ESCORTING CONVOYS BETWEEN GIBRALTAR AND ENGLAND, CUTTERS MADE NOTABLE RECORD—"TAMPA" SUNK, WITH ALL HER GALLANT OFFICERS AND MEN—"SENECA" SAVED SURVIVORS OF "COWSLIP" AND "QUEEN"—COAST AND GEODETIC SURVEY AND LIGHTHOUSE SERVICE DID FINE WORK.

The Coast Guard automatically came under control of the Navy when war was declared. Its vessels, its trained officers and men proved a valuable addition to our forces, and rendered notable service in various areas and in many lines of activity, at home and abroad.

They formed a very important part of our forces at Gibraltar, which included six Coast Guard cutters, the Seneca, Yamacraw, Algonquin, Ossipee, Manning and Tampa, constantly engaged in escorting convoys.

The splendid service they performed was commended in Admiral Niblack's letter of September 5, 1918, to Captain Charles Satterlee, commanding officer of the Tampa, in which, after detailing her record, under way more than 3,500 miles each month since October 1, 1917, "never disabled, ready whenever called on," he said:

This excellent record is an evidence of a high state of efficiency, an excellent ship spirit, and organization capable of keeping the vessel in service with the minimum of shore assistance. The squadron commander takes great pleasure in congratulating the commanding officer, officers and crew on the record which they have made.

Three weeks after notable service had evoked this commendation, every officer and man of the Tampa met sudden and mysterious death. The night of September 26, 1918, the Tampa, having escorted a convoy from Gibraltar, was proceeding toward Milford Haven, Wales. At 8:45 p. m., a loud explosion was heard by vessels of the convoy, but the night was so dark that the Tampa disappeared before her companions could see what had happened. American destroyers and British patrol craft searched the vicinity.

Nothing was found except a small amount of wreckage and the bodies of two men in naval uniforms. It is believed that the Tampa was torpedoed by a submarine. The German U-53 claimed to have sunk a United States vessel of her description. "Listening-in" stations on shore reported that they detected the presence of a submarine near the spot where the Tampa was destroyed. But no one knows how she met her fate. Every soul on board the vessel perished, 115 in all, of whom 111 were Coast Guard personnel. The officers lost were Captain Satterlee, First Lieutenants Archibald H. Scally and John T. Carr, Second Lieutenants Roy A. Bothwell, James M. Earp and John F. McGourty, and Third Lieutenant James A. Frost, Jr.

It must, indeed, be a matter of solemn pride to the Coast Guard to know that the Tampa, lost with all her gallant officers and men, was distinguished by such service and sacrifice that it will always be remembered in the naval annals of our country. It was my pleasure to name one of the modern destroyers of the Navy for Captain Satterlee, and on April 16, 1921, a new cruising vessel of the Coast Guard was launched at Oakland, California, named the Tampa.

Few instances that occurred during the war are more indicative of devotion to duty than the gallant attempt of the Seneca to salvage the steamer Wellington, torpedoed September 16, 1918. Though damaged, its officers thought that the vessel would probably float, but the crew refused to remain on board.

Lieutenant F. W. Brown (U. S. Coast Guard), the Seneca's navigating officer, asked permission to take a volunteer crew and endeavor to work the Wellington into port. Nearly all the Seneca's complement volunteered for this duty. Lieutenant Brown made a hasty selection from the many volunteers, taking Acting Machinist William L. Boyce and eighteen men. En route to the torpedoed vessel, lookouts and gun's crew were detailed. Upon boarding the ship, ammunition was broken out, the gun's crew was assigned, and lookouts posted. It was highly probable that the submarine would make another attack. Soon a second boat, containing the master, first and second officers and eleven of the Wellington's crew came on board. The Seneca had to leave at once to protect the remainder of the convoy, and could only send out radio calls for assistance. There followed an heroic and all but successful effort on the part of Lieutenant Brown and his men to save the steamship.

Within half an hour, the Wellington was started at slow speed, heading for Brest. Men took turns in passing coal and firing, coming out on deck when relieved and taking a gun-watch. One of the men from the Seneca was a cook, Russell Elam, who disappeared into the galley, and in a short time announced that dinner was served for all hands. When he appeared on the bridge with Lieutenant Brown's dinner, he was clad in an immaculate white serving jacket and had omitted no detail of service. And this on a torpedoed steamer in imminent danger of sinking! Cook Elam met a heroic death with others of this gallant party.

During the afternoon all went well, but at sundown the wind increased, seas crashed over the bow, and all on board were in danger. The ship listed sharply, rolling so that the davit heads threatened to force the lifeboat under. Those aboard were ordered to get into the boat, and hold on to the Wellington by use of a long rope, a sea painter. Seven of the Wellington's crew got into the boat with one Seneca man detailed to unhook it, the other Coast Guardsmen standing by to lower it. The radio operator, M. S. Mason, remained at his instruments to keep in touch with the destroyer Warrington, which was proceeding to their assistance, and three men kept the pumps going. Just after the boat was lowered, someone cut the painter, and the boat drifted away. The Seneca's party and some of the collier's men were left on board with nothing to rely upon except a small raft which they had constructed.

