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NEWS FLASHED TO SHIPS AND STATIONS FIVE MINUTES AFTER PRESIDENT SIGNED DECLARATION—ENTIRE NAVY MOBILIZED AT ONCE—FLEET, ON WAR BASIS SINCE BREAK WITH GERMANY, WAS AT YORKTOWN—"IN BEST STATE OF PREPAREDNESS IT HAD EVER BEEN," ADMIRAL MAYO SAID—OFFICERS AND MEN EAGER FOR ACTION.

Five minutes after President Wilson signed the war resolution passed by Congress April 6, 1917, the Navy's radio operators were flashing this message to every ship and station:

Sixteen Alnav. The President has signed act of Congress which declares a state of war exists between the United States and Germany. Acknowledge. 131106.

Secnav.

That dispatch had been prepared hours before. Radio and telegraph operators were at their keys waiting for the word to "let it go." Lieutenant Commander Byron McCandless, my naval aide, was waiting in the executive office at the White House. Lieutenant Commander Royal Ingersoll was stationed at the Navy Department, across the street, watching for the signal. The moment the President appended his signature, McCandless rushed out and wigwagged that the resolution had been signed. Ingersoll dashed down the corridor to the Communication office, and ordered the operators to start the "alnav" (all navy) dispatch.

Flashed from the towers at Arlington, in a few minutes it was received by the Atlantic and Pacific fleets, by vessels and stations all along the coast. By radio, telegraph and cable, the message was carried to Panama, across the Pacific to Honolulu, the Philippines, to the vessels on the Asiatic station. By the time the newspaper "extras" were on the street, the naval forces had received notice that we were at war.

The fleet was mobilized that afternoon by the following telegram to the five flagships:

U. S. S. Pennsylvania U. S. S. Minnesota U. S. S. Seattle U. S. S. Columbia U. S. S. Vestal

Flag Sigcode. Mobilize for war in accordance Department's confidential mobilization plan of March 21. Particular attention invited paragraphs six and eight. Acknowledge.

Josephus Daniels.

[Paragraph 6 assigned the rendezvous of the various forces, and paragraph 8 contained instructions with regard to vessels fitting out at navy yards.]

When this message was received by the Atlantic Fleet, at 1:33 p. m., Admiral Henry T. Mayo, Commander-in-Chief, hoisted on his flagship, the Pennsylvania, the signal, "War has commenced." At 5:50 o'clock he received the mobilization order, for which officers and vessels were so well prepared that Admiral Mayo said he did not have to "give a single order of any kind or description to pass the Fleet from a peace to a war basis." The entire Navy—Department, Fleet, yards and stations—was on a war footing within a few hours after war was declared. Complete instructions and plans, brought up to date, had been issued two weeks previous, and mobilization was completed without an hour's delay.

The Fleet was at its secret rendezvous "Base 2," to which it had sailed from Hampton Roads on April 3, the day after President Wilson delivered his war message to Congress. "Base 2" was Yorktown, Va., one of the most historic spots in America, and our battleships were in sight of the place where Cornwallis surrendered to George Washington. They rode at anchor in the waters where the timely arrival of De Grasse's ships assured the success of the war for American independence.

In those waters, first made historic in naval annals by the presence of the French ships sent to aid the struggling colonists in the crucial days of 1781, the American Navy was making ready to repay that invaluable assistance—to send its vessels to the beleaguered French coast, both to safeguard the vast army America would send to France and to drive back the onrushing enemies that threatened its life. In 1917 the York and the Chesapeake were again the rendezvous of fighting men of the same mettle as those of 1781, who were to strengthen by united service and common sacrifice in the World War the bonds of friendship between France and America that had been forged more than a century before.

And those who fought each other then were comrades now. "Old wars forgot," Great Britain and France for years had held the lines, and America was taking its place beside them, throwing all its power and strength with them against the common foe. From Yorktown went the first United States forces, ordered overseas just after war began. Sent to England's aid, to serve with the British forces, their arrival was hailed as the beginning of a new era in the relations of the nations—the "Return of the Mayflower." And later went huge dreadnaughts to the North Sea, joining the Grand Fleet in the mightiest aggregation of naval power the world has ever seen.

