THE BLOCKADE OF FLORIDA

Seminole Indians, angered over President Andrew Jackson’s plan for their relocation to the Oklahoma Indian Territory, rose up on 28 December 1835 and attacked a column of Army troops under MAJ Francis L. Dade south of Tampa, Florida.  Only three of Dade’s 110 men escaped the massacre.  The Second Seminole War was thus ignited, the only Indian war in which our Navy played a significant role.

Whether or not arms and ammunition were being run to the Seminoles by the Spanish from Cuba, as Floridian officials continuously insisted, is arguable.  But on this day, in response to Florida Governor John H. Eaton’s persistence, Secretary of the Navy Mahlon Dickerson ordered a blockade of the southern coast of Florida.  The job fell to the West Indies Squadron, but Commodore Alexander J. Dallas had only five ships as his disposal–the venerable 38-gun frigate CONSTELLATION, the sloops-of-war ST. LOUIS, 20, WARREN, 20, and VANDALIA, 18, and the schooner GRAMPUS, 12. 

To our 1830s Navy, maritime blockade was an unknown mission.  Since her foundational years our Navy had served only two missions: the Federalist task of guerre de course by lone-ranging independent ships; and the Jeffersonian reservation of the Navy for harbor and inshore defense.  The frame of mind necessary to manage an offensive blockade didn’t exist among Naval officers, Commodore Dallas in particular.  In this Seminole War there were no enemy cruisers to attack, merchantmen to intercept, or fleets to engage.  Dallas’ strategic orientation did not suit the tasking.  Furthermore, possessed of only deep draft warships, blue-water cruising was his only viable course–and gun running to Florida could have been more easily done with shallow-draft skiffs and barges working up through the Keys.  As a result, this blockade of Florida wasn’t our most shining accomplishment.

Dallas also found his attentions distracted by competing priorities.  New England merchants were ranting over losses to Haitian pirates.  Texas was striking for independence from Mexico, and the simultaneous Creek War in Georgia demanded Marine Corps support.  But most damning, our Navy never believed that arms were being run to the Seminoles in the first place.  Dallas would find it impossible to prioritize a mission he judged unnecessary from the outset.

Not surprisingly, no filibustering captures were made off Florida during the 1836-42 blockade, though it was maintained continuously throughout the Seminole uprising.  Our greatest contribution to the conflict turned out to be a “mosquito fleet” of shallow-draft riverine craft that took the fight to the enemy in Florida’s wetlands.

Watch for more “Today in Naval History”  26 JAN 26

CAPT James Bloom, Ret.

Buker, George E.  Swamp Sailors:  Riverine Warfare in the Everglades, 1835-1842.  Gainesville, FL: Univ. Presses of Florida, 1975, pp. 1-5, 34-35, 47-48.  Department of the Navy, Naval History Division.  Dictionary of American Naval Fighting Ships, Vol 2 “C-F”. Washington, DC: GPO, 1977, p. 171.

Department of the Navy, Naval History Division.  Dictionary of American Naval Fighting Ships, Vol 3 “G-K”. Washington, DC: GPO, 1977, p. 130.

Department of the Navy, Naval History Division.  Dictionary of American Naval Fighting Ships, Vol 6 “R-S”.  Washington, DC: GPO, 1976, p. 244.

Department of the Navy, Naval History Division.  Dictionary of American Naval Fighting Ships, Vol 8 “W-Z”.  Washington, DC: GPO, 1981, p. 107.

Mahon, John K.  History of the Second Seminole War, 1835-1842.  Gainesville, FL: Univ. of Florida Press, 1985, pp. 121, 171, 220.

Sweetman, Jack.  American Naval History:  An Illustrated Chronology of the U.S. Navy and Marine Corps, 1775-Present, 3^rd ed.  Annapolis, MD: USNI Press, 2002, p. 40.

ADDITIONAL NOTES:  The Second Seminole War is an example of how not to run a joint operation.  Throughout the conflict the Army continued to believe the Indians were being supplied from Cuba and could not fathom why the Navy didn’t prevent such.  The Navy thought the opposite, and until the advent of the “mosquito fleet” in 1840, there was very little coordination between Army and Navy operations.

ST. LOUIS was to have an exceptionally long career for a wooden sloop.  She was built by the Navy, for the Navy, at the Washington Navy Yard in 1828 and initially served as the flagship for Dallas’ West Indies Squadron.  She was transferred to the Pacific Squadron in 1839.  After showing our American flag for the first time in San Francisco Bay, she transferred to Singapore with our East Indies Squadron.  Again a flagship, she was re-assigned to the Mediterranean Squadron in 1852.  She served twice with the African Squadron, suppressing slave trading in the pre-Civil War years, then patrolled with the South Atlantic Blockading Squadron during that latter momentous conflict.  From 1866-94 she was laid up at Philadelphia as a receiving ship and training ship for the Pennsylvania Naval Militia.  In 1894 she was formally loaned to the state Militia and in 1904 her name was changed to USS KEYSTONE STATE in deference to that organization.  She was finally stricken from the Naval Vessels Register on 6 August 1906 and sold for scrap.  Her 78-year career, marked by multiple re-fits, spanned four wars and allowed the training of countless naval personnel.

