The Old Navy

by Daniel P. Mannix

  Abruptly there loomed up ahead of us a dark mass, blacker than the surrounding night. Hoping it was the high cliff at the harbor entrance we signaled: “Are you North Sutor?” A moment’s wait. Then out of the darkness a pinpoint of light blinked the reply, “Yes.” We were home safe and another link had been forged in the steel chain lying under the sea.

  The next morning the commodore said to me: “I certainly was amazed to see you emerge from that whirlpool safely. We all thought you had gone on the rocks.”

  Our last expedition was on October 26th. For the first two days and nights there was a living gale blowing. It was impossible to lay mines so we ran up and down on the edge of the mine field waiting for the weather to moderate. On the second night our stack guys carried away and with every roll the high stack gave an excellent imitation of the Leaning Tower; we expected it to go overboard at any minute. As the stack shifted its position the siren, which was attached to it, uttered a series of shrieks that were audible for miles and guaranteed to attract every submarine within hearing. We finally got the steam turned off amid, I am sure, the curses of the entire squadron.

  The next day it was calm enough to commence mining. In the midst of it a dense fog came down; we couldn’t see the ships on either hand though they were only five hundred yards away. The searchlights were turned on and pointed at the bridge of our nearest neighbor in the formation. For a time these wavering dots of light guided us but, as it got thicker, even these disappeared and for two hours we ran through a dense wet blanket launching the mines at the prescribed intervals. One of the mathematical sharps on board reported that had any ship made an error of two degrees in her course and run at two revolutions more speed than her neighbor she would, at the end of the planting, have been directly ahead of said neighbor and dropping mines right in front of her.

  That was our last run. The barrage was completed.

  Two weeks later the armistice was declared. There was a great to do in the streets of Inverness. Crowds of people, all in civilian clothes, danced and shouted, many of them able-bodied young men. I saw a sergeant of the Gordons stride contemptuously through them. “Hi, Jock!” they shouted. “Haven’t you heard? The war is over!” The sergeant retorted, “Which one?” Already he was on his way to another fight in some part of Britain’s vast empire.

  On the evening prior to our departure for the United States the Lord Mayor gave us a dinner. In his farewell speech, the old gentleman remarked, “After you leave there will be many wet eyes in Inverness.” Noting the smiles that ran around the table he hastily added, “Na, na, I dinna mean only the shopkeepers and the lassies.”

  What had been the result of our summer’s work? We had cruised 8,384 miles in submarine- and mine-infested waters without losing a ship. Of the 70,113 mines in the barrage, our ships had laid 57,470 — the rest being planted by British mine layers. My ship, the Quinnebaug, had laid 6,045 of these and had taken part in ten of the thirteen expeditions. The entire barrage was 230 miles long and 35 miles wide.

  How effective was it? Capt. Reginald R. Belknap, the officer in command of the mine-laying squadron, later wrote, “The German losses will probably never be fully known, but according to the German’s own report they lost 23 submarines to the barrage. The British Admiralty staff told me that they believe the surrender of the German Fleet and the final armistice were caused largely by the collapse of the submarine warfare, this failure being admitted as soon as the mine barrage was found to be effective.”

  The moral damage done by the barrage was far greater than the actual number of U-boats it destroyed. Submarines began to disappear with no definite knowledge of what had happened to them. Crews became increasingly reluctant to go to sea. Finally the German Navy mutinied and the whole German war effort fell into ruins.

  Captain Belknap generously recommended each of his ten captains for the Distinguished Service Medal, a decoration second only to the Congressional Medal of Honor. We were also recommended for the French Legion of Honor but never received it. Apparently some patriotic politician in Washington thought it was un-American for us to receive a foreign decoration. I have always deeply regretted it. I would have liked to have been a Chevalier like the Chevalier D’Artagnan! Well, it was not to be.

  On our way back across the Atlantic we passed through the combined fleets lying in Scapa Flow. The British had arranged a little celebration for us. The crews of all the Allied ships were assembled on the upper decks, the bands played, and the men cheered us as we steamed slowly by. Vice Admiral Sir William Pakenham, incidentally a great grandson of the Pakenham who fell at New Orleans, signaled:

  “You take with you the gratitude and admiration of the battle cruisers.”

  As we reached the surrendered German ships a dead silence fell. These were the ships whose crews had mutinied at the Kiel, refusing to put to sea. Strict orders had been given to maintain absolute silence while passing them; no jeers nor gibes of any sort. The orders were quite unnecessary. The predominant feeling of our crews was curiosity rather than hatred or exultation.

  Close aboard, across the narrow space, our men and the Germans looked at one another as I have seen strange children look; wide-eyed, not attempting to hide their mutual interest. The German ships were in shocking condition, officers and men crowded together in nondescript uniforms or no uniforms at all. The decks were filthy and littered with gear. Ever since the mutiny they had been operated by “Committees of Sailors and Workmen”. The best officers, those who hadn’t been murdered, had refused to remain under such conditions. A number of these committees had stationed themselves on the quarterdecks and waved fraternally to us as we passed. I wonder if these men thought for an instant that our crews would have any sympathy for mutineers and traitors. At Santiago the Spaniards had fought to the death, and their defeat was as glorious as any victory. This was disgusting.