At 11:35 p. m., the Wellington's position was sent to the Warrington (Lieutenant Commander Van der Veer). To aid the destroyer in her search, rockets were sent up at fifteen-minute intervals, and at 2:30 a. m., answering rockets were seen. The men in the lifeboat were gotten aboard the Warrington, but the boat was crushed. Lieutenant Brown found some long, heavy planks; from these three rafts were improvised, which were lowered and lines let down so the men could reach them in the darkness. The lights of the destroyer were now in sight. The Wellington listed rapidly. With a hand flashlight, Lieutenant Brown signaled that he had to abandon ship immediately, and asked the destroyer to work in close and pick up his men. As the collier settled by the head, at the same time turning over, Brown crawled out over the railing and flashed his last appeal, "My men are in the water."

At that moment the boilers exploded, the vessel seemed to rise up, and as she lurched into her final plunge, Brown sprang into the water. This was at 4 a. m., in pitch darkness, a raging gale and tempestuous seas.

After swimming awhile, casting about for something to cling to, and finding nothing, Brown heard a cry for help. Swimming towards the man, he saw that he was clinging to a plank, and told him to hold on and keep his mouth closed, so as not to take in water. Finding two calcium lights burning, he extinguished them so no one should be misled into thinking they marked a raft. As he approached the destroyer, Brown called out repeatedly: "I had eighteen men." His sole thought was that the men committed to his charge should be saved.

Running close to the Wellington, the Warrington floated down three life-rafts and all available buoys, well lighted. It was still very dark, but from a few hundred yards to leeward the men on the Warrington watched the black hull turn turtle, slowly settle in the water, and then disappear. When dawn broke, they began to see men in the water, some on rafts and buoys, some on floating wreckage. Eight men were finally picked up, one of whom died on board. One of the first rescued proved to be Lieutenant Brown. A heaving line was flung to him and he grabbed it, but said he did not remember having been hauled on board. Apparently he lost consciousness, and his identity was not discovered until he awoke.

Three of the Warrington's crew had jumped into the heavy sea, with lines made fast to their waists, in attempting to save life. Seaman James C. Osborne, of the Coast Guard, supporting a shipmate, Coxswain Peterson, swam through the heavy seas and placed Peterson, who was only half conscious, on a raft. Several times both were washed off, but each time Osborne went to his shipmate's assistance and replaced him on the raft. Finally Osborne semaphored, "I am all right, but he is gone unless you come right away." The Warrington rescued them both.

Lieutenant Brown and eight men of the Seneca were saved, Machinist Boyce and ten Coast Guardsmen were lost, besides five belonging to the Wellington's crew. But for the heavy gale and rough sea that developed, Brown and his volunteers would probably have won out and saved ship and cargo. They upheld to the fullest the high traditions of the Navy and Coast Guard.

Another example of readiness to assume responsibility and act as the necessities of the occasion require, is that of Captain William J. Wheeler (U. S. Coast Guard), commanding the Seneca, which rescued the survivors from the British patrol sloop, Cowslip. After dark on April 2, 1918, the danger zone escort from Gibraltar, including the Cowslip, joined the convoy which the Seneca had escorted from England. A loud explosion was heard and the Cowslip displayed distress signals. The Seneca immediately headed for her, although the sloop flashed the signal, "Stay away! Submarine in sight, port quarter." Circling the Cowslip in search of the submarine, the Seneca and the destroyer Dale, which had also come up, began to search for the enemy. The established doctrine then was that, when a vessel was torpedoed, other vessels in the vicinity should not risk their own destruction by endeavoring to go to her relief and that rescue of survivors should be considered as a secondary duty. But American officers could not witness a disabled and sinking ship without making every effort to save her people.

Three times the Seneca approached, stopping to lower her own boats and take off survivors from the British sloop. One enlisted man and all the wardroom officers of the Cowslip, except the officer-of-the-deck, had been killed by the explosion. The Seneca rescued all the survivors, including the commanding officer, another commissioned officer, and 79 enlisted men. For this courageous and meritorious act, Captain Wheeler was commended by Admiral Niblack, Admiral Sims, and the British admiral commanding at Gibraltar.

On June 29, 1918, the Seneca was acting as ocean escort to a convoy, when at 6:45 a. m., the British steamer Queen was torpedoed and sank in five minutes. As in the case of the Cowslip, Captain Wheeler boldly approached the Queen. Dropping depth charges and firing his guns to keep the submarine down, he picked up the survivors.

It was work like this, calling for daring and quick decision, that distinguished the vessels of the Coast Guard, which, operating in the Navy, performed such signal service for the Allies and the commerce of the world.

On this side of the Atlantic, the main contribution by the Coast Guard was as part of the patrol service under Admiral Anderson in the Caribbean and the Gulf of Mexico, protecting the oil supply that went in large volume from Texas and Mexico to British and other Allied naval ships and for the necessary uses by the Allied armies in France.

