AmAimwm^

by ^

Harris Laning

Admiral, United States Navy, Retired

with an introduction

by

Mark Russell Shulman

An Admiral's Yarn

Naval War College

Historical Monograph Series

No. 14

The historical monographs in this series are book-length studies of the history of

naval warfare, edited historical documents, conference proceedings, and bibliographies

that are based wholly or in part on source materials in the Historical Collection of the

Naval War College. Financial support for research projects, conference support, and

printing is provided by the Naval War College Foundation.

Our cover photograph is of Admiral Harris Laning, U.S. Navy, commanding the

Battle Force, U.S. Fleet, standing at the stern of his flagship, the battleship California.

Steaming astern in column open order are the New York (nearest), Oklahoma, and two of

the New Mexico class. Cover designed and prepared by Patrick F Rossoni.

Photographs kindly provided by Dr. Evelyn Cherpak of the Naval War College

Naval Historical Collection, reproduced by Thomas W Cookingham of the Naval War

College Photography Department, and prepared for publication by Patrick F. Rossoni of

the Naval War College Graphic Arts Division.

Where required, assistance in identifying subjects in photographs was graciously

provided by Frank Uhlig, Jr., Editor Emeritus, Naval War College Press; Dr. John B.

Hattendorf, Ernest J. King Professor of Maritime History at the Naval War College; Dr.

Thomas C. Hone, Industrial College of the Armed Forces; and Robert M. Cembrola,

Curator, Naval War College Museum.

The editors ofthe Naval War College Press also thank Gina Vieirajeremiah Lenihan,

and Samuel Johnson of the publications department at the College for their diligence

and patience in typing this monograph through its many phases of editing.

Finally, the editors express their special gratitude to all the members of the Naval

War College Foundation, whose generosity made possible the publication of An

Admiral's Yam. Captain Elizabeth Wylie, U.S. Navy (Retired), Executive Director of

the Foundation, was a constant source of encouragement in this project.

An Admiral's Yarn

by

Harris Laning

Admiral, United States Navy, Retired

With an Introduction

by

Mark Russell Shulman

Edited

by

Mark Russell Shulman

and the

Naval War College Press Staff

Naval War College Press

Newport, Rhode Island

1999
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Laning, Harris, 1873-1941

An Admiral's Yarn / by Harris Laning; with an introduction by Mark

Russell Shulman ; edited by Mark Russell Shulman and the Naval War

College Press Staff.

p. cm.—(Naval War College historical monograph series ; no. 14)

ISBN 1-884733-12-3

1. Laning, Harris, 1873-1941. 2. Admirals—United States Biography. 3. United States. Navy—Officers Biography.

I. Shulman, Mark R. II. Naval War College (U.S.) III. Title. IV. Series: US.

Naval War College historical monograph series ; no. 14.

V63.L36A3 1999

359'.0092—dc21

[B] 99-30641

CIP

Printed in the United States of America
Dedicated to my wife—

Charming companion, devoted pal, and staunch supporter

in my adventure

Midshipman Harris Laning, USN, U.S. Naval Academy,

Annapolis, Maryland, class of 1895.

Contents

Foreword by Vice Admiral A. K. Cebrowski ix

Introduction by Mark Russell Shulman xi

I Boyhood • 1

II Leaving Home 7

III I Join the Navy and Take a Cruise 15

IV At the Naval Academy 21

V At Sea as a Middy 29

VI Middy Days in Puget Sound 35

VII Middy Days in Southern California 43

VIII In the Oregon 49

IX The Woods Again 61

X Still in Wood 71

XI Off to War in a Monitor 79

XII In Manila Bay 85

XIII Insurrection in the Philippines 95

XIV Around Luzon in a Gunboat 103

XV More Gunboating \\\

XVI In the Monadnock Again 119

XVII Ordered Home 127

XVIII Annapolis Once More 135

XIX In the Dolphin 143

XX A Painful Interlude 149

XXI More of the Dolphin 153

XXII A New Shooting Game 163

XXIII Another Season with Small Arms 171

XXIV In a Battleship Once More 177

XXV A Trip Around the World 183

XXVI A New Type of Work 191

XXVII The Olympic Games • 195
Contents

XXVIII In Destroyers 207

XXIX Commanding a Destroyer Flotilla 217

XXX War 223

XXXI The First Transatlantic Flight 235

XXXII London and Paris 245

XXXIII Destroyers after the War 253

XXXIV Naval War College Student 261

XXXV A Vacation in the Oregon Woods 265

XXXVI On the War College Staff- • • • 273

XXXVII Commanding a Battleship 283

XXXVIII We Visit the Antipodes 289

XXXIX We Return to the U.S.A. 299

XL Shore Duty Again • 305

XLI At Sea as a Rear Admiral 311

XLII A Cruise to Europe 317

XLIII President of the War College 327

XLIV Interlude at Sea 337

XLV Vice Admiral 343

XLVI In Heavy Cruisers 351

XLVII We Change Oceans 361

XLVIII Four-Star Admiral 371

XLIX A Transcontinental Cruise 379

L Commanding a Naval District and Navy Yard 387

LI The Naval Home 393

USS Laning history 395

Appendix I 397

Opening address delivered before the Naval War College

staff and classes of 1931 on 2 July 1930.

Appendix II 403

Revised version (in May 1933) of Laning's thesis written

while a student ten years earlier, "The Naval Battle."

Endnotes 449

vui
Foreword

Established in 1975, the Historical Monograph Series serves the specific

purpose of publishing research that is based upon sources found in the Naval

Historical Collection of the Naval War College. Hence, the College not only

encourages scholarly examination of its remarkable archival holdings but

provides a medium to display valuable historical work done for the benefit of a much larger audience of interested scholars and readers.

Admiral Harris Laning was President of the Naval War College from 1930 to

1933, and quite naturally his papers, including the manuscript of his memoirs,

were archived in the Naval Historical Collection of the College. They had lain

there for decades until Dr. Mark Shulman, a historian of considerable

distinction, provided us with this opportunity to study and enjoy An Admiral's

Yarn, the memoirs of Admiral Laning.

Had these recollections been in essence merely a "yarn" or the reminiscences

of a distinguished naval officer and former head of this institution, the criteria

for publication in this series would not have been met. In fact, though, Admiral

Laning's career coincided exactly with the rise of the United States Navy from a small and technologically obsolete service to the world's largest and, in most

respects, most advanced naval organization. His leadership of the Naval War

College occurred when many of the ideas about the conduct of naval warfare

received detailed attention from a great number of men who would implement

those ideas a dozen years later.

While no single person can encompass every aspect of an era—even within

the confines of a single profession—and no educational institution can

adequately address all the requirements that its graduates subsequently will need,

in An Admiral's Yarn, we are offered a glimpse of the experiences and thinking of

a man who served in and eventually guided the United States Navy in a lifetime

marked by enormous change. We observe his own awareness, sometimes

approaching disbelief, of the transformations he had witnessed and his

responsibility to grow, to abandon familiar ways, and to lead his service into an

exciting albeit confusing future.

Dr. Shulman and the editors of the Naval War College Press have produced a highly readable and enjoyable volume in our Historical Monograph Series.

Working from a typescript kept in the College's archive, they have corrected,

annotated, and edited the text for today's readers. (Historians are invited, of

course, to consult Admiral Laning's papers at the Naval War College.) It is my

pleasure to offer An Admiral's Yarn for the edification and enjoyment of anyone
An Admiral's Yarn

who wishes to understand how to live though change with professional

dedication and good humor.

A. K. CEBROWSKI

Vice Admiral, U.S. Navy

President, Naval War College
Introduction

by

Mark Russell Shulman

HARRIS LANING SERVED as an officer in the United States Navy from

1891 to 1937. As well as anyone, he represents the men who built up the

service into the world's greatest maritime fighting force. Born in 1873, when the

old Navy's fighting effectiveness was at its nadir, he joined the service during the

"era ofthe battleship." Captain Alfred Thayer Mahan had recently published his

The Influence ofSea Power upon History, 1 660- 1 783, and the U.S. Navy had begun

to modernize and professionalize itself, constructing its first steel battleships to

replace those warships remaining from the Civil War era. The Navy from which

Laning eventually retired in 1937 was arguably the world's greatest, boasting

fifteen dreadnoughts that cruised alongside aircraft carriers and fleet submarines.

With the exception ofthe carriers and submarines, Laning served in every type of

fighting ship: frigate, monitor, gunboat, destroyer, cruiser, and batdeship. Admiral

Laning's final cruise, as commander of the Battle Force, U.S. Fleet, culminated his

long and distinguished service in the United States Navy.

Laning epitomizes the finest of a generation of naval leaders who viewed

"Neptune [as] God, Mahan his prophet, and the United States Navy [as] the

only true Church." While Mahan never detailed specifics for effecting his

geopolitical theories, his blue-water doctrine delineated and even circumscribed

American naval thought in the several decades preceding World War Two. For

much of his career, Laning, who had earned a reputation in some naval circles as a premier tactician, devised the tactical methods by which the Navy planned to

implement blue-water strategy. This Mahanian philosophy called for control of

Mark Russell Shulman studied at Yale (BA), Oxford (M.St.), and the University of California

at Berkeley (Ph.D.), and Columbia University, School of Law (J.D.). He has served as an Olin

Fellow at Yale's International Security Program and as a Bradley Fellow at the National Strategy

Information Center. He has also taught history and international affairs at Yale, Columbia

University's School ofInternational and Public Affairs, and at the United States Air War College.

He is the author of Navalism and the Emergence of American Sea Power, 1882-1893 (1995) and

co-editor of The Laws of War: Constraints on Warfare in the Western World (1994). Dr. Shulman has

also written numerous articles and book chapters on military history and national security affairs.
An Admiral's Yarn

the seas by fleets of battleships—in distinct contrast to the Navy's earlier system

of sea denial, which combined cruisers for commerce-raiding with monitors

and fortresses for coastal defense. Mahan's notions of a decisive battle were

axiomatic to the new American Navy after the 1890s, eradicating all support for

the tradition of sea-denial. In theory at least, the battle fleet would obviate long

wars and the destruction oflife-bearing commerce. True to Mahan's devotion

to decisive gun battles, Laning and most leading naval officers of his generation

viewed carriers and submarines as peripheral to U.S. strategic, operational, and

tactical doctrine. By the time of Laning's death in 1941, however, this view had

become antiquated.

Harris Laning was born into a well-respected, rural, southern Illinois family.

His father was a banker and his grandfather a Congressman. Healthy, active, and

well-connected, Harris secured a Congressional appointment to the Naval

Academy in 1891. The previous November, his brother-in-law, John McAuley

Palmer, had taken young Harris to the first Army-Navy football game, hoping to

encourage the lad to enroll in Palmer's alma mater, West Point. The effort

backfired, however, when Navy won (24—0). Laning began preparations for the

Annapolis entrance exams. Nonetheless, he remained close to the Palmers, even

in latter years, as he moved from station to station. In 1900 he married Mabel

Clare Nixon, a Californian. The Lanings' daughter, Hester Marie, grew up

primarily in her mother's care, residing generally at shore establishments along

the eastern seaboard. She recalls that Laning found his family to be a constant source ofjoy and support.

Laning's dossier as a midshipman fits the typical profile, as noted by a social

historian of the Navy, Peter Karsten. Approximately 65 percent of the officer

candidates were from the business or professional classes, as was young Laning.

He was of the white race of western European descent as were all midshipmen

during that period. In addition to his experience at the Army-Navy game, his

decision to join the service was influenced by a family member's profession as well as by his own readings of the various navy-oriented novels of the

nineteenth century. Like 40 percent of his Annapolis classmates, Laning was a member of the Episcopalian Church. Some in his family preferred, as did the

families of many of his classmates, that he join the priesthood of the Church

rather than that of Neptune.

Ethnocentricity and racial arrogance, which precluded understanding and

acceptance of other cultures and standards, remained a hallmark of the

pre-World War II Navy. These prejudices were reinforced by decades of

inculcation that extended into the 1930s during Laning's tenure as president of

the Naval War College. For instance, the pseudo-scientific racist lectures of Dr.

xii
Introduction

Lathrop Stoddard, such as "Racial Aspiration as the Foundation of National

Policy," were presented to the staff and students at Newport throughout the

1930s. Thus, in comparison to the more innovative professions that were

emerging or changing in the late nineteenth century, the Navy suffered from

such a homogeneous background among its officers that the scope of critical

thinking and creativity was limited. Some historians contend that it was this

focus that permitted American strategists to disregard the threat of a Japanese

attack in 1941. The interface between this background and the occasionally

repressive Mahanian doctrine gave birth to a group disparagingly labeled "The

Gun Club." Yet it was to this group that the nation delegated its first lines of

defense. And throughout Laning's career, this line generally deterred enemy

aggression.

Although known to some as "the greatest tactician in the United States fleet

in recent years, perhaps in this century," Laning fought in neither of the declared

wars in which the United States engaged during his career. His active and

dangerous service was in the various "Progressive Era" constabulary conflicts in

the Philippines, China, and Mexico. Within this framework Laning achieved

notable success, and within this context he wrote his autobiography.

The genre of naval officers' memoirs was well established when Laning began

his writing in 1937. Many naval leaders had profited from their published

memoirs; major commercial houses such as Harper's and D. Appleton frequently

printed and reprinted these lucrative books. Laning's completed work, however,

has remained unpublished for over half a century, although not for lack of

historical or even literary value; it is replete with both. Rather, the timing of his career and World War Two obscured the work's significance. Hence, while

Laning finished a polished manuscript shortly before his death, he was not able

to see it through to publication, and a decade passed before his widow compiled

the typescript that was eventually entered into the Naval War College archives.

There it lay for several more decades, available, but examined only by a handful

of naval scholars.

In the decades following his death, publications on World War II proliferated,

obscuring the service careers of the prewar era. Hence, Laning's career came to

be seen essentially as that of a peace-time leader of a force oriented for war. During the First World War he played a crucial role in organizing

personnel—fashioning the shaft for the Navy's spear. A leader of men and a superb organizer, Laning frequently did his best work behind the scenes. For

example, during the First World War, as acting Chief of the Bureau of

Navigation (which was then responsible for personnel matters), Laning helped

facilitate the extraordinarily rapid expansion of personnel from 60,000 to

xiii
An Admiral's Yarn

500,000 within one and a half years. In the two decades that followed, Laning

and his cohorts trained the succeeding war-time leaders, built many of their

ships, and laid the groundwork for much of the strategy and tactics of the

Second World War. Nonetheless, few of the officers of Laning's generation

published memoirs, because, as scapegoats for the tragedy at Pearl Harbor, they

had fallen into disrepute despite their crucial roles in preparing the generation

that won the war at sea. Consequently, Laning's neglected account of the Navy

he helped to build, and the life he lived, make An Admiral's Yarn a unique

historical chronicle.

During his three tours at the Naval War College, Laning outlined a theory of

tactics upon which the Navy relied for decades. Fleet Admiral Chester Nimitz

later lauded the tactical education he received at the college in 1921-1922,

declaring that "the courses were so thorough that, after the start ofWorld War II, nothing that happened in the Pacific was strange or unexpected." ^ Laning's

layout of the "Naval Battle" detailed four phases of an operation: approach,

deployment, engagement, and follow-up. This outline presented tacticians with

the paradigm within which to focus their efforts.

Laning himselfconcentrated on the follow-up, making it clear that the key to

all tactics "lies in that phase." With the focus of "follow-up," and echoing his

sometime mentor, William S. Sims, Laning emphasized the importance of fire

control and the need to retain position in the line. Emphasizing the importance

of a lesson brought home during the Battle ofJutland, Laning noted that ships in

a confused order are more valuable to concentrated and devastating gunfire. As

did most of his contemporaries, Laning continued to focus his intellectual

energy on battle-fleet tactics throughout the 1920s—a period during which

even the War College digressed from its priority on history and strategy, shifting

to emphasis on engagement. Within its paradigm, this emphasis on daylight

gunfire was highly successful. Indeed, the U.S. Navy set the international

standards by which other fleets were judged, using such novel tools as the Ford

instrument and the Royce clock.

In the early 1930s, at approximately the time he attained flag rank, Laning

gained a broader vision and awareness of the value of historical inquiry to the

study of strategy. Thus, during his tour as president of the War College, he

developed a deeper strategic vision that complemented his long-standing and

highly respected tactical views. These new perspectives, as we shall see, grudgingly acknowledged a place for non-Mahanian craft, although always

within the context of a line of battle. With his personal development, Laning

strengthened and persistently shaped the nation's defense. His tale is the

eloquent and personal record of these efforts.

xiv
Introduction

The literary merit ofAn Admiral's Yarn, and that ofseveral other naval memoirs,

enhances understanding of the evolving world view ofAmerican naval officers in

the emerging century. Much of the discourse appears to support Robert Jordan's

conclusion that "American notions of the proper way to organize force in

international society are outgrowths ofBritish thought." By the late nineteenth

century, the new American Navy had come to emulate much of the Royal Navy,

not only in tonnage and type of ship but also in personal attitudes. Inherent in

Laning's memoirs and those of his peers is an assumed moral, and especially

cultural, superiority that echoes much British imperial literature.

Written before the Japanese Pacific onslaught of 1941—1942, An Admiral's

Yarn presents a confident and competent imperialistic outlook. Three literary

techniques that are typical of this era's naval memoirs provide narrative texture

and insights into the specific brand ofAmerican brashness: self-effacing heroism,

cosmopolitan parochialism, and objective absolution.

Laning's literary self-effacement is apparent early in the story. While in his

first command, in command of the captured Spanish gunboat, Panay, during the

Philippine-American war (1899), Ensign Laning consistently endured the

physical duress of heat, fatigue, and danger.

Small and cramped as our ships were, no one could leave them without danger of

being killed or captured, and we were ever facing catastrophe when we moved

about in those dangerous waters. We lived through all those troubles only to encounter a more trying and dangerous one, when we met a typhoon as we stood

down the China Sea returning to Manila.

1

Fighting the storm for three days left Laning exhausted. As his narrative

continues, he temporarily abandons the first person to applaud his own heroics.

"Then the Captain made a rousing speech toasting the officers and men of the

Panay for their wonderful achievement." When Laning attempted to rise, he

found that he could not move. "The doctor rushed to me and although he

found me clear as a bell mentally, I was paralyzed from head to foot from sheer

physical exhaustion." Apparently the doctor validated that Laning in fact could

not move, thus rendering Laning's description of his struggles more objective,

credible, and sympathetic.