  We sailed for New York anticipating a triumphal entry. After all, we had done something entirely unique in the history of warfare. Then our orders were changed. We were switched to Yorktown, Virginia. Running up Chesapeake Bay, we met a sister ship of the Old Dominion Line plodding along on her regular trip north. Despite our military mast and war paint she recognized us as the old Jefferson. There was a great scurrying around on her decks and her crew and waiters lined the rails waving their hats, towels, dish rags, and anything they could pick up. She dropped astern and our triumphal entry was over.

  On arrival in port, the officers and men were ordered to other duty, the ship returned to her owners, and five days later I sailed for France to help bring home the Army. The Mine Force had ceased to exist.

  Chapter 12

  Transport Service and Shore Duty 1919-1921

  I never sailed with a pirate crew

  From Sombre ports of violet hue

  Nor did my heart leap at the smile

  Of the Peerless Lady of Lesbos Isle

  For I was a man on a fighting ship

  That knew the North Sea’s mighty grip.

  — L’Envoi

  Oh King, should you tire of your damsel fair

  Well, here’s an address at St. Nazaire.

  — Transport Force Poet

  On the afternoon that the Quinnebaug was placed out of commission, I received orders to take command of the President Grant, sailing for France at nine o’clock the next morning to serve as a troop transport to bring our soldiers home. There was no time to pack. I left at once with only such clothes as could be stuffed into a suitcase.

  I must say that I rather resented these peremptory orders. After several months of arduous and dangerous service I felt that I was entitled to at least a short leave. As it was, I was able to see Polly and little Dan for only a few minutes on the platform of the Broad Street Station in Philadelphia where my train stopped en route for New York. In my honor, Polly had gotten Dan rigged out in a sailor suit made by the famous Ph
iladelphia tailor, Peter Thompson; in fact, these suits were known as “Peter Thompsons”. I was not particularly impressed until I heard what the suit cost; I was impressed then. Polly and I scarcely had time for a kiss before I was on my way.

  I was lucky enough to have with me my chief yeoman, Weiser, and my steward, Katoo, a highly capable Japanese. Both had been with me in the North Sea, and I cannot say how important it is to have men attached to you who thoroughly understand their duties and are efficient. Katoo knew exactly how I wanted things done, what my likes and dislikes were, and having him with me was the difference between constantly nagging irritations and blissful rest.

  The Grant was lying at the Hoboken Dock. She was the second biggest ship afloat and had formerly belonged to the North German Lloyd Company. I was prepared to see a big ship but nothing like the reality. She was 650 feet long and displaced 35,000 tons. For some mysterious reason, one of her boilers had been removed which meant her best speed was about eleven knots and so it would take her twelve days to cross the ocean under ideal conditions. She had a troop carrying capacity of five thousand, the men to sleep in temporary bunks three deep. So in addition to the regular nautical problems of handling such a floating behemoth, I would also be acting as mayor of a small town with all the administrative problems that entailed; duties about which I knew absolutely nothing. As many of the passengers would be women, this greatly complicated problems.

  I wasn’t long in finding out some of the difficulties in handling a floating city. At nine o’clock the next morning all lines were cast off, a prolonged blast given on the big whistle and the engine room indicators swung to “Full Speed Astern”. On the bridge I watched a range ashore to note the first indication of a backward movement of the ship. Nothing happened. Had the engines failed to function? No, when I called the engine room I was told that they were working perfectly. One minute passed. Two minutes passed. Then three minutes. Still we were dead in the water. Something was obviously very wrong. At last after six minutes, I saw that the ship was beginning to move slowly, almost imperceptibly, astern. Her bulk was so great it required that length of time for her to get underway. I wondered how long it would take her to heave to in an emergency but I soon realized that I wouldn’t have to worry about that. Every vessel we encountered as we headed downstream fled from before us. As we couldn’t keep out of anybody else’s way, the world at large had better keep out of ours.

  The next morning I began to familiarize myself with the enormous craft. She was so large that it was impossible to inspect everything on the same day so I organized several inspections spaced over a week. Some statistics might be of interest as few people realize how incredibly complicated the organization of these vast liners is:

  In addition to the 5,000 men we would carry on each voyage, our crew consisted of 800 men and 50 officers. There were also 6 doctors, 60 nurses, and 2 dentists each with 4 assistants.

  12 chaplains, including Catholic, Protestant, and rabbis.

  5,000 loaves of bread had to baked daily and we manufactured a ton of ice every hour.

  8 moving picture theaters gave 4 shows a day.

  The troops purchased $30,000 worth of candy each day.

  We maintained wholesale butcher shops where live animals were kept to be slaughtered.

  There was a diet kitchen for the wounded where 125 meals were prepared at a time.

  There was an enormous machine shop and also a printing shop where we published our own daily newspaper.

  There was a hospital that comprised the whole after part of the upper deck. In it were several large wards, including one for “shell shock” and other mental cases, many of whom had to be kept under restraint. This section was barred with strong iron wire and the door was invariably kept locked.

