On May 17th a second American destroyer flotilla of six ships arrived at Queenstown. From that date until July 5th a new division put in nearly every week. The six destroyers which escorted our first troopships from America to France were promptly assigned to duty with our forces in Irish waters. Meanwhile other ships were added. On May 22nd the Melville, the "Mother Ship" of the destroyers, arrived and became the flagship of all the American vessels which were stationed at Queenstown. This repair and supply ship practically took the place of a dockyard, so far as our destroyer forces were concerned. Queenstown had been almost abandoned as a navy yard many years before the European War and its facilities for the repair of warships were consequently very inadequate. The Melville relieved the British authorities of many responsibilities of this kind. She was able to do three-quarters of all this work, except major repairs and those which required docking. Her resources for repairing destroyers, and for providing for the wants and comforts of our men, aroused much admiration in British naval circles. The rapidity with which our forces settled down to work, and the seamanly skill which they manifested from the very beginning, likewise made the most favourable impression. By July 5th we had thirty-four destroyers at Queenstown—a force that remained practically at that strength until November. In 1918 much of the work of patrolling the seas and of convoying ships to the west and south of Ireland—the area which, in many ways, was the most important field of submarine warfare—fell upon these American ships. The officers and crews began this work with such zest that by June 1st I was justified in making the following statement to the Navy Department: "It is gratifying to be able to report that the operations of our forces in these waters have proved not only very satisfactory, but also of marked value to the Allies in overcoming the submarine menace. The equipment and construction of our ships have proved adequate and sufficient, and the personnel has shown an unusually high degree of enthusiasm and ability to cope with the situation presented."
It is impossible to exaggerate the enthusiasm which the arrival of these vessels produced upon the British public. America itself experienced something of a thrill when the news was first published that our destroyers had reached European waters, but this was mild compared with the joy which spread all over the British Isles. The feeling of Americans was mainly one of pride; our people had not yet suffered much from the European cataclysm, and despite the fact that we were now active participants, the war still seemed very far off and unreal. The fact that a German victory would greatly endanger our national freedom had hardly entered our national consciousness; the idea seemed dim, abstract, perhaps even absurd; but in Great Britain, with the guns constantly booming almost within earshot of the people, the horrors of the situation were acutely realized. For this reason those American destroyers at Queenstown immediately became a symbol in the minds of the British people. They represented not only the material assistance which our limitless resources and our almost inexhaustible supply of men would bring to a cause which was really in desperate straits; but they stood also for a great spiritual fact; for the kinship of the two great Anglo-Saxon peoples, which, although separated politically, had now joined hands to fight for the ideals upon which the civilization of both nations rested. In the preceding two years Great Britain had had her moments of doubt—doubt as to whether the American people had remained true to the principles that formed the basis of their national life; the arrival of these ships immediately dispelled all such misgivings.
Almost instinctively the minds of the British people turned to the day, nearly three hundred years before, when the Mayflower sailed for the wilderness beyond the seas. The moving picture film, which depicted the arrival of our first destroyer division, and which was exhibited all over Great Britain to enthusiastic crowds, cleverly accentuated this idea. This film related how, in 1620, a few Englishmen had landed in North America; how these adventurers had laid the foundations of a new state based on English conceptions of justice and liberty; how they had grown great and prosperous; how the stupidity of certain British statesmen had forced them to declare their independence; how they had fought for this independence with the utmost heroism; how out of these disjointed British colonies they had founded one of the mightiest nations of history; and how now, when the liberties of mankind were endangered, the descendants of the old Mayflower pioneers had in their turn crossed the ocean—this time going eastward—to fight for the traditions of their race. Had Americans been making this film, they would have illustrated another famous episode in our history that antedated, by thirteen years, the voyage of the Mayflower—that is, the landing of British colonists in Virginia, in 1607; but in the minds of the English people the name Mayflower had become merely a symbol of American progress and all that it represented. This whole story appealed to the British masses as one of the great miracles of history—a single, miserable little settlement in Massachusetts Bay expanding into a continent overflowing with resources and wealth; a shipload of men, women, and children developing, in less than three centuries, into a nation of more than 100,000,000 people. And the arrival of our destroyers, pictured on the film, informed the British people that all this youth and energy had been thrown upon their side of the battle.
One circumstance gave a particular appropriateness to the fact that I commanded these forces. In 1910 I had visited England as captain of the battleship Minnesota, a unit in a fleet which was then cruising in British and French waters. It was apparent even at that time that preparations were under way for a European war; on every hand there were plenty of evidences that Germany was determined to play her great stroke for the domination of the world. In a report to the Admiral commanding our division I gave it as my opinion that the great European War would begin within four years. In a speech at the Guildhall, where 800 of our sailors were entertained at lunch by the Lord Mayor, Sir Vezey Strong, I used the words which involved me in a good deal of trouble at the time and which have been much quoted since. The statement then made was purely the inspiration of the moment; it came from the heart, not from the head; probably the evidences that Germany was stealthily preparing her great blow had something to do with my outburst. I certainly spoke without any authorization from my Government, and realized at once that I had committed a great indiscretion. "If the time should ever come," I said, "when the British Empire is menaced by a European coalition, Great Britain can rely upon the last ship, the last dollar, the last man, and the last drop of blood of her kindred beyond the sea." It is not surprising that the appearance of American ships, commanded by the American who had spoken these words seven years before, strongly appealed to the British sense of the dramatic. Indeed, it struck the British people as a particularly happy fulfilment of prophecy. These sentences were used as an introduction to the moving picture film showing the arrival of our first destroyer division, and for weeks after reaching England I could hardly pick up a newspaper without these words of my Guildhall speech staring me in the face.
