Stories of the sea or the Fourth of July inevitably lead to ones about the British. This tale, a verbal hand-down from my father, Commodore Byron McCandless, USN (Retired), involves all three and is his favorite. While time may have blurred a few of its details, it is nevertheless too good to languish in obscurity.
During 1914, when the U. S. Atlantic Fleet was sent to Vera Cruz, my father went along as Aide and Flag Lieutenant to its Commander-in-Chief, Rear Admiral Charles J. Badger, USN. The civil strife, intrigue, and American intervention brought warships bent upon safeguarding the interests of their respective nations. The British contribution to this potpourri was a cruiser squadron commanded by Rear Admiral Sir Christopher Cradock, RN.
Calls were exchanged and then followed by less formal gatherings at which British and American officers swapped yarns. At a dinner in honor of Admiral Cradock, which my father attended, Admiral Badger spoke about an occasion forty years earlier when he was a “passed” midshipman and Anglo- American relations still were rather volatile.
The ship in which Midshipman Badger was serving fell in with a British warship in an out-of-the-way port in South America. After the usual calls, the Captains and the Wardroom Officers exchanged dinners. The Gun Room of British midshipmen had entertained the Steerage of American midshipmen, but that courtesy had not been repaid—the Americans were too ashamed of the condition of their mess gear. The honor of the flag, though, demanded that the British midshipmen be invited.
An attempt to borrow the needed gear from the Wardroom Officers failed—they were having a party that night. One other possibility remained—the Captain. He was known to possess a beautiful silver service and two hogsheads of fine china and glassware, suitable for banqueting even royalty.
With trepidation, a committee headed by the President of the Steerage called upon the Captain. Would he, for the honor of the flag and the Navy, consent to lend them, for just one night, his prized dinner service? The Captain was not exactly pleased with the idea, but he consented—only with the understanding that every item must be returned to him in perfect condition. If any piece were broken, chipped, marred, or scratched, the midshipmen would be required to replace it and in addition they all would be restricted to the ship for six months.
The emissaries brought back the stringent terms of the loan. The assembled midshipmen solemnly swore that they would guard the Captain’s dinnerware with their lives. They further agreed that there would be no drinking of royal toasts, where tradition demanded breaking the glasses afterward. The agreement was ratified, and a committee was dispatched to invite the members of the Gun Room to a dinner in their honor that night, the last one in port.
At the appointed hour the guests, in their best uniforms, boarded the American vessel and were welcomed by their hosts, also in their finest. Everything went along splendidly in the grand manner of the Victorian Era. The ship’s band, which had been rendering airs for the Wardroom party, came in to play a few numbers for the midshipmen. While the President of the Steerage was conferring with the band leader, an American midshipman, carried away by the convivial spirits that prevailed, rose, lifted his glass, and spoke the electrifying words, “Gentlemen—the Queen!”
Midshipman Badger leaped to his feet exclaiming, “Sit down, damn you! Damn the Queen! Do you want. ...” His frantic warning ended abruptly as he was struck by the British midshipman seated next to him. Fists flew, chairs and platters were wielded, the tablecloth was pulled off, the candles were ground out, and the happy gathering of young gentlemen turned into a brawl.
Officers and the Marine Guard restored order, but one thing was beyond restoration—the Captain’s precious dinner service. It lay about the Steerage deck in pieces of broken china and glass or bent silver. The guests were packed off to their ship; the hosts commenced their six months’ restriction and financial famine. But the honor of the flag, the Navy, the ship, and the Steerage had been upheld—the British midshipmen had been entertained!
The guest of honor listened to the story with visible amusement, several times chuckling audibly. Upon its conclusion Admiral Cradock said, “You know, Badger, I was the British midshipman who struck you when you damned our dear Queen. I’ve always held it against you chaps and wondered why you did it. Now that I know the whole story, I can forgive you.”
With the Fourth of July approaching, the American warships made preparations for its observance. Foreign men-of-war were informed and invited to participate—an international custom. All accepted but the British ships; they were going out on the third “to conduct target practice.”
At a late hour, the British sortie was canceled. On the Fourth, the British ships joined in the official celebration, full dressing ship with the American ensign at the fore and saluting with 21-guns at noon. Admiral Cradock and his captains—all in full dress— called upon Admiral Badger. Extending his hand, Admiral Cradock said, “I came over to congratulate you chaps on your birthday—even if it was at our expense!”
Later in the month the German light cruiser Dresden, with which the British had enjoyed most amicable relations, left. Early in August, the British squadron suddenly departed. HMS Suffolk signaled USS Wyoming: “admiral to admiral, necessity COMPELS ME TO FOREGO USUAL COURTESIES. WE ARE BOUND ON STERN DUTY.”
World War I had started. Old friends now were enemies; Cradock was off to meet von Spee. But former adversaries were to become firm allies.