The post The Blockade of Florida appeared first on Today in Naval History.

                                                 USS PATAPSCO

The Rebel-controlled guns of Forts Sumter, Moultrie, and Johnson straddling the entrance to Charleston harbor anchored the Confederate defenses in the late Civil War.  The mouth of the harbor and the entrance channel were obstructed with log booms, pilings, and “torpedoes” (underwater mines).  The Civil War saw the first effective use of fixed underwater mines, and Union warships off Charleston had learned a healthy respect for torpedoes.  Working parties in rowboats regularly dragged the approaches to Charleston with grappling hooks to find and remove these “infernal devices.”  Because these parties worked within range of Confederates on Morris and Sullivan’s Islands, a Union gunboat was usually detailed to provide cover.  Such was the ironclad monitor PATAPSCO’s duty after sunset this evening.

As the rowboats worked 100-200 yards off her beams, PATAPSCO occupied the channel, drifting seaward with the ebbing tide, then steaming back up to the Lehigh buoy.  Her commanding officer, LCDR Stephen P. Quackenbush, and about 40 sailors were out on the monitor’s deck, directing the boats sweeping for torpedoes.  The XO, LT William T. Sampson, conned the monitor from atop the rotating turret.  This night there was no pestering fire from the shore and three times, PATAPSCO drifted lazily down the channel with the tide.  Three times she turned and steamed back up.  But as she made her third return about 2010 hours, a sudden, sharp explosion rocked her port bow.  The cloud of steam and a geyser of seawater immediately alerted Sampson that he had struck a torpedo.  He had no time to react.  Within 15 seconds the forward deck flooded, and in another 30 seconds the monitor rested on the bottom of the 50-foot-deep channel.  Curiously, Sampson only got his feet wet, for when all motion stopped the top of the turret was only ankle-deep.  He simply stepped into the rescuing launch.  Quackenbush and 42 sailors on deck were fished from the water, but the crewmen below decks were not so lucky.  Civil War monitors did not have escape hatches.  To protect against boarders, such ships were built with only one or two hatches leading below deck.  As a result, only two sailors from below were able to scramble to safety.  Sixty-four men, including the Assistant Surgeon Samuel H. Peltz, the surgeon’s steward; the sick nurse; most of the engineers, firemen, and coal heavers; the paymaster; and all the cooks were trapped and died.

Visitors to modern Fort Moultrie National Historical Park on Sullivan’s Island will notice an obelisk commemorating the Union sailors lost with PATAPSCO.  In fact, the monitor still lies today where she sank on this date, having since been partially salvaged, then blasted flat to clear the channel.

Watch for more “Today in Naval History”  21 JAN 26

CAPT James Bloom, Ret.

Department of the Navy, Naval History Division.  Civil War Naval Chronology 1861-1865.  Washington, DC: GPO, 1961, p. V-16.

“Report of Lieutenant-Commander Quackenbush, U.S. Navy, commanding U.S.S. PATAPSCO” dtd. 16 January 1865.  IN:  Official Records of the Union and Confederate Navies in the War of Rebellion, Series I, Vol 16, South Atlantic Blockading Squadron from October 1, 1864, to August 8, 1865.  Washington, DC: GPO, 1903, pp. 175-76.

“Report of Lieutenant Sampson, U.S. Navy, executive officer of the U.S.S. PATAPSCO” dtd. 16 January 1865.  IN:  Official Records of the Union and Confederate Navies in the War of Rebellion, Series I, Vol 16, South Atlantic Blockading Squadron from October 1, 1864, to August 8, 1865.  Washington, DC: GPO, 1903, pp. 176-78.

“Report of Rear-Admiral Dahlgren, U.S. Navy,” dtd. 16 January 1865.  IN:  Official Records of the Union and Confederate Navies in the War of Rebellion, Series I, Vol 16, South Atlantic Blockading Squadron from October 1, 1864, to August 8, 1865.  Washington, DC: GPO, 1903, pp. 171-75.

“Report of Rear-Admiral Dahlgren, U.S. Navy, transmitting report of proceedings of a court of enquiry,” dtd. 29 January 1865.  IN:  Official Records of the Union and Confederate Navies in the War of Rebellion, Series I, Vol 16, South Atlantic Blockading Squadron from October 1, 1864, to August 8, 1865.  Washington, DC: GPO, 1903, pp. 178-80.

Sweetman, Jack.  American Naval History:  An Illustrated Chronology of the U.S. Navy and Marine Corps, 1775-Present, 3^rd ed.  Annapolis, MD: USNI Press, 2002, p. 81.

ADDITIONAL NOTES:  This sinking marked the fourth loss of a monitor during the war, the second to torpedoes.  It prompted both tactical and strategic changes to the Union’s campaign against Charleston.  From this date, only tugboats and launches were used to protect sweepers clearing Charleston’s channels, and the strategy for the joint Army/Navy assault on Charleston was altered.  The point of attack was shifted northward, away from Charleston Harbor, to the less protected waters of Bull’s Bay about 10 miles up the coast.

