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War is the remedy that
our enemies have chosen, and I say let us give them all
they want.
--- General William T.
Sherman | |
|
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|
A
sailor’s experiences aboard the USS
OREGON
Posted
by: berben2 |
|
It
was suggested to me that I give a talk or write a
paper on my experiences last summer, experiences
that to me were the most interesting and exciting
I suppose I will ever have. As it was left to me
to select the method, I have chosen this as the
easier, not that I always choose the easier way
when I have an alternative, but only when I think
it is the better way.
Before the
order came for us to go, I believe I passed about
two or three weeks (those two or three weeks in
May) of more lightning changes from hope to
despair and despair to hope, than in any three
weeks I ever spent before. For a while I didn’t do
anything but read the papers, until I got so
disgusted that nobody could get me to look at a
paper.
It was the darkest just
before dawn. Not more than two days before
Commander Hawley began to enlist the Naval Reserve
boys the papers had it that we were not going to
be called out at all. Then came the physical
examinations, and with this in prospect I passed
some very anxious hours, and the night before the
examination was a sleepless night for me. Nothing
was harder than to see the fellows, boys who had
been in the Reserve two and three years, fail at
the last moment.
The first
detachment, two hundred boys, left Tuesday
morning, May 24th from Union Depot. We knew we
were bound for Key West by way of Tampa, but that
was all we knew. We had no idea how long we would
be kept in Key West before being assigned to the
ships, or to what ships we would be assigned.
Tom Murray, Earle Dean, Walter
Graves (you all know them) and myself, were in the
same detachment, the same two hundred, although
not in the same car. Three boys who went to Armour
Institute when I did (and between us there has
always been the greatest friendship) were in the
same car. We were not separated during the whole
cruise, a circumstance which I will always
remember as one of the greatest pieces of good
fortune that ever happened to me.
I don’t want to say much about the
leave taking. I will always remember it. I will
always remember those whom I kissed good-by.
There was not much laughing and
noise for the first hour or so. I believe as I sat
there and looked out of the window, and thought of
those I had just left behind at Union Station, I
realized more fully than I ever had before that I
was going away to war and might not come back. We
did not have the excitement of expectation then;
we had actually started; and it was the first
time, I guess, I had seriously thought of getting
killed, or having a leg shot off, or getting hurt;
but it did not last long, and I don’t believe I
ever thought about it afterwards. I know I never
thought about getting killed during any of the
bombardments, or in the battle, or, if I did, it
was with a feeling of not caring much either way.
But, as I say, the seriousness did
not last long. Nearly every one had bags and boxes
of things to eat. Oh, many and many a time, off
Santiago, did I think of the good things in those
boxes and the way we wasted the cake and cookies
we couldn’t eat. As I remember, it was one of the
most exasperating thoughts I ever had, to think,
when I was eating hardtack, of the way I threw
away, on that train, chocolate layer cake, or as
Dickens would say, geological cake.
There were some mandolins and
guitars in the car, and some of the boys had good
voices, and one or two were regular comedians. On
that trip I had one of the finest times I ever
had. At one of the stations we bought a large flag
and rigged it on the rear end of the last car.
There was a large canvas sign on the side of our
car which read “Chicago Tars for Sampson’s fleet”.
One of the boys got a coupling pin and hung it in
the center of the car and used to strike the bells
every half hour, “To get the fellows used to it
before we got on a ship”, he said to me.
At the stations where we stopped
for meals there was always a large crowd waiting
for us and the tables were loaded with good things
to eat. It made me think more of some foot-ball
trips I have taken than of going to war. I
remember thinking it was too much of a good time,
I thought it ought to be a little rougher. One of
the fellows who was talking to me about it said he
was afraid the boys would get soft, and some of
them would think it was all going to be like this,
and when the change came they wouldn’t be able to
stand it ---but they did.
We would
sit in our under shirts with a handkerchief around
our heads, as it was rather dusty (at Montgomery,
Alabama, I think it was, each boy in the car got a
red bandana handkerchief ) and read, or write
letters, when not skylarking. I bought a large
number of postal cards and would hand them to some
one to mail as we slowed up in going through a
town.
We arrived at Tampa,
Thursday morning, May 26th, and had breakfast,
dinner and supper that day on the Olivette. You
probably remember the name. As we were not going
to leave until evening on the Mascotte there was
all day to do nearly as we pleased. About a
hundred of us went in swimming. It was my first
taste of swimming in salt water and I can’t say I
liked it as well as the Lake.
