Much has been written about the Asiatic Fleet and its part in the beginnings of this war. Earlier articles, however, have dealt mainly with the gallant exploits of the destroyers and submarines, which exacted such a fearful toll from the invading Japanese that their fame is securely entrenched among the makers of naval tradition. There has been little mention of some of the other units of this fleet, and while their contribution was not nearly so spectacular or exciting as that of the units mentioned above, nevertheless, it should be recorded to round out the picture.
When it became evident that war was inevitable, it was decided by the powers that fie that the Yangtze River Patrol and the South China Patrol should be withdrawn. These patrols consisted of the river gunboats Oahu, Wake (ex-Guam), Tutuila, and Luzon on the Yangtze, and the Tulsa, Asheville, and Mindinao in the South China Patrol. The Tulsa and Asheville were ocean-going gunboats, while the Mindinao was a sister to the Luzon. The two ocean-going gunboats were earlier versions of the present Eric class and were quite good-sized craft. They were about 250 feet long, with a 43-foot beam, and displaced about 1300 tons. Each was armed with three 4-inch guns as a main battery, two 50-caliber machine guns, and two 3-poundcr saluting guns (which fired H.E. projectiles) as a secondary battery. their speed was about 12 knots. The river gunboats carried several 3-inch dual purpose Suns and eight 50-calibcr machine guns. These river boats are probably familiar to most readers who have seen pictures of the 1'anay at the time she was bombed and sunk by the Japanese. They were very shallow draft and low freeboard ships, measuring only three or four feet from water line to main deck level, and all had high superstructures. They were built purely for the purpose °f navigating the rivers of China and had never been intended to go to sea. Whether to risk sending them down to Manila through the turbulent China Sea or to abandon them in China and evacuate the crews must have been a difficult decision to make, but it was finally decided that the boats in the lower Yangtze would attempt the run with the exception of the smallest, the Wake, which was to be left at Shanghai with a skeleton crew to serve as the radio outlet for our Marine and Consular force there.
The Mindinao, which was the flagship of the South China Patrol and was stationed at Hongkong, was also ordered to come down to the Philippines. The Tutuila, which had been marooned at Chungking since the blockading of the upper river by the Japanese, was turned over to the Chinese government under the Lend-Lease agreement, while the two ocean-going gunboats were already in Manila, having come down for overhaul several weeks previously. In preparation for the voyage from Shanghai and Hongkong, the river boats were boarded up solidly to the upper deck and ballasted as much as was possible with their low freeboard. The gods favored the enterprise, and all of the ships reached Manila safely. The Mindinao was the last to leave China, and war was declared while she was en route. Concern was felt for her safety as she was never designed for ship versus ship combat, and it was known that Japanese destroyers were at sea in her vicinity. We were all delighted on the morning of December 10 to see her standing in through the mine fields with the broad command penant of COMSO- PAT whipping from her masthead, and still more delighted to receive a visual message from her, saying that she had Jap prisoners on board! These were probably the first prisoners of the war to be taken by American forces and came from a Japanese radio- equipped trawler which the Mindinao had encountered half-way down from Hongkong. The Wake was still at her moorings in Shanghai when war was declared and was captured then by boarding.