An Admiral's Yarn contributes a temperate affirmation of America's uniquely

admirable qualities: moral rectitude, industriousness, and Christian mission. In a career that spanned nearly half a century, Laning observed many cultures,

peoples, and customs which, while frequently entertaining and even delighting

him, also left him convinced of the special and even "fittest" nature ofAmerican

xv
An Admiral's Yarn

culture. This affirmation is apparent during the narration of his first voyage

abroad, which included an extended visit to the then-Republic of Hawaii.

In Hawaii, Ensign Laning encountered a culture that he chose to judge by the

standards ofhis own society. He selected entertainment based on indigenous criteria,

but failed to appreciate the geniality and artistry of a culture so unlike his own. He

noted that he attended "an old-time Hawaiian hula dance, which in those days

decidedly lacked refinement." He left early, without friendly discourse with

anyone, and observed that "what the outcome of an ancient hula was supposed to

be, I can only guess, but it evidendy was to offer the dancers to the guests."

2 Laning continues: "A week or two went by before Dan [an American civilian

friend] and I were invited to another party. This one was to be a luau, or native

feast, attended by the leading Hawaiians of Honolulu—a very fine affair of its kind and Dan and I were the only white people invited. . . ." Leading citizens

were those who had most thoroughly adapted to American ways—"[a]ll spoke

English perfectly and dressed in the height of American fashion."

Unfortunately, Laning's appetite was lost when he tasted a snail. He failed to

enjoy the luau despite the fact that "after two or three hours [the guests] moved

to a large lanai where native musicians had assembled and [they] danced in the

usual formal European way" But "that form ofdancing did not continue long.

The musicians, having imbibed freely of swipes [rum], ceased playing waltzes

and two steps—and from then on there were only native airs that gradually

became more and more temperamental and seductive."

Once again, Laning and his friend left early, and indignant. Although logic

suggests that one might well expect alcohol and sensuality to be found at a native

luau, Laning was piqued. Such moral rigidity questions the measures of his

tolerance and the extent to which this trait may have been reflected in the young

officers relationships with his crew. It also could be proposed that this

puritanism supported the proclivity of Laning's generation to ignore the

capabilities and power of non-Anglo-Saxons. The cultural superiority they felt

may have blinded them to the power ofinsurgency or, in this case, the possibility

of warfare waged without the goal of engaging in a decisive battle.

Interestingly, however, the journal that Ensign Laning kept during his first

visit to Guam is generally less judgmental than his later autobiography. For

instance, he commented on the fine appearance of the native women and

concluded, "they are very bashful and seeing strangers usually run away." Laning

found these people to be thoroughly decent. Concluding a long journal entry,

he commented, "I am very glad to have seen Guam." Perhaps the

autobiography's moralizing reflects more ofthe retired admiral's somewhat rigid

xvi
Introduction

persona than do the contemporary perceptions in the diary of the impressionable

ensign on his first tour of the Pacific.

Quite naturally, an autobiographer will present explanations to his advantage

for the blemishes on his record. Laning explained one such occurrence, which

obviously weighed heavily on his pride. In 1934, while Commander Cruisers,

Scouting Force, U.S. Fleet, Laning raised his three-star flag in the new cruiser

Chicago. One foggy morning his flagship collided with a steamer. Although the

Chicago was not seriously damaged, two officers died. "The next day, front pages

of newspapers the country over were devoted to the thrilling yarn.*' Although

Laning, as the flag officer, was merely a passenger on the Chicago, he obviously

felt the need to exculpate himself and his command. Shortly thereafter, a Navy

Court of Inquiry met to assign responsibility for this embarrassing incident.

Laning's journal iterates the court's findings to be certain that the outcome is perfecdy clear. He first observes, "As was to be expected, the court placed the

entire blame on the freighter." He notes further, "the blame for the collision was

officially placed on the freighter." For the third time on one page, he comments

that "it should be a comfort to Americans to know that in the case ofthe Chicago

collision, the courts placed the entire blame on the freighter." It was a comfort

conspicuously shared by the author. Here Laning uses ostensibly unassailable

court findings to repudiate blame. His balance between objective (or

impersonal) writing and his personal reflections marks the texture of this

autobiography.

Laning's career of writing and action also sheds light on the history of early

U.S. naval aviation and submarine warfare. In many instances he acknowledges

the increasing importance of aircraft to naval warfare. Paradoxically, his career

represents a study in how the Navy continued to rely on surface ships, a policy

that was detrimental to its capacity to engage in the type of war for which the

Japanese were prepared by late 1941 . It is not that Harris Laning dismissed air, or

even sub-surface, power or denied them a place in strategic doctrine. But his

hesitancy to grasp their significance and his affinity for battleships leave

insufficient his support for the claim in An Admiral's Yarn that "it mattered not to

the Navy what type or types of craft—surface, sub-surface, or air—might

dominate the war, only that the United States be better prepared to use them

than anyone else." More farsighted naval aviation enthusiasts such as Bradley

Fiske and William Moffett, and the more aggressive of the submarine

commanders, were forced to fight for decades for grudging support from "The

Gun Club."

Aircraft and torpedo design did catch up with the enthusiasm of farsighted

naval officers, but only in the late 1930s. With hindsight, we see that many

xvii
An Admiral's Yarn

officers could have done a great deal more to recognize the potential of air and

undersea power. As early as 1916, Fiske had called for support of naval aviation,

saying "the torpedo plane under favorable conditions would make the $20,000

airplane a worthy match for a $20,000,000 battleship."

32 But until the close of

World War One, Laning and most other officers ignored air power. After all,

his previous military service—in the imperial wars of 1898—1915—had been in

gunboats and battleships that had never faced a serious threat from the air. During the following era, Laning took time to adjust to post-1914 tactics, and

this included the dimensions of submarine and air warfare.

It was only during his tenure as chief of staff to the Commander, Destroyer

Force, in 1919, that Laning advanced his first formal consideration of air power.

Laning's post had been created in 1913 by the ever-innovative William Sowden

Sims to help ensure that "the torpedo fleet could be made an enormous board

game . . . for trying out all kinds of maneuvers at small expense. There is a lot to

be learned ... by study combined with actual maneuvers." By 1919 this

gaming included tactics to defend the fleet against aerial and submarine attack.

To this end the Chief of Staff, Destroyer Force, was among those compelled to

consider the new and developing threats as they related to surface ships. In

planning the defense of the line, Laning was at his most creative.

Air power after the war still had not an irrefutable capability to destroy

warships—a capacity moot even after 1921 when General William "Billy"

Mitchell's army bombers sank the captured German battleship Ostfriesland. For

the most part, "the U.S. Navy took the view that carrier-borne aircraft would be

useful principally in scouting for the main batde fleet. [Only] a few renegade

thinkers had more expansive ideas ofwhat is now called a power-projection role

against targets ashore." However, the literature promised a threat limited only

by the speed with which the ideas could be translated into reality. Many air

theorists at this point were predicting extraordinary growth in the potential for

air forces to decide military outcomes. Laning, like most of his peers, reacted

cautiously, with limited speculation on these forecasts: "either submarines or

aircraft, or a combination with or without surface craft, may to a great extent

upset the old order."

Laning's initial evaluation of air power while Chief of Staff, Destroyer Force,

involved designing and effecting the provision of support for the first successful

transadantic flights—the Navy-Curtiss seaplanes (NCs). Consequendy, he

framed his perspective of air power as it related to surface ships in 1919, when

the bombs were light and batdeships were still regarded as unassailable from the

air. Accordingly, his strategic vision restricted air power to only an ancillary role.

xvm
Introduction

Chapter XXXI of his Admiral's Yam, which discusses this time during his career,

does not mention the potential of air power for military purposes.

Chapter XXXVI recounts Laning's service on the Naval War College staff and

gives a clue as to how he was able to continue to underestimate the significance

of air and submarine power. He viewed them as merely tactical threats to the

battle line and implicitly assumed that only actions involving opposing battle

lines could be "major naval battles." His observation that "[a]t the time the

World War ended, neither submarines nor aircraft had taken part in a major

naval battle, so no one knew much about their use" embodies Laning's

Mahanian orientation. So thoroughly did he reject notions of sea power that

did not include decisive fleet operations that he was blinded to the significant

achievements of the guerre de course of the German U-boats. For Laning, the

German war against shipping was not a "major naval battle" meriting

examination for its implications for future naval warfare. "Changes in tactics

. . . were very great [but the] fundamental principles of fighting that centuries of

war had proved to be immutable were of course the same as ever." Laning

viewed submarines, and by extension, airplanes, as cause for concern only for

their effect upon this traditional form of fleet action.

Historian Paul Kennedy has suggested that the pervasiveness ofthe Mahanian

lessons of history allowed naval officers to ignore other interpretations of the

past and of strategy. "Successful admirals made their reputations in gunnery

practices and fleet maneuvers, not in their knowledge of Thucydides,

Clausewitz or other works of broad military history." This focus fostered in

Laning an absence of long-range vision and his conviction that long-standing

fundamental principles of fighting were immutable. And yet, Kennedy notes,

"There was, for example, nothing in the actual strategical circumstances of

1917—18 which conformed with the assumptions of the U.S. Navy prior to

1914." But American admirals, including Laning, saw the naval war as a departure from the norm rather than as a harbinger of change.

The events of the 1920s did little to encourage Laning to revise further his

opinions. The Washington Naval Conference codified this approach and

severely limited the nascent development of carriers, while restricting only the

quantitative growth of battleships. Consistently acknowledging a mosdy

defensive role for air power in naval war, Laning found himselfprotesting against

an over-reliance upon airplanes. In contrast to Mitchell—a visionary who

frequently ignored contemporary reality—Laning considered strategic

situations for what they were at the time, demonstrating litde imagination for

what they could become.

xix
An Admiral's Yarn

In a statement that he gave to a newspaper in 1923, Laning granted that

airplanes were useful for scouting, skirmishing, and sometimes even bombing

surface craft, but only under ideal circumstances. The headline, however,

accurately characterized the breadth of his opinions: "Captain Laning Ridicules

Air Enthusiasts." The article opened, "Distinguished aviation enthusiasts are jeopardizing the national defense by theories that shake the faith of the country

in the Navy." In this statement, Laning appeared to conflate the Navy and

battleships and further cloud the reality of the Navy's mission, which was to

assure the nation of its security, not merely to reassure the nation.

Mahanian philosophy appears to have limited Laning's perspective. "Planes,"

the article summarized with dangerous finality, "cannot dominate battleships."

43 Although Laning's argument was easily tenable in 1923, it would have been

insightful for the Navy to be investigating what the effects of aircraft would be

upon sea power in the forthcoming years. Since 1921, the Japanese navy had

included three carriers. By 1929, even after the United States had

commissioned three carriers, many officers remained steadfast in their belief that

air power posed little threat to sea power. And, despite the startling events in the

year's war game (Fleet Problem IX), wherein American naval aviators

"destroyed" the locks and land defenses of the Panama Canal, doctrine

continued to lag behind the reality ofdeployment. For instance, the 1929 Naval

War College International Law Situations casebook regarded aircraft as practical

only for scouting, defending capital ships, or possibly for attacking merchant

shipping.

A few years later, during his tenure as president of the Naval War College,

Laning's perspective had broadened through earnest interaction with war games

and the college's study of history, strategy, and tactics. Indeed, in An Admirals

Yarn, he remarks on how much he learned during his tour. Unfortunately, the

students did not profit as much as Laning, for they failed to respond positively to

his new exhortations for imaginative approaches to naval warfare.

In the 1929 war game, while Laning was serving as Commander Battleship

Division Two of the Scouting Fleet at the behest of the fleet's commander,

William V. Pratt, the Saratoga launched a surprise attack on the Panama Canal.

The flat-top's air wing "destroyed" the defending aircraft on the ground as well

as two of the canal's critical locks. Shortly thereafter, Laning, as president of the

War College (from 1930 to 1933), made several statements that strongly

supported air power as a potential, albeit limited, offensive weapon. In so doing,

Laning acknowledged the achievements of air power without speculating on its future. Three years later, as a referee, Laning observed a similar but larger air attack, this

xx
Introduction

time on Pearl Harbor. Despite the precedent of Fleet Problem IX, this surprise

attack also proved successful.

Thus it was only when he reached flag rank that Laning's strategic perspective

broadened to include airplanes for power projection rather than strictly for the

defense ofcapital ships. In testimony before the House Naval Affairs Committee

in January 1932, Rear Admiral William A. Moffett, Chief of the Bureau of

Aeronautics, included a supporting comment by Laning. Laning's statement,

which premised a situation of forward war against a continental power, was

designed to emphasize the importance of constructing new aircraft carriers.

Calling for more "Flying Deck Cruisers," he gave them a tough task: "Even with

the present allowed tonnage for air carriers, we cannot hope to be as strong in

the critical war areas as other countries can make themselves with shore based

aircraft." The statement implied the Navy's assumption of a forward maritime

war strategy against the enemy's territory by expecting the carrier-based planes

to engage those based on land.

A year later, however, concluding his study and his presidency at the Naval

War College, Laning again consigned air power to an ancillary role in battle,

primarily for the protection of batdeships from land-based aircraft. Even at this

point, he resisted ascribing to it the potential to be a weapon for taking decisive

offensive action against ships. "Great as will be the influence of aircraft in the

trend of a naval battle, it is apparent that to get full results, the aircraft must be

closely coordinated with the efforts of other types [of craft]." (It was only in

1933, after Laning's presidency, that the college examined seriously the

"accuracy and efficiency of aerial bombing.") Similarly, in the same paper,

Laning relegated submarines to an auxiliary role in the battle force—this despite

the extraordinary commerce-raiding successes that U-boats had in the First

World War. Because of his Mahanian orientation and Allied success in that war,

Laning rejected a commerce-raiding strategy.

His next two tours, as Commander, Cruisers, Scouting Force, U.S. Fleet

(1933—1935), and then especially as Commander, U.S. Battle Force (1935—

1936), did litde to de-emphasize the relative importance of large, powerful

surface fleets for control of the seas. Laning did, however, learn to rely upon his

aircraft for attacking ships and bases—but still the focus was on decisive gun

battles. At the Naval War College, he had supervised game exercises which, by

their nature, focused his attention on battles. Once he returned to the Scouting

and then the Battle Force, Laning continued to concentrate on the importance

of traditional surface battles. Rear Admiral Harris Laning remained a battleship enthusiast into his 1937 retirement. He died on 2 February 1941, ten

months before Japan's attack on Pearl Harbor forced the Navy to rethink air

xxi
An Admiral's Yarn

power, and approximately a year before it would turn to the new-found

twin-pronged Pacific warfare strategy, a guerre de course fought by submarines

and a guerre d'escadre fought by carrier-borne aircraft.

This rendering of An Admiral's Yarn contains an edited version of the

typescript that Laning's widow assembled some years after his death. Patricia

Goodrich and the Naval College Press staff have edited the text for style. I have

provided editorial comments, a few figures, and some background in the

endnotes. My work on this project was supported by a grant from the Naval

War College Foundation. At the College, Ernest J. King Professor of Maritime

History, John Hattendorf, and Head Archivist, Evelyn M. Cherpak, generously

helped guide An Admiral's Yarn to press. We are most grateful for the enthusiastic

support of Mrs. D. Sergeant Pepper (Hester Laning), who provided the

typescript and gave permission to publish it, as well as for the personal papers

and photographs of her father, Harris Laning.

xxu
I

Boyhood

IT IS A FAR CRY from the rolling prairie of Illinois to the rolling sea, and a still farther cry from rowing flat-bottomed boats on the Sangamon River to

commanding the Battle Force of the United States Fleet. Nevertheless, for those

of us fortunate enough to be born in the United States, such far cries are not

uncommon, though naturally each one is a story all its own. As the far cry in my

case was full of amusement for me and has seemed even ofinterest to those who

have heard stories of it, there may be others who might enjoy hearing about it too. For them I spin my yarn again.

The little town, Petersburg, where I was born, differs some from other

towns in the Middle West. It sprawls along the banks of the Sangamon, in its valley, and on the hills that border it. Because of its hills, Petersburg looks unlike

most prairie towns, but the difference is mosdy in appearances, for in its life and

habits, it is much like the others. Still, its differences are sufficient to make those

who were born there, ever love Petersburg.

In 1839 my father was born in that town at a time when it consisted of only

seven log houses. By the time I was born there in 1873, it had become a very

pretty town of nearly three thousand people and has remained about the same

ever since.

Small though Petersburg was, like all Middle West towns, it was a place of

intense and sound Americanism. My earliest recollections are of the political

"rallies" held there by the several parties and of the responsibility in citizenship

felt by every inhabitant. Not only was every political question studied carefully

and voted on, but each person did his utmost to argue everyone else to his point
An Admiral's Yarn

of view. I learned early what was expected of each one of us in our democratic

form of government and that the responsibility ofeach individual was to express

his personal viewpoint at the polls so that the opinion of the majority might be

learned and carried out. Perhaps young people of today are still as much

impressed with the responsibility of citizenship as I was, and I hope they are, so

that the splendid system of government developed for the United States may

continue.

Although my earliest impressions were of the importance of exercising the

individual responsibilities of citizenship, my life as a boy was typical ofa boy's life

in a small town. We did all the things other young Americans did—we played

games with each other, fought with each other, got in and out ofscraps together,

argued for and against the political views we picked up from our fathers, and in

general behaved as most American youngsters. During the winter months, our

free time was given to coasting, skating, sledding, sleighing parties, and such

winter pastimes. When weather permitted, we played marbles. When the

weather became warmer, out came the balls and bats. Ball playing held sway

throughout the summer, but occasionally we collected birds' eggs or Indian

relics, made swimming holes to enjoy all season, and went fishing, gathering

berries along the way. We spent much time scouring the country 'round about

and knew the woods well, the springs of water, and all the secrets of the forest.

Summer was a busy and joyous time, and like most boys we were always sorry

when fall came and we were obliged to return to school.

But even school had its points ofinterest. There were games offootball—not

like today's game but a game in which all hands could play on one side or the

other and only kicking the ball was allowed. We had "shinny," in which

everyone took part. For that game we made ourselves heavy shinny clubs with a knot or a bent at the end for hitting the shinny puck, which was always a good-sized tin can that soon became a small, heavy lump that bruised or cut

badly if it hit one of us. Then too, we had "duck on rock," "coo-sheepie," "cross

tag," "old man," and a complicated form of "prisoner's base." In the fall we

gathered and stored our winter's supply of nuts, all of which grew wild and

plentiful—black walnuts, butternuts, hickory, and hazel nuts, also pecans. When

frost came we gathered paw-paws and persimmons.

