World War 1 — Remembering the Tuscania

(This story I wrote originally ran in February in the Vernon Record to commemorate the 100th anniversary of the Tuscania sinking)

World War I veteran Ed Ueeck, who died in 1990, bought a bottle of J&B Whisky in 1976. His plan was for the last survivor of the sunken World War I troop ship “Tuscania” to drink it.

Ueeck was one of those survivors. The Tuscania departed for Europe from New Jersey on Jan. 24, 1918 carrying thousands of American soldiers. It was sunk by a torpedo fired by German U-Boat 77 on Feb. 5, 1918 between Ireland and Scotland.

The bottle was to be passed on until it reached the last survivor, but because tracking the last few survivors was so difficult it ended up in the care of the Vernon VFW Post 4747 in 1985 to “teach the young Turks” a lesson in fraternity

For 30 years VFW hall in Vernon still sealed, stored in a protective wood and glass case adorned with inscriptions.

One inscription reads: “Placed in custody of comrades at VFW Post No. 4747 to be presented to the last living of 900 survivors.”

“In lieu of for any reason whatsoever that the … request cannot be accomplished, this token of faithful comradeship may be kept in custody of VFW until Feb. 5, 2018, then be opened by the post commander (in the spirit of) all old soldiers who in spirit never die on this earth. Especially to those men who started it all in 1776, who at the Concord Bridge and Bunker Hill stood their ground against overwhelming odds because they believed in something that was worth fighting for. In comradeship, Edward.”

The bottle was entrusted by the Vernon VFW a few years ago to a Wisconsin group who wanted to commemorate 21 Tuscania survivors from their town.

Sinking recalled

Ueeck, who lived at 1407 Lamar Street in Vernon for many years, recounted for the Vernon Daily Record on several occasions the sinking during World War I of the British transport ship Tuscania off the coast of Ireland in 1918.

Ueeck was one of over 2,300 American soldiers and sailors aboard the Tuscania, and was among the last of those taken off by three destroyers that pulled alongside the listing ship before it plunged, bow first, into the depths.

“After almost 50 years, I still wake up and remember things that happened in that hour and a half that I never thought of before,” he told the VDR in the 1960s.

The torpedo hit the vessel midship and a funnel-shaped blaze towered skyward.

Ueeck, who was facing the explosion while on the main deck just forward of the rear mast, was thrown some distance by the air blast.

In a 1970s interview with the VDR,  Ueeck recalled: “All I can remember is seeing a funnel-shaped cloud go up – then I lost consciousness.”

“The next thing I remember, about six inches of water was on the deck and wreckage was showering down all around,” he said.

He said there was no one else around.

An officer on board the Tuscania reported in a Feb. 1918 edition of the Vernon Record: “At 6 o’clock just as the darkness was getting well in, we got the blow. Nobody saw the periscope nor could one have been seen well. Some soldiers described having heard a hissing sound immediately before the torpedo struck. All lights went out at once.”

Ueeck recalled that he headed for the deck: “I headed for my lifeboat station immediately. I stumbled over a body that I recognized as that of a schoolmate. I picked him up and carried him to the life boat station.”

“There was no panic,” Ueeck recalled, although most of the lifeboats were disabled. The men were called into ranks and held there.

“A thousand men jammed the deck, six ranks deep, for all of an hour while three of seven English destroyers that stood by the stricken vessel circle with guns and depth charges blazing.” Ueeck said.

The ship heeled over to starboard at a 40-degree angle, sinking slowly.

“The wake of a second torpedo trailed past our high stern by inches. Every man there will shamelessly tell you we prayed.”

They also sang “Where Do We Go From Here?” in order to pass the time.

He said he was on the starboard side. But the first destroyer took survivors from the port side. When it pulled away, a lot of lifeboats on the port were left unclaimed with no lowering crews.

Under the command of the company’s first sergeant, the men marched across the  wreckage-strewn deck to take charge of a lifeboat that had partially swung out.

“Determined to claim it as our assigned lifeboat, Ingwall Sorenson and I were assigned to man the tackle block at one end, to unhook when we were afloat,”Ueeck recalled in a 1978 article. “Before the lifeboat cleared ‘A-deck,’ it was swamped and overloaded by a lot of stragglers left behind when the first destroyer pulled away with all of the survivors it could carry.

