At 9 p. m., on July 28th, while cruising in latitude 57°-55´ north, longitude 0°-05´ east, the Arkansas sighted a periscope. Opening fire with her port sky gun, she went to emergency full speed using her rudder to bring the object fired at ahead. At this moment the wake of a torpedo running toward the ship was sighted. Swinging to the left, the torpedo was avoided, and the battleship escaped unscathed.
The occasion to which Admiral Rodman referred, when his flagship was rammed by a submarine, occurred when the New York was leading the division into Pentland Firth. While turning with right rudder, her stern swinging to port, a heavy under-water blow was felt on her starboard quarter, followed immediately by another, which damaged the ship's starboard propeller, breaking off two of its blades. The water was deep, the channel clear of obstructions. No ordinary force could have delivered a blow powerful enough to smash propeller blades and dent the big ship's bottom. After weighing all the evidence, and examining the vessel's hull when she was docked, the court of inquiry verified the conclusion of Admiral Rodman, that the New York had struck a submarine. While there were various theories, the one which seemed most tenable was that, in attempting to dive under the vessel, to get in position to attack, the U-boat had struck the New York's propellers and been smashed as the battleship turned.
The New York was attacked again on October 16th, at Rosyth, while en route from a northern base. At one o'clock in the morning, three torpedoes were fired, all passing ahead of her. Owing to a damaged propeller, the ship was making only twelve knots. Ordinarily, she would have been going at the rate of sixteen knots or more. The submarine apparently misjudged her speed, aiming its torpedoes too far ahead. A submarine was sighted and reported by a patrol in the vicinity, and it is believed this was the same one which attacked the New York.
There was joy among the Americans on April 24, 1918, when they sailed with the Grand Fleet "for active service against the enemy." A large German force was reported operating in the North Sea, probably planning to attack the Norwegian convoys. Hoping for action, the British and American vessels found the Germans had turned back to their home bases. They had missed the enemy by only four hours. A British flagship had been attacked by a submarine, two torpedoes being fired at her. Destroyers had dropped quantities of depth-charges. Some floating mines had been destroyed by gunfire. But they had missed the big game they were seeking.
It was not until the evening of October 12th that any considerable German force was reported. Three large enemy men-of-war were said to have been sighted, steering northwest in the direction of a convoy off the Scotch coast. The American dreadnaughts, a battle-cruiser squadron and light cruisers, screened by destroyers, sailed soon after midnight. They were directed to take position to the north and west of the Orkneys, and to patrol the passage between the Orkney and Shetland islands, in the hope of intercepting the Germans. But the German ships must have again turned back, for, though that whole region was scouted, there was no sign of an enemy vessel. This was only another of the many disappointments in the constant effort to engage the German capital ships.
In that rigorous climate, a latitude as far north as Alaska or Petrograd, snow and ice are continuous through most of the year. Cold and sleet and heavy seas made navigation arduous and dangerous. There was continuous cruising in close formation, without lights, at high speeds, on winter nights when the darkness lasted for eighteen hours. The mine-fields, our own as well as those of the enemy, were an ever-present danger, and battleships had to be always on the alert to repel attacks by submarines.
The whole fleet had to be ready to put to sea on almost instant notice. Officers and men had hardly any liberty or leave. No one was allowed away from the ships after dark, nor for a period longer than four hours, and then only in the immediate vicinity of the ship, in signal or telephone communication, subject to recall. All ships were completely closed and darkened from sunset to sunrise, as a precaution against air and other attacks. In winter this meant from fifteen to eighteen hours per day.
Some idea of the immense size of the Grand Fleet may be gained from the statement that, entering or leaving port, the column of ships, excluding destroyers, averaged 65 miles long. On one occasion, it was 76 miles.
Hard duty as it was for the officers in that wintry clime, it was even harder for the enlisted men. Yet our boys bore it with the cheerfulness that distinguishes the American sailor, who, when hardship comes, "bears it with a grin,"—not only bears it, but laughs about it. For a year, every officer and man in the Grand Fleet had been waiting and hoping for a chance to get at the Germans. And, at last, when that fleet surrendered without striking a blow, their disappointment was too deep for words.
That scene has been graphically described, the feeling of officers and men so well expressed by Admiral Rodman, that I give in his own words his account of the German surrender: