BIGGEST TRANSPORTATION JOB IN HISTORY—TWO MILLION TROOPS CARRIED 3,000 MILES OVERSEAS—FIRST CONVOYS ATTACKED BY U-BOATS NO AMERICAN TROOP-SHIP SUNK, NOT ONE SOLDIER ABOARD LOST THROUGH ENEMY ACTION, ON THE WAY TO FRANCE—NAVAL TRANSPORTS TOOK 911,000 TO EUROPE, BROUGHT HOME 1,700,000—U. S. NAVY PROVIDED FOUR-FIFTHS OF ESCORTS.

What was the greatest thing America did in the World War?" That is a question I have often been asked, and it is easily answered. It was the raising and training of an army of 4,000,000 men, a navy of over 600,000, and the safe transportation of more than two million troops to Europe. And all this was accomplished in eighteen months.

When the issue hung in the balance, in the spring of 1918, Lloyd George said: "It is a race between Wilson and Hindenburg." Could America land enough soldiers in France in time to check the German offensive? That was the one vital question.

Carrying the American Expeditionary Force across the Atlantic and bringing our troops home has been justly termed the "biggest transportation job in history." Sailing through submarine-infested seas, they constantly faced the menace of attack from an unseen foe, as well as the perils of war-time navigation. Yet not one American troop-ship was sunk on the way to France, and not one soldier aboard a troop transport manned by the United States Navy lost his life through enemy action.

That achievement has never been equalled. It was not only the most important but the most successful operation of the war. The Germans never believed it could be done. When Rear Admiral Albert Gleaves, commander of the Cruiser and Transport Force, came to Washington for his final instructions, just before the first troop convoys sailed for Europe, as he was leaving my office, I said to him:

Admiral, you are going on the most important, the most difficult, and the most hazardous duty assigned to the Navy. Good bye.

That was not overstating it in any particular. No nation in history had ever attempted to transport so huge an army overseas. It would have been difficult enough under the most ideal conditions, with nothing to hinder or molest.

The German navy could have no greater object than to prevent our troops from getting to France. There could have been no greater victory for them than to have sunk a transport loaded with American soldiers. Words can hardly express the strain of those anxious days when our first transports were running the gauntlet to France; or our relief when we received the news that they had all arrived safely at St. Nazaire.

Sailing in a dense fog on June 14, 1917, the first group arrived on June 26th; the last, the cargo ships, on July 2nd. The first group, Gleaves reported, was attacked by submarines the night of June 22nd, at 10:15 p. m.; the second group encountered two, and a torpedo was fired at the fourth group on June 28th. That they had escaped the submarines was an added cause for rejoicing. Not a ship was damaged or a man injured, and an officer reported: "We didn't lose but one horse, and that was a mule."

"The German Admiralty had boasted that not one American soldier should set foot in France," Gleaves said. "The bluff had been called, and it could not have been called at a more psychological moment."

The question of the hour had been successfully answered; France, as well as America, celebrated the event in a very delirium of rejoicing. This was the beginning of that vast stream of troops and supplies that poured across the Atlantic until the Germans were overwhelmed.

Getting that first group of transports together was a job. The army had only a few troop-ships, none of them fitted for trans-Atlantic service. The Navy had only three—the Henderson, just completed; the Hancock, and the former German commerce raider, Prince Eitel Friedrich, which we converted into an auxiliary cruiser and renamed the DeKalb. The Army secured fourteen mail and cargo steamships, and hastily converted them. It had to be quick work. We had not contemplated sending troops so soon. From a military standpoint it would have been better, many experts in this country and Europe held, to have retained the regulars for a while to aid in training the new officers and raw recruits, and not to have begun transportation until we had a larger army.

But war-weary France, grimly holding back the Germans, and England, beset by submarines, needed cheering up; needed visible evidence that reËnforcement was certain, that the Americans were coming. Marshal Joffre asked that some troops be sent at the earliest possible moment—"a regiment or two, if possible a division." He told Secretary Baker that he looked forward to the day when the United States should build up its "splendid army of 400,000 or 500,000." What must he have thought when he saw an American army of 4,000,000 men, with two millions of them in France! He appreciated the necessity, he said, of retaining the regulars to train the new army, and knew that few could be spared. But the very sight of American troops on French soil, of our men marching through the streets of Paris, would be a tremendous inspiration to all France. The wise old Marshal was right.

Secretary Baker immediately began his preparations to send troops. When he told Congress he would have an army of 500,000 men in France in the summer of 1918, a leading senator declared it was "impossible." It was impossible to those without vision. But the Secretary of War's figures were increased three-fold.

General Pershing was chosen to command the forces to be sent to Europe, and was summoned from the Mexican border. He arrived in Washington May 10th. Preparations were already under way by both Army and Navy. Officers of both services were working out in detail the system by which they were to secure ships and coÖperate in transportation.

I selected Gleaves, then in command of our destroyer force, to direct the troop transportation, and I never had reason to regret this choice. No man could have done a big job better; no job was ever better done. On May 23, he was summoned to Washington and informed that he had been chosen to command the first expedition to France.

General Pershing and his staff sailed May 28th on the Baltic and arrived at Liverpool June 8, reaching France at Boulogne, June 13th. The troop convoys sailed from New York the next day. Admiral Gleaves, on his flagship, the cruiser Seattle, was in command. The vessels were arranged in four groups, which sailed six hours apart:

Group 1—Transports: Saratoga, Havana, Tenadores, Pastores. Escort: Seattle, armored cruiser; DeKalb, auxiliary cruiser; Corsair, converted yacht; Wilkes, Terry, Roe, destroyers.

Group 2—Transports: Henderson, Momus, Antilles, Lenape. Escort: Birmingham, scout cruiser; Aphrodite, converted yacht; Burrows, Fanning, Lamson, destroyers.

Group 3—Transports: Mallory, Finland, San Jacinto. Escort: Charleston, cruiser; Cyclops, fuel ship; Allen, McCall, Preston, destroyers.

Group 4—Transports: Montanan, Dakotan, El Occidente, Edward Luckenbach. Escort: St. Louis, cruiser; Hancock, cruiser transport; Shaw, Parker, Ammen, Flusser, destroyers.

No convoy that ever sailed had a stronger escort or was more closely guarded. Their protection was our supreme duty. Before they left, I cabled Admiral Sims: "I hereby instruct you to furnish escorts, to consist of one division of destroyers for each convoy group from the point of meeting to the point of debarkation."

Submarines were reported operating in the area that had to be crossed. Three of the groups encountered U-boats, Admiral Gleaves reported, and Admiral Sims cabled on June 30th, "First group attacked by submarines, longitude 25 degrees 30, before arriving at first rendezvous; second group attacked longitude 8"; and the next day he cabled: "It is practically certain that enemy knew position of the first rendezvous and accordingly sent a submarine to intercept before juncture with destroyers."

About 10:15 p. m., June 22, the officer of the deck and others on the bridge of the Seattle, which was leading the first group, saw a white streak about 50 yards ahead of the ship, crossing from starboard to port. The cruiser was immediately run off 90 degrees to starboard at full speed. The officer of the deck said, "Report to the admiral a torpedo has just crossed our bow." General alarm was sounded, torpedo crews being already at their guns. When Gleaves reached the bridge, the DeKalb and one of the transports astern had opened fire, the former's shell fitted with tracers. Other vessels of the convoy turned to the right and left. The destroyer Wilkes crossed the Seattle's bow at full speed and turned toward the left column in the direction of the firing.

Two torpedoes passed close to the DeKalb from port to starboard, one about 30 yards ahead of the ship and the other under her stern, as the ship was turning to the northward. Captain Gherardi stated that at 10:25 the wake of a torpedo was sighted directly across the DeKalb's bow. A second torpedo wake was reported ten minutes later by the after lookouts.

The torpedoes fired at the Havana passed from starboard to port about 40 yards ahead of the ship, leaving a distinct wake which was visible for 400 or 500 yards.

The submarine sighted by the Seattle was seen by the Wilkes and passed under that ship, Lieutenant Van Metre reported, stating that the oscillator gave unmistakable evidence of the presence of a submarine. The radio operator at the receiver reported, "Submarine very close to us." As the U-boat passed, it was followed by the Wilkes, which ran down between the columns, chasing the enemy.

