The destroyers had the worst experiences, and those of two ships of the Farragut class, the ten-year-old 1370-tonners, were frightful indeed. Lieutenant Commander J. A. Marks, skipper of Hull, had served in destroyers during bad Atlantic storms, but did not realize that this was a typhoon until about 0900 December 18.
As Hull's fuel tanks were 70 per cent full she did not take in salt-water ballast; events proved that it would have been well to have done so. When proceeding to her new station her helm failed to respond to any combination of rudder and engines. She lay in irons in the trough of the sea with the north wind on her port beam, yawing between courses 80 and 100 degrees. The whaleboat, the depth charges and almost everything else on deck were swept off as she rolled 50 degrees to leeward, and before eight bells the rolls increased to 70 degrees. From two or three of them she recovered, but a gust estimated to be of 110-knot velocity pinned her down on her beam ends.
Sea flooded the pilothouse and poured down the stacks, and at a few minutes after noon she went down. Of her complement of 18 officers and 246 men, only 7 officers and 55 men were ultimately rescued.
It was-noted in the Court of Inquiry that Hull had not taken in time the precaution of reballasting with salt water her partially empty tanks; but at that time it was neither ordered, nor considered necessary, for a ship of her class with that much fuel on board to reballast . . . Half-empty tanks were a danger in a seaway, because when the ship rolled the center of gravity of the contents of each tank shifted to leeward and increased the roll.
As a result of earlier typhoons encountered by Third Fleet, destroyers were ordered, when encountering rough weather, to fill empty tanks with salt water. But the C.O. of a destroyer about to fuel would naturally hesitate to do this because the deballasting process takes as much as six hours, and might not have been completed when her turn came to fuel.
Dewey (Lieutenant Commander C. R. Calhoun) was flagship of Destroyer Squadron 1, commanded by Captain Preston V. Mercer, formerly Admiral Nimitz's assistant chief of staff. Having been through 80-mile-an-hour winds in destroyer Winslow, he had given much thought to ship handling under such conditions. To Captain Mercer's "steadying influence, sound advice and mature judgment" the C.O. attributed the survival of his ship. She was in the screen of the logistics and plane-replenishment group, which included four oilers, seven destroyers and the three escort carriers whose story we have already told. Captain Acuff, the group commander, who wore his pennant in destroyer Aylwin, made no attempt to force station keeping. At 0744, as we have seen, he allowed Captain Butterfield to leave formation with the three escort carriers.
As soon as he received Admiral Halsey's order of 0803 December 18 to break off attempts to fuel and steer south, Captain Acuff cast his screen loose and left the oilers to take care of themselves, for there was no use echo-ranging in a typhoon when sound gear will not work and submarines cannot operate.
Dewey began to lose lubricating oil suction around 0900. At about 0945, when the driving rain and spindrift had reduced visibility to less than a thousand yards, she narrowly missed colliding with Monterey. In avoiding this carrier she got herself into the same situation as Hull: in irons, broadside to wind in the trough of the sea, rolling heavily to starboard and unable to steer any course but from E to ENE. Although Dewey's fuel tanks were 75 per cent full, the commanding officer, on the advice of. Captain Mercer, not only jettisoned topside weights a difficult and risky operation in that sea but resorted to the desperate expedient of ordering her partially empty port tanks to be ballasted with 40,000 gallons of salt water and fuel oil from the starboard tanks. Even the feed water in No. 3 boiler on the starboard side of No. 2 fireroom was run into a port tank to improve righting movement.
At the same time, the skipper directed all hands to secure below on the port side, for which they needed little urging. She started rolling 60 degrees to starboard, hanging there and recovering slowly. A speed of about 3 knots was maintained with the starboard engine.
This procedure of ballasting the weather side was a terrific gamble, but it worked. If Dewey's reported position is correct, she was sculling around the eye of the typhoon when hove-to. Had the eye overtaken her, and the wind whipped around to the opposite quarter, she would have capsized immediately. A lucky ship, indeed! Around 1100, when the glass read 28.84, wind was blowing hurricane force from the NNE and the sea had made up to condition 9. Several things then happened to Dewey at once. Sea water entering one of the mushroom ventilators short-circuited the switchboard in the steering-engine room, which severed steering control from the bridge. Lube oil suction had been completely lost, owing to the excessive list, so that the port engine had to be secured. Heavy seas crashed through engine room hatches, short-circuiting the main switchboard.
This brought total loss of light and power. No 1 fire room began to leak. Lieutenant Commander Calhoun, finding his ship completely out of control, organized a bucket brigade to bail out the steering-engine compartment so that men on the hand wheel could keep the helm hard down. He caused submersible pumps to be rigged in various places to keep the ship clear of sloshing water, and organized a messenger service for transmitting orders, his bridge telephones having gone dead. It was impossible to exist, much less to stand, on deck. The after stack was invisible from the pilothouse; spindrift removed paint from topside surfaces as though it were a sand-blast.