That is a wonderful harbor, there in the York River, with water deep enough for the largest battleship, and broad enough to accommodate a whole fleet. With defenses at the entrance to Chesapeake Bay, and nets, mines and patrol across York River, no submarine could ever hope to penetrate to this safe haven.

"When the active fleet arrived in Hampton Roads about the 1st of April, after its training period in Cuban waters, it was in the best state of preparedness that it had ever been," said Admiral Mayo, "and there was a feeling of confidence in the personnel of being able to cope with any emergency."

"At the end of March, 1917, when we were on the verge of entry into the war," said Rear Admiral Charles P. Plunkett, Director of Gunnery Exercises, "the gunnery was in the highest state of efficiency that it has been in the history of the American Navy."

When the break with Germany came the fleet was in Cuban waters, engaged in target practice, engineering exercises, and battle maneuvers. This intensive training had been going on under regular schedule for more than two years. Every man in the fleet, from the Commander-in-Chief to the youngest recruit, felt in his bones that the maneuvers that spring were a real preparation for war. Eager to get a chance at the Germans, confident that they could defeat any force of similar strength and tonnage afloat; they were just waiting for the word "Go!"

Is there such a thing as mental telepathy! Would you call it that or a mere coincidence, if the same thought at almost the same moment came to the Admiral of the Fleet at Guantanamo and to the Chief of Naval Operations in Washington? That is exactly what occurred on February 4, 1917. And the two dispatches stating the same conclusions in regard to moving the fleet were en route at the same time.

At 3:59 o'clock that afternoon Admiral Mayo sent this message from his flagship at Guantanamo:

Unless instructions are received to the contrary, propose to shift fleet base to Gulf of Guacanayabo after spotting practice February 5th; then proceed with schedule of all gunnery exercises.

Before that message reached Washington, in fact in less than ten minutes after it was handed to the operator in Cuba, the following to Admiral Mayo from Admiral William S. Benson, Chief of Operations, was being sent from the Department:

Position of fleet well known to everybody. If considered advisable on account of submarines, shift base to Gulf of Guacanayabo or elsewhere at discretion. Inform Department confidentially.

The first duty was protection of the Fleet from submarine attack. Four months before the U-53 had called at Newport, and sallying forth, had sunk British vessels just off our coast. On January 16th a Japanese steamer, the Hudson Maru, captured by Germans, a prize crew placed on board, had put into Pernambuco with 287 survivors from half a dozen vessels sunk by a German raider. That raider, as was learned later, was the famous Moewe, which captured twenty-six vessels, sinking all except the Hudson Maru and the Yarrowdale, which carried several hundred prisoners to Germany, among them fifty-nine American sailors.

The Germans could easily send their U-boats across the Atlantic. There was a possibility that they might strike quickly without warning. Naval strategists do not yet understand why Germany did not make an immediate dash against our coasts in the spring of 1917, instead of waiting until 1918. Allied and American officers alike expected the submarines to extend their operations to this side of the Atlantic when this country entered the war. It was necessary to provide for the fleet a rendezvous with which the Germans were not familiar, one easily defended, where battleships could carry on their work free from attack until the time came to bring them into action. But why Guacanayabo?

Though you would hardly notice it on the average map, the Gulf of Guacanayabo is a sizeable body of water, extending in a sort of semicircle some seventy miles, the broadest part about fifteen miles wide. On the southern coast of Cuba, it extends from Santa Cruz del Sur to below Manzanillo, nearly to Cape Cruz. With plenty of deep water inside, once the main channel is closed, only a navigator familiar with the turnings and depths can navigate safely through the other channels, for the Gulf is surrounded by a chain of islands, with many shoals. Difficult for submarines to negotiate submerged, it is easily defended against them.

When Admiral Mayo had placed his ships in this landlocked harbor, shut the door and turned the key, they were as safe as my lady's jewels in a safety deposit vault. At Guacanayabo the fleet continued its work, going out to sea for battle practice and long-range gunnery in the daytime, returning at night to conduct night firing with the secondary batteries, torpedo attack, and other exercises. There was even room in the Gulf to carry on torpedo firing and defense at 10,000 yards distance.