All of these ships were assigned to the- inshore patrol, with guardship duty at the entrance to Manila Bay. This was a vantage point from which the bombings of Corregidor could be plainly seen, and all of the enemy formations leaving Manila passed directly overhead. It became evident after two or three days that the terrific pounding which had been given Cavite would soon force its abandonment as a base, and preparations were made to shift the patrol headquarters to Mariveles. Before this could be carried out, however, the death blow was given to Cavite, and all of our energies were turned toward its evacuation and the rescue of such personnel as could be picked up. The Tulsa, to which the writer was attached at the time, stood in from the mine fields just in time to see the final formation of 26 large bombers lay a perfect pattern inside the navy yard, and as we came to anchor off the yard, it was evident that the last salvo had fired the paint stores and some of the oil tanks. The Bittern, which had been lying at one of the docks, was burning, and the Peary was being towed out into the stream by the mine-sweeper Whippoorwill. The Tulsa immediately called away all her boats and sent fire-fighting and rescue parties ashore to bring off what wounded we could. We were one of the few ships present equipped with an operating room, sick bay, and carrying a doctor. Within a very few minutes, the first boat loads of wounded were coming alongside the gangway, and the pharmacists’ mates and our doctor, Lieutenant H. E. Richardson, (M.C.), U. S. Navy, were moving among them, administering morphine and moving the most serious cases into the sick bay for immediate attention. A steady stream of casualties moved on board, and another stream of those who had been given first aid but could walk was kept ' going down the other gangway into boats which took them to the Army hospital in Manila. Darkness fell and there seemed to be no end to the flow of shattered bodies. The pillars of smoke and fire rising from the burning navy yard lighted the entire bay, and were echoed by smaller pillars rising from two burning merchantmen over near Manila. At about 1900, we received orders to recall all personnel from ashore and to make preparations to get under way as quickly as possible. This could mean but one thing—we were going to make a run for the Dutch East Indies. Our guesses were confirmed shortly thereafter when Captain L. J. Hudson, U. S. Navy, who had formerly been Commander South China Patrol, reported on board as Task Force Commander. A small Task Force—probably one of the smallest ever to be dignified with the name, and consisting of the 'Tulsa, Asheville, Lark, and Whippoorwill—was to proceed to the Dutch East Indies and report to the Senior Officer Present, Afloat, there for duty. Naturally, we were to destroy all enemy vessels encountered, but to use evasive tactics as much as possible in order to avoid encounter with vessels markedly superior to ourselves. The total armament of the Task Force consisted of the six 4-inch guns of the two gunboats and the four 3-inch dual purpose guns of the mine sweeps, plus a total of six 50-caliber machine guns—two to a ship. Oh, yes—the four 3-pounder saluting guns were still with us. About midnight, the Tulsa and Asheville got under way and stood out towards Corregidor. We were to rendezvous with the two sweeps outside. As we passed Corregidor for the last time, we were illuminated by the beams of one of her powerful searchlights. At the instant, the officer of the deck, with a strangled gasp, pointed over to starboard. There without a doubt was a large vessel—a man-of-war— standing into the harbor. The steady beat of the General Alarm called all hands to battle stations, and it was about this time that, someone realized that the silent vessel on our starboard hand was nothing more or less than our own shadow thrown on the steep hillside by the Army searchlights to port! Luckily we had not opened fire, or we would not have lived it down to this day. At the appointed rendezvous, we found the Lark, but no sign of the Whippoorwill. It was decided to proceed without her, although this took away half of our anti-aircraft heavy gun power and a quarter of our machine-gun power. Dawn came and we slipped in close to shore in order to take advantage of as much cover as possible. Early in the afternoon, we were picked up by three Jap planes who circled us out of gun range for several minutes, but evidently did not realize the lack of fire power they were facing, for they made off without attacking. The Commodore decided that they would be back with their friends after having spotted us, so we doubled back on our trail, planning to get a fresh start the next night. On the second attempt, we were luckier and made it to our first hideout—a small cove at the tip of Mindoro—without excitement. From here on it was a game of hide and seek, with the Japanese “it.” In order to reach the Indies, we had to cross the track of the Jap warships coming in to attack Jolo and Davao, and of course we were certain that they had discovered our escape by this time and were out searching for us. Probably they were, but luckily they never found us. The Dutch island of Borneo, alongside to starboard, gave us a comfortable feeling of security, and our first contact was with the pilot vessel at Tarakan. He advised us to proceed to Palikpapan, which we did immediately, and on entering the harbor were pleasantly surprised to see the Marblehead, Heron, Langley, and our wandering side-kick, the Whippoorwill. Riding to their moorings in the harbor were what was left of the patrol planes of 1’atWing Ten. It was a happy reunion, as we all had friends on the other vessels, and till now had had no idea what was going on so far as the rest of the fleet was concerned. We were ordered to fuel and proceed as rapidly as possible, and early the next morning were under way for Macassar on the island of Celebes. As our Task Force steamed into this port, we were delighted to sec some of our own man-of-war there, with the Boise as Senior Officer Present, Afloat. However, they did not consider our presence an asset, and directed that we proceed to Soerabaya on the island of Java, and report to the senior American naval officer there. We had all been looking forward to a brief run ashore at cither Balikpapan or Macassar, as the Netherlands Indies was entirely new ground to us, but our hopes were dashed in both places. Our little task force weighed anchor and set a course which would take us across the Java Sea and south of the island of Madoera into the Dutch naval base from the eastward. These approaches had been heavily mined by the Dutch, and our exit from Manila had been so hasty that we only had the sketchiest outlines of their locations. Consequently, we were a bit upset when a Dutch coastal patrol boat steamed up to us and told us that we were about to cut across the corner of the field. We did a quick about turn and followed the Dutchman through the swept channel.