Ueeck told the VDR this prompted him and Sorenson to attempt to leap back across the space between the lifeboat and the Tuscania.

“I made it back. Ingwall didn’t,” he recounted.

As destroyers moved alongside, the men climbed down lifelines to the docks of the smaller ships some 25 feet below.

Ueeck said he took the last lifeboat lowered from the ship. Although it was designed to carry 50 men, more than 75 were on board.

Ueeck recounted that it was difficult to get the boat down to the sea. He was one of three men manning the lowering gear, a job that normally required 10 to 12.

As the ship continued to list starboard, his lifeboat scrapped along the port side during the entire descent.

Ueeck and the group he was with were picked up by the destroyer Pigeon, then transferred to a fishing boat. Six hours later they eventually found their way to the small Irish fishing village of Buncranon along with 600 or 700 other survivors.

For two days, all he ate was a single piece of bread

They were transferred via Winchester, England to Souley, France, where they got off a train in a fog and drizzle about 3 a.m., initially mistaking artillery flash for lightning, he recalled.

Ueeck was assigned as a truck driver in a transport company. He helped deliver, under cover of darkness, a machine gun detachment in the Soissons-Rheims sector in July of 1918 that set up its guns beside a road and caught German troops shortly afterward marching forward in columns of fours, riddling them in one of the most deadly actions of the war.

He also served in the Verdun, as well as other war actions.

Ueeck recalled he was fitfully sleeping off the exhaustion of 36 hours of continuous duty, in which he had delivered supplies and brought back 17 wounded a sudden strange silence.

“I couldn’t hear a single artillery piece,” he said. After learning of the Armistice, he turned over and slept calmly.

Because he came from a German family and spoke the language fluently, Ueeck was assigned to the Army of Occupation as an interpreter during seven months after hostilities ceased.

1918 recalled

Ueeck wasn’t the only Vernon, texas connection with the Tuscania. The Vernon Record, from February 8, 1918, recounted that Mrs. Azro Oyler was visiting her sister-in-law, Mrs. JH Watts, in Vernon and was concerned but hopeful that her son Leon Oyler was among those rescued.

The paper stated: “While no word has been received, Mrs. Oyler hopes that her son will be found among the survivors.”

Subsequent reports showed he survived.

The newspaper reported: “One hundred thirteen United States soldiers were missing at last report. …The bodies of 44 of the victims of the ship were washed up on the docks 15 miles from the scene of the torpedoing. All were Americans. … Identification tags had been given each, but as they had not been assigned to definite army units, no numbers had been assigned, so these do not help.”

“The survivors are being well cared for, the American Red Cross, the American consulate, and the British Red Cross are rushing assistance to the overtaxed coast town where the survivors were landed.

“The crew of the German U-boat which torpedoed the transport Tuscania had short time to gloat on the first submarine toll of American troops. … According to Associated Press dispatches a second torpedo fired by the submarine missed its mark and the destroyer nearest the scene wheeled like a flash and made for the submarine. The Germans had barely submerged when the swift warship passing over the spot let go her entire equipment of depth bombs.”

Ueeck moves away

By 1985 there were only a dozen known survivors of the Tuscania still alive.

In 1988, 70 years after the war, Ueeck proudly displayed his service-disability card for the Vernon newspaper. He had finally received from the federal government. Asked if he was relieved to receive it after so much time he said no.

“Uncle Sam will take care of you if you live long enough,” he told the VDR.

The injury that earned him the card came when he and fellow soldiers took a dive into gas-contaminated mud in France to escape German fire. Two of those with him died, but Ueeck credited his survival to a chew of tobacco.

“I spit it out right after that. It’s what saved me,” Ueeck told the VDR.

By 1989, it was down to seven survivors and at the age of 92, Ueeck moved back to Alaska “to spend his twilight years” where he had worked as a trapper for 35 years. He died the next year. Ed’s life as a trapper was captured in a book by his niece, available on Amazon here.

Today the luxury liner-turned-troop transport lies underwater between Scotland’s Islet and Northern Ireland’s Rathlin Island, about seven nautical miles north of Rathlin lighthouse, under 328 feet of water.