In this strange warfare against an enemy who fought, for the most part, under the sea, there was no more effective agency than the wireless telegraph or radio. It enabled the convoys to receive warnings and to steer safe courses, it brought help to hundreds of ships in distress, and as an offensive weapon enabled the Allied naval forces to locate and destroy a large number of German submarines. Without the highly developed employment of radio communication, it would have been impossible to protect the transportation of troops, food, and material. More than any other factor, the radio won the war at sea.
As soon as directional wireless was perfected and used, it became practicable to fix the position of a U-boat by means of the messages sent from it, and, as Admiral Sims has said, “Their commanders were particularly careless in the use of wireless. The Germanic passion for conversation could not be suppressed, even though this national habit might lead to the most serious consequences. Possibly also the solitary submarine felt lonely; at any rate, as soon as it reached the Channel or the North Sea, it started an almost uninterrupted flow of talk. The U-boats communicated principally with each other, and also with the Admiralty at home, and in doing this they gave away their position to the assiduously listening Allies. The radio direction-finder, by which we can instantaneously locate the position from which a wireless message is sent, was the mechanism which furnished much of this information. Of course, the Germans knew that their messages revealed their locations, for they had direction-finders as well as we, but the fear of discovery did not act as a curb upon a naturally loquacious nature.”
The radio service of the Corsair was considered unusually efficient by no less an authority than Admiral Wilson, who had occasion to write the following commendation:
Brest, France
29 April, 1918
From: Commander U.S. Naval Forces in France.
To: Commanding Officer U.S. Corsair.
Subject: Forwarding of radio dispatch.
1. An important message from the U.S.S. Seattle, addressed to the Commander U.S. Naval Forces in France, was intercepted by the U.S.S. Corsair and forwarded to destination via the District Commander Rochefort. This message was received in the Communication Office, Brest, about three P.M. Sunday, 28 April, 1918.
2. The Commander U.S. Naval Forces in France is greatly pleased with this proof of the alertness and efficiency of the radio personnel on board the U.S.S. Corsair. The message was not heard by the French high powered station, Brest, and while it was heard by the Flag Radio Station in Brest, it was not copied in its entirety because of interference from near-by stations, and the correct copy as received from the U.S.S. Corsair was of great assistance.
(Signed) Wilson
The Communications Officer of the ship, Ensign Gray, took the keenest interest in maintaining the radio operations at the top notch and a technical training at Annapolis aided a natural ability for this sort of work. The chief radio operator, H. C. Breckel, was an unusually valuable man for his position and felt a pride in the reputation of the Corsair’s radio-room which was shared by his “gang” of assistants. The spirit of the organization was indicated in the incident which caused Admiral Wilson to compliment it. The yacht was moored at Pauillac at the time, and was not required to keep a radio watch, but the operators were on the job nevertheless. The Seattle was standing by a Luckenbach steamer, more than a thousand miles out at sea, which had stripped its turbines and was in urgent need of help from Brest. The message went through because the Corsair caught and relayed it.
Every hour of the day and night an operator sat at a table in the little room which none of the crew was allowed to enter. With a receiver clamped to his head, he listened and heard a myriad faint and phantom voices. The air was filled with them. The mystery, the incredible magic and romance of it all, had become commonplace. Ships were talking to each other hundreds of miles apart, mere routine sometimes, and then the call for help, or the thrilling report of an escape from a submarine attack. And woven through it all was the continuous communication of the high-powered shore stations which shot into space the secret orders and inquiries of admiralties and war departments and statesmen.
The radio log of the Corsair recorded an immense variety of conversations, some of them quite informal, such as this chat with another vessel of the Breton Patrol:
“What do you know? What did you see last night?”
“We don’t know anything. We saw two submarines last night.”
“We saw a ship torpedoed about 7.00 this morning, but did not see the submarine.”
“Have you been copying much?”
“We have been copying mostly GLD messages and SOS messages and a few CHGT.”
“Here is an SOS that came in at 1.10 P.M.—CG. GLD de FFK de “VEK” 47:45 08:40 W. 11025.”
“We got that one and it did not mean that the last message was at 8.00 P.M. last night. We have got a few SOS messages. Have heard a lot of work.”
“Yes, yes.”
“Did you get that Allo from FFK?”
“I just got part of it and am waiting for a repetition.”
“Here it is. Allo 47:30 09:34 W. 1219.
“Thanks. Thanks.”