The Birmingham, leading the second group, encountered two submarines, the first about 11:50 a. m., June 26, in latitude 47° 01´ N. longitude 06° 28´ W., about a hundred miles off the coast of France, and the second two hours later. The Wadsworth investigated the wake of the first without further discovery. The Cummings sighted the bow wave of the second at a distance of 1,500 yards, and headed for it at a speed of 25 knots. The gun pointers at the forward gun saw the periscope time and again, but as the ship was zigzagging, it disappeared each time before they could fire at it. The Cummings passed about 25 yards ahead of a mass of bubbles which were coming up from the wake and let go a depth-charge just ahead. Several pieces of timber, quantities of oil, bubbles and debris came to the surface. Nothing more was seen of the submarine. The attacks on the second group occurred about 800 miles to the eastward of where the attacks had been made on the first group.

The voyage of the third group, Admiral Gleaves reported, was uneventful; but the Kanawha, with the fourth group, on June 28th, fired on what was believed to be a submarine. The Kanawha's commander saw the object; and a minute or two later the port after gun's crew reported sighting a submarine, and opened fire. The lookouts said they saw the U-boat under the water's surface, about where the shots were landing. Lieutenant (junior grade) Lee C. Carey, in charge of the firing, reported that he saw the submarine fire two torpedoes in the direction of the convoy, which sheered off when the alarm was sounded. "All the officers and men aft had observed the torpedoes traveling through the water and cheered loudly when they saw a torpedo miss a transport," reported the Kanawha's commander.

When he was in Paris Admiral Gleaves was shown a confidential bulletin of information issued by the French General Staff, dated July 6, which contained the following:

Ponta Delgada was bombarded at 9 a. m., July 4. This is undoubtedly the submarine which attacked the Fern Leaf on June 25, four hundred miles north of the Azores and sank the Benguela and Syria on the 29th of June 100 miles from Terceira (Azores). This submarine was ordered to watch in the vicinity of the Azores at such a distance as it was supposed the enemy American convoy would pass from the Azores.

"It appears from the French report just quoted above and from the location of the attack that enemy submarines had been notified of our approach and were probably scouting across our route," Gleaves said.

On the evening of July 3rd, I had the pleasure of announcing the safe arrival of all our convoys, without the loss of a man. This occasioned general rejoicing in France, England and Italy, as well as America. For us, the national holiday that followed was truly a glorious Fourth. Secretary Baker wrote the thanks of the Army, adding: "This splendid achievement is an auspicious beginning, and it has been characterized throughout by the most cordial and effective coÖperation between the two military services." In replying, "in behalf of the men whose courage gave safe conduct to courage," I said that the Navy waited "in full confidence for the day when the valor of your soldiers will write new and splendid chapters in the history of our liberty-loving land."

The policy of the Department, with reference to the safety of ships carrying troops to France, was laid down in this cablegram which I wrote with my own hand:

Washington, D. C., July 28, 1917.

Admiral Sims:

The paramount duty of the destroyers in European waters is principally the proper protection of transports with American troops. Be certain to detail an adequate convoy of destroyers and in making the detail bear in mind that everything is secondary to having a sufficient number to insure protection to American troops.

Josephus Daniels.

From the small beginning was built up the great Cruiser and Transport Force which took to France 911,047 American soldiers, and brought home 1,700,000—a total of 2,600,000 carried across the Atlantic in naval transports. In less than a year this Force grew to a fleet of 83 vessels, and after the armistice comprised 142 vessels carrying troops, with facilities for 13,914 officers and 349,770 men. Rear Admiral Gleaves' headquarters were at Hoboken, N. J., where most of the transports docked. His chief of staff was Captain De W. Blamer. The Newport News Division was commanded by Rear Admiral Hilary P. Jones, now commander-in-chief of the Atlantic Fleet, with Captain J. F. Hines as his chief of staff.

