A Little Tragedy
A drooping, uniformed figure, slumped down in a lobby chair at the Occidental Hotel in San Francisco years ago, attracted the attention of a naval officer who, recognizing with a start his commanding officer, with interest and sympathy aroused, seated himself alongside his despondent senior. He had not long to wait before being told a strange tale of woe that made his own troubles seem trivial and commonplace. “Young man,” said the figure now aroused from its reverie, “in me you see the victim of an unfortunate combination of circumstances that would have crushed a weaker man. Listen, and believe it or not. Early yesterday morning my new executive officer excitedly rushed into the cabin and stammered out a statement that I was due at Mare Island that very day to report for temporary duty. I just had time, he said, to catch the navy yard tug. He had suddenly come across mysteriously delayed orders which he nervously sealed in an envelope and placed in my hands. ‘Please hurry, Captain, and I’ll get the launch ready to take you to the tug.’ Moved by the urgency of the situation, I accepted everything as told me, and without looking into the matter further or even glancing at the orders, hurriedly made preparations and caught the tug where, happy at the outcome, but exhausted by my efforts, I sank into a comatose state that lasted until my arrival at the yard several hours later. There, ushered into the presence of the commandant, I expressed hope that I was on time and tremblingly handed over the still sealed orders. Then—well, let us draw the veil a moment while I pull myself to gether. The commandant broke the seal, read the orders, then in the soothing and reassuring tone used by physicians when talking to the mentally sick, told me that everything was all right—nothing to worry about, that although the month and day were correct yet the orders were exactly one year old. ‘You have forgotten, Captain,’ he said, ‘that these orders were canceled by telegraph soon after issue and evidently were only recently suddenly rediscovered by your new executive officer who failed to note their hoary age.’ Then, noting signs of apoplexy, signs that I could sense myself, he begged me to be calm while he sent for the doctor.”
“Well,” said the disconsolate in conclusion, “there is nothing more to say. In fact, I couldn’t say anything more if I tried; only this—I don’t know whether to commit murder or suicide. The ship is no longer big enough for both of us. The executive officer or I must go. Murder or . . .” The tired voice faded out as its owner sank into a fitful sleep, troubled, no doubt, by dreams of reshaping the sorry scheme of things nearer to his heart’s desire.
“Alas,” reflected the junior as he slipped quietly away, “life is full of little tragedies.”
A Pyrrhic Victory
The four middies on the Tuscarora, fresh from Annapolis, had not been on board long before they began to grumble about the hardships in general and the loss of sleep in particular involved in a “watch in four” on the forecastle. Why, it was awful. It was just too much. What was the use of having officers, good ones, too, wasting their time on the forecastle, a part of the ship that could jolly well look out for itself anyway? Why weren’t they given a regular watch aft on the quarter-deck where their outstanding abilities could be utilized? Why—well, something ought to be done about it. The conditions were well- nigh intolerable and growing worse. Goodness knows the Naval Academy, bad as it was, was better than this seagoing stuff.
“What do you think about it, Boatswain?”
“Well, I think you ought to take your medicine and stop growling. That’s what Farragut and Porter would have done and they weren’t half bad guys. If you ask me, I think the old man wants to keep you as far away as possible. Your are lucky in not having to stand watch on the jib boom.”
Turning scornfully from this Job’s comforter the squad went into conference and in a short time had worked themselves into a state of mind that demanded relief. It was just now a question of how to go about it. A bright youth suggested asking for a “dummy” to stand the midwatches. In other words, to drop that unpopular watch from the schedule. That was sometimes done in well organized ships, why not in this one where the need was so great? The idea grew in favor and soon the conspirators were drawing lots from a cap to see who should have the honor and doubtful pleasure of presenting the petition for redress of grievances. The winner in the lottery, after magnanimously but vainly offering the privilege to the others, departed for the cabin while his anxious shipmates gathered at the break of the forecastle to await his return. Minutes passed and then more minutes before the young hero was “admitted to the presence.” But it was not long before he emerged. The anxious group from its point of vantage scanned the returning messenger in vain for the springy step, the bright eye, the joyous mien usually attributed to the bearer of glad tidings. Mercury (by which name he was known thereafter) sank into
a seat and told his story. “I spoke my little piece,’’ said he,“ and thought I had made an impression. I was right. ‘Why, yes, I’ll put on a dummy,’ said the skipper. ‘That’s all right. I might as well have five dummies on as four.’ And then he turned to his papers.”
“Ha, ha,” roared the boatswain. “You budding Nelsons ought to apply for sick leave and have your heads examined. Ha, ha.”