PATAPSCO’s executive officer, William T. Sampson, is of course better remembered for his action as the senior in command of US Navy forces off Santiago, Cuba, three decades later in the Spanish-American War.  He is one of several Navy veterans of the Civil War who remained on Active Duty to fight in that latter conflict.

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                                                      USS LYNX

In modern times, the unexplained disappearance of a vessel at sea would raise much interest, concern, news coverage, and even sensationalist speculation.  Witness the loss of Malaysian Airlines flight MH370 in 2014.  In the 19^th century, however, losses due to act of God were a known risk of oceanic enterprise. 

When President James Madison received from Congress a declaration of war against Great Britain in 1812, he found the US Navy woefully inadequate to the task.  Part of the subsequent build-up for that war included the creation two squadrons that could raid British shipping.  A contract was let to Mr. James Owner of Georgetown, DC, for the construction of a Baltimore Clipper-rigged schooner of 150 tons displacement and six guns.  Construction delays prevented her completion prior to the summer of 1815, six months after the end of the fighting.  Nevertheless, on 3 July 1815 she was commissioned into our Navy as USS LYNX, manned with 50 crewmen, and sent with Commodore William Bainbridge’s nine-ship squadron to the Mediterranean to police Barbary piracy.

Here, LYNX arrived too late for combat again.  Bainbridge took over command of our Mediterranean Squadron, and LYNX remained in the area for a year, showing the flag to insure Barbary peace.  Upon her return to the United States, her new skipper LT George W. Storer surveyed the northeastern coast, until piracy, that had started before the turn of the century. surfaced again along our Gulf coast.  LYNX was sent south to address this.

By 1819 LYNX had yet a new captain, LT John R. Madison, and experienced her first brush with combat.  On 24 October she overhauled and engaged two pirate schooners and two smaller boats loaded with booty off Louisiana.  LYNX departed subsequently for the coast of Texas, then part of Mexico.  Here, in Galveston Bay, she captured another pirate boat also loaded with stolen booty.

By early 1820, LYNX was operating out of St. Mary’s on Georgia’s Atlantic coast, from whence she received orders to Kingston, Jamaica.  Piracy had become rampant in the Caribbean, as newly independent former Spanish colonies such as Venezuela and Colombia commissioned privateers against Spanish shipping.  These privateers too often placed profit above patriotism and attacked ships of any nation.  American traders were falling victim, and LYNX was to be part of our Navy’s efforts against this affront.

On this day LYNX disappeared over the horizon, heading south.  Neither she nor Madison nor any of her crew were ever seen again.  The mythical Bermuda Triangle notwithstanding, a search by USS Nonsuch, 14, turned up nothing.  Months later some unidentifiable wreckage was found on Craysons Reef, off Florida, that is believed today to have been the remains of USS Lynx.  In the days before accurate weather forecasting, losses at sea were not uncommon.

Watch for more “Today in Naval History”  15 JAN 26

CAPT James Bloom, Ret.

Cooney, David M.  A Chronology of the U.S. Navy:  1775-1965.  New York, NY: Franklin Watts, Inc., 1965, p. 48.

Department of the Navy, Naval History Division.  Dictionary of American Naval Fighting Ships, Vol 4 “L-M”. Washington, DC: GPO, 1969, pp. 172-73.

Silverstone, Paul H.  The Sailing Navy, 1775-1854.  Annapolis, MD: USNI Press, 2001, p. 55.

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                                   THEODORE EDSON CHANDLER

Theodore Edson Chandler was born at Annapolis on 26 December 1894 into a distinguished Navy family.  His father, the future RADM Lloyd H. Chandler, attended the Naval Academy at the time.  Young Chandler followed in his father’s footsteps, entering the Naval Academy in 1911.  After a combat tour on the WWI destroyer CONNER (DD-72) he assumed the position of executive officer aboard the newly launched destroyer CHANDLER (DD-206).  That ship had been named in honor of Chandler’s late grandfather, William Eaton Chandler, President Chester Arthur’s Secretary of the Navy.  Theodore served between the Wars aboard several battleships and destroyers, even aspiring to a brief tour with the office of the Chief of Naval Operations.

In the months before the still neutral US entered WWII, (now) CAPT T.E. Chandler commanded OMAHA (CL-4) in the Atlantic Fleet’s Neutrality Patrol.  One task in this employ was to enforce international laws governing ships of combatant nations who might call on American ports.  In the wee hours of 6 November 1941 OMAHA came across a curiously darkened ship out of Philadelphia showing the name Willmoto.  A suspicious Chandler stopped the freighter, who proved in truth to be the German blockade runner Odenwald, illegally running rubber to the Weimar Republic.  “Willmoto” was taken into custody.  Soon-to-be-changed Navy regs required that Chandler supervise her sale at public auction, the last instance in our Navy’s history when a warship’s crew shared “prize money.”  Chandler was promoted to RADM in May of 1943 and transferred to the Pacific in October 1944.  He served under VADM Jesse B. Oldendorf as commander BatDiv 2 during the battle of Leyte Gulf and the liberation of the Philippines.

