CHAPTER V
WHEN THE ANTILLES WENT DOWN
For more than three months the Corsair had been escorting transports and supply steamers to and fro, in an area of ocean where the hostile submarines cruised incessantly. Not a ship in all these unwieldy convoys had been torpedoed, and the few hard-driven yachts could feel, without boasting, that they were doing their bit to keep the road open to France. It was unreasonable to expect, however, that the record could be kept wholly clear of disaster. The fortune of war was not as kind as this.
The unhappy event occurred without warning on October 17th when the transport Antilles, a fine, seven-thousand-ton steamer of the Southern Pacific Company, was sent to the bottom with many of her people. It was no fault of the escort, for there was never a sight of a periscope nor any other indication that a submarine was near. The Corsair did what she could and did it well, saving survivors from the sea with the readiness and courage that might have been expected.
The convoy had sailed from Saint-Nazaire two days earlier, waiting at Quiberon for one of the ships to join. With the Antilles were the Henderson and the Willehad. The escort comprised the Corsair, phrodite, and the Kanawha, which replaced the Wakiva after this smaller yacht had returned to port because of leaky rivets in the main boiler. With the circumstances as they were, no better protection could have been given this small convoy of three transports. The Queenstown destroyers were employed in guarding the laden ships inward bound, meeting them far offshore, but the American Patrol Force in France had to take them to sea again as best it could, with the yachts and whatever aid the French Navy was able to offer.
The small flotilla of coal-burning destroyers which was sent to base on Brest had not yet arrived and was en route from the Azores. Captain W. B. Fletcher, who commanded the Patrol Force at this time, and who was superseded by Admiral Wilson a little later, received a certain amount of adverse criticism because of the loss of the Antilles, but the fact is evident that he had taken all the precautions within his power to send this convoy safely through the danger zone.
ENGINEERING FORCE OF THE CORSAIR
LIEUTENANT J. J. PATTERSON, ENGINEER OFFICER, AND HIS HUSKY “BLACK GANG”
The three transports and the three large yachts proceeded without incident until the morning of the second day at sea, when a freshening wind kicked up a boisterous sea and the Kanawha found herself in trouble. She was taking the water green over her bows and the decks were flooded. To avoid being seriously battered, she was compelled to reduce speed, and, to make matters worse, the weather was growing rougher and a gale threatened. Unable to maintain the standard speed of the convoy, which slowed down, for a little while, to nine knots in order to let the Kanawha attempt to regain position, her captain signalled for permission to part company and return to port. This was granted, as the heavy weather had made her of no service to the convoy. Thereafter the formation was maintained in this wise:
| Corsair O | O Alcedo | ||
| O Henderson | |||
| Antilles | O | ||
| O Willehad |
| W | ||
| | | ||
| S | —— | N |
| | | ||
| E |
The third day out, October 17th, dawned clear with a moderate wind from the southwest and a disturbed sea covered with whitecaps. The ships were zigzagging, with all lookouts properly kept and gunners at their stations. The Antilles had her own battery which was manned by a detachment of the Naval Armed Guard. Early in the morning, at 6.45, she was steaming directly astern of the Corsair during one of the frequent changes of course. The light was still poor, and it was this hour, before the sunrise had brightened the sea, which the submarines had found most favorable for attack.
The Antilles was seen to sheer out to starboard and the Henderson hoisted a signal which could not be read from the bridge of the Corsair, but the yacht swung about on the instant and sounded the call to general quarters. There was no other indication that the Antilles had been hit and mortally wounded. Presently she was settling by the stern. Then the bow rose in air, towered there, and the ship plunged to the bottom five minutes after a torpedo had ripped open her engine-room. Smoke and dust and dirty whirlpools marked the spot where she had been, and the sea was littered with boats and bits of wreckage and struggling men. On board the Corsair was Commander F. N. Freeman, as commander of the patrol division to which the Corsair and Alcedo were attached, and his report contained the following description of the disaster:
No explosion was heard on the Corsair, nothing was seen of it, nor was a submarine sighted. The Henderson immediately turned to starboard and made a smoke screen, the Willehad turned to port and from knowledge now at hand apparently passed very nearly over the submarine that fired the torpedo. The Alcedo turned back to the spot where the Antilles sank. The Corsair steamed at nineteen knots directly astern of the Henderson and to the northeast, followed by the Alcedo. These two escorting vessels continued in the vicinity of the wreckage until 8.30 A.M. No sign of the submarine was seen.