The
streets were full of soldiers and Army officers,
especially when, towards evening, it began to grow
cooler. That day was a hot day. I remember
thinking at the time I wouldn’t want to live in
that town. There is a difference in the air. You
can’t help feeling lazy.
Long
lines of transport steamers were tied to the pier
and carpenters were busy putting stalls for the
horses and bunks for the soldiers.
When we went aboard the Mascotte
in the evening a large crowd gathered to see us
off. We sang all the songs we could think of and
they applauded. Everybody was happy.
The night there was not near room
enough in the staterooms, but each fellow had a
mattress, I had one myself and slept on the upper
deck and wouldn’t have traded with anybody. A
rumor went the rounds that the “Oregon” was at Key
West, but nobody seemed to know certainly about
it.
Friday afternoon we entered
Key West Harbor. The first sight of the Spanish
prizes and the war ships was intensely interesting
to me. The Monitor “Terror” and the “Wilmington”
and “Helena” were there. We passed right astern
the “Wilmington”, and I thought if I could get on
that ship my cup of happiness would be full.
We were marched over the
gangplank, through a crowd of negroes, and into a
large coal yard on the dock, and lined up in two
double ranks. I thought we were waiting until all
were off the steamer before being marched to a
Hotel or somewhere for supper. We all thought we
were going to stay there at least a couple of
weeks. I hardly knew what was going on when the
officers began assigning batches of men to the
different ships. I found out afterwards that the
officers were there before we were and waiting for
us. I was one of the sixty assigned to the
“Oregon”.
After we had picked our
bags out of the general pile, a boatswain marched
us aboard a tug that was to take us out to where
the “Oregon” was lying. We had not seen her yet.
She was lying out about three miles, taking on
coal---I should say “coaling up”.
On the way out to the “Oregon”
that tug was full of just suppressed excitement. A
fellow would say “Bert, can you realize it?” “No,
I can’t”. And then we would shake hands. Everybody
was shaking hands.
Word was passed
around for all to stick together, and dire threats
were made against any fellow who should make any
break before the officers or the men when we first
went aboard.
The “Oregon” had
arrived only the night before and all hands were
hard at work. She was coaling from a ship on each
side. As we stood there on the quarter deck you
can imagine how I looked at the guns and the men.
I could see the crew peering at us from every
point. They seemed to spring up everywhere.
The Master-at-Arms, “Jimmy Legs”
he is called, was sent for and divided us off into
different messes. I was assigned to mess No. 1.
Although I had no idea then what a mess was, or
where it was, or who were in it, or anything about
it, I knew I was to remember I was in No. 1 and
find out about the rest the best way I could.
The Master-at-Arms was one of the
most peculiar characters I ever knew. He was grey
haired; about fifty years old. The utterly
disgusted tone of voice he would use when he was
mad at anything would invariably make me laugh. I
used to ask him foolish questions on purpose, to
hear what he would say; like this, “Is there any
mail coming on board today Jimmy?” That was always
enough to bring down a load of wrath. I remember
once, just after the “Colon” had hauled down her
colors and run on the beach, I went down on the
berth deck for something, I have forgotten what.
Nobody was down there except old Jimmy Legs. He
was looking at the “Colon” with a pair of field
glasses through one of the battle ports; so I
walked up to him and said, Jimmy, I hear they are
going to give those Spaniards three months
provisions and put them ashore. Do you think they
will?” He turned and looked at me about three
minutes before he could get his voice, and about
that time I had important business elsewhere. But
I am wandering.
I thought I had a
fairly good idea of what a battleship looked like,
but when we followed the Master-at-Arms below, it
was a perfect mystic-maze to me. If I had got
separated down there I would have had no idea
which way to go.
You are all
familiar with the appearance of the outside of a
battle-ship and you form a mind picture of how it
looks inside; at least I did; but you will have to
see it with your own eyes.
The
crew had eaten their supper, but we were given
some canned corn beef and cocoa. I took mine out
on the 13 in. barbette. I can remember just where
I went, exactly how things looked, the boys talked
to me, and what they said. Everything, no matter
how trivial, that happened that evening, remains
stamped on my memory.
I was down
on the berth-deck when two firemen got into a
fight, and as I thought they were fair physical
specimens of the crew, I remember sizing up my
chances against one of them. A fellow named
Oseresos took me in tow and showed me around. He
explained so many things that when we got through
I didn’t know much more than when we started, but
we were always the best of friends after that,
although he was not a fellow who had many friends.
