The Great Halifax Explosion: A World War I Story of Treachery, Tragedy, and Extraordinary Heroism
John U. Bacon. New York: William Morrow, 2017. 374 pp. Map. Biblio. Notes. Index. $29.99.
Reviewed by Lieutenant Commander Charlie “Dora” Matykiewicz, U.S. Navy
It was a terrible accident. Two ships, one laden with high explosives, fought for right-of-way in the narrowest part of Halifax Harbor. The inevitable crunch led to an explosion one-fifth as powerful as the first atomic bomb. World War I–era Halifax was devastated. Best-selling sports and business author John Bacon tells the story, from the early days of Halifax to the ensuing litigation, in a well-researched and engaging book.
Relations between Canada and the United States were less friendly than today. Canada had sent privateers to plunder U.S. ships during the War of 1812, and as recently as 1907, U.S. politicians seriously discussed annexation of Canadian territory. Along with the historical backdrop, Bacon introduces Joseph E. Barss, a native Haligonian whose tale loosely aligns with the story of Halifax during the Great War. Some readers may appreciate the war stories and letters from young Barss, who fought at Ypres. If not, the first 100 pages will be slow, but they should not be skipped. Tidbits that give background to the post-explosion relief effort, such as the role of the Titanic tragedy (hundreds of dead were brought to Halifax), are scattered among the drama of Barss’s early life.
The pace picks up after page 105 with a history of the Mont-Blanc, a French cargo ship loaded with more than 3,000 tons of explosives, and Imo, the ship that hit her. This well-researched chapter includes a treatise on explosives science of the era. Picric acid, related to TNT, made up most of the Mont-Blanc’s cargo, and the way it and other dangerous cargoes were loaded contributed to the likelihood of disaster. Another factor was governance issues with Halifax harbor pilots, whose powerful union largely acted on its own despite nominal British control.
The Mont-Blanc had drifted to the shoreline of Richmond, a bustling downtown district, when she exploded. Bacon gives the sad and complete inventory of the utter destruction. A multitude of individual stories add weight to the sheer number of casualties (5 percent of the populace died, an additional 15 percent were injured). Small acts of heroism carry the day, such as the captain who continued shuttling passengers between the shores of Halifax and Dartmouth despite his damaged ferry and the unknown status of his own home. So began an immense disaster relief effort.
A major relief operation progresses through three phases: emergency, organized relief, and rehabilitation. Bacon chooses an excellent quote to describe the first phase: “Quick decision at the risk of occasional error was preferable, in the first hours, to extended deliberation and discussion.” The second phase requires organization and logistical scale, which in Halifax was tied to the Boston relief party, the first outside group to arrive. Most members had disaster relief leadership experience and applied it gracefully to the budding Canadian-led relief organization. Canadian and foreign militaries played a major part: The army controlled the devastated area and held near-martial law.
As Halifax began to rebuild, citizens cast for someone to blame. The captain and harbor pilot of the Mont-Blanc escaped in the 15 minutes between collision and explosion. They get a fair judgment from Bacon: They were not heroes, but not villains. They did not get the same consideration from the Halifax legal system. The captain and pilot of the Imo died, so the two men from the Mont-Blanc found themselves in court, fighting public opinion and a popular but unscrupulous lawyer.
Although the explosion in Halifax happened more than 100 years ago, it is an excellent case study in disaster management and humanitarian leadership. Bacon shows how small acts of humanity can lead to better relations between neighbors. In large part for this celebration of basic human decency, The Great Halifax Explosion is a pleasure to pick up in these indecent times.
Never to Return: Surviving the Worst Combat Loss in the History of the U.S. Coast Guard
Randall Peffer and Colonel Robert Nersasian, U.S. Army (Retired). Lanham, MD: Lyons Press. 264 pp. Sources. Index.
Reviewed by Vice Admiral Howard Thorsen, U.S. Coast Guard (Retired)
Never to Return begins when a long-discarded cassette tape of a teenager’s history class project—an interview with her Uncle Sparky (Nelson Nersasian) about his World War II experiences—is, 25 years later, heard by the same interviewer, now a practicing psychologist. Mesmerized by its content, she embarks on a quest to find answers, 65 years after the March 1944 sinking of the USS Leopold (DE-319) in the frigid waters south of Iceland.
The early chapters tell us of the backgrounds and origins of not only Coast Guardsmen, but also the commander and first watch officer in U-255, the U-boat that launched the torpedo that broke the Leopold’s back, quickly sending her to the bottom. The reader is provided a detailed description, via prose and photos, of destroyer escorts, as well as similar coverage of the U-boats.
Part 2 begins with a nerve-wracking account of the “kill or be killed” duel between the Leopold and U-255 in short chapters, often covering but a minute or two of time. The explosion in the Leopold, loss of power, rapid structural failure, and the order to abandon ship are in sharp contrast to the silent running of U-255 following the action. The sub captain, uncertain of the situation on the surface, fearful of other escort ships joining the attack, dropping “Wabos”—the dreaded depth charges—ordered a crash dive to pressure depth, which provided some safety.
