The Victory At Sea

But Mr. Page and I thought that we had not completely done our duty even after sending these urgent messages. Whatever might happen, we were determined that it could never be charged that we had not presented the Allied situation in its absolutely true light. It seemed likely that an authoritative statement from the British Government would give added assurance that our statements were not the result of panic, and with this idea in mind, Mr. Page and I called upon Mr. Balfour, Foreign Secretary, who, in response to our request, sent a despatch to Washington describing the seriousness of the situation.

All these messages made the same point: that the United States should immediately assemble all its destroyers and other light craft, and send them to the port where they could render the greatest service in the anti-submarine campaign—Queenstown.

FOOTNOTES:

CHAPTER II

THE RETURN OF THE "MAYFLOWER"

I

The morning of May 4, 1917, witnessed an important event in the history of Queenstown. The news had been printed in no British or American paper, yet in some mysterious way it had reached nearly everybody in the city. A squadron of American destroyers, which had left Boston on the evening of April 24th, had already been reported to the westward of Ireland and was due to reach Queenstown that morning. At almost the appointed hour a little smudge of smoke appeared in the distance, visible to the crowds assembled on the hills; then presently another black spot appeared, and then another; and finally these flecks upon the horizon assumed the form of six rapidly approaching warships. The Stars and Stripes were broken out on public buildings, on private houses, and on nearly all the water craft in the harbour; the populace, armed with American flags, began to gather on the shore; and the local dignitaries donned their official robes to welcome the new friends from overseas. One of the greatest days in Anglo-American history had dawned, for the first contingent of the American navy was about to arrive in British waters and join hands with the Allies in the battle against the forces of darkness and savagery.

The morning was an unusually brilliant one. The storms which had tossed our little vessels on the seas for ten days, and which had followed them nearly to the Irish coast, had suddenly given way to smooth water and a burst of sunshine. The long and graceful American ships steamed into the channel amid the cheers of the people and the tooting of all harbour craft; the sparkling waves, the greenery of the bordering hills, the fruit trees already in bloom, to say nothing of the smiling and cheery faces of the welcoming Irish people, seemed to promise a fair beginning for our great adventure. "Welcome to the American colours," had been the signal of the Mary Rose, a British destroyer which had been sent to lead the Americans to their anchorage. "Thank you, I am glad of your company," answered the Yankee commander; and these messages represented the spirit of the whole proceeding. Indeed there was something in these strange-looking American ships, quite unlike the British destroyers, that necessarily inspired enthusiasm and respect. They were long and slender; the sunlight, falling upon their graceful sides and steel decks, made them brilliant objects upon the water; and their business-like guns and torpedo tubes suggested efficiency and readiness. The fact that they had reached their appointed rendezvous exactly on time, and that they had sailed up the Queenstown harbour at almost precisely the moment that preparations had been made to receive them, emphasized this impression. The appearance of our officers on the decks in their unfamiliar, closely fitting blouses, and of our men, in their neat white linen caps, also at once won the hearts of the populace.

"Sure an' it's our own byes comin' back to us," an Irish woman remarked, as she delightedly observed the unmistakably Gaelic countenances of a considerable proportion of the crew. Indeed the natives of Queenstown seemed to regard these American blue-jackets almost as their own. The welcome provided by these people was not of a formal kind; they gathered spontaneously to cheer and to admire. In that part of Ireland there was probably not a family that did not have relatives or associations in the United States, and there was scarcely a home that did not possess some memento of America. The beautiful Queenstown Roman Catholic Cathedral, which stood out so conspicuously, had been built very largely with American dollars, and the prosperity of many a local family had the same trans-Atlantic origin. It was hardly surprising, therefore, that when our sailors landed for a few hours' liberty many hands were stretched out to welcome them. Their friends took them arm in arm, marched them to their homes, and entertained them with food and drink, all the time plying them with questions about friends and relatives in America. Most of these young Americans with Irish ancestry had never seen Ireland, but that did not prevent the warm-hearted people of Queenstown from hailing them as their own. This cordiality was appreciated, for the trip across the Atlantic had been very severe, with gales and rainstorms nearly every day.

