One selection I remember in particular was called, “March of Heralds’ Trumpets”. A dozen men with long coach horns lined up in front of the band proper and introduced trumpet calls through the music. I was anxious to have this repeated and von Müller, observing that I must begin to learn German, told me to ask the head waiter for an encore. I didn’t know a word of German except “Ich liebe dich” which would hardly have done so when the waiter came over, I raised my closed fist to my mouth and said sonorously, “Ta-ra-ta-ra” delighted at my ingenuity. The waiter, with a beaming smile, nodded intelligently and said, “Ja, ja, bier!” and filled my musical stein to overflowing.
The next morning Prince Henry’s flag lieutenant brought on board our ship a copy of a general signal that had been sent to the German Fleet the evening before. As an example of the enormous importance the Germans attached to form and ceremony as well as the care with which they worked out every detail, I will include it here:
On the 24th instant in the forenoon his Majesty the Emperor will arrive by way of the Kiel Canal. As soon as the ship nearest the canal sights the Imperial Standard she will dress ship, followed down the line in succession by each vessel, the National Ensign at the masthead, then will salute with 33 guns and man the rail. Bands to play the National Air. Ships’ Companies to give three cheers for the Emperor when the Hohenzollern passes.
We had received some time before unofficial information as to the time of the Kaiser’s arrival and also what we were expected to do during the ceremonies. So we had had plenty of experience in firing salutes and in “dressing ship” (running a line of signal flags from the bow, over the mastheads, to the stern) but having to man the rails and cheering in unison was something new.
With some help from von Müller, we worked out a system. All hands were assembled on deck, the only men below being those on watch in fire, engine, and dynamo rooms, whose presence at their posts was essential to the safety of the ship. Then the First Division was marched to the forecastle, the Fourth to the quarterdeck and the Second and Third to the superstructure. The Divisional Officers deployed their men along the rails as far outboard as possible, the proper interval being determined by each man extending his right arm and placing his hand on the left shoulder of the man on his right. Then the vacant places, or “holidays”, were filled by members of the Engineer’s and Powder Divisions. Thus we had a wall of men around the entire circumference of the upper deck, the tops of the turrets, the bridges and even the fighting tops, each man’s arm extended and his hand on the shoulder of his neighbor.
After the men had learned their stations, came the “cheering drill”. The Executive Officer, or “cheer leader” if you prefer, began by directing the bugler to sound the Assembly, whereupon the divisions fell in at their regular places for inspection. Then came the order “Man the rails!” the bugler sounded the Deploy and the men ran to their stations, extended their arms, and remained absolutely motionless. Then came the order, “Three cheers for the Kaiser!” every man of the eight hundred executed a half face to the right, removed his hat and dropped his right hand to his side, the left arm remaining extended. Then the order, “Hip!” at which each right arm was raised to its full length, and then again, “Hip!” at which the hats were waved in unison above the heads and then a “Hurrah!” At first the men regarded the whole business as nonsense and went through the drill reluctantly, but after awhile they got into the spirit of the thing and when the “Hurrah!” came you would have thought that William II was their dearest friend.
When von Müller was satisfied that we could go through the performance without disgracing ourselves — and him — he left, and we all shifted into our best clothes while the crew proceeded to brush each other until the carefully swept decks were littered with pieces of whisk broom and the long suffering sweepers had to be piped anew. All the officers put on their Special Full Dress uniforms with such medals as they possessed — mainly Spanish War, Philippine and China decorations — and then commenced struggling into new white kid gloves. As my Special Full Dress is so tight that I can’t sit down in it, I went on deck to watch for the coming of royalty.
The signal flags had been broken out and bent to the dressing lines which were stretched along the decks, each individual flag being carefully spread out so it would fly clear when they were run aloft as “fouled” bunting is considered most slovenly and unnautical. All these long preparations were most nerve wracking, and I’m sure we could have gone into battle with far less trouble and anxiety.
The quartermasters were standing by the dressing lines and the chief was nervously watching the harbor entrance through his long glass. The executive officer had just returned after a run around the ship in the steam cutter to make sure her sides were clean and no “Irish pennants” visible anywhere when, away down the line we saw a puff of smoke followed by the boom of the first gun of the Royal Salute.
Immediately there was frantic activity; the guard and the band were paraded, the rails manned and the saluting guns’ crews called to quarters. As ship after ship took up the salute, the roar of the guns was accompanied by the flutter and color of lines of dressing flags running aloft. We could see the Hohenzollern now; a yacht as big as a small liner, painted white with the Imperial Standard of Germany at her mainmast truck. Her rails were manned, her band and a guard of sailors under arms paraded on her quarterdeck and her bridge crowded with officers, both of the Army and Navy, glittering with decorations.
When her bow was abreast of our flagstaff the first gun of our salute was fired, the bugles sounded four flourishes, and the band struck up the German National Air. Just as our men gave the first cheer, I saw the emperor. I had been looking in vain for him among his officers; happening to cast my eyes aloft I saw a small flying bridge, just large enough to accommodate one person, and on this bridge was the emperor in the full dress uniform of an admiral of the Fleet, his sword by his side and his right hand raised in a rigid military salute. A most spectacular and impressive entrance. Whatever else he may have been, the Kaiser was a wonderful showman.
