For the freedom of the seas

by Ralph Henry Barbour

Over Nelson’s head, on the swaying bridge, the junior luff and a steersman were “taking her through.” Here in the conning tower, behind the head-high ports, two lookouts were on duty, scanning the tumbling sea for “smoke, sail or periscope.”

Nelson and Martin descended to the central station, the former, at least satisfied to exchange the uneasy tower deck for the comparative calm of the torpedo compartment whither he accompanied Martin. He aided, or tried to aid, in the duty of inspecting the torpedoes and verifying the pressure in the air flasks, a daily proceeding. Afterwards he visited Clancy in the engine room and asked so many questions, having to shout to make himself heard, that the machinist’s mate drove him forth with a wrench. Life aboard was quite sociable that evening, for there was a game of pitch in the forward quarters and a tow-headed electrician produced a mouth organ and played spiritedly, if out of tune, and all who could make any sort of a vocal sound tried to sing.

The next day dawned with a smoother sea, and at about six bells in the forenoon watch they sighted smoke and picked up the torpedo boat destroyer Stacey. They were in the German submarine zone and the watch became sharper than ever. Just before dark the main body of the flotilla was sighted and the next morning the Q-4 was back with her companions, some of them showing effects of their struggles with the storm. Nelson learned that the Gyandotte was one of the gray shapes ahead and he wondered whether the captain would attempt to put him aboard her. He didn’t quite see the possibility of it, nor did Martin, and the latter prophesied that Nelson would stay just where he was until they reached port, something that Nelson was glad enough to do. The junior lieutenant informed him that evening that they had reported his rescue to the Gyandotte, but that it wouldn’t be advisable to attempt any transfer at present.

The flotilla was back in two-column formation by that time, with destroyers and cruisers forming a cordon about them, and in such order they steamed toward Cape Clear. The following day the lookouts on all the ships were kept perturbed and busy, for the sea was a graveyard thereabouts and the surface was fairly cluttered with wreckage. Scarce an hour passed that a floating cask or spar or hatch did not send the destroyer and cruiser gun crews to stations. About noon the Q-4 rode through a patch of oil nearly an acre in extent. They wanted to think that it was evidence of a destroyed German submarine, but the more likely explanation had to do with an Allied tanker sunk by mine or torpedo. Toward dusk general quarters was sounded on the Q-4 and the two deck guns were manned and the torpedo crew flew to their stations. For several minutes the supposed enemy submarine lay in plain sight against the sunset glow while the destroyers converged toward it, three and four-inch guns popping. Then they swung around and hurried back in disgust and as the signals wigwagged from ship to ship the officers on the Q-4’s bridge chuckled. The submarine had proved to be a dead whale!

And that was as close to sighting a German U-boat as they came. For the last two nights of the run they traveled without even a stern light and scattered at dark to reassemble at the first streak of morning. Fastnet Light appeared off the port bow late that night and when day came, a misty, soft day, they were carefully picking their way through the mine fields, with the green hills of Ireland stretching alongside. And that afternoon they passed the Head and slowly slipped into Cork Harbor, dropping anchors at last under the slopes of Queenstown.

Back home they never heard of that voyage until long after, which perhaps is to be regretted, since the war developed few more courageous incidents than that twenty-five hundred mile run of United States submarines, many of which were but coastal boats and never meant for such a venture.

But, although they had all come through safely save one, each was in need of some repairs, inside or out, and the next morning they gathered about the mother ship like chickens about a clucking hen and the overhauling began. Nelson bade good-bye to Martin and to the rest of the Q-4’s men and returned to the Gyandotte, which had dropped her hooks nearly a mile below. Minus one funnel, she had a most reprehensible appearance. The officer of the deck shook his hand, something quite foreign to precedent, and for the subsequent hour Nelson was treated like a hero by the men below. He had to tell his story more than once and was glad when his shipmates began at last to lose interest in his exploit. Getting back to the freedom and spaciousness of the cruiser was rather pleasant, after the confinement of the Q-4, but he missed Martin Townsend and somehow regretted the uncomfortable, happy-go-lucky existence he had left. Martin he was to see again soon, for all ships were destined to remain in port for a number of days, according to report, and they had planned to get liberty together.

Some of the ships began coaling the next morning, but, fortunately for Nelson, the Gyandotte was not of the number and his watch was given liberty. If you have never been through a week of such stress and anxiety as those aboard the Gyandotte you can’t well imagine the positive joy of setting foot ashore once more. A quartermaster voiced the sentiment of all in Nelson’s boat when, as it drew toward the landing, he remarked: “The best thing about going to sea is getting back on land, fellows.” They all agreed to that. And they groaned derisively when the boatswain’s mate in charge added: “Yeah, and the best thing about being ashore is getting back to your ship.” It might be quite true, but it was untimely!

Nelson found Martin awaiting him, according to arrangement, at the little Y. M. C. A. hut which had just been erected as a temporary headquarters for the sailors, and they saw the town pretty thoroughly during the next two hours. In fact, they practically exhausted it long before the two hours were over, for Queenstown, although beautiful as to natural surroundings, holds in itself little of interest. The harbor, however, held plenty of action, for there were craft of all sorts, sizes and nationalities there, even including a German mine layer which had been brought in early in the war and was lying, a sad-looking hulk, on the flats near Haulbowline Island. At least, the tattered lounger who pointed her out to them said she was German, and as they wanted to think so they didn’t seek corroboration. There was even a Portuguese destroyer in sight, a strangely-shaped craft that curved forward and aft until bow and stern sat low in the water. She had been streaked and spotted with grays and greens and blues until she was at once strange and elusive to the sight. Camouflaged hulls were fewer then than later and the British destroyers, of which there was one even then steaming slowly past Spike Island, were still unrelievedly black. A French chaser, however, had added pink to her other tones and looked like a nautical hummingbird or, possibly, a gay butterfly alighted on the water. The boys climbed the hill back of the town later and were well rewarded by the view that spread before them. Fortunately the sun was shining and they could see far out onto the channel southward and even locate Cork by the haze of smoke that lay in the northwest. Toward two o’clock they reached the town again and set out in search of dinner. They found it at last, but the least said of it the better. The only point in its favor that Nelson could think of was its price, and that was so ridiculous that he felt as though he had cheated the proprietor of the little water-front hotel.

They wrote letters that afternoon in the Y. M. C. A. hut, disputing a table with so many others that elbows knocked together. Nelson’s brief epistle to his uncle was soon finished and then he wrote a longer letter to his relations in Boston and, finally, a shorter one to Billy Masters. After that he looked through a two-months-old American magazine and waited for Martin to finish “pouring his heart out.” The expression is Nelson’s. Perhaps he was a little bit envious. Having someone to write to, someone who really cared to hear from a chap, was pretty nice! Neither found letters from home, a fact which disturbed Martin more than it did his companion. Nelson pointed out, however, that American mail hadn’t had time to reach Queenstown yet, and Martin felt better. They joined forces with nearly a dozen members of the Q-4’s petty officers and crew and hired numerous carriages—only they called them cars there—and were driven around the island. It was an hilarious and rather noisy trip, for they were well through with a dangerous enterprise, the sun was shining, the Irish fields were tender green and they were young. Many a gossoon who had never been familiar with a United States coin before was richer by reason of that expedition. As Clancy remarked—for Clancy was along and led the singing: “There’s nothing in the stores worth buying and we’ve got to spend it somehow!”