoken of the loyalty and devotion of the officers and men of the ship during the hours when none knew what would befall them; the following incidents as reported to me serve well to illustrate.
Chief Petty Officer Oulette told me that he was on the rafts with a number of men and that Chaplain Whimsett was there also and that the chaplain encouraged the men to bear up bravely under their difficulties and very promptly made prayers to the Almighty asking for safe deliverance. But Oulette also said that he feared the men might become down-hearted and thought he would sing a song to cheer them up. I asked him what they sang, and he said they sang many songs but the one they liked best was "Where Do We Go from Here?"
An example of courage and devotion which I shall always remember with affectionate pride was that of my steward, a colored boy named Brown. I was told that Brown was last seen with his company of men on the after deck and that he took great care to help others adjust their life-saving jackets, etc., and that, as these men went over the side of the ship, Brown walked forward on the deck. They called to him to come with them but he said, "No, I am not ready yet, I must go to the bridge to see what I can do for the 'old man'" (on board ship, the captain is frequently called the "old man,") but Brown could not come to me as the water by that time had covered the intervening deck and he had to climb over the side and in some way he was lost, but his last words expressed his devotion to what he considered to be his duty and his unselfish thoughts for others in the time of a great crisis.
The men of the President Lincoln truly lived and died in keeping with their motto of "Loyalty, Efficiency, and Cheerfulness,"
Our ship had the honor to belong to that great part of the navy organized at the beginning of the war called the Cruiser and Transport Force of the Atlantic fleet and which was under the command of Vice-Admiral Albert Cleaves, U.S.N. This force of ships was charged with the duty of transporting our army to Europe and more than a million of our soldiers were transported by those ships under the command of Admiral Cleaves. It was to this force that all the former German ships converted into naval transports were assigned as well as many other ships and the records made by the Cruiser and Transport Force form one of the brilliant achievements of the war.
On our return to America the loss of the President Lincoln was announced by Admiral Cleaves in the following words:
FLAGSHIP OF CRUISER AND TRANSPORT FORCE UNITED STATES ATLANTIC FLEET
Mail Address
Station H, New York
From: Commander Cruiser and Transport Force.
To: Cruiser and Transport Force.
Subject: Loss of the U.S.S. President Lincoln.
1. It is with profound regret that the force commander announces to the Cruiser and Transport Force the loss, by submarine attack of the U.S.S. President Lincoln at 9:53 G.M.T. 31 May, 1918. The ship was struck by three torpedoes and sank in eighteen minutes.
2. The President Lincoln was homeward bound in company with the Antigone, Susquehanna, and Ryndam; at the time she was struck she was the second vessel to the left in line formation; the convoy was zig-zagging and had just completed a 20-degree change, of course.
3. The ship was abandoned in excellent order, all passengers, including sick, were saved; three officers and twenty-three men were lost and one officer was captured. The small loss of life was due to the splendid discipline of the ship's company and their fine seamanship under the gallant leadership of Commander Percy W. Foote. The force commander deplores the death of these gallant seamen and extends his sympathy to their families.
4. He congratulates Commander Foote, the officers and crew of the President Lincoln on their meritorious behavior and desires to express his appreciation of their conduct in the face of disaster.
Albert Gleaves.
I cannot close this narrative without speaking of the loyalty and devotion of the dear ones at home who with tearful eyes but set lips said "good-bye" to those who were called to meet the enemy and if necessary to offer their lives in defense of their country. Those at home prayed for the safe return of their loved ones but they prayed even more earnestly for the victory of the cause which they held to be more sacred than life itself, and it is with a feeling of great pride that I quote the following letter written by the father and mother of Floyd Hedglin who lost his life in the President Lincoln:
B.R. Hedglin, Cashier.
EDDYVILLE STATE BANK
EDDYVILLE, NEBRASKA
June 3, 1918.
Bureau of Navigation, Navy Dept.,
Washington, D. C.
Gentlemen:
Your message in regard to the loss of the life of Floyd Herbert Hedglin received today at 2:50 p.m.
We sincerely thank you for your promptness in advising us.
We had only one boy to give to our country and he was only a little past eighteen years of age.
He went of his own free will and accord and with our blessing.
I regret that I have only the one boy to give.
Any little detail that you can send us will be appreciated.
It was God's will that he should be sacrificed on the altar of his country and we will accept His will in the matter.
I know that the boy did what he could.
Respectfully,
Floyd's Father and Mother,
/s/ Mr. and Mrs. Bert. R. Hedglin.
What finer and more glorious sentiments could be expressed! They are truly in keeping with those of Him who taught us to pray, "Not my will, O Lord, but Thine be done."
This is the spirit of America and those heroic men of the President Lincoln died with this spirit in their hearts and a cheer on their lips.