The senior officer in charge was Commander Joseph K. Taussig, whose flagship was the Wadsworth. The other vessels of the division and their commanding officers were the Conyngham, Commander Alfred W. Johnson; the Porter, Lieutenant-Commander Ward K. Wortman; the McDougal, Lieutenant-Commander Arther P. Fairfield; the Davis, Lieutenant-Commander Rufus F. Zogbaum; and the Wainwright, Lieutenant-Commander Fred H. Poteet. On the outbreak of hostilities these vessels, comprising our Eighth Destroyer Division, had been stationed at Base 2, in the York River, Virginia; at 7 P.M. of April 6th, the day that Congress declared war on Germany, their commander had received the following signal from the Pennsylvania, the flagship of the Atlantic Fleet: "Mobilize for war in accordance with Department's confidential mobilization plan of March 21st." From that time events moved rapidly for the Eighth Division. On April 14th, the very day on which I sent my first report on submarine conditions to Washington, Commander Taussig received a message to take his flotilla to Boston and there fit out for "long and distant service." Ten days afterward he sailed, with instructions to go fifty miles due east of Cape Cod and there to open his sealed orders. At the indicated spot Commander Taussig broke the seal, and read the following document—a paper so important in history, marking as it does the first instructions any American naval or army officer had received for engaging directly in hostilities with Germany, that it is worth quoting in full:

No happier selection for the command of this division could have been made than that of Commander Taussig. In addition to his qualities as a sailor, certain personal associations made him particularly acceptable to the British naval authorities. In 1900, Commander Taussig, then a midshipman, was a member of the naval forces which the United States sent to China to co-operate with other powers in putting down the Boxer Rebellion and rescuing the besieged legations in Pekin. Near Tientsin this international force saw its hardest fighting, and here Commander Taussig was wounded. While recovering from his injury, the young American found himself lying on a cot side by side with an English captain, then about forty years old, who was in command of the Centurion and chief-of-staff to Admiral Seymour, who had charge of the British forces. This British officer was severely wounded; a bullet had penetrated his lung, and for a considerable period he was unable to lie down. Naturally this enforced companionship made the two men friends. Commander Taussig had had many occasions to recall this association since, for his wounded associate was Captain John R. Jellicoe, whose advancement in the British navy had been rapid from that day onward. On this same expedition Captain Jellicoe became a sincere friend also of Captain McCalla, the American who commanded the Newark and the American landing force; indeed, Jellicoe's close and cordial association with the American navy dates from the Boxer expedition. Naturally Taussig had watched Jellicoe's career with the utmost interest; since he was only twenty-one at the time, however, and the Englishman was twice his age, it had never occurred to him that the First Sea Lord would remember his youthful hospital companion. Yet the very first message he received, on arriving in Irish waters, was the following letter, brought to him by Captain Evans, the man designated by the British Admiralty as liaison officer with the American destroyers:

At this same meeting Captain Evans handed the American commander another letter which was just as characteristic as that of Admiral Jellicoe. The following lines constitute our officers' first introduction to Vice-Admiral Bayly, the officer who was to command their operations in the next eighteen months, and, in its brevity, its entirely business-like qualities, as well as in its genuine sincerity and kindness, it gave a fair introduction to the man:

The first duty of the officers on arrival was to make the usual ceremonial calls. The Lord Mayor of Cork had come down from his city, which is only twelve miles from Queenstown, to receive the Americans, and now awaited them in the American consulate; and many other citizens were assembled there to welcome them. One of the most conspicuous features of the procession was the moving picture operator, whose presence really had an international significance. The British Government itself had detailed him for this duty; it regarded the arrival of our destroyers as a great historical event and therefore desired to preserve this animated record in the official archives. Crowds gathered along the street to watch and cheer our officers as they rode by; and at the consulate the Lord Mayor, Mr. Butterfield, made an eloquent address, laying particular emphasis upon the close friendship that had always prevailed between the American and the Irish people. Other dignitaries made speeches voicing similar sentiments. This welcome concluded, Commander Taussig and his brother officers started up the steep hill that leads to Admiralty House, a fine and spacious old building.

Here, following out the instructions of the Navy Department, they were to report to Vice-Admiral Bayly for duty. It is doing no injustice to Sir Lewis to say that our men regarded this first meeting with some misgiving. The Admiral's reputation in the British navy was well known to them. They knew that he was one of the ablest officers in the service; but they had also heard that he was an extremely exacting man, somewhat taciturn in his manner, and not inclined to be over familiar with his subordinates—a man who did not easily give his friendship or his respect, and altogether, in the anxious minds of these ambitious young Americans, he was a somewhat forbidding figure. And the appearance of the Admiral, standing in his doorway awaiting their arrival, rather accentuated these preconceptions. He was a medium-sized man, with somewhat swarthy, weather-beaten face and black hair just turning grey; he stood there gazing rather quizzically at the Americans as they came trudging up the hill, his hands behind his back, his bright eyes keenly taking in every detail of the men, his face not showing the slightest trace of a smile. This struck our young men at first as a somewhat grim reception; the attitude of the Admiral suggested that he was slightly in doubt as to the value of his new recruits, that he was entirely willing to be convinced, but that only deeds and not fine speeches of greeting would convince him. Yet Admiral Bayly welcomed our men with the utmost courtesy and dignity, and his face, as he began shaking hands, broke into a quiet, non-committal smile; there was nothing about his manner that was effusive, there were no unnecessary words, yet there was a real cordiality that put our men at ease and made them feel at home in this strange environment. They knew, of course, that they had come to Ireland, not for social diversions, but for the serious business of fighting the Hun, and that indeed was the only thought which could then find place in Admiral Bayly's mind. Up to this time the welcome to the Americans had taken the form of lofty oratorical flights, with emphasis upon the blood ties of Anglo-Saxondom, and the significance to civilization of America and Great Britain fighting side by side; but this was not the kind of a greeting our men received from Admiral Bayly. The Admiral himself, with his somewhat worn uniform and his lack of ceremony, formed a marked contrast to the official reception by the Lord Mayor and his suite in their insignia of office. Entirely characteristic also was the fact that, instead of making a long speech, he made no speech at all. His chief interest in the Americans at that time was the assistance which they were likely to bring to the Allied cause; after courteously greeting the officers, the first question he asked about these forces was:

