TRANSCRIBED FROM THE DAILY ARKANSAS GAZETTE JANUARY 26, 1919 P. 40
I got my orders to the Wenonah from the Dyer and went aboard the 6th of December and sailed out early the morning of the 7th for the Azores en route to the States. There were six of us—three gun boats and three small yachts. The Wenonah the smallest yatch sent over, 130 feet long at the water line and 165 feet over all. We were known as the “Suicide Fleet,” as all the papers called this small batch of small boats when they made their rough trip over last winter, and few thought they would make it.
Well, as far as the Azores we had a pleasant voyage, except for heavy weather one night. We were lucky there. We stayed in the Azores four days, coaled and took on fresh water. Our tonnage is only 250 and to make it to the Bermudas with out being towed we had to stow coal on decks and everywhere, 104 tons.
As we had only two feet of free board to main deck and four feet of side above that you can imagine what a storm meant if it caught us loaded down with all that coal. It was an anxious time. Luck was with us the first three days, so we used this deck coal up almost. On the evening of the 22d the barometer began to fall and the wind and sea began to rise. It was impossible to sloop, as we were rolling 45 degrees and pitching heavily.
I had the midwatch, so relieved the deck at 12 o’clock. It was pitch black and the wind was blowing 60 miles an hour on our starboard quarter, and we were racing along with the wind at a good speed for us. The wind increased and a little after one was blowing so hard that the seas were piling up and washing all over us. It was terribly hard to steer her and to get in the trough of the sea would mean endangering the ship greatly. The Captain was on the bridge and worried, but I am not boasting to say I wasn’t at the time, as destroyers roll 50 to 60 degrees often, but of course they are not as frail as a yacht.
At about 1 a.m. our executive officer came up on the bridge and asked me to send a man down below to caulk a door, as we were shipping water down below in officers’ quarters and ward room. I sent a man down below and told him to use a bowline if the door had to be opened, as the water was continuing washing along the galleries and frequently over the whole side of the ship. He then left bridge and did not say where he was going. At 1:57 “man overboard, port side,” was reported to the bridge and several men called out. “Mr. Aroy, sir,” at the same time. I gave hard left and got a life buoy thrown over immediately. It was impossible to bring the ship around, as we were caught in the trough of the sea and held by the wind and it looked as though we were on the verge of turning turtle. It was so dark and so furious, we couldn’t have done a thing, anyway.
The captain yelled to bring her back on her course and save the ship if possible, so I brought her around with the aid of a lucky wave which knocked us in the right direction. You can imagine the strain on one’s nerves. I never hated to do anything so badly in my life as put her on her course and I think of that poor unfortunate young man, a lieutenant in the Reserve force, who had been telling me only that afternoon that he would soon be seeing his mother in Boston. He almost gave his whole salary to support her. Now he was out there in that terrible sea—most awful feeling possible. I am sure the captain was right not risking the ship and all hands and we know we did all we could, but for the moment I hated to give the order to bring her back more than anything I ever did.
The skipper was so broken up over losing him that I was kept so busy signalling messages I didn’t have time to lose my nerve. After that the picture of that young fellow fighting for his life in the sea and seeing the lights of the ship he had been on for 14 months disappear, kept coming up and I felt as if I’d been an old man if the strain kept up. However, he had on rain clothes and heavy boots and am sure he met a quick death, now that I have time to think.
The storm raged all night and I stayed on the bridge 20 hours except for going below for a bite to eat twice. Three others were with him at the time and held the greatest luck in the world. One man’s foot caught between a ventilator and a stanchion while being washed along, and one of the men washed against him and held up. The other was washed over and thrown back aboard. It was a narrow escape as the whole side of the ship was under green water and the boats also.
The next morning the wind died down and we were tossed about by waves 45 feet high from trough to crest. We rode these very waves well, and had fairly good weather of it, but I’ll never forget how big they were and how far it looked to the crest as they towered above us. I felt awfully small. After this loss I was made executive officer, ordnance officer and did the navigating the rest of the way across.
We stayed in Bermuda three days; was dreadfully busy. We moored near the Devonshire (ship I crossed over on) and so I went aboard her. They all remembered me and I had a fine time with them. They wanted to know right away if I remembered the depth charge dinner (I wrote you about that). I stayed for lunch and then three of the officers and I took a long walk and called on several English families in Hamilton. Enjoyed this very much.
From Bermuda had a storm one day and night, but made it out safely. Arrived in New London yesterday. At present the captain is away and I am commanding officer and am busy getting the ship straightened up and getting leave for men.
We had a snow fall last night and the thermometer registered 18 above so it is cold. We are very comfortable, however.
NOTES: This partial letter was written by Foster Martin Hampton to his parents. He was born on May 2, 1893 in Fordyce, Arkansas and died on September 10, 1972 in Charleston, South Carolina. He is buried in the Magnolia Cemetery in Charleston.
