This html article is produced from an uncorrected text file through optical character recognition. Prior to 1940 articles all text has been corrected, but from 1940 to the present most still remain uncorrected. Artifacts of the scans are misspellings, out-of-context footnotes and sidebars, and other inconsistencies. Adjacent to each text file is a PDF of the article, which accurately and fully conveys the content as it appeared in the issue. The uncorrected text files have been included to enhance the searchability of our content, on our site and in search engines, for our membership, the research community and media organizations. We are working now to provide clean text files for the entire collection.
Acts of heroism pervade the history of the _ U. S. Coast Guard. Too often, the passage of years projects them into the forgotten past, and the accounts of episodes that should thrill and inspire the Coast Guardsmen of today and tomorrow are lost. One such incident occurred nearly 50 years ago when the Coast Guard operated as part of the U. S. Navy in World War I, and six of its seagoing cutters were engaged with naval units in escorting merchant convoys between Gibraltar and Great Britain.
A convoy of about 20 merchant ships left Milford Haven, Wales, for Gibraltar in
mid-September 1918 with the usual danger zone escorts and the cutter Seneca as ocean escort. The vessels crossed the Bristol Channel entrance, passed Land’s End, the southwestern tip of England, and stood southward across the English Channel as Wolf Rock Lighthouse faded into the distance. The weather was cloudy, the sea smooth, and visibility good. The convoy had fallen into poor formation, however, and it was slowed to get the rear ships into proper position- At 12:41 p.m. on 14 September, one of the merchant ships set a signal: “Submarine sighted to starboard.” Immediately, the destroyers of the escort steamed at full speed
to the indicated position of the then submerged U-boat and dropped a barrage of depth charges. Nothing further was seen of the submarine, and after a careful search, the escorts rejoined the other ships and all proceeded on their way. It is possible that the submarine trailed the convoy for many hours thereafter, though this is not certain. Nevertheless, that night and the following day and night, all went well.
On 18 September at 11:30 a.m., there was a loud explosion in the convoy when the British collier Wellington, a few hundred yards ahead of her station, was struck by a torpedo from a German submarine. Her forefoot was blown away. A minute later, as the Seneca altered course and rang up full speed, one of her lookouts reported the conning tower of a submarine off the Wellington’s starboard quarter a few hundred yards distant. The Seneca raced for the spot and fired three shots from her 4-inch battery. Several other vessels of the escort also fired, and four shots fell close. The submarine, apparently not hit, submerged quickly and was not seen again.
It was impossible to estimate the direction of the enemy’s retreat, but the Seneca let go a depth charge at 11:32 and kept up a systematic gunfire chiefly to keep the U-boat under. She fired 35 rounds in all, and dropped seven more depth charges for the same purpose and to damage the submarine if possible. The USS Decatur joined in the attack and dropped about eight charges.
Then, using extreme caution to avoid collision with the vessels of the convoy and escort, which continued to maintain course and speed, the Seneca arrived at the Wellington's position.
Meanwhile, the stricken collier’s crew Were abandoning ship. As the cutter reached the scene, three boats loaded with men were pulling away from the vessel. Her master sent a semaphore message from one of the boats saying that he thought his ship would remain afloat since she had been torpedoed in the forepeak, but that his crew refused to remain with her. He requested the Seneca's help, and all of the men from the three boats Were taken on board the cutter.
After a brief period of observation, the Wellington's master expressed to Captain
William J. Wheeler, USCG, of the Seneca, his belief that his ship was not totally disabled and would continue to float. He said ten of his men would return to the ship with him. First Lieutenant Fletcher W. Brown, who was on the cutter’s bridge, volunteered to go on board with volunteers from the cutter’s crew and try to get the ship to port. Captain Wheeler, with a Coast Guardsman’s urge to save life and property at sea, readily granted his request. Although most of his crew volunteered, 19 men were chosen, and they quickly went over to the Wellington in one of that vessel’s boats and boarded the collier. Shortly afterward, the second Wellington boat arrived with the master and 11 volunteers from the collier who also boarded the stricken ship. Under a mutual agreement, Lieutenant Brown was in charge of the entire party, and the master was to be navigator.