On entering the harbor of Soerabaya, we found it crowded with shipping. All of the usual China Seas Dutch mercantile fleet had taken refuge here, huge liners fitted for the Japan-China Indies run, dirty British tramps Hying the red ensign, and smart destroyers flying the white. The well-known house flags of Jardine Matheson, and Butterfield and Swire, which dominated the coastal trade, seemed to fly from most of the shipping. Several of our own destroyers steamed in from Singapore at the same time as we arrived from the other direction. They had been sent up to serve as a screen for the Prince of Wales and Repulse, but had arrived only in time to assist in picking up survivors from these ill-fated men-of-war. We were glad to see that the tender Black Hawk and several submarines, together with the Holland, had made it safely down from the Philippines. The principal thought in the minds of each of us, though, was “Where do we go from here, and what duty will we be assigned?” Wild rumors began to float around almost immediately. Some of the best were that the Tulsa and Asheville crews were to be transferred to the Dutch cruiser Sumatra, which was lying in the dockyard out of commission; we would take over some of the Dutch PT boats which had just arrived from the States without crews; we were going to do mine-field patrol as we had in Manila. This last sounded the most likely but promised the least excitement, so none of us tried very hard to believe it. One thing did seem sure and that was that we would remain at Soerabaya and wait for the U. S. Pacific Fleet to steam in, after which we would join in (probably on the tail and on the triumphal return to Manila). Oh, yes— the rumor (which was hardly a rumor for it came from so-called “informed” sources) was that several divisions of destroyers from the Pacific Fleet were practically in port already. We fueled and provisioned ship, however, and as it was Christmas live, several of us decided to take a walk through town. Though, none of us would voice it, we all had a sneaking hope that some kind Dutch family would ask us to come in and help them decorate their Christmas tree or whatever they decorated. Although all the people we saw were very kind to us, none asked us in, and we finally found a Christmas tree in a night club which was going full blast, apparently oblivious to the tocsins of war which were sounding so near us. This wasn’t what we wanted, though, and we returned to the ship, thinking about our families at home and wondering how we could get word to them that we were safe. There was great rejoicing the next morning when it was discovered that the telephone lines to America were still operating, and while all calls had to be made “sans origin,” nevertheless, we could talk to our loved ones. Long lines formed outside the telephone office and calls took from two hours to several days to get through, but those lucky enough to have their ships remain in port long enough finally got through. We weren’t so lucky, however, as early on the morning of the 26th we received orders to proceed to Tjilatjap on the south coast of Java and report to the senior Dutch officer there for duty. The Asheville received the same orders, but had been having engine trouble, so we proceeded independently, leaving her to follow when she was ready. Again the wild scuttlebutt started to flow. Nobody knew what sort of work we would be called upon to do there, and conjecture reached its loftiest heights. Once again, we hoisted the anchor and set off to the southward. Bali Strait gave us a few anxious moments, and the sight of the famous island itself so near and yet so far brought longing glances to all of our eyes. But it was Westward Ho!— and we rounded Java’s southeastward cape and started wondering how to pronounce the name of this new port. We had received secret Dutch charts of its entrance in Soerabaya, and on these was laid out a very extensive and dangerous mine field, so we determined this time that we would take no chances with the corners of it.
While we were busily engaged making certain that we were approaching the entrance correctly, suddenly out of the blue a flight of three aircraft was reported approaching, heading directly for us. As this was strictly against the inter-allied regulations, except in the case of hostile vessels, we prepared to open fire on them, but apparently they recognized us at about the same time and zoomed off, showing the Netherlands markings underneath their wings. We were finally boarded by an examining officer and permitted to enter the port where we were assigned a berth alongside a dock. The harbor itself was one of the most unusual I have ever seen. It consisted of a narrow strip of water, perhaps half or three quarters of a mile wide by a mile long between the island of Noesa Koembangan and the mainland, but only a quarter of a mile of this width was deep enough for shipping to operate in. At the inner end of the harbor, the river mouth made an extension at right angles to the strip mentioned and was navigable for about one mile. All of the docks were located inside the river mouth, but there were berthing facilities alongside for only three or four vessels at the most. The remainder of the shipping in the harbor was moored bow and stern to buoys located about a quarter of a mile from the bank and on the edge of the shoal area. As the currents ran at 5 to 6 knots in the harbor at flood and ebb tide, harbor navigation was not at all simple even with only a few vessels in. The arrangement of ships at the buoys in the center of the strip of water reminded us of tenpins lined up one behind the other and presented an ideal target for air attack.
