New-York tribune. [volume] (New York [N.Y.]) 1866-1924, 1918-05-26
By Herman Whitaker


nut in the harbor a thirty
vessel convoy was moving up
to its anchors. The hiss of
steam and rattle of the winches car
ried across the water and up the hill
to where, from the Office windows, the
base admiral watched the departure.
His gaze centred on one ship, fine
steamer, which with her cargo of
$4,000 tons of meat was worth fully
100000. Her potential value,
however, far exceeded that figure,
for the meat stood for human flesh
the flesh of women and children
in France and England; for the
thews and sinews of millions of SOL
diers who must be we'll fed if the
world was to escape the German
yoke.
The ship was commanded by
Scotch skipper, an admirable char
acter, upright, courageous, self-re-
liant, the finest of seamen, but I'M
fortunately hard in the mouth. Be-
fore the convoy system was estab-
lished he had voyaged a score of
times through the submarine zone,
winning his way to safety by sea-
manship and daring. A torpedo had
once shaved his bows. Another had
almost clipped off his stern. He had
fought half dozen artillery bat
ties and gotten away with it. All
of which had raised his opinion of
himself and his ship fairly close to
omnipotence. He hated the naval
discipline of conveys as much as
their slow speed and had bolted them
twice. The fact was in the base
admiral's mind when he turned to
his chief of staff.
McGregor Had
Bolted Twice
"McGregor, down there, has bolted
twice. have advised his owners to
replace him, but they won't. Sooner
or later if he isn't stopped the u
boats will get him. Radio N to
watch him closely"
The order was duly noted by the
senior commander of the destroyer
group that escorted the convoy to
sea, and when his chief executive
reported few hours later that Nc
Gregor was edging out of his column
the destroyer went after him like
dog in charge of boiling sheep.
"Who do you think you are, any
way?" the senior commander
"bawled him out" through a mega
phone. "The Lord High Admiral,
heigh? Try that again and I'll put
an officer on your bridge and rec
ommend that your papers be can
celled."
<That ought to hold him." he re-
marked to his chief executive, as
McGregor came back to his line.
But I'll bet you the old chap is
raving. His crew will need to step
lively during the next few hours"
And raving McGregor surely was.
If printed here his remarks, as
afterward reported by his crew,
would burn hole in the page. He,
master of twenty years. standing,
to be ordered about by a damned
Yank! He that had outfought, out
witted, outrun more U-boats than
the entire American flotilla had
seen in the course of it's operations
He with sixteen-knot ship to be
held down to an eight-knot crawl!
Put an officer on his bridge, would
they? Cancel his papers, hey? And
so. forth with profuse marginal
notes and profane trimmings.
When the Fog Lifted
He Was Missing
1t plausible excuse in the shane
OF fog that fell like thick gray
blanket over the convoy had not been
furnished, these fulminations no
doubt would presently have sub
sides. He would hardly have dared
violate such specific orders. But
when the fog lifted toward evening
the convoy was scattered over the
seas to the horizon and came scutter-
ing back like frightened chickens in
response to the destroyers' radio
ciucking-all but McGregor, who
was out of sight. Next news Of him
came in an agonized call from q
point just over the horizon.
I'm torpedoed! Sinking! Sub
marine Smelling boats! Come at
once!"
Too late! On the wide and lonely
ocean that had just engulfed that
fine ship with her sorely needed
food, the potential flesh of thou
sands. they found two shell-torn
boats full of wounded and diving
men,
In the crestfallen. troubled man
who sat in their midst it was diff
cult to recognize the old hard. mouth