There were still 31 of the Wellington's crew left in the Seneca, which, believing everything under control, left the scene at 12:35 p.m., and rejoined her convoy an hour-and-a-half later. The Seneca then requested assistance for the Wellington, and the destroyer USS Warrington was dispatched for that duty. The Warrington, under command of Lieutenant Commander Van Derveer some distance away, unfortunately received two conflicting positions for the collier, and headed for the one her skipper thought more likely.
This effort to save the ship and take her under her own power to Brest was fraught with danger not only because of the damage to the vessel and possible adverse weather, but also because of the possibility that the submarine might still be lurking about and might attempt to finish what she had begun.
Upon boarding the Wellington, ammunition was broken out; lookouts and gun crews were drilled and assigned to stations. Warrant Machinist William L. Boyce took charge below decks. He soon reported that slight repairs to the air pump would be necessary, that he had 120 pounds of steam, and that all would be ready for steaming within half an hour. Soundings showed that Number 2 hold was dry. At 12:50 p.m., only 80 minutes after the torpedoing, the Wellington moved ahead slowly, but soon stopped for an hour to work up a better head of steam. This accomplished, and with pumps working, she
132 U. S. Naval Institute Proceedings, April 1968
went ahead at half speed at 2:10, increasing slowly to seven-and-a-half knots, and headed for Brest.
All seemed to be going fairly well. Ship’s Cook Russell Elan of the Seneca disappeared into the galley and prepared a good dinner for all hands. Omitting no detail of service, he donned a white coat and took dinner to Lieutenant Brown on the bridge.
The wind and sea made up gradually during the afternoon. By sundown, the Wellington had covered over 40 miles successfully. But now there was difficulty, because the brewing storm made it impossible to keep the vessel on course. She was somewhat down by the head, and she came up head to the sea. Efforts were then made to steam stern first, but these attempts failed. The anchors could not be jettisoned to lighten the bow, for the chains were inaccessible. No materials could be found with which to improvise a sea anchor. As the crippled ship lay stopped, she took the increasing seas on her starboard bow; these came crashing over and up through the Number 1 hatch, rendering the entire forward waist unsafe. Water had now entered Number 2 hold to a depth of three- and-a-half feet, at which point pumps succeeded in maintaining the level.
There was hope that the storm could be weathered and that the ship could proceed at daybreak. It became so rough, however, that the heavy rolling of the ship threatened to carry away the one remaining lifeboat;
Courtesy National Archives
the second boat had already broken adrift. As a safeguard, the men had constructed a large life raft. This lay on the upper deck, but Lieutenant Brown deemed it prudent to lower the remaining lifeboat and hold her in readiness in the water in case it should become necessary to abandon ship quickly. It was obvious that the vessel’s situation was becoming increasingly dangerous, but Brown still felt there was better than an even chance that the Wellington would remain afloat.
Nevertheless, as a precaution, he mustered all hands except the radio operator and three men who remained at the pumps. He announced that he and these four would stand by until all hope of saving the ship had gone. Brown ordered seven of the Wellington’s volunteer crewmen and one Coast Guardsman into the lifeboat which was expected to ride quite safely to leeward on a sea painter or keep close in the event that she should be needed. Accordingly, the boat lowered away with three men, and the other four were to slide down the falls to join their comrades. Lieutenant Brown went to the radio room to dictate a message to the not- yet-arrived Warrington. On his return to the deck, he was shocked to hear a voice in the lifeboat call, “Chop the painter.”
The boat had been lowered, unhooked, and the sea painter cast off before the rest of the men could slide down, though some of them were actually on the falls. Lieutenant Brown ordered that the stern line be held, but fear of the boat smashing against the side prompted one man to cut the line, and the boat drifted away. The collier’s first officer, who was in the boat, tried to get the men to row back, but they did not know how to pull. Twenty- four men from both crews were thus left in the Wellington without a boat and with the vessel practically in a sinking condition.