Then at 1730 on 6 January 1945 a Japanese kamikaze crashed the starboard bridge of USS LOUISVILLE (CA-28), flagship of Commander PacFlt Cruiser Division 4, RADM T.E. Chandler, operating in the Lingayen Gulf in support of the Allied invasion of Luzon.  Chandler was thrown to the deck and doused with flaming gasoline.  Heedless of his severe burns however, he pitched in with his enlisted rates, manhandling fire hoses and supervising damage control.  He patiently waited for medical aid, allowing those more seriously injured to be attended.  Only when he had been satisfied that the needs his sailors had been met did he allow himself to be treated.  But by then the effects of his pulmonary burns were too severe to reverse.  He died this following day.  For his gallant sacrifice he is a recipient of the Navy Cross.  The WWII Gearing-class destroyer THEODORE E. CHANDLER (DD-717) bore his name, as does our former Kidd-class guided missile destroyer DDG-996.

Watch for more “Today in Naval History”  11 JAN 26

CAPT James Bloom, Ret.

Department of the Navy, Naval History Division.  Dictionary of American Naval Fighting Ships, Vol 7 “T-V”.  Washington, DC: GPO, 1981, pp. 127-28.

 Morison, Samuel Eliot.  History of United States Naval Operations in World War II, Vol 13  The Liberation of the Philippines: Luzon, Mindinao, the Visayas.  Boston, MA: Little Brown and Co., 1959, pp. xii, 109.

Theodore E. Chandler

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                                            CROSSING THE LINE

On 29 December 1907, after their first coaling stop in Trinidad, the Atlantic Battleship Fleet, nicknamed “the Great White Fleet,” weighed anchor and headed south on their epic world cruise.  Five days later off Macapa, Brazil, they made their first of what would be four crossings of the Equator.  According to longstanding custom, each ship was duly visited by King Neptune and his court.  Aboard each the uninitiated polliwogs atoned for such sins as knowing more about haystacks than about seaweed in a traditional ceremony, which today adheres to anti-hazing regulations.

Maritime lore holds that crossing the Equator provides one the opportunity to be introduced to the Solemn Mysteries of the Ancient Order of the Deep–provided one is properly expunged of any landlubber attributes.  Toward that end King Neptune’s henchman, Davy Jones, appears the evening before the ship approaches the Equator to announce that the ship must heave to for an audience on the morrow with the King.  In the hours that follow, the polliwogs among the crew endure good-natured “cleansing” at the hands of the shellbacks.  King Neptune appears the following morn in his royal splendor, accompanied by an entourage that includes Davy Jones, Queen Amphitrite, and perhaps the Royal Chaplain, Royal Doctor, Royal Dentist, Royal Barber, the Devil, and one or more Royal Babies.  Acquiescent skippers, respecting the august ruler, dutifully welcome him aboard.  The polliwogs are now summoned before the King, who, of course, finds them unclean and orders the appropriate expurgating rituals.  These may include ministrations by the members of the Royal party, appeals to various Gods of the Sea, dosing with Truth Serum, and other purifying practices.

As maritime traditions go, the observance of an initiation ritual upon crossing the Equator is old indeed.  It probably began soon after the spherical nature of the globe was established.  European navigators from the 1500s, such as Magellan and Jean Parmentier, record such rituals.  The first US Naval vessel to cross the line was the frigate ESSEX, 32, during the War of 1812.  Her skipper, CAPT David Porter, did not log the details of his crossing ceremony while enroute to harass British shipping in the Pacific.

In 1989 complaints of sexual harassment arising from such a ceremony aboard the Merchant Marine training ship Golden Bear prompted the National Maritime Administration to examine the notorious vigor with which parts of the ritual were conducted.  In a similar vein such ceremonies aboard US Navy vessels today are well controlled to insure the safety of all participants while preserving the flavor of the rite.

Watch for more “Today in Naval History”  8 JAN 26

CAPT James Bloom, Ret.

Mack, William P. and Royal W. Connell.  Naval Ceremonies, Customs and Traditions, 5^th ed.  Annapolis, MD: USNI Press, 1980, pp. 184-87.

Oral history, CAPT James Bloom, converted to Shellback aboard USS DIXON (AS-37), November 1995.

Reckner, James R.  Teddy Roosevelt’s Great White Fleet.  Annapolis, MD: USNI Press, 1988, p. 32.

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                                                    USS SANTEE

Even before the United States entered WWI, our Navy was assisting the British in combating Kaiser Wilhelm II’s U-boats.  This effort intensified after US entry in June 1917.  At the time, targets for the U-boats were so plentiful in the waters around Britain that U-boats had to return to port not for fuel or provisions, but for more torpedoes!  Indeed, U-boat skippers learned to save precious torpedoes by surfacing and attacking defenseless freighters with their deck gun.  An Allied counter measure was the Q-ship–a merchant freighter armed with hidden guns.  The Q-ship would cruise about, baiting a U-boat to surface, then unmask her guns to duel the enemy.  Our Navy toyed with the Q-ship concept as well, in both World Wars.