"When will you be ready to go to sea?"

Even under the most favourable conditions that is an embarrassing question to ask of a destroyer commander. There is no type of ship that is so chronically in need of overhauling. Even in peace times the destroyer usually has under way a long list of repairs; our first contingent had sailed without having had much opportunity to refit, and had had an extremely nasty voyage. The fact was that it had been rather severely battered up, although the flotilla was in excellent condition, considering its hard experience on the ocean and the six months of hard work which it had previously had on our coast. One ship had lost its fire-room ventilator, another had had condenser troubles on the way across, and there had been other difficulties. Commander Taussig, however, had sized up Admiral Bayly as a man to whom it would be a tactical error to make excuses, and promptly replied:

"We are ready now, sir, that is, as soon as we finish refuelling. Of course you know how destroyers are—always wanting something done to them. But this is war, and we are ready to make the best of things and go to sea immediately."

The Admiral was naturally pleased with the spirit indicated by this statement, and, with his customary consideration for his juniors, said:

"I will give you four days from the time of arrival. Will that be sufficient?"

"Yes," answered Taussig, "that will be more than ample time."

As we discovered afterward, the Admiral had a system of always "testing out" new men, and it is not improbable that this preliminary interview was a part of this process.

During the period of preparation there were certain essential preliminaries: it was necessary to make and to receive many calls, a certain amount of tea drinking was inevitable, and there were many invitations to dinners and to clubs that could not be ignored. Our officers made a state visit to Cork, going up in Admiral Bayly's barge, and returned the felicitations of the Mayor and his retinue.

Naturally both the Americans and their ships became objects of great interest to their new allies. It was, I think, the first time that a destroyer flotilla had ever visited Great Britain, and the very appearance of the vessels themselves aroused the greatest curiosity. They bore only a general resemblance to the destroyers of the British navy. The shape of their hulls, the number and location of smoke pipes, the positions of guns, torpedo tubes, bridges, deckhouse, and other details gave them quite a contrasting profile. The fact that they were designed to operate under different conditions from the British ships accounted for many of these divergences. We build our destroyers with the widest possible cruising radius; they are expected to go to the West Indies, to operate from the Atlantic to the Pacific, and in general to feel at home anywhere in the great stretch of waters that surround our country. British destroyers, on the other hand, are intended to operate chiefly in the restricted waters around the British Isles, where the fuelling and refitting facilities are so extensive that they do not have to devote much space to supplies of this kind. The result is that our destroyers can keep the sea longer than the British; on the other hand, the British are faster than ours, and they can also turn more quickly. These differences were of course a subject of much discussion among the observers at Queenstown, and even of animated argument. Naturally, the interest of the destroyer officers of the two services in the respective merits of their vessels was very keen. They examined minutely all features that were new to them in the design and arrangement of guns, torpedoes, depth charges, and machines, freely exchanged information, and discussed proposed improvements in the friendliest possible spirit. Strangely enough, although the American destroyers carried greater fuel supplies than the British, they were rather more dainty and graceful in their lines, a fact which inspired a famous retort which rapidly passed through the ranks of both navies.

"You know," remarked a British officer to an American, "I like the British destroyers better than the American. They look so much sturdier. Yours seem to me rather feminine in appearance."

"Yes," replied the American, "that's so, but you must remember what Kipling says, 'The female of the species is more deadly than the male.'"