Lieutenant Brown felt that the ship now had about an even chance to stay afloat until daylight despite the heavy seas breaking over her. More life rafts were constructed and ranged along the port side in the after waist, and planks from the main hatch were also readied. Three rough rafts were launched overboard and held by a sea painter.
Meanwhile, Brown had been in constant radio communication with the Warrington and sent his position again at 11:35 p.m-
Rockets were sent up every quarter hour. Finally, an answering rocket was seen on the port bow at 2:30 a.m.
The Warrington was now approaching the vicinity but did not close, and at 3:00 a.m., stood some 1,200 yards distant. A bulkhead, in the doomed collier now parted, and the vessel began to settle noticeably. With a small hand flashlight, Brown signaled shortly before 4:00 that he was abandoning ship and asked the destroyer to come closer; however, heavy seas kept her at what her skipper considered a prudent distance. The Wellington continued to settle by the head and listed rapidly. Brown gave the order to abandon ship and signaled to the Warrington, “My men are in the water.” As the collier began to roll, Lieutenant Brown jumped. The collier was nose-down at a 60-degree angle; her boilers apparently exploded, and then she lurched for her final plunge.
After swimming clear in the rough water, Brown cast about for something to cling to. Hearing cries from the direction of the destroyer, he swam in that direction; as he approached the ship, she suddenly drew ahead. Then, seeing two calcium lights in the water, Brown swam toward them thinking that they marked a raft. But there was no raft. He extinguished the lights so that others would not make for them. When 100 yards from the destroyer, he repeatedly called out, “I had 18 men.” Then he lost consciousness and all went blank. Apparently, he grasped a plank, and some hours later, he was hauled on board the Warrington.
In the meantime, the destroyer had picked up the lifeboat with eight men, and searched unsuccessfully for other boats which, of course, were not there. She could not launch her own boats in the heavy seas, but floated down three life rafts with lifebuoys and lights. By dawn, men could be seen in the water, some on rafts and some clinging to wreckage. The vessel finally picked up nine men, one of whom died after being taken from the water.
During the rescue operations, the action of Seaman James C. Osborn of the Seneca was especially courageous. Osborn, supporting his shipmate Coxswain Jorge A. Federsen, swam to a small raft and placed the semi-
The Old Navy 133
conscious Pedersen on it. Osborn held the coxswain as well as he could between his feet, but both were several times washed off the raft by the seas. Each time, Osborn regained the raft and managed to get Pedersen back on it. As Lieutenant Commander Van Derveer in the Warrington sent assistance to another man who seemed in a more desperate predicament than Osborn, the latter semaphored from his pitching raft, “I’m all right, but he’s gone unless you come right away.” The destroyer got them both.
Further search revealed no other survivors. Ten Coast Guardsmen and one Navy enlisted man, all from the Seneca, and five of the Wellington’s crewmen lost their lives in this tragedy.
When the Warrington reached port with the survivors, Brown insisted upon accompanying Van Derveer to the flag office to report. At the top of the big stairs leading to the dock he became ill, however, and was sent to the hospital with a severe case of pneumonia from which he finally recovered. All other survivors soon recuperated.
Van Derveer wrote in his report, “Above all, young Brown of the Coast Guard deserves commendation. It was he who organized the volunteer crew that kept the Wellington afloat for seventeen hours, and without a doubt with even average weather conditions would have saved her.”
The Seneca’s mission received grateful recognition from Admiral William S. Sims, U. S. Navy. The senior British naval officer at Gibraltar commended Lieutenant Brown and his men for their gallant services. Captain Wheeler in his report to the Captain Commandant of the Coast Guard wrote in part, “Lieutenant Brown and the gallant volunteers set an example worthy of the highest traditions of any Service or any Nation, and they are recommended for recognition such as merited by their gallant conduct.”
The Distinguished Service Medal was awarded posthumously to Warrant Machinist William L. Boyce; the ten others who lost their lives were awarded posthumously the Navy Cross; and the Seneca’s nine rescued survivors, including Brown, were also awarded the Navy Cross.
Ii