Pray for a Miracle

On the night of December 2, 1944, my destroyer, the USS Cooper (DD-695), and her sister ships, the Allen M. Sumner (DD-692) and Moale (DD-693), were ordered to enter western Leyte's Ormoc Bay and destroy Japanese ships carrying reinforcements to the port of Ormoc. We arrived in the bay shortly before midnight and made immediate radar contact with the enemy. The order came to commence firing. I was a seaman first class in the ammunition handling room under gun mount #1. The 33rd round had just been loaded into our gun when I heard a dull thud. Someone shouted, "We've been hit!" and our skipper, Commander Mell Peterson, gave the order to abandon ship.

Just then the power failed and the lights went out. The quickest way for me to escape was up the ladder through the gun mount. My first thought was to climb out on deck and jump over the side, but it wasn't that easy. When I reached the gun mount the ship had such a starboard list the water was already pouring into the escape hatch. Pawing my way in the darkness, I found the hatch where the hot shells were ejected, climbed through it, and fell some 15 feet.

I hit the water and was in over my head before hitting a stanchion. Now that I was outside the mount, the flashes of explosions and tracers provided light by which to see. Japanese shore batteries were firing shells. Not realizing how fast the ship was sinking, I reached up and grabbed hold of a rung on the ladder of mount #2. I hung on until my hand was under water. Hearing trapped men screaming, "Please God save us, have mercy upon us," I thought to myself: "Poor souls, they're some really good buddies. What a helluva way to die." The Cooper's skipper officially logged the ship as being on her side broken in less than 30 seconds and disappearing in less than a minute.

While swimming away from the ship to avoid the suction she created in going down, I realized I wasn't wearing my life jacket; I'd left it on board ship. I had to find something buoyant. Just then, there was a heavy churning of water nearby—one of our sister ships passing within 100 feet of me. I cursed at them for not stopping to pick us up but realized they couldn't jeopardize their ship and some 350 men just to pick up a few men.

After the ship passed, I could hear injured men crying for help and others calling for their buddies: "Have you seen Joe?" "I wonder if Al made it out." "Did Bob get off?" I recognized a single call for help. It was Lieutenant John Orr, our deck officer. He had been cut on the forehead over the left eye and was bleeding, which caused temporary blindness. Offering me one of his two life jackets, he said: "For God sakes let me stay with you. I'm blind."

The lieutenant and I swam toward a life raft. On the way, we came upon a life jacket that looked peculiar because it was floating in an upright position. Reaching out to grab the collar, I very quickly withdrew my hand; under that collar, I had stuck my fingers into a headless man's neck. It petrified me. I waited a few minutes before making up my mind to try to identify the man. Tracers still provided enough light to recognize two tattoos on one of his arms. It's odd what you think about at a time like this. I had known this man for ten months and didn't even know his first name. All I knew was that he had a wife and children back in the States. I felt sorry for them; news of this will bring heartbreak.

On reaching what we thought was a raft, we found it was actually a floater net. A person was on the far side of it, an officer's mess attendant. I swam over to him and, hearing the man groan, asked if I could help. He said: "Please don't try to move me. I'm paralyzed from the waist down, and I think my back is broke." The lieutenant suggested we take the net in tow and try to make it to the land I could see eight or ten miles away, Leyte Island.

From the time the ship sank, about 0012, until 0230, there was quite a bit of noise and confusion, then all of a sudden almost complete silence. Some of our crew were swimming toward our float. They told of having to fight Jap survivors in the water with knives. (Before the enemy torpedo hit the Cooper, our destroyers had sunk four troop ships, a destroyer, a destroyer escort, and shot down two enemy planes.) After that, we challenged everyone we encountered in the water to determine friend or foe.

Continuing on our way toward land, we heard almost no noise except the splash of water from our paddling. Suddenly, the lieutenant said: "Sh-h-h. I hear something." All of the 14 men now on the floater net were silent. Not far off we heard the sound of engines that Lieutenant Orr identified as Jap subs. The boats—two, maybe three, of them—were headed in our direction. As they drew closer, the lieutenant said, "Men, if you've never prayed before you'd better start right now and I mean it, because if they see us, it will be like shooting fish in a barrel."

I slowly lifted my head toward the sky. My God, what chance did we have? A clear sky, not a cloud in sight, and the stars were shining. Our only advantage was that there was no moon. Thoughts ran through my mind: "I've been to church, I've prayed to God, Lord forgive me my sins. . . . God, I didn't mean to hurt those people. . . . God, forgive me for stealing watermelons when I was a kid."

In that kind of desperate situation, many things from your past suddenly come back and you live a lifetime in just a few minutes. You're sorry you've sinned against His commandments innumerable times. You wonder, and there's doubt. Is God listening now? Do you think he heard you before? Erase this fear. Wasn't God with you when you swam away from that sinking ship?

I again looked up to the sky. This time it seemed as if I was seeing beyond the stars. Tears were running down my cheeks, and I had an unexplainable feeling. I wasn't praying for myself, but for those 13 other men on the net. I finished my prayer and bowed my head until my chin was in the water. I softly mumbled "Amen." I heard others do the same and saw some make the sign of the cross.