Shortly after we had moored, the naval officer in command of the port, Commander B. J. G. Shokking, of the Royal Netherlands Navy, came on board to find out what we were doing there. When we told him our orders were to report to him for duty, he was frankly amazed. He had been informed that we were coming, but not that we were to be at his disposal. Naturally enough, his first questions were, what was our speed, were we equipped to attack submarines or aircraft, etc. Unfortunately, our qualifications along all of these lines were practically nil. We had been designed as a coastal gunboat to provide a landing party and had sufficient armament to cover the landing party, and that was about all. At the mention of our landing party, he became interested. How large was it? When we told him we could put over as many as a hundred fully equipped bluejackets, including a 37-mm. anti-tank squad, an 81-mm. mortar squad, and a Lewis machine gun squad, he became very interested. Here at last was our forte. We would be used as an adjunct to the harbor defenses with the ship so located that her main battery could cover the harbor entrance, manned by a skeleton gun crew, while every other person on board would be assigned to the landing force. The landing force would be used to stiffen the native garrison and our mission would be defense of the port from amphibious attack. In the meantime, training for the “infantry” was essential. While we were breaking out field equipment and preparing to put our force ashore, several Hutch army officers came on board to assist us in determining the type of training which would be most useful. They told us that there was a regular training barracks located at Bakakan, about 20 miles up the coast from Tjilatjap, and its facilities were at our disposal. A Dutch sergeant from the colonial troops would be assigned for liaison and to assist us in our contacts with the native population. The Dutch Army would supply us with the necessary transportation, cooking facilities, etc. The arrangements were quickly made and several officers departed for Bakakan to inspect the camp. We found it to be modern stone barrack buildings, surrounding a grass-covered compound and including officers’ quarters, guard house, mess hall, hospital, and recreation hall. It was completely deserted, however, and when we asked our Dutch friends why they weren’t using this ideal spot themselves, they pointed out that the red tile roofs on the white stone buildings made ideal targets for air attack. Some of the beauty of the spot seemed to fade with this observation, but we decided that the short period we would be here—about ten days—would justify the risk. We were to be augmented by the Asheville’s landing party when she arrived, so arrangements were made to billet about 200 men.
In the meantime, on the ship preparations had been going ahead, and early on the following morning we entrucked for the encampment. Shifting from a shipboard setup to an “ashore” status had many difficulties. Cots and mosquito nettings were brought from the ship and installed in the barracks. Cooking was done on a wood range and in great iron pots. All water had to be boiled before it could be drunk and this required a continuous water watch. Our biggest difficulty was refrigeration, which was absolutely nil. We solved this by bringing fresh meat from the ship each day by truck, together with other perishable supplies. Native labor was plentiful, however, and the troops soon found out that most of the disagreeable tasks could be avoided by the judicious dispensing of small amounts of courtesy.
We soon settled into a shore-side routine, designed to adjust us to our new environment as quickly as possible. Reveille was at 0530, and all hands turned out and washed up. Coffee was available, but had to be disposed of in a hurry, and bunks made up so as to be ready for formation with full field equipment at 0600. The entire company (hen set out on a hike through the jungle trails and native campoengs and arrived back at camp at 0800, tired and hungry. Formation was maintained for morning colors, which took place as soon as we entered the grounds, and it never failed to give me a thrill to sec the Stars and Stripes slowly rising to the top of the flagpole over this tiny American group in the jungles of Java. With the last note of the bugle, platoon commanders would dismiss their platoons, and breakfast followed as soon as the men had had time to wash up. Everyonc had foot trouble for the first few days, as nothing is so foreign to a man-of-war’s man as a 10-mile hike before breakfast. Most of the crew had only low shoes in their equipment to start off with, but after the first day the Dutch supplied us with high canvas shoes, with a heavy leather hobnailed sole. There are still arguments going on as to which was the worse. Breakfast over, it was time for school call, and squads were divided up to learn map reading, sniping, and jungle fighting, entrenchment and self-concealment, and other such items. Our instructors were the Dutch, and our own officers who managed to keep one jump ahead of the men. Noon meal was always a welcome break, and after it was over the heat precluded any further activity until the middle of the afternoon. Beginning about 1500, we would have a short battle problem, actually moving units off into the jungle or along the beach, and as realistically as possible resisting their efforts to infiltrate. In our training, we used live ammunition and grenades frequently, the mortar firing over the advancing units and the men staying as close to the forward edge of the barrage as possible. The Dutch had left behind them a great many silhouette targets of men, tanks, guns, horses, and equipment, and these were always used in our problems to simulate an enemy already ashore and entrenched. By the time we left the camp, they were well mangled with shrapnel and bullet wounds, not to mention the bayonet holes, as the coup de grace was always administered with cold steel.