Of the 194,965 troops which sailed before the end of 1917, 113,429 were carried in American vessels, all but 8,535 of these in our transports; and 75,500 were taken in British ships. In January, February and March, 1918, British vessels carried 57,399; U. S. naval transports, 123,917. Foreign shipping in large quantity did not become available until after the famous "March drive" made by the Germans in 1918. Then the most important thing to all the Allies was getting American soldiers to Europe, and British, French and Italian ships in numbers were furnished. In April, 1918, 67,553 sailed in U. S. transports, 47,362 in British ships. In May the British carried more than we did, 133,795 to our 99,561, besides 12,127 carried in Italian vessels leased by the British. In the next five months up to the armistice, 520,410 were carried in U. S. naval transports, and 28,973 in other American ships; British vessels carried 692,931; British-leased Italian ships 53,493 and French, Italian and other foreign ships, 38,218.

The records of the Cruiser and Transport Force show that, in all, 2,079,880 American troops were transported to France before the armistice—952,581 in American vessels, 911,047 of these in U. S. naval transports; 1,006,987 in British ships; 68,246 in British-leased Italian vessels; 52,066 in French, Italian and other foreign ships. American vessels carried 46.25 per cent, 43.75 of this in U. S. Naval transports; British vessels 48.25 per cent; British-leased Italian ships, 3 per cent; French, Italian and others, 2.5 per cent.

The purely naval duty was escorting these vessels, guarding them against attack by raiders or submarines. Of this the British navy performed 14.125 per cent, the French 3.125, and the United States Navy 82.75 per cent, over four-fifths. Of the total number of troops, 61,617 were under French escort, 297,903 under British escort, and 1,720,360 sailed under the escort of the United States Navy.

But that is only half the story. When hostilities ended, that vast army had to be brought back from Europe. For this, very little foreign shipping was available. Of the 1,933,156 Americans returned from November 11, 1918, to the end of September, 1919, the Navy brought home 1,675,733; all other vessels, American and foreign, 257,423. During hostilities we had returned 11,211 sick, wounded, casuals, etc.; some were returned after September, so that the total number brought by the Navy from Europe to America ran well over 1,700,000.

Of the total troop and official passenger movement incident to the war, approximately 4,000,000, the Navy transported more than 2,600,000. Not only did the Navy man and operate the United States transports, but provided the food for this vast army of soldiers en route. And during the entire war period, four-fifths of all the American troops who sailed were guarded by American cruisers, destroyers and patrol craft. This country could not have sent over nearly so many troops as it did, if we had not been aided by the British, French and Italian vessels. This was no gift, of course. The United States Government paid for every soldier transported on a foreign vessel. The aid of our Allies was invaluable, and highly appreciated. They should be given full credit for all they did; but this should not detract one iota from the great task performed by our Navy, which was the biggest factor in putting through this biggest job of the war.

Not a single vessel of the Cruiser and Transport Force was torpedoed on the way to France. Two, the President Lincoln and the Covington, were sunk returning, as was also the Antilles, an Army chartered transport not manned by the Navy. Two American transports were torpedoed, the Finland, manned by a civilian crew, and the Mount Vernon, manned by the Navy; but both were successfully navigated to port and repaired. The Tuscania and the Moldavia, sunk while carrying American troops to Europe, were British chartered vessels, as was also the Dwinsk, which was sunk while returning.

The first transport lost was the Antilles, October 17, 1917, two days out of Brest. Eleven days later the Finland was struck by a torpedo. In both cases there was loss of life and confusion among the civilian crews. After these experiences, it was decided to man all American troop-ships entirely by naval personnel; and it was not until May 31st that another was lost.

Returning to America, in company with the Susquehanna, Antigone and Rijndam, the President Lincoln (Commander P. W. Foote), was steaming along, 500 miles from land. At 9 o'clock a terrific explosion occurred on the port side of the Lincoln, 120 feet from the bow. In an instant there was another explosion in the after part of the vessel. The ship had been struck by three torpedoes, fired in a salvo from a submarine. Two struck together near the bow, the other near the stern. Officers and lookouts had sighted the wakes, but the torpedoes were so close that it was impossible to avoid them.