The work of the Americans really began on the Sunday which followed their arrival; by this time they had established cordial relations with Admiral Bayly and were prepared to trust themselves unreservedly in his hands. He summoned the officers on this Sunday morning and talked with them a few moments before they started for the submarine zone; the time of their departure had been definitely fixed for the next day. In the matter of ceremonial greetings the Admiral was not strong, but when it came to discussing the business in hand he was the master of a convincing eloquence. The subject of his discourse was the responsibility that lay before our men; he spoke in sharp, staccato tones, making his points with the utmost precision, using no verbal flourishes or unnecessary words—looking at our men perhaps a little fiercely, and certainly impressing them with the fact that the work which lay before them was to be no summer holiday. As soon as the destroyers passed beyond the harbour defences, the Admiral began, death constantly lay before the men until they returned. There was only one safe rule to follow; days and even weeks might go by without seeing a submarine, but the men must assume that one was constantly watching them, looking for a favourable opportunity to discharge its torpedo. "You must not relax attention for an instant, or you may lose an opportunity to destroy a submarine or give her a chance to destroy you." It was the present intention to send the American destroyers out for periods of six days, giving them two days' rest between trips, and about once a month they were to have five days in port for boiler cleaning. And now the Admiral gave some details about the practical work at sea. Beware, he said, about ramming periscopes; these were frequently mere decoys for bombs and should be shelled. In picking up survivors of torpedoed vessels the men must be careful not to stop until thoroughly convinced that there were no submarines in the neighbourhood: "You must not risk the loss of your vessel in order to save the lives of a few people."

The Admiral proclaimed the grim philosophy of this war when he told our men that it would be their first duty, should they see a ship torpedoed, not to go to the rescue of the survivors, but to go after the submarine. The three imperative duties of the destroyers were, in the order named: first, to destroy submarines; second, to convoy and protect merchant shipping; and third, to save the lives of the passengers and crews of torpedoed ships. No commander should ever miss an opportunity to destroy a submarine merely because there were a few men and women in small boats or in the water who might be saved. Admiral Bayly explained that to do this would be false economy: sinking a submarine meant saving far more lives than might be involved in a particular instance, for this vessel, if spared, would simply go on constantly destroying human beings. The Admiral then gave a large number of instructions in short, pithy sentences: "Do not use searchlights; do not show any lights whatever at night; do not strike any matches; never steam at a slower rate than thirteen knots; always zigzag, thereby preventing the submarine from plotting your position; always approach a torpedoed vessel with the sun astern; make only short signals; do not repeat the names of vessels; carefully watch all fishing vessels—they may be submarines in disguise—they even put up masts, sails, and funnels in this attempt to conceal their true character." The Admiral closed his remarks with a warning based upon his estimate of the character and methods of the enemy. In substance he said that were it not for the violations of the dictates of humanity and the well-established chivalry of the sea, he would have the greatest respect for the German submarine commanders. He cautioned our officers not to underrate them, and particularly emphasized their cleverness at what he termed "the art of irregularity." He explained this by saying that up to that time he had been unable to deduce from their operations any definite plan or tactics, and advised our commanders also to guard against any regularity of movement; they should never, for example, patrol from one corner to another of their assigned squares in the submarine zone, or adopt any other uniform practice which the enemy might soon perceive and of which he would probably take advantage.

At the very moment that Admiral Bayly was giving these impressive instructions the submarine campaign had reached its crisis; the fortunes of the Allies had never struck so low a depth as at that time. An incident connected with our arrival, not particularly important in itself, brought home to our men the unsleeping vigilance of the enemy with whom they had to deal.

Perhaps the Germans did not actually have advance information of the arrival of this first detachment of our destroyers; but they certainly did display great skill in divining what was to happen. At least it was a remarkable coincidence that for the first time in many months a submarine laid a mine-field directly off the entrance to Queenstown the day before our ships arrived. Soon afterward a parent ship of the destroyers reached this port and encountered the same welcome; and soon after that a second parent ship found a similar mine-field awaiting her arrival. The news that our destroyers had reached Queenstown actually appeared in the German papers several days before we had released it in the British and American press. Thanks to the vigilance and efficiency of the British mine-sweepers, however, the enemy gained nothing from all these preparations, for the channel was cleared of German mines before our vessels reached port.

The night before the destroyers arrived, while some of the officers of my staff were dining with Admiral Bayly, the windows were shaken by heavy explosions made by the mines which the sweepers were dragging out. Admiral Bayly jokingly remarked that it was really a pity to interfere with such a warm welcome as had apparently been planned for our crusaders. Even the next night, while the destroyer officers were dining at Admiralty House, several odd mines exploded outside the channel that had been swept the previous day. This again impressed our men with the fact that the game which they had now entered was quite a different affair from their peace-time manœuvres.

The Germans at that time were jubilant over the progress of their submarine campaign and, indeed, they had good reason to be. The week that our first flotilla reached Irish waters their submarines had destroyed 240,000 tons of Allied shipping; if the sinking should keep up at this rate, it meant losses of 1,000,000 tons a month and an early German victory.

In looking over my letters of that period, I find many references that picture the state of the official mind. All that time I was keeping closely in touch with Ambassador Page, who was energetically seconding all my efforts to bring more American ships across the Atlantic.

