TRANSCRIBED FROM THE ARKANSAS GAZETTE DECEMBER 8, 1918 P. 7
We had a battle royal with a sub on the way over our last trip. We were detailed to the commodore’s ship which proved to be a refrigerator ship belonging to the United Fruit Company before the United States took her over. We were loaded with beef, but no one knew what port we were bound for, not even the captain, for the sea escort (usually a cruiser) signals ships their destination after they put to sea. Everything went all right after we got the ships in their position—nothing to do but take our course and speed from the cruiser and call down a ship occasionally for being out of position or for showing a light at night. I was assigned to a good stateroom and there was plenty of good chow with nothing to do but stand watch and answer boat calls.
As the subs generally attack at sunrise or at sunset we have to stand submarine watches when we reach the war zone. They line the whole ship company up to keep lookout during the time of greatest danger. One morning just after we had gone off ‘submarine watch’ the general alarm was sounded and the other ships were warned by flags and sirens. The destroyer escort had just come into view and one of the signalmen watching the destroyer happened to catch sight of the sub.
We carried no guns, so the captain tried to ram her, but the sub ducked and came up on the other side. She did not have opportunity to launch a torpedo at us as the escort was coming on too fast and one of the destroyers was getting range with a one-pounder, so she dived and came up again in the middle of the convoy.
In the meantime the destroyers reached us and took their stations, all but one little French ship that anticipated the sub’s next move and made for the middle of the convoy. The sub was pounded with a couple of six-inch shells so she ducked again and when she came up one of the ships pointed her out to the French destroyer with a six-inch shell, which came almost near enough to end her career. Then the destroyer got into the game and wrote her name around the U-boat with ‘ash cans’ (depth bombs).
That sounds a great deal like the old well-known Nick Carter stuff, but the worst of it is that we don’t know whether we got the sub or not. The American and the French sea and air patrols where certainly co-operating with us through the zone.
The first thing I saw in France was the American ensign floating over one of the aviation camps. We had to go about 50 miles up the Gironne river, which the French call the Bordeaux ocean, we saw some fine scenery. Everything is neat and pretty. The houses are built of stone usually and all are artistic and surrounded by small farms or vineyards. I was surprised by the enormous American docks, built in record time, where negro stevedores and other soldiers were hard at work. The kids there greet you with ‘Hi Americaine.’ Soldiers of all nations were there, French, American, Japanese, Italian, English and Algerian. There were detention camps for prisoners, who were given the best of attention by the French. The people wear wooden shoes, issue their own money in each city, and street cars look like a Coney Island honeymoon wagon.
NOTES: This partial letter was written by signalman George Chenault of Little Rock, Arkansas to his sister Mrs. Bernard Hoff. He was born March 31, 1899 in Pulaski County, Arkansas and died October 17, 1975 at Garland, Arkansas in Miller County. He is buried in the Oakland-Fraternal Cemetery in Little Rock. His headstone identifies him as QM 3, U. S. Navy, WW I.
TRANSCRIBED BY CAROLYN YANCEY KENT
We had a battle royal with a sub on the way over our last trip. We were detailed to the commodore’s ship which proved to be a refrigerator ship belonging to the United Fruit Company before the United States took her over. We were loaded with beef, but no one knew what port we were bound for, not even the captain, for the sea escort (usually a cruiser) signals ships their destination after they put to sea. Everything went all right after we got the ships in their position—nothing to do but take our course and speed from the cruiser and call down a ship occasionally for being out of position or for showing a light at night. I was assigned to a good stateroom and there was plenty of good chow with nothing to do but stand watch and answer boat calls.
As the subs generally attack at sunrise or at sunset we have to stand submarine watches when we reach the war zone. They line the whole ship company up to keep lookout during the time of greatest danger. One morning just after we had gone off ‘submarine watch’ the general alarm was sounded and the other ships were warned by flags and sirens. The destroyer escort had just come into view and one of the signalmen watching the destroyer happened to catch sight of the sub.
We carried no guns, so the captain tried to ram her, but the sub ducked and came up on the other side. She did not have opportunity to launch a torpedo at us as the escort was coming on too fast and one of the destroyers was getting range with a one-pounder, so she dived and came up again in the middle of the convoy.
In the meantime the destroyers reached us and took their stations, all but one little French ship that anticipated the sub’s next move and made for the middle of the convoy. The sub was pounded with a couple of six-inch shells so she ducked again and when she came up one of the ships pointed her out to the French destroyer with a six-inch shell, which came almost near enough to end her career. Then the destroyer got into the game and wrote her name around the U-boat with ‘ash cans’ (depth bombs).
That sounds a great deal like the old well-known Nick Carter stuff, but the worst of it is that we don’t know whether we got the sub or not. The American and the French sea and air patrols where certainly co-operating with us through the zone.
The first thing I saw in France was the American ensign floating over one of the aviation camps. We had to go about 50 miles up the Gironne river, which the French call the Bordeaux ocean, we saw some fine scenery. Everything is neat and pretty. The houses are built of stone usually and all are artistic and surrounded by small farms or vineyards. I was surprised by the enormous American docks, built in record time, where negro stevedores and other soldiers were hard at work. The kids there greet you with ‘Hi Americaine.’ Soldiers of all nations were there, French, American, Japanese, Italian, English and Algerian. There were detention camps for prisoners, who were given the best of attention by the French. The people wear wooden shoes, issue their own money in each city, and street cars look like a Coney Island honeymoon wagon.
NOTES: This partial letter was written by signalman George Chenault of Little Rock, Arkansas to his sister Mrs. Bernard Hoff. He was born March 31, 1899 in Pulaski County, Arkansas and died October 17, 1975 at Garland, Arkansas in Miller County. He is buried in the Oakland-Fraternal Cemetery in Little Rock. His headstone identifies him as QM 3, U. S. Navy, WW I.
TRANSCRIBED BY CAROLYN YANCEY KENT