Taken all in all, the boys of my time and town had a joyous young life. As a side issue during the winter months, some of us collected postage stamps,

cigarette pictures, and even buttons. There was so much to do that boys I knew

never had time to get into mischief. Leading this wholesome life, we became

strong and healthy, each of us imbued with the highest, natural principles and

ideals, each with a realization that upon reaching "man's estate" at the age of
Boyhood

twenty-one, we, too, would become voters, our votes of as much importance in

establishing the policies of the country as those of men of long experience.

Coming through our youth with impressions of that kind, we boys must have

had as sound an early training as American lads can receive, and yet there was

another very definite influence directly available to us in Petersburg, which, as far as I am personally concerned, was perhaps the greatest of all influences in my

life.That influence was Abraham Lincoln. Although Lincoln was assassinated

eight years before I was born, during my boyhood days in our town, he was

being given the truly great place that he was to occupy in the United States and

in the world.

Abraham Lincoln is the outstanding example ofwhat a "far cry" may bring to

an American boy. His example particularly affected us boys, because he had lived

his young manhood in the very place where we were living, which was intensely

interesting to us and brought home the wisdom of preparing ourselves for great

responsibilities should they occur. This has been a valuable influence throughout

my life. Unless familiar with the territory thereabouts, people do not generally

associate the name of Abraham Lincoln with the town of Petersburg, yet

Petersburg grew out of the Lincoln village of New Salem. It is even said to have

been surveyed and laid out by Lincoln himself when the village of New Salem

was moved down the river a mile or two and became Petersburg. My boyhood

home was only a short distance from where Lincoln actually lived and worked.

Consequently, we boys, who were endeavoring to learn about Lincoln as a youth, did not have far to go for the facts.

When the village was moved down the river, New Salem, as such,

disappeared. As a boy I was told that some of the New Salem houses, all of logs,

were torn down and transported to Petersburg to be set up again. Anyhow, there

was no village of New Salem when I was a lad, although since then the village

has been completely restored as a state park and is perhaps the most interesting of

all the Lincoln memorials in our country today.

However, we boys fairly haunted the site of Lincoln's home, treasuring any

relics of Lincoln we might find there and trying always to learn more of his

young life, as there were people still living who had lived in or near New Salem

and who had known him personally. There were many friends and

acquaintances who were only one generation removed from actually living

there with Lincoln and who could furnish true stories and tales about him.

During my boyhood, the site of New Salem had become pastureland with

large trees which had probably been there since the days of Lincoln; part of the
An Admiral's Yarn

limestone foundation and remainder of the cellar of "Offutt's Store," where

Lincoln worked, were still there. Also there remained a few of the earth

foundations upon which the log house of the Lincolns had stood. Perhaps the

most interesting of all was the old grist mill and the dam across the Sangamon

River, at the foot ofwhich was the old village. Although Lincoln probably never worked in that mill, we boys never tired ofvisiting it. We particularly liked to fish

in the water below the dam, and when the water ran over it, we often caught

good-sized strings of "croppies," that delectable fish found only in the

Mississippi basin, as well as bass, sunfish, and pike.

Unfortunately the old mill and dam disappeared. As for the mill, I well

remember the night it burned, for looking out ofthe window when the fire bells

rang, I saw a considerable flare to the southwest and thought it was a farmhouse.

When morning came, we learned that some tramps camping in the old mill had

caused the fire, and there being no means for fighting it, the old landmark had

quickly burned to the ground. I will ever remember my heartache when I learned that the "old mill," so revered by us all as the most important landmark

of Lincoln's time in New Salem, was gone forever. (I understand that both the

mill and the dam are being restored as part of New Salem Park.)

There were, of course, other relics of Lincoln which we were constantly

hunting—stones from his house foundation, the mill and dam and parts of rail

fences which we considered great treasures, as "Old Abe" was often spoken of as the "rail splitter." We always thought the best of the rail fences must have been

made by Lincoln.

Among the old houses moved from New Salem to Petersburg was one in

which Lincoln had actually lived, and when it was later torn down, a woodworker in Petersburg, with considerable foresight, bought the logs—there

being no doubt of their authenticity—and made what we called "Lincoln

canes," one side of them bearing a carving of Lincoln's face. The carving was

very clever and accurate, and he developed such a reputation that he had little difficulty selling his canes for five dollars each. When the carver needed money

for a good time, he would sell a cane and then enjoy himselffive dollars' worth!

The woodcarver did not confine his efforts to perpetuating Lincoln's features

on canes, and his later work was of greater interest. As it happened, out of what

was left ofthe basement of "Offutt's Store," two trees started to grow, with trunks

of six or eight inches in diameter when I first saw them. Those trees held

tremendous interest for us, because, although one was a sycamore and the other

probably an oak, there seemed to be only one root. To us boys, the trees

symbolized what Lincoln had done for the Union—binding the North and

South together. Many visitors to the spot seemed to feel as we did.
Boyhood

The woodcarver too showed great interest in the trees and, to ensure their

close relationship, made a splendid carving of Lincoln's face on the trunk of the

sycamore tree, about eight or ten feet from the ground. Each spring thereafter, as the trees grew and changed, he made the necessary alterations in the face,

thereby keeping the perfect likeness ofLincoln. What happened to the trees and

the carved face during the last forty-five years since the woodcarver died I do

not know, but I did not see a trace of them in the recently restored village of

New Salem.

While all of us boys had our interests in Lincoln mementos, some of us developed a keenness for Lincoln lore and never tired of hearing the numerous

stories about him. One of the points always being touched on by those who had

known him in New Salem was his poverty and loneliness. Without parents to

look out for him and help him, he had only that which he could provide for

himself. It was very difficult for us to understand how Lincoln, born into poverty

and without the benefit of parental guidance, accomplished greatness in the

world. We thought seriously of preparing ourselves for great opportunities that

might come our way and tried in every way to learn more about Lincoln lore of

the neighborhood. At that time there were few books on his life as a young man,

but numerous publications about what Lincoln did during the Civil War when

he was President. Even in 1890, Henderson was still at work on his book of

Lincoln, which dealt mostly with his political career and the Civil War—the

most interesting phase of Lincoln's life. At that point, I received a book for Christmas called Bluejackets of 61, in

which were accounts of the naval high spots of the Civil War, and through that

book and another, titled Sailor Life on Man of War and Merchant Vessel, I developed

a keen appetite for sea stories of all kinds but especially for naval history and

naval yarn. I devoured Cooper's Sea Tales, Midshipman Easy, Young American

Abroad, the Yankee Middy series, and such other sea tales and naval histories as were available.

Thus there grew in me a great longing to be a naval officer and wear the navy

uniform. Although I could not see such a life coming to me, I read about and

was told by an uncle who graduated from the Naval Academy in 1870 what the

mental requirements were at the Academy, and they seemed much too

formidable for a boy of my ability. Nevertheless, I fostered the longing, not

mentioning it to anyone.

II

Leaving Home

I

GRADUATED FROM THE PETERSBURG HIGH SCHOOL in 1890 at the

age of sixteen. All during my last year there, I learned all I could about the

schools of our country, especially where the boys wore uniforms and were under

military training and discipline. There were many of them and selection was

difficult, but those located on the Hudson Paver held special attraction for me.

Then something happened that enabled me to make a decision—an old friend,

Cadet John McAuley Palmer, came home from the U.S. Military Academy at West Point on his second class leave.

John Palmer, who is now a brigadier general (retired) after a splendid

career in the army, came to our house in Petersburg in the summer of 1890

to see my sister. They had been childhood sweethearts and eventually

married after John's graduation. I was much impressed with John, but

probably more so when I saw him in uniform. What he did and said was

quite tops with me!

Like all West Pointers of that time,John did not think highly of the so-called

"tin soldier schools," so when I spoke to him about going to a private military

school, he was most disdainful. However, knowing my preference for ones on

the Hudson River, and realizing that if I went East my sister might select a school

there too, he took more interest in the matter and we decided upon Peekskill

Military Academy, where I not only would be in a fine school but near enough

to West Point to acquire an understanding ofproper military life. Therefore, the

following September found me entering that fine old school—the Peekskill

Military Academy.
An Admiral's Yarn

Leaving home to go to a school a thousand miles away brought a great change

in my life. While I had often been on trips to the larger mid-western cities, it had

always been with my father. Entering the Academy was the beginning oflife "on

my own."

The change from boyhood homelife to military routine and discipline was a great one, but, happy as I had been in my early years, I was deeply interested and

content at the Academy. Going East on the train, I met several other boys en

route to Peekskill—some being "old boys" others "new"—but all friendly and

willing to start me off the right way when we arrived at our destination.

No boy who goes to Peekskill Military Academy ever forgets it or loses his

love for it, so in going there, I felt my choice a particularly fortunate one. I was

assigned a room with another "new" boy from near New York City, whose

father was an officer in what was then our largest condensed milk company, and

Frank proved to be a fine, steady-minded roommate. We became great friends.

The Peekskill Military Academy is on a hill overlooking not only the village

of Peekskill but also a considerable stretch of the Hudson Paver in its most

picturesque spot. Frank and I had a room in what was known as the "upper

tower" at the corner of the dormitory, which was shaped like an "L," and as this

was above the top floor of the building, it had its own stairway; therefore, we had

much more privacy and were somewhat segregated from the other cadets.

Consequently, because of that and the beautiful views from the "upper tower,"

our rooms were most sought after and, until I entered that year, had always been

reserved for "old boys." However, they abused this privilege, taking advantage of

their isolation to smoke, have nightly feasts, and breaking other rules of the

school, so a change was made in which Frank and I, joined by some other new

boys, were assigned to the coveted tower. One boy was from New York City, one

from Butte, Montana, and another from Anaconda, Montana. With boys of such

widespread backgrounds, previously unacquainted, and all of them wishing to

retain the delightful and highly prized rooms, we were careful about our

conduct. However, some of the old boys did take advantage of our location to

smoke, take unauthorized snoozes, even have feasts, but they usually avoided

getting us into trouble. They being "old boys," we were rather in awe of them

and did little to prevent their invasion.

One "old boy" I shall never forget hailed from a Dutch family in

Pennsylvania. He had in his possession an old and very large Dutch pipe with a long, bent stem and high bowl. Berlinger was very proud of that pipe and took

pride in making us boys think that he could not get along without smoking it. One day he filled it with tobacco and brought it to my room, supposedly for a smoke.Just as he lighted it, he jumped to his feet asking me to keep it going until

8
Leaving Home

he returned with a book he had forgotten. I was much flattered with the

responsibility thrust upon me and began to draw hard on it. It was not the first

time in my life that I had smoked a pipe, but one puff from this Dutch variety

about knocked my head off and almost made me sick, so it took me some time

to recover. Just as I was doing so, Berlinger returned. Although I was sitting up,

the pipe was out, and when I asked what kind of tobacco he had put in it, he said

"pure perique," and I noticed he did not relight it. I have not smoked pure

perique since!

We did not depend entirely on "old boys" for excitement in the tower but

occasionally had feasts of our own after receiving boxes from home. One we

particularly enjoyed came to Frank each month filled with a great variety of

delicious edibles, some of which were to be used with condensed milk, also

enclosed. We all enjoyed the cakes and candies but found difficulty at first with

the condensed milk—much too sticky and sweet, as made then, but the boy

from Anaconda quickly took charge of the milk situation and devoured cans of

it! Later, when I was at sea and the only milk available was the condensed variety,

I could not use it. The life at Peekskill was not all devoted to pleasure, for there was much

serious work to be done in studies and drills in which we all made good progress.

But when not engaged in those, there were many amusements, playing all the

games for boys of our age—skating, coasting when ice and snow came, and

roaming over the interesting hills when free. Saturdays were always enjoyable

with its recreations, but especially so when we made excursions to numerous

historical points around or near Peekskill. Mount Dunderbury, Bear Mountain,

Iona Island, where the navy has a great ammunition depot, and Anthony's

Nose, a point famous during the Revolutionary War, were all to be seen from

our windows but more interesting when visited—although to me, the Military

Academy at West Point topped them all. Fortunately, my cadet friend there,

whose interest in me led to my meeting many of his classmates, gave me

considerable prestige among the boys at Peekskill, and I grasped every

opportunity to go to West Point. In fact, for a time I thought that I would like to

become a cadet. However, I remained true to my first love—the navy.

In November 1890 an event that affected my entire life thereafter came to

pass. At that time I received from John Palmer an invitation to West Point on

Thanksgiving Day to witness a football game between the Military and Naval

academies—a rare treat indeed, as never before had either team been allowed to

leave home base to play any game whatsoever. That game was the start of what

is now one of the most spectacular sporting events in our country—the

Army-Navy Football Game! I do not remember that much attention was given
An Admiral's Yarn

to it in the newspapers, but there was much talk amongst the boys at Peekskill, as we knew something about West Point and most of us were supporters of the

Military team. College football was not new in 1890, although it was practically so at the academies, and neither team knew much about the game nor did they

seriously prepare for it, as there were no coaches—graduates or professionals—at that time.

At neither academy was there a regular football field, but a place was provided

by roping off a section of the parade ground and marking out a field on it. A few

chairs and temporary benches were placed along the sidelines for the spectators,

who either stood up to watch the game or ran up and down the field to keep

abreast of the play. At that first Army-Navy Game there were some temporary

seats like circus stands along the center of the sidelines on one side of the West

Point Cadets and some provided on the other side for Annapolis Cadets, since at that time and for several years after, only members of the team were allowed to

leave the Academy for a game. Although the first game was played in the

beautiful setting of West Point's Parade Ground, there was nothing of the great

spectacle that Army-Navy games present today.

Cadet Palmer, being in his third year (second class) at the Point, took me with

him to the seats of the "upper classmen" to watch the game, and I rooted for the

Military Academy. It was the first game of college football that I had ever seen,

but it did not take me long to realize that in the game they played, the Naval

Academy team had much the better of it. I stuck to my guns in my choice of

winner all during the game, but in spite ofwanting the West Pointers to win, the

Naval Academy came out on top, the score being 24-0.

One thing that especially interested and amused me was the way the navy

team gave its signals, which were the commands used in the old "square-rigged"

sailing ships, some of which were still in operation in the navy. Thus, when the

navy had the ball, the team captain would shout "ready about," "station for

stays," "haul taut, mainsail haul," "man the weather lifts and braces," "man clew

garnets and buntlines," "all hands up anchor," "hoist away topsails," "man the

cat," "heave 'round," "man the port battery," "shift pivot to starboard," etc. The

West Point captain gave his signals entirely by numbers. However, later on, the

West Point team added military commands to its signals. Thus, after calling the

signal by number, the captain would add "company right wheel," "fours left,"

"forward double time," "charge bayonets," "commence firing," etc. Inasmuch as military commands were fairly well known to the Naval Cadets as well as to the

spectators, and while amusing, they did not seem especially mysterious or

efficacious and were given up later by both teams.

10
Leaving Home

Going back to Peekskill that night after the game, I thought long and hard

about it and the idea came to me that there must be something especially

wonderful about the training of the Annapolis team to make it superior to the

mighty men at West Point. The following Sunday, when I wrote my father,

telling him about the marvelous football game, I said that I would like to go to

the Military Academy but much preferred Annapolis, not having any idea that

something would come of it.

It so happened that about the time my father received my letter, the

congressman from our district, William M. Springer, came to see Father at his

office at the bank. (By this time Father had founded the First National Bank of

Petersburg, of which he was president until the time of his retirement.) Mr.

Springer was an old and very close friend of my family, had been a leader in

Congress for over eighteen years, and had known me from the time I was born.

Hence, when Father read him my letter, he became greatly interested and said,

"IfHarris wants to go to Annapolis, I will see what I can do to send him there."

At that time, except for ten Presidential appointments a year, all appointments

to the Naval Academy were made by Congressmen of various Congressional

districts—each one being allowed to have one appointee as a Naval Cadet. The

course at the Academy took six years to complete—four in Annapolis followed

by two at sea as a Naval Cadet. Consequently, appointments from any one

district were few and far between, so it was not surprising when word came later

from Mr. Springer that our district had an appointee at the Academy who would

not complete the course for about five years and there was little hope of a vacancy before I had passed the age limit for entrance. I was not too disappointed

but rather surprised that Mr. Springer had thought of me at all. Then occurred another coincidence of very great importance in my life, for

on the next "semiannual exam," the appointee to the Naval Academy from our

district "failed," and in March 1891, the Navy Department informed

Congressman Springer that there was a vacancy at the Naval Academy for his

district, and he at once thought of me. If I still wanted the appointment, I must

telegraph him immediately. You can well imagine my excitement and joy, but I did not impart the news to anyone and there was no way to send a telegram until

late afternoon after school hours—and how they dragged—but as soon as Release sounded, I ran down the hill to the telegraph office and sent a message

to Mr. Springer saying, "You bet I want that appointment to the Naval

Academy!"

It was not long after that I received my first communication from the Navy

Department informing me that I had been nominated for appointment as Naval

Cadet from the 13th Congressional District of Illinois and directing me to

11
An Admiral's Yarn

report to the Academy early in May (then less than two months away) for the

examinations specified in a circular enclosed with the letter.

When I read that circular, I was truly awed, for not only did the mental

requirements appear staggering to me, but also the physical qualifications

seemed beyond those any boy might be expected to possess. It did not seem

possible that I could meet them all, but I wanted to try—only I did not want

anyone to know if I failed. It was decided that I should go at once to a Naval

Academy "prep" school in Annapolis to prepare for the "exams" still six weeks

away. The idea that I might fail in the "exams" made me particularly anxious that

no one "at home," except my immediate family, know that I was taking them.

But there was no way to keep the boys at Peekskill from knowing that I had left

school, and why, but I did keep my Petersburg friends from learning of it by not

changing my address. They continued to send letters to Peekskill for me, which

my roommate, Frank, forwarded. My replies were also sent to him to post from

Peekskill to be properly postmarked.