After the ribald laughter had subsided the crestfallen four found voice. “Another such victory and we are undone!’’ exclaimed one. “Yes,” assented another, “It’s only a Pyrrhic victory, but that’s something.”
King for an Hour
Many years ago two young officers sat on the forecastle of the Wachusett moored in the harbor of an island city. Sweet strains of the plaintive music typical of the islands, borne on gentle, flower-scented breezes called to them from the shore to leave the half-deserted ship and enter into the joys of the dance at the palace, given in honor of the king’s coronation. Red wine, bright eyes, sweet song, the age-old trio, were there, as alluring, as appealing as in the days of Ulysses. Stronger grew the entreaty, weaker became the resistance as the sorely tried and tempted youngsters, all too prone at best to heed the call to arms, stirred restlessly and glanced longingly toward the beckoning palms of the most care-free land in the world. Hadn’t some wise man in the long ago counseled youth to “seize the goods the Gods provide thee”? Didn’t everyone know that old time is still aflying and that the flowers that bloom today, tomorrow may be dying?
“Look here, Carlos,” said the elder, “what is the use of temptation if you don’t submit to it? The skipper couldn’t have foreseen this particular occasion when he cautioned us against going ashore so much. Why, he is ashore right now with the rest of the crowd enjoying himself. Just one more little trip ashore won’t hurt anybody. Let’s be like Rip van Winkle with his drink and not count this one. What say?” “You have convinced my wavering soul,” responded Carlos, and then and there the last defenses crumbled and the struggle ended as have all such contests since the beginning of time.
The decision once made, the adventurers, now quite sure that they were right, lost no time in getting ready. Raids were made upon the wardrobes of the absent shipmates with some surprising and startling results. Shore clothes of ancient vintage including hats too large or too small, trousers that needed reefs, ties that cried to heaven, and other accessories joined in producing two suits that would have arrested attention in the most blasé community in the world. But never mind. Trifles are the concern of little intellects. The world was young and the joy of life was just around the corner.
The palace, a structure of most generous proportions, was made in the shape of a square, each side of which was furnished with a wide porch, the four corners supplying plenty of room for serving tables. Now, on each table rested a large well-filled punch bowl, the contents of which differed from the others in flavor and potency, thus providing for the various tastes of the discriminating guests. However, it was deemed etiquette to treat the four stands with strict impartiality, dancing lightly with one of the many hostesses from one to the other. This plan met with instant and unqualified approval from the new arrivals who entered at once into the spirit of the occasion with zest and abandon. After the first circuit had been made it was agreed by the worthy pair that a certain degree of restraint in their joyful activities would be necessary if they wished to maintain the decorum expected at such functions. To their credit, it may be said that this resolve, difficult as it was, was kept with a certain degree of success that surprised and pleased both themselves and their friends. In furtherance of the good resolve one of the worthies, during a lull in the festivity, detached himself from the revelers and explored alone the many nooks and crannies of the huge mansion generously opened that day to the public. The throne room especially excited his interest, an interest that grew with the sight that met his gaze on entering the half- lighted, wholly deserted chamber. Soon his attention centered upon the great “chair of state” resting upon a dais and overhung with a huge velvet canopy. Carpeted steps led invitingly to this seat of the mighty, a challenge he accepted with alacrity, and at once sank luxuriously into the comfortable depths of a real throne. From a forecastle to a throne! What an experience, and all in one afternoon. Thus he pondered until a strange drowsiness, a delicious languor, a sense of physical well-being, both delighted and alarmed him. The faint drone of distant voices, the growing darkness of the room, soothing, caressing, quieting, added to his helplessness. Outside, through the transom, his gaze rested upon the leaves of a palm seemingly waving a friendly greeting. The song of a bird, soft and moving, reached him in a lullaby. “Sleep, sailor, sleep. Dream of battleships no more.” What a good world! What a good afternoon! What a—the head fell to one side, the frame relaxed, the borrowed hat fell to the floor. The usurper slept.
The afternoon waned; signs of low tide appeared in the punch bowls; the crowds thinned. At last nothing was left but to go home. The Wachusett leader mustered his gang and reported one missing. The search party was just about to give up when Carlos, keen to find his buddy, detected rhythmic sounds reminiscent of notes often heard issuing from the berth deck in quiet night watches at sea. The sound in this case came from no less a place than the throne. Incredulous but anxious the searchers entered the sacred chamber where their gaze fell upon a sight, dimly discernible in the lengthening shadows, that held them where they stood. Settled snugly in the gilded chair was their lost friend, one arm limp at his side, a leg extended in careless abandon. No crown adorned his head, but at his feet, imparting a democratic touch to the scene, rested a hat that had seen better days. Crowning the picture was a beatific smile resting upon the sleeper’s face, a smile that spoke of peace, blissful and complete. Gaze your fill, henchmen and followers, you will never see the like again.