"It remains a fact," I wrote our Ambassador, "that at present the enemy is succeeding and that we are failing. Ships are being sunk faster than they can be replaced by the building facilities of the world. This simply means that the enemy is winning the war. There is no mystery about that. The submarines are rapidly cutting the Allies' lines of communication. When they are cut, or sufficiently interfered with, we must accept the enemy's terms."

Six days before our destroyers put in at Queenstown I sent this message to Mr. Page:

Such, then, was the situation when our little destroyer flotilla first went to sea to do battle with the submarine.

II

Admiral Sir Lewis Bayly, who now became the commander of the American destroyers at Queenstown, so far as their military operations were concerned, had spent fifty years in the British navy, forty years of this time actually at sea. This ripe experience, combined with a great natural genius for salt water, had made him one of the most efficient men in the service. In what I have already said, I may have given a slightly false impression of the man; that he was taciturn, that he was generally regarded as a hard taskmaster, that he never made friends at the first meeting, that he was more interested in results than in persons—all this is true; yet these qualities merely concealed what was, at bottom, a generous, kindly, and even a warm-hearted character. Admiral Bayly was so retiring and so modest that he seemed almost to have assumed these exterior traits to disguise his real nature. When our men first met the Admiral they saw a man who would exact their last effort and accept no excuses for failure; when admitted to more intimate association, however, they discovered that this weather-beaten sailor had a great love for flowers, for children, for animals, for pictures, and for books; that he was deeply read in general literature, in history, and in science, and that he had a knowledge of their own country and its institutions which many of our own officers did not possess. Americans have great reason to be proud of the achievements of their naval men, and one of the most praiseworthy was the fact that they became such intimate friends of Admiral Bayly. For this man's nature was so sincere that he could never bring himself to indulge in friendships which he deemed unworthy. Early in his association with our men, he told them bluntly that any success he and they might have in getting on together would depend entirely upon the manner in which they performed their work. If they acquitted themselves creditably, well and good; if not, he should not hesitate to find fault with them. It is thus a tribute to our officers that in a very short time they and Admiral Bayly had established relations which were not only friendly but affectionate. Not long after our destroyers arrived at Queenstown most of the British destroyers left to reinforce the hard-driven flotillas in the Channel and the North Sea, so that the destroyer forces at Queenstown under Admiral Bayly became almost exclusively American, though they worked with many British vessels—sloops, trawlers, sweepers, and mystery ships, in co-operation with British destroyers and other vessels in the north and other parts of Ireland. The Admiral watched over our ships and their men with the jealous eye of a father. He always referred to his command as "my destroyers" and "my Americans," and woe to anyone who attempted to interfere with them or do them the slightest injustice! Admiral Bayly would fight for them, against the combined forces of the whole British navy, like a tigress for her cubs. He constantly had a weather eye on Plymouth, the main base of the British destroyers, to see that the vessels from that station did their fair share of the work. Once or twice a dispute arose between an American destroyer commander and a British; in such cases Admiral Bayly vigorously took the part of the American. "You did perfectly right," he would say to our men, and then he would turn all his guns against the interfering Britisher. Relations between the young Americans and the experienced Admiral became so close that they would sometimes go to him with their personal troubles; he became not only their commander, but their confidant and adviser.

There was something in these bright young chaps from overseas, indeed, so different from anything which he had ever met before, that greatly appealed to this seasoned Englishman. One thing that he particularly enjoyed was their sense of humour. The Admiral himself had a keen wit and a love of stories; and he also had the advantage, which was not particularly common in England, of understanding American slang and American anecdotes. There are certain stories which apparently only an upbringing on American soil qualifies one to appreciate; yet Admiral Bayly always instantly got the point. He even took a certain pride in his ability to comprehend the American joke. One of the regular features of life at Queenstown was a group of retired British officers—fine, white-haired old gentlemen who could take no active part in the war but who used to find much consolation in coming around to smoke their pipes and to talk things over at Admiralty House. Admiral Bayly invariably found delight in encouraging our officers to entertain these rare old souls with American stories; their utter bewilderment furnished him endless entertainment. The climax of his pleasure came when, after such an experience, the old men would get the Admiral in a corner, and whisper to him: "What in the world do they mean?"

The Admiral was wonderfully quick at repartee, as our men found when they began "joshing" him on British peculiarities, for as naval attaché he had travelled extensively in the United States, had observed most of our national eccentricities, and thus was able promptly "to come back." In such contests our men did not invariably come off with all the laurels. Yet, despite these modern tendencies, Admiral Bayly was a conservative of the conservatives, having that ingrained British respect for old things simply because they were old. An ancient British custom requires that at church on Sundays the leading dignitary in each community shall mount the reading desk and read the lessons of the day; Admiral Bayly would perform this office with a simplicity and a reverence which indicated the genuinely religious nature of the man. And in smaller details he was likewise the ancient, tradition-loving Briton. He would never think of writing a letter to an equal or superior officer except in longhand; to use a typewriter for such a purpose would have been profanation in his eyes. I once criticized a certain Admiral for consuming an hour or so in laboriously penning a letter which could have been dictated to a stenographer in a few minutes.