On 27 November 1917 the Royal Navy Q-ship HMS ARVONIAN was transferred to our Navy, “for war purposes.”  CDR David C. Hanrahan was placed in command of a crew drawn from other US warships in the theater.  As combat was assured, her crew included Medical Officer LT James P. Compton and Assistant Surgeon Thomas L. Sutton.  ARVONIAN was impressively armed with three 4″ guns, three 12-pounders, two .30 caliber machine guns and four 18″ torpedo tubes.  She fitted-out in Devonport, England, and on 18 December was commissioned as USS SANTEE,, after the river of central South Carolina.  The absence of an assigned hull number indicates the ad hoc nature of her service in American hands.  On this day she cruised south of Kinsale, Ireland.

At 2045, a lookout spotted the wake of an incoming torpedo!  Kapitänleutnant Victor Dieckmann in U-61 had sent the underwater missile at the innocent-looking freighter.  It struck to port, abaft of the engine room.  Electric power blinked, then SANTEE went dead in the water.  Hanrahan ordered his crew to battle stations and dispatched the “panic party,”–men who took to the boats in a ruse they hoped would entice the German skipper to the surface.  Indeed, Hanrahan later wrote that the boatmen exited in, fine panicy [sic] style.”  Meanwhile SANTEE’s concealed gun crews waited.

Moments ticked by.  Damage control temporarily stemmed the flooding but could not re-fire the engines.  Lookouts aloft strained to see into the darkening horizon but detected nothing.  Two and a half glasses slipped by.  No U-boat appeared.  Dieckmann had slinked away, whether he knew it or not, dodging a bullet!

Hanrahan now radioed for tugs while STERRET (DD-27) and CUMMINGS (DD-44) picked up the boat parties.  No sailors were lost in this, SANTEE’s only combat action with our Navy.  Her short service ended after repairs.  She was returned to the Admiralty for the remainder of the war, operating from Gibraltar as HMS BENDISH.

Watch for more “Today in Naval History”  3 JAN 26

CAPT James Bloom, Ret.

Department of the Navy, Naval History Division.  Dictionary of American Naval Fighting Ships, Vol 1 “A”.  Washington, DC: GPO, 1991, p. 414.

Helgason, Guömundur.  “Ships Hit during WWI: Q-Ship SANTEE.”  U-boat.net website.  AT: http://uboat.net/wwi/ships_hit/5437.hmtl, retrieved 16 March 2018.

“Victor Dieckmann.”  U-boat.net website.  AT: http://uboat.net/wwi/men/commanders/51.html, retrieved 16 March 2018.

ADDITIONAL NOTES:  ARVONIAN ultimately served in two world wars with three nations.  After changing hands multiple times between wars, she ended up in Latvia as SS Spidola.  She fell into German hands with Hitler’s July 1941 invasion of the Baltic States and carried freight for the Nazis throughout WWII. 

Dieckmann was one of the more successful U-boat “aces” of WWI.  His two commands, UB-27 and U-61 totaled 43 Allied ships sunk, 11 damaged, one captured, and included USS CASSIN (DD-43) (damaged), the British Q-ship HMS WARNER (sunk), and the French Q-ship HMS JEANNE et GENEVIEVE (damaged).  He is twice the recipient of the Iron Cross.

          Time can be kept at sea using sandglasses, also known as clepsammia (“thief of sand”).  Nautical sandglasses came in three denominations, 4 hours (duration of a watch), 30 minutes, and 28 seconds (for measuring ship speed).  Two and a half glasses equals 75 minutes.

          SANTEE above was the second of three US warships to bear this name.  The first was a Civil War sail frigate.  The last was an escort carrier from WWII.

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                                    MONAGHAN vs. THE TEMPEST

The Pacific war was a long one for USS MONAGHAN (DD-354).  She was the ready destroyer at Pearl Harbor on the morning of 7 December 1941 and was just getting underway to investigate a report of a submarine off the entrance to the harbor when all hell broke loose.  She went on to fight at the Coral Sea, Midway, and in the Aleutians.  December 1944 found her screening carriers of the 3^rd Fleet for airstrikes against the Japanese in the Philippines.  December 17^th had been designated for refueling at sea, however rough seas postponed that evolution for a day.

But through the night the weather only worsened.  Water Tender 2^nd Class Joseph C. McCrane didn’t get much sleep and around 0630 the 18^th arose to find MONAGHAN in the throes of a severe typhoon.  She rode better than did her sisters with less fuel, MONAGHAN still had 76% of her capacity on board.  But by 0800 that mattered little–even the carriers had abandoned station-keeping and were fending for themselves.  The destroyer was rolling frighteningly, and McCrane and WT3c Les Bryan were sent to ballast the empty aft fuel tanks.  They struggled to keep their footing and labored even harder to accomplish their task.  Upon finishing, they took shelter with a growing group of shipmates in the aft 5″ gun turret.