The garrulous U-boats seem to have kept up an endless stream of chatter, and the radio force of the Corsair learned to know and identify some of them, by their manner of sending, as if they were old acquaintances. One of the reports will give an idea of this curious interchange of communication which was carried on between hostile craft, unseen and hunting each other with deadly intent:
On November 21, 1917, the Corsair, Smith, Preston, Flusser, and Lamson were returning to Base, position approximately Latitude 47° 30′ North, Longitude 8° 40′ West. A number of enemy submarines were intercommunicating as follows:
At 8.36 P.M. one sub called another who answered, and two messages were sent. These signals came in very strong which indicated that subs were close to us.
At 8.59 P.M. the same sub transmitted another message to the one communicated with before.
At 9.01 P.M. a different sub called three others, one of which was the first sender.
At 9.18 P.M. Bruges began sending a message to the sub that called at 9.01 P.M.
At 9.57 P.M. Bruges was still heard.
At 10.16 P.M. a different sub called another which was the one who received the messages at 8.36 P.M.
At 9.36 P.M. the Corsair was called and received a message from Brest.
At 10.54 and again at 10.56 P.M. the Corsair was called by an enemy submarine using P.F.B., the same call used by Brest.
At 10.59 Corsair answered and told him to go ahead. Sub sent “3 H 5” and then his signals died out.
At 11.04 P.M. sub called Corsair and told Corsair to go ahead with message.
At 11.10 P.M. the same sub called a British convoy.
At 11.15 P.M. sub called Corsair and said go ahead with message.
At 11.16 Corsair called sub and sent a message, the groups of which were taken from several intercepted German messages.
At 11.17 sub acknowledged Corsair’s message.
At 11.25 P.M. sub called Corsair and asked for a repetition of the second group.
Corsair did not answer.
Sub repeated message. This time he was impatient as he said “Go ahead” twice.
The subs continued to intercommunicate during the night, and also with Bruges.
The radio service of the Corsair in the war zone was so important and essential a part of her activities that a description of it in some detail seems well worth recounting. Chief Radio Electrician H. F. Breckel went to the trouble of preparing a narrative which reads as follows, and it goes without saying that he was the man best fitted to undertake such a task:
I reported on board the U.S.S. Corsair, then at the Navy Yard, Brooklyn, during the last week in May, 1917, in accordance with orders from the Bureau of Navigation. At that time I was attached to the U.S.S. Ohio, then at Yorktown, Virginia, which was the war base of the Atlantic Fleet. Reporting to Ensign Gray, Communications Officer of the Corsair, I was told that I would be in charge of the operation of the radio department and to get things in shape for a long cruise away from any established base of supplies.
H. A. BRECKEL, CHIEF RADIO OPERATOR
ELECTRICIANS SWAN AND PLUMMER, OF THE HIGHLY EFFICIENT “RADIO GANG”
My first step was to make sure of a personnel which would furnish efficient service under all conditions. Four operators were necessary and this number was soon sent to the ship, and a better group of men could not have been found in any vessel. The radio force comprised:
Ensign Gray, U.S.N.R.F. (Radio Officer)
Harry F. Breckel, U.S.N. (Chief Electrician, Radio)
James A. Plummer, U.S.N.R.F. (Electrician, 1st Class, Radio)
Meriam H. Swan, U.S.N.R.F. (Electrician, 2nd Class, Radio)
Ivan E. Davis, U.S.N. (Electrician, 2nd Class, Radio)
Each man was given a thorough examination when he reported on board and the results indicated that all of them were proficient and reliable operators. We promptly set to work and the radio-room fairly hummed, day and night. The transmitting apparatus was inspected, calibrated to the proper wave lengths, and tested. The receiving apparatus was also overhauled, minor repairs made, and adjusted to receive the various wave lengths used by other U.S. naval vessels. Then the inspection included the various switch-boards, storage batteries, heating and lighting systems, motor generators, etc.
The radio-room was located on the main deck with doors opening directly on deck, so it was necessary to devise a lighting circuit which should automatically switch off the lamps when the doors were opened, as the ship moved in total darkness. After stocking up with spare parts, the antenna was given careful attention, for nothing is more exasperating than to have your wires carry away and to have to replace them in heavy weather.
During a trial run in Long Island Sound, the radio installation was tested under normal conditions of service and was found to be in first class shape. The very fine type of apparatus aboard the Corsair made only a few changes necessary in order to make it conform with the standards of the Navy. We operators were fortunate in stepping into a radio-room so efficiently and completely furnished. There was a large desk with space for the Radio Officer in his work of coding and decoding despatches, a bookshelf, several chairs, a large wall settee which I used as a bunk, and a safe in which were kept the code books, ciphers, and other confidential material. With regard to comfort, there was no better “radio shack” aboard any ship of the Navy.