There were 715 persons on board, including 30 officers and men of the army, a number of whom were sick, two helpless from paralysis. It was realized that the vessel could not long remain afloat, but there was no confusion. Crew and passengers coolly waited for and obeyed orders. Boats were lowered and life-rafts placed in the water. Fifteen minutes after the torpedoes struck, all hands except the guns'-crews were ordered to abandon the ship.

Gunners stood at their stations, awaiting any opportunity for a shot at the submarine. Commander Foote and several other officers remained aboard. All the rest of the ship's company were in the boats or on the rafts. When the guns began firing, they broke into cheers. The firing was kept up until the water covered the main deck, and the gunners did not leave their posts until they were ordered off just before the ship sank.

With her colors flying, twenty-five minutes after the torpedoes exploded, the Lincoln went down. Three officers and 23 men were lost. Seven working below decks were either killed by the explosion, or drowned by the inrush of water. Sixteen men on a raft alongside were caught by the current and carried under as the ship went down. The officers lost were Passed Assistant Surgeon L. C. Whiteside, the ship's medical officer; Paymaster Andrew Mowat, the supply officer, and Assistant Paymaster J. D. Johnson. Dr. Whiteside and Paymaster Mowat had seen that the men under their charge had gotten away safely, the doctor having attended to placing the sick in the boat provided for them. Paymaster Johnson was on the raft which was pulled down as the ship plunged.

Admiral Sims cabled that the "small loss of life is due to thorough discipline of ship's company, and excellent seamanship of Commander Foote." This he said was "evidenced by actual results even after the ship had sunk and the personnel was adrift in boats and on rafts." Admiral Gleaves wrote to Foote: "Your action and judgment under such trying conditions were in accord with the best traditions of the service." Half an hour after the ship went down a large submarine emerged, and went among the boats and rafts, seeking the commander and other senior officers, whom they wished to take prisoners. The Germans could identify only one officer, Lieutenant Edouard Victor M. Isaacs, who was taken on board and carried away. The submarine—it was the U-90,—remained in the vicinity for two hours, and returned again in the afternoon, evidently seeking to attack other vessels of the convoy. But they were far away, having, in accordance with standard instructions to avoid attack, put on all steam and left the scene as soon as the Lincoln was hit.

The U-boat was so menacing that some feared it would fire upon the life-craft. When several of the crew went to its gun, apparently preparing it for action, a man in one of the boats exclaimed: "Good night! Here come the fireworks!"

By dark the boats and rafts had been lashed together. Lighted lanterns were hoisted and flares and signal lights burned every few minutes. None knew when aid would arrive. Distress signals had been sent out, but the nearest destroyers were 250 miles away, protecting another convoy. Military necessity might prevent their being detached.

Five hundred miles from land, waiting for aid until far in the night, the men cheered and sang such songs as "Over There," "Keep the Home Fires Burning," "Hail, Hail, the Gang's All Here," and "Where do we go from here, boys?" At 11 p. m. the destroyers Smith (Lieutenant Commander Kenyon) and Warrington (Lieutenant Commander Klein) arrived. With only the wireless distress message sent at 9 a. m. to guide them, they had located the life-craft in the middle of the night, though boats and rafts had drifted 15 miles. The hundreds of survivors were taken aboard the destroyers, which remained until daylight to search for survivors, departing at 6 a. m.

Though their decks were crowded with the Lincoln's officers and men, the Smith and Warrington made a fast run to Brest, arriving there next day. En route they sighted the wake of a periscope and rained depth-bombs on the very submarine which had sunk the Lincoln, but by descending to a great depth the U-90 escaped.

That it was the same U-boat was learned positively when, months afterward, Lieutenant Isaacs escaped from prison. His experiences aboard the submarine and in Germany make a thrilling story. Describing his capture, after the sinking of the Lincoln, and his being taken aboard the U-boat, Lieutenant Isaacs said:

We passed north of the Shetlands into the North Sea, the Skagerrak, the Cattegat, and the Sound into the Baltic. Proceeding to Kiel, we passed down the canal through Heligoland Bight to Wilhelmshaven.