Initially during the engagement, the Leopold had the advantage. Radar detected a target, general quarters was set, guns manned and ready, star shells loaded in the 3-inch/50-caliber number 2 deck gun, with “Uncle Sparky” in the pointer position when they sent a 13-pound projectile to illuminate the night ahead, where U-255 could be seen.
U-255 was on the surface, tracking the convoy the Leopold was escorting. Star shells announced the DE’s presence at the same time the sub lookouts saw the ship, less than a mile distant. Immediately submerging was the sub’s only possible action. The one defensive weapon the boat had was a torpedo designed to home in on the sound of the screws of a destroyer escort; it was launched as quickly as possible as the crash dive began.
The Leopold had reported the radar target over TBS radio to the other convoy escorts, and at a range of two miles had confirmed it to be a submarine. The task group commander dispatched a destroyer escort, the USS Joyce (DE-317), to join the Leopold. The Joyce was on the scene in 15 minutes, by which time her sister ship was dead in the water, no lights showing.
In less than five minutes, the Leopold had gone from aggressive hunter to disemboweled victim. Many crewmen chose to remain on the bow or stern sections, which were floating separately. Four life rafts were floating upside down, filled with sailors in waist-deep water, with others hanging on the sides, nearly immersed in the cold water—finding space on board only when a raft occupant died and was eased over the side.
The rescue of the 28 survivors by the Joyce was a combination of excellent seamanship and ingenuity under conditions and circumstances never anticipated. The last crewman rescued had survived more than five hours in the 47-degree water.
The authors detail the tenacity of the successful efforts to have the Coast Guard award Purple Hearts to the survivors’ families in 2013 and, in a fitting closure to this story, solve a more than seven-decade mystery involving two torpedoes that caused the Joyce to break off her initial rescue effort. Disruption and loss of time at the scene undoubtedly resulted in fewer survivors being found.
One will find few things in Never to Return to criticize (gun mounts verses cannon, abeam verses beam in dimensions, and sunk verses sank). It is very well written and quickly paints a picture in the reader’s mind—you do experience the cold-water agony. I highly recommended Never to Return to Naval History readers and Naval Institute members.
First to Fight: The U.S. Marines in World War I
Oscar E. Gilbert and Romain Cansiere. Philadelphia: Casemate, 2017. 360 pp. Appendix. Endnotes. Biblio. Index. Illus. $34.95.
Reviewed by James Carl Nelson
After the United States declared war on Germany on 6 April 1917, then–Marine Corps Commandant George Barnett leaped into action and offered his force of roughly 14,000 men to the War Department. His offer quickly was accepted, but General John Pershing, commander of the American Expeditionary Forces (AEF), and his staff would not hear of it and tried to stymie Barnett’s efforts, even refusing to transport Marines with the nascent army being rebuilt almost from scratch that spring.
Considering the way things transpired over the next 18 months, it was an inauspicious beginning for the Corps’ experience in the Great War. But by the armistice on 11 November 1918, the Marines had become the most famous body of Americans in World War I, having perhaps received more than their fair share of good press in newspapers, leading some to conclude the Marine Corps was, in fact, the only U.S. military presence in France.
The story of the Corps’ rise in fame and strength during World War I has been well-told in a number of books, perhaps best by George B. Clark in his Devil Dogs: Fighting Marines of World War I. Now, with the centennial of the United States’ entry into the war comes First to Fight: The U.S. Marines in World War I, by Oscar E. Gilbert and Romain Cansiere.
The authors have done a dogged job in mining and using the Corps’ extensive archival interview holdings and other sources and present a variety of first-person, colorful anecdotes told by Marines themselves. Besides the usual legendary suspects—William Worton, Graves Erskine, Gerald Thomas, Merwin Silverthorn, and Clifton Cates—they include accounts of service and battle from lesser-known Marines who served. They are all well-cited in the extensive notes.
From these and other sources, we learn of the Marines’ insistence on recruiting only the best volunteer candidates, their subsequent training at Parris Island and Quantico, their voyages overseas, their training in a so-called quiet sector in the spring of 1918, and the furious action on and within the fields and woods of Belleau Wood, Soissons, Blanc Mont, St. Mihiel, and the Argonne—battlefields on which the Marines suffered more than 1,300 killed and an astounding 8,000-plus wounded.
Chapters of First to Fight are devoted to lesser-known aspects of the Corps’ service in the Great War. An entire chapter describes the origin and operations of the Marines’ First Aviation Force and also gives shrift to the first female Marines, who served in the back lines as stenographers and in policing duties.
The book, however, is rife with errors large and small. The authors garble one of the Corps’ most momentous events: the dispatch from correspondent Floyd Gibbons, which, contrary to AEF restrictions, named the Marines as being on the field at Belleau Wood. Floyd went in with the Marines and was seriously wounded on 6 June, but the authors put the date as 7 June 1918.
Likewise, at Soissons they mix up the order of battle, placing the 1st Division on the 2d’s “right flank.” Wrong. At another point, the 80th Company somehow becomes part of “2/5” instead of 2/6; and the authors confuse Lieutenant John Overton of the 2/6—killed at Soissons—with the then-alive Macon Overton, commander of the 76th Company of the 1/6.
The book could have used better vetting, as the mistakes detract from what otherwise is a solid retelling of the Marine Corps’ part in World War I.