And then followed what might well be called an involuntary abdication. The rescuers gently but firmly disentangled the sleeping sovereign from his throne, and, accompanied by a self-appointed hat bearer, proceeded to the street where a passing vehicle of sorts was impressed into service. The coach of the usurper, accompanied by halberdiers without halberds, footmen without uniforms, outriders without horses, torchbearers without torches, all followed at a respectful distance by Carlos bearing aloft the badge of his office, got under way. Seeking the quiet streets, the procession wended its way to a modest hostelry where, much to the chagrin of the visitors, a doubting innkeeper, quite unimpressed by the spectacle, insisted on knowing something about the identity of the inmate of the coach and his standing in the financial world. With much difficulty and many appeals to the more affluent of the footmen enough coin of the realm was collected to satisfy these embarrassing but reasonable demands, and the hero of the happiest and most peaceful reign known to man became the guest of a lowly commoner.
The escort, their duties completed, disbanded and went their several ways. The driver of the coach, owing to the deficit in the royal treasury, had to be content with a few coins and many promises, and proceeded sadly on his way in quest of better and bigger fares. The pleasing music of a stringed instrument came from a native hut as the moon flooded the land with silvery light and the charm of a tropical night settled down upon the city.
Just an Idle Day
(In the long ago)
The favorable impression made by Pernambuco upon the people of the Alliance was due partly to the beauty of the place and partly to the feeling of relief that came after landing our last smallpox patient at Bahia, a feeling that would have made any change welcome, even Colon in summer or the Maine coast in winter. Bahia and smallpox; Pernambuco and health. The doctor, released from his trying duties, and I, recovered from an attack of coast fever, were prepared to like anything, to see “sermons in stones and good in everything.”
But without this aid Pernambuco would have excited interest and commanded admiration. Rumors of dark-eyed beauties, a wonderful natural breakwater, and a seductive and potent rum had attracted all the various types that go to make up our mess, from the impressionable young midshipman, with a heart for any fate, to the well-seasoned paymaster with “a great thirst upon him.” None were disappointed unless it may have been the paymaster who thought the rum just a bit lacking in the pep to which he had been accustomed. Even the veterans who had served on all stations were impressed by the sight of the coral reef serving as a breakwater to protect the many ships lying six abreast in as snug a little harbor as ever gladdened the heart of a storm-tossed mariner. However, the city itself, white and inviting, with the strange attractiveness of a foreign city seen for the first time, beckoned to the youngsters, while old Olinda, just visible on the easternmost point of the continent, offered pleasant fields to lovers of the mysterious.
Soon a small party, including, of course the middy, landed on the mole, and rejecting all offers of the native Jehus, proceeded to explore the place on foot. They passed through dirty but well-paved streets lined by tall houses with fronts decorated by tiles in curious designs not unlike the backs of old-fashioned playing cards. Street cars passed at irregular intervals, drawn by mules urged to full speed by loud cries and frequent lashings from their drivers, who, seemingly intent only on reaching the end of the line, looked neither to the right nor the left for passengers. Two things in Brazil do move swiftly—revolutions and street cars.
Meanwhile the middy, with eyes raised to the balconies in search of the far-famed beauties, might have been run over had it not been for the care of his less eager seniors. But his quest was at last rewarded by the sight of a bright face gazing with deep interest at the group of foreigners below. Then, whether by accident or design, a flower with a ribbon attached fluttered down and fell at the feet of the youngster. He picked it up and, raising it to his lips, glanced quickly at the window but the beauty had fled. If anything had been wanting to complete his disorder of mind this would have done it and it was with difficulty that we got him to move on. But the conventions must be observed here as elsewhere and the procession finally got under way.
The course now led over the bridges, the best places from which to study street life. Here lottery ticket sellers tempt one to try his fortune, while blind beggars, with hands extended, plaintively plead for charity. Fruit vendors sleep lazily in the sun, often waking to find that their wares have all been stolen. Splendid carriages roll by carrying the wealthy classes to their suburban homes in Boa Vista. Over all, prince and pauper, native and foreigner, beats down the tropical sun.
So it was with pleasure that the party at last caught sight of the American flag flying over our consulate. There they rested while the consul, glad to see people from home, talked entertainingly of the city and the country. The statistician of the group learned that several lines of railway extend hundreds of miles into the interior, passing through marble, sugar, and gold districts reaching a region where—but why go on?
