TRANSCRIBED FROM THE GRAND PRAIRIE NEWS AUGUST 8, 1918 PP. 1, 6
I shall tell you a little about the sinking of my ship. I was standing near the explosion when she hit. We immediately listed over. Then I got on the poop to get the boats ready for going over the side, which I told you was my job. So you see I didn't have much time for sight-seeing. All I could do was hear the heavy gun fire. We probably sank one submarine. Then when it came time to hoist our boats, I found I had no power on either crane or deck wing. I was out of luck. They told me to do the best I could. I began to knock down life lines and boat cradles, trying to slide them over. We got three boats O.K. While I was doing this work, the Captain gave orders to abandon the ship. They nearly all had on life preservers and were leaving the ship by the hundreds. Mack, my old side kicker, came along and said, "Jess, you had better go." I said I was ready and so we went. Talk about the Australian crawl! I tried every stroke I knew and could not make enough speed to satisfy me. I swam about two hundred yards from the ship, turned over on my back and watched my old home for three years go down. We were in the water about four hours. I won't try to explain my feelings. I shall tell you how everything stood with me and let you judge for yourself. There I was in the water--no ship in sight. I knew they never got to send any message for the wireless was put out of commission by the explosion. I never knew how far we were from the beach. It looked favorable for a storm and I was expecting a submarine to come up any minute and go to shooting at us like they generally do, so you see things were not very pleasant for us. Then a ship came in sight. All the boys cheered to beat the band, but it passed us up like a pay car passes a tramp. I am glad you didn't hear the pet names that skipper was called. Then three more came in sight about the same time, headed right for us. They picked us up. About all any of us had on when we hit the beach was a smile. We lost all the clothes we ever owned.
Herald, Washington, Ind.
NOTES: This letter was written by Jesse Clarence Foster of Mitchell, Arkansas to his friends in Stuttgart, Arkansas. He was serving as a Chief Boatswain’s Mate onboard the USS San Diego when it was sunk off Long Island, New York on July 19, 1918 after hitting an underwater mine. It was the only major Us warship sunk during World War I. The letter apparently was first published in the Herald newspaper in Washington, Indiana. Foster was born in Stuttgart on May 22, 1897 and died in Fresno, California on March 22, 1954. He is buried in the Fowler Cemetery, in Fowler, California.
TRANSCRIBED BY LAEL HARROD
I shall tell you a little about the sinking of my ship. I was standing near the explosion when she hit. We immediately listed over. Then I got on the poop to get the boats ready for going over the side, which I told you was my job. So you see I didn't have much time for sight-seeing. All I could do was hear the heavy gun fire. We probably sank one submarine. Then when it came time to hoist our boats, I found I had no power on either crane or deck wing. I was out of luck. They told me to do the best I could. I began to knock down life lines and boat cradles, trying to slide them over. We got three boats O.K. While I was doing this work, the Captain gave orders to abandon the ship. They nearly all had on life preservers and were leaving the ship by the hundreds. Mack, my old side kicker, came along and said, "Jess, you had better go." I said I was ready and so we went. Talk about the Australian crawl! I tried every stroke I knew and could not make enough speed to satisfy me. I swam about two hundred yards from the ship, turned over on my back and watched my old home for three years go down. We were in the water about four hours. I won't try to explain my feelings. I shall tell you how everything stood with me and let you judge for yourself. There I was in the water--no ship in sight. I knew they never got to send any message for the wireless was put out of commission by the explosion. I never knew how far we were from the beach. It looked favorable for a storm and I was expecting a submarine to come up any minute and go to shooting at us like they generally do, so you see things were not very pleasant for us. Then a ship came in sight. All the boys cheered to beat the band, but it passed us up like a pay car passes a tramp. I am glad you didn't hear the pet names that skipper was called. Then three more came in sight about the same time, headed right for us. They picked us up. About all any of us had on when we hit the beach was a smile. We lost all the clothes we ever owned.
Herald, Washington, Ind.
NOTES: This letter was written by Jesse Clarence Foster of Mitchell, Arkansas to his friends in Stuttgart, Arkansas. He was serving as a Chief Boatswain’s Mate onboard the USS San Diego when it was sunk off Long Island, New York on July 19, 1918 after hitting an underwater mine. It was the only major Us warship sunk during World War I. The letter apparently was first published in the Herald newspaper in Washington, Indiana. Foster was born in Stuttgart on May 22, 1897 and died in Fresno, California on March 22, 1954. He is buried in the Fowler Cemetery, in Fowler, California.
TRANSCRIBED BY LAEL HARROD