But the rolls only got worse.  After seven or eight rolls onto her beam ends, MONAGHAN’s sailors in the gun turret recognized how untenable was their shelter!  They began to pile out onto the deck, Gunner’s Mate Joe Guio standing just outside the hatch in disregard of his own safety, to help his shipmates.  Loose gear crashed about, and cracks started to rip the overheads from the bulkheads below decks.  Electric power failed, then steerage.  And just at this moment the group of sailors was swept overboard.  Someone had the sense to throw a liferaft at the dozen or so flailing in the water.

The scene shifted to the liferaft, where nine made it aboard and clung for dear life.  Several hours later a half-naked, shivering Guio drifted by the raft and was pulled aboard.  McCrane cradled Guio to keep him warm through the night.  The next morning Guio awoke, thanked his shipmates for hauling him to safety, then curled up in the bottom of the raft.  Half an hour later he was dead.  Hypothermia claimed two more in the days that followed.  Another went mad, insisting he saw an island and disappearing overboard.  At one point an onion drifted by the famished sailors.  But an 8-foot shark circling nearby discouraged any recovery.  The only survivors from MONAGHAN were the six in this liferaft, rescued this day by BROWN (DD-546) (along with 13 from HULL (DD-350) who also foundered in this typhoon).  The exact time and details of MONAGHAN’s demise will never be known.

Watch for more “Today in Naval History”  27 DEC 25

CAPT James Bloom, Ret.

Department of the Navy, Naval History Division.  Dictionary of American Naval Fighting Ships, Vol 4 “L-M”. Washington, DC: GPO, 1969, pp. 412-14.

Morison, Samuel Eliot.  History of United States Naval Operations in World War II, Vol XIII  The Liberation of the Philippines: Luzon, Mindinao, the Visayas.  Little Brown and Co., Boston, MA, 1959, pp. 71-77.

Parkin, Robert Sinclair.  Blood on the Sea:  American Destroyers Lost in World War II.  New York, NY: Sarpedon, 1995, pp. 274-79.

Roscoe, Theodore.  United States Destroyer Operations in World War II.  Annapolis, MD: USNI Press, 1953, pp. 449-50.

ADDITIONAL NOTES:  FADM Nimitz said this storm, “…represented a more crippling blow to the 3^rd Fleet than it might be expected to suffer in anything less than a major action.”

Turreted guns are not secured to the deck by anything other than their massive weight.  As such, should the destroyer capsize, the turrets would simply fall out of their cradles and sink like rocks, carrying anyone inside to Davy Jones.

MONAGHAN remembers ENS John R. Monaghan, a Spanish-American War veteran who was killed in a Samoan uprising in 1899 while trying to rescue his stricken Commanding Officer.  USS BROWN remembers George Brown, an Able Seaman who died aboard USS INTREPID during that ship’s daring raid in Tripoli Harbor in the Barbary Wars of 1804.  HULL, of course, remembers Commodore Isaac Hull, commander of USS CONSTITUTION during her engagement with HMS GUERRIER in 1812.

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USS ALBANY COLLISION

          The catastrophic collision of the container ship Dali with Baltimore’s Francis Scott Key Bridge on 26 March 2024 is by no means the only time such an event has occurred.  Indeed, on this date 50 years ago a US Navy cruiser was involved in a similar accident at Yorktown, Virginia.

          The Yorktown Naval Weapons Station lies on a navigable section of the York River about 14 miles above Yorktown, Virginia.  When this facility was originally commissioned in 1918, navigation up the York River was unencumbered.  But in 1952 the State of Virginia built the George P. Coleman Bridge to carry Route 17 across the York River between Gloucester Point and Yorktown.  To allow the passage of traffic, the bridge was constructed with a central pillar supporting the middle of a 1000-foot span.  This span could pivot 90°, creating port and starboard channels for the passage of ships.  Each channel was an ample 450 feet wide.  All was well until this Saturday afternoon, when the guided missile cruiser USS ALBANY (CG-10) attempted to reach the fuel pier at WPNSTA Yorktown.

As ALBANY approached the bridge, appropriate signals were exchanged between the ship and the bridge operator.   The bridgeman powered up the motors that began to swing the central span.  But as ALBANY neared, the bridge operator recognized that the warship’s speed was too great.  She would reach the bridge before the span had fully opened.  The crew aboard the cruiser reached the same conclusion at nearly the same time, and her engines were reversed “full astern” in an instant.  The bridgeman reversed his motor too, closing the span, hoping to create a few more feet of space in which the cruiser could stop.  It didn’t work.

With the screech of twisting metal, the superstructure of the cruiser collided with the bridge span.  Electrical cables and limit switches on the bridge were torn loose.  Pinions on the circular rack gear were sheared off and the bridge’s central span was pushed 35° in the wrong direction.  Repairs to ALBANY would tie her up for the next five months.