In the great disaster that followed the blowing up of a munition ship at Halifax, the U. S. Coast Guard cutter Morrill, in command of Lieutenant H. G. Hemmingway, and its crew gave first aid to the injured in that stricken city. Coast Guard men supervised, without accident or loss of life, the landing of 345,602 tons of high explosives in New York and the loading on 1,698 vessels. The total value of the explosives on these ships was more than five hundred million dollars.

When the tug Perth Amboy and four barges were shelled by a German submarine on July 21, 1918, within sight of Coast Guard station No. 40, at East Orleans, Mass., Keeper Robert F. Pierce, with his crew, launched their surfboat, and while the shelling was continuing, proceeded out to assist the tug and her tow and aided in safely landing the crew and treating the wounded.

A very gallant action was that of the keeper and crew of Coast Guard Station No. 179 at Chicamacomico, North Carolina, in rescuing life under extraordinary circumstances following the destruction of the steamship Mirlo, on August 16, 1918. At 4:30 p. m. the lookout reported seeing a great mass of water shoot into the air. It seemed to cover the after portion of a steamer that was about seven miles away. At the same time a quantity of smoke rose from the steamer. Fire was seen, and heavy explosions were heard. The Coast Guard boat went to the rescue. Five miles off shore they met one of the ship's boats with the captain and six men in it, who informed them that the ship was a British tank steamer and that she had been torpedoed. Keeper John A. Midgett directed the captain where to go. The Coast Guard boat was headed for the burning mass of wreckage and oil. On arrival the sea was found to be covered with burning oil and blazing gas for a hundred yards, with two masses of flames about a hundred yards apart. In between these, when the smoke would clear away a little, a lifeboat could be seen, bottom up, with six men clinging to it. Heavy seas washed over the boat.

The Coast Guardsmen made their way through that inferno of smoke, thrashing wreckage and blazing oil. They evaded the perils of floating debris, fire, and wave. Lifting the six men on board, all that survived of the sixteen who had been in that lifeboat, the Coast Guard rescuers sought the safety of clear water. Thirty-six men of the Mirlo were rescued.

The first United States vessel to pass the German fortifications at Heligoland and through the Kiel Canal after the signing of the armistice was the Aphrodite, commanded by a Coast Guard officer, Captain F. C. Billard. While passing through the North Sea, the Aphrodite struck a German mine, but escaped destruction and was able to proceed to Germany.

The danger to American shipping by a submarine base on our coast, not to speak of the violation of neutrality which such action would involve, necessitated a patrol of the coast to make sure that there was no such base and to prevent U-boat operations. These requirements were admirably met by the coÖperation of the Coast Guard. There were on the Atlantic and Gulf coasts 199 stations.

On April 6, 1917, one message, "Plan One. Acknowledge," incorporated the Coast Guard as an integral part of the Navy during the war. That service had 138 line officers, 70 engineer officers, 13 district superintendents, and 2 constructors, a total of 233 commissioned and 257 warrant officers, and 3,478 men—a valuable addition to the naval forces. The professional ability of the Coast Guard officers is evidenced by the fact that twenty-four commanded combatant ships operating in European waters, five vessels of the patrol force in the Caribbean Sea, and twenty-three combatant craft attached to naval districts. Five Coast Guard officers commanded training camps, six performed aviation duty, two being in command of air stations, one of these in France. The Navy Department, naturally enough, assigned to the command of combatant ships only officers whose experience and ability warranted such detail and only those officers in whom the Department had implicit confidence.

Commodore E. P. Bertholf, then commandant, and Commodore W. E. Reynolds, later commandant of the Coast Guard, and other officers were assigned important administrative duties. Ashore and afloat, officers and men discharged their duties with such efficiency that at the close of the war I strongly recommended to the President and Congress that the Coast Guard be continued permanently as a part of the Navy.

Not only was the Coast Guard an integral part of the Navy during the war, but the Lighthouse Service added 1,284 men to the naval personnel and fifty vessels to the naval force. These vessels did a large part of the work on the defensive entrance areas, laid mines, and were employed as patrols. The light vessels and lighthouses served as lookouts and reporting stations. The Diamond Shoal Light vessel, off Cape Hatteras, was sunk by a German submarine, but not until after it had given warning and saved a number of vessels. The larger light-house tenders were almost continuously in the danger-zone and were employed to buoy the wrecks of torpedoed vessels.

The transfer of forty-one commissioned officers of the Coast and Geodetic Survey gave the Navy additional officers who, from their previous training and experience, immediately assumed important duties. In addition to commanding patrol boats and auxiliaries and other service afloat, their scientific attainments made them particularly useful. For example, one officer, by his experience in developing the wire-drag method of searching for hidden rocks and dangers, was well fitted for research work on the anti-submarine problem. His services were so valuable that he was ordered to London to coÖperate with the British Admiralty in further study of anti-submarine devices. Officers of this service at the Naval Observatory, among other contributions, designed a new type of submarine compass binnacle and new type of aircraft compass. One of the ships of the Coast and Geodetic Survey, the Surveyor, did excellent service at Gibraltar and shared with the Wheeling and the Venita the credit for a successful attack on a submarine.