Of course, any American admiral then commanding American naval forces in European waters would have been acclaimed as the living symbol of Anglo-American co-operation; and it was simply as the representative of the American people and the American navy that the British people received me so appreciatively. At first the appearance of our uniforms aroused much curiosity; our tightly fitting blouses were quite different from the British sack coats, and few people in London, in fact, knew who we were. After our photographs had appeared in the press, however, the people always recognized us in the streets. And then something quite unusual happened. That naval and military men should salute my staff and me was to have been expected, but that civilians should show this respect for the American uniform was really unprecedented. Yet we were frequently greeted in this way. It indicated, almost more than anything else, how deeply affected the British people were by America's entrance into the war. All classes and all ages showed this same respect and gratitude to our country. Necessarily I had to attend many public dinners and even to make many speeches; the people gathered on such occasions always rose en masse as a tribute to the uniform which I wore. Sometimes such meetings were composed of boy scouts, of schoolboys or schoolgirls, of munition workers, of journalists, or of statesmen; and all, irrespective of age or social station or occupation, seemed delighted to pay respect to the American navy. There were many evidences of interest in the "American Admiral" that were really affecting. Thus one day a message came from Lady Roberts, widow of the great soldier, Field-Marshal Earl Roberts, saying that she was desirous of meeting the "American Admiral." I was very glad to go out in the country and spend a Sunday afternoon with her. This charming, white-haired old lady was very feeble, and had to spend most of her time in a wheel-chair. But her mind was bright as ever, and she had been following the war with the closest attention. She listened with keen interest as I told her all about the submarines, and she asked innumerable questions concerning them. She was particularly affected when she spoke about the part the United States was playing in the war, and remarked how much our participation would have delighted the Field-Marshal.
I have already given my first impressions of Their Majesties the King and Queen, and time only confirmed them. Neither ever missed an opportunity to show their appreciation of the part that we were playing. The zeal with which the King entered into the celebration of our Fourth of July made him very popular with all our men. He even cultivated a taste for our national game. Certain of our early contingents of soldiers encamped near Windsor; here they immediately laid out a baseball diamond and daily engaged in their favourite sport. The Royal Family used to watch our men at their play, became interested in the game, and soon learned to follow it. The Duke of Connaught and the Princess Patricia, his daughter, had learned baseball through their several years' residence in Canada, and could watch a match with all the understanding and enthusiasm of an American "fan." As our sailors and soldiers arrived in greater numbers, the interest and friendliness of the Royal Family increased. One of the King's most delightful traits is his sense of humour. The Queen also showed a great fondness for stories, and I particularly remember her amusement at the famous remark of the Australians—perhaps the most ferocious combatants on the Western Front—about the American soldier, "a good fighter, but a little rough." Of all the anecdotes connected with our men, none delighted King George so much as those concerning our coloured troops. A whole literature of negro yarns spread rapidly over Europe; most of them, I find, have long since reached the United States. The most lasting impression which I retain of the head of the British Empire is that he is very much of a human being. He loved just about the same things as the normal American or Englishman loves—his family, his friends, his country, a good story, a pleasant evening with congenial associates. And he had precisely the same earnestness about the war which one found in every properly constituted Briton or American; the victories of the Allies exhilarated King George just as they exhilarated the man in the street, and their defeats saddened him just as they saddened the humblest citizen. I found in His Majesty that same solemn sense of comradeship with America which I found in the English civilians who saluted the American uniform in the street.
As an evidence of the exceedingly cordial relations existing between the two navies the Admiralty proposed, in the latter part of May, that I should assume Admiral Bayly's command for several days while he took a little vacation on the west coast of Ireland. Admiral Bayly was the Commander-in-Chief of all the British forces operating on the Irish coast. This command thus included far more than that at Queenstown; it comprised several naval stations and the considerable naval forces in Irish waters. Never before, so I was informed, had a foreign naval officer commanded British naval forces in time of war. So far as exercising any control over sea operations was concerned, this invitation was not particularly important. Matters were running smoothly at the Queenstown station; Admiral Bayly's second in command could easily have kept the machine in working order; it was hardly likely, in the few days that I was to command, that any changes in policy would be initiated. The British Admiralty merely took this way of showing a great courtesy to the American navy, and of emphasizing to the world the excellent relations that existed between the two services. The act was intended to symbolize the fact that the British and the American navies were really one in the thoroughness of their co-operation in subduing the Prussian menace. Incidentally the British probably hoped that the publication of this news in the German press would not be without effect in Germany. On June 18th, therefore, I went to Queenstown, and hoisted my flag on the staff in front of Admiralty House. I had some hesitation in doing this, for American navy regulations stipulate that an Admiral's flag shall be raised only on a ship afloat, but Admiral Bayly was insistent that his flag should come down and that mine should go up, and I decided that this technicality might be waived. The incident aroused great interest in England, but it started many queer rumours in Queenstown. One was that Admiral Bayly and I had quarrelled, the British Admiral, strangely enough, having departed in high dudgeon and left me serenely in control. Another was that I had come to Queenstown, seized the reins out of Admiral Bayly's hands, thrown him out of the country, and taken over the government of Ireland on behalf of the United States, which had now determined to free the island from British oppression! However, in a few days Admiral Bayly returned and all went on as before.