Having arranged for covering my trail, I was all set to leave Peekskill when my

father arrived a few days later to take me to Annapolis. Leaving the Peekskill

Military Academy, which I loved and where I had made so many good friends,

was very hard indeed. I also had to give up my uniform ofwhich I was so proud,

as it was bad form to appear in a "tin soldier" outfit when taking "exams" for a national academy. However, I felt the loss of that uniform might not be for very

long, as I was fully determined to return to Peekskill and finish my course in case

I failed to become a Cadet.

The quaint, old city of Annapolis still remains very much as it was in 1891

when I arrived there. Many of its old buildings and houses have been

rejuvenated, and while new ones have been built in both the city and the

suburbs, the charm of Annapolis has not been spoiled. Although the capital of

Maryland ever since it became a state, during my life, Annapolis had been

famous not as a state capital but rather as the site of the U.S. Naval Academy.

When I went to Annapolis, the hotels were very old and small, and visitors

did not often use them, preferring the homes ofthe delightful old families where

paying guests were accepted and where they could enjoy true Maryland

hospitality and entertainment. But even those charming old houses tended to

follow Naval Academy dictates and traditions, and although most ofthem would

take candidates for the Academy as guests, most candidates preferred to stay at the "prep school houses" for candidates. Thus, those preparing for the Academy

were seldom in the life of either Annapolis or the Naval Academy.

In my own case, I entered Werntz' "prep school" as soon as I could, for with

the exams only six weeks away, I had no time to waste. Professor Werntz, or

12
Leaving Home

"Bobby," as he was always called by candidates, had a particularly good record in

preparing candidates, and as he had a large house, he took them in as boarders

while coaching them. Candidates were not so numerous as they are now,

because at that time it took six years to complete the course and Congressmen

were allowed but one appointee at a time. Now, as well as the many Presidential

and at-large appointments, Senators and Congressmen may have as many as five

appointees at the Academy. The four-year course also increases the number of

appointees.

Inasmuch as only a very few of the cadets that graduated then could be

commissioned as ensigns in the navy, the entrance examinations and the course

at the Naval Academy were made especially severe to ensure that only a few of

the appointees would complete the course, and the candidates had to "bone"

hard not only to enter but to stay there. We candidates had very little time to play or to get into mischief, and although a few who had been "prepping" for a long

time might show a little "speed" on occasion, as a rule they all stuck close to the

task ahead. It was not an easy one, for in order that we might have some

understanding of what was expected of us in the mental examinations, Bobby

would give us tests taken from former entrance "exams." To a new candidate

they seemed staggering, especially as there was a time limit on all questions.

Speed and accuracy in examinations were essential.

My first test as a candidate discouraged me, for while I might have attained a passing mark in most of the subjects had I been allowed sufficient time, I failed

rather badly and this did not help my homesickness or loneliness one little bit!

However, I wanted too much to become a Naval Cadet to give up, so I worked

harder than ever to learn the newer, shorter, and better methods used at the

Academy.

"Bobby" was not enthusiastic about my work and wrote to my father that as there was litde likelihood ofmy passing the May examinations, it would be wise

to have my appointment changed to take the September exams, which, if I studied with him in the interim, I might pass. However, when father wrote and

asked what I thought about it, I told him I, at least, would try it in May. Then

"Bobby" suggested to father that for a "consideration," he could put on more

"steam" in my case, but my answer to that was that I was steaming as hard as I could and would go on as usual.

After two or three "test exams," I began to catch on, and by the time of the

real exams, I felt I had a fair chance of passing them. In those days, candidates

who failed in one or more subjects were allowed a re-exam immediately, and it was with great nervousness that we watched for the posting ofthe first marks. To

13
An Admiral's Yarn

my surprise and very great delight, I found I had passed in all subjects, so was left with only the physical tests—which I passed the next day.

After passing the entrance "exams" there were several steps for a candidate to

take before becoming a Naval Cadet. First he had to register in the "big book"

wherein were recorded his age and details regarding his parents and family, then

he had to make a deposit ofmoney necessary to pay the cost ofhis original outfit

of clothes, after which came the usual oath to support the Constitution of the

United States and to observe the country's laws and navy regulations.

While completing the preliminaries for entering the Academy, I immediately

telegraphed my father, wrote letters to my relatives and friends, giving them the

first information of my recent activities. One of the first letters was to my

maternal grandmother who was very close to me all during my boyhood and

who had tremendous interest in my future.

Grandmother was an Episcopalian, a pillar of the Church and well-versed in

its doctrine and history. I always thought she might have missed her calling by

not having been born a man and entered the ministry. Be that as it may, from the

time of my earliest memory she seemed bent on my becoming a minister, and

every Sunday I went to both Church and Sunday school. Under her guidance I learned a great deal about the Church but never told her that I did not intend to

become a minister. When it was certain I was going to be a Naval Cadet, I wrote

grandmother that I feared she would be very disappointed; she answered

promptly saying that she had always hoped I would be a minister and ultimately

a bishop, since our family had every other kind ofrepresentative, but she thought

the next best thing was for me to be an officer in the United States Navy.

14
Ill

IJoin the Navy and Take a Cruise

ON 19 MAY 1892, having completed the tests, I became a Naval

Cadet.

The Naval Cadets ofmy time, like midshipmen oftoday, were grouped by classes as at colleges. However, at the Naval Academy, instead of being freshmen, sophomores,

juniors, or seniors, we were named successively from the lowest as Fourth, Third,

Second and First, the designations becoming effective each year on Graduation Day,

usually the first Friday in June. Therefore, entering on 19 May, I did not become a Fourth Classman until all the classes moved up a notch at graduation time. Fourth and

Third Classmen were known respectively as "plebes" and "youngsters," but before we

attained that rating we were called "functions"—derived from the course in higher

mathematics where "functions" could grow into something else! The term "function" disappeared when new cadets began being admitted

after graduation day. As might be surmised, the life ofa "function" was none too

gay, though we were kept constantly busy living it. As soon as we had taken the

oath and been admitted, we had to draw our outfits (every article of regulation

pattern) and establish ourselves in the Santee, an old sailing ship hulk. In the

Santee, each "function" had one small locker for his paraphernalia and was given

a hammock to sleep in, but we lived on a large open deck known as the "berth"

deck, which had to be kept shipshape at all times.

When a lad enters the Naval Academy, he retains practically none of his

clothes or articles and must at once adopt the regulation outfit. It was quite a job

to stencil one's name on each article in the place designated for it and to fold and
An Admiral's Yarn

stow them in the locker exactly the way the order prescribed and to take up a completely new and seagoing manner of living. But in addition to undergoing

that very great change, we also had to take up Academy "routine" immediately.

"Functions" were far from prepossessing! As soon as we had drawn our

outfits, having discarded every piece of our civilian attire, we donned the

working clothes supplied us; because they would shrink when laundered, the

suits issued to the fast-growing cadets were much too large. We must have

looked grotesque in them! They hung on us like bags. The trousers and sleeves

had to be rolled up, and in general we presented the poor bearing of young and

very raw recruits.

To make our poor appearance worse, most "functions" had no knowledge at

all of military methods or discipline and were both awkward and uncouth. Soon

all of us became stiff in our muscles because of rigid schedules and drills which

we started the morning after entering: setting-up drills, infantry drills, boat drills,

and gymnasium drills! In addition, just across the pier from the Santee was the

famous old sailing ship, USS Constellation, used as a "practice ship" on which

we were immediately put to learn the "square-rigger" seamanship then being

taught at the Academy. Of all the trials and tribulations of that time, I think the

most nerve-racking to us were our first attempts at going aloft on the

Constellations 180—foot masts and endeavoring to learn the handling of sails. At

first our holds nearly squeezed the tar out ofthe rigging, but later we enjoyed the

new experience, although it took time and effort to reach that stage.

We "functions" had the Santee to ourselves, and under the guidance ofthe old

sailors aboard soon learned the rudiments of living in the very crowded

"between decks" of an old sailing ship. Among them, we were taught how to

swing a hammock on the hooks assigned; but how to sleep in them was another

matter as well as how to make them up and stow the hammocks rapidly when

"all hands" were called in the morning. None of us took happily to hammock

life at first, but with experience and especially after we had found comfort in

them at sea, we decided they were worthwhile.

Although our quarters were in the old Santee, we neither drilled nor messed

there and had to walk a quarter of a mile before reaching the mess hall or drilling

grounds. Of course, the awkward, untrained, and uncouth "functions" were in

no way fitted to join the old and very snappy cadets in anything, so we ate our

meals by ourselves in a small room next to the main mess hall. We were marched

up to this room at mealtimes and marched back to the Santee when we finished

eating!

It rather surprised us to see how many of the then "plebes" would gather

around us as we marched back to the ship and how they tried during the march

16
IJoin the Navy

to make us realize our status and shortcomings. Naturally, being in ranks,

"functions" could not talk back and would not have done so anyway, but we did

as we were told and made every effort to brace up and appear military However,

even out of ranks, we would have been quite docile, as we believed the hazing

given us was right and proper and good for us.

It was on the march back to the Santee after mess that many ofus received the

nicknames that have clung to us through life. My classmates, after seeing me in

the new working clothes said I looked like a Chinaman and at once dubbed me

"Ching," which even to this late day I remain to many of my classmates. To the

upperclassmen I was never "Ching," but they gave me a nickname of their own.

It was so typical of the way nicknames are derived that I must tell of it. When I entered the Academy, I was given some old working suits by a "bilger," and

having had his name on the jumpers covered over with my own name, I proceeded to wear one of the suits to supper on about the third night at the

Academy. As the suit had been made for a fellow not nearly as heavyset as I, it fit too snugly. That night after mess, many plebes followed us to the ship. When we

broke ranks, one of them, with a loud guffaw said, "Mister, you look just like a bologna sausage and from now on you are 'Mr. Bologna Sausage'! "Being far too

long a name for even upperclassmen to call a "plebe," my name was changed to

"Mr. Bologna" and finally to "Bolog" when I became a "youngster."

The hazing we received as "functions" and "plebes" will ever be remembered

by me. Then, as now, the general public was bitterly opposed to it in all forms,

and the newspapers were vociferous in denouncing it and demanding reform.

But as is so often the case in so-called news items, only one side of hazing was

presented, the result being that it eventually became condemned. Thus although

the conclusions of the public in regard to hazing at the Naval Academy were far

from correct, the entire system was outlawed. Hazing in my days, however, was

quite in vogue and a far cry from the "sheer brutality" accusations of the press.

We "functions" felt it was much more sinned against, than it was sinning.

The hazing at some schools and colleges was brutal at that time but not at the

Naval Academy, and the hazing we generally underwent was important training

for our futures as officers in the navy, inspiring us to keenly appreciate and

observe the high standards necessary to bring proper credit to our country. Woe

betide a cadet who failed to live up to these standards, for not only was he

ostracized by the other cadets but was often obliged to leave the Academy

In 1891, hazing at the Academy was little more than fun and never really

harmful. It is true that plebes were often directed to do things they disliked, but

strict obedience to orders is a prime necessity in the naval service, and it did us plebes much good to learn that lesson. It was considered highly improper for an

17
An Admiral's Yarn

upperclassman to touch a plebe, either directly or indirectly—the reason being

to make it clear that force should never be used to ensure obedience. In the case of hazing, it was never expected that obedience be exacted through physical

injury or degradation. Thus, if an upperclassman told a plebe to drink a bottle of

ink, he would grab an ink bottle, keep it tightly corked, pretend to drink it and

then go into apparent convulsions. If the plebe put on a good show, he was liked

for it. But if his act was poor, he was often called upon to improve it. One day I was with a plebe when he was told to drink a bottle of ink. He

pulled the cork and actually started to drink before the upperclassman could

grab the bottle from him. What a rage the upperclassman went into, and how he

berated the plebe for not having the guts to avoid a thing which might injure his

health or be considered degrading. The plebe knew the rule but was so lacking

in nerve that he feared to live up to it. So incensed were the upperclassmen over

his weakness that they tried to make him fight to prove otherwise. This he

refused to do and we wondered how one so lacking in nerve could serve as an

officer in the navy; but that particular man was "bilged" in our plebe year.

There were many purposes in hazing at that time: to ensure a cadet's

knowledge that all seagoing officers in either the navy or merchant marine

service below the rank of captain were always referred to as Mister "so-and-so";

that plebes were addressed as "Mister"; that "Mister" was always used before the

name ofan upperclassman; and that to show proper respect to those above him, a plebe had to say "sir," after "yes" and "no" and end sentences with "sir." As well,

when in the presence of upperclassmen, plebes always stood rigidly unless

directed otherwise.

One of the most important aspects of the hazing was the continuous drive by

all upperclassmen to bring plebes to a military bearing, position, manners, and

attitude. When plebes overcame slouching and slovenliness and became "smart"

appearing, the pressure of the upper classes lessened accordingly, and at the end

of the year the plebes were well set up and remained that way.

Those starting a seagoing life had much to learn. To ensure that a plebe would

be properly awed by a mistake he was observed to have made, a rather clever idea

had been developed by the cadets which, as expressed in the jargon of the day,

was: "Nothing makes a plebe level-headed as quickly as standing on it." Hence,

for every mistake, a plebe was told to stand on his head a certain number of

times, always against a wall or bulkhead so the position was not too difficult.

Some upperclassmen of a nautical turn of mind would require plebes to get on

top of their wardrobes and go through the motions of reefing topsails; others

might require them to carry on drills armed with brooms, or propound

ridiculous questions in seamanship or give a lecture on a designated subject,

18
IJoin the Navy

political or otherwise. It developed rapidity, ingenuity, resourcefulness, and good

nature—qualities essential to a naval officer's success. Our change from being "functions" to "plebes" took place on graduation day,

but our advancement to Fourth Classmen produced no change for or in us. Expressed in Academy parlance, "plebes are nothing and 'functions' are a damned sight less than nothing" (not to be measured either mathematically or

otherwise). Nevertheless, graduation day marked a very great change in Naval

Academy routine, for on the following day the "practice cruise," which lasted

about three months, started. The new plebes then transferred to the practice ship

together with the new youngsters and new First Classmen.

In my time at the Academy, entrance examinations were held in early May

and again in September—hence "May plebes" and "September plebes." Within

a class there was no feeling of distinction between the two—but among the

upper classes there was considerable, because during the practice cruise they

lived very closely with and worked hard over the "May plebes," whereas their

indoctrination of "September plebes" could not start until October when the

upperclassmen returned from leave and the winter routine started.

May plebes were the small part of any class, and in mine there were only

nineteen out of a class that ultimately numbered eighty-six. Having so small a number during the exercise, the hazing was most thorough and constant, and

May plebes were well-trained by September when the cruise ended.

My first cruise was on the USS Constellation, an old square-rigger, built in

1797 in the same building program as the USS Constitution, its sister ship. Old as the Constellation was, it was still one of the fastest, smartest, and best working

full-rigged ships afloat. Even a three-month practice cruise in it gave a young

fellow, especially a "plebe," a fine experience in what is spoken of today as "square-rig" seamanship.

The experiences were in concentrated form—a practice cruise is not merely

going from one place to another but learning seamanship in all its various forms.

Five days a week, from 8 a.m. until 5 p.m., the ship was handled by First

Classmen who over and over again put it through each possible maneuver in

order that those who would graduate the following June would learn them all. Hence, the underclassmen, youngsters, and plebes who handled the gear

obtained as much actual seamanship experience in three months as an ordinary

seaman would receive in years of cruising. Furthermore, in addition to the

experience ofworking a sailing ship, all cadets were required to make an intense

study of seamanship in all its forms and were examined orally at any time an

officer of the ship requested it. Needless to say, all hands were busy during the

cruise, but it was an exciting life and intensely interesting. On that cruise I was a

19
An Admiral's Yarn

"fore royal yardman" and of course soon learned to work aloft on even the

highest yard, no matter what the weather might be. The constant work on the

practice cruise tended not only to make us fairly good seamen but also

developed us physically as perhaps no other training could. Outdoor life, fresh

sea air, the constant use of every muscle in the body and plentiful wholesome

food could not but build us up so that when the cruise ended we were about as hardy, husky, healthy, and tanned as boys could be.

One might think that days like ours left little time for hazing, but it never

ceased as the plebes messed with other cadets, swung their hammocks alongside

them, and lived and worked all day in their company—never for a moment away

from the supervision of upperclassmen. Under the circumstances, plebes simply

had to learn every phase of seamanship—and the hazing was generally of great

benefit to them and at all times humorous. Frequendy I was ordered by

upperclassmen to supervise and run a concert which was called "Bologna's

Band," wherein each plebe pretended to be a certain musical instrument; but

more often I was told to sing a song, preferably "Life on the Ocean Wave,"

regardless of my being the world's worst singer—never able to carry a tune or

stay on key. But in spite ofmy defects I was ordered to sing fifty verses, not one of

which had ever been heard before. Needless to say I became quite adept at improvising rapidly and endlessly. Thus it taught me to think quickly.

Before the cruise was over, some of the upperclassmen said to me, "Mr.

Bologna Sausage, we do not want a good plebe like you to bilge [I never

disagreed with them on that point], so the savvy youngsters ofour class are going

to help you in your studies of next winter by making you learn some of the

important things now." And start they did, by assigning certain cadets to teach

me French, mathematics, history, English, etc., until all subjects of the plebe year

were covered—a great help, especially in French, which I have never been able

to master and would have "bilged" had it not been for my lessons at sea. For me, the plebe cruise was all too short, for I enjoyed it and became

intimate with my classmates but also developed friendly relations with

upperclassmen who have remained true friends to this day.

20
IV

At the Naval Academy

UPON OUR RETURN FROM THE SUMMER practice cruise late in

August, all upperclassmen went on leave, so there were only plebes at the

Academy for the month of September. During that month without

upperclassmen, the May plebes were the "cocks of the walk," while the

September plebes, who were just entering, took on the purely plebe role of

being "nothing." That month was the happiest of my plebe year—a condition

that lasted only through September when the upperclassmen returned and both

May and September plebes had to wait until graduation day in June to become

youngsters.

Having had three months of especially hard training on the cruise, September

found the May plebes differing little in appearance from upperclassmen. All had

grown rapidly, developed in physique, manner, and military training, and in

general had some conception of what a snappy naval cadet should be and do.

Also, the sea knowledge gained on the cruise was helpful to us on the old Santee,

where all plebes were quartered during September. We May plebes took great

delight in greeting the new September members of our class. By the time the upper classes returned from leave and the academic courses begun on October first, all plebes were sufEciendy trained to participate with

other classes in drills and become regular members of the "Cadet Battalion."

