The Corsair in the war zone

by Ralph Delahaye Paine

The behavior of the naval personnel was equal to the best traditions of the service. The two forward gun’s crews, in command of Lieutenant Tisdale, remained at their gun stations while the ship went down and made no effort to leave their stations until ordered to save themselves. Radio Electrician Ausburne went down with the ship while at his station in the radio-room. When the ship was struck, Ausburne and McMahon were asleep in adjacent bunks opposite the radio-room. Ausburne, realizing the seriousness of the situation, told McMahon to get his life-preserver on, saying, as he left to take his station at the radio key, “Good-bye, Mac.” McMahon, later finding the radio-room locked and seeing the ship was sinking, tried to get Ausburne out, but failed.

The Corsair and Alcedo returned to the scene of the accident and circled about for two hours when the Alcedo began the rescue of the survivors, the Corsair continuing to look for the submarine. Too much credit cannot be given to the officers and men of the Corsair and Alcedo for their rescue work and for their whole-heartedness and generosity in succoring the needs of the survivors. The work of the medical officers attached to these yachts was worthy of highest praise.

It is one of the many black marks against the sinister record of the German submarine campaign that the naval vessels with a convoy in such a catastrophe as this were compelled to delay the rescue of the survivors—dazed, wounded, helpless men in the last struggle for life.

It was possible that the submarine might come up to gloat over the murder it had wrought, or attempt to take prisoners, or even to ram the lifeboats or turn a machine gun on the struggling wretches, as had happened more than once. Therefore, in this instance the Corsair and Alcedo steamed at full speed, dropping depth charges and manœuvring to avoid torpedo attack while they scouted to drive away or destroy the ambushed U-boat.

As soon as it seemed advisable, they closed in and undertook the work of saving life, the Corsair still circling the outer edge of the area because of her superior speed. One of her crew described the scene in this manner:

It should be noted that although the Corsair spent most of her time looking for the submarine, she picked up a large number of survivors and without putting over a boat. One of these rescues was that of a lad who was riding upon an ammunition box. When the Corsair was brought alongside him, he began to semaphore us to keep off, and then he shouted to steer clear and go easy because he had a cargo of shells and didn’t want to blow up our ship. When we hoisted him aboard, he begged us to fetch his salvaged ammunition along, as he didn’t think it ought to be wasted. I doubt if he had many shells in the box, but he surely did show the right spirit, and the men agreed that he was “one game little guy.”

Shortly before we picked up this fine young bantam, we took aboard a loaded life-raft, under our starboard side. It was a delicate piece of seamanship, with a troublesome sea running, and the commander let our executive, Captain Porter, show what he could do with the yacht. The men of the Antilles owed a lot to the skill with which the Corsair was handled that morning.

One of the merchant crew of the Antilles had climbed upon the upturned bow of a broken boat and was seated astride the stern. Every wave was breaking over his head and he clung to his precarious perch with his arms and legs, like a jockey wrapped around the neck of a runaway horse. How he managed to stick there was a puzzle. He had drifted several hundred yards clear of the rest of the wreckage but our executive had an eye on him. “Skipper, I think we had better circle around again,” said Captain Kittinger. The “skipper” (Porter) replied that he would like to “go get that fellow first,” pointing to the man on the piece of boat. “Go ahead, skipper,” was the answer, and before the yacht swung off to fetch another circle we steered close to this lonely castaway and tossed him the bight of a heaving-line. He grabbed it with a death grip and we hauled him over the rail, but he was almost unconscious from cold and exhaustion and we had to pry his fingers open to make him let go the line. The doctor scored an “assist” on this rescue.

These unfortunates had been flung into the sea in a moment, some of them scrambling half-dressed from their bunks. They became chilled to the bone, half-strangled in the breaking waves, worn out with trying to cling to overturned boats, submerged live-rafts, doors and hatches and benches, the flotsam spewed up by the stricken ship as she dived under. Some of them swam from overloaded rafts to find help elsewhere, or floundered without life-belts until gallant comrades lent them a hand. It was a dreadful business, new to the Corsair and Alcedo; but all too familiar to the maritime annals of the war.