Even worse was to come. At 1210 Dewey rolled 60 degrees to starboard, recovered, rolled 75 degrees and hung there. The barometer needle went off the scale at 27 and kept dropping; Captain Mercer believes that it reached 26.60. A lurch caused the skipper to lose his footing on the weather wing of the almost perpendicular bridge deck; he grasped a stanchion, and, before the astonished eyes of his quartermaster, hung there as on a trapeze.
He was preparing to order the destroyer's mast to be cut away with an acetylene torch when No. 1 stack pulled out at boat-deck level and fell 'thwart ship, completely flattened; and although this loss caused flare-backs in No. 1 fire room and let in more sea water, it reduced the ship's "sail area" so that stability improved. Engineers maintained boiler pressure so that all pumps were soon working. By 1300 the center of the storm had passed, and by 1800 Dewey had full way on and was able very cautiously to wear around to a westerly course.
The factors that enabled this ship to survive were the prompt jettison of topside weights, ballasting with salt water, unremitting bailing and pumping, and the loss of the stack. She suffered one casualty that Hull did not, the drowning out of her steering engine, and dealt with it promptly.
Aylwin (Lieutenant Commander W. K. Rogers), Captain Acuff's flagship, water-ballasted her high side,
and she too had the good luck to get away with it when the eye of the typhoon passed her close aboard. Around
1100, with steering control lost, engines stopped, and heading 220, she rolled 70 degrees to port and then lay
down on her side for twenty minutes. Steering control, regained intermittently, was employed to bring her stern
to windward, using the bow's surface like a headsail to keep steerage-way and pay off. This maneuver kept the
wind at about 30 degrees abaft the starboard beam, but she frequently fell into the trough. From 1300, when lowest
barometer reading - 28.55 - was observed, "ship did not roll more than 60 degrees."
Engine rooms were abandoned when temperature reached 180 F., owing to failure of blowers. The ship's engineer officer, Lieutenant E. R. Rendahl USNR and Machinist's Mate 1st class T. Sarenski, standing watch in this terrific heat to protect the electrical circuits, stayed too long at their duty posts. When finally they could bear it no longer and crawled out on deck through the only exit, a hatch so narrow that they had to remove life jackets, they were immediately overcome by the change of temperature, collapsed, and before anyone could help them, were washed overboard and lost. At 1745 Aylwin got under way at 7 knots, with water sloshing around well above her floor plates; but she managed to control the flooding that night.
Hickox, a 2100-tonner of Desron 52, after six unsuccessful attempts to fuel on the 17th, was down to 322 tons, 14 per cent of her fuel capacity. Her C.0., Lieutenant Commander J. H. Wesson, began water-ballasting at 1750.
By 1010 December 18 she had taken on 246 tons of sea water. Twenty minutes later, in avoiding a collision, she got herself in irons in the trough of the sea. Unable to tack or wear, Commander Wesson decided to ride it out with bare steerageway and set Condition "Affirm" -all buttoned up.
Bridge lost steering control at 1130, owing to leaks in the steering-engine compartment, which took in water so fast that the sailors who tried hand steering had to be pulled out to save them from drowning. Only the best efforts of all hands kept Hickox from sinking. A bucket brigade worked in pitchy darkness with water and oil sloshing over the men in the heavy rolls. The engine room became a good imitation of Dante's Inferno. "With all vent systems out and with water entering through these systems, striking hot machinery and flashing into steam, the temperature and humidity rose to such a point that it was impossible to remain for more than a few minutes without collapsing."
After the steering-engine compartment had been partially bailed out and the leaks temporarily caulked, the men rigged a lead to a submersible pump there from the switchboard power supply of No. 5 gun. In this situation Hickox handled herself very well, lying just out of the trough with the bow trying to head up, thus avoiding full, deep rolls. Despite frequent clogging of the submersible pump by seamen's clothing which had gone adrift, the flooded compartments were almost clear by 1745. Hand steering was resumed and, the worst of the typhoon having passed, Hickox complied with Admiral Halsey's order to the Fleet at 1800, to "come to a comfortable southerly course in search of fueling weather."
Monaghan (Lieutenant Commander F. Bruce Garrett) was another Farragut-class destroyer that failed to stay afloat. She was operating independently of the task force at the height of the typhoon, with fuel tanks 76 per cent full. The skipper reported to Captain Acuff at 0925 December 18 that he was unable to steer the base course, and was then heading about 330-degrees with the wind on the starboard bow. Apparently he wore ship later, which took his destroyer as near to the track of the typhoon's center as Hull. At about 1100 her skipper attempted to ballast her weather side.
