On a balmy spring morning in 1922, the USS Tracy (DD-214), of the U. S. Destroyer Squadron, Asiatic fleet, stood out of Manila Bay to carry out her annual short-range battle practice. On this mission, she was in charge of her Executive Officer, for the Captain was absent. I was on board as one of the observing party.
The firing practice went off very badly. Apparently every sailing banca in Manila Bay had chosen to fish that morning off the Bay entrance and the range was repeatedly fouled. The results of the firing left a lot to be desired, and when it was finally concluded in the late afternoon, there was no joy among the ship’s complement. Nor was the case improved when it was discovered that the tug which would tow the target raft back to Cavite, would be unable to tow the target repair boat as well; instead, the Tracy would be saddled with that unpleasant chore. This boat was a 40-foot motor sailing launch provided by the tender Buffalo. Some thought was given to the possibility of hoisting her out of the water, but she was ten feet too long for the Tracy’s 30-foot davits and was also heavily loaded with target repair gear. Hence she was streamed astern.
There was little or no wind at the time, but a following swell caused the boat to dive and ship water at any speed greater than four knots. Consequently, this speed was set, and the officers repaired to the wardroom for dinner. A more dejected bunch could scarcely be imagined, for at four knots we would not reach the anchorage until the small hours of the morning and there would be no chance to enjoy what passed for night life in the Manila of those days. In addition, we observers had not come prepared to spend the night on board and would have to catch such sleep as we could on the wardroom transoms and cots on deck. So, even the usual wells of small talk had run dry.
Toward the end of dinner, a breathless messenger came down the hatch to inform the Exec that the target repair boat was sinking. All hands downed tools and went on deck. Here it was found that a breeze had sprung up from astern and caused the boat to ride up against the propeller guard which had stove a sizeable hole in her below the waterline. Word was passed for the carpenter’s mate, and this worthy was put in the boat with the necessary tools and material. He made a valiant effort to apply a patch on the inside of the hull, but working under water and in semi-darkness was too much for him and he had to give it over. So it was decided that the 30-foot davits would simply have to be tried in an effort to save the boat. The boat was hauled up under the falls and two men were put in her to hook on. When all seemed in readiness, the word was passed to heave round. Old-timers will recall that the only way to hoist boats in these old flush-deckers was to lead extra long falls some 180 feet forward through the forecastle door to the anchor windlass. Communication from the falls to the capstan was by word of mouth and was faulty in the nth degree. Now, as the capstan heaved round, the bow of the boat ran up handily, but the after fall had not been hooked on securely and the stern remained in the water. By the time the men at the capstan got the word to avast heaving, it was too late. Both men in the boat had been dumped in the sea along with most of the target gear.
Now the matter of prime interest was the rescue of the two men overboard who were drifting out of sight to the gathering gloom. A searchlight was trained on them, and everyone fervently hoped there were no sharks about. The lifeboat was called away. She was a whaleboat, and, in those days, whaleboats were powered only by a white ash breeze. When the deck force attempted to swing her out on her davits, the forward davit went out and was neatly secured by the man on the forward davit guy. Not so the after end, where the guy got out of hand and dangled well out from the side. By this time, the ship had swung around broadside to the swells and was rolling as only a destroyer can. Thus, getting the stern davit to swing out and stay out posed a problem. After much struggling, one man had a bright idea. He got a long oar, braced one end against the after stack and positioned the other end where it Would act as a preventer on the next port roll. But he hadn’t reckoned with the force of the roll, and the oar stove a neat hole in the side of the whaleboat, well below the waterline. This was the only boat which could be used, for though the motor sailer was in her skids, her davits were pre-empted by the dangling target repair boat. And the motor dory had been left at the base. Once again the word was passed for the carpenter’s mate. Now that his ministrations could be applied to the outside of the hull and not underwater, he got a fairly tight patch applied in a few minutes. The whaleboat was then launched, someone having managed to corral the davit guy in the interim. It then took but a few minutes for the crew to fish the two men out of the water.
When the whaleboat was again hoisted in, attention perforce returned to that monstrous target repair boat still hanging by her bow from the davit, for all the world like a great fish, alternately being dunked in the water and then pulled halfway out as the ship rolled, threatening to snap off the overstrained davit at any moment. When the First Lieutenant asked the Exec what was to be done about the thing, the latter made a happy decision without a moment’s delay.
“Bring me an axe,” he said. And when that handy instrument was placed in his hands, he gave one mighty swing and watched with a smile while the offending boat dove for the bottom. Then he turned on his heel and headed for the bridge where he laid a course for the Manila anchorage and rang up turns for 15 knots, the maximum allowable under the fuel economy order of the time. All the officers returned to their after-dinner coffee and cigarettes, smiles replacing the glum faces of an hour before. For wouldn’t we be at anchor in plenty of time to get in on at least the finale of the festivities ashore?
Anything I might say about subsequent events in the Tracy would have to be labeled hearsay. But I was told that the Exec had a very unhappy half-hour on the carpet before the Commodore the next morning and that there were a lot of lessons in seamanship dished out to the deck force when he got back. I was also informed that, when the next quarterly inventory of Title B equipage was held, it was amazing how many missing items had been in the Buffalo’s launch.