During all this time the Alcedo was picking up survivors while the Corsair continued circling around the boats and wreckage. The Corsair assisted in picking up the survivors in outlying boats and patrolling the vicinity until 10.30 A.M. All survivors having been rescued, and it being impossible to overhaul either the Henderson or the Willehad before nightfall, we set course for Brest.
The total number of persons on board the Antilles was 237. The number rescued by the Corsair was 50, by the Alcedo 117—total rescued, 167.
It is believed that every man on the Antilles who got into the water alive with life-belt on was rescued. Attention is invited to the excellent work of the Alcedo and Corsair in picking up survivors who were in the boats, on wreckage and life-rafts, floating over an area of several square miles. The Corsair picked up fifty persons from outlying wreckage and lifeboats without lowering a boat. The sea at this time was getting rough.
Officers from the Antilles have informed me that there was a fire on board the ship during the early morning, just before dawn, and that nearly all hands had turned out. This may account for the comparatively small loss of life, as the Antilles sank in seven minutes or less. It is not known whether the lights which had been turned on at the time of the fire were visible from outboard, and whether this has anything to do with the submarine attack. The Corsair reported no lights on the Antilles. The statements of the survivors are that several of them had seen the torpedo just before it struck the ship. It is worthy of mention that the conduct and bearing of the Armed Guard were a credit to the service.
No visual signals of any kind were made by the Corsair or Alcedo after nightfall at any time, and only one PDL flash-light signal was noted in the convoy. Only one radio signal was made and that at low power to the Henderson in thick weather, at night. Commanding officers were all thoroughly indoctrinated before getting under way in regard to the course, zigzagging, etc., and the escort vessels were unusually alert and attentive.
The senior naval officer on board the Antilles was Commander Daniel T. Ghent whose report to the Navy Department contained many incidents of interest in the story of the Corsair. Of the sixty-seven men who perished with the ship, he stated that forty-five of them belonged to the merchant crew, four were members of the armed guard, sixteen were soldiers who had been sent home, one was an ambulance driver, and one a colored stevedore. It was strange that the detonation of the torpedo was unheard by the escort vessels and that there was no visible disturbance, for on board the Antilles, according to Commander Ghent, the explosion was terrific. The ship shivered from stern to stem, listing immediately to port. One of the lookouts in the maintop, although protected by a canvas screen about five feet high, was hurled clear of this screen and killed when he struck the hatch below.
A BOAT-LOAD OF SURVIVORS FROM THE ANTILLES COMING ALONGSIDE
NAVAL OFFICERS RESCUED FROM THE ANTILLES, WITH GENERAL McNAIR, U.S.A., IN THE CENTRE
The explosion wrecked everything in the engine-room, including the ice machine and dynamo, and almost instantly flooded the compartment. The engine-room was filled with ammonia fumes and with the high-pressure gasses from the torpedo, and it is believed that every one on duty there was either instantly killed or disabled, excepting one oiler. This man happened to be on the upper gratings at the time. He tried to escape through the engine-room door but found it jammed and the knob blown off. Unable to force the door and finding that he was being overcome by the gases and ammonia fumes, he managed to escape through the engine-room skylight just as the ship was going under. Within a few seconds after the explosion, the water was over the crossheads of the main engines which were still turning over slowly. Of the twenty-one men on duty in the engine and fire rooms, only three escaped. Besides the oiler, two firemen crawled up through a ventilator. The fact that the engines could not be stopped and the headway checked, added to the difficulty of abandoning ship.
That only four boats out of ten succeeded in getting clear was due to this and several other causes,—the short time the ship stayed afloat, which was four and a half minutes by my watch, the rough sea, the heavy list, and the destruction of boats by the explosion. When there was no one left in sight on the decks, I went aft on the saloon deck where several men were struggling in the water near No. 5 boat and making no attempt to swim away from the side of the ship. I thought that they might be induced to get clear before the suction carried them down. By this time, however, the ship which was listed over at an angle of forty-five degrees, started to upend and go down. This motion threw me across the deck where I was washed overboard.
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.
THE ANTILLES CROWDED WITH TROOPS ON HER LAST VOYAGE TO FRANCE
THE ALCEDO PICKS UP THE ANTILLES SURVIVORS
It is not easy to quench a sailor’s sense of humor even in the presence of death and disaster, and Ensign Schanze wrote, in a letter to his mother:
The commander of a supply ship bound to New York promised me that he would look Dad up if he could possibly do so, and tell you how I was getting on. His ship was in our party on the morning the Antilles was torpedoed, and maybe he got sore at us for letting a submarine scare the wits out of him. Our yacht had to stop and fish a lot of very wet citizens out of the ocean, and the last view I had of his ship was in a great cloud of smoke, and he was crowding on full speed to make his get-away. He was going like a scared rabbit. He never even waved good-bye.
