HAULING 'EM OFF BEFORE DINNER
By Captain R. Drace White, U. S. Navy
The skies are blue in the island of Jamaica. Blue with a blue that comes only from chalk soil underfoot and a cloudless dome overhead. The air is balmy, the flowers are bright, and a comfortable laziness envelops you from the time you finish your bath before breakfast till you take your swim before dinner. Not an overpowering laziness, however. The well-kept tennis courts and the genuine enthusiasm that pervades the atmosphere at the Tennis Club sound a call that is irresistible to the fan. The golf is fair. The roads are a motorist's delight. And last, but not least, the so-called invasion of personal liberty exemplified in the latest nervous stride of a more powerful and prosperous community on this side of the Atlantic in its forced march toward higher civilization has left Jamaica untouched—and exchange is only $3.26 to the pound.
It was in the midst of this setting that the Prometheus found herself on February 7, 1920, in the harbor of Kingston. Her mission (to quote verbatim from her orders) was, among other things, "to promote contentment." Practical interpretation meant principally to give liberty to the crew. It was a fulfillment of the "enlist and see the world" promise so prominently featured in recruiting propaganda. It was also probably intimately related to the "improve the morale" campaign now prominently vogue, which more frequently, however, finds expression in intensely moral motion pictures produced by the greatest motion picture producers in captivity. Be that as it may, Kingston on that particular day bade fair to prove herself an ideal spot for the promotion of contentment. A motor ride and picnic had been arranged for the men. There was a tea and a dance for the officers. And for me there was to be a dinner. Not an ordinary dinner. A special one. Some old friends I had run across at the Myrtle Bank; some new ones made at the same place; some relatives of old friends; and—contentment.
Figure to yourself, then, my peevishness when, on that very morning, a gentleman whose visiting card declared him to be " Harry Hitt, representing the United States Shipping Board " came on board and requested me to go down the bay and undertake the salvage of the Shipping Board Steamer Bartholomew which had gone aground there two days previously and defied all attempts of the local salvage facilities to refloat her. It meant calling off the men's picnic, it meant breaking up several discreetly progressive flirtations on the part of the officers, and it looked as if I should surely miss that dinner.
Mr. Hitt was very anxious for my assistance. As I have said, the preliminary attempt of the local salvage company had failed completely; and although they still thought that for $25,000 they could muster assistance from elsewhere and eventually float the ship, there would be considerable delay, the cargo would have to be lightered out of her, and the loss altogether would be enormous.
I had no doubt of our ability to pull the ship off if we undertook it. Prometheus is fitted with a superb towing machine, a 7 ¼-inch steel hawser, a good capstan aft for handling smaller lines, and engines that never seem to tire of pushing her along. The Bartholomew might come off in pieces. She might bring the whole island of Jamaica with her; but come she would once we got hold of her. It was only when I thought of my "mission" that I wavered. It was already nearly 10 o'clock, there was steam on only one boiler, it was a long way down the bay, she was in no danger and might just as well wait till Monday…
Still it had to be done, and had therefore best be done at once. I ordered steam to be got as quickly as possible and had preparations made to get underway. I sent a messenger to stop several dignitaries from coming on board to repay my calls of the previous day. I went myself and excused myself from a luncheon at the Myrtle Bank, came back on board and got underway as soon as steam was ready, viz., in about one hour. It will be observed that I kept my dinner engagement under my lee. I hoped to get back in time.
Mr. Hitt had described the Bartholomew as of 2598 gross tons, 1615 net, registered at Cleveland, and chartered from the Shipping Board by the Tropical Steamship Company of 32 Broadway, New York. She was commanded by D. W. Holmes, master, had sailed from Kingston for St. Ann's Bay, Jamaica, two days previously—incidentally sailing without a pilot, although pilotage is compulsory for merchant craft in Kingston. The reasons for this particular eccentricity on the part of the master, I refrained from discussing, although I had my suspicions. For reasons, undoubtedly similar but which I similarly refrained from discussing, the master had attempted to take an overland route to sea. This, as we all know, is seldom done with success and he only got half way across. According to Mr. Hitt, his ship, which normally drew 17 feet, had, at the time of our conversation, only 12 feet under her stern. She had less under her bow.
