A Perilous Crossing
BREST, FRANCE (March 6, 1918) -- After a harrowing Atlantic crossing, 1st Lt. Joseph L. Bachus and most of the men of the 126th Infantry Regiment took their first steps onto French soil. It was a welcome relief after nearly two and half weeks at sea on constant watch for German submarines. A tanker had been torpedoed only 50 miles ahead of Joe's transport ship just two days before sighting land. The entire convoy was re-routed -- circling around the area of the attack.
We can look back at the doughboys' Atlantic crossing with the comfortable knowledge that the 126th Reg. made it safely, but the specter of death by U-boat attack was an ever-present guest aboard the U.S. Transport President Grant. I included a fictionalized version of the following story in my novel INTO NO MAN'S LAND, but even this just-the-facts account from History of the 126th Infantry in the War with Germany by regimental historian Emil Ganser (pg. 44-46), puts the threat into perspective.
SUBMARINE SCARE On the eighth day out, the convoy almost stopped still, and as the ships floated lazily in a calm sea for about four hours, the various gun crews engaged in a little target practice, which elicited considerable interest on the part of the troops. While it was not known to us why the convoy stopped, it was surmised that it was part of the Navy plan for transporting troops and done to deceive some waiting submarine which may have information of the convoy, its rate of progress and course, and selecting a point from which it could attack it.
At 4 o'clock in the afternoon of Friday, March 1st, while the regimental band was giving one of its daily concerts on deck, the boom of a gun was heard coming from the cruiser, which at the same time blew its whistle and immediately followed by more cannon fire and the shrill shriek of the siren sounded, followed by the sounding of the alarm on our ship. This happened so quickly and without warning that every one was taken by surprise, and as the troops hurried to their abandon ship stations, visions of a plunge in the ocean was in everyone's mind. Taking an occasional glance at the other ships in the convoy while hustling to our stations, told us something was astir, as they scattered in different directions with clouds of black smoke pouring from the funnels and their guns firing at some object in the water, which could be nothing else but the periscope of a dreaded submarine.
By the time our ship arrived abreast of the object all the other ships had made good their escape and were quickly increasing the distance between us, and we believed we were to be the victim. As our gun crews were training their guns on the object, a close examination revealed it to be a barrel and the suspense was lifted, to the great relief of everyone. This incident created considerable excitement for a few moments, but excellent discipline prevailed and there was no confusion in going to our stations, except that some of the colored troops, who were below decks at the time, fell on their knees and implored their creator to save them, and they had to be brought on deck by force. After remaining at our stations some minutes, the boatswain's mate sounded his "canary" and the scare was over.
This scare had all the elements of reality in it and many a soldier aboard will stoutly affirm that a real submarine was the cause of it all. This experience revealed another bit of the Navy plan against submarine attack, and that was that every ship in the convoy in case of attack was to make its own get away as best it can, without regard to its sister ships, and no aid would be rendered any ship which may be attacked, on the principle that the loss of one ship was better than the loss of two or more, which may be the case if the more fortunate ones loitered in the vicinity of the submarine. We knew from this experience that our ship was too slow to get away, and this bit of information was very consoling to us to say the least. It goes without saying that this scare made us more alert than ever.
We were now approaching the danger zone and word was passed out that a destroyer fleet would meet us by morning, and sure enough, early the next morning the little destroyers were sighted and in a very short time ten of them surrounded the convoy, and a little later four more appeared. These little craft were built on long and slender lines and in sailing the tempestuous waters of the Bay of Biscay, which we were now entering, they fairly jumped from wave to wave, sometimes showing daylight beneath their keels, their bows frequently pointing skyward, or plunging deeply into heavy seas, and their sides occasionally plowing along under the foamy waves. They darted hither and thither with marvelous speed, and when the sunlight fell upon their graceful sides and steel decks, they appeared like brilliant objects upon the water and gained the admiration of every doughboy. Their business-like appearance gave us all a feeling of security with them as our escorts. Upon their arrival the cruiser Huntington left the convoy and returned to the United States. During the remainder of the trip, as we were now traversing the submarine zone, the convoy sailed in a zig-zagged course, every ship changing direction at the same time.
Army life has a way of zig-zagging, too, but sometimes those courses circle back on themselves. Serendipitously, Joe would find himself aboard this same ship in 1932, as he travelled with his family (wife Lina Johnson Bachus, his daughter Elizabeth "Betty" Bachus, and his toddler son, my father, Littleton Joseph Bachus). They were being shipped from New York, through the Panama Canal, and across the Pacific to The Philippines where Joe was stationed as a company commander at Fort William McKinley.
NEXT TIME: "40 Hommes et 8 Cheveaux" 40 men or 8 horses
~~~