Another gentleman who promised to call on Dad was a naval officer in charge of the gun crew of the Antilles. I yanked him out of the ocean and helped make him at home on the Corsair during the time between the sinking of the ship and the return to our base.
The fifty survivors saved by the Corsair found a warm-hearted welcome. Nothing was too good for them. They were promptly thawed out in the cabins and engine-room and tucked into bunks, while the crew, as a committee of the whole, ransacked their bags and boxes for spare clothing. They were ready and eager to give the shirts off their backs, and some of them actually did so. Every man who needed it was comfortably rigged in the togs of Uncle Sam’s Navy and told to go ashore with the clothes. You may be sure that such treatment warmed the cockles of the hearts of these forlorn derelicts from the Antilles and that they cheered the Corsair before they left her.
The yacht’s officers made room in their own quarters for the officers picked up from the Antilles. These included Brigadier-General W. S. McNair, of the United States Army; Lieutenant Commander Ghent, Lieutenant J. D. Smith, and Lieutenant R. D. Tisdale, of the Navy; Chief Officer A. G. Clancy, Third Officer R. M. Christensen, Assistant Engineer L. L. Rue, and Purser W. C. Gilbert. They were most cordial in their expressions of appreciation of the kindness and good-fellowship which they had found in the yacht during the voyage back to Brest.
A dramatic bit of gossip went the rounds of the Corsair after she reached port. A steward of the Antilles had been among those rescued and he was heartily disliked aboard the yacht, the one exception in the shipwrecked company. He was a Spaniard, by name and complexion, and he displayed a curiosity which the Corsair’s crew called “nosey.” He was discovered poking about in all sorts of places. Attempting to take a look at the radio-room, he was tersely told to beat it or have his block knocked off. The Executive Officer chased him away from the after quarters, where he appeared to be interested in the stateroom occupied by General McNair. Thereafter the movements of this gimlet-eyed passenger were vigilantly restricted.
The word came later from Saint-Nazaire that he had been arrested by the French authorities and shot as a notorious spy. The inference was that he had been endeavoring to slip away to the United States in the Antilles when fate returned him to the secret intelligence service which had information against him, and he was trapped by the heels. His last words as he faced the firing squad, so the Corsair story ran, were that the German submarines would get the Finland on her next trip home, just as they had intercepted and sunk the Antilles. This was peculiarly interesting, because after coaling ship and taking on stores, the Corsair was ordered to escort a convoy which was expected to sail from Saint-Nazaire on October 24th. The transports were the Buford, City of Savannah, and the Finland.
The flotilla of coal-burning destroyers had arrived from the Azores to reinforce the yachts of the Breton Patrol, and four of them were assigned to this escort, the Lamson, Flusser, Preston, and Smith. The yachts Alcedo and Wakiva were also detailed to join the group, and no previous convoy outward bound had been so heavily protected as this. The loss of the Antilles had aroused excitement in the United States because of the false report that the attack had been made by a whole flock of submarines. This was one of those hair-raising newspaper yarns of war-time which would have been important if true.
Steaming out to sea, the Corsair led the imposing column, with a destroyer on each bow of the Finland, the Alcedo to starboard of the Buford, the Wakiva to port, and a destroyer hovering on each quarter of the City of Savannah. There had been no intimation of danger other than the fanciful rumor of the prediction made by the suddenly deceased steward of the Antilles and the routine warning included in the Force orders, “Enemy submarines operating in war zone as usual.”
At 9.25 A.M., one day out from port, the Finland was struck by a torpedo on the starboard side. Again there was no sign of a submarine. This time, however, the Corsair heard the explosion and saw a huge column of water spout up against the ship. But the Finland had no intention of sinking and merely slowed down, then halted, blowing off steam as though waiting for the other transports to catch up with her. As seen from the Corsair, she rode on an even keel and it was impossible to realize that a torpedo had torn a hole thirty-five feet wide in her side, into which the sea was gushing like a cataract.
On board the Finland were many of the survivors of the Antilles and they were in no mood for an encore. They set the pace for the crew of the Finland in the race to abandon ship and the big transport seemed fairly to spill boats and men from every deck. They were dropping overboard before she had wholly slackened way. It was an amazing spectacle. At a distance the Finland made one think of shaking apples from a tree.