The Commission on Ship Bridge Collisions, in their investigation, called the accident near-catastrophic.  Had the cruiser been moving only slightly faster, the Coleman bridge likely would have collapsed.  The next closest York River crossing for motorists was 32 miles north at West Point, Virginia, creating a 65-mile, 90-minute detour while repairs to the Coleman Bridge were affected.

Watch for more “Today in Naval History”  20 DEC 25

CAPT James Bloom, Ret.

National Academies Press.  Ship Collisions with Bridges: The Nature of the Accidents, Their Prevention, and Mitigation.  Chapter 6, p, 24, 1983. At: https://nap.nationalacademies.org/read/27742/chapter/6, retrieved 24 March 2025

Oral History, CAPT James Bloom, USN, a witness to the event.

ADDITIONAL NOTES:  Sailors from this day will remember Nick’s Seafood Pavilion, a restaurant located under the Coleman Bridge in Yorktown.  Owned by Nick and Mary Mathews, Greek immigrants who loved America, his restaurant was a favorite of celebrities such as John Wayne, Randy Travis, Elizabeth Taylor, Fred McMurry, and Tennessee Ernie Ford.  Since 1944, as US Navy ships passed the restaurant, Nick could often be seen waving an American flag from the civilian dock.  Mary Mathews was chosen to be the sponsor of USS YORKTOWN (CG-48) at the warship’s launch in 1983.  Nick unexpectedly died on the way to the christening ceremony.  Nick Mathews is remembered today by the many South Vietnamese refugees he sponsored in the 1970s and for his generous donation of the Yorktown Visitor’s Center.  Nick’s Seafood Pavilion was severely damaged in Hurricane Isabel in 2003 and was demolished.  A boutique mall stands on the spot today.

          George Preston Coleman (1870-1948) was the head of the Virginia Highway Commission from 1913-1922 and was elected mayor of Williamsburg, Virginia, in the following years.

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                                   WHERE WERE THE CARRIERS?

Most everyone will recall that one significant shortcoming of the Pearl Harbor raid from the Japanese perspective was its failure to destroy the American Navy’s aircraft carriers.  Yamamoto had targeted them in particular, appreciating as he did, the importance of naval air power.  It was with some disappointment that the airstrike launched knowing the carriers were not in port.  But just where were our carriers at 0755, 7 December 1941?

For the past year, US attentions had focused on the Atlantic where four of our seven carriers were based.  German U-boats had already attacked US warships escorting freighters on Roosevelt’s “Neutrality Patrol.”  In fact, REUBEN JAMES (DD-245) had been sunk in September 1941 on just such a mission.  Dawn on December 7^th found YORKTOWN (CV-5) in Norfolk and RANGER (CV-4) a day out, both having just finished Neutrality Patrols.  Brand new HORNET (CV-8), just 2 months in commission, was also readying herself in Norfolk.  WASP (CV-7) was serving as our training carrier and lay at anchor in Grassy Bay, Bermuda, observing the usual Sunday morning routine between Caribbean cruises.

In the Pacific, SARATOGA (CV-3) was fresh out of dry-dock in Bremerton.  The morning of December 7^th found her pulling into San Diego to embark Marine Corps aircraft intended for Wake.  After hearing the news from Hawaii, SARATOGA got underway immediately, hoping to reinforce the besieged garrison at Wake.  She reached Pearl Harbor on the 15^th, stopping only for fuel.  But the tiny island outpost at Wake fell before SARATOGA could arrive.

Two carriers were in the waters around Hawaii.  ENTERPRISE (CV-6) was returning from an aircraft ferrying assignment, having delivered VMF-211 to Wake Island.  She had planned to make Pearl that day, in fact, her scout planes arrived over the harbor in the midst of the Japanese attack and joined the defense.  She pulled in on this day, pausing briefly to refuel, then departed to hunt down the Japanese.  Though she did not locate the enemy strike force, her aircraft did sink the sub I-170 on the 10^th.  Our oldest flattop in service, LEXINGTON (CV-2), was returning from Midway, having likewise delivered a squadron of Marine fighters.  Upon learning of the Pearl Harbor attack she promptly launched search planes in an unsuccessful attempt to locate the Japanese fleet, then diverted south to rendezvous with ENTERPRISE and INDIANAPOLIS (CA-35).

After today’s disaster, YORKTOWN cast off for Hawaii on December 16^th.  HORNET was readied for Doolittle’s Tokyo raid, departing Norfolk on 4 March 1942.  WASP was pulled from training duties and eventually transferred to the Pacific after the loss of YORKTOWN at Midway in June 1942.  RANGER remained in the Atlantic.

Watch for more “Today in Naval History”  13 DEC 25

CAPT James Bloom, Ret.

Department of the Navy, Naval History Division.  Dictionary of American Naval Fighting Ships, Vol 2 “C-F”. Washington, DC: GPO, 1977, p. 356.

Department of the Navy, Naval History Division.  Dictionary of American Naval Fighting Ships, Vol 3 “G-K”. Washington, DC: GPO, 1977, pp. 368, 434.

Department of the Navy, Naval History Division.  Dictionary of American Naval Fighting Ships, Vol 4 “L-M”. Washington, DC: GPO, 1969, pp. 47, 104.

