Down to the Sea (35 page)

One question now begged to be asked: if Halsey had thought his fleet was approaching a “storm of major proportions” and that it was “almost too late to do anything” on the morning of the 18th, why had he ordered one final, disastrous attempt to fuel, which turned his fleet into the wind and in the direct path of the typhoon? Any veteran mariner would know that a safer course at that point would have been
away
from the storm, to the south. A southerly run of several hours by his ships might well have taken them all—including
Hull, Spence,
and
Monaghan
—out of harm's way.

Unfortunately, that question was not asked.

Rather, Halsey was dismissed as a witness. Before leaving, he told the court he had “an interest in the subject matter of the inquiry” and wished to be named as an interested person. He regretted, however, that he would be unable to appear at future sessions due to an upcoming fleet movement. Therefore, he wished to waive his right to be present at the inquiry, and asked that he be represented by counsel. Halsey's request was granted.

On its fourth day in session, the court of inquiry met briefly in
Cascade
's wardroom, then adjourned to the larger pilothouse, where there was room to set up chairs for the survivors.

As he had walked along the pier that morning, Don Watkins was surprised to see a fellow officer who looked familiar heading up the gangway to
Cascade
's quarterdeck.
My God, that looks like Ed Brooks,
thought Watkins, who then dismissed the notion, believing that his fellow officer and friend—the proper “southern gentleman” from Virginia—had not survived. Watkins knew only about his
Hull
shipmates who, like him, had been picked up by
Tabberer:
a total of forty-one, five officers and thirty-six enlisted men. He did not yet know about his twenty-one shipmates picked up by other ships, including Brooks, who had been rescued off the raft with a dozen other men by the
destroyer
Brown
.
*
When they finally faced each other in the crowded pilothouse, a smiling Watkins shook his friend's hand and said, “Glad you made it, Ed.” Other
Hull
men had similar reunions that morning with shipmates.

The session in the wheelhouse had no sooner begun when the court directed
Hull
's commanding officer, James Marks, to read his official “narrative statement concerning the capsizing and sinking” of his ship. For those who had seen Marks on the bridge the morning of the typhoon, it was a remarkable transformation. What had been a stooped figure in soaked khakis and life jacket clinging to the navigation equipment, his face pale and contorted with fear, had turned into an erect, confident, and even handsome young officer looking like one of the Navy's finest, even though the uniform in which Marks stood before the court was borrowed—including skivvies—from the taller Henry Plage.

Marks had been in the Navy long enough to know what it meant when a captain loses his ship. Had they lived, Bruce Garrett and Jim Andrea would have been standing here, too. They would, in fact, now be there in absentia, with their actions and decisions documented and judged to the best of the court's ability. But because they hadn't survived, Marks alone would face what he called “the question and answer business.” With the lid on any news of the typhoon losses as next of kin were still being notified, Marks had not yet been able to tell even his brother, Arthur, an Annapolis graduate (1927) and Navy officer serving in Washington, D.C. He had, however, come up with a way to send word home. Prior to his taking command of
Hull,
his fiancée, Virginia Fritchman, a Connecticut coed ten years his junior to whom he had become engaged on his last leave home, had convinced him to take his clarinet with him, as “he might have a chance to play it.” The former Naval Academy swing band leader had not had time to do so, of course, and bringing the instrument along probably had been a mistake.
But a few days earlier, he had written to Virginia from Ulithi: “I lost my clarinet.” Upon reading those words, Virginia “knew right away Jim had lost his ship,” and the first thing she did was call her brother-in-law, Arthur.

Sitting in the same gray metal chair used by the previous witnesses, Marks read the statement that came strictly from his own memory of events, as all of
Hull
's “records, papers [and] publications” had gone down with the ship. Everyone from the highest-ranking admiral to the lowliest seaman listened, with the only sound other than Marks' courteous and firm voice coming from the soft hum of
Cascade
's generators. Marks began with routine matters, such as the nature of the screening duties assigned to
Hull
on December 17 and the ship's movements that day. Then he came to the day all hands were waiting to hear about.

“The next morning the sea remained quite rough. The sky was heavily overcast. From time to time the course of the fueling group was changed and the screening units maneuvered to attain new screening stations each time. During the forenoon the sea increased steadily in roughness and the barometer readings were dropping.”

Marks said that to his “best recollection” the fueling unit's course was changed to a southeasterly course about 11:00
A.M.
Marks told how the heavy rain and sea spray caused difficulties with electrical equipment, including the radio and radar. “It was during [this] period,” he went on, “while the ship was proceeding to her new screening station that her capsizing and sinking occurred.”

Marks claimed he had the ship inspected that morning for “security of stowages and watertightness.” He also explained that he had received a report from the engineering officer that morning that the ship was “well above the required ballasting point,” having between “125 and 120 thousand gallons of fuel aboard,” which represented “a little over 70%” capacity. “In view of the fact that the ship was riding the seas satisfactorily at the time and that I estimated that we would be fueled on short notice as soon as the heavy weather abated I did not consider ballasting advisable.”

So far, Marks had said nothing that might serve as a red flag.

“Roughly about 1130 the seas became mountainous and the wind increased to hurricane proportions. At this point I wish to state that there had at no time been any storm warnings received from any source whatsoever, although we had been keeping careful watch for same. In endeavoring to alleviate the heavy rolling of the ship, I tried every possible combination of rudder and engines, with little avail. An attempt was made to bring the ship's head into the sea but she would not respond. Then an attempt was made to turn away from the wind and bring it as far on the port quarter as possible, but again the ship would not answer. It was apparent that no matter what was done with the rudder and engines, the ship was being blown bodily before the wind and sea.