The crew couldn’t have treated us better, been
more kind to us, or more willing to help us if we
had been their guests.
That night
we slept on blankets on the berth-deck, and “hot”
is no name for it. I thought I’d melt away before
morning. About five o’clock, as I was awake, I saw
one of the crew getting some bread out of a large
chest. I thought he was getting himself something
to eat; but no, he was one of the mess cooks
starting to get breakfast. I soon found out that
there is no eating between meals on a man-of-war.
The whole ships crew is divided
into messes, fifteen to twenty-five in each mess.
Each has its own cook and caterer appointed from
its own members—the cooks are excused from other
duties—and all are entirely independent of each
other. The chest I spoke of was one of the mess
chests. There is a mess chest and locker for each
mess. The cooks mix the food and carry it to the
galley on the gun-deck and then go after it when
mess is piped. These cooks are continually
quarreling and purloining mess-gear, knives, forks
and spoons. One day we would have nearly enough to
go around and the next day there would be hardly
any, according to whether our cook had been
successful in making a raid. There was never
enough for all. A fellow generally got one piece.
It might be a spoon, or a knife, or a fork; or he
might not get anything, according to whether he
was there at the first rush. That brings up
another point; Nobody was allowed to lay a finger
on anything until the pipe of the whistle, but we
were all right there, ready and waiting. There was
always enough food to go around. I don’t know that
I would care to eat it now, but I ate an awful
amount then and I know it tasted good.
The next night after we came
aboard, on May 27th, the “Oregon” left Key West.
Nobody was sure then where we were going although
we rather thought it might be Santiago, and as
soon as we saw we were steaming along the north
coast of Cuba we felt sure of it.
I gradually became acquainted with
the men. There were so many of us that I never
felt that I had to particularly try to get
acquainted. In time I came to know nearly all the
crew by sight and a great many of them by name,
but I never became particularly friendly with more
than one or two.
During the trip
to Santiago, as we had not been assigned our
billets or stations, there was not much for us to
do in the way of work. It did not take me long to
become familiar with the ship and the routine, but
until I was assigned my cleaning station the
routine did not bother me. We did about as we
pleased the first few days.
As we
steamed to our blockading position before Santiago
the last day of May, the crews of the other ships
as we passed them stood at “Attention” and gave us
cheer after cheer.
The ships never
changed their relative positions during all the
time of the blockade except during a bombardment
or when one of them would go to Guantanamo to take
on coal. The sea was too rough there for coaling
and they had to run down to Guantanamo Bay, but
never more than one ship was gone at a time. The
“Oregon” went down there twice and it was just a
great big piece of luck that it was not the
“Oregon” instead of the Massachusetts that was
there July 3.
No ship ever dropped
an anchor. The sea, with the exception of a very
few days, was always calm. We floated around with
the propeller turning just enough to keep in
position.
Nearly everyone asks me
if I was sea-sick, so, I will put it of record
that I never was. The ship never pitched enough to
make even the most susceptible person sick.
We were all assigned our
station-billets about the time we arrived at
Santiago. My station at general quarters was in
the forward 6in. magazine.
The
first time I ever went down in the magazine was in
the first bombardment. There was no practice, no
drill. The first crack was the real thing (if you
will excuse a slang phrase), and I never could see
but that our boys were just as efficient as the
crew who had been drilling at it for months; and
it was the same with the work.
No
petty officer on the “Oregon” ever entered a
single complaint to the first-lieutenant against
any boy from Chicago.
In fact, we
were too willing. You may think a fellow can’t be
too willing, but he can on a man-of-war. The best
man-of-war’s man is one who will not lift a finger
to help at anything unless he is ordered to, and
then do it well and quickly. If you see a man
breaking his back to do something, and you are
standing right beside him, don’t make a move to
help him unless you have been ordered to. It
didn’t take me long to find that out. A petty
officer will swear at you just as readily for
helping when you have not been told to as for not
helping when you have been. I have in mind once
when a carpenters mate was carrying below a pile
of wood that would take him an hour, and as I was
standing there with nothing to do I offered to
help him. The chief carpenters mate came up and
saw me starting to lift up a piece of wood and
said “Have you been ordered to help him?” I said,
“No”. He said, “Get out!”, and I quit. Never after
that did I, out of kindness, offer to help
anybody.
Another question everyone
asks me is “Pretty hot down there, wasn’t it?”
