The first transport lost was the Antilles, October 17, 1917, two days out of Brest. Eleven days later the Finland was struck by a torpedo. In both cases there was loss of life and confusion among the civilian crews. After these experiences, it was decided to man all American troop-ships entirely by naval personnel; and it was not until May 31st that another was lost.
Returning to America, in company with the Susquehanna, Antigone and Rijndam, the President Lincoln (Commander P. W. Foote), was steaming along, 500 miles from land. At 9 o'clock a terrific explosion occurred on the port side of the Lincoln, 120 feet from the bow. In an instant there was another explosion in the after part of the vessel. The ship had been struck by three torpedoes, fired in a salvo from a submarine. Two struck together near the bow, the other near the stern. Officers and lookouts had sighted the wakes, but the torpedoes were so close that it was impossible to avoid them.
There were 715 persons on board, including 30 officers and men of the army, a number of whom were sick, two helpless from paralysis. It was realized that the vessel could not long remain afloat, but there was no confusion. Crew and passengers coolly waited for and obeyed orders. Boats were lowered and life-rafts placed in the water. Fifteen minutes after the torpedoes struck, all hands except the guns'-crews were ordered to abandon the ship.
Gunners stood at their stations, awaiting any opportunity for a shot at the submarine. Commander Foote and several other officers remained aboard. All the rest of the ship's company were in the boats or on the rafts. When the guns began firing, they broke into cheers. The firing was kept up until the water covered the main deck, and the gunners did not leave their posts until they were ordered off just before the ship sank.
With her colors flying, twenty-five minutes after the torpedoes exploded, the Lincoln went down. Three officers and 23 men were lost. Seven working below decks were either killed by the explosion, or drowned by the inrush of water. Sixteen men on a raft alongside were caught by the current and carried under as the ship went down. The officers lost were Passed Assistant Surgeon L. C. Whiteside, the ship's medical officer; Paymaster Andrew Mowat, the supply officer, and Assistant Paymaster J. D. Johnson. Dr. Whiteside and Paymaster Mowat had seen that the men under their charge had gotten away safely, the doctor having attended to placing the sick in the boat provided for them. Paymaster Johnson was on the raft which was pulled down as the ship plunged.
Admiral Sims cabled that the "small loss of life is due to thorough discipline of ship's company, and excellent seamanship of Commander Foote." This he said was "evidenced by actual results even after the ship had sunk and the personnel was adrift in boats and on rafts." Admiral Gleaves wrote to Foote: "Your action and judgment under such trying conditions were in accord with the best traditions of the service." Half an hour after the ship went down a large submarine emerged, and went among the boats and rafts, seeking the commander and other senior officers, whom they wished to take prisoners. The Germans could identify only one officer, Lieutenant Edouard Victor M. Isaacs, who was taken on board and carried away. The submarine—it was the U-90,—remained in the vicinity for two hours, and returned again in the afternoon, evidently seeking to attack other vessels of the convoy. But they were far away, having, in accordance with standard instructions to avoid attack, put on all steam and left the scene as soon as the Lincoln was hit.
The U-boat was so menacing that some feared it would fire upon the life-craft. When several of the crew went to its gun, apparently preparing it for action, a man in one of the boats exclaimed: "Good night! Here come the fireworks!"
By dark the boats and rafts had been lashed together. Lighted lanterns were hoisted and flares and signal lights burned every few minutes. None knew when aid would arrive. Distress signals had been sent out, but the nearest destroyers were 250 miles away, protecting another convoy. Military necessity might prevent their being detached.
Five hundred miles from land, waiting for aid until far in the night, the men cheered and sang such songs as "Over There," "Keep the Home Fires Burning," "Hail, Hail, the Gang's All Here," and "Where do we go from here, boys?" At 11 p. m. the destroyers Smith (Lieutenant Commander Kenyon) and Warrington (Lieutenant Commander Klein) arrived. With only the wireless distress message sent at 9 a. m. to guide them, they had located the life-craft in the middle of the night, though boats and rafts had drifted 15 miles. The hundreds of survivors were taken aboard the destroyers, which remained until daylight to search for survivors, departing at 6 a. m.
Though their decks were crowded with the Lincoln's officers and men, the Smith and Warrington made a fast run to Brest, arriving there next day. En route they sighted the wake of a periscope and rained depth-bombs on the very submarine which had sunk the Lincoln, but by descending to a great depth the U-90 escaped.