On the way to the Shetlands we fell in with two American destroyers, the Smith and the Warrington, who dropped 22 depth bombs on us. We were submerged to a depth of 60 meters and weathered the storm, although five bombs were very close and shook us up considerably. The information I had been able to collect was, I considered, of enough importance to warrant my trying to escape. Accordingly in Danish waters I attempted to jump from the deck of the submarine, but was caught and ordered below.

The German Navy authorities took me from Wilhelmshaven to Karlsruhe, where I was turned over to the army. Here I met officers of all the Allied armies, and with them I attempted several escapes, all of which were unsuccessful. After three weeks at Karlsruhe I was sent to the American and Russian officers' camp at Villingen. On the way I attempted to escape from the train by jumping out of the window. With the train making about 40 miles an hour, I landed on the opposite railroad track and was so severely wounded by the fall that I could not get away from my guard. They followed me, firing continuously. When they recaptured me they struck me on the head and body with their guns until one broke his rifle. It snapped in two at the small of the stock as he struck me with the butt on the back of the head.

I was given two weeks solitary confinement, for this attempt to escape, but continued trying, for I was determined to get my information back to the Navy. Finally, on the night of October 6, assisted by several American Army officers, I was able to effect an escape by short-circuiting all lighting circuits in the prison camp and cutting through barbed-wire fences surrounding the camp. This had to be done in the face of a heavy rifle fire from the guards. But it was difficult for them to see in the darkness, so I escaped unscathed.

In company with an American officer in the French Army, I made my way for seven days and nights over mountains to the Rhine, which to the south of Baden forms the boundary between Germany and Switzerland. After a four-hour crawl on hands and knees I was able to elude the sentries along the Rhine. Plunging in, I made for the Swiss shore. After being carried several miles down the stream, being frequently submerged by the rapid current, I finally reached the opposite shore and gave myself up to the Swiss gendarmes, who turned me over to the American legation at Berne. From there I made my way to Paris and then London and finally Washington, where I arrived four weeks after my escape from Germany.

It was my pleasure to greet Lieutenant Isaacs on his return, congratulate him on his escape, and commend him for the heroic courage and enterprise he had displayed under such trying circumstances.

The Covington (Captain R. D. Hasbrouck) was torpedoed July 1st at 9:15 p. m., the torpedo smashing a hole in the vessel's side and throwing into the air a column of water higher than the smokestacks. Engine and fire rooms quickly filled, the ship lost headway rapidly and in fifteen minutes lay dead in the water.

Listing heavily to port, it was feared the vessel might take a lurch and sink suddenly. Twenty-one boats were lowered, three had been smashed by the explosion. "Abandon ship," was ordered. The bugle sounded "Silence," and silently the men went down the Jacob's ladders as if they were at drill. The destroyer Smith stood close by, taking the men from the boats. Thirty officers and men remained aboard with the Captain until an hour after the torpedo struck.

Hoping to save the transport, a salvage party was organized, to go on board as soon as the men could be collected from rafts and boats. The little Smith, which in addition to its own crew of one hundred, had aboard 800 of the Covington's officers and men, encircled the transport to keep off the submarine and prevent it from firing another torpedo.

Another destroyer, the Reade, came to the rescue; at 4:20 a. m. the British salvage tugs, Revenger and Woonda arrived, and at 5:30 o'clock the American tug Concord reached the scene. The Smith, which was ordered to take to port all the crew not needed, at 5:20 left for Brest. By 6 o'clock the three tugs had the Covington in tow, and were making from five to six knots through the water. Two more destroyers joined shortly after to guard the crippled ship from attack. She was then listed about twenty degrees to port, and about noon took a quick list of ten degrees more.

By 1:30 p. m. she had heeled to an angle of 45 degrees. Sensing sinking conditions, the working party was directed to leave the ship, the Nicholson taking them off. At 2:30 the Covington began to sink rapidly by the stern and disappeared two minutes later. The ship went down with her colors flying.

The only fighting ship of the Cruiser and Transport Force that was sunk—in fact, the only large United States naval vessel lost during the war—was the armored cruiser San Diego (Captain H. H. Christy) sunk by a mine off Fire Island, N. Y., July 19, 1918.