There are one or two questions that everyone asks.
Another one is, “You must be tired talking about
it?”
I never felt the heat there
any more than during a summer up here. Sometimes I
thought it was not so hot. There was generally a
little breeze blowing up on the deck, but below
decks it was hot all the time, and during an
engagement it was terrific. Nobody ever stayed
below any longer than was absolutely necessary.
Some parts, of course, were hotter than others.
The ammunition deck, which is below the berth
deck, was always hotter. Down there the
perspiration would run off in streams, just
standing still, without making a move.
The ammunition passages on this
deck, where the shell and powder are pushed along
on overhead trolleys to the hoists, are only five
feet wide and the sides and deck are always too
hot to keep a hand on them. During a bombardment,
when all the hatches are battened down, it is very
much hotter. My magazine was two decks below this;
the cover over the hatchway leading down was
always kept locked; the opening was about three
feet square, and we climbed down a ladder.
The “Oregon” had not been there
many days before the first general bombardment.
The whole fleet bombarded four times. The first
and second of July we were firing nearly all day,
and the battle on the third made three days of
almost continual fighting. Sometimes a ship would
bombard alone. The Texas did once, and so did the
Indiana the day after she arrived with the
troop-ships.
As the “Oregon” was
not engaged either of these times, I was on deck
and it seemed for all the world like a panarama. I
had to keep bearing in mind that they were
actually firing at each other.
It
was intensely interesting and exciting to see the
belch of smoke from the Texas and the cloud of
sand and dirt when the shell struck on the
hill-side; and then the answering puff of smoke,
and the boom from the Spanish battery, and the
immense column of water thrown up where it struck.
The Texas was struck that day.
The
day the Indiana took a hard hand she laid a course
exactly between the batteries and the “Oregon”. We
couldn’t have been in a better position to watch
if I had ordered it myself. She steamed slowly
along, only firing her 8 and 13 in. guns; eleven
times before the Spanish answered a shot. I saw
from the way she was going that there would be a
few moments when the Indiana and the “Oregon”
would be exactly in line from the battery, and I
can remember debating in my mind whether I hadn’t
better step behind the turret. A shell did go over
the Indiana and strike exactly between us.
I thought of Tom And Earle and how
queer it was that I should be standing on the
“Oregon” watching them on the Indiana bombarding
the Spanish batteries, way down in Cuba, and a few
months before the wildest flight of imagination
could not have thought of it.
However, these bombardments never
did much harm, much permanent harm, as far as I
was able to see. We would dismount their guns, but
after we had stopped and sheared off, with
field-glasses we could see the Spaniards working
and repairing. I could see crowds of them
shoveling and working with wheel-barrows. The day
our troop-ships came in sight, old Morro and the
batteries were covered with people waving their
arms and hats. They thought it was Camara’s fleet.
Discipline was in a great measure
relaxed during the blockade. In fact, during all
the time we were on the ship, the discipline was
never as strict as in ordinary times of peace. I
mean in such things as smoking only at certain
hours, or strickness about the uniform or places
where we could sleep. For instance, at quarters
twice a day, which is roll-call, every one must
have on shoes and stockings except on Sundays.
Anybody could sleep wherever he
could find a place to lie down; on the quarter
deck or any of the decks; on the bridge or the
turrets; and some always slung their hammocks.
Four boys, great friends of mine,
and myself, had a kind of monopoly on the after
starboard 8 in. turret. We always slept there. I
used to look forward to it every night. We would
spread our blankets side by side and then lie
down, and talk and argue, or tell stories, before
going to sleep. It was very seldom or never that
we were all sleeping at the same time. Some were
on watch all the time. Those coming off would wake
those going on. Two of the boys were on the
search-lights. There were four lights on the
bridge. One was only a few feet away, and at times
would shine directly over us. One night when mail
came aboard after dark I climbed up on the
search-light and read the letters. It was a little
stronger than a Rochester burner at home.
The search-light work of the ships
was faultless. In all the month or more off
Santiago there was hardly a moment when there was
not a light on the entrance to the bay. The ships
relieved each other at two-hour watches and one
light would not be turned off until the other was
on.
In taking up its position for
search-light work a ship would move in very close,
sometimes as close as 1200 yards. That is within
very easy range. I never could understand, nor
could anybody else, why the enemy never fired on
us.
Sometimes when our light was
square on the Morro it looked as close as four or
five blocks off. I could see every detail of the
fort that plainly.
