The Finest Hours (9 page)

At least one member of the lifeboat crew was not so optimistic, however. “The worst time for me was when we were going back in,” Richard Livesey recalled. His arms were pinned by the crush of men standing in the well deck in front of the broken windshield. They were now back in gigantic seas, without the protection that had been provided by the sheer mass of the
Pendleton
stern. The
CG 36500
was weighed down by its human cargo as powerful waves continued to crash over its crowded deck. Livesey and the others held their breath as each wave hit, engulfing them in a torrent of ice-cold water.
When will this end?
Livesey wondered. It felt like an eternity. The lifeboat was riding so low it felt like they were all traveling in a submarine.
If she doesn't come up a bit more, I'm gonna drown right here in the boat
, Livesey thought.

Webber tried the radio once more and was surprised to get through to the Chatham Lifeboat Station. Station commander Cluff seemed even more surprised to hear from him. Webber informed Cluff that they had 32 men from the
Pendleton
aboard and that they were now trying to make it back, despite having no navigational tools to assist them. The captain of one of the rescue cutters called in and directed Webber to turn around and proceed out to sea toward his location, thinking this would be safer than recrossing Chatham Bar. Bernie heard more squawking over the radio and yet more ideas on how better to pull off this already improbable rescue. But Webber and crew had made up their minds. They were headed to shore. Bernie put the radio down and returned his attention to the challenge in front of him. There was no talking aboard the lifeboat while Bernie attacked the seas ahead.

As the
CG 36500
motored on, the seas began to change. The waves were not as heavy, nor were they spread as far apart, as they had been. The boat moved through shallower waters now. By no means were they out of danger, however. They still had Chatham Bar to navigate. Webber was weighing his options when he noticed what appeared to be a flashing red light in the distance. Could it be a buoy? Could it be the aircraft warning signal from high atop the RCA radio station towers? Bernie rubbed his tired, salt-burned eyes. At one moment, the light seemed to be well over their heads; at another, it appeared to be well below the lifeboat.

As they continued on, the blinking red light became clearer. The crew realized it was coming from atop the buoy inside Chatham Bar, leading to the entrance into Old Harbor. Bernie looked at the blinking light once more and then shifted his gaze to the stormy skies above. In his heart, he knew that God was bringing them home.

 

12

PANDEMONIUM IN CHATHAM

The
CG 36500
was now on a course that would return its crew and the 32 survivors of the
Pendleton
to the Chatham Fish Pier. They still had to make it over Chatham Bar, where the boat had nearly been sunk hours earlier. This time the vessel would be going with the seas, and as they approached the bar, the crew noticed the crashing surf didn't seem to be as loud as it had been before. Their weak spotlight shined on the breakers, yet they too seemed smaller.

Webber gave the boat a little throttle, punched its nose through the foam, and they were over the bar. He then radioed the Chatham Lifeboat Station and told the operator his position. Stunned that they had actually made it back to Old Harbor, the operator immediately sent a dispatch to the other coast guard vessels:

CG 36500
HAS 32 MEN ABOARD FROM THE STERN SECTION. ALL EXCEPT ONE MAN WHO IS ON THE WATER THAT THEY CANNOT GET. NO OTHER MEN ARE MISSING THAT THEY KNOW OF. THERE SHOULD BE ABOUT SIX MEN ON THE BOW SECTION.…

An avalanche of instructions followed as the operator tried to guide Webber up the harbor. But Bernie didn't need instructions. “I was very familiar with Old Harbor and had been up and down it many times,” he later wrote in his memoir. “I knew where the shoal spots were and when the turns had to be made. I was in no mood to listen to the chatter on the radio.”

News of the rescue sparked more than chatter on the Fish Pier, where Chatham residents had been waiting anxiously for word. Thunderous applause rippled across the pier as townspeople hugged and cried while waiting for sight of the boat.

Tears were also being shed on board the
CG 36500.
Bernie heard crying from the men stuffed in the lifeboat's tiny forward compartment. Despite calmer waters and what must have been intense feelings of claustrophobia, the survivors remained holed up in the cabin, refusing to come out until they had reached port.