All had learned that when the middy shows signs of impatience something must be done. In this case the group, pleading the lateness of the hour, took their leave. Hailing a carriage, the driver of which spoke a bit of English, they were soon on their way to Olinda with Jehu as guide, philosopher, and friend pointing out the many points of interest. Olinda on the easternmost point of America, the historian took pains to inform the others, is as far east of Washington as San Francisco is west of that city. Out at sea could be made out the white sails of ships, some standing to the southward and others homeward bound to that glorious land of ours far away in the north.
But none of these things interested the knight of the sorrowful countenance whose depression of spirits found a fitting accompaniment only in the old monastery ruins, the moaning of the sea, and the shades of evening now fast coming on. On the way back the flower and the ribbon were tenderly placed between the leaves of a little book of poems there to remain until the memory of the giver be driven away by the next pretty face, or until the mail arrives from home. As the visitors approached the landing they were reminded that the Pernambucans still cling to the quaint customs of ancient times, for from a neighboring tower “the curfew tolled the knell of parting day.”
The inspection officer on his rounds the next day picked up a trampled, discarded flower with a small ribbon attached. The mail had come in from home.
When the Lid Blew Off
Shortly after the outbreak of the war and before the entry of the United States into that conflict, the German cruiser Geier, accompanied by the collier Locksun closely pursued by Japanese warships, sought safety in the harbor of Honolulu, Hawaii, where, safe in a neutral port, she remained interned until April 6, 1917, when her status as a friend suddenly changed to that of an enemy. Every privilege permitted by our generous regulations to the personnel of interned ships was extended in this case, and the officers and men, although chafing, no doubt, under their enforced idleness, enjoyed life in this paradise of the Pacific, a community noted for its readiness to extend warm friendship and full confidence to all strangers and sojourners within their gates.
It is true, the engines of the vessels were disabled, the battery was rendered harmless, and the wireless plant put out of commission, but otherwise conditions on board were unchanged, and the paroled personnel rested under no obligation but that devolving upon all to be true to their oaths to refrain from any unneutral act. But it transpired that our visitors were governed by standards differing widely in these matters from those of their hosts. Light began to fall upon the real conditions on the day when diplomatic relations with the Central Powers were broken.
On February 4, 1917, early risers near the water front in Honolulu were startled by the sight of smoke issuing from the gun and air ports of the Geier, accompanied by most unusual sounds. Already made suspicious by other occurrences, these observers needed only this new evidence of irregular proceedings to convince them that serious trouble was brewing, a conviction they immediately communicated to the naval officer in command of the district. Then things happened according to carefully prearranged plans. A United States naval officer representing the commandant, in his best uniform and his politest manner, appeared on board, presented the commandant’s compliments and begged to be informed of the surprising proceedings. “You are very kind,” said the German captain, also in his best uniform and manner. “Give my compliments to your senior and say that everything is all right; we are only engaged in the usual Sunday work.” The American, unbelieving and indignant, suddenly shifting his manner, and closely followed by his squad of bluejackets, rushed below where he found fires burning under empty boilers and various preparations made to destroy the cruiser, a grave danger to the shipping in the harbor, including an Army transport, and to the men, women, and children in the vicinity. The flames were extinguished and then all hands were assembled on deck, divided into companies, and marched off to various Army posts, their new places of internment.
The second phase of the incident began with the transfer of the crew and officers to stations on shore and of the ships to the naval station at Pearl Harbor, Then, too, began an unsatisfactory and perplexing period when the visitors, in spite of all that had passed, had still to be regarded and treated as friends. The next two months demanded constant vigilance on the part of the American naval officials, who, under orders imposing the observance of strict neutrality, had yet to forestall attempts to sink or destroy the warships by the small German crew which internment rules required to be kept on board.
To guard against mishap our officers, still acting under internment rules, insisted on keeping a small American force on board to “assist” as ship keepers and to show respect for the German flag. The foreign commander, seeing that the precautions were too much for him, at last withdrew all his men, hauled down his flag, and shortly before the memorable April 6, abandoned his ship to his overzealous hosts. Thus ended all danger of disaster such as later occurred on a large scale at Scapa Flow.
The declaration of war by the United States cleared the atmosphere of all subterfuge and pretense, and made the way clear for the repair of the ships, a work that, begun at once, was pushed to completion four months later. It was a memorable day when the former H.I.M.S. Geier, now the U.S.S. Schurz, with German guns and ammunition on board, was placed in commission under the American flag.
