They formed a very important part of our forces at Gibraltar, which included six Coast Guard cutters, the Seneca, Yamacraw, Algonquin, Ossipee, Manning and Tampa, constantly engaged in escorting convoys.
The splendid service they performed was commended in Admiral Niblack's letter of September 5, 1918, to Captain Charles Satterlee, commanding officer of the Tampa, in which, after detailing her record, under way more than 3,500 miles each month since October 1, 1917, "never disabled, ready whenever called on," he said:
This excellent record is an evidence of a high state of efficiency, an excellent ship spirit, and organization capable of keeping the vessel in service with the minimum of shore assistance. The squadron commander takes great pleasure in congratulating the commanding officer, officers and crew on the record which they have made.
Three weeks after notable service had evoked this commendation, every officer and man of the Tampa met sudden and mysterious death. The night of September 26, 1918, the Tampa, having escorted a convoy from Gibraltar, was proceeding toward Milford Haven, Wales. At 8:45 p. m., a loud explosion was heard by vessels of the convoy, but the night was so dark that the Tampa disappeared before her companions could see what had happened. American destroyers and British patrol craft searched the vicinity.
Nothing was found except a small amount of wreckage and the bodies of two men in naval uniforms. It is believed that the Tampa was torpedoed by a submarine. The German U-53 claimed to have sunk a United States vessel of her description. "Listening-in" stations on shore reported that they detected the presence of a submarine near the spot where the Tampa was destroyed. But no one knows how she met her fate. Every soul on board the vessel perished, 115 in all, of whom 111 were Coast Guard personnel. The officers lost were Captain Satterlee, First Lieutenants Archibald H. Scally and John T. Carr, Second Lieutenants Roy A. Bothwell, James M. Earp and John F. McGourty, and Third Lieutenant James A. Frost, Jr.
It must, indeed, be a matter of solemn pride to the Coast Guard to know that the Tampa, lost with all her gallant officers and men, was distinguished by such service and sacrifice that it will always be remembered in the naval annals of our country. It was my pleasure to name one of the modern destroyers of the Navy for Captain Satterlee, and on April 16, 1921, a new cruising vessel of the Coast Guard was launched at Oakland, California, named the Tampa.
Few instances that occurred during the war are more indicative of devotion to duty than the gallant attempt of the Seneca to salvage the steamer Wellington, torpedoed September 16, 1918. Though damaged, its officers thought that the vessel would probably float, but the crew refused to remain on board.
Lieutenant F. W. Brown (U. S. Coast Guard), the Seneca's navigating officer, asked permission to take a volunteer crew and endeavor to work the Wellington into port. Nearly all the Seneca's complement volunteered for this duty. Lieutenant Brown made a hasty selection from the many volunteers, taking Acting Machinist William L. Boyce and eighteen men. En route to the torpedoed vessel, lookouts and gun's crew were detailed. Upon boarding the ship, ammunition was broken out, the gun's crew was assigned, and lookouts posted. It was highly probable that the submarine would make another attack. Soon a second boat, containing the master, first and second officers and eleven of the Wellington's crew came on board. The Seneca had to leave at once to protect the remainder of the convoy, and could only send out radio calls for assistance. There followed an heroic and all but successful effort on the part of Lieutenant Brown and his men to save the steamship.
Within half an hour, the Wellington was started at slow speed, heading for Brest. Men took turns in passing coal and firing, coming out on deck when relieved and taking a gun-watch. One of the men from the Seneca was a cook, Russell Elam, who disappeared into the galley, and in a short time announced that dinner was served for all hands. When he appeared on the bridge with Lieutenant Brown's dinner, he was clad in an immaculate white serving jacket and had omitted no detail of service. And this on a torpedoed steamer in imminent danger of sinking! Cook Elam met a heroic death with others of this gallant party.
During the afternoon all went well, but at sundown the wind increased, seas crashed over the bow, and all on board were in danger. The ship listed sharply, rolling so that the davit heads threatened to force the lifeboat under. Those aboard were ordered to get into the boat, and hold on to the Wellington by use of a long rope, a sea painter. Seven of the Wellington's crew got into the boat with one Seneca man detailed to unhook it, the other Coast Guardsmen standing by to lower it. The radio operator, M. S. Mason, remained at his instruments to keep in touch with the destroyer Warrington, which was proceeding to their assistance, and three men kept the pumps going. Just after the boat was lowered, someone cut the painter, and the boat drifted away. The Seneca's party and some of the collier's men were left on board with nothing to rely upon except a small raft which they had constructed.