We were a constant source of wonderment to the natives into whose lives we had suddenly come, and who never failed to turn out en masse to watch the ceremonies of morning and evening colors. We had other curious visitors also—the monkeys which abounded in the jungle just outside the compound fence. One of these became a great favorite among the sailors and grew very tame during our stay there. He would come down and take bananas from the men’s hands and follow them into the barrack building. All attempts to make him a member of the landing force failed, however, as he stubbornly refused to carry a pack.
Our sentries had to be educated into walking a post along the edge of the jungle, and for many of them this was the worst part of the entire period. The deep blackness of the night, with only their own footsteps and the utterly foreign noises in the jungle for company, was enough to scare anyone. Late one night, we were startled into wakefulness by a scream from one of the posts, followed by the discharge of a rifle. The duty petty officer at the guardhouse sounded the general alarm, and the men piled out ready to grapple with the Japanese invader. Investigation, however, soon brought out the fact that the invasion had been by a large Javanese lizard which had crawled up our sentry’s leg and taken a sample bite.
At the end of a 10-day period, the landing force was beginning to shape up very well, and the morning hike was taken easily in stride. The Asheville troops were just moving into camp when a rush order came for both groups to return to the ship immediately. No explanation was given, and as the trucks were already at hand to take us, we commenced breaking camp as rapidly as possible.
On our return on board we discovered that the destroyers which Commander Shokking had been expecting to arrive to act as escort vessels for convoys along the south Javanese coast had been diverted elsewhere, and we were going to be used in their stead. Arrangements were made with the Dutch air force to supply each of us with six depth charges and our shipfitter got busy and turned out a depth charge rack. Nobody knew what would happen when we dropped one at our best speed, which was far from that recommended in the test books especially for 600-lb. charges. From this point on life changed for us, and we were once again seagoing. Our duties consisted of the convoy of merchant vessels between Sumatra and Tjilatjap or between Tjilaljap and the southern end of the threatened zone toward Australia. In between convoys, we were sent out on sub searches in the vicinity or to the assistance of distressed vessels. Our officers augmented the harbor pilots and took over the piloting job for most of the U. S. vessels which entered the port. As the Japanese came closer and closer to the island of Java, Tjilatjap grew in importance as a bomb-free port, and finally most of the traffic from America and Australia entered through this port, where it was transhipped via the one railway which entered here to centers on the north coast. Here, too, came the battered Houston after the battle of the Flores Sea, followed a day later by the gallant Marblehead. The bodies of the sailors and marines who had been killed in this action were removed here and buried in a special American cemetery near the sea shore. Repairs to the Houston were rapidly accomplished, but the gaping hole in the bow of the Marblehead, plus the damage which had been done to her steering gear, required that she be dry- docked. The only dock available was a small floating dock which was moored in the center of the harbor. In order to accommodate her, it was necessary first to put her forward end in dock, raise the dock and patch the hole there, and then slide her through and practically submerge the bow while the stern was lifted. At one time or another, almost all of the Asiatic Fleet was based on this small port, and the men-of-war plus the merchantmen filled the harbor to overflowing. It was from this port that the destroyers of Desron-5 left to fight the Rattle of Bali, and from here the Task Force which fought the Java Sea battle departed. But the sands of time were running out on us, and with the loss of many of the heavy surface units of the combined “ABDA” force in the Java Sea encounter, it was decided to abandon the island of Java and retire to Australia. Japanese air power had at last reached over the island and a heavy toll was being taken of our shipping by submarines as well. It was heartbreaking to all of us who had grown to realize what confidence our Dutch allies placed in us, to face them and admit that we had sent too little, too late, and that now we were leaving. Fighter planes in some quantity were just beginning to arrive, and even then we were awaiting the arrival of the Langley with a load of fighters from Australia. On the morning of February 26, we were boarded by an officer from Commander Shokking’s office and told to proceed immediately to a position about 300 miles south of Tjilatjap, where a vessel had been attacked by aircraft and was sinking. Tulsa and Asheville got under way immediately, and after leaving the harbor we were informed that the vessel was the Langley. We reached the area early on the morning of the following day. No sign of survivors could be found, but the evidences of a large vessel sinking were unmistakably there. The surface of the ocean was covered for miles with a film of oil and miscellaneous minor wreckage—mute evidence of the loss of the first Asiatic Fleet surface unit. Proceeding