There was steam heat and running water which was cold, but we discovered that we could obtain hot water for scrubbing clothes, paint-work, etc., from the steam radiator. I ask you, fellow “Sparks” and “ex-Sparks” of the Navy, can you picture such comfort and convenience in a real, honest-to-goodness man-of-war? And it all helped to maintain good service. Our gang also had a percolator along with the necessary watts from the ship’s generator, and the outfit could turn out a brew of “boiler compound” that would keep a Mississippi colored gentleman with the hook-worm wide awake. We surely had a home on board the old Corsair!
At last, on that memorable 14th of June the ship pointed her bow to the eastward and steamed slowly down the Bay, with the dreary moans of fog-horns for farewell, and no cheers or blaring bands or fluttering flags. In the radio-room there was very little to do as we had been instructed to keep communication down to the minimum, for the enemy might infer from the amount of radio traffic in the air that some unusual movement was under way, or he might plot the exact positions by means of a direction-finder or radio compass. At the beginning of the war, naval vessels had a characteristic “spark” or “tone” quite different from the average commercial or naval shore stations, and an operator familiar with these variations could readily tell which was which. It was easy to understand why the troop convoys were kept as silent as possible.
For several days there was little radio work besides copying the Time and Weather reports which were broadcasted from the Arlington station, and intercepting for the skipper’s information all radio traffic heard by the operator on watch. In mid-ocean almost nothing was heard because we were out of range of the ordinary “spark stations,” but our “long wave” receiver, constructed by our own force, had no trouble in copying messages from such stations as Darien (Canal Zone), Tuckerton, New Jersey, Boston, and other high-powered naval radio stations while the Corsair was half way across the Atlantic. It was excellent work when you consider the fact that the special apparatus and “hook up” used were of the simplest type and that an amateur Audion detector bulb was employed.
When about five days out, the real job began. The Corsair was called by the flagship Seattle and a long code message received by the operator on watch. The apparatus functioned perfectly and there was every reason to believe that very little trouble, barring accidents, would be encountered. Soon we received orders to get in touch with the Birmingham, flagship of the second division of the convoy and to forward a message to her. After joining the second division, there was absolute silence for several days, and no radio signals were heard at all until we drew near to the coast of France and the edge of the war zone. Then traffic began to be heavy and the operators were busy copying messages into the “intercepted log book” almost every minute of the day and night.
This log was of great value to the captain, for the radio station of a fighting ship is an information bureau which maintains intimate touch with events occurring in other areas. In these days a man-of-war without a radio-room would be almost deaf, dumb, and blind. We knew that we were actually in the war when the distress calls from sinking ships or those which were under attack by submarines began to come hurtling through the air. This in itself was enough to prove the priceless value of the radio in saving life. For some time I kept a chart upon which were plotted all the positions of vessels which transmitted radio calls for help, but within two months so many of these calls had been received that I had little space left in which to record the new ones.
A typical distress call would come in like this:
SOS SOS SOS 48° 12′ North, 12° 00′ West. Torpedoed Sinking. S.S. John Luckenbach 1025.
When a submarine was sighted by an Allied vessel, a simple form of position report was broadcasted by the operator at once, as follows:
Allo (French for Hello) 49° 15′ N. 09° 06′ W. 0815 MXA.
The radio operator continued to broadcast these signals until an acknowledgment was received from one of the larger, more powerful coastal radio stations which immediately broadcasted the message on high power to all ships and stations for their information. The radio operators on vessels at sea which received this general warning would at once notify the captain who could thereby avoid the dangerous locality or proceed to the aid of the ship in distress.
After we had arrived at Saint-Nazaire the work of the radio-room did not cease, for we kept a continuous watch, intercepting every message of importance which we were able to copy. When the Corsair was ordered to proceed to Brest, it was necessary to observe the regulation which required all vessels desiring to enter that port to transmit by radio a special form of message, addressed to the port authorities, requesting permission. Failure to do so would have risked bombardment by the shore batteries. The reply from Brest stated whether or not the channel was clear of mines and enemy submarines.
The radio shore station at Brest was about five miles from the American naval base and was an old type, low frequency installation. The “spark” at the time of our arrival was very difficult to read through atmospheric electrical disturbances, and did not have sufficient range. However, after the American base was permanently organized, a modern installation replaced the old one and American naval operators were placed on duty to handle all radio traffic that concerned our naval and other shipping. This was a great improvement over the early method of letting the French operators handle it.
When the Corsair went out on patrol duty, the radio force caught many distress calls and submarine warnings, and the information enabled the ship to render aid on several occasions. In working with the Aphrodite when we covered adjoining patrol areas, the captains were able to exchange information concerning new situations to be dealt with and to operate in concert. The messages intercepted from the British radio station at Lands End were particularly useful and the operators kept a sharp lookout for them. At least one crew of survivors of a French fishing vessel was rescued by the Corsair because of a message intercepted from this coastal station.