"How do you ever expect to win the war if you use up time this way?" I asked.

"I'd rather lose the war," the Admiral replied, but with a twinkle in his eye, "than use a typewriter to my chiefs!"

Our officers liked to chaff the Admiral quietly on this conservatism. He frequently had a number of them to breakfast, and upon one such occasion the question was asked as to why the Admiral ate an orange after breakfast, instead of before, as is the custom in America.

"I can tell you why," said Commander Zogbaum.

"Well, why is it?" asked the Admiral.

"Because that's what William the Conqueror used to do."

"I can think of no better reason than that for doing it," the Admiral promptly answered. But this remark tickled him immensely, and became a byword with him. Ever afterward, whenever he proposed to do something which the Americans regarded as too conservative, he would say:

"You know that this is what William the Conqueror used to do!"

Yet in one respect the Admiral was all American; he was a hard worker even to the point of hustle. He insisted on the strictest attention to the task in hand from his subordinates, but at least he never spared himself. After he had arrived at Queenstown, two years before our destroyers put in, he proceeded to reorganize Admiralty House on the most business-like basis. The first thing he pounced upon was the billiard-room in the basement. He decided that it would make an excellent plotting-room, and that the billiard-tables could be transformed into admirable drawing-boards for his staff; he immediately called the superintendent and told him to make the necessary transformations.

"All right," said the superintendent. "We'll start work on them to-morrow morning."

"No, you won't," Admiral Bayly replied. "We propose to be established in this room using these tables to-morrow morning. They must be all ready for use by eight o'clock."

And he was as good as his word; the workmen spent the whole night making the changes. At the expense of considerable personal comfort he also caused one half of the parlour of Admiralty House to be partitioned off as an office and the wall thus formed covered with war maps.

These incidents are significant, not only of Admiral Bayly's methods, but of his ideals. In his view, if a billiard room could be made to serve a war purpose, it had no proper place in an Admiralty house which was the headquarters for fighting German submarines. The chief duty of all men at that crisis was work, and their one responsibility was the defeat of the Hun. Admiralty House was always open to our officers; they spent many a delightful evening there around the Admiral's fire; they were constantly entertained at lunch and at dinner, and they were expected to drop in for tea whenever they were in port. But social festivities in the conventional sense were barred. No ladies, except the Admiral's relatives, ever visited the place. Some of the furnishings were rather badly worn, but the Admiral would make no requisitions for new rugs or chairs; every penny in the British exchequer, he insisted, should be used to carry on the war. He was scornfully critical of any naval officers who made a lavish display of silver on their tables; money should be spent for depth charges, torpedoes, and twelve-inch shells, not for ostentation. He was scrupulousness itself in observing all official regulations in the matter of food and other essentials.

For still another reason the Admiral made an ideal commander of American naval forces. He was a strict teetotaller. His abstention was not a war measure; he had always had a strong aversion to alcohol in any form and had never drank a cocktail or a brandy and soda in his life. Dinners at Admiralty House, therefore, were absolutely "dry," and in perfect keeping with American naval regulations.

Though Admiral Bayly was not athletic—his outdoor games being limited to tip-and-run cricket in the Admiralty grounds, which he played with a round bat and a tennis ball—he was a man of wiry physique and a tireless walker. Indeed the most active young men in our navy had great difficulty in keeping pace with him. One of his favourite diversions on a Saturday afternoon was to take a group on a long tramp in the beautiful country surrounding Queenstown; by the time the party reached home, the Admiral, though sixty years old, was usually the freshest of the lot. I still vividly remember a long walk which I took with him in a pelting rain; I recall how keenly he enjoyed it and how young and nimble he seemed to be when we reached home, drenched to the skin. A steep hill led from the shore up to Admiralty House; Sir Lewis used to say that this was a valuable military asset—it did not matter how angry a man might be with him when he started for headquarters, by the time he arrived, this wearisome climb always had the effect of quieting his antagonism. The Admiral was fond of walking up this hill with our young officers; he himself usually reached the top as fresh as a daisy, while his juniors were frequently puffing for breath.