A few times
they did fire on us. I remember one night after
the Vesuvius arrived the “Oregon” took up a
position almost between her and the battery so as
to protect her as much as possible while she threw
some of her shells. We were lying on the turret,
watching her, I could just make her out, a little
deeper black than the surrounding darkness. She
threw two shells. They went almost directly over
us. I could see them very plainly. They looked
like a ball of fire. The report of the discharge
was no louder than a six-pounder, and by listening
intently I could just catch the distant boom of
the explosion. I hadn’t been watching long when
there was a flash from the battery and I heard the
shriek of the shell as it went over us. It makes a
kind of whistling moan. It was the first shell I
had heard with my own ears, and I suppose I
thought I was rather exposed because I didn’t stay
there long. I didn’t see where the other fellows
went to at the time but I jumped from the turret
onto the bridge and crouched down behind the
hammock nettings. Two marines were down behind the
same place. We had been there about a minute when
there was another bang from the battery and I
began to realize that the thing I was behind was
not going to do me any good if a shot struck it,
so I ran along the bridge and down onto the
superstructure behind the turret where I found the
other fellows. The Spaniards fired two more shots
and after that we went back on the turret.
All the ships had bands. We had
one, a pretty good one, too, although it was made
up of just fellows in the crew. They played nearly
every evening from about half past six to eight,
and that hour and a half was eagerly looked
forward to by every one in the crew. Some of the
boys had fine voices, and some evenings would get
back on top of the after 13 in. turret and sing
and play for the officers on the quarter deck. One
of the boys had and especially fine voice. After
the battle he composed a song and used to sing it
with tremendous applause from both officers and
crew. I can remember one verse of it.
“On July the third Cavara came out
To tackle our wonderful fleet:
When he poked his nose, on him we did
close,
We knew that he was our meat.
The “Oregon” was the first to let go,
We did them up with ease
And
Commodore Schley as he passed us by,
Said!
“The “Oregon” is the whole cheese””.
July the Third was a day I will
never forget. It started out as peaceful and
serene as a Sunday could be. The sea was as calm
as a lake and everyone was in their clean white
Sunday clothes. Friday and Saturday had been two
hard days of fighting. In fact, the rumor was,
that we were going to bombard until old Morro
surrendered, no matter how many days it took, and
we were all disappointed that Sunday morning when
things started out in the same old ordinary way.
It was just a few minutes before quarters, at half
past nine. First call had gone on the “Oregon” and
the crews were actually at quarters on some of the
ships. On the following day I wrote a home letter
describing the battle from my position in the
magazine, and what I saw of it. I don’t think I
can do better than quote substantially from the
letter: “I was sitting on one of the anchor-davits
reading one of the home letters and waiting for
the call to quarters. Everybody was standing or
sitting around. The “Oregon” was nearly off the
entrance at the regular blockading position of
three miles. I happened to look at the entrance
and I thought I saw two masts moving along just
coming around the point. I had looked at that
entrance a thousand times and so little expected
to see anything like this, I thought I must be
mistaken. I stood up and looked again. Just then
someone one the bridge yelled: “The Spanish fleet
is coming out”! It was as if an electric shock had
struck every man on the deck. Everyone started and
those sitting down sprang to their feet. Just then
the big gongs began to clang, and then came the
long battle-roll of the drum. Talk about
excitement! We were not going into a bombardment
this time. The Spanish fleet was coming out to
give battle. Everybody was running in different
directions. Apparently there was the wildest
confusion, but really there was none. As I ran
along the gun-deck to the hatch leading down to
the berth-deck the gun-crews were letting down the
battleports for the 6 in. guns. There was a jam at
the hatchway. The drummer-boy was standing
amidships beating the drum, one continuous long
roll, the men running. I remember thinking of the
battles at sea I had read about. After getting on
the berth-deck I ran forward to the hatch leading
down to the ammunition deck. The crowd was thinner
here. The Master-at-Arms was yelling, “Close these
battle-ports; close these battle-ports.” I got
down on the orlop –deck. This is the deck where
the ammunition is run along on trolleys to the
hoists and hoisted to the different guns. The
petty officer in charge of our magazine was
unlocking the padlock on the battle-hatch leading
down. I went down that ladder faster than I ever
went down a ladder before. Just as I struck the
bottom, bang! Went our first gun, the first gun
fired in the battle, and we fired the last one. By
this time every gun on the ship was banging. There
was clanking of chain-gear, shouting of orders,
cheering and yelling as some piece of good news
was passed along from the deck above; everybody
was stripped to the waist, perspiration rolling
off. The magazine was full of smoke. I worked as I
never worked before. “Torpedo boat blown up”,
Cruiser on fire and headed for the beach”, and
the, another torpedo boat blown up”, and the last,
“Viscaya on fire and headed for the beach, still
firing”. We cheered and we yelled, we danced, we
pounded each other on the back, we shook hands and
cheered again. Soon the fire slackened. I say
soon: Christensen looked at his watch and it was
ten minutes after twelve. The ship was trembling;
I could tell we were going ahead at full speed.