The small but sturdy lifeboat was now in sight, and the throngs of people gathered at the Fish Pier struggled for a closer look. Photographer Dick Kelsey positioned his big camera and began photographing what would become some of the most indelible images in Cape Cod history. Kelsey captured the battered vessel on film as it came in, rubbing against the wooden pylons. He could see the faces of the frightened but thankful men peering through the boat's shattered windshield and out of every porthole.

At that moment, Bernie gazed up at the Fish Pier and saw well over a hundred local residents. They were the men, women, and children of Chatham, and all appeared to be reaching out their hands to grab the boat's lines to help. The Ryder children stood close to their father, David, a longtime Chatham fisherman who knew Bernie well, knew that he was a more-than-competent coast guardsman. Yet even he had not given Webber and his crew much of a chance that night. “There was great concern that the crew wouldn't make it,” Ryder recalled afterward. “There's no question he [Bernie] was a good man and had experience on the Bar, but none of us had ever seen a storm like this.” Like most people huddled on the pier that night, Ryder couldn't believe his eyes when he saw the small lifeboat making its way home. “She was coming in very low, and I was amazed at how many people came pouring out of her.”

Once the
CG 36500
was safely tied up to the pier, townspeople aided the shaken survivors off the boat. The vessel had been so weighed down that Richard Livesey felt it rise each time a man got off. An exhausted Bernie Webber stood quietly at the vessel's stern, his elbow resting on top of the cockpit, his forearm supporting his head. His mind was filled with the terrifying images of the past several hours and the bravery of his crew. He thought about Tiny Myers and the look in the doomed man's eyes just seconds before he was killed. He thought about the 32 survivors on board. And he thought about Miriam, and how he would be returning to her after all. His tired fingers began to tremble, and soon his whole body was shaking. Webber cried openly and thanked God for guiding them home. Dick Kelsey watched in silence and realized how Webber's private moment could symbolize the ordeal each man had gone through. “It was quite a while before he left,” Kelsey said later. “All of the men had gone off by then, but he just stood there in a daze. What a wonderful thing he'd done.”

The survivors were now being crammed into automobiles for the ride to the Chatham Lifeboat Station. Thirty-four-year-old Joe Nickerson, a lifelong Chatham resident, drove two of the men in his Ford sedan. “I drove one fella,” Nickerson remembered. “He told me that he was on the forward section of the ship when it split in two. He said that he saved himself by jumping over a huge crack back to the stern. If he hadn't done that, he'd have been swept away with the bow.” However, the
Pendleton
survivors refused to call their skipper and eight others
missing.
The men were still holding on to the belief that their comrades would be found alive.

The survivors were whisked to the station, where they were met by local physician Dr. Carroll Keene. He knew right away that many of the men were in a state of shock. “One of the fellows I drove down simply collapsed once we got inside the station,” Joe Nickerson recalled. “Then it was like dominoes, another guy fell, and then another. We had eight guys laid out on the floor completely unconscious.” Red Cross leader Leroy Anderson and his unit assisted Dr. Keene. Tailor Ben Shufro, manager of Puritan Clothing on Main Street in Chatham, had a tape measure around his neck and was fitting those survivors who remained on their feet for new clothes that he had donated. Reverend Steve Smith of the United Methodist Church was also on hand to offer prayers for the survivors. The reverend's presence was especially comforting to Wallace Quirey. The seaman approached the minister and told him that he had lost his Bible during the mad scramble on board the ship. Reverend Smith nodded and gave Quirey his own copy of the Holy Book.

John Stello, Bernie Webber's friend and neighbor, called Webber's home and broke the news to Miriam, who was still in bed with the flu. Her husband was being hailed as a hero, and Stello told her why.