Proceeding from Portsmouth, N. H., to New York, the cruiser was steering what was regarded as a safe course to avoid the submarines, then operating in Atlantic waters, and the mines they had laid. Lookouts, gun-watches, fire control parties were at their stations, the whole crew on the alert. There was no sign of any U-boat or mine.

Suddenly, at 11:05 a. m., there was an explosion at frame No. 78, on the port side well below the water line. "Full speed ahead," was rung by the Captain, who hoped the ship could be kept afloat, and the starboard engine operated until it was stopped by rising water.

Machinist's Mate Hawthorne, who was at the throttle in the port engine room, was blown four feet under a desk. He got up, closed the throttle on the engine, which had already stopped, and then escaped up the ladder. The lieutenant on watch in the starboard engine room, closed the water tight doors, and gave instructions to the fireroom to protect the boilers.

The vessel listed to port so heavily that water entered the gun ports on the gun deck. Listing 8 degrees quickly, the vessel hung for seven minutes; then gradually turned until 35 degrees was reached. At this time the port quarter-deck was three feet under water. The cruiser then rapidly turned turtle and sank.

Captain Christy was last to leave the ship. Going from the bridge down two ladders to the boat deck, he slid down a line to the armor belt, then dropped four feet to the bilge keel, and thence to the docking keel. From there he jumped into the water. The men cheered their captain as he left the ship. On the rafts they sang "The Star Spangled Banner" and "My Country 'Tis of Thee," and more cheers arose when the United States ensign was hoisted on the sailboat.

Two dinghies with six officers and twenty-one men pulled to shore, arriving at 1:20 p. m. The steamer Malden picked up 370 officers and men, the Bossom 708; the E. P. Jones 78. Six men were lost, three of these being killed by the explosion. The court of inquiry reported that "the conduct of the Captain, officers and crew was in the highest degree commendable," and that "the remarkably small loss of life was due to the high state of discipline maintained on board."

This was the last loss sustained by the Cruiser and Transport Force until September 5th. Then the troop-ship Mt. Vernon (Captain D. E. Dismukes) was torpedoed, but by splendid seamanship was taken to port under her own steam. The Mt. Vernon, homeward bound, was 250 miles from the coast of France when she was struck. The explosion was so terrific that for an instant it seemed that the ship was lifted clear out of the water and torn to pieces. Men at the after guns and depth-charge stations were thrown to the deck, and one gun thrown partly out of its mount. The torpedo struck fairly amidship, destroying four of the eight boiler-rooms and flooding the middle portion of the vessel from side to side for a length of 150 feet. The vessel instantly settled 10 feet increase in draft, but stopped there. This indicated that the water-tight bulkheads were holding, and she could still afford to go down two or three feet more before she would lose her floating buoyancy. The immediate problem was to escape a second torpedo. Depth-charge crews jumped to their stations, and started dropping a depth-bomb barrage.

Men in the firerooms knew that the safety of the ship depended on them. The shock of the explosion, followed by instant darkness, falling soot and particles; the knowledge that they were far below the water level inclosed practically in a trap; the imminent danger of the ship sinking, the added threat of exploding boilers—all these dangers and more must have been apparent to every man below, said Captain Dismukes, and yet not one man wavered in standing by his post of duty.

C. L. O'Connor, water tender, was thrown to the floor and enveloped in gas flames from the furnaces. Instead of rushing to escape, he turned and endeavored to shut a water-tight door leading into a large bunker abaft the fireroom, but the hydraulic lever that operated the door had been damaged and failed to function. Three men at work in this bunker were drowned. If O'Connor had succeeded in shutting the door, all would have been saved. Caught in the swirl of inrushing water, O'Connor was thrust up a ventilator leading to the upper deck.

The torpedo exploded on a bulkhead separating two firerooms, the explosive effect being apparently about equal in both firerooms, yet in one fireroom not a man was saved, while in the other two of the men escaped. The explosion blasted through the outer and inner skin of the ship and through an intervening coal bunker and bulkhead, hurling overboard 750 tons of coal. The two men saved were working the fires within 30 feet of the explosion and just below the level where the torpedo struck. How they escaped is a miracle. One of the men, P. Fitzgerald, landed on the lower grating. Groping his way through the darkness, trying to find the ladder leading above, he stumbled over the body of a man apparently dead. Finding he was only unconscious, Fitzgerald aroused him and took him to safety. The man would have been lost, for the water rose 10 feet above this grating as the ship settled.

