“Carlton” Torpedoed
At 6:37 A. M., May 29th, our escort of destroyers was picked up, immediately taking up their respective positions abeam and ahead of the ship. Everything went well until 4:25 this same afternoon, when we received an S.O.S. from the U. S. S. Carlton that she had been torpedoed in 47° North Latitude, 11° 20´´ West Longitude, and upon referring to our charts we found that we would be in that same position at 9:30 that same evening. It was advisable for us to change our course in order to steer clear of the possible cruising radius of this submarine, which we did at 5:05, heading our course to the north. At 10:45 P. M., after passing the approximate position of the sinking of the Carlton, we resumed our direct course for Brest. During this time signals were exchanged between us and our escort upon the advisability of sending one of our escorting destroyers to the assistance of the Carlton, but owing to the great value of our own ship and its precious cargo aboard this was deemed inadvisable. This illustrates what stern measures necessarily had to be taken in time of war. We were compelled to leave the crew of a torpedoed ship presumably to their fate for the greater duty involved upon us. However, later reports showed that the crew of the Carlton had been rescued by one of the alert destroyers patrolling the seas in this vicinity.
We did not consider all danger past and as an extra precaution, orders were issued on board to have all men assigned to duty on life-boats and similar duties, remain at their stations until further orders. This vigil continued throughout the night. It was a clear moonlight night, but moonlight held no charm for us then. The rays reflecting upon the water lighted up the huge ship and made her a fine target for a lurking U-boat.
Engagement with Submarine
Communication made with Brest the next morning, May 30th, informed us that the pilot and pilot destroyer would meet us. However, for a very good reason we did not pick up a pilot, for on this date, which has proven memorable in the history of the Leviathan, “Fritz” did his best to make it a Memorial Day for the Leviathan and a Decoration Day for himself. On the spot that we expected to take our pilot on board we had our first real engagement with the pirates of the sea. With the hills of Brest plainly visible on our port bow, the smooth surface of the water was broken by the wake of a periscope on our port quarter. The sharp eyes of Lieutenant Beebe, the assistant navigator, saw the danger, and from his post of observation he reported sharply to the captain. Captain Bryan was at his side in an instant and—saw—nothing. The “sub” had “porpoised” under. The young navigator stayed glued to the spot. The “sub” porpoised up on the surface and this time the captain was looking over the shoulder of the former blue-jacket, and in an instant things began to hum. The following entry was made in the ship’s log:
12:29 P. M.—Sighted submarine pursuing us on our port quarter, about 1,500 yards distant. Ordered full speed, 165 revolutions. Opened fire with Number Six and Number Eight guns, three shots. Stopped zig-zagging. Changed course 12:40 P. M.
12:59 P. M.—Submarine appeared again. Opened fire with Number Six and Number Eight guns. Nine shots.
1:19 P. M.—Submarine appeared again. Opened fire with Number Six and Number Eight guns. Seven shots.
1:34 P. M.—Threw in manœuvering combination. Standard speed 112 revolutions.
1:45 P. M.—Entering harbor at various courses and speeds.