Except for the ever-continuous hazing and restricted privileges at the

Academy that first year, the following three years were much the same. On

weekdays reveille sounded at 6 a.m., when all cadets turned out immediately

and doubled over their mattresses and bed clothes to ensure no chance of their
An Admiral's Yarn

turning in again. Rooms were inspected to see that orders were carried out. We

then had thirty-five minutes to dress and arrive at breakfast formation, where we

were again inspected individually to see that all were completely and properly

dressed, clean, and neat! All formations were held out-of-doors when weather

permitted. After the inspection, we marched into the "mess hall" where we took

our permanent seats, arranged by companies. At each table every class was

represented—first classmen at the head and foot and the other classes in grade

order from each end, with plebes in the middle seats where their conduct at the

table was easily observed by upperclassmen. No elbows on the table there, or slouching in one's seat, and no talking except when required by an

upperclassman. Plebes were the last to be served and were never allowed a second helping of such delicacies as milk or dessert. But upperclassmen saw to it that we had plenty to eat, so we fared well.

By about 7:25 a.m. breakfast would be over, and all cadets would go to their

rooms to sweep, dust, and make their beds. All rooms had exactly the same

furniture. Under the gas jet in the center ofthe room was a study table, on either

side ofwhich was a straight-backed wooden chair used for study. On each side of

the room was a single iron bed, a wardrobe, and a washstand with its fittings as well as a place for a broom and dustpan. Except for bookshelves, there was no

other furniture. Each item had its place; even the bottle of ink had to be exactly

in the center of the table, and no frills or displays of any kind were allowed.

Wealth or social position meant nothing at all, and each cadet was measured and

evaluated solely on what he himselfdid. Because of that, both the U.S. Navy and

the Naval Academy have always been splendid examples of democracy at its best.

Leaving their rooms in order, all cadets would be ready at 7:50 a.m. for the

daily academic work, which was divided into three periods of two hours each;

one hour of each period was devoted to study and one to recitation. Including

the dinner hour, this part of our day lasted until 3:30 p.m. Then came a drill

period until 5:30 p.m., and an hour for relaxation before supper formation at 6:30. From 7:30 until 9:30 p.m. we studied in our rooms, and from 9:30 until

9:55, when "tattoo" sounded, we had another period ofrecreation, remaining in

quarters. At 10 p.m. "taps" was sounded, and all cadets had to be in bed.

On Saturdays the schedule ended at 12:30 p.m., and for the rest of the day and

on Sundays, there was much less work. However, on Sunday morning we had

rigid inspection of rooms and personnel before being obliged to go to church.

We considered it a day of rest, although we could be out of the Academy

grounds for only short periods in the afternoon and could never leave the city

limits of Annapolis. There was little desire to leave the academic limits even on

22
At the Naval Academy

Saturday or Sunday, as Saturday afternoons were given to sports of all kinds and

the evenings to hops,

7 while Sunday we devoted to letter writing, girling, orjust

resting, and evenings to a study period of two hours.

Busy though all cadets were, there was much fun, joy, and happiness at the

Academy—though less perhaps for plebes with their many restrictions and only

one dollar a month spending money! At almost no other school in our country

does the word classmate have quite the meaning that it has at the Naval

Academy. Throughout his life, the closest mark of friendship a naval officer can

express is to say, "We were classmates at the Academy."

Plebe year passed quickly, strenuous though it was with both semiannual and

annual examinations. Those who failed to make passing marks had to resign and

were called "bilgers." However, it did not mean, in many cases, lack of

intelligence or ability but rather failure to study in the proper way for the courses that had intentionally been made difficult. With marking very close, a large percentage of cadets failed their plebe year, each class losing about 60

percent of those who entered it. The heartaches at both examinations, annual and semiannual, were universal

among the cadets, for it was the great ambition of each one to graduate and

become a naval officer, and it was distressing to every classmate when one of

their number had to leave. There is little wonder that every cadet worked his

hardest to remain at the Academy and obtain a commission.

Like all plebe years, ours passed just as did those subsequent, each being eight

months of hard study, three months of cruise, and one month's leave. Naturally

all cadets were too busy to give much thought or time to anything outside their

duties and work. Nevertheless, such diversions as we had were much enjoyed.

We made the most of sailing, swimming, sports, hops, and dates, and little time

remained for mischief, though now and then a bit of it would crop out. There

were a few cases of "frenching," such as when an individual would seek a few

extra hours with his girl by climbing over the wall, or when perhaps a small

gathering of cadets took a drink or two of an alcoholic beverage. But such

breaches of discipline were rare, because being caught meant dismissal, and the

risk was much too great for such little pleasure as might be derived. However,

both my first and second-class years produced episodes worth relating.

In the nineties, the most conspicuous and largest building at the Naval

Academy was the one used as "main quarters" by the cadets. It was a long

building, four stories high, and over the center was a dome and clock tower, on

top of which was a tall flagpole. The building being much the highest at the

Academy, the clock could be seen not only from all over the Academy but from

most of Annapolis. However, while the flag staff over it was visible from a

23
An Admiral's Yarn

considerable part of the surrounding country, it was never used officially. The

national flag was always flown from a great flagpole that stood in the grounds. It was therefore a tremendous surprise to Annapolis as well as to the Academy to see at sunrise one morning a large skull and crossbones flag flying high over main quarters.

Great as the surprise was to see that private flag, far greater was the

consternation of the Academy officials over its being there. A man was sent at once to haul it down, but he found he could not do it. The flag had not been run

up on halliards but had been nailed at its very top. Later, a sailor was ordered to

climb the mast, but when he attempted the feat, he found the pole too rotten to

hold him, and ladders were of no help—so the flag remained for some hours,

much to the excitement of the neighborhood.

Everyone took it for granted that the culprit would be apprehended and

punished, but as every mark had been removed from the sheet of which the flag

was made, and fingerprint identification was as yet unknown, the authorities never learned who was responsible for the trick, and it remains a secret to this

day, as far as I know.

The other unusual episode of my Academy days was what we cadets called

the "Asphyxiation of 'Frenchy'"—a rather ludicrous prank that, through

newspaper accounts, took on a very serious aspect in the eyes of the public. To us cadets it was never more than a huge joke, but expanded as it was by the press, it became an attempted murder that had to be taken seriously.

In general, the facts were these:

"Frenchy" was the nickname the cadets had for a very efficient "officer in

charge'" who, like any other officer in direct supervision of cadets, was a bit

unpopular with those who did not observe the regulations very closely. Such

cadets found great pleasure in "putting it over" on Frenchy and occasionally

took advantage of his inability to smell, by smoking, which was entirely

forbidden at the Academy. How Frenchy ascertained the presence of smoke that

he could not smell, we never knew, but it was a fact that his reports were

invariably correct and cadets were punished accordingly.

I suppose it was to play on the weakness of Frenchy's sense of smell, or to

express someone's dislike for him, that one night an apparatus for generating

sulfurated hydrogen was placed on the veranda outside his room. The rubber

tube from which the gas emanated was shoved through his open window. The

apparatus was one of a dozen or more used in our laboratory work. Although

one machine could make only very little gas—all that was required for our

experiments—and would generate that only when fresh acid was put in and the

machine well shaken, nevertheless, the rotten egg smell, which even that small

24
At the Naval Academy

amount of gas generated, was very strong. In fact it was so much so that the

machines were always kept out-of-doors on a porch of the laboratory where we

would go to shake one if we needed gas! Apparently the lower half of Frenchy's window was up when the tube was thrust in, but it did not remain so. When he

turned in that night he slammed the lower half down on the tube, without

noticing it, before opening his window from the top. Thus the gas was cut off.

When Frenchy awakened the next morning, he saw the tube and machine,

etc., and at once reported the entire matter to the Commandant of Cadets who

became greatly perturbed over the matter. His first step was to issue an order to

the then second class to maintain during the hours of darkness a sentry post on

the brick wall just outside the window of the room of the officer in charge. The

order was based on the assumption that some member of that class must have

committed the foul act, since only the second class, which occupied "old

quarters," was allowed outside of the "new quarters" where the officer in charge

and all other classes of cadets roomed. Making cadets do night duty as sentinels,

when their time was fully occupied with studies and drills, was a great hardship,

and the fact that it was then winter did not make the duty any more pleasant.

When the order was published, the second class was astounded, for despite the

fact that the entire class was generally well informed whenever one of its members successfully pulled off a prank, in this instance, not one of them had

even heard of the "smelling attack made on Frenchy" until the sentry post was

ordered. Therefore, the class held a meeting to ascertain its responsibility, if any,

for the escapade. They were quite willing to do the sentry duty if a member of

the class were responsible, but did not want to suffer such severe punishment for

the stunt of another class. The class meeting did not disclose any responsibility

on the part of a second classman or any knowledge of the prank, and it was

decided to send in a written statement to that effect, signed by each member of

the class and addressed to the Commandant. That cleared all second classmen,

and they were taken off post duty. Then the other classes followed the same

course, which put the authorities in a greater-than-ever quandary, for not only

were the daily papers making a tremendous ado about the inability of the

Academy to find the culprit in what they called an attempted asphyxiation, but

also it implied that one, or perhaps two, of the cadets who had declared

innocence must have issued a false statement. This was too much for either the

authorities or the cadets—the latter having an unwritten code that falsehood

was utterly taboo.

Faced with such a scandalous situation, which the authorities could not solve,

it was believed that only the cadets themselves would be able to fix the

responsibility for the prank and determine which cadet had lied. Since the cadets

25
An Admiral's Yarn

were as bitter as the authorities over the possibility of there being a liar in the

battalion, it was decided that the cadets themselves should investigate the matter.

Accordingly, a board ofinvestigation made up of cadets was appointed, and it set to with a will to ascertain who the culprit might be. All classes were

represented on the Board, and in order that its investigations might be

conducted thoroughly and quickly, both the members of the Board and the

witnesses called before it were excused from recitation during the hours of

sitting. Although the Board worked its hardest and was backed strongly by all cadets, it failed utterly to obtain a single clue, and the authorities ordered it disbanded.

It is probable that the answer to the affair would never have been solved

except for a death-bed confession many years later. It seems that at noon on the

day ofthe attempted asphyxiation, the resignation ofa cadet had been published,

and early in the afternoon he was required to leave the Academy grounds. For

some reason he was full of bitterness toward Frenchy and apparently wished to

express his feelings, so at dusk, he slipped back into the Academy yard, and while

the officers in charge and the cadets were at supper, he perpetrated the sulfuric

acid prank. The culprit left Annapolis that evening to return home, so it is not

surprising that he was not found. However, the publicity the affair was given and

the discredit his act had brought to his classmates must have preyed heavily on

his mind, for as he lay on his death bed years later, he confessed to the entire

stunt. By so doing, he proved that, as always, the cadet code had not been

violated by a lie. To ensure oneself a place in the navy took constant hard study and work, and

although the entrance examinations prevented all but the better prepared

students from entering the Academy, only about one out of three succeeded in

graduating.

The teaching system at the Naval Academy, which was somewhat different

from most schools at the time, was designed to allow one instructor for each

subject in a section composed often or twelve cadets. Lessons assigned were of

such length that only a person with a fairly active and clear mind could learn

them thoroughly in the half hour allotted for the study of each subject. We were

called on each day to recite orally or in writing on the blackboard, and we were

marked accordingly. At the end ofeach month there was an examination in each

subject, and at the end of each halfyear there was another that covered the work

of the entire half year. These exams were very thorough and had to be

completed in a specified time. Since monthly marks were a combination of daily

marks and monthly exams, and half-year marks were a combination of the

26
At the Naval Academy

monthly marks and half-year examinations, all counted very heavily and were a certain test of knowledge retained during the half year.

As a class approached its graduation, these members of the hierarchy became

more important and were a source of constant influence that kept the other

classes to the high standards and traditions ofnot only the Academy but the navy.

A few months prior to graduation, when the First Classmen were told to

request assignments to ships at certain points in the Atlantic, Pacific, and Asiatic

waters, small groups were formed so that friends would not be separated, and the

Department, as far as possible, observed the grouping, and orders were carried

out accordingly. My desire was to be assigned to the USS Philadelphia, the

flagship of the Pacific Station, covering the eastern half of the Pacific Ocean

74

27

V

At Sea as a Middy

ATTHE TIME I WAS GRADUATED from the Academy, we ceased being

"Naval Cadets First Class" and officially became "Naval Cadets."

However, except in official communications, we were seldom referred to by that

title; we were midshipmen on our "middy cruise."

The change from being a first classman at the Academy to a middy at sea is tremendous. One passes from the highest estate in our great naval school to the

lowest estate ofan officer aboard ship—and instead ofa practice cruise, we began

a permanent life at sea in the navy. We all loved the excitement and experience.

In 1895, the United States was attempting to become a great naval power.

The population of our country had so increased that it was rapidly changing

from being a mere producer offood products and raw materials for the world to

becoming an industrialized country with manufactured products to sell. As

happens in the growth ofall young countries, the United States was passing from

an agricultural country to an industrialized one. While we were producers, the

industrialized countries of the world sought food stuffs and raw materials from

us to sustain their industrialized populations, hence there was little competition

in our international trade. Accordingly, the United States did not need a very

large navy to protect its commerce at that time. But as we moved from primarily

agricultural to industrial, our country was forced to compete with other nations;

thus, a larger navy became necessary to ensure our use of the trade routes across the sea. Change from one of the weaker naval powers to one of the greatest was

gradual. Our navy grew only commensurate with the economic increase in, and

the vitality of, our industries and world trade. Thus, when I became a "middy,"
An Admiral's Yarn

the navy was just starting its new role. Its wooden ships of sail were being

replaced with steel and steam. Such ships that it had were neither numerous nor

large, and only a few had any real quarters for midshipmen. Those provided were

so poor that they were known in the navy as the "steerage."

Although it was the flagship ofthe Pacific Station, the Philadelphia, on which I started as a middy, would today be known as a small cruiser. The steerage was a compartment about thirty feet long by fourteen feet wide with banks along two

ofits sides and at one end—for ten people. There was a mess table, which, when

set up for meals, occupied all of the center space. There were small lockers and

drawers between the bunks and under them, and "Carlin boxes," in which we

stored our clothes, were slung overhead between the beams; a washroom

containing a washbasin and bathtub was at one end of the steerage. Other toilet

facilities were in the bow of the ship, above seventy-five yards distant. To make

matters worse, in the compartment there were coal hatches and chutes through

which all coal for the bunkers below was passed. Consequently, our quarters

were often filled with coal dust. We had only ten bunks in our steerage, and

thirteen junior commissioned officers and middies lived there. The three for

whom there were no bunks slept in hammocks swung over the center of the

compartment; the hammocks had to be taken down so the mess table could be

set up. In the present day, such quarters would not be allowed in the navy, but at that time, we midshipmen managed to get along and enjoyed ourselves

immensely.

There were only eight "middies," six in the regular line ofthe navy and two in

engineering, and no sooner had we settled on board than the training in our

new duties began.

One of the six "line" middies became assistant to the executive officer (who

was charged with all administrative details of the ship); another became assistant

to the navigator (who was responsible for the proper navigation of the ship); one

was assigned as "mate of the deck," responsible for the upkeep, cleanliness and

observance of the regulations in the men's quarters; and three were assigned to

the gun division and placed on deck watch under the supervision of the officers

of the deck (who were responsible for the ship and in carrying out details of the

ship's routine while on watch). In the same manner, the two engineer "middies"

were assigned understudy jobs in the engineering department. By rotating the

duty assignments, all midshipmen were given thorough training in the regular

duties they might be called upon to perform, but especially in their duties as "watch officers"—the supervision here by the older watch officers was both

thorough and constant. Consequently, we referred to them as "wet nurse

30
At Sea as a Middy

watches," and we still speak of these officers as having "wet-nursed" us in our

middy days.

While the work was difficult, it was always interesting, but the great

enjoyments of the steerage were found elsewhere. No sooner had we joined up

than the Philadelphia was ordered to the Mare Island Navy Yard for overhaul and

docking, and we were introduced to local life in a Navy Yard. We stood watch to see that the work on the ship was completed properly and promptly, and we had

our free time for the social activities of the yard. There were tennis and baseball

to play, picnics and small dances to attend, and the more formal luncheons and

dinners. We of the steerage helped each other out, not only in clothes and

equipment but in putting up as much of a "front" as we could with our limited

means, outfits, and poor quarters. I cannot say our "front" was always faultless,

but at best it was sufficient to "get by" among our understanding naval friends.

The fact was well demonstrated to us one night when there was to be a dance at the Navy Yard. A newly commissioned ensign came on board for a few hours

visit, having with him only the clothes he was wearing. When he learned ofthe

dance scheduled for that night, he was particularly anxious to take a certain

young lady to it, even though he was without the prescribed uniform evening

dress. As he was courting the young lady and we were anxious to help him out,

we agreed to outfit him in the proper uniform as best we could.

The young officer was very short, especially his legs. When we inspected all of

the evening dress uniforms that would not be used that evening, we found that

the only ones available were suited for much taller and longer-legged officers.

However, we "decked" him out in the best we had—the shirt sleeves being

much too long, the evening dress coat much too large, too long in the sleeves,

and not only that, the tails nearly reached his ankles, while the trousers had to be

turned up several times at the bottom. Although we did our best to take up the

slack in the clothes, the young officer certainly did not have the natty appearance

every naval officer aspires to. Nevertheless he escorted his girl to the dance and

reported having a fine time without hearing any mention of his rather grotesque

appearance, even by his best girl, whom he afterward married. Ultimately that

officer became a very prominent admiral and, except at that dance, always

maintained the "nattiest" appearance.

The United States Navy was then very different from what it is today. Except

in the engineer force, practically all ofthe enlisted men were square-rigger men.

Although all ships were then being built of steel and had steam engine motive

power, they still followed the general arrangement of the old sailing ships.

Turrets, except on the old monitors, were just coming into being on the

battleships being built. Broadside guns were still the main battery guns of most

31
An Admiral's Yarn

ships, and though such guns were breech-loading and rifled, and were operated

mechanically, the power used was still only manpower—-just as it had been with

the smoothbore muzzle-loaders. Each of the more modern ships was allowed

one, or at most, two steam launches, but as they were of low power and were

always breaking down, the main boating reliance was still on pulling boats.