Department of the Navy, Naval History Division.  Dictionary of American Naval Fighting Ships, Vol 6 “R-S”.  Washington, DC: GPO, 1976, pp. 31, 85, 340.

Department of the Navy, Naval History Division.  Dictionary of American Naval Fighting Ships, Vol 8 “W-Z”.  Washington, DC: GPO, 1981, pp. 144, 534.

ADDITIONAL NOTES:  RANGER is perhaps the least well-remembered of our seven pre-WWII carriers.  She remained in the Atlantic and Mediterranean until August 1944, when she also transferred to the Pacific.  Here she was relegated to pilot training duties off the California coast.

Our first carrier, the former LANGLEY (CV-1), was still in service, but had been converted to a seaplane tender (AV-3) in the 1930s.  She was operating with the Asiatic Fleet at the war’s outbreak and was sunk by Japanese planes in late February 1942.

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                              DETERMINATION vs. COMPLACENCY

Japan emerged from the First World War as a bona fide naval power, a rival to US primacy in the Pacific.  And as early as 1918, Imperial Defense Policy identified the United States as her foremost potential enemy.  The mandates of the 1922 Washington Disarmament Conference caused further dissention; Japan (correctly) perceiving that the US-backed formula for capital warship limitation was structured to insure American parity, if not dominance in the Pacific.  She reacted with a naval policy which acquiesced to US strength in numbers but emphasized ships of greater firepower.  Imperial naval cadets were indoctrinated with hostility toward America.  A decade later even the Japanese citizenry sensed the eventuality of war with the United States.  It was not a surprise then, when Japan vacated the continuing arms limitation talks in 1936.  The next year Japan began to solidify her western Pacific empire by inciting a war with China.

Meanwhile many US planners remained complacent, secure in a misplaced confidence in our strength and Japan’s weakness.  Unruffled US attitudes are reflected even days before the Pearl Harbor attack:

“Nobody now fears that a Japanese fleet could deal an unexpected blow on our Pacific possessions…Radio makes surprise impossible.”  Josephus Daniels, former Secretary of the Navy, 16 Oct 1922.

“War between Japan and the United States is not within the realm of reasonable possibility…A Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor is a strategic impossibility.”   MAJ George Fielding Eliot, USA, military scientist, Sep 1938.

“The Hawaiian Islands are over-protected; the entire Japanese fleet and air force could not seriously threaten Oahu.”   CAPT William T. Pulleston, Chief of Naval Intelligence, Aug 1941.

“No matter what happens, the U.S. Navy is not going to be caught napping.”   Frank Knox, Secretary of the Navy, 4 Dec 1941.

“Well, don’t worry about it…it’s nothing.”   LT Kermit Tyler, Ft. Shafter Duty Officer after being told the newly installed RADAR had picked up what appeared to be incoming aircraft, 7 Dec 1941.

Not until Japan invaded Indochina in July 1941 did we embargo oil and steel.  Historians credit that oil embargo as the final impetus inciting Japan to strike at the US Fleet.

Continued tomorrow…

CAPT James Bloom, Ret.

Cerf, Christopher and Victor Navasky.  The Experts Speak:  The Definitive Compendium of Authoritative Misinformation.  Pantheon Books, New York, NY, pp.115-16, 1984.

Fuchida, Mitsuo and Masatake Okumiya.  Midway: The Battle that Doomed Japan.  USNI Press, Annapolis, MD, pp. 25-32, 1955.

Prange, Gordon W.  At Dawn We Slept:  The Untold Story of Pearl Harbor.  Penguin Books, New York, NY, pp. 3-8, 1981.

ADDITIONAL NOTES:  The anti-American sentiments in Japan in the decades before WWII are well described in Fuchida’s book above.  In fact, believing the United States to be her eventual enemy, Japan began in the 1920s to rotate the elite of her young naval officers through diplomatic or training duty in America.  By the late 1930s, the Imperial Navy had a core of senior officers familiar with American traditions, attitudes, and motivations.  Among these was Combined Fleet commander-in-chief ADM Isoroku Yamamoto, the architect of the Pearl Harbor attack.

Some historians have criticized the Pearl Harbor attack this day for failing to destroy the shore facilities and even for failing to invade the Hawaiian Islands.  But Japan’s intentions were to impede the United States’ ability to intervene in the western Pacific long enough for Japan to secure an empire.  They targeted what they perceived to be the center of gravity of our seapower, the ships of our US Fleet–not the Pearl Harbor base nor the Hawaiian Islands.  Ironically, in the minds of US planners of that day our bases were the potential targets.  The presence of a strong fleet in port, it was reasoned, would cause a would-be aggressor to think twice.  Thus, following scheduled exercises in the Fall of 1941, the US Fleet normally homeported at San Pedro was held in Hawaii as a deterrent.

It could be argued that the Japanese assessment that our fleet was our center of gravity was flawed.  The ships could be replaced, but the forward bases essential to their operation in the Philippines, Guam, Wake and Shanghai proved difficult and costly to recover.

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