As soon as the Hohenzollern had moored to her buoy, our captains came on board, the barge was called away and we started for the Royal Yacht in company with launches from every flagship in the harbor. Here something happened which turned out rather unfortunately for me. As the barges ran alongside the German gangway our engines got “on center”, failed to reverse, and we had the mortification of running by instead of stopping abreast the lower gangway platform. Very humiliating and before the eyes of the entire fleet. The admiral ordered me to stay in the barge to make sure that she came alongside properly when he left; so I never got a chance to go on board the Royal Yacht.
When we returned to the Kearsarge, we found cards from one of two German ships who were our sponsors — the Kaiser Frederick II — for a dance that afternoon from four to six. All the Wardroom Mess, except those on duty, put on their frock coats and went over at the hour specified. The quarterdeck of the Frederick had been cleared and waxed for dancing and on the superstructure were two long rows of booths and tents. Here I was able to renew my acquaintance with the pretty Countess Eulendorf who looked like an exquisite blue-eyed doll. She was so tiny that I had to take care not to step on her while we were dancing a German variety of the Lanciers.
The next afternoon I went ashore with Baron von Kottwitz who took me to the Yacht Club. As we crossed the threshold, he clicked his heels together and bowed to the room. Everyone there rose and bowed just as formally. Evidently Kottwitz is someone of importance.
During dinner, he told me some stories of the Boxer Rebellion. Two of his men had straggled and been cut off. Nothing was heard of them until the allies took Pekin several weeks later when the first sight that greeted him as he entered the gate was the bodies of his men crucified head downward. “Naturally, we took terrible vengeance,” he remarked casually. I didn’t know whom to be the most sorry for: the unhappy Germ
an captives or the wretched people of the city.
Also at our table was Lieutenant von Leffert of the Second Life Guards, Hussar Regiment of Queen Louise of Prussia. (Louise was the beautiful queen of the Napoleonic era.) I asked von Leffert how many regiments of hussars there were and he said ninety; then I asked him how many men in a regiment and he said a thousand. I thought of our own tiny army and how our newspapers and politicians were constantly complaining about German aggression and how we should put a stop to it. Yet whenever anyone suggested increasing our armed forces he was denounced as a militarist.
One of the guests was the celebrated Princess Daisy of Pless. I was always interested in “professional beauties” (nowadays they seem to have vanished like the dinosaurs) and was glad for the chance to see her. Princess Daisy wore a stiff-brimmed sailor hat and was decidedly Junoesque proportioned. I wouldn’t have cared to “get a little bit gay” with her. I was considered something of a boxer at Annapolis but Daisy could have laid me flat with one wallop of her lily white hand.
Later the Kaiser arrived with the Kaiserin; she looked much older than he and was dressed very quietly. They went from group to group chatting pleasantly and, as they moved, the entire company also changed front, for you must never turn your back on royalty. It was curious to me how he was able to combine a formal and yet friendly manner which, I suppose, was the result of long training.
While at Kiel, I noticed a German custom that seems strange to us. There is a regulation that prohibits an officer in uniform from carrying a parcel. Several times I saw men in brilliant uniforms with clinking swords striding along followed by their wives staggering under a huge bundle that looked like the week’s wash. In Germany, the women know their place and a very humble place it is too.
We had been notified that the Kaiser was coming on board the Kearsarge for breakfast the next morning so elaborate preparations had to be made. A long horseshoe table was built on the quarterdeck, the awnings spread, and the ship decorated with flags and palms. When the Imperial Barge was reported heading our way the rails were manned, guard and band paraded, and the officers lined up on the starboard side of the quarterdeck with the left of the line abreast the gangway.
The emperor’s barge had fourteen rowers; he steered it himself and made an excellent landing in coming alongside our gangway. I noticed that he had a special type of tiller on his boat. Instead of the ordinary tiller, which is moved left or right to make the boat turn to starboard or port, his steering gear was so arranged that it was pulled forward or pushed back and no lateral movement was necessary, making it far less awkward for an officer in dress uniform to handle.
He came over the side and, at the first note of the bugles sounding the flourishes, stood at attention, raised his hand to his vizor in return salute, and remained absolutely rigid until the last note of the National Anthem died away; then he walked down the line of officers, shaking hands with each in turn and speaking pleasantly in excellent English. He was about five feet ten inches tall, very well built, and apparently in fine physical condition.
In later years, when he became so bitterly hated, a lot was said about his “withered arm”. I saw him every day for a week, was presented to him and shook hands with him without noticing anything unusual about his left arm; it may have been a little shorter than the right but he certainly had the full use of it. I will say that he usually kept his left hand on his sword hilt which hid any defect there may have been.