He enjoyed testing out our men in other ways; nothing delighted him more than giving them hard jobs to do—especially when they accomplished the tasks successfully. One day he ordered one of our officers, Lieutenant-Commander Roger Williams, captain of the Duncan, a recent arrival at Queenstown, to cross the Irish Sea and bring back a ship. The joke lay in the fact that this man's destroyer had just come in with her steering gear completely out of commission—a circumstance which Admiral Bayly well understood. Many officers would have promptly asked to be excused on this ground, but not this determined American. He knew that the Admiral was trying to "put something over on him," and he rose to the occasion. The fact that Queenstown Harbour is long and narrow, not wide enough for a destroyer to turn around in, made Commander Williams's problem still more difficult, but by cleverly using his engines, he succeeded in backing out—the distance required was five miles; he took another mile and a half to turn his ship and then he went across the sea and brought back his convoy—all without any steering gear. This officer never once mentioned to the Admiral the difficulties under which he had worked, but his achievement completely won Sir Lewis's heart, and from that time this young man became one of his particular favourites. Indeed, it was the constant demonstration of this kind of fundamental character in our naval men which made the Admiral admire them so.

On occasions Admiral Bayly would go to sea himself—something quite unprecedented and possibly even reprehensible, for it was about the same thing as a commanding general going into the front-line trenches. But the Admiral believed that doing this now and then helped to inspire his men; and, besides that, he enjoyed it—he was not made for a land sailor. He had as flagship a cruiser of about 5,000 tons; he had a way of jumping on board without the slightest ceremony and taking a cruise up the west coast of Ireland. On occasion the Admiral would personally lead an expedition which was going to the relief of a torpedoed vessel, looking for survivors adrift in small boats. One day Admiral Bayly, Captain Pringle of the U.S.S. Melville, Captain Campbell, the Englishman whose exploits with mystery ships had given him worldwide fame, and myself went out on the Active to watch certain experiments with depth charges. It was a highly imprudent thing to do, because a vessel of such draft was an excellent target for torpedoes, but that only added to the zest of the occasion from Admiral Bayly's point of view.

"What a bag this would be for the Hun!" he chuckled. "The American Commander-in-Chief, the British Admiral commanding in Irish waters, a British and an American captain!"

In our mind's eye we could see our picture in the Berlin papers—four distinguished prisoners standing in a row.

A single fact shows with what consideration Admiral Bayly treated his subordinates. The usual naval regulation demands that an officer, coming in from a trip, shall immediately seek out his commander and make a verbal report. Frequently the men came in late in the evening, extremely fatigued; to make the visit then was a hardship and might deprive them of much-needed sleep. Admiral Bayly therefore had a fixed rule that such visits should be made at ten o'clock of the morning following the day of arrival. On such occasions he would often be found seated somewhat grimly behind his desk wholly absorbed in the work in hand. If he were writing or reading his mail he would keep steadily at it, never glancing up until he had finished. He would listen to the report stoically, possibly say a word of praise, and then turn again to the business in hand. Occasionally he would notice that his abruptness had perhaps pained the young American; then he would break into an apologetic smile, and ask him to come up to dinner that evening, and even—this was the greatest honour of all—to spend the night at Admiralty House.

These dinners were great occasions for our men, particularly as they were presided over by Miss Voysey, the Admiral's niece. Miss Voysey, the little spaniel, Patrick, and the Admiral constituted the "family," and the three were entirely devoted to one another. Pat in particular was an indispensable part of this menage; I have never seen any object quite so crestfallen and woe-begone as this little dog when either Miss Voysey or the Admiral spent a day or two away from the house. Miss Voysey was a young woman of great personal charm and cultivation; probably she was the influence that most contributed to the happiness and comfort of our officers at Queenstown. From the day of their arrival she entered into the closest comradeship with the Americans. She kept open house for them: she was always on hand to serve tea in the afternoon, and she never overlooked an opportunity to add to their well-being. As a result of her delightful hospitality Admiralty House really became a home for our officers. Miss Voysey had a genuine enthusiasm for America and Americans; possibly the fact that she was herself an Australian made her feel like one of us; at any rate, there were certain qualities in our men that she found extremely congenial, and she herself certainly won all their hearts. Anyone who wishes to start a burst of enthusiasm from our officers who were stationed at Queenstown need only to mention the name of Miss Voysey. The dignity with which she presided over the Admiral's house, and the success with which she looked out for his comfort, also inspired their respect. Miss Voysey was the leader in all the war charities at Queenstown, and she and the Admiral made it their personal duty to look out for the victims of torpedoed ships. At whatever hour these survivors arrived they were sure of the most warm-hearted attentions from headquarters. In a large hall in the Custom House at the landing the Admiral kept a stock of cigarettes and tobacco, and the necessary gear and supplies for making and serving hot coffee at short notice, and nothing ever prevented him and his people from stationing themselves there to greet and serve the survivors as soon as they arrived—often wet and cold, and sometimes wounded. Even though the Admiral might be at dinner he and Miss Voysey would leave their meal half eaten and hurry to the landing to welcome the survivors. The Admiral and his officers always insisted on serving them, and they would even wash the dishes and put them away for the next time. The Admiral, of course, might have ordered others to do this work, but he preferred to give this personal expression of a real seaman's sympathy for other seamen in distress. It is unnecessary to say that any American officers who could get there in time always lent a hand. I am sure that long after most of the minor incidents of this war have faded from my memory, I shall still keep a vivid recollection of this kindly gentleman, Admiral Sir Lewis Bayly, K.C.B., K.C.M.G., C.V.O., Royal Navy, serving coffee to wretched British, American, French, Italian, Japanese, or negro sailors, with a cheering word for each, and afterward, with sleeves tucked up, calmly washing dishes in a big pan of hot water.