  On the good side, when we encountered some rough weather we found that the Grant, owing to her great size and slow speed, was as steady as solid ground. Apart from an almost imperceptible pitch there was no movement; she didn’t roll a bit. Seasickness would not be one of our problems.

  Katoo quickly made my quarters comfortable. He ripped out the narrow and uncomfortable bunk and stole one of the beds from the “General’s Quarters” reserved for top brass passengers. So I was able to get a good night’s rest when my duties did not require my presence on the bridge.

  I had thought ferrying troops across the Atlantic in time of peace would be a dull, routine job. I was soon to find out differently. Our port of call in France was Brest on the coast of Brittany. It is an awkward place to approach in a fog and as summer advanced there always seemed to be a fog. Fortunately there is a big lighthouse, Ushant, outside of Brest which we were able to pick up before entering the harbor. This was crucial because soundings were of little use in determining one’s position as the deep water extended almost to the cliffs; this made it impossible to anchor and, to make conditions still more unpleasant, very strong currents swept down the coast. I once read an article by an aviation enthusiast who wrote, “On a ship, if you are uncertain of your position, all you have to do is stop the engines and remain in the same position.” If that gentleman thought that a ship remains in the same position after her engines have stopped, he didn’t know much about ships. The moment a ship loses steerage way she commences drifting and your navigation data becomes useless.

  Brest is a little Breton fishing village with a number of towers and other fortifications built by the Romans. There wasn’t much to do there but on each of our visits I arranged matters with our engineer officer so that “necessary repairs” to the machinery would keep us in port long enough to give everybody a chance to stretch his legs ashore before starting the long twelve day trip back.

  To my great relief, the troops we took on board behaved well, which was rather surprising as they all knew that they were to be demobilized as soon as they reached port and so their officers had little control over them. Also, many units came on board under the command of strange officers who didn’t even belong to the same arm of the service; aviators commanding infantry companies and so on. We naval officers were not supposed to give any orders to the Army men but it occasionally became necessary to do so. The soldiers could have told us to go to hell, but they always obeyed promptly and cheerfully.

  There were, however, two classes of passengers who did frequently cause us a lot of trouble. These were casual officers of high rank and women.

  The “casual” officers, not having any command, had nothing to keep them occupied and some of them expected a lot of attention and special privileges. We were simply not equipped to cater to their demands. The women caused constant problems. Let me hasten to say that I do not take a superior attitude about women. There were a number of Army nurses who belonged to the regular complement of the Grant, and I remember them with the greatest admiration and respect. They were often more military and efficient than the men. There was no monkey business about them even though they were all young girls and most of them quite attractive. The women who tended to cause trouble were the welfare workers, entertainers, YWCA’s and others who had gone to France to “dance with the soldiers and show them how to amuse themselves in Paris”. As if anyone needs to be shown how to amuse himself in Paris!

  We were not a passenger liner and when women are quartered on a man-of-war the situation is difficult. Many of the ladies were of high rank and, like the casual generals, demanded lots of attention. Others were young and pretty and caused another and still more potent type of trouble. In addition, there were the war brides: French, English, and in one case, German.

  The war brides seemed to fight constantly. The English women wanted the ports open, the French wanted them closed. Also, they didn’t like one another anyway. As for the poor lone German girl, enemies, she literally had to fight her way across the Atlantic.

  In a number of instances the soldier husbands of these girls were on board. The brides were “cabin passenge
rs” while the husbands were quartered with the troops, an unpleasant arrangement but one rendered necessary by the vast number of people on board.

  I recall one especially potentially unpleasant situation. The weather being clear and no ships in sight, I took the evening off and went to the main salon to see a motion picture. During the intermission, Courts, the executive officer, said to me, “Captain, would you like to see an extraordinarily pretty girl?” I naturally said Yes and he indicated a young lady sitting in the gallery surrounded by a group of young officers. She was pretty all right and it was only too obvious that the officers recognized it. They could hardly keep their hands off her; in fact, several didn’t try.

  I asked Courts, “Has that girl a husband?” He replied, “Yes, her husband is an enlisted man with the troops on board.”

  I foresaw trouble and I was right. The next morning the unhappy young husband presented himself at “Mast” with a complaint. The officers were being too familiar with his wife. The poor fellow had evidently been “joshed” by his comrades. I didn’t know what to do. I sympathized with the man yet I had no jurisdiction over Army officers. The perfect solution would have been for the young lady herself to have told her admirers to get lost, but she was obviously enjoying the attention she was receiving and if her husband had no influence over her, neither would I. I was especially worried that the husband, in a fit of jealousy, would take a swing at one of his wife’s followers in which case he would have been guilty of striking a superior officer which, technically at least, is a capital offense. There was no way of putting her and her husband together in a separate cabin. He was bunking with the troops and she with a number of other women.

  After some thought, I called the officers together and explained the situation to them. “I can’t order you to let this woman alone,” I told them. “But in forcing your attentions on her which her husband cannot resist, you are abusing your rank. I hope you will behave like gentlemen.”