Retreat, Hell!
W. E. B. Griffin. New York: G.P. Putnam’s Sons, 2004. 576 pp. $26.95.
Reviewed by Major Fred H. Allison, U.S. Marine Corps Reserve (Retired)
Retreat, Hell! is the eighth in a series of historical fiction books about the U.S. Marine Corps written by W. E. B. Griffin. The setting is the Korean War, and, judging from the title, one would think the epic Marine Corps battle at the Chosin Reservoir would be featured. This is not the case. The setting instead is the interlude between the Inchon/Seoul campaign and the Chosin battles. The book’s central issue is the mystery of Chinese intervention: was it going to happen or not? The central characters are fictional, a group of Marines and soldiers working for the CIA who know the Chinese are coming and try to get the word out.
Griffin uses a cast of historical figures— General Douglas MacArthur, Major General Charles Willoughby, Lieutenant General Edward Almond, and even the President, Harry Truman—to tell his story. They, like the Korean War, are part of the setting. Griffin’s fictional central characters, who are carry-overs from the previous books in the series, continue the saga of their personal lives. Readers learn about families, lovers, babies, and friends alongside the big issue of Chinese involvement in the Korean War. There are none of the pitched infantry battles (suggested by the dust jacket’s photo) that characterized the Chosin Reservoir campaign.
Griffin knows his subject, as can be expected from his background: he served in the U.S. Army during the Korean War and has written extensively about the military. His understanding of the strategic situation, politics, dates, units, commanders, aircraft, and equipment are nearly flawless, and for history’s sake this is the book’s greatest asset. A reader can learn a great deal about the Korean War-era military and the politics of that war in Griffin’s writing.
The big question, however, is determining where history ends and fiction begins. Griffin writes, for instance, of the capture of 16 Chinese prisoners of war by the 3rd ROK (Republic of Korea) Division early in the Chosin campaign—which indeed happened. Then, to convince MacArthur that the Chinese were in North Korea, the Marine/CIA central character has the 16 flown to Tokyo and marched into MacArthur’s headquarters. This never happened. The average U.S. military history buff would not know the difference. There are some glaring snafus too. Griffin calls Major General O. P. Smith “Howling Mad,” which was the nickname for Lieutenant General Holland M. Smith of World War II fame. Incredibly, he cites a letter purportedly written by Marine legend Colonel “Chesty” Puller to Major General Edward M. Almond, the U.S. Army commander of the Chosin operation, in which Puller credits Almond with being the “greatest combat commander” under whom he ever had served. This is balderdash—all the senior Marine officers of the 1st Marine Division detested Almond’s leadership style as well as his management of the Chosin operation.
The appeal of Griffin’s writing is the impression he gives to readers that he is exposing the real Marine Corps to them through the salty language of his cast and their personalities and habits: lots of whiskey drinking, profanity, toughness, and the close detail he provides about military equipment, weapons, and uniforms. Thus, readers fascinated by the military but unfamiliar with it are given what appears to be an intimate glimpse into the brotherhood of arms. Unfortunately, his characters present predictable and stereotypical (but marketable) images of Marines and soldiers.
Of course, Griffin’s primary intent in writing is not historical accuracy but to tell a good story and to entertain. Here, the book also falls short. It plods along, inhibited by characters’ conversations that go on for pages. There is little action. A reader seeking a story about combat action at the Chosin Reservoir lured by the title and cover photo (it comes from Okinawa in World War II) will be disappointed. Some might demand their money back. It is somewhat amazing that Griffin believes a yam about CIA activities in Korea would be more interesting than what really happened at the Chosin Reservoir. But he does, and he has made quite a career about writing similar books. This book is like too many TV historical miniseries that get bogged down in personalities and controversies and then miss the bigger, more inspirational aspect of their stories. Perhaps it takes this type of history to reach the U.S. public today, weaned as they are on products of Hollywood. We can be grateful then that Griffin at least provides some tangential information on one of the Corps’ finest hours. This is one way for Americans to learn something of their history, but it leaves one pondering a question: Is a “sexed up” version better than nothing at all?
Scurvy: How a Surgeon, a Mariner, and a Gentleman Solved the Greatest Medical Mystery of the Age of Sail
Stephen J. Brown. New York: Thomas Dunne, 2004. 256 pp. Illus. Maps. Notes. Bib. Index.
Reviewed by Zachary B. Friedenberg
This very readable book is a detective story, a sleuthing effort that spans a period of 300 years to pin down the cause of scurvy. The treatment of this disease caused by acute vitamin C deficiency (its most notable symptom is the rotting of the gums) first was put forward by John Woodall in the 16th century, but it was never clearly enunciated and author Stephen Brown shows how in the succeeding centuries the true cause of scurvy often was suggested but the statements of James Lind and others were waffled in a prescription that covered all kinds of minerals, foods, and chemicals so as to be consonant with every medical theory.
In his first chapter, the author vividly describes the wide extent of scurvy, its destructive effects on sailors, and how their health determined the success or failure of naval expeditions and voyages of discovery. Lord Anson and his expedition’s encounter with scurvy at Cape Horn in 1741 is dramatically presented. Yet when he ventured across the Pacific the tragedy was repeated. What were his surgeons thinking? Did they learn nothing from their stay at Juan Fernandez Island about the treatment of scurvy? One would like to know more about them and their training and ideas.