During the nearly two years which the American naval forces spent in Europe only one element in the population showed them any hostility or even unfriendliness. At the moment when these lines are being written a delegation claiming to represent the "Irish Republic" is touring the United States, asking Americans to extend their sympathy and contribute money toward the realization of their project. I have great admiration for the mass of the Irish people, and from the best elements of these people the American sailors received only kindness. I have therefore hesitated about telling just how some members of the Sinn Fein Party treated our men. But it seems that now when this same brotherhood is attempting to stir up hatred in this country against our Allies in the war, there is a certain pertinence in informing Americans just what kind of treatment their brave sailors met with at the hands of the Sinn Fein in Ireland.
The people of Queenstown and Cork, as already described, received our men with genuine Irish cordiality. Yet in a few weeks evidence of hostility in certain quarters became apparent. The fact is that the part of Ireland in which the Americans were stationed was a headquarters of the Sinn Fein. The members of this organization were not only openly disloyal; they were openly pro-German. They were not even neutral; they were working day and night for a German victory, for in their misguided minds a German victory signified an Irish Republic. It was no secret that the Sinn Feiners were sending information to Germany and constantly laying plots to interfere with the British and American navies. At first it might be supposed that the large number of sailors—and some officers—of Irish extraction on the American destroyers would tend to make things easier for our men. Quite the contrary proved to be the case. The Sinn Feiners apparently believed that these so-called Irish-Americans would sympathize with their cause; in their wildest moments they even hoped that our naval forces might champion it. But these splendid sailors were Americans before they were anything else; their chief ambition was the defeat of the Hun and they could not understand how any man anywhere could have any other aim in life. They were disgusted at the large numbers of able-bodied men whom they saw in the streets, and did not hesitate to ask some of them why they were not fighting on the Western Front. The behaviour of the American sailors was good; but the mere fact that they did not openly manifest a hatred of Great Britain and a love of Germany infuriated the Sinn Feiners. And the eternal woman question also played its part. Our men had much more money than the native Irish boys, and could entertain the girls more lavishly at the movies and ice-cream stands. The men of our fleet and the Irish girls became excellent friends; the association, from our point of view, was a very wholesome one, for the moral character of the Irish girls of Queenstown and Cork—as, indeed, of Irish girls everywhere—is very high, and their companionship added greatly to the well-being and contentment of our sailors, not a few of whom found wives among these young women. But when the Sinn Fein element saw their sweethearts deserting them for the American boys their hitherto suppressed anger took the form of overt acts.
Occasionally an American sailor would be brought from Cork to Queenstown in a condition that demanded pressing medical attention. When he regained consciousness he would relate how he had suddenly been set upon by half a dozen roughs and beaten into a state of insensibility. Several of our men were severely injured in this way. At other times small groups were stoned by Sinn Fein sympathizers, and there were many hostile demonstrations in moving-picture houses and theatres. Even more frequently attacks were made, not upon the American sailors, but upon the Irish girls who accompanied them. These chivalrous pro-German agitators would rush up and attempt to tear the girls away from our young men; they would pull down their hair, slap them, and even kick them. Naturally American sailors were hardly the type to tolerate behaviour of this kind, and some bloody battles took place. This hostility was increased by one very regrettable occurrence in Queenstown. An American sailor was promenading the main thoroughfare with an Irish girl, when an infuriated Sinn Feiner rushed up, began to abuse his former sweetheart in vile language, and attempted to lay hands on her. The American struck this hooligan a terrific blow; he fell backward and struck his head on the curb. The fall fractured the assailant's skull and in a few hours he was dead. We handed our man over to the civil authorities for trial, and a jury, composed entirely of Irishmen, acquitted him. The action of this jury in itself indicated that there was no sympathy among the decent Irish element, which constituted the great majority, with this sort of tactics, but naturally it did not improve relations between our men and the Sinn Fein. The importance of another incident which took place at the cathedral has been much exaggerated. It is true that a priest in his Sunday sermon denounced the American sailors as vandals and betrayers of Irish womanhood, but it is also true that the Roman Catholics of that section were themselves the most enraged at this absurd proceeding. A number of Roman Catholic officers who were present left the church in a body; the Catholic Bishop of the Diocese called upon Admiral Bayly and apologized for the insult, and he also punished the offending priest by assigning him to new duties at a considerable distance from the American ships.