“Shortly before twelve o'clock the ship withstood what I estimated to be the worst punishment any storm could offer. She had rolled about 70 degrees and righted herself just as soon as the wind gust reduced a bit. I have served in destroyers in some of the worst storms in the North Atlantic and believed that no wind could be worse than that I had just witnessed. Just at this point the wind velocity increased to an unbelievable high point which I estimated at 110 knots. The force of this wind laid the ship steadily over on her starboard side and held her down in the water until the seas came flowing into the pilothouse itself. The ship remained over on her starboard side at an angle of 80 degrees or more as the water flooded into her upper structures. I remained on the port wing of the bridge until the water flooded up to me, and I stepped off into the water as the ship rolled over on her way down. The suction effect was felt but it was not very strong. Shortly after I felt the concussion of the boilers exploding under water. The effect was not very strong and caused me no ill effects. I concentrated my efforts thereafter to trying to keep alive in the mountainous seas which pounded us. I could only see a few feet while in the water as the sea was whipped to a froth and the air full of spray.”

When he was finished, Marks was asked by one of the admirals if the statement he had just read was a “true statement of the loss” of
Hull
.

“It is, sir.”

“Have you any complaint to make against any of the surviving officers and crew of the said ship on that occasion?”

Among the survivors, Chief Quartermaster Archie DeRyckere wondered what would come next. Certainly there were men Marks might now name: those who had been insolent on the bridge, those who had spoken of mutiny that morning. DeRyckere had seen and heard much.

“I do not, sir.”

Marks had waived any possibility of his pointing a finger at anyone.

Now it was time to ask the same question of the crew.

Addressing the surviving officers and enlisted men seated in the pilothouse, the admiral asked, “Have you any objection to make in regard to the narrative just read to the court, or anything to lay to the charge of any officers or man with regard to the loss of the United States Ship
Hull
?”

Five survivors spoke up, all briefly and none critical of Marks.

One officer clarified that the power in CIC went out “about 30 minutes before we went over,” and engineering officer George Sharp explained that “at all times” the number two boiler forward was in use, with number four aft “cutting in on the main steam line 20 minutes before the ship capsized.”

Gunner's Mate John Valverde said that although they had started with 70 percent fuel that morning, every time “we took a roll to starboard fuel would pour out of the tanks.” He theorized that the forward fuel tanks were “all empty and that was what caused the loss of the ship. She was top heavy.”

Chief Radioman Francis Martin gave a rather rambling discourse about a decoded message he had given to Marks about 7:30
A.M.
on the morning
Hull
went down, speculating it may have been a storm warning. But then he added that he hadn't read it in its entirety and couldn't be sure whether it had to do with “our fueling that day” or if it was “a storm warning or not.”

Then there was silence.

DeRyckere, like his shipmates Ray Schultz and others, felt there was no alternative but to keep quiet. Marks, the Annapolis man being
judged by other Annapolis men, had not pointed the finger when given the opportunity to do so. Who were they—“lowly enlisted men”—to accuse an officer, the captain of their lost ship, before a court of admirals during a time of war? The young chief, who had turned twenty-five a week earlier, had it in mind to stay in the Navy after the war. Calling out one's superior officer—commanding officer, at that—for incompetence would not be a great start to his career. All any of the
Hull
men wanted now was to “get home as quickly as possible” for the thirty days of survivors' leave that the Navy gave all who lived through the loss of their ship. It would have been different had Greil Gerstley taken over command of
Hull
and lived. He, and they, might be defending themselves at a court-martial, charged with mutiny. Even had Gerstley not taken over the ship that morning, had he lived, details from the respected executive officer about what had taken place on the bridge that morning might have surfaced. Then again, maybe not. No matter; Gerstley was gone.
*

From where he sat observing the proceedings, Watkins was also thinking about Marks. Although he hadn't been on the bridge that morning, he certainly believed Marks to be “incompetent.” He could accept a scenario in which Marks, a bad ship handler under the best of conditions, had mishandled the conn in the confused seas and otherwise “not assessed the situation properly.” There was no doubt that Gerstley or any number of
Hull
officers could have handled the ship better that morning, perhaps even saving her. Yet had Marks been so incompetent “at that particular moment to sink the ship”? Since Watkins had not observed the captain on the bridge that morning, he could not
say. He would hear snippets of what others were saying and claiming; some of it he believed and some of it he did not. In any case, Watkins, like the other
Hull
officers, had for days been preparing himself to testify by writing down events as best he could recall them. His notes focused on what he had done and seen. He was “a little nervous” about the prospect of being a witness, but ready to do so.

When no further replies were forthcoming from the group of survivors, the court adjourned in order to return to the wardroom, where they would again meet behind closed doors. When the court members had reassembled, Marks was recalled to the stand and warned that the oath he had taken to tell the truth “was still binding.” In all, the court asked thirty-five questions of him, with the queries and his answers covering approximately five pages of transcript. Many questions simply solicited further details about issues Marks had covered in his narrative. Also, the judge advocate went over two points raised by
Hull
crewmen in the pilothouse.

Asked about the chief radioman's suggestion that a storm warning might possibly have been delivered to him that morning, Marks said, “I know of no such report having been received.”

“At the same time another member of your crew indicated that he thought a large amount of fuel oil had been lost from the forward tanks. Have you anything to say in regard to this?”

“Yes, the oil of which the man spoke I believe came from the fuel tank vents when are very small pipes and could not possibly pass the quantity of oil in those tanks over a short period of time. I believe since the man is a gunner's mate and not greatly acquainted with the fuel system of the ship that it was his impression that large amounts of oil had been lost.”