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I should like to submit the following discussion, with reference to the “Jean Bari's escape” as told in the October, 1956 Proceedings.
I enjoyed reading Captain Olch’s vivid account of my taking the battleship Jean Bart out from under the noses of the invading Germans in June of 1940. However, there are two errors to which I wish to invite your attention. First of all, I doubt if I could have qualified for “stroke oar” in Annapolis, any more than I could have at Brest, as my nickname of “husky” surely didn’t merit such praises. The second error—one of fact— concerns the location of the original Jean Bart’s birthplace. He was from Dunkerque and so was a “Flamand” and not a “Breton” as Captain Olch described on page 1059.
As the first commanding officer of the Jean Bart, I was also proud of the connection with Dunkerque, since my uncle, an Admiral in the French Navy, commanded two regiments of sailors who were put ashore in 1914 and blocked one of the approaches to the port of Dunkerque from the invading Germans in 1914, a feat which has been of legendary pride in the French Navy.
As what you might call the “star actor” in the Jean Bart story in the October number, I was very pleased that it was printed in the Proceedings and glad to have been of assistance to Captain Olch in the research and preparation of the article.
The Swatara and the Large Repair
(See page 569, May, 1956 Proceedings)
Rear Admiral G. Van Deurs, usn (ret.).—Shortly after the May, 1956 Proceedings arrived, J. C. Washington, a scholarly friend with a photographic memory, wrote:
“I liked your article on the Swatara, but I think you made things harder for posterity by implying that that particular Secnav invented the so-called large repair. The sort from which a vessel emerged with maybe a couple of the original cleats and belaying pins but not much else. I think this had been standard practice in our navy since before the War of 1812. The Constellation is a recently publicized example. The British used the system back to the beginning of the 17th century that I know of. Probably all navies used it after all, it worked.”
When I mentioned the Constitution and asked for more dope he answered:
“ . . . the first American example I find mentioned by Chapelle in The American Sailing Navy is the sloop-of-war Erie. She was built in 1813, probably of green timber, and found to be rotten in 1820. She emerged from the repair four feet longer, one foot wider, and six inches deeper. They may have used some of the original ship in this case, where the changes were not radical. Anyway, by 1827 the use of repair money to build new ships was accepted practice. The people concerned were run by practical considerations and did the best they could. Who am I to question their morals?
“The Constellation was launched in 1797 as a 36-gun frigate, 164'X40'6"X 13'6". In 1855 she was repaired into a first class cor-
vette, 24 guns with these dimensions: 176' X41'0"X21'3". In this form she was recently towed to Baltimore where lots of People think they have the original!
“The Constitution is a horse of another color. None of the changes during her active career were radical. Her last two repairs were intended to put her back into her condition as of 1812. I’m sorry to say they didn’t do too well. The painting, the arrangement of bulwarks and hammock nettings, and a good many other features are more like 1840. Painting is the most conspicuous error. For 1812 the light strakes along the sides should have been yellow and the inboard works dark red instead of white. Apparently there were no regulations on colors for navy ships before the 1830’s, things being left up to the captain. White paint on a ship of 1812, however, was as unlikely as red paint on a hearse today.”
Too bad a custom as long established as the “large repair” is no longer acceptable. Many man-hours of Washington argument could have been saved if the navy had just “repaired” Kaiser’s jeep carriers to perform like the new Saratoga,
Royal Canadian Navy’s Uniforms
(See page 680, June, 1956 Proceedings)
(Editor’s Note: The contributor of this item is Supply-Officer-in-Chief of the Royal Canadian Navy.)
C. J. Dillon, Commodore(S), rcn.—As a member of the Naval Institute I noted with some interest in the June, 1956 Proceedings an item dealing with a new uniform for the Royal Navy. This uniform was in fact developed by the Royal Canadian Navy, in 1948-49. The main features were that the basic seamanlike appearance has been retained. The blouse or jumper had a front opening secured by a zipper and coat style sleeves replaced the older type. The main features of the trousers in the new uniform were a conventional zip fastened fly instead of the traditional fall front with buttons and the provision of ample pockets. The uniform was introduced in the Canadian Fleet in 1951 both in blue worsted serge and white drill.
In the Fall of 1951 HRH Princess Elizabeth (now Queen Elizabeth) and the Duke of Edinburgh visited Canada and special steps were taken for the Royal Guards and
Naval Bands to be fitted out with new uniforms. These came to the attention of Prince Philip and when he returned to his country he brought the matter to the attention of the Board of Admiralty as being a significant improvement on the traditional seaman’s uniform. In due course full information and specifications were provided to the Royal Navy which has now indicated the adoption of this uniform for general use.