On the eve of sailing for the mainland a small dog, a dog with a past, was enlisted for the cruise. “Moritz” was a gift from the Emperor of Germany to the captain of the famous German raider Emden, and after the loss of that vessel, had by some strange chance been brought to Honolulu. After a more or less eventful career on shore, he was claimed by the call of the sea, and sailed again under a strange flag. He gained a good name for obedience and sobriety which he maintained until the night before the Schurz sailed on her fatal cruise. On that night he “jumped ship” and remains in desertion to this day. However, if he gives himself up he will receive a full pardon for the sake of his former master, the gallant officer and gentleman who commanded the Emden.
In marked contrast with the conduct and standards of that outstanding figure of the German Navy were those of the commanding officer of the Geier as revealed by his captured diary. The publication of this diary in the Honolulu papers, revealing as it did the sympathy of many local residents with the enemy cause, aroused a storm of indignation and protest, and seemed to force a declaration of the flag under which every one served. It is significant that this incident in making for a better understanding and improved conditions was coincident with the passing of the interned ships.
Discipline Would Help
In this period of restlessness, instability, and uncertainty the selection of a calling for their sons is not the least of the problems confronting troubled and anxious parents. It may be said that with the many lines to choose from this should be a comparatively easy task, but, after all, the fields of endeavor that give assurance, or even promise, of opportunities of great usefulness and reasonable reward are not great in number or easy of entrance. While, of course, all kinds of work are useful and necessary yet it is a proper and laudable ambition on the part of parents to see their sons started on the road that leads through the fields of richest harvests of comfort, happiness, and usefulness. The vast strides made in recent years by the naval service as a factor in the national life, the improvement in the Navy’s personnel, the fast deepening hold of the Navy upon the trust and affection of the American people, make the consideration of a naval career wise and profitable. The truth is gradually becoming known that the old swashbuckler type, common in the ships of the infant Navy, has been replaced by the clean, self- respecting, self-reliant, ambitious, young American of modern times (with the Naval Academy doors open to him) as truly as has the old sailing frigate been driven from the seas by the powerful dreadnought of today. The more exacting demands of the complicated mass of machinery in the twentieth century man-o’-war are being met by a class of men worthy in every respect of the country’s confidence, a company with which parents may well be proud to have their sons associated.
As an instance of the fast passing prejudice against the wearers of the blue may be mentioned the case of a father who not long ago visited one of our training stations in search of his son who had run away from home and enlisted under a false name. This father, a well-educated, well-to-do citizen of a western town, quietly observed the doings at the station for three days before making himself known, and then confined his story to the commandant, the old story of prejudice against the naval service. “But now,” he said, “my prejudice has been overcome; I am so impressed by all that I have seen that I not only want my boy to stay in the service but to bear his true name even if that involves punishment for false enlistment.” “Captain,” said the president of a great railway to the same commandant, “ I should be glad if I could send all of my employees to your station for a four months’ training to learn, among many other things, the lesson of discipline.”
Thus it is that when the real conditions of naval life become fully known parents will be well content to give their sons to a work honorable and useful to themselves and to their country. The ringing of the bells in the churches and schools, the movement of the cars in the streets, the coming and going of vessels, the tilling of the soil, the general maintenance of “business as usual”—all these are made possible by the man in blue on watch on the first line of defense.
It is sometimes said that if the money now spent for warcraft were used for roads, churches, schools, and the like, the peace, comfort, and happiness of our people would be vastly promoted. But of what avail would be the roads, churches, and schools if, unprotected as they would be, they were left a prey to the first unresisted invader? Is the merchant wise who displays his wares in an unguarded street? One has but to remember the experience of Boston on the occasion of the famous strike of the police force.
In the old sailing ship each member of the crew had a duty, an important task, an individual, personal part in handling the ship in all the maneuvers necessary to keep her on her course and bring her to her port. Every one from cook to captain was a shareholder in the company, understood his work, was keenly interested in the success of the enterprise. A fine understanding existed between forecastle and quarterdeck. The team work was excellent. This satisfactory condition could not have been brought about without the preparatory course at the training stations where the undisciplined apprentices were given an overhauling to iron out differences and reveal a general idea of the problems ahead. Cannot this Republic of ours be likened to a sailing ship? Should not the crew of the great ship, the American Republic, vitally interested as they are in the voyage, be given the advantage of universal training, of instruction in discipline, orderliness, punctuality, alertness, the better to qualify them for their parts in keeping the ship off the rocks? It would seem that the plan is at least worth a trial.
“Without discipline,” said Napoleon, “neither political independence nor civil liberty can endure.
There is nothing which binds one country or state to another but interest.—George Washington.