The subs were closer now. Their engines sounded about 50 to 75 yards away. Then it happened. Out of what a few seconds before was a clear sky came not just rain but a tropical squall. The rain was so heavy you could only see a short distance. We could hear the sub engines and sailors yelling in Japanese, but one by one the boats passed us by, and soon the sound of their engines faded away in the distance. By then it had stopped raining, and once again the stars were shining. We were amazed at what had happened. As we continued paddling toward the enemy-occupied shore, I no longer was afraid.

The light of dawn began to show on the horizon, and soon it was daylight. We continued making our way toward shore through the morning and, after swimming 14½ hours, finally reached the beach. We could see four planes high overhead, American fighters flying cover for PBYs landing on the water far in the distance to pick up what was left of the Cooper's crew. I later learned that the skipper was among the men rescued. The planes were very overloaded. One had 56 survivors on board and had to taxi across the water for miles before the pilot could gain enough momentum to get it in the air.

After we carried the wounded into the shade under some palm trees, everyone proceeded to take off his wet clothes and hang them over some bushes and tree branches to dry. The lieutenant, who was standing next to me, gave me a poke in the ribs: "Listen, someone's coming over there." I was amazed. For a man who couldn't see, he'd sure developed a quick knack for hearing things.

Through the brush appeared a Filipino. He staggered toward us, and for a few seconds I thought he was injured. As he came closer we could see he was merely exhausted. Catching his breath, he asked, "Americanos, where you go?" We explained to him we were headed for a house high on a hill, which we had seen while in the water. We had tried to swim toward it, but the current was so strong it had swept us about eight miles east of the house. "No, no, house is Japs outpost," he said. "They will kill you. No go there; you go with me." I nudged the lieutenant, and as I looked at the others, I asked, "What do you think?" Lieutenant Orr replied: "Perhaps we had better go with our new friend. We have got to start trusting someone."¹

We then heard some sort of a commotion down the beach to the east of us. To our amazement nine Philippine women and two men came running toward us with pots in their hands. All of us quickly scurried about trying to get into our clothes. The people brought boiled chicken, rice, and, best of all, water. Its value far surpassed that of gold.

The native women fed the wounded first, and then a young native girl came over to me. She said, "Señor, you eat." I sat down beside a palm tree as she dished me some chicken and rice. I was really embarrassed as she knelt beside me, for I was not yet fully dressed. But I'm sure the embarrassment was all mine because she didn't even seem to notice. As she wiped my brow with a towel, she said: "You tired señor. I feed you." I grinned and said to myself, "Man, this is really living." Meanwhile, several more native men arrived with makeshift stretchers to carry the wounded. After we were through eating, the men gently put our wounded on their stretchers, and we proceeded down the beach to the east.

We didn't know where these people were taking us, but at that point I don't think any of us much cared. We had walked for about an hour when we came upon a group of natives armed to the teeth with guns and knives. Their leader, riding a small horse and carrying a huge American flag, introduced himself: "I was a sergeant in the American Army, and I have escaped from the Japanese." He told us his men had found one of our shipmates floating in the water. "We're going to give him a military burial with a gun salute and all the trimmings," he added. I tried to caution the sergeant about gunfire with the enemy so close by, but he assured me that neither he nor any of his men were afraid of the Japs. So this man was buried with a gun salute, flag, and all the military honors at these people's disposal. After the burial, the sergeant suggested we go inland.

We traveled for several hours up small trails. The Filipinos offered to carry us along the steep paths, but I assured them they were doing enough by carrying our wounded for us. We had gone about five miles when we came to what appeared to be a vehicle-traveled road. It led us to a large plantation house occupied by several Philippine families. The sergeant introduced us to the residents, most of whom had been tortured by the Japanese. We talked with an elderly lady who had been blinded with hot pokers. The sergeant's brother had 28 poker burns on his chest. We met women who told us of being raped, burned, or knifed, and talked with men and women who had eyes burned out, fingers cut off, or had otherwise been horribly maimed. These people suffered all these and many more horrors. How could anyone blame them for their hatred of the Japanese?

We spent four days and three nights at the plantation house, and at 0700 on the fourth day we received word from a native runner that a PBY will be waiting on the other side of the island. The plane will start its engines at 1125 and need to take off at 1130 whether we were there or not. We had to leave our wounded behind, because to travel that far that fast with them would be hopeless.

Along the way, in each little village or hut we passed, people offered us food or water and tagged along with us. After walking for what seemed 20 miles, we started down a hill overlooking the PBY in a small cove. I looked all around and was amazed. There must have been a thousand natives walking down the hill with us. I yelled at the sergeant, "All these people, it's a very nice gesture, but get them out of here before the Japs spot them!" He replied: "This is not a gesture. After all, the Japanese would have to kill about a thousand of us to get to you and your shipmates." Then he smiled.

Soon, I was wading out to the plane as its engines started. I looked back at the Filipinos with tears in my eyes. We had a short acquaintanceship, but it was really hard to bid them farewell.²