BANTAM DESTROYERS.

Pelorus Guardian and Miners' Advocate., Volume 29, Issue 34, 4 May 1917, Page 8

BANTAM DESTROYERS.

ESCORTING OUR TRANSPORTS. The disregard of danger when there is something to arouse their curiosity, which is characteristic of our troops, is well illustrated by a recent letter from an Australian soldier. Ho de-1 scribes the end of his voyage in the transport when, just before reaching England, they entered the submarine zone. Thero were nine transports together, and up to that point they hud been escorted by a single cruiser. “It was a Sunday,” he writes, “we had been travelling through choppy seas all day, and the weather, which for several days had been gradually growing colder, had now' got quite on the fresh side. Towards evening, just as it was getting dusk, the fleet began to slow down, and then spread out in all directions. We crowded on the deck straining our eyesight to see if wo could ascertain the cause. Although we knew wo were soon to have our individual escort, wo also knew that wo were in the heart of the danger zone, and the possibility of a submarine in our midst was not improbable. Excitement ran pretty high on board, and much chaffing took place as to whether we would drown or freeze to death. A rumour went round that a couple of tin fish were amongst us, but no om worried much. The general desire aboard was to see what the blighters looked like. The cruiser drew ahead of us and rapidly disappeared in the mist, vigorously snapping signals at us with the Morse light.

“I cast my eyes over our chaps on the crowded deck, muffled up in overcoats and wraps with their lifebelts well up under their armpits—a bantering and expectant bunch of manhood, as happy as sandboys, and as excited as children with the expectations of new toys. Presently the new toys appeared. Through the gloom on the starboard side, blink, blink, shot a light towards us. Then another blink, blink, blink, some hundred yards from the first. And another and another. Then the first destroyer appeared. Streaking straight towards us, her Morse winking viciously, she came, throwing up a huge wave on each side higher than herself. Around and behind her came the others, nine in all. Our final escort had arrived—one destroyer to each transport.

“Our little peauut darted alongside, blinked a few orders to us, and then shot ahead with our massive old tub following hard astern. The others did likewise, and each transport tailed off in a different direction. Then came our final dash lor home. Our tiny escort, hidden from view one minute and the next bobbing up on the crest of a wave, as ferine and cocky as a bantam. The weather became worse, increasing into a gale as each hour went by. Huge seas broke over our bows and a fierce cutting wind enmo up, nearly freezing us as wo stood. All the time, our little escort forged ahead, seemingly oblivious of the elements. My word, they're, groat little chaps those destroyers, and their crews must be made of steel. We raise our hats every time we see them. Our old tub could easily sling a dozen of them on her sides, and yet the whole of our destinies rested in just one of these little hornets. “The fleet reached port safely, and just before breakfast quite a largo number of mine-sweepers came in. These, I understand, had been sweeping our course ahead of us. Fine, smart, workmanlike, little chaps these, yet another cog in that mighty force, the silent fleet."