On May 21st the British Admiralty, which this experimental convoy had entirely converted, voted to adopt the convoy system for all merchant shipping. Not long afterward the second convoy arrived safely from Hampton Roads, and then other convoys began to put in from Scandinavian ports. On July 21st I was able definitely to report to Washington that "the success of the convoys so far brought in shows that the system will defeat the submarine campaign if applied generally and in time."
But while we recognize the fact that the convoy preserved our communications and so made possible the continuation of the war, we must not overlook a vitally important element in its success. In describing the work of the destroyer, which was the protecting arm of the convoy, I have said nothing about the forces that really laid the whole foundation of the anti-submarine campaign. All the time that these destroyers were fighting off the submarines the power that made possible their operations was cruising quietly in the North Sea, doing its work so inconspicuously that the world was hardly aware of its existence. For back of all these operations lay the mighty force of the Grand Fleet. Admiral Beatty's dreadnoughts and battle cruisers, which were afterward supplemented by a fine squadron of American ships, kept the German surface vessels penned in their harbours and in this way left the ocean free for the operations of the Allied surface craft. I have already said that, in April, 1917, the Allied navies, while they controlled the surface of the water, did not control the subsurface, which at that time was practically at the disposition of the Germans. Yet the determining fact, as we were now to learn, was that this control of the surface was to give us the control of the subsurface also. Only the fact that the battleships kept the German fleet at bay made it possible for the destroyers and other surface craft to do their beneficent work. In an open sea battle their surface navies would have disposed of the German fleet; but let us suppose for a moment that an earthquake, or some other great natural disturbance, had engulfed the British fleet at Scapa Flow. The world would then have been at Germany's mercy and all the destroyers the Allies could have put upon the sea would have availed them nothing, for the German battleships and battle cruisers could have sunk them or driven them into their ports. Then Allied commerce would have been the prey, not only of the submarines, which could have operated with the utmost freedom, but of the German surface craft as well. In a few weeks the British food supplies would have been exhausted. There would have been an early end to the soldiers and munitions which Britain was constantly sending to France. The United States could have sent no forces to the Western Front and the result would have been the surrender which the Allies themselves, in the spring of 1917, regarded as not a remote possibility. America would then have been compelled to face the German power alone, and to face it long before we had had an opportunity of assembling our resources and of equipping our armies. The world was preserved from all these calamities because the destroyer and the convoy solved the problem of the submarine and because back of these agencies of victory lay Admiral Beatty's squadrons, holding at arm's length the German surface ships while these comparatively fragile craft were saving the liberties of the world.
CHAPTER IV
AMERICAN DESTROYERS IN ACTION
I
Our first division of destroyers reached Queenstown on a Friday morning, May 4, 1917; the following Monday they put to sea on the business of hunting the submarine and protecting commerce. For the first month or six weeks they spent practically all their time on patrol duty in company with British destroyers, sloops, and other patrol vessels. Though the convoy system was formally adopted in the latter part of May, it was not operating completely and smoothly until August or September. Many troop and merchant convoys were formed in the intervening period and many were conducted through the submarine zone by American destroyers; but our ships spent much time sailing singly, hunting for such enemies as might betray their presence, or escorting individual cargoes. The early experiments had demonstrated the usefulness of the convoy system, yet a certain number of pessimists still refused to accept it as the best solution of the shipping problem; and to reorganize practically all the shipping of the world, scattered everywhere on the seven seas, necessarily took time.
But this intervening period furnished indispensable training for our men. They gained an every-day familiarity with the waters which were to form the scene of their operations and learned many of the tricks of the German submarines. It was a strange world in which these young Americans now found themselves. The life was a hard one, of course, in those tempestuous Irish waters, with the little destroyers jumping from wave to wave, sometimes showing daylight beneath their keels, their bows frequently pointing skyward, or plunged deep into heavy seas, and their sides occasionally ploughing along under the foamy waves. For days the men lived in a world of fog and mist; rain in those regions seemed to be almost the normal state of nature. Much has been written about the hardships of life aboard the destroyer, and to these narratives our men could add many details of their own. These hardships, however, did not weigh heavily upon them, for existence in those waters, though generally monotonous, possessed at times plenty of interest and excitement. The very appearance of the sea showed that our men were engaging in a kind of warfare very different from that for which they had been trained. The enormous amount of shipping seemed to give the lie to the German reports that British commerce had been practically arrested. A perpetual stream of all kinds of vessels, liners, tramps, schooners, and fishing boats, was passing toward the Irish and the English coasts. Yet here and there other floating objects on the surface told the story. Now it was a stray boat filled with the survivors of a torpedoed vessel; now a raft on which lay the bodies of dead men; now the derelict hulk of a ship which the Germans had abandoned as sunk, but which persisted in floating aimlessly around, a constant danger to navigation. Loose mines, bobbing in the water, hinted at the perils that were constantly threatening our forces. In the tense imagination of the lookouts floating spars or other débris easily took the form of periscopes. Queer-looking sailing vessels, at a distance, aroused suspicions that they might be submarines in disguise. A phosphorescent trail in the water was sometimes mistaken for the wake of a torpedo. The cover of a hatchway floating on the surface, if seen at a distance of a few hundred yards, looked much like the conning-tower of a submarine, while the back of an occasional whale gave a life-like representation of a U-boat awash—in fact, so life-like was it that on one occasion several of our submarine chasers on the English coast dropped depth charges on a whale and killed it.
But it was the invisible rather than the visible evidences of warfare that especially impressed our men. The air all around them was electric with life and information. One had only to put the receiver of the wireless to his ear to find himself in a new and animated world. The atmosphere was constantly spluttering messages of all kinds coming from all kinds of places. Sometimes these were sent by Admiral Bayly from Queenstown; they would direct our men to go to an indicated spot and escort an especially valuable cargo ship; they would tell a particular commander that a submarine was lying at a designated latitude and longitude and instruct him to go and "get" it. Running conversations were frequently necessary between destroyers and the ships which they had been detailed to escort. "Give me your position," the destroyer would ask. "What is the name of your assistant surgeon, and who is his friend on board our ship?" the suspicious vessel would reply—such precaution being necessary to give assurance that the query had not come from a German submarine. "Being pursued by a submarine Lat. 50 N., Long. 15 W."—cries of distress like this were common. Another message would tell of a vessel that was being shelled; another would tell of a ship that was sinking; while other messages would give the location of lifeboats which were filled with survivors and ask for speedy help. Our wireless operators not only received the news of friends, but also the messages of enemies. Conversations between German submarines frequently filled the air. They sometimes attempted to deceive us by false "S.O.S." signals, hoping that in this way they could get an opportunity to torpedo any vessel that responded to the call. But these attempts were unsuccessful, for our wireless operators had no difficulty in recognizing the "spark" of the German instruments. At times the surface of the ocean might be calm; there would not be a ship in sight or a sign of human existence anywhere; yet the air itself would be uninterruptedly filled with these reminders of war.