Monaghan's senior survivor, Water Tender 2nd Class Joseph C. McCrane USNR, testified that he and his helper with great difficulty opened the ballast valves to the after tanks, but it was then too late to save her. Electric power and steering engine failed at about 1130. The engine and fire rooms' overheads began to rip loose from the bulkheads. Monaghan made several heavy rolls to starboard, hung there for a time, and shortly before noon foundered. Of her entire company only six enlisted men survived.
Spence (Lieutenant Commander J. P. Andrea), a 2100-tonner of the Fletcher class, larger, newer and more stable than the others, formed part of Admiral Sherman's Task Group 38.3. Her fuel was down to I5 per cent capacity on 17 December. After an unsuccessful attempt to fuel from New Jersey, she was sent at 0800 December 18 to Captain Acuff's group in the hope of fueling at the first opportunity, since by that time she had only enough oil for 24 hours' steaming at 8 knots. The commanding officer began water-ballasting too late, after breakfast on the 18th, and Condition "Affirm" was never set.
On a course heading southwesterly, she began rolling heavily to port. Water entered through ventilators and sloshed around below, short-circuiting the distribution board. The rudder jammed at hard right. At 1100 Spence took a deep roll to port, hung there a moment, recovered, rolled again, and then was swallowed up by the sea. Only one officer and 23 enlisted men were rescued.
Most successful in riding out the typhoon were the destroyer escorts. They rode the seas more easily than the destroyers, and were well handled by their young officers and men. Robert F. Keller . . was saved by early re-ballasting of her almost empty fuel tanks, and "the superb seamanship" of her skipper, Cdr. Raymond J. Toner USNR.
A vivid account of the typhoon is given by the exec of another destroyer escort in Anzio's screen:
- The wind was howling all through the ship - we were rolling probably 40 degrees - some men were doing
their job in a matter of fact way others were praying or sitting off by themselves, their faces white with fear.
The spray covered the ship from the truck to the water-line.
We realized that we were in a typhoon and we knew we were on the wrong side of it - would pass through the center if we stayed afloat that long. At about 1230 the typhoon was reaching its height. We were completely at its mercy wallowing in the trough (this with 12,000 hp), port engine ahead one third, right full rudder. We tried every combination and this was the best - she would have broken in half if we had tried to run - provided we could have got on such a course which we couldn't have.
By 1300 we must have passed through the center for there was a momentary lull - the seas hit us from all directions and the ship was racked and twisted - but she survived. The respite from the wind was only a matter of minutes, then it howled, whined and finally got back to shrieking again. During the height of the typhoon there was a vacuum created throughout the ship - I suppose a sort of venturi action caused by the tremendous force of the wind. Standing in the pilothouse looking out at the bridge one could see for perhaps three feet. No one could have stood out there - the rain would have beat them to the deck or the wind lifted them bodily off their feet and hurled them off to leeward.
The greatest roll measured was 72 degrees. Just put that on paper - we were literally on our beam ends. By 1400 the barometer was back on the scale and we all began to hope that perhaps things might improve. The rain let up some it blew perhaps 80 miles an hour instead of 120-130 and we began to be able to see first the pelorus, then the range finder and finally the mast.
Just listening to the voice radio kept one on edge. We were not the only one in trouble. The gunnery officers had one bad moment when a powder case broke and 60-lb projectiles were rolling around amidst the powder. We all had our moments. I for one have never seen nature at work like this and I hope I never do again." Melvin R. Nawman lost her foremast, but she and all these gallant little ships came through with only superficial damage.
According to the Court of Inquiry, the commanding officers of Hull, Monaghan and Spence maneuvered too long in an endeavor to keep station, which prevented them from concentrating early enough on saving their ships. This was admitted by the C.O. of Hull, but the records of Third Fleet as a whole indicate that little effort was made to keep station after 0800 December 18.
When, in the Court of Inquiry, Captain S. H. Ingersoll of carrier Monterey was asked whether he felt free to drop out of formation and handle his ship any way he saw fit, he replied that he did. It was the urgent need of these destroyers for fuel that got them in trouble; and although, in retrospect, it is clear that Admiral Halsey should have made no attempt to fuel on the 18th, he had no means of knowing where the center of the typhoon was, or even that it was a typhoon, until around 0900 that day. Under these circumstances it seems to this writer to have been too much to expect of junior destroyer skippers - Classes of 1937 and 1938,Naval Academy - to have pitted their brief experience against the lack of typhoon warnings and their own want of fuel. Let their successors, however, heed the stern, wise words of Fleet Admiral Nimitz:
- 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. Safety at
sea for a thousand years has depended on exactly the opposite philosophy.
From Samuel Eliot Morison "History of US Naval Operations in World War II" Volume XII "Leyte"
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