It is also interesting to note that in 1950 the Royal Canadian Navy placed all enlisted men below the rank of Petty Officer First Class in seaman’s uniform. Previously men of the Supply, Medical, and certain Technical trades has been dressed in “round rig” or single-breasted serge jackets with conventional trousers and a peak cap. This action did much to improve the morale of the lower deck as a whole and of the branches affected in particular. The Royal Navy has shown an interest in this, also.
The above information, while not of momentous importance, is significant because over a great many years the Commonwealth Navies have adhered closely to changes and developments in the Royal Navy. It is now evident that the trend in some respects is reversed and that the Royal Navy is taking advantage of the development and progress in other Navies and in this case, the Royal Canadian Navy.
Admiral Farragut and General Butler
(See page 635, June, 1956 Proceedings)
Rear Admiral A. F. France, usn (ret.). —This excellent article reminded me that a copy of some Civil War correspondence concerning General Butler was in my possession.
Shortly before World War II while I was on duty in the Bureau of Ordnance we were re-shuffling offices, and the corridors were a tangle. An engineer attached to my office came to me with several sheets of paper, saying that he had found them on top of a pile of trash, and they seemed interesting.
They were, apparently, a file clerk’s copy, in a flowing Spencerian hand, of a series of telegrams and letters between Major General Ben Butler of the Union Army and Captain Henry A. Wise, usn, then Chief of the Bureau of Ordnance. I took them to the
Chief of Bureau, who had several copies made, one of which he gave to me.
The first piece of correspondence is a telegram, dated August 11, 1864, from General Butler, then at his headquarters on the James River, Virginia, to Captain Wise requesting that a certain gun block which he understood was at the Washington Navy Yard be turned over to a Mr. Sawyer to be made into a rifled gun for use by his forces. Captain Wise’s answering telegram, dated next day, stated that the gun block could not be placed at Mr. Sawyer’s disposal “as it is not considered strong enough to be made into a rifled gun.” General Butler replied by letter giving quite a dissertation on gun blocks and adding, “I take leave to suggest that I asked the Navy Department for a gun and not for an opinion—I can get the latter anywhere,” and signed this letter—
“Most truly your obliged friend (but not for your opinion)
Benj. F. Butler.”
The correspondence remained generally friendly, although slightly acrimonious in spots. Captain Wise acknowledged receiving “your ‘opinion,’ which I should find difficulty in getting ‘anywhere’ else,” and gave in some detail his reasons for considering the gun block not strong enough, one point being that Admiral Dahlgren considered it defective, and signed this letter—
“I am General, with great regard for your opinion in everything save Gun Blocks
Your friend and servant,
H. A. Wise.”
General Butler replied that he had requested the gun block under a misapprehension, as “I supposed that the Navy never had anything that was defective.” He then complained that he had loaned the Navy two 5" Sawyer rifled guns at New Orleans, and that they had never been returned to him. Captain Wise answered that the guns were at the New York Navy Yard, and he could have them back any time, but that both had burst in service.
There was then some discussion as to who had borrowed what at New Orleans, from guns to steamers, coal and cattle. General Butler also described the accuracy of a rifled gun he had been using against some
Confederate works in Virginia, and at a range °f 3200 yards, its dispersion, both in range :]n<l fuse time, was surprisingly good. Inci- entally, this gun had also burst which was w hy he wanted a replacement.
Finally, there was an argument as to "hether New Orleans had been captured by lhe Army or the Navy, and in this connection Butler’s final paragraph of the last letter of this series is worth quoting in full:
But I take leave to assure you, that between the rjny and Navy, at New Orleans, this question never "as a matter of discussion, for both, I know had such need °f respect for the other, that this question never arose But then Farragut was there!”
(The italicizing of “Farragut” and the exclamation point are Butler’s, not the Present writer’s.)
It is submitted that General Butler’s phrase “need of respect for the other” can 'yell be heeded even by the current generation.
More Typhoon Doctrine
(See pages 744, July, 1955 Proceedings, and 83 and 327 of the January and February, 1956 Proceedings.)
Commander John A. Sharpe, usn.—I have read with much interest the article by Captain Malanot and the various letters you have published on the subject of “Typhoon Doctrine.” Having experienced only five typhoons and hurricanes I do not feel sufficiently qualified to comment. However, during a typhoon in late 1945 I used a method which I have not found mentioned or described in anything you have published so far. For this reason, it may be worth adding to the recent accounts.