James Lind, a Royal Navy surgeon’s mate, demonstrated in 1747 that citrus was the remedy for scurvy, but he was not taken seriously at the time since he was unable to prove why citrus fruit was effective. He is well portrayed in the book and it is made clear that he was not an evangelist seeking to spread knowledge. In fact, he had a very effacing personality and was very subservient to authority. Sir William Osier, the renowned physician of the late 19th and early 20th centuries, stated that he who informs the world of a cure is more deserving of credit than he who discovers it. Captain James Cook was another of those unable to clarify the issue. It was physician Gilbert Blaine who convinced the Royal Navy to issue lemon juice to sailors as a permanent remedy in 1795. He was the true evangelist who put in place the final piece of the scurvy puzzle.
Brown shows how medical science was bogged down by theory and beholden to the past in the persons of Booerhaave, Galen, and others. The age of scientific investigation had not yet been fully accepted. And yet, John Hunter, also a graduate of Edinburgh, was carrying on scientific experiments with controls in the same era. None of the various so-called investigators followed a scientific protocol in which a clearly defined experiment used sufficient numbers of people or took place in a sufficient period of time on a specific antiscorbutic with a control group. The author argues that the Admiralty Board was not interested, and never allowed or encouraged such a proper study. Clearly, politics and science did not mix.
The reading flows smoothly, and en route we are treated to an enjoyable lesson in the history of the period.
Billy Ruffian: The Bellerophon and the Downfall of Napoleon: The Biography of a Ship of the Line, 1782-1836
David Cordingly. New York and London: Bloomsbury, 2003. 359 pp. Illus. Maps. Appens. Notes. Bib. Index. $25.95.
Reviewed by Nicholas Tracy
The complicated title for this book is necessitated by the multiple objectives of the author. David Cordingly, who is very well known for his books on maritime art, especially for his study of naval artist Nicholas Pocock, has more recently diversified his talents by writing about piracy and the women who went to sea in the Royal Navy in the Age of Sail. Cordingly’s present work employs the device of a “biography” of a 74-gun ship-of-the-line, HMS Bellerophon, as the anchor for writing about the naval war against Napoleon. “Billy Ruffian” was one of the sobriquets used by the lower deck, which had difficulty pronouncing the Greek name Bellerophon. Unlike Peter Goodwin’s recent book, Nelson’s Ships (Mechanicsburg, PA: Stackpole, 2002), which is an exhaustive analysis of individual ships and their construction and service histories, Cordingly employs the Bellerophon’s history as a means of painting with a reasonably broad brush a picture of the Royal Navy during the period, from ship design and dockyard organization to the highly regulated shipboard life and naval tactics.
The Bellerophon was one of the successful series of 14 74-gun ships designed by Thomas Slade, Surveyor of the Navy between 1755 and 1771. She was laid down in 1781 on the ways of Edward Greaves’s private yard near Rochester on the Medway River, which flows into the Thames Estuary below London. From 1793, when the French Republic declared war on Britain, until the final defeat of Emperor Napoleon in 1815, the Bellerophon performed important services, most remarkably in the battle lines of Vice Admiral Richard Lord Howe at “the Glorious First of June” in 1794, and in those of Rear and Vice Admiral Horatio Lord Nelson at the Nile in 1798 and Trafalgar in 1805. At the Nile, she took station opposite the French flagship I’Orient, which took fire and blew up. The Bellerophon lost most of her spars in the engagement, and was nearly subjected to “friendly fire” as she withdrew because she could not show her distinguishing lights. At Trafalgar, the Bellerophon formed part of the lee line commanded by Vice Admiral Lord Collingwood, and was again very heavily engaged, suffering 27 killed (including the captain and master) and 123 wounded. She was in action with nine enemy ships and completely dismasted. At the end of the war in 1815 she was in the right place to accept Napoleon’s surrender. Following the exile of Napoleon to St. Helena, the Bellerophon was moored in the Medway, with her masts and guns removed, and converted to the most melancholy of roles, that of a prison hulk. The account of the weeks Napoleon spent on board and the negotiations about his fate may be considered the most interesting part of the book, but the account of life in the prison hulks in the mid-19th century will be new to most readers and perhaps no less interesting.
It is inherently difficult to use the service history of one ship, which of necessity could be in only one place at a time, to describe the progress of any war. Inevitably, a considerable amount of space is devoted to giving the reader an account of naval campaigns in which the Bellerophon did not participate directly, and the quick fly-past done of major campaigns provides somewhat shallow views of complicated events. Despite that reservation, however, this is a satisfactory book. The author’s experience as a naval historian and as a writer is evident. This is a book that should be read with pleasure by those interested in the naval war of the late 18th and early 19th century, those who are addicted to works of fiction such as those of Patrick O’Brian, and those who want a good introduction to the subject. Three appendices, a glossary, an extensive bibliography, and notes on sources supplement the text.
The book itself is nicely produced by Bloomsbury Press in a traditional octavo format employing a soft text paper that is light enough to handle with ease, and with well-inked text large enough for aging eyes to read with comfort. The text is richly illustrated with black and white pictures of which some are mortised into the text, and others printed on glossy plates. Perhaps if the quality of the text paper had been slightly better all of them could have been mortised. Color plates also are provided for a further 26 pictures.