THE CORSAIR DROPS A MINE AND SHAKES UP FRITZ
Several of us were standing by the engine-room hatch [wrote Quartermaster Augustus Smith of the Corsair], watching the Finland as she steamed along in that very slow convoy. We were discussing her chances of getting through, and the story that the U-boats were laying for her, when suddenly a white burst of water rose under her bridge and climbed to the top of the foremast. It seemed to be followed by a pillar of dark smoke. At the same time the Corsair was fairly lifted out of the sea by the force of the explosion. All hands made a run for battle stations without waiting for the call.
The first boat from the Finland was dangling from the davits, half-filled with men, when somebody either cut or let go the forward falls. The bow of this big whaleboat crashed down to the water, dumping most of them out. A few managed to hang on and were struggling desperately when the after falls carried away and the boat dropped upon the heads of the men already in the sea. The next boat reached the water only to be up-ended by the headway of the ship. Other boats then waited for the ship to lose way and these got clear all right, but we saw one or two more upset and smashed.
When Commander Freeman, then on the Corsair as division commander, realized that the Finland was not sinking, he semaphored the message:
“Do you think you can make Saint-Nazaire?”
The answer came right back from the Finland’s skipper:
“Why not New York?”
The Corsair cracked on speed to search for the submarine, instructing the Wakiva and Alcedo to aid the Finland’s people who were adrift in boats or upon rafts. Three destroyers proceeded on the voyage with the two other transports while the fourth destroyer remained to operate with the Corsair. Investigation had disclosed the fact that the Finland was able to move under her own steam and the task in hand was to put the crew back on board and escort her into Brest for repairs. Meanwhile the Corsair, in quest of the enemy, was letting a real barrage of depth charges slide over her stern, and her wake was one thundering geyser after another. Eleven of these bombs jarred her rivets when they went off, and if a man had any loose teeth in his head he was liable to lose them entirely. Alas, no débris, such as dead German sailors, rose to the surface.
The report of the senior naval officer of the Finland, Captain Stephen V. Graham, is a lucid narrative and it is worth while to let him tell the tale:
Due to the congested condition at the port of debarkation, which was often serious in the early days of our transport service, the Finland had been unable to accompany the group of fast troop transports to which she belonged and which had proceeded on the return voyage about two weeks earlier. On this occasion she was in company with two freight transports of the armed-guard category which were not able to make more than eleven knots, but the three vessels had an escort of four destroyers and three converted yachts, which was uncommonly large at that time when the demand exceeded the supply. It was frequently necessary for the Finland to slow down to such a speed as would enable an enemy submarine to take a favorable position for attack.
By daylight of October 28th the convoy had reached a position near the line extending from the island of Ushant to Cape Finisterre, which experience had shown to be a particularly dangerous area. From that time on, the senior naval officer of the Finland remained on the bridge constantly and all the lookouts were exercising the utmost vigilance.
The weather was cloudy and a moderate sea running, and I was engaged in searching the water on both sides with powerful binoculars. I had just finished gazing at the starboard side when the naval signal quartermaster on watch called out, “Commander! Torpedo!” I turned and saw a torpedo about fifty or a hundred yards distant making a surface run directly toward the ship. The whirring of the torpedo’s propellers could be heard when they broke the surface of the water. To avoid it was impossible. The effect of the explosion was considerable but not as great as had been anticipated. No one on the bridge was injured.
I directed a radio operator to send out an S.O.S. call but it was found that the aerial had been carried away by the force of the explosion. The first report that reached the bridge was that the forward fire-room was flooded. At this time it did not appear probable that the ship would sink but in a short time she began to list to starboard and seemed to be settling. I ordered the lowering of the remaining boats which were hanging on their falls at the level of the promenade deck. These boats were scarcely in the water when the ship began to right herself, and the acting master, Chief Officer John Jensen, who had gone below to investigate the extent of the damage, returned to the bridge and reported to me that the destruction was confined to No. 4 hold, the bulkheads of which were intact.
In the meantime I observed Third Assistant Engineer George Mikkelson who had been on watch in the engine-room when the torpedo struck the ship, moving about the main deck with a wooden mallet in his hand and endeavoring to drive the frightened firemen back to their stations. He came to the bridge and reported to me that the boilers and engines were not damaged and that the ship could be got under way again in a short time if the men could be induced to go to work.