The method which was used consisted basically of taking advantage of the lee of the land while at the same time retaining maneuvering space in open water. The ship I commanded at the time was the USS Anderson (DD 411), a weary survivor of the one stack 1500-ton Sims Class. While it was a very graceful looking ship and an easy handling ship, we were not optimistic about her chances of surviving a typhoon in the open sea. This was because of her topheaviness and the vulnerability of the one flat broad stack, the base of which we knew to be in poor condition. We were afraid a strong wind or very heavy roll would cause it to say “Goodby” to us, leaving a large hole for the seas to pour into the firerooms with consequent loss of power. Also, I knew it was not considered good practice to be caught in an unsheltered, cluttered harbor by a typhoon.
The ship was proceeding singly from Adak enroute to Ominato, Japan, in northern Honshu, “carrying the mail” to our naval forces then engaged in the occupation of Northern Japan. At 0600 of the morning before we were due in, the sea was flat calm without a breath of wind. “Ah, clear and smooth sailing into port” I said to the OOD as I sipped a cup of the signal bridge coffee, having added plenty of neutralizing sugar and cream. The communication messenger spoiled our anticipation, however, with a message reporting a typhoon. The predicted path showed that it would pass generally from west to east through Tsugaru Strait, between Honshu and Hokkaido, that evening. A decision on what to do was needed, naturally. Considering the faults of our ship and our geographical position we decided to head for land shelter in the northern, or “navigable” half of the typhoon, assuming it would follow its predicted path. So bending on flank speed and starting work on carrying out our Typhoon Bill, including lashing down the stack with temporary stays, we diverted to the northwest, heading for a small island off the northeast coast of Hokkaido. This island, called Shi- kotan Jima, is about eight miles long and three miles wide with high hills averaging 1000 feet running around its periphery.
Starting about noon, the winds began picking up from the south. By the time we reached the island in the early evening the open seas were quite rough, and winds were up to fifty knots, still from the south. I was concerned about this, as it was an indication that we might after all be caught in the “dangerous semicircle” of the typhoon. During the evening we cruised back and forth about a mile or two off the north coast. The winds kept increasing, still from the south, but the high hills of the island and the relative shallowness of the water (30-40 fathoms) kept the sea fairly calm, although there was a good deal of spray flying about.
Around 2300, with gusts of wind at eighty knots (we carried an anemometer) a shift of the wind began to take place into the southwest, indicating that the typhoon center was not going to pass southward as predicted. Instead it was passing closely to westward. As the wind shifted farther into the west we gradually worked the ship over to the east coast, keeping in the lee of the hills. It was a little rougher here, but still the ship rode very comfortably in spite of the heavy gusts of wind which set our ears and our rigging to singing.
By 0400 the winds were from the west and declining; the center had passed not very far to the northwest. By 0800 the winds were down to ten knots so we decided to head for home. When the ship came clear of the lee I thanked fortune that we had had that island to protect us all night. On getting into deeper water we immediately ran into short swells that looked to be a minimum of twenty feet from trough to crest. The ship started pounding so heavily that we had to reduce speed to less than ten knots for the rest of the day. I don’t know what would have happened to the ship if she had been subjected to these seas and the probable hundred-knot winds in the open sea during the night. To paraphrase the mailmen’s motto—“In spite of typhoons, we brought the mail through.”
This method of “storm evasion” may have been used by modern ships before, but I do consider it unusual that it was not mentioned in all the material you have published on typhoons. It may be open to criticism in that we closed the land rather than kept well clear. However, considering everything, it seemed to be the best thing to do at the time. I hope you can use this account as one means of keeping our sailormen informed that the sea can be mighty cruel if you don’t look out.
Captain Edward B. Ellis, usnr, Master S.S. Exochorda, American Export Lines.—The caption under the illustration of the African Enterprise (p. 91) January, 1956 Proceedings, states that this vessel was brought through Hurricane Carol by means of techniques like those advocated in “Typhoon Doctrine.” On reading Captain
Graham’s comments in the same issue, it seems to me that this was not so at all. He did not stop his engine and allow the ship to find her own heading, nor are his methods different from those of most shipmasters.