In the later duty on escort with the convoys, the amount of traffic handled by the radio force was largely increased. Because of difficulties unforeseen, such as stormy weather, break-downs, etc., it was rarely that a convoy was sighted in the exact position designated. The radio enabled the escort commander to ask the convoy for definite information as to location, course, direction, and speed. It also kept the convoys clear of the enemy mine-fields. I recall an instance when the Corsair put into Penzance. The day before sailing from that port the radio operator on duty intercepted a message from the French high-powered station at Nantes, stating that the entrance to Brest had been mined by German submarines and that all ships were forbidden to approach. The Corsair thereupon waited at Penzance with her convoy until word was received that the Brest channel had been swept clear.
The severest test for the radio personnel came in December, 1917, when a hurricane almost finished the yacht. Early in the storm it was almost impossible for the operator on watch to stay in his chair although it was screwed to the deck. The climax came in the dead of night when a terrific sea struck the Corsair on the port side, stove in bulkheads, and lifted the hatch over the radio-room clear of the deck and allowed about a ton of icy sea water to pour in. The operator was half-drowned, as well as the whole installation, and the apparatus was rendered useless for the time. As the seas got worse, the water forced itself into the radio-room through the doors in spite of the fact that every crack was calked as tightly as possible. More than a foot of water piled up on the floor and there was no system of drainage, so every time the vessel rolled or pitched it all swashed up at one side of the room or the other.
AT THE EMERGENCY WHEEL. HEAVY WEATHER OFFSHORE
THE TRIM, IMMACULATE NAVY MAN. AFTER COALING SHIP
About this time the depth charges washed overboard and I can tell you that the “Sparks” on board the Corsair were sure they were up against a big proposition. Here we were, with the entire receiver swimming in water, the transmitting panel splashed with it, the motor generator submerged most of the time, our lead-in insulator and lead-in frequently grounded by the huge waves which swept clear over us, and yet facing a probable order from the skipper to send out a distress call. We were all soaked to the skin, impossible to brew any Java to warm us up, and all the time working hard to get the apparatus back into shape.
I gave up the receiver as hopeless and tried to clear the grounds on the motor generator while the rest of the gang tried to bale out the water, but the ocean came in faster than they could scoop it out. However, we managed to keep the water below the level of the commutator and the collector rings of the motor generator, and after clearing some of the worst grounds, during which the toilers were most beautifully “jolted,” we gave the transmitter a short test and it worked fairly well, considering the circumstances. Then I made my way up to the boat deck and between seas managed to clean a layer of salt off the lead-in insulator and gave it a heavy coat of oil.
Plummer and the rest of the gang were drying the various switches and other parts of the transmitter and we managed to fix things so that an S.O.S. could have been sent out. And all hands thought it was about time to shoot it. The deck force succeeded in nailing up some doors and canvas along the weather side of the radio-room, which was all that prevented it from being smashed in. If our bulkheads had gone there would have been no chance of keeping the transmitter in working condition.
When we found refuge at Vigo, a survey of the damage was made. The radio-room was simply a mess, like the rest of the ship, but within eight hours we had the entire installation restored to the best of health and ready for any emergency. Considering the fact that the radio-room had been flooded with sea water for two and a half days, we flattered ourselves that it was mighty speedy work.
During the long stay at Lisbon for repairs, we made a thorough overhauling of the radio equipment but had no traffic to handle excepting the press news from the Eiffel Tower which we copied for the crew and for the American Legation. Our visit at Lisbon will always be remembered as a very happy one. The people were most hospitable and seemed to enjoy entertaining the bluejackets. The radio-room was still in communication with Brest, 850 miles distant, but there was no occasion for talking with the base station.
The work of the radio force while on escort duty, after we returned to France, was much like that of the earlier cruises. It made us proud to receive a letter of commendation from Admiral Wilson for forwarding a message intercepted from the Seattle. I was sorry when, for a time, I was transferred to shore duty with the District Commander at Cherbourg and had to leave the radio-room of the Corsair. Plummer, my right-hand man, was left in charge of the situation. Shortly before the yacht sailed to the United States, I was lucky enough to make a little visit aboard. Nothing would have pleased me more than a chance to make the homeward bound voyage with the old crowd.
When the Corsair went to France, she had as fine a crew of men as were ever assembled on a deck. The radio force, with whom I worked and lived, got on splendidly together and made a record of successful operation which, I feel sure, compared favorably with that of any other naval vessel engaged in similar duties and laboring under the same kind of difficulties.