Someone yelled down the hatch that we were under
forced speed draft chasing the Christobal Colon
and the Brooklyn was on port bow but not gaining
on us. We were not firing now and I got permission
from Christensen to go up on the gun-deck. I
looked through the battle port of a 6 in. gun and
could see the Spaniard off our starboard bow about
seven miles, hugging the shore and smoke pouring
out of the funnels. I looked back and could see
the Viscaya on the shore with an immense column of
dark black smoke going up from her, and further
back were two other columns of smoke. I had been
watching about half and hour. We were gaining all
the time and began to fire at her with the 8 in.
guns. I didn’t see any of them hit her, although
they came mighty close. Finally one of the 13 in.
shells went over her bow. She headed right for the
beach and hauled down her colors. Cheering,
cheering, cheering! You will know I have good
reason for feeling proud. Proud! I feel as though
I was walking on air, proud to have been on the
“Oregon”.
I was alongside of her
in one of the boats but as the first few boatloads
had sacked her we were not allowed to board her.
The boys got clothes, uniforms, swords, revolvers,
bags of money, silver plate, anything they could
lay their hands on. As she began to sink,
everybody was taken off by eleven o’clock that
night and the next morning she was lying on her
side.
Within a day or two after
the battle the “Oregon” left for Guantanamo Bay
and stayed there, with the exception of the 13th
and14th of July, when we went back to Santiago,
until we left for New York. Life here after a
couple of weeks began to grow monotonous, although
it was relieved by the excitement of the
expectation of going to Spain. It is hardly
necessary to say that we were all very
disappointed when peace was declared.
I wrote a number of letters home
from here and I have endeavored to pick out some
of the things that I think will be most
interesting. As all the supply ships were in the
bay we lived very high, fresh meat and sugar and
flour. These were all great delicacies; but in all
the time I was away I never had to complain about
the food, although it was rather rough at times.
About the last of July we had
general “field day”. It means cleaning and
painting ship from signal yard to double bottoms.
No cleaning could be more thorough than that on a
man-of-war. It was very pretty. Everything below
decks is milk white; all bolts and hammock hooks
are black; and with green and red water pipes, the
highly polished bright work and the spotless
decks, nothing could be finer. All the extra
trimmings and hand-rails were brought out. It
seemed like old times to the old crew but it was
all new to us. The “Oregon” only took three of her
own boats with her when she left Key West but we
took all the small boats from the Christobal
Colon.
I see that in one of the
letters I said I was getting so used to washing
and mending my own clothes that it was getting to
be second nature. I didn’t think twice about it,
but I am inclined to think I would do an awful
amount of thinking about it now.
All those who wished to could go
in swimming at a certain time every day. I,
myself, did not miss a day for a month and a half.
We used to dive off the 8 in. gun turrets.
Sometimes a boatload of those who could not swim
was allowed to go to the beach. I managed to get
in that boat several times. I didn’t care so much
about the going in bathing; I wanted to get a run
on the beach.
About the first week
in August Captain Clark was taken sick and had to
leave us. I cannot praise him too highly. I think
he is the finest Captain of them all.
About the middle of August the
good news came to come home. We were all glad. The
trip to New York was uneventful; the sea was calm
and there was not a cloud in the sky.
You have all read of the reception
given us, of the great Naval Parade. It was a
wonderful sight. New York was thrown open to the
sailors. We couldn’t spend money. We could do no
wrong.
About the sixth of
September we were transferred to the receiving
ship Vermont, preparatory to being sent home in a
body. The day we left the “Oregon” the crew
gathered on the deck and gave us cheer after
cheer. They said they were sorry to have us go,
and I believe they were. We had made a great many
friends.
My discharge is dated
September 12th., which makes my term of service
just a summer’s vacation.
Note: by Bertram Willard Edwards
of Chicago, a member of the Naval Reserve, USS
OREGON.
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