TRANSCRIBED BY CAROLYN YANCEY KENT
I got my orders to the Wenonah from the Dyer and went aboard the 6th of December and sailed out early the morning of the 7th for the Azores en route to the States. There were six of us—three gun boats and three small yachts. The Wenonah the smallest yatch sent over, 130 feet long at the water line and 165 feet over all. We were known as the “Suicide Fleet,” as all the papers called this small batch of small boats when they made their rough trip over last winter, and few thought they would make it.
Well, as far as the Azores we had a pleasant voyage, except for heavy weather one night. We were lucky there. We stayed in the Azores four days, coaled and took on fresh water. Our tonnage is only 250 and to make it to the Bermudas with out being towed we had to stow coal on decks and everywhere, 104 tons.
As we had only two feet of free board to main deck and four feet of side above that you can imagine what a storm meant if it caught us loaded down with all that coal. It was an anxious time. Luck was with us the first three days, so we used this deck coal up almost. On the evening of the 22d the barometer began to fall and the wind and sea began to rise. It was impossible to sloop, as we were rolling 45 degrees and pitching heavily.
I had the midwatch, so relieved the deck at 12 o’clock. It was pitch black and the wind was blowing 60 miles an hour on our starboard quarter, and we were racing along with the wind at a good speed for us. The wind increased and a little after one was blowing so hard that the seas were piling up and washing all over us. It was terribly hard to steer her and to get in the trough of the sea would mean endangering the ship greatly. The Captain was on the bridge and worried, but I am not boasting to say I wasn’t at the time, as destroyers roll 50 to 60 degrees often, but of course they are not as frail as a yacht.
At about 1 a.m. our executive officer came up on the bridge and asked me to send a man down below to caulk a door, as we were shipping water down below in officers’ quarters and ward room. I sent a man down below and told him to use a bowline if the door had to be opened, as the water was continuing washing along the galleries and frequently over the whole side of the ship. He then left bridge and did not say where he was going. At 1:57 “man overboard, port side,” was reported to the bridge and several men called out. “Mr. Aroy, sir,” at the same time. I gave hard left and got a life buoy thrown over immediately. It was impossible to bring the ship around, as we were caught in the trough of the sea and held by the wind and it looked as though we were on the verge of turning turtle. It was so dark and so furious, we couldn’t have done a thing, anyway.
The captain yelled to bring her back on her course and save the ship if possible, so I brought her around with the aid of a lucky wave which knocked us in the right direction. You can imagine the strain on one’s nerves. I never hated to do anything so badly in my life as put her on her course and I think of that poor unfortunate young man, a lieutenant in the Reserve force, who had been telling me only that afternoon that he would soon be seeing his mother in Boston. He almost gave his whole salary to support her. Now he was out there in that terrible sea—most awful feeling possible. I am sure the captain was right not risking the ship and all hands and we know we did all we could, but for the moment I hated to give the order to bring her back more than anything I ever did.
The skipper was so broken up over losing him that I was kept so busy signalling messages I didn’t have time to lose my nerve. After that the picture of that young fellow fighting for his life in the sea and seeing the lights of the ship he had been on for 14 months disappear, kept coming up and I felt as if I’d been an old man if the strain kept up. However, he had on rain clothes and heavy boots and am sure he met a quick death, now that I have time to think.
The storm raged all night and I stayed on the bridge 20 hours except for going below for a bite to eat twice. Three others were with him at the time and held the greatest luck in the world. One man’s foot caught between a ventilator and a stanchion while being washed along, and one of the men washed against him and held up. The other was washed over and thrown back aboard. It was a narrow escape as the whole side of the ship was under green water and the boats also.
The next morning the wind died down and we were tossed about by waves 45 feet high from trough to crest. We rode these very waves well, and had fairly good weather of it, but I’ll never forget how big they were and how far it looked to the crest as they towered above us. I felt awfully small. After this loss I was made executive officer, ordnance officer and did the navigating the rest of the way across.
We stayed in Bermuda three days; was dreadfully busy. We moored near the Devonshire (ship I crossed over on) and so I went aboard her. They all remembered me and I had a fine time with them. They wanted to know right away if I remembered the depth charge dinner (I wrote you about that). I stayed for lunch and then three of the officers and I took a long walk and called on several English families in Hamilton. Enjoyed this very much.
From Bermuda had a storm one day and night, but made it out safely. Arrived in New London yesterday. At present the captain is away and I am commanding officer and am busy getting the ship straightened up and getting leave for men.
We had a snow fall last night and the thermometer registered 18 above so it is cold. We are very comfortable, however.
NOTES: This partial letter was written by Foster Martin Hampton to his parents. He was born on May 2, 1893 in Fordyce, Arkansas and died on September 10, 1972 in Charleston, South Carolina. He is buried in the Magnolia Cemetery in Charleston.
TRANSCRIBED BY CAROLYN YANCEY KENT