There the fleet remained until it was ordered north, on March 20th. "I feel sure that if this force had engaged an enemy on its cruise north in the spring of 1917, the victory would have been ours," said Admiral Henry B. Wilson, commander of the flagship, and Admiral Joseph Strauss, in command of the Nevada, declared: "In April, 1917, we could have gone out in mid-ocean and engaged the German fleet and come out successfully. Our ships were superior; our guns were superior; I believe our morale was superior."

Upon the arrival of the fleet, Yorktown became the center of battle training. During the entire war this base was one of the busiest places in America. Every ship was carrying on intensive training day and night—training gunners, engineers, firemen, deck officers and crews, armed guards for merchant vessels, men of every rank and rating to man transports, destroyers, patrol craft, and all the many vessels put into European and trans-Atlantic service. In addition to new men in their own crews, the special training squadron of older battleships trained more than 45,000 officers and men for service in other vessels.

When the bugle sounded, they all wanted to get into action. They had looked for the declaration of war as the signal to weigh anchor and set sail for Europe. As the destroyers and patrol craft went overseas and the cruisers plunged across the Atlantic escorting troop-ships and convoys, those who were left behind envied those who had received such assignments. But teaching recruits, tame and tiresome as it was, was their job, most necessary and useful. Until they had their heart's desire and were ordered abroad, they stuck to it with the vim and determination with which they afterwards entered upon the U-boat chase. That was the spirit that won.

Three thousand miles across the seas the men on the British Grand Fleet were likewise eating their hearts out because the enemy dreadnaughts, after the one dash at Jutland, were hugging the home ports, denying to Allied naval forces the chance for which all other days had been but preparation. All naval teaching for generations had instilled into American and British youth the doctrine that, whereas battles on land might continue for months, domination of the sea would be lost or won in a few moments when the giant dreadnaughts engaged in a titanic duel. German naval strategy, after the drawn battle at Jutland, defeated all naval experience and expectation. Hiding behind their strong defenses, never venturing forth in force, they imposed the strain and the unexciting watchful waiting which more than anything else irks men who long to put their mettle to the test by a decisive encounter.

The acme of happiness to the fleets at Yorktown and at Scapa Flow to which all looked, both before and after the American division joined the British Grand Fleet, was a battle royal where skill and courage and modern floating forts would meet the supreme test. It was not to be. The disappointment of both navies was scarcely lessened by the knowledge that they had gained a complete victory through successful methods which a different character of warfare brought into existence. They wished the glorious privilege of sinking the ships in an engagement rather than permitting the Germans later to scuttle them. Admiral Beatty voiced the regret of both navies in his farewell address to his American shipmates, when he said: "I know quite well that you, as well as all of our British comrades, were bitterly disappointed at not being able to give effect to that efficiency you have so well maintained."

The sense of disappointment at the drab ending was heightened by the belief entertained that there had been times when the bold and daring offensive would have compelled a great naval battle. In Germany, fed up for years on the claim of naval superiority and stuffed with fake stories of a great German victory at Jutland, there had been demand that their navy make proof of its worth by giving battle instead of rusting in home ports. Men of the navies that had produced Nelsons, and Farraguts and John Paul Joneses and Deweys grow restive under inaction. They knew that the existence and readiness of the two great fleets and of the French and Italian fleets held the German High Seas Fleet in behind shore protection, rendering impotent the force Von Tirpitz had assured Germany would sink enemy ships. But the dreary program of blockade carried on during four long years was not to their liking. It succeeded, but it was not the finish for which they had trained. They longed to the very end for the real fight, the daring drive, the bringing of their big guns into play, the final combat which could end only with annihilation of the enemy's fleet.

Whatever may be said of the wisdom of the ancient prudent doctrine of "a fleet in being," I shall always believe that, if, at the opportune time, such fighting sailors as Beatty and Carpenter, Mayo and Rodman and Wilson, could have joined in a combined assault, they would have found a way or made one, to sink the German fleet, in spite of Heligoland and all the frowning German guns.