Admirals had twelve-oared barges and captains six-oared gigs, but all other

officers and men used the sailing launches, cutters, whale boats, dinghies, and

wherries. Getting supplies and personnel to and from shore in such boats was

always a considerable task, even with the little steam launches towing.

The manner of living on board had not greatly changed from the old sailing

ship days. Small boxes to hold natural ice furnished the only means ofpreserving

even a few days' supply offresh provisions, so that even a short time at sea put us on the old-time salt and dry provisions that could be stored for months. New

ships were being given small dynamos, generally run only at night, but as electric

plants on shipboard were still very unreliable, oil lamps and candles were always

kept ready and far too often had to be used. Consequently there was a "lamplighter," whose sole job was to keep them in readiness.

If the officers had enough clothes to last them between ports, their laundry

could be sent ashore, but enlisted men did all of their laundry aboard ship, even

their blue uniforms.

One ofthe interesting features ofthat time, which had been carried over from

sailing ship days, was the tailoring and embroidering done by members of the

crew. Each ship had several men who, in their spare time, made clothes for the

others. They did fine work, turning out uniforms that were not only splendid fits and well made but also had fancy embroidery, stitching, and wonderful

buttonholing. Somewhere in the ship, each tailor had a particular spot where he

would set up his small, hand-powered sewing machine, and sit on his "ditty

box" while sewing. It was worthwhile to watch their deftness. In those days

every sailor could sew fairly well, but it was the old seamen who excelled.

Thus, in the gay nineties, the enlisted men of the navy were still just old type

sailormen, far different from today. The ships had not become greatly

mechanized, and the deep-sea sailors, who were in great demand, could be

found only on the waterfronts ofour seaboard cities. As could be expected, these

men were often of the poorer class, unreliable, generally foreigners who could

not speak English or read and write, and were the very riff-raff ofthe sailorman's

world. In those days there were no restrictions requiring citizenship for the men

who enlisted in the navy, so our crews in the nineties contained many hard

characters and almost no native-born Americans.

32
At Sea as a Middy

Of course that situation has long since changed. The "old salt" sailor is no

longer useful or wanted and has been replaced by young full-fledged

citizens—and with the ships' vast and complicated masses of machinery today,

we find the finest young men in our country seeking to join the navy. The first

enlisted men of the navy today represent a cross section ofthe best from the high

schools ofthe United States. They have the ability, energy, and resourcefulness to

do theirjobs well; they lead fine, clean lives and are the best ofyoung Americans.

It is difficult today to appreciate the navy's personnel difficulties of forty or

fifty years ago. Now, when half or even more of those in a ship's company go

ashore "on liberty," they return from it on time—clean, sober, and immediately

ready for even a complicated form of target practice. But it was not that way

when I first took up sea life. All men entitled to go on liberty each day were

listed on the "Liberty List" to be "checked out" as they left the ship. The time of

their return and their condition noted when they returned on board was

reported to the officer of the deck. All men who had been on "liberty" were

lined up on the quarterdeck, inspected and mustered as each one stepped in

front of the officer and walked forward. If the man was reasonably clean in

appearance and could walk without staggering, he was marked C&S (clean and

sober). Otherwise his marking was D&D (drunk and dirty), but few of the latter

class would be in such condition as to require being locked up or put in irons.

Then, too, there would be a few absentees, some of whom would end their

debauches and get back to the ship within the ten days allowed before being

declared a deserter; a good proportion, however, never returned to the ship at all. Thus we never knew just what the crew status would be when we left port,

and particularly when we departed from what the men called a "good liberty

port." Even when we succeeded in filling vacancies, it would take quite a few

days before the crew would again be in condition to do a man of war's work

smartly.

It seems strange that the U.S. Navy was considered efficient at that time, but

of course it was measured by the purposes and standards of the navy then. How

different are things today, when the well-being of our country is so dependent

on the ability of the navy to prevent control of the seas from falling into the

hands of those who would stifle our seaborne trade.

Today, it takes fleets ofmany different and powerful ships working together as a team to ensure the protection of our rights, should there be countries that

would deny us these rights. But it was not until after the turn of the century that

our country needed this type of navy.

33
An Admiral's Yarn

In the nineties, the United States was not seeking to sell a vast supply of

manufactured articles to the world. The U.S. trade at that time was mostly in

food and raw materials that were sought by industrialized countries. Because sea routes were kept open by other countries, it was not necessary for our country

to maintain vast fleets of great power to protect our interests. Ships that were

necessary at that time were assigned stations such as the North Atlantic, the

Pacific, the European, the Asiatic, the South Atlantic, etc., and, for the most part,

went singly to ports within the area of the station to show the flag or to handle

some local situation involving US. interests. The navy at that time was primarily

for such purposes, and it was rather unusual for two or more naval ships to be

together at sea or in port. Since, too, it was only necessary for ships to be ready

for individual action at sea, at close range, or more often, in port, naval ships

prepared for their requirements accordingly. Getting ready for sea operations at that time required considerably less preparation than did port operations, where

the popularity of the United States was of utmost importance. The necessary

drills and work aboard ship could be completed each day before noon, so that by

afternoon almost everyone, except half of the ship s company on duty, could go

ashore where the conviviality and sociability were of prime importance and

where the use of liquor was thought to be essential in spreading good will. It is little wonder that at that time the older officers of the navy had developed quite

a reputation for their drinking abilities; nor is it any wonder that on our middy

cruise we found it well deserved.

Fortunately it did not continue, for as the purpose of our navy changed to

more serious duties, heavy drinking decreased among both officers and enlisted

men who were assigned to dangerous work with heavy explosives and

high-powered machinery.

Operating under the guiding influences of that time, cruises had altogether

different objectives than those of today, and my first cruise followed the

objectives of the era. When the overhaul of the Philadelphia at the Mare Island

Navy Yard was completed, we started on a cruise. At the time, peace and quiet

prevailed in all foreign ports of the Pacific, so during my first cruise aboard the

Philadelphia we visited U.S. west coast ports while keeping the ship ready and in

training for such other duties as we might be called upon to perform. We went

first to Puget Sound.

34
VI

Middy Days in Puget Sound

ALTHOUGH THE "GOLD RUSH" and "pioneering days" of the Pacific

Coast were part of the past during the nineties, there was, nevertheless, not

only a marked newness to the life we found there but also a considerable

difference in civic manners and enterprise. The western cities and towns were

young, not beset with traditions, and were growing fast with men and women

from all parts of our country and from all walks of life. They seemed to have a strong urge for pioneering and an eagerness to develop and exploit the vast resources of the great Northwest. While there were tremendous changes from

the "gold rush" days, the towns were wide open in comparison to the East. The

people were so wholesome and congenial that even then the future greatness of

"the slope," as we affectionately spoke of it, was assured.

After leaving the Navy Yard and San Francisco Bay, we arrived at Port

Angeles, Washington, situated on a small bay formed by a low sandy and rocky

point called Ediz Hook—a projection from the mainland about midway along

the south side of the Strait ofJuan de Fuca. Standing eastward into the strait to

reach Port Angeles, we passed into one of the world's greatest scenic splendors.

The strait is not broad; on its north side He the mountains of Canada's island,

Vancouver, while far ahead rise the Coast Range mountains with the ever snowcapped peak of Mount Baker, apparently standing watch over the whole

stupendous scene. On a clear day, after seeing only broad expanses of ocean, one cannot but be

overwhelmed by the majestic beauty of the Strait ofJuan de Fuca—gazing upon

snowcapped mountains and their descending terrain covered with great, green
An Admiral's Yam

forests. Here and there were a few small fishermen's huts, but when we reached

Port Angeles we found that several hundred acres of the forests had been cleared

for a village there.

In 1895, Port Angeles seemed to be the "jumping-off place." Even though it was the only harbor completely protected from gales on the U.S. side of the

strait, it was beautifully situated at the face of the great Mount Olympus and was

in the very center of a splendid lumber and fishing area. We found Port Angeles

and its people incredibly poor. There was no market there at all for what they

produced and no means of transportation, except tiny steamers that occasionally

made short stops. There were no roads to other towns, the nearest by land being

sixty miles away. There were few trails leading from the village into the forests

and mountains, but even horses and pack animals were very, very few. Today we

can hardly conceive of Port Angeles as it was in 1895, but it served the USS

Philadelphia?, purposes at that time, so we spent nearly two months there.

In 1924, when I was in command ofthe battleship Pennsylvania, our division

of battleships again took me to Port Angeles, then a thriving and fairly

well-to-do city of over ten thousand people. When the Mayor came on board to

pay his official call on the Admiral, I received him and his party at the gangway

and noticed as they came on board that they looked hard at me and then started a whispered conversation. A few minutes later the Mayor said, "Captain, have

you ever been in Port Angeles before?" and I replied "Yes, in 1895, when I was a midshipman on the Philadelphia!' At that he grabbed both ofmy hands, saying, "I

thought I recognized you. Don't you remember me? I am [H.M.] Fisher, one of

the boys of the town who used to come over now and then to the steerage mess

of the Philadelphia to get a square meal." I remembered him then, and we talked

of the days when the Philadelphia came to Port Angeles and actually prevented

the town from being "starved out," by buying and paying for products with the

only money the village had seen for months.

Port Angeles was anything but a metropolis in 1895, but we loved the life

there and soon everyone on the ship knew the townspeople. The ship bought

the chickens, eggs, butter, meat, and vegetables that were being sold there, and

the people did all in their power to make our stay pleasant, with small dances,

fishing parties, and picnics. However, most of the time we drilled and drilled and

drilled and drilled. We did boat drills, cutting-out drills, infantry and artillery

drills on shore, gun drills on board, target practice on Ediz Hook with rifles and

artillery pieces, trained our force on shore for camping out, practiced destroying

ships with mines, and trained for everything and anything a ship of that day

might be called upon to do. That stay in Port Angeles was a joyous time for

everyone, both on the ship and ashore. A more healthful and pleasant

36
Middy Days in Puget Sound

experience, or one more beneficial to a naval ship in keeping prepared for its duties, can hardly be imagined.

The two outstanding features of Port Angeles at that time, and ever since,

were its lumber and fishing. Surrounded by forests of fine timber, we thought

then that some day the lumber industry would flourish and Port Angeles would

become an important place.

There was one young officer in our mess who, unbeknownst to us, had

inherited three or four thousand dollars. Apparently this information became

known to one of Port Angeles' citizens, who had erected a small shingle mill.

While superior shingles could be made cheaply, there was no market for them at that time and the little shingle mill remained idle. The owner talked our young

officer into buying it, and the Port Angeles citizen then departed for Seattle, never to be heard from again—nor was the shingle mill, as far as I know.

While lumber has ever been the industrial backbone of Port Angeles, there is something else that makes the town famous too—a fish!—and strange to say, not

from the salt waters around the port but from nearby Lake Crescent.

Back in the mountains some fourteen miles from Port Angeles, Lake

Crescent's surrounding streams afford fine freshwater fishing. In 1895 it could be

reached from Port Angeles only by pack animals over a cinder trail that wound

its way over the rough and rugged foothills of the heavily forested Olympus.

Therefore, a fishing trip to Lake Crescent was not an easy one; three days had to

be devoted to the trip in order to have one day's fishing.

Rear Admiral Lester Beardslee, Commander of the U.S. Pacific Station, was

an active fisherman. He loved fishing and always carried with him, when

cruising, complete fishing paraphernalia, including many books on the subject.

He was a "student offish," and during our visit to Port Angeles he caught and

classified and made known to the world the fish that made Lake Crescent

famous. That the Admiral was even able to reach Lake Crescent over this rough

trail speaks well of his energy, physique, and love of the sport. (A few days after

his trip, a few of us youngsters made the same trip and thoroughly realized what

he had endured for one day's fishing in the lake.)

On the day of his fishing trip, after having fished from dawn until late

afternoon and still not having caught a fish, the Admiral was sitting in the stern

of his litde boat, discouraged and about to order his guide to return to the

landing, when suddenly there came a terrific "strike" on his line, which had

drifted in the water and gradually sunk to the bottom. The Admiral galvanized

into action. For how long or how hard he played that fish is not recorded, but

ultimately he brought it in and found he had caught an unusually large trout,

which not only had some amazing peculiarities but weighed about sixteen

37
An Admiral's Yarn

pounds. He had never heard, seen, or read of such a trout, and at once tried the

same fishing tactics again. By dark that evening he had landed four more of the

great fellows. Having had what he considered the greatest fishing day of his life,

he returned to the ship with his catch, which completely mystified everyone

who saw the fish. The Admiral immediately took steps to identify the fish, but in

not one of his books on fish could he find a record of that kind. They were

undoubtedly ofthe trout family but a different type than described in the books.

Having more fish than he could use in his mess, the Admiral distributed large

pieces among the several officers' messes. On receiving its share, the steerage

pronounced it the most delicious trout they had ever eaten.

Unable to classify the trout himself, Admiral Beardslee sent one to the

University of California, requesting its Natural History Department to classify it. In a short time he was informed that while the fish undoubtedly belonged to the

trout family, it had certain characteristics peculiar to itself, developed probably

from some ordinary trout having been in the lake for generations, imprisoned

there through terrestrial upheaval that had dammed up a stream. So confined

and cut offfor generations in water that could not be reached by other trout, the

fish evidendy had gradually developed along lines enforced upon it. The

university gave the species a Latin name but also named it the "Beardslee Trout,"

by which it is still known.

What the "Beardslee Trout" did for Lake Crescent and Port Angeles you

must see to appreciate. Port Angeles became the place from which to reach Lake

Crescent, and Lake Crescent became a fisherman's "mecca," and therefore a renowned pleasure resort in an area full ofbeautiful lakes and mountains. Hotels

and cottages were built as well as a macadam highway from Port Angeles. Later,

the Olympic Highway, which runs along the south shore of the Strait ofJuan de

Fuca from Puget Sound to the sea, afforded direct access by automobile to Port

Angeles from the whole Northwest. An auto ferry connects with Victoria in

Canada on Vancouver Island, a railroad affords transportation to the east, and

Puget Sound's large steamers touch there daily. Tourist travel to and from Lake

Crescent and Port Angeles is heavy, and the lake is advertised all over the

Northwest, even in nationally read magazines, as the home of the "Beardslee

Trout." Enough are caught each season to retain its name and reputation.

In 1935, when I was in command of the Battle Force during its visit to the

Port Angeles and Puget Sound area, I was amazed to see the changes that had

been made by the industrial growth of the great Northwest. Also in port at that

time were several British ships. They were maintained on the Pacific Coast by

the Dominion of Canada, and the officers of the two navies met frequently in

the ensuing social activities. One day in Seattle we were together on a yacht to

38
Middy Days in Puget Sound

watch some naval boat races held on Lake Washington. The captain of one ofthe

Canadian ships and I, who were sitting together, noticed as we steamed along the

shoreline many large signs of advertisement. One which caught my eye

advertised Lake Crescent as the home of the "Beardslee Trout." Later, in

Victoria, I met an old and very dear friend of Admiral Beardslee to whom the

Admiral had not only written about his famous catch but had sent pictures of

the fish. She recovered them from storage and sent them to me—greatly

treasured to this day, I assure you.

We anchored at the British Naval Station just across the strait from

Victoria—a charming little town called "Esquimalt," with a decided English

background. But like our ports in that area, it was quite "wide open." There we

made our first contact with a foreign naval ship, which was most interesting. The

exchange of "national salutes" as the Philadelphia entered the Canadian port, the

exchange of gun salutes between the two admirals, the numerous official calls

between the officers, and the luncheons, dinners, and receptions given by each

navy to honor the other, were all new experiences to us middies.

At all official affairs in those days there was considerable drinking, and the

group from one ship would always try to outdrink a similar group from the

other ship—especially to put them "under the table." It was an expensive habit,

but we were sorry to leave after a few days with those delightful English officers.

After leaving Victoria we visited Port Townsend, Seattle, Tacoma, Olympia,

Port Orchard, Everett, Bellingham, and finally Vancouver, B.C., each port being

very attractive and interesting to us. Our first stop, Port Townsend, presented us with quite a different picture from

the other towns on Puget Sound, since not long before we arrived there had

been a great boom to make it the greatest seaport of the Pacific Northwest. Port

Townsend had many qualifications for such a status. It is beautifully situated and

has a large, deep, and well-sheltered harbor with an excellent shoreline for piers

and warehouses. It also is the Puget Sound port nearest and most accessible to

the sea, and every ship that enters or leaves Puget Sound must pass close to the

town. Under such circumstances it is litde wonder that in visualizing the sea trade of the Northwest, many had the idea that Port Townsend was destined to

become a great port, and thus the boom started. Heavy forests were cleared,

streets were surveyed, business buildings and houses were started, and Port

Townsend became a typical "boom town."

Unfortunately, for all its qualifications, Port Townsend—on the west side of

the sound—did not have the means to handle cargoes, except by water; there

were no rail facilities. To reach Port Townsend, railroads working eastward

would be obliged to build many miles of track over rough country to pass

39
An Admiral's Yarn

around Puget Sound, which could not be bridged. Railroads, which became

essential to handling freight to and from the great country, had no difficulty

finding excellent harbors on the eastern side of the sound where the short

additional water hauls for cargoes were as nothing compared with the freight

shipment from Port Townsend.

It was truly a dead city when we first saw it. Underbrush had taken over the

miles of prepared city blocks, buildings started in the boom days had been

abandoned, and the citizens were depressed with financial difficulties. Visiting

there brought acute sadness. In the years since then, however, Port Townsend has

recovered to a marked extent owing to its excellent location, and it still remains

a port of entry for Puget Sound shipping. It provides the quarantine and custom

inspections, and one transcontinental railroad has a spur around the sound that

reaches to Port Townsend and Port Angeles. Fine highways open the Olympic

peninsula to auto traffic, and there is lumbering, fishing, and some farming in the

cleared areas near the city—and, of course, it is still very beautiful.

Next we went to Seattle, where we found things very different, for even in

1895 it was very much alive, busy, and bustling. In the rivalry between the two

cities on the sound to become the great seaport of the Northwest, even then

Seattle was well in the lead. While still crude and rough as a city, the people were

charming and showered us with hospitality. Seattle's fine harbor, beautiful hills,

and transcontinental railroads, and the vast and productive northwest country it opened for trade via the sea assured its greatness.