*   *   *

Bushy-browed WOCB newsman Ed Semprini had survived the grueling drive down snow-covered Route 28. The bad weather had not let up during the 21-mile trek from Hyannis to Chatham. Semprini arrived at the Chatham Lifeboat Station, where he met up with his engineer Wes Stidstone. Both men were wired for sound when the
Pendleton
survivors came dragging in. Semprini knew that he didn't have much time. He had to get the interviews done quickly so that they could drive back to the radio station in Yarmouth and broadcast live. He put his microphone in nearly every tired man's face as they warmed up on coffee and doughnuts. The accents befuddled the veteran newsman, who was himself still learning to understand how Cape Codders spoke. “One survivor from Louisiana asked me if his family could hear him speaking live.” Semprini explained that the interviews would later be aired coast-to-coast on the Mutual News Network. Every survivor Semprini interviewed that night could not say enough about Bernie Webber and his crew. “They called it a miracle,” Semprini remembered with a smile.

Webber, meanwhile, had gone upstairs to his bunk at the Chatham Lifeboat Station, still shaken by the long hours spent riding the biggest waves in the worst storm of his life. He bent down and kicked off his overshoes. He then called Miriam. “I'm fine, and I'll be in touch with you tomorrow,” he said.
A cup of mud and a doughnut wouldn't feel half bad right now
, he thought. Webber made his way down to the galley, where he met Andy, Richard, and Ervin. They all nodded toward one another. No one had to say a word. They would leave that to Daniel Cluff, who offered words of congratulations and admitted that he doubted he'd see any of them alive again. Ed Semprini had been searching for Bernie and finally spotted him coming out of the galley. Webber had been called the true hero of the rescue, and the newsman understood why. Bernie answered a few questions as coherently as possible. He had finished his cup of coffee and devoured his doughnut, and now all he wanted was sleep. He returned to his bunk and collapsed. Webber was safe now, but as he drifted off to sleep, he thought only about those still fighting the storm at sea.

 

PART II

 

13

THE
MERCER
'S BOW CAPSIZES

As Chatham celebrated the rescue of the sailors from the
Pendleton
's stern, the survivors still on board the
Fort Mercer
's drifting bow huddled together for warmth. They had watched several of their crewmates fall to their deaths, and now, in the darkness, all they could do was wait for dawn and hope that the cutter
Yakutat
, which was standing by, would somehow get them off before they went down with the ship.

Captain Naab had spent a sleepless night on the
Yakutat
, staring at the huge black hulk of the
Mercer
and praying it would stay afloat until dawn. And so when the captain saw the first hint of light to the east, he was relieved. He was also thankful that the snow and sleet had let up. The wind was still howling, but the seas seemed to have eased a bit, dropping from the 50- and 60-foot range to about 40 feet. Now Naab went over his options. After what had transpired the preceding night, he did not want to send over more life rafts. He was afraid that if the survivors fell into the frigid ocean, they simply would not have the strength or the dexterity to stay afloat or climb into the rafts. Naab knew that the only way the men could be saved was if some of his own crewmen were waiting for them. He then made a fateful decision. The cutter's 26-foot lifeboat would be launched with a crew of five. It was a gamble to be sure; now Naab had to worry not only about the survival of the tanker's crewmen but about his own men who might be lost as well.

The skipper also feared that the men left on the
Mercer
's bow might, upon seeing a lifeboat coming their way, jump too soon. He picked up a loudspeaker and shouted to the survivors that he was sending over a lifeboat and that the lifeboat crew would signal to them when it was time to jump. He told the survivors that when the time came, they should jump into the ocean next to the lifeboat, and his men would pull them up. Naab knew that if this rescue failed, he would be second-guessed and the deaths of the men would forever haunt him. But, looking out at the bow, he thought the half ship was in danger of capsizing at any time. He could not afford to wait a moment longer.

The lifeboat was referred to as a “Monomoy surfboat” because it was designed with a high bow for the big surf that crashed into Monomoy Island, just off Chatham. But the 40-foot seas swirling around the
Yakutat
might be more than the wooden lifeboat was capable of handling. If the lifeboat capsized, the crew on board would have fewer than ten minutes of consciousness before hypothermia snuffed them out.

Ensign William Kiely, of Long Branch, New Jersey, was selected to lead the daring rescue, and he would be joined by Gil Carmichael, Paul Black, Edward Mason Jr., and Walter Terwilliger. One of the most dangerous parts of the mission would be at the very beginning: the lifeboat had to clear away from the
Yakutat
before waves slammed her back into the cutter and swamped her.