back to Tjilatjap, the radio continued to give us ominous reports of action in our vicinity. Every few minutes the messenger from the radio shack would appear on the bridge with an AAAA or an SSSSS message and the positions of the ships attacked grew steadily closer. As the dawn approached, the masthead lookout reported flashes of light ahead. We increased speed to our maximum, and as we drew closer saw that a large ship was on fire. No sign of attacking vessels could be seen, but we could make out what appeared to be a small warship standing by her. Just as day broke, with a final huge flare, the bow of the burning ship rose into the air and slipped beneath the surface of the sea. The small warship turned out to be our old friend the Whippoorwill, and her boat was already in the water picking up survivors. Inasmuch as she had no doctor on board, the most severely wounded ones were transferred to us, and once again, due to the direless devotion of Dr. Richardson, many lives were saved. We continued on in to Tjilatjap, but were informed to be ready to leave on an insfant’s notice. This notice came early on the afternoon of March 1, and again in company with the Asheville, Lark, and Whippoorwill, we set out for Australia, closely followed by the Isabel and the British small destroyer Stronghold. A rendezvous had been arranged for all shipping leaving the Javanese ports, and this was our immediate destination. Once again the radio began to crackle with the distress signals of merchantmen who were under Japanese attack. As most of these seemed to be to the south- westward and in the general direction of the rendezvous, we decided that our best chance of evading attack would be to avoid this location and transmitted this suggestion to the Asheville by signal light. However, she decided to continue on and proceeded to the southwestward. Once again, her engines had been giving her trouble and she was unable to maintain the speed of the other vessels. Early the next morning, she was still in sight, hull down, and disappeared from view around noon time. A lone plane flew over us that afternoon and we felt that we were marked for early attention the next morning. Dawn of March 3 came, but so far as we could see, all was clear and we altered course to the southward. At 0905, we were warned by the appearance of the radio room messenger on the bridge that something else had happened and our fears were realized when he handed us a message that the Asheville was attacked. This was the last word we received from her. The message indicated that she was being attacked by a surface raider and not by aircraft or submarine. We were then at 13-39S-110-48 E and could not have reached her position until the following day if we had turned back. It was a heartbreaking decision to make, but no doubt the wisest one as we would have been merely more bait for any of the cruisers or destroyers then operating in those waters. We had often talked with our Asheville colleagues about what we would do if attacked by such vessels, and I know that our gallant sister went down with her guns blazing and attempting to inflict as much damage as she could on her attackers before she joined the legion of the lost ones. Radio reports of the Asiatic Fleet vessels being attacked continued to come in —the Pecos was reported lost with survivors from the Langley on board, and at about this same time, the Java Sea battle was at its height. All hands were tense and on edge wondering what the next hour would bring. At about noon of this day, a large albatross circled the ship and finally made a precarious landing on the starboard yardarm. It was a matter of interest at first and took our minds off our worries. Night fell, and the next morning he was still there. By this time, someone had discovered that the albatross is supposedly a bird of good omen to sailors, and anxious glances were cast at the yardarm every few minutes to see if our passenger was still with us. He stayed until we were well clear of the danger zone three days later, and then with a final circling of the ship headed back to the north—we hoped to bring out some other vessel under his benevolent wings.
Our troubles now shifted from war’s alarms to navigation. We had no Australian charts, but we did have the coast pilots. From these we were able to construct fairly accurate charts, and when we made a landfall on the Wallaby Islands on the morning of March 8, we were able to navigate very well on them. The following morning was foggy, but our homemade charts told us we should be near Rottnest Island, off Freemantle, Australia. We were the last of the surface units to arrive in Australia and were greeted as ghosts by our friends who had assumed we were lost.
The story of the river gunboats which fought with the gallant defenders of Bataan will have to wait until our return to Manila to be told in full. They all died fighting, and from reports which have filtered through, took their toll of Japanese aircraft before they were sunk. Only one of the China patrol gunboats is left, and today, greatly increased in striking power, she is doing her best to avenge the loss of her sisters.
The pride felt by all of us in having been part of the China squadrons is best exemplified by a remark made by the signalman of the watch several weeks later, when we entered an Australian port. A large new cruiser was lying there and challenged us. We replied and she came back with, “What nationality?” The signalman turned to the Captain and said, “Shall I just say ‘Asiatic Fleet’?”