Things looked worse from down by Bartholomew than they had from the anchorage up town. She surely was fast aground. To make matters worse I found when I got down by her, that the topography on the chart was all out. It was impossible to get a fix that was entirely above suspicion. Using one set of marks, we plotted in one spot; using another, we went somewhere else; and so on, depending on the number of combinations we employed. There was no particular disadvantage in this except that it forbade my being too free and easy working up close; for of all rules to be observed in work of this character, the cardinal one is to keep clear of the ground yourself.
However, I let go fairly close and went aboard with the navigator (who is also the executive) to see where she really was. We cut her in using two light-houses and a clock tower as the most dependable of the apparently shifting landscape—and immediately decided she couldn't possibly be there. However, that was of little moment. The matter was easily solved by making an improvised chart of our own for that particular locality. We got from the master his soundings round the ship. We ran lines parallel to her keel line approximately 15, 30 and 45 yards away. In order to properly line up the soundings they were only taken when certain objects on the ship appeared in line to the observers in the boat which was doing the sounding. These were the break of the forecastle, the forward edge of the bridge, the after edge of the deck house, and the break of the poop.
These soundings developed well enough the bottom between Bartholomew and deep water. They showed that she had gone up at an angle of about 45° with the edge of the shoal. They also showed that although there was considerably less water at her bow than at her stern, her bow was free of the bottom by about a foot, this because she drew normally considerably less water at the bow. It was therefore apparent that the only thing to do was to pull her bow out at right-angles to her keel line. This would result in more of her becoming water borne as she moved, and once she was headed for deep water I had no fears but that she would come off. (It is of interest to note that the local company had tried to haul her off by the stern.)
One result of my visit to Bartholomew was the decision to send my own men with an officer to her to "assist" in the work there. Lieutenant Stevens was sent, and did signal service. I could frequently hear him clear aboard here. But that was only when the master tried to get "the boys" up from below at an unusual hour to pass a line, or something similar—an effort which usually was abortive. Another reason I had for sending my men was I was fearful of my fine towing line being damaged by being made fast to something that would chafe it. That would have spoiled my day. His whole ship wasn't worth damaging that line; for that would have meant reams of future typewritten correspondence, full of servile explanation and acid recrimination. No, his whole ship wasn't worth it.
Having arranged these matters I went back on board Prometheus. In the meantime, a 5-inch messenger had been placed in a sailing launch and got ready for running and I lost no time in taking up a position with Prometheus abreast of Bartholomew's bow as close as was safe. This had to be pretty close if time was to be saved. At best it would be a long job, for the wind was blowing directly from Bartholomew's bow toward the position I must take, and it was therefore inevitable that Prometheus would swing with her business end away from the work in hand, thus increasing considerably the distance the lines had to be run.
Still, there are tricks in all trades. Instead of trying to drag the wire line along the bottom the whole distance, I ran first (after the messenger) an 8-inch Manila, which of course floated and ran easily; with this I wound ship with stern to and hauled up close before running the wire.
There was another trick, too. It would have been very slow and difficult to haul the stern around broadside to and up against the wind, so as soon as the 8-inch was fast, I hove up my anchor and let the wind swing the ship as the line was hove in. She swung very lively and with no particular strain. This moreover allowed me to place my anchor exactly where I wanted it and left me free to see that the stern was hauled in as close as was safe. I had the chain left free to pay out, and took a leadsman to the stern where the heaving round had been going on merrily all the time. When we had got in as far as the depth would allow, I had the forecastle haul to the compresser and the after capstan tautened up on the 8-inch. Our stern was then only about 150 yards from Bartholomew's bow.
Even then, however, it was a question whether the 5-inch messenger (which, while the winding process had been going on, had been run back to us) would be strong enough to drag the wire hawser across the now relatively small intervening space. However, I made a try, but instead of letting the wire drag on the bottom, I had a sailing launch come alongside it and support it with a sling about 15 fathoms from its end. The winch on Bartholomew then hauled the launch along with the wire, the launch supporting the wire and keeping it off the ground as it went. The operation was done very quickly and successfully.
I had been fearful, however, that the 5-inch messenger would not do the trick and in the meantime had got an 8-inch messenger in the other sailer ready to run it in case the 5-inch carried away. But it was not needed. After a few anxious moments while the end of the wire was going up Bartholomew's side the danger was passed and the extra 8-inch was passed back aboard Prometheus.
