"N. O. T. S." You may not recognize those initials, but every sailor on the Atlantic was familiar enough with them in 1918, for they stood for the largest cargo fleet on earth, under a single management—the Naval Overseas Transportation Service. No one had ever heard of it a year before. But before the end of hostilities 490 vessels, 3,800,000 deadweight tons, had been assigned to this service, and 378 were in actual operation, the remainder being under construction or preparing to go into commission.
If the war had continued through 1919 we would have needed, according to the estimates, at least 20,000 officers and 200,000 men for this service alone. The number might have gone well over a quarter-million. The Shipping Board and American yards were building ships at a rate never before approached. The schedule for 1918-19 contemplated the delivery of 1,924 vessels, the large majority of which were to be put into war service and manned by the Navy. Officers and men had to be recruited and trained months in advance, and this we were doing, to have the crews ready to get to sea as vessels were completed. They manned, in all, 450 cargo ships.
"N. O. T. S." was "The Ferry to France," carrying millions of tons of munitions, guns, food, fuel, supplies, materials to our army and naval forces abroad. Remaining in port only long enough to discharge their cargoes, make necessary repairs, and fill their bunkers with coal, its vessels plied steadily across the Atlantic, to and from Europe, with the regularity of freight trains. Five tons of supplies a year were required for each soldier. Vast quantities of munitions, mountains of coal, millions of gallons of fuel oil; enormous quantities of steel, timber, concrete and other materials; food for civilian populations; locomotives, guns,—all these and a thousand other things were required, and it was "up to" the N. O. T. S. to get them to Europe. And that is what it did.
Sailing from New York, Boston, Philadelphia, Baltimore, Norfolk, Newport News, Charleston and other ports, they took their cargoes to Bordeaux, to Pauillac and Bassens, to St. Nazaire and Nantes, to Havre, Cherbourg, Brest, La Pallice, La Rochelle and Marseilles. Docking and unloading facilities in French ports were very inadequate. Americans had to build vast piers and wharves and warehouses. Channels were tortuous, and nearly every harbor overcrowded. In spite of these drawbacks, notable records were made in quick turn-arounds.
Incomparably greater were the difficulties and dangers faced at sea. Suppose some vessel owner had stepped into a group of his ship captains and told them that they were expected to navigate their vessels 3,000 to 4,000 miles, not singly, where they could give other craft a wide berth, but in formation with a score of other vessels, hugging them as closely as possible. Furthermore, that at night they would have no lights to guide them or indicate the position of other ships in the convoy, but must sail at full speed, changing course every fifteen minutes. And finally, warned the ships' masters that at any moment they might be attacked by submarines, torpedoed and sent to the bottom. Wouldn't that have been enough to make the most hardened seadog throw up his hands and resign his job?
Yet that was what every captain and crew of the N. O. T. S. had to face. They did not fear the submarine half as much as they did the perils of war navigation, the possibilities of collision. One was problematical; they were willing to take chances and eager to get a shot at a "sub." The other danger was constant and might mean the loss of other vessels as well as their own. Under the circumstances, it is remarkable that collisions were so infrequent, and so few vessels were lost or damaged.
Consider the record of the steamship George G. Henry. That will give some idea of the work these ships did, and the perils they faced. Having made seven round trips to Europe, averaging 76 days—a splendid record for a cargo steamer—the Henry sailed from France for New York. When she was far out at sea, alone, footing her way under full speed, a submarine was sighted 5,000 yards away. This was at 6:50 a. m., September 29, 1918. "Full left wheel" was ordered, general quarters rung in, and the guns went into action.
The "sub" opened fire, some of his shells falling a little short, others going over the vessel. Twenty-one shots from the after-gun made the U-boat keep his distance and get out of range, but he still kept up the chase. After two hours the "sub," which had guns of considerable power, was still pursuing and now and then firing. At last, at nine o'clock, the Germans scored a hit. A six-inch shell struck the Henry, piercing the after-deck, plunging diagonally downward, breaking the exhaust pipe of the steering gear and exploding against a magazine filled with powder and shells.
The ammunition exploded, spreading destruction, and starting such a blaze that the whole after-part of the ship was soon in flames. Its powder destroyed, fire raging around it, the after-gun, the one bearing on the enemy, was useless. The crew turned to fighting the fire. Smoke bombs were exploded, and a dense smoke-screen overhung the stern. Thinking he had crippled the ship, the U-boat sailed past the weather end of the smoke-screen, redoubling his fire, using shrapnel and solid shot. Though the vessel was not hit again, the shrapnel exploding over it descended in a rain on the decks and fourteen men of the crew were struck by flying fragments.
By steering obliquely, the Henry brought its forward gun to bear, but the "sub" ran out of range. At 10:15 the fire having been got under control, two shells were fired from the after-gun, both striking extremely close to, if not hitting the U-boat. Clouds of yellowish smoke rose from the submarine, which ten minutes later ceased firing and submerged. It had given up the fight.