Shortly after the Mt. Vernon arrived at Brest, Captain Dismukes received this letter from Brigadier General George H. Harries, U. S. A.:

Sorrow mingled with pride, for those who died so nobly. Congratulations on the seamanship, discipline and courage. It was a great feat you accomplished.

Passengers whom I have seen this morning are unable to fully or fitly voice their praises of your always worthy self or of your ship's company.

The best traditions of our Navy have been lifted to a higher plane. What a fine thing it is to be an American these days!

The olive drab salutes the blue.

Every American vessel available was pressed into service to bring the troops home after the war.

Fifty-six cargo vessels were converted into troop-carriers. Nine of the German vessels turned over under the armistice were assigned to us—the Imperator, Kaiserin Augusta Victoria, Prinz Friedrich Wilhelm, Zeppelin, Cap Finisterre, Graf Waldersee, Patricia, Pretoria, and Mobile. The capacity of all our transports was considerably increased.

But more was needed, and I gave orders to use our old battleships and cruisers to carry troops. Naval officers objected, saying these warships were not fitted for such duty. I was told the soldiers on board would be uncomfortable, and would return home with a grouch against the Government and the Navy. What happened? Army officers and men were glad of the chance to come home on a warship. It was an experience no other soldiers had enjoyed. Once aboard, they fell to and made themselves thoroughly at home. Upon the arrival at Hampton Roads of the first battleship bringing troops, the Army officers sent me a letter of thanks for the fine voyage and the opportunity to return on a naval vessel, and later other officers expressed themselves in similar fashion.

In a few months we had in operation 142 vessels carrying troops with facilities for 363,684 officers and men. The maximum was reached in June, when 340,946 embarked from France, 314,167 of them in United States transports. This exceeded the largest number carried overseas by all American and Allied vessels in any one month during the war. By the end of July, 1919, 1,770,484 men had been returned to America. The big troop movement was virtually over by October 1st, at which time nearly two million had been returned, 1,675,733 of them in naval transports. Several thousands more came later, and 11,211 had returned previous to the armistice.

The record of the ten leading vessels of the Cruiser and Transport Force, in troops carried to Europe and passengers and sick and wounded returned, was:

These ships also brought back 2,366 passengers before the armistice, which are included in the total numbers carried.

The other vessels used in transporting to France, as well as returning troops were:

The battleships and cruisers employed in troop transportation brought back more than 145,000 men, as follows:

Battleships—Connecticut, 4,861; Georgia, 5,869; Kansas, 7,486; Louisiana, 4,714; Michigan, 1,052; Minnesota, 3,955; Missouri, 3,278; Nebraska, 4,530; New Hampshire, 4,900; New Jersey, 4,675; Ohio, 778; Rhode Island, 5,303; South Carolina, 4,501; Vermont, 4,795; Virginia, 5,784; total, 66,481.

Cruisers—Charleston, 7,704; Frederick, 9,659; Huntington, 11,913; Montana, 8,800; North Carolina, 8,962; Pueblo, 10,136; Rochester, 317; Seattle, 9,397; South Dakota, 3,463; St. Louis, 8,437; total, 78,788.

Merchant ships converted into troop-carriers, and used in bringing soldiers home were:

These converted cargo ships brought 441,986 passengers, 10,452 wounded; total 452,438. The nine German passenger ships employed after the armistice brought back 138,928.

When the troop movement was near its close, in September, 1918, Admiral Gleaves, who had been in charge from the beginning, was made commander-in-chief of the Asiatic fleet. He was succeeded by Captain C. B. Morgan. The Cruiser and Transport Force, which at its maximum comprised a fleet of 142 vessels, of 2,341,038 tons displacement, carried across the Atlantic, going to or returning from Europe, approximately 2,600,000 persons. And this without the loss, through navigation or enemy action, of any soldier entrusted to its care.