I have my fears that the Admiral will not be particularly pleased by the fact that I have taken all these pains to introduce him to the American public. Excessive modesty is one of his most conspicuous traits. When American correspondents came to Queenstown, Admiral Bayly would receive them courteously. "You can have all you want about the navy," he would say, "but remember—not a word about Lewis Bayly." He was so reticent that he was averse to having his picture taken; even the moving picture operator detailed to get an historic record of the arrival of our destroyers did not obtain a good view of the Admiral, for whenever Sir Lewis saw him coming he would turn his back to the camera! My excuse for describing this very lovable man, however, is because he became almost an object of veneration to our American officers, and because, since for eighteen months he was the commander of the American forces based on Queenstown, he is an object of legitimate interest to the American people. The fact that the Admiral was generally known to our officers as "Uncle Lewis," and that some of those who grew to know him best even called him that to his face, illustrates the delightful relations which were established. Any account of the operations of our navy in the European War would thus be sadly incomplete which ignored the splendid sailor who was largely responsible for their success.

Another officer who contributed greatly to the efficiency of the American forces was Captain E. R. G. R. Evans, R.N., who was detailed by Admiral Jellicoe at my request to act as liaison officer with our destroyers. No more fortunate selection could have been made. Captain Evans had earned fame as second in command of the Scott Antarctic expedition; he had spent much time in the United States and knew our people well; indeed when war broke out he was lecturing in our country on his polar experiences. A few days before our division arrived Captain Evans had distinguished himself in one of the most brilliant naval actions of the war. He was commander of the destroyer-leader Broke—a "destroyer-leader" being a destroyer of unusually large size—and in this battle three British vessels of this type had fought six German destroyers. Captain Evans's ship sank one German destroyer and rammed another, passing clear over its stern and cutting it nearly in two. The whole of England was ringing with this exploit, and it was a decided tribute to our men that Admiral Jellicoe consented to detail the commander of the Broke. He was a man of great intelligence, great energy, and, what was almost equally to the point, he was extremely companionable; whether he was relating his experiences at the South Pole, or telling us of active life on a destroyer, or swapping yarns with our officers, or giving us the value of his practical experiences in the war, Captain Evans was always at home with our men—indeed, he seemed to be almost one of us.

The fact that these American destroyers were placed under the command of a British admiral was somewhat displeasing to certain Americans. I remember that one rather bumptious American correspondent, on a visit to Queenstown, was loud in expressing his disapproval of this state of affairs, and even threatened to "expose" us all in the American press. The fact that I was specifically commissioned as destroyer commander also confused the situation. Yet the procedure was entirely proper, and, in fact, absolutely necessary. My official title was "Commander of the U.S. Naval Forces Operating in European Waters"; besides this, I was the representative of our Navy Department at the British Admiralty and American member of the Allied Naval Council. These duties required my presence in London, which became the centre of all our operations. I was commander not only of our destroyers at Queenstown, but of a destroyer force at Brest, another at Gibraltar, of subchaser forces at Corfu and Plymouth, of a mixed force at the Azores, of the American battle squadrons at Scapa Flow and Berehaven, Ireland, certain naval forces at Murmansk and Archangel in north Russia, and of many other contingents. Clearly it was impossible for me to devote all my time exclusively to any one of these commands; so far as actual operations were concerned it was necessary that particular commanders should control them. All these destroyer squadrons, including that at Queenstown, were under the command of the American Admiral stationed in London; whenever they sailed from Queenstown on specific duty, however, they sailed under orders from Admiral Bayly. Any time, however, I could withdraw these destroyers from Queenstown and send them where the particular necessities required. My position, that is, was precisely the same as that of General Pershing in France. He sent certain American divisions to the British army; as long as they acted with the British they were subject to the orders of Sir Douglas Haig; but General Pershing could withdraw these men at any time for use elsewhere. The actual supreme command of all our forces, army and navy, rested in the hands of Americans; but, for particular operations, they naturally had to take their orders from the particular officer under whom they were stationed.