There was intense rivalry between Tacoma (about thirty miles distant) and

Seattle, two cities almost exactly alike in natural resources, beauty, charm of

inhabitants, life, business, and accessibility to the resources of the vast country

behind them. But probably because it was nearer the sea, Seattle became the

great seaport of the Northwest, and the rivalry eventually ceased. In the nineties,

however, there was some jealousy over the name of that magnificent peak, Mt.

Rainier—so near both cities as to overshadow them. In Seattle it was always

called Mt. Rainier, but it was "Mt. Tacoma" if you lived in Tacoma—and woe

betide anyone who called it Mt. Rainier.

Our visits to other Puget Sound ports were less exciting than those to Seatde

and Tacoma, for they were still small and undeveloped. At Port Angeles we had

to spend much time in drilling and preparing our "landing force" of about two

hundred and fifty men for exercises on shore, and at each of the ports we visited,

we landed a force to give exhibition drills. These were gala days in the town, and

nothing more exemplifies the conditions of that time than the closing of most

local shops in order that "all hands" could watch the drill.

40
Middy Days in Puget Sound

We later visited Port Orchard, where the Navy had acquired a tract ofland on

the shore for a Navy Yard. Our Admiral wished to see what progress was being

made on a dry dock there. We were not much impressed by what we saw. Where

there were dense forests in 1895, today stands not only one of our largest, busiest,

and best-equipped Navy yards but also the flourishing twin cities ofBremerton

and Charleston.

Our cruise in Puget Sound ended late in November when the Philadelphia

went south to spend the winter in southern California ports. San Francisco was

still the great metropolis of the West, and our stay of several weeks there was

filled with the joys ofliving that even to this day are its greatest charm. After the

Christmas holidays we were on our way to southern California.

41

VII

Middy Days in Southern California

WEWENT FIRST TO SANTA BARBARA, that delightful old town of

Spanish descendants and their customs, where the residents lived the

easy-going old Spanish way of life and to which visitors came from all over the

East to enjoy.

Built along the sea, where mountains rise behind it, and blest with a sunny

climate that seldom changes, Santa Barbara seemed to hold all the pleasures that

one could desire, with its natural beauty and ease of living.

Our visit there was all too brief, but before we left we were introduced to

horseback riding—a novel sport for sailors, which became most popular. No

sooner would a liberty party reach shore then it would stampede to the livery

stables. Very shortly, the principal street of the town, State Street, would become

a race course for sailors on horseback. The street was not paved and made a good

track for them; up and down rode our sailors at full gallop, waving their arms. But, strange to say, they never tumbled.

The Philadelphia's next stops were in Santa Monica, Redondo Beach, and San

Pedro, that the Admiral might examine and report on the possibilities of a seaport for the growing city of Los Angeles. As I recall, although Los Angeles

then had a population of only seventy thousand, it was growing fast, and while

there was still no evidence of oil, only little indication of the tremendous

productivity water would bring to the surrounding country, and no reason to

believe that an enormous seaborne trade would develop there, the city was,

nevertheless wanting ofand demanding a harbor that would give it access to the

sea. Hence, among the three places we visited, there was great rivalry.
An Admiral's Yarn

At Santa Monica (off one of the finest of California beaches) we found, upon

anchoring, no protection at all from the long Pacific swells that rolled and rolled

for the next few days. Making the trip ashore would have been both difficult and

dangerous, and we could see no reasonable way to build a suitable and sufficient

breakwater there.

We steamed a few miles down the coast to Redondo Beach, another stretch

lying on the northwest side of Cape Vicente [today the Palos Verde Peninsula].

The possibilities of a port there were a trifle better, since the area was somewhat

protected by the Cape and San Pedro Hill from easterly and southeasterly gales

and seas, but the long Pacific swells were ever rolling in, and the wallowing ofthe

ship made life unbearable.

We then went around Cape Vicente to San Pedro Bay just east of Point

Fermin, where we found some protection against the easterly, stormy weather.

Even then, our Admiral realized it would be a tremendous task to build a port

there and gave much thought to the weather before recommending San Pedro as a seaport for Los Angeles.

To see now the great San Pedro [Long Beach today] port, it is almost

impossible to visualize what it was in 1896. Ofbreakwaters, piers, inner harbors, or storehouses there was barely a hint. The only shipping was the twice weekly

steamers that ran up and down the coast of California, the occasional trips ofthe

little boats to Catalina, a few sailing ships delivering lumber and reloading with

hides, and several small fishing boats. There may have been a tugboat or two, but

as a seaport, with its small, rickety pier, it had few advantages. A mile or so down

the shore, where today rises the fine, modern city ofLong Beach, there was only

the long stretch of beautiful white sand.

Despite its undeveloped state, San Pedro had been connected with Los

Angeles, some twenty-two miles distant, by a branch line of one of the

transcontinental railroads. There were some fairly good dirt roads between the

two cities, but taken as a whole, what is now one of the great seaports of the

world seemed, in 1896, a desolate place.

Today, practically all the ships of the United States Fleet find safe and secure anchorage there, and a huge amount of overseas commerce is handled in that

harbor. Little did I think that I would ever see a great port and large cities there,

much less that I would someday command the Battle Force of the U.S. Navy

anchored in security in the magnificent harbor of the port of Los Angeles.

When our Admiral finished his inspection of San Pedro, we proceeded to San

Diego Bay—then about the middle ofjanuary—and anchored midway between

the boat landings of Coronado and San Diego, to remain for about three

months.

44
Middy Days in Southern California

While there, we worked hard to maintain the ship in complete readiness for

jobs that an independendy operating cruiser might be called upon to do to

protect the interests of the United States in a foreign country. To this end, we

carried out a weekly schedule of drills that trained us for contingencies we

believed might arise. In addition to gunnery work, we held landing force drills of

all kinds, as well as fire, collision, and arms drills; we also devoted much time to

training our landing force for indefinite stays on shore under conditions of war. A camp was then established on the then vacant North Island—now the site of

the U.S. Fleet's great Naval Air Station. There the men were given target practice

with field pieces, rifles, and revolvers. They were taught how to occupy and

control areas in cities and countrysides, and were trained in the fighting

techniques of Marines and soldiers.

Our training duties that winter did not consume all of our time, since five

weekday mornings were devoted to drills on ship or shore, while Saturday

mornings were "field days" spent scrubbing and cleaning the ship inside and out

for inspections held on Sunday. At other times, the half ofthe ship's company not

on watch was allowed shore leave, which was devoted to the enjoyments of

southern California life; both residents and Eastern visitors were most hospitable

and delightful. Since then, the lovely homes surrounded by wonderful flower

gardens and the rarity offreezing temperatures have changed very little, and the

introduction of electricity, gas, and water have brought many conveniences and

comforts to the residents. The population has grown tremendously, and business

activities, generally, have flourished.

During our stay in San Diego, the city was flooded with tourists who filled

the famous old Coronado Hotel, which became the center of our contact with

visitors. Our Admiral made the Coronado Hotel, which is as famous today as it was fifty years ago, the shore abode for his family. Because the social activities of

the visiting Easterners centered there, the hotel was frequently the mecca of us youngsters when on shore leave. Not only were we generally given delightful

rooms, but we found there were several dances each week in the great ballroom.

Thus, with the certainty, too, of good food, the Coronado Hotel appealed to us

greatly.

Whenever there was a dance at the hotel, our Admiral ordered all junior

officers not on duty to attend it in uniform, and we would all be on hand with

the other guests when the dance started. We would meet the Admiral and his

wife in one of the reception rooms, and they would lead our entry into the

ballroom. That gave us a good start. The Admiral was an imposing figure in full

uniform and his wife equally attractive and charming.

45
An Admiral's Yarn

Quite naturally our interests did not center entirely on the visitors to

California. We also were attracted to the permanent residents across the bay in

San Diego and members of the wardroom became acquainted with several very

charming young ladies.

There was one group that particularly interested us. We saw a beautiful

rowing barge putting across the bay, piloted entirely by young ladies. The barge

was of somewhat different build and rig but looked much like the rowing shells

used by the college crews. Instead ofyoung men, however, it was crewed by girls

in natty, attractive uniforms. Counting the coxswain, there were nine of them in

the boat, and when they rowed around the ship, every youngster went on deck

to have a look.

At first the crew seemed to take little interest in the ship or even us middies,

but when we noted that they came close to the ship at about the same time each

day and that it was up to us to do something about it, we invited them on board.

To our delight they accepted, and we soon, after introductions, established

friendly relationships.

That particular group ofyoung ladies had organized a rowing club, taking the

name of Zlacs, and it proved a lasting and popular one in San Diego. Many of

the original members were still Zlacs when I was stationed in San Diego thirty

years later, but their daughters were the rowing members, and I was delighted

when my own daughter became one of them.

When we left San Diego Bay in March, there began a life of gaiety that lasted

for nearly three months as the ship went from port to port, following the same

route taken by the Eastern visitors attending celebrations that were held during

that season by several towns along the coast. The first was the famous Flower

Carnival at Santa Barbara, where the festivals apparently originated. It was so beautiful and unique that visitors from far and wide came to see it. Since then

other festivals of flowers have been held in California, but they differ from the

carnival in Santa Barbara which was, at first, rather a social ebullition carried out

by the individuals of the town for their personal pleasure and to show their

flowers. Consequendy, floats were very small, horse-drawn vehicles, and riding

horses played a very important part in the displays which were bedecked with

gorgeous flowers.

The Flower Carnival was a gala week of entertainment, but the crowning

events were the Flower Parade and the Batde ofRoses, for I think every carriage,

coach, tally-ho, buggy, trap, and fancy cart—even one of the beautiful riding

horses in Santa Barbara—were decorated with flowers and entered in the parade.

The horses had beautiful saddles inlaid with silver coins, and silver appeared on

the harnesses. The caballeros who rode them wore handsome old Spanish

46
Middy Days in Southern California

costumes embroidered in silver and gold. The charming young ladies in their

flower-covered vehicles were exquisitely gowned in colors to match the flowers,

many carrying parasols of roses. The parade, after covering some distance, passed between what were called

"the tribunes"—stands erected on both sides of State Street for a block or more.

People not taking part in the parade sat in "the tribunes," each person with a basket of small bouquets. Those in the parade were similarly equipped, and as they passed between the tribunes, the "Battle of Roses" began with the tossing

back and forth of the flowers. A beautiful sight indeed, and when it ended, that

part of State Street was covered with a thick carpet of lovely flowers. The

carnival ended that evening with a ball, a beautiful affair at which I met the

young lady who was later to become my bride and life s companion.

We middies were sad to leave the following day for San Pedro. However, we

were to be the guests of Los Angeles during "La Fiesta" there—another gala

week of festivities ending with a flower parade and grand ball.

The ship's next stop was Port Orford, a small village which was then, as now,

the port for San Luis Obispo. While there was no particular celebration there,

we had a good time enjoying the hospitality of the residents who staged a grand

ball before we left. The memory of it remains, for just before the refreshments

were served, two men crossed the ballroom floor to the supper room carrying a full-sized galvanized washtub filled with ice and bottles of champagne.

Leaving Port Orford, we went to Monterey where a small anniversary

celebration connected with the annexation of California was being held, and we

were obliged to march in the parade.

The old Del Monte Hotel was then in its prime and filled with the very same

Eastern guests we had met in Coronado, Santa Barbara, and Los Angeles. Thus

we had charming company when we went in carriages on the famous

"Seventeen Mile Drive," or wandered through the hotel's enormous "Mystic

Maze," or attended the hotel's numerous dances. We were loathe to leave, but

Santa Cruz on the north side of Monterey Bay was holding its Water Carnival

the following week, and the ship was ordered there.

When we reached Santa Cruz, my days as a middy in the Philadelphia ended.

For some time we had known that the new battleship Oregon was being

completed in San Francisco, and that upon its commissioning the Philadelphia's

middies would be transferred to it. Thus we were expecting the change, though for me, it came sooner than

anticipated, since the very day we reached Santa Cruz, three of us received

orders to proceed at once to the USS Independence,

7 the old receiving ship of the

47
An Admiral's Yarn

Mare Island Navy Yard, where we were to attend to shipping supplies to the

Oregon.

There was not anything especially interesting in assembling those

stores—putting them on freight barges and starting them to the Oregon—but we

were kept busy doing it and only at night did we have an opportunity to renew

our Navy Yard friendships.

Having completed our duty at Mare Island, we went to San Francisco and

joined the Oregon.

48
VIII

In the Oregon

THE OREGON AND ITS SISTER SHIPS, Indiana and Massachusetts, were

88 the first modern battleships of steel built by the United States.

Compared with those of today, they were small, displacing only ten thousand

tons, and seemingly weak in offensive and defensive power. But they had heavy

guns and armor and sufficient speed, and we believed them to be invincible at

sea.Though too young and inexperienced to grasp the full meaning of such a marked change in naval ships, we did realize that we had to progress and work

harder to prepare ourselves to be efficient officers of the navy. The purpose of

the battleships was to fight and destroy ships ofevery type, while cruisers were to

protect the interests ofour country in various ports and parts ofthe world and to

control traffic on the seas. This new battleship, the Oregon, posed difficulties for the navy. Inexperience

in preparing a heavily gunned and armored ship for battle at sea raised problems

never before encountered. The ship's designers and builders confronted equal

problems in this new venture, striving for the impossible—to draw flawless plans

and to construct perfect offensive and defensive equipment. The minds of many

men, engaged for many months, worked on what to incorporate into the ship;

and although it had been launched in October 1893, the Oregon was not ready to

sail until June 1896. During those months we waited at the Union Iron Works in

San Francisco where the ship was built.

We followed the general hours of work observed in the navy, though details

were vastly different than those carried on in the Philadelphia. Our time off did
An Admiral's Yarn

not change materially, and we had many interesting experiences and much

enjoyment during our stay in San Francisco.

Our transfer to the Oregon brought a very welcome improvement in our

living conditions. While we were still in the steerage, even with more officers in

our mess we were not obliged to eat, sleep, and live in the messroom. While the

steerage of the Oregon would be considered utterly inadequate for even junior

officers today, in 1896 it seemed splendid to us. The messroom, though of very

peculiar shape because of the ship's armor, was large. Nearby were small rooms

that contained not hammocks but two or three bunks for sleeping. We thought

ourselves decidedly well off in the Oregon.

We found vast improvements such as the electric light plant which kept the

ship's interior lighted at all times, the modern facilities that preserved food in a refrigerator room, the mechanical devices for turning turrets and handling heavy

ammunition, the increased number of steam launches to help with boating, and

a ventilating system that kept the air fairly fresh throughout the ship. Improved

devices were of course essential in the great mechanical plants that our ships had

become in 1896, but the older officers seemed to think we youngsters were

getting soft. Thus arose the contemptuous remark—"In the old days we had

wooden ships and iron men, but in the new navy we have iron ships and wooden

men!" Having served in both types of ships with both types of men, however, I believe the manhood of the navy today is as great if not greater than the

improvement in its ships.

Midshipmen keenly enjoyed the cosmopolitan San Francisco of the nineties,

where we were received into the hospitality of the city and the social life. Some

rather enjoyed the wide open nightlife and the delicious and inexpensive food

found at most of the best bars. In fact, there were free delicacies for those

engaged in drinking. The most attractive was Pop Sullivan's place. We came to

know Pop Sullivan, who always welcomed us warmly and provided us "free

lunch" with our liquor. To a midshipman who had just $88 per month for food,

clothes, and all living expenses, Pop Sullivan's was a lifesaver and at once became

a gathering place for beginning and ending an evening on shore.

When we felt "flush," we would drop into some well-known restaurant for a meal, the finest at that time, in our opinion, being the Palace Hotel Grill where

for seventy-five cents one would be served a whole teal duck, fried potatoes,

bread and butter, coffee, and a dessert. At many smaller restaurants, several course

dinners with California wine were thirty-five cents. San Francisco is still famous

for its good food but not at the prices we midshipmen paid.

Even in the late nineties, only gold and silver coins were used; paper money

was not obtainable from the banks. I once tried to buy a pair of shoes with paper

50
In the Oregon

money, but the clerk would not accept it, and I had a difficult time changing it for gold.

Included in our principal amusements when on shore were the theaters,

operas at the Tivoli, melodramas at Morosco's, regular plays at the Baldwin, and

vaudeville at the Orpheum. Then, too, prizefighting was in its heyday in San

Francisco—then the home of the great James J. Corbett, champion of the world.

All the well-known fighters of the time gathered in San Francisco, and each

week Woodward's Pavilion would advertise a number ofimportant fights which

we were eager to attend if we had the price.

Of all the fighters we saw there, the most important to us middies was Tom

Sharkey, for at that time he was still in the navy and had been our shipmate and

master-at-arms on the Philadelphia. We were thrown in with him every day and

acquired great respect and friendship for him. He was a large and heavy-set man,

afraid of nothing, and one who thoroughly enjoyed a real fistfight. He always

looked every inch the sailor, especially because of the tattooing on his chest.

Even now when I think of Tom Sharkey, I see him as he appeared in the prize

ring, his fine body and great muscle development, with a full-rigged sailing ship

tattooed on his massive chest. And how he did fight, never losing once during

our time and generally winning by a "knockout." At one bout we saw him

tackle a fine, tall, active fighter from another ship who was heavily backed to beat

Sharkey. When the bell rang, they rushed at each other and went at it hammer

and tongs, but forty-five seconds later, Sharkey's opponent lay unconscious in

the ring, felled by one of Sharkey's terrific blows.

Between work on the ship and good times ashore, time flew for us in San

Francisco, and finally we were able to take our new battleship to sea. The older

officers had more confidence in her behavior afloat than we middies, noting the

tremendous weight of guns, turrets and armor, but fortunately all went well.

Our first cruise was to Acapulco in Mexico, and I think that even the older

officers were a bit awed. Many of them had acquired their sea experience on

wooden ships largely under sail, and none had ever served in a heavy, massive

ship like the Oregon. It required a week or more to reach Acapulco, and the

captain and navigator, who stayed right on the bridge for all of that time, were

thankful for a rest when we reached our designation.

Acapulco lies on a bay, and because of the high mountains and hills

surrounding the city, it has the appearance of a huge, extinct volcano. The hills

block breezes to the bay, and the beating down of the tropical sun makes the

harbor so insufferably hot that our great steel ship was like a red-hot oven. We anchored early in the morning and saw the flag of Admiral Beardslee

hoisted on the Philadelphia. Soon, a signal came from the Admiral announcing

51
An Admiral's Yarn

that he would make an official inspection of the Oregon at ten o'clock that

morning.