The damaged compartment, just forward of the fire-rooms, was used as a reserve coal bunker. At that time it contained about six hundred tons of coal. After the ship had been placed in dry-dock, upon her return to France, it was found that most of this coal had run out through the immense hole made in the side by the explosion of the torpedo.
When I received the master’s report that the damage was confined to this one compartment, I hailed the boats which were close to the ship and directed them to come alongside and also sent a signal to the escorting yachts to turn back the Finland’s boats which were approaching them and tell them to return to the ship. These yachts, the Alcedo and Wakiva, had come close to the Finland and lowered boats to rescue people who had been cast into the water by the dropping of two of the Finland’s boats.
The converted yacht Corsair and one of the destroyers were circling at high speed around the Finland and dropping depth charges in order to prevent the enemy submarine from delivering a second attack on the crippled Finland.
THE FINLAND, JUST AFTER SHE WAS TORPEDOED
DESTROYER PRESTON, WHICH WAS CAUGHT IN THE HURRICANE AND ALSO FOUND REFUGE AT LISBON
While the Finland’s boats were in the water, a heavy squall came up and rendered the return of the heavily laden boats very difficult. They could come close only on the starboard side and getting the people back on board was very slow work. Hoisting the boats was not to be thought of, for every moment that this large ship remained stopped was to risk grave danger of receiving a second torpedo. As soon as the passengers were aboard, the boats were cast adrift.
The ship got under way to return to the port of Brest, 150 miles distant. She was escorted by the Corsair and one of the destroyers, while another destroyer remained with the Alcedo and Wakiva to afford them protection until they had picked up the rest of the Finland’s crew. During the return to port it became necessary to send every one to the fire-room who could shovel coal. Deck-hands, stewards, and even passengers, including some of the discharged American ambulance drivers, responded with alacrity to this call and within a short time after starting ahead the ship was making nearly fifteen knots, which was about as good speed as she had made at any time during her employment in the transport service. The bulkheads of the damaged compartment held and there was no leakage through the water-tight doors.
It is regrettable that eight men lost their lives. The coolness and resourcefulness of the acting master and the engineer of the watch deserve commendation. Cadet Officer David MacLaren was the youngest officer on board—just eighteen years old. After I had ordered the boats lowered, this lad, who was in charge of one of them, would have been justified in leaving the ship which he believed to be sinking, but he returned to the bridge and reported to me that his boat was lowered and clear of the ship and asked if he could be of any service. He stayed on the bridge, giving valuable assistance, and displaying courage and readiness worthy of the best traditions of the sea.
One of the Navy youngsters was down in the living compartment cleaning up when the ship was struck. Some one in a boat hanging at the davits, seeing him hurry along the promenade deck, asked which boat he belonged in.
“Number Four boat,” he replied.
“This is Number Four. Jump in,” urged the other, and the boy answered:
“Not on your life! I’ve got to go to my gun.”
Unfaltering, the stricken Finland ploughed along at fifteen knots with a great chasm in her side, while the anxious Corsair and the destroyer Smith hovered close and felt unspeakable relief when the Ushant Light was seen on the port bow in the early evening. Before midnight the Finland had passed through the Raz de Sein and was safely anchored in Morgat Bay, beyond reach of submarines. Next morning her escort led her into Brest Harbor and the Finland, Smith, and Corsair, three weary ships, rested at the mooring buoys. The Corsair courteously signalled the Finland:
The officers and men of the Corsair express their admiration of the spirit shown by your officers and men in sticking by their ship and bringing her safely into port.
The Finland gratefully signalled back to the Corsair:
Thank you. I congratulate the spirit and efficiency of your command and thank you for the personal assistance in a trying time.
Ships and men are much alike. Some are tenacious, hard to knock out, standing punishment, and gallant in adversity. Others crumple under defeat and surrender at one blow. The Finland had a long record of faithful and successful service as one of the favorite passenger steamers of the Red Star Line between New York and Antwerp. She had the reputation of having lived up to the expectations of her builders. They had tried to make her a staunch ship that would hang together. When the cruel test came, the bulkheads stood fast, the water-tight doors did their duty, and the concussion failed to start the engines from the bed-plates.
The Finland was placed in dry-dock in France, but mechanics were scarce and the work dragged. Thereupon the American Army was called upon, and from the ranks came riveters, structural workers, machinists, who turned to and repaired the ship in record time. The Corsair had been spared the unhappiness of seeing this fine ship lost while under her protection. And of all the ships which went in and out while the Corsair was engaged in convoy duty, it was her good fortune to behold only the Antilles sunk by torpedo attack.