The emperor asked to be shown over the ship so the divisions were ordered to quarters while he made an amazingly thorough inspection of everything. He clearly knew what he was about, even going down to the engine rooms and to the Armory. He took pains to stop and chat with the men, as well as the officers. I remember his stopping to converse with a gunners mate who had a large number of service stripes on his sleeve and asking him numerous questions about his life in the service. He also stopped a young apprentice (who had been born in Germany and who looked it) to ask whether he was an American citizen and then talked with him in German for some time. Lastly, he checked the sick bay and went into great detail with the senior medical officer about the X-ray outfit.
Rather to my surprise, he showed a sense of humor. We were especially proud of our head, or toilet, which was very elegant with shining brass and nickel and long rows of valves and pumps. Our flag lieutenant Hussey eagerly exhibited it and then said, “Would you like to see how it works, your Majesty?” The Kaiser replied politely, “Why, certainly Mr. Hussey. Please sit right down.”
Back on the quarterdeck, the emperor congratulated Captain Hemphill, captain of the Kearsarge, on the fine condition of the ship and said he intended to send a cable to “his friend Roosevelt” praising the Kearsarge and Captain Hemphill’s efficiency.
Before leaving, the emperor presented the ship with a beautiful silver punch bowl over two feet long and foot and a half high and wanted to give two medals to the orderlies who had attended him. When he was told that regulations did not permit the acceptance of decorations from a foreign power without permission of Congress, he then offered to give ornamental pencils stamped with the royal arms to all hands. When told that even this was impossible, he shrugged and remarked, “At least, then, let the crew know that this was my intention.”
That evening I attended a ball at the Naval Academy with “my” pretty little countess and met her mother who was almost as attractive as she herself. I didn’t meet her father because, as Eulendorf frankly said, “Father doesn’t like Americans,” so I passed up the honor of seeing the old gentleman without regrets, being far more interested in his daughter.
All the German mounted officers wear spurs as a part of their uniform and in one “galop” (a “galop” being, as I understand it, a dance in which all the heaviest people in the room form a phalanx and dash down on the innocent spectators kicking right and left) I was spiked in a number of places, some of them so high up that they spoke well for the agility of the Emperor’s Cavalry. Several of the ladies had their dresses almost cut to ribbons.
One of the guests wore the uniform of a Highland regiment; kilts, sporran, dirk, bare legs, and all. He was a fine chap but the invigorating air, aided perhaps by his native “Scotch” was a combination too strong for him and after welcoming us as brothers in arms, he insisted on seeing us safely back to our ship. As all the ship’s launches had secured for the night, we had to hire a shore boat to get us back to the Kearsarge.
Why a soldier should have felt it necessary to row three sailors home is beyond me but, after carefully depositing us in the stern sheets, he manned the oars and gave way boldly. The boat darted from the landing and then stopped with a violent jerk that made our “crew” execute a clever back somersault. He had neglected to cast off the painter. We cast if off for him, put him back on the thwart, and started anew. At about the third stroke, he caught a “crab” and once more went over backwards into the bottom of the boat.
Now I yield to no man in my admiration for the Gordons or the Camerons when passing in review, but their uniforms were certainly never intended for sudden reversals. We lifted him tenderly and once more put him back on his thwart, and, eventually, after colliding with everything in the harbor, he succeeded in ramming the Kearsarge gangway bows on. We explained the situation to the officer of the deck who, not wishing to create a vacancy in a gallant British regiment, had the anchor watch turned out, the dinghy lowered and the last we saw of our devoted friend was a rear view of his martial figure lying in the bottom of the boat being towed shoreward while he shouted, “Scotland forever!” at the top of his voice.
The next afternoon we gave a reception in return for all the courtesies that Kiel had shown us. The quarterdeck was cleared and several squads set to whittling wax candles over every square inch; then the band call was sounded and the word passed: “Lay aft to the quarterdeck all hands.” Everybody came aft and the band played while the men “broke in th
e floor” by sliding up and down on it to make it smooth and slippery. Meanwhile the quartermasters and signalmen spread flags under the awnings and draped them around the stanchions. The mess boys arranged the tables for refreshments around the after barbette while, midway between the turret guns, was the Kaiser’s punch bowl.
We were rather fearful of the success of the affair as we had had no experience in such formal entertainment. Fortunately, we were a novelty and the guests came in crowds. Among them was Prince Henry and his lovely mistress, a young American girl named Geraldine Farrar, who had a wonderful soprano voice. A few years later I heard her sing the role of Juliette at the Metroplitan Opera House in Roméo et Juliette. At first the guests were rather stiff and restrained but I had the happy inspiration of having the Kaiser’s punch bowl filled with brandy smashes. American cocktails were unknown in Germany and they were a brilliant success! Soon the punch bowl was surrounded by an ever increasing throng frantically waving their glasses. Our dance floor was not as successful — we found that we had used too much wax and the couples kept falling down and sliding into the waterways — and we had to sprinkle sand on it. Our cards had read, “From Four to Six” but it was eight o’clock before the last boatload left cheering America in general and the Kearsarge in particular.
The Old Navy Page 13