Now came the question of making the end fast. When I went aboard Bartholomew, I told the master to shackle my wire into his bower chain. He had complained that he could not unshackle the chain from his anchor, but I showed him how to do it and he agreed. I suspected, however, he would not do it, and sure enough when all was ready I saw that although he had lowered his anchor away in the hawse-pipe, the anchor was still shackled up. He had passed instead several turns of wire through the hawse-pipe and over the side and had rigged a shackle over all the parts. I was a bit skeptical of that arrangement's holding, but it was too late to change. If it held, it would be all right," if it carried away it would be a lesson to him. Running the line again would not be so difficult, particularly as I had him leave the messenger bent on to the end of the wire and coiled down free to run so that in case his sling carried away, he would still have the messenger fast to the wire and could easily haul the end back on board. By the same process of reasoning I still kept my 8-inch Manila fast to him, but had the end on board Prometheus faked down and an easy turn taken on a bitts, so I could make fast and keep our stern from swinging away in case anything carried away. (The wind, be it remembered, was blowing from right aft when we were hauled up for towing, and would tend to swing us away.)
However nothing carried away. We hove down on all the frictions on the towing engine and turned steam on the cylinders to the limit, and got every one clear of the hawser. I got a range on shore at right-angles to our pull, and went ahead, gingerly at first, then to the limit. It was soon evident that we were moving, but I knew it was too good to be true, for I had heard the safeties on the towing machine blow off one at a time and knew that the machine was not holding. I therefore stopped, made sure that the chain, which had been hove in as we forged ahead, would pay out, went aft and reeled in on the hawser till our stern was close up again. By the way, this towing machine is a great institution. All you have to do when you want to haul in on the line is to open the valve. All when you want to make fast is close the valve and set up the brakes. No shifting from bitts to capstan with stoppering and forehanding— no nothing.
Having got where we wanted to be, the brakes were set up for a full due, and the other precautions taken, and all was ready again.
Once more slow and then a full due. Never once did the line surge. It came taut and stayed taut. The range soon told me that Bartholomew was moving. All of a sudden, she spun round on her heel and swung into line with the tow. The master went ahead with his engines and in a moment she was off.
In the master's enthusiasm, he nearly ran us down before he would stop his engines. The ground on the opposite side of the channel was bad to work in and I couldn't use my engines much to maneuver. By recourse to the megaphone, however, I got him to stop in time. He begged me to tow him further away from the scene of his disaster, but nothing doing! I saw he would ride clear where he was, so I made him anchor and let go my lines.
The Manila was got free in a jiffy, but of course it took some time to free the wire. In the meantime, instead of anchoring, I let Prometheus ride by the stern to the wire hawser and the wind, which now had shifted and was blowing up stream, had me pointed fair for Kingston by the time the wire was cast off. I was thus saved the time of turning round.
Full speed ahead on both engines, reeving in on the line as we went, and a short time afterward we were anchored in our old berth off Kingston, in time to wash up, doll a bit, and keep the dinner engagement on shore. Believe me, I needed the wash. Also the dinner. It had been a great day. It continued to be.
The next day was also great. Bartholomew steamed saucily up the harbor, came to, and sent the following message which we intercepted:
Shipboard
Washington, D. C.
Prometheus hauled Bartholomew off mud bank no damage no salvage stop will proceed.
Supercargo
The supercargo also wrote a very nice letter to the ship, thanking us for our services and assuring us that he was sending "commendable letters to the Secretary of the Navy and the United States Shipping Board,-respectively, in reference to your excellent seamanship and hearty cooperation." It made me feel that after all there is such a thing as "Freemasonry of the Sea." There was also real enthusiasm in his wave to me from the lower bridge of Bartholomew as that ship steamed out to sea somewhat later passing us close aboard.
I held my breath as she was going through the part of the channel that had been her undoing some days previously, but nothing happened. The ship was at last outside and headed fair for the open sea—the only safe place for a sailor. And I—I returned to my mission.
The only unusual thing about the operation I have described above lies in the fact that the job was done quickly and without any untoward incident. We didn't get aground ourselves, didn't get any lines foul of our propellers, didn't carry away any lines, didn't use any profanity beyond the absolute needs of the occasion. I leave it to you whether the story is worth the telling.