I agree with them both. To stop and broach to is courting trouble, perhaps disaster. Slowing to minimum speed and heading directly into the sea has always been my practice even if I had to come about 180°. The anxious part of this maneuver is, as Captain Graham states, when to do it. This timing is also the subject of the concluding paragraph of Admiral Nimitz’s Pacific Fleet Letter 14CL-45 which states that “the time for taking all measures for a ship’s safety is while still able to do so. Nothing is more dangerous than for a seaman to be grudging in taking precautions lest they turn out to have been unnecessary.”
That last sentence is of particular interest to masters of merchant ships running on schedules. To turn 180° “while still able to do so” requires considerable judgment, especially when influenced by a deep desire to keep on time. Fortunately for your selfesteem, neither you nor anyone else will ever really know whether or not it was unnecessary—as long as nothing happened. Holding course and speed too long is an error in personal judgment which may happen to any commander, much to his sorrow.
To insert Captain Malanot’s doctrine in shiphandling and seamanship textbooks as a reliable “instruction” instead of an experimental suggestion, however, would be wrong in my opinion. Masters of merchantmen are pretty certain of the watertight integrity of their vessels barring damage. However, conditions of stability change daily, and one is never “assured” just how under present conditions the ship may act. She may never before have been in bad weather under exactly these same conditions.
The last predicament this shipmaster would want to get into is in the trough, stopped dead. That happened once. The rolling was frightening, and no one could keep his feet.
An experience I remember well occurred during the World War II on an AKA in a winter convoy in the North Atlantic. We
Were °n a far northern route, the last ship in a column by request. Heavy cross seas and gales were encountered and this ship, a C-2, J*th no cargo and heavy landing craft on eck, rolled heavily, once to 52°. The CO was nnable to maintain station as much as he "anted to without danger to his vessel, and e was hesitant to inform a senior that he considered the present course and speed dangerous. That night we fell behind the convoy intentionally and zigzagged across (he rear making our “zigs” and “zags” in those “smooths” Captain Graham mentions.
. e morning found us alone. One by one we Picked up ships on the radar, and as the weather moderated, we were able to reform the convoy. The last to rejoin was the convoy commodore who was embarked in a well-ballasted tanker.
It was quite obvious that each CO had taken independent action for the safety of his own command. This action was clearly sanctioned in the convoy’s orders. Had this occurred on December 18, 1944, the ships which should probably have run away would have “lived to fight another day.”
Taking action to avoid the center of a hurricane is undoubtedly the safest practice even if it may involve more delay than pass- lng through the center or near it. Everyone does not view it this way, unfortunately. As Captain Wilson remarks at the end of his discussion (p. 93)—“Whatever decision you hiay make, if you get into trouble, you may be sure that someone, who was not there, will come up with something you should have done!” His sage advice to stay at least 250 miles from a major disturbance when possible is without doubt the soundest typhoon doctrine of all.
Captain Malanot, in his recent experiment described in the March 1956, Proceedings, as taking place in a typhoon on August 18, 1955, had five hours in which to take evasive action from the first warning. He was able to state the center passed ten miles away. It looks as if he were becoming a “hurricane hunter” to prove his theory.
At 0600 he was apparently close to the storm track in front of the center, but well to the left in the left hand semicircle. By 1600, ten hours later, the center caught up to within ten miles of him. If he had simply proceeded on a westerly or southwesterly course out of the left semicircle (I have no chart of that area) he might not have had fifteen hours of bad weather.
It took five hours before he slowed, five hours more before the center passed, and five hours more to moderate. Five hours spent running away and five hours returning to position might have saved him five hours of worry. But, of course, I was not there—I am merely coming up with something Captain Malanot should have done!
In this same issue he remarks that apparently there was no one who actually shut down completely, or at least came to a dead slow. This last is difficult to believe, as it would be foolhardy to continue into a heavy sea without reducing speed to the point where the ship rode best, which is usually minimum speed for steering, with negligible headway.
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HOLD FAST, ST. LOUIS
Contributed by CAPTAIN GEORGE C. GRIFFIN, U. S. Naval Reserve
Several years ago when the USS Medusa came alongside an old abandoned pier at Long Beach, a young bluejacket was sent ashore to handle the lines. An old unused railroad track ran down the pier beside the warehouse. It was in a general state of disrepair, but not finding anything else to make his line fast to, the lad took a turn around the rails.
The old boatswain, taking one look, yelled “Cast loose! That won’t hold.”
“Yes, it will,” came the quick reply, “The other end is in St. Louis.”
{The Proceedings will pay $5.00 for each anecdote submitted to, and printed in, the Proceedings.)