"Admiral's inspections" are complete and severe, for not only is a ship and its crew inspected thoroughly for cleanliness, appearance, and neatness, but its readiness for service is tested by drills for each and every one of the nearly

innumerable activities of the ship. A thorough job of inspection often required

two days of hard work, but because of the intense heat, Admiral Beardslee and

his staff completed it in one day—and seemed pleased with the condition of the

ship. Thus, our care and attention to training had borne fruit.

The details ofour battle drill were new to Admiral Beardslee, hence, when we

"cleared ship for action" and went to "general quarters," he found it difficult to

find a satisfactory place to observe. All the activities of the ship were carried on

from behind the armor of the casemates, armor belt, and turrets, and at one

point, when the Admiral became lost, his aide rescued him and took him to the

bridge and conning tower.

The drills seemed to go splendidly until the very last—held in the late

afternoon—the "abandon ship" drill. If a catastrophe occurs and a disabled ship

cannot remain afloat, all hands are expected to take to lifeboats in an effort to save as many lives as possible. Each lifeboat is to be equipped with specified

articles and food.

When I reported to the Oregon, I was placed in charge of a cutter and took

much pride in always having it perfectly equipped by personnel well trained in

providing the necessary rifles, pistols, ammunition, food, and water. On the way

south I had checked over every detail ofmy boat, so that at inspection time I was

confident that the boat was ready in every way for abandoning ship. I was a rather cocky middy when my boat came to the ship's gangway for inspection.

The inspection officer directed me to show him each one of the required

articles, the last one being the boat's bucket, which I grabbed by its bale, holding

it out for him to see. When he asked me to "shake it," I did so and alas, although

brand new, the intense heat had dried the wood and the bucket flew apart. This

left me a dazed and shocked middy. I felt that a fine inspection of my boat had

been utterly wrecked by this mishap; fortunately the inspector took it as a joke

on me—knowing it was a lesson I would never forget.

As soon as the inspection was finished, the Admiral returned to the

Philadelphia and put to sea—evidentiy in a hurry to leave the terrific heat of

Acapulco—and how we envied them as we were obliged to remain several days

longer to complete some necessary machinery adjustments. The heat put such a burden on our new refrigerating system that it broke down completely and our

cold storage, which held two months' supply of fresh meat and vegetables,

52
In the Oregon

became a hot box. Decay took place rapidly and we worried over getting rid of

the spoiled meat which could not be dumped overboard while in port.

Fortunately the repair work went so well that we were able to leave Acapulco

sooner than expected. Once at sea, we emptied our refrigerators, and after a thorough cleansing, we felt quite shipshape again.

Our next stop was that wonderful body of water in lower California,

Magdalena Bay. In all the world there is probably not a more perfect harbor, but

because it is so distant from a populous area and entirely surrounded by desert

country, with few natural resources, it is doubtful that it will ever become

important for commerce. While its waters teem with fish and its surrounding

mountains are beautiful, there is almost no vegetation or fresh water, and very

few people could exist there in the nineties. Still, to those who go there in ships,

Magdalena Bay has many attractions. We made the most ofits possibilities in our

training work, with splendid advantage to the ship and to ourselves.

Perhaps the most important aspect of our training was target practice. While

the Oregon's guns and mountings had been tested by firing, it was not until we

arrived in Magdalena Bay that we could approximate firing them under battle

conditions or give the gun crews practice in marksmanship. The Magdalena

training period became a vital one, especially for our gun crews. As my station for battle was to command the forward port 8" turret, I was

very busy in Magdalena Bay. Day after day I trained my crew in the details of

loading, pointing, and firing those 8" guns. Of course, the crews of every turret

and gun in the ship were trained in the same manner—but my own turret was

all-important to me.

Naval gunnery at that time was quite different from that of today. The

development of rapidity and accuracy in gunfire was given little attention, and

although longer range and higher powered guns were being installed in the

ships, every navy was still unversed in how they could be used to best advantage.

Hence, the training focused on the handling of guns. Accuracy in pointing and

aiming was particularly important, and, having taught our crews how to load and

handle the guns, we believed their gunnery training was complete and that our

ship was ready to test its ability by firing at a target. But our target practice was as crude and undeveloped as our other gunnery work, because our ship would be

either at anchor or stopped dead in a perfectly smooth sea. Guns would always

be fired individually and at ranges of about a thousand yards and, instead of

testing the accuracy of the fire on an actual target, a marker was put out as an

aiming point of a theoretical target. Whether or not a shot hit that theoretical

target, which was supposed to be as large as a ship, was determined by means of

observers with rakes—one on the ship to ascertain how many degrees a shot

53
An Admiral's Yam

went to the right or left of the marker and another in a boat abreast the target at right angles to the line of fire, to note the distance if a shot was over or short of

the marker.

Knowing what can be done in gunnery today, we can only marvel at the

crudities of the nineties. Under target practice conditions at that time, we could

not even measure how close our gunfire came to the target, because reports from

the boat near the target and those from the ship were not in accord. To my mind,

the object of the target practice was to hit the point of aim. So, when we began

firing from my turret, I kept making such changes in sight-setting that I deemed

necessary for accuracy. Hence, very shordy after my turret began firing, shells

began falling near the target. I jumped with glee when the target was hit and

demolished. Then I suffered a blow that I shall never forget, for not only did the

executive officer and others of high rank berate me for carelessness, but even the

captain called me to the bridge to tell me I had spoiled the day's firing by ruining

the target. The desire to complete a target practice was always so great that any

occurrence that caused delay was sure to bring condemnation—but I had not

known that when the Oregon had begun its practice at Magdalena Bay. Today,

thank heaven, we no longer fire at theoretical targets, and woe betide the

gunnery officer who fails to make a hit.

Because our refrigerator plant broke down in the heat of Acapulco, we

arrived in Magdalena Bay without fresh provisions, planning to look ashore for

food. As soon as we dropped anchor, however, a small boat came alongside with

a giant green sea turde so common in lower California. Hungry for almost any

kind of fresh meat, the officer of the deck at once began to bargain for it. It must

have weighed at least one hundred and fifty pounds, and much to our surprise

the fisherman offered it for fifty cents. That started quite a traffic in turdes.

Although we caught many other kinds of seafood, we still enjoyed the turtles

and found many different ways to cook them—turtle soup, turtle steaks,

croquettes, and stew were all popular. To meet our demand, the few men of the

Magdalena Bay area made it their number one job to capture the turtles across the bay on the beach where they deposited their eggs and basked in the sun. The

men would slip up on one, throw it on its back, and carry it to their boat to

deliver to the Oregon (and as the demand grew), the price was raised to

seventy-five cents). Then the thought came to us that our friends in San

Francisco might enjoy some of these fine turtles. Many of the officers acquired

some for that purpose, so before we sailed we built a pen out of the balcony on

the port side of the superstructure to hold fifteen or more turtles. Each had its owner's name painted on its back, and once very four hours, by order of the

officer ofthe deck, the fire hose was brought out to spray the turtles. They were a

54
In the Oregon

great deal of trouble, and the officers who owned them finally lost interest.

They also realized the great difficulty in presenting them to their San Francisco

friends, so the turtles were given, finally, to a huge market.

We arrived in San Francisco and went once more to the Union Iron Works

for our final work. That done, the ship spent several days in speed trials and then

anchored in San Francisco Bay. Just as we approached the Golden Gate on our

return, the ship had a most extraordinary experience—one that is not soon

forgotten.

As is so often the case during the early morning hours, a dense fog so completely obliterated the entrance to the bay that the captain decided to

anchor in the clear atmosphere of Drake s Bay, a few miles north of the Golden

Gate, until the fog lifted. Drake's Bay was beautiful that morning. The air was

perfecdy clear, and the mountains reflected their glory in the water, which did

not have a ripple. Except for the very long, low swells that rolled in from the

ocean, there seemed to be little movement of any kind. Heading into that low

swell as the anchor was dropped, the ship seemed as steady as a church, and my

friend "Stephen Victor" [probably Stephen Victor Graham] and I started

walking up and down the port quarter deck in keen enjoyment, little reckoning

what was about to happen.

Ships that anchor in a swell when there is not enough wind to keep the ship

heading into the rollers gradually work around to a position broadside to the

swells. The ship then rolls with the swells, and usually the amount ofroll depends

on the length of the swell. Therefore, no one gave notice when the Oregon was

broadside to the slight swell that was running.

Now a rolling ship sets like a pendulum or swing, and we all know that by

giving a swing little pushes in its downward motion, the total swing will be

increased. By synchronizing the push or "run under" with the movement ofthe

swing, its descending arc stretches larger and larger. This is also true for a ship as

it rolls in the arc of the swells. The length of time for a ship's roll is known as a "period." The elapsed time between successive wave crests passing a fixed point

is the "period" for the swells. It is very unusual for the two periods to be exactly

the same length, and for that reason the two seldom synchronize. They may start out and stay fairly close together for a short time, but ultimately the two rolling

factors begin to clash. While the two periods synchronize, swells gradually

increase a ship's roll, but as the synchronization abates, the rolls of a ship slacken.

Because synchronization is generally brief, sailors seldom worry over a ship's

rolling. Quite naturally, no one on the Oregon worried when their ship got into

the trough of the almost imperceptible swells and started to roll. But walking up

and down the quarter deck, Stephen Victor and I began to note that the rolls

55
An Admiral's Yarn

were gradually increasing to what seemed greater than possible in such a small

swell. Finally I said to Stephen, "If this roll increases, the ship's rail will go

under." On the very next roll the water came to the edge ofthe deck, and with

the one following, part of the quarter deck went under and we had to scramble

to keep above water. We were then abreast of the after turret and realized that

the next increase in the roll would hit it and dip the lifeboat under. The ship was

then rolling so far to starboard that Stephen and I walked right up the side ofthe

turret, got hold of the sight hoods on top, and clung there as the ship rolled the

other way and the port lifeboats went under while the water came halfway up

the side of the turret. That roll most have been well over 60° to one side, and it was very evident that if the rolls increased the ship would be on its beam ends.

Fortunately quick action already taken by the officer of the deck saved the day,

and we learned a never-to-be-forgotten lesson in good seamanship.

It happened that because the captain wanted the ship to enter Golden Gate as soon as the fog cleared, the anchor was no sooner down than the chain was

"brought to," steam was put on the anchor engine and made ready to "heave in."

The fact that that was done instead of merely dropping and securing the anchor,

as is the usual procedure, is probably the only thing that prevented a terrible

catastrophe. For no sooner did the officer of the deck observe the perfect

synchronization of the periods of the sea and ship, than he rushed toward the

anchor engine calling out, "Heave round," "Heave round." Although a ship at anchor will assume a position in the trough of the swells when there is no wind

blowing, the anchor and chain that hold the ship will usually lie 90° from the

direction the ship is headed and in the direction from which the sea is coming.

Hence, as soon as the ship lying across a swell starts heaving in, the very first strain on the chain tends to draw the ship's head toward the swell. That is exactly

what happened to the Oregon. The anchor engine started as soon as the order

"heave in" was given and immediately there came a strain on the chain, the ship's

head turned through a few degrees and the Oregon righted into the swells and

was soon without any roll at all. However, the tremendous rolls the ship had

suffered did considerable damage aboard, for every article that could move from

side to side was dashed, as the ship rolled, and we heard crashes all during the

excitement. To prevent a recurrence, the captain got the ship underway, and as the fog was disappearing, he stood on into San Francisco Bay where we thought

our rolling troubles were over. Alas they were not.

In those days, the only deep-water channel leading to the Golden Gate from

the sea was Bonita channel. It is near and parallel to high, mountainous cliffs until Point Bonita is reached, and then a turn of about 90° takes a ship straight

through Golden Gate. Bonita channel is probably a mile or two long, and in

56
In the Oregon

standing through it a ship has the rolling Pacific swells right abeam. Then,

because they come in over a large shoal called the "Potato Patch," the swells

become much higher and steeper than in the open sea, although their period

remains the same. Hence, as the Oregon stood down Bonita channel on a course

that could not be changed without running the ship on the shoal or cliffs, the

terrible rolling started once more, and even worse than before, as the steepness of

the waves caused a sudden drop of the ship when it was already nearly on its beam ends. So terrific was the pounding and rolls in Bonita Channel that it seemed doubtful we could keep control of the ship until the turn at Bonita

where the synchronization of the ship and waves would be broken.

The strain of those few moments was terrific. To keep from being thrown

from side to side and badly injured, all hands clung to whatever was available. Yet

while so clinging, the captain still had to use his utmost skill in seamanship to

work the ship's head a degree or two one way or the other to meet the

tremendous seas and prevent the wreck of our country's newest and finest

battleship as well as the loss of eight or nine hundred lives.

Our captain never wavered under the strain, and at about the instant when I thought there was not a chance for us, he ordered "hard a-starboard," the helm

was thrown over, and in a few seconds the ship began its turn around Point

Bonita. Almost at once the roll and pounding stopped and the great Oregon,

without any visible damage, stood majestically into San Francisco Bay where it was anchored off the city.

It was fortunate for the Oregon and for the United States that there were not

any newspaper reporters on board on that trip, for had there been, it is probable

the great, new ship might have been condemned by the press as unseaworthy.

Newspapers, in fact, paid little attention to out visit, and only meager accounts of

the terrible rollings ofthe ship were ever published, allowing the steps to correct

this tendency to be taken in a quiet, methodical way. Doing that was not difficult, as the principal thing, of course, was to make a slight change in the ship's rolling

period so that it would not be quite so near the elapsed time between the crests of the Pacific swells. One of the first steps in accomplishing this was to provide

the Oregon with 'what are known as "bilge keels." The idea was not new even

then, for when great steel battleships for heavy fighting at sea became our

country's policy, bilge keels were decided upon as a means to reduce the ship's

roll and provide a better gun platform. The keels were merely very long, fin-like

protuberances attached to a ship's bottom well below the waterline at the turn of

the bilge. Being at about right angles to the hull's surface and extending over half

the length of a ship, the resistance of the keels would naturally slow and reduce a

ship's roll, tending to produce steadiness. There was not a dry dock on the Pacific

57
An Admiral's Yam

Coast large enough to take our ship immediately, but very shortly the dock that

we had seen being built in the woods of Puget Sound at Port Orchard was

completed, and the Oregon was ordered there to have the bilge keels installed.

In the spring of 1897 the Oregon arrived at what is now Puget Sound Navy

Yard. We found the Yard little changed from what we middies had seen when

there on the Philadelphia a year and a half before. It was still a place out in the

forest where a dry dock had been built, with only a few work ships and a pumping plant for the dock. We shuddered at the mere thought of putting our

huge magnificent battleship in such a dock, and I fear we youngsters were a bit

skeptical over what might happen when we did so. But orders were orders and

the work to be done was essential, so on we went with the docking.

Compared to dry docks today, the first one in Puget Sound was a small affair.

It was only large enough to take a ship of about the Oregon's size, 10,000 tons.

Even for that size ship, a high tide was necessary to ensure enough water on the

dock's sill to float the ship over it. Therefore, docking was chosen for the time of

the highest tide during the lunar month, taking utmost precaution to ensure the

water would be high enough to meet the draft requirements.

On a Sunday morning when the time of high water would be between ten

and eleven o'clock, the ship was moored close to the entrance headed into the

dock to be prepared to enter without delay at high water slack. Mooring in that

position was a simple matter, since when the dock was built, a large pier had

been constructed extending out from the south side ofthe dock's entrance, and a row ofpile bollards had been driven along the north side ofthe approach parallel

to the pier. By moving the ship between the pier and row ofbollards, it was ready

to be pulled into the dock the instant the tide reached its greatest elevation.

Unfortunately, the strength and direction of the wind can cause

unpredictability in the tides. A strong wind blowing up or down a long stretch of

tidal water causes the depth of a tide to become greater or less than predicted.

The wind in Puget Sound that morning was against the inward tidal current.

Therefore, the rise of the tide at the dock was too low to permit the ship to pass over the sill. For that reason it was decided to postpone the docking until the

next high water, which would be about eleven o'clock that night. To await the

tide, the ship was moored alongside the pier at the dock's entrance where crowds

of excursionists from Seattle could see it.

I had the twelve to four watch on the forecastle that afternoon, and when I came on duty, the officer of the deck warned me that the tide would drop

considerably and I was to be sure to slack off the mooring lines to the pier if they

became taut as the ship went down with the tide. That I might keep a more

careful watch on the lines, I stood on one of them as they continued to be slack

58
In the Oregon

until about two o'clock. Then, with the pier lined with people looking down on

the ship, it suddenly rolled far to starboard, and the lines became as taut as iron

bars. I immediately slacked them, off but as the strain left, the ship merely rolled over a little farther and stayed there.

It was painfully evident that the Oregon was hard and fast aground, resting

heavily on the port side ofits keel. The chart had shown a much greater depth of

water at the pier area during extreme low tide than even the Oregon would draw.

We were at a loss to account for what had happened. Our first reaction was to

take soundings all along the pier and port side of the ship, but to our amazement

every sounding showed fifteen or twenty feet more water than the Oregon was

drawing. We used the mooring lines and all available tugs in our attempt to pull

the ship off, but it simply would not budge. We then inspected the double

bottoms and found that for a length of about seventy feet, the outer skin and

frames of the ship were badly "dished in" where the Oregon was touching.

Nothing could be done during the falling tide, and as there were not any breaks

in the hull, the captain decided to let the ship rest until high tide floated it again.

At high tide that night there was sufficient depth of water on the dock's sill, and

midnight found our battleship safely in the dock.

Ofcourse the damage to the Oregon was considerable, and all of the outer hull

frames and plates at the turn ofthe port bilge had to be removed. Although there

could be no doubt of the ship having rested heavily on something, we were still unable to locate the trouble. Starting at daylight the next morning, we took

soundings all over the approach to the dock, but never once did we get a showing of insufficient water. Even in the lowest of the waters there, the Oregon

could float. Nevertheless, an obstruction of some sort was there. Finally the

captain laid a network oflines between the pier and bollards and had a sounding

taken of every square foot of the bottom. After a long time, a diver was sent

down and he found a line ofpiles sticking up from the bottom. It was upon these

piles that the ship had come to rest its great weight when the tide fell. After

investigation we learned that when the dock was constructed, the piles had been

used as a support for the coffer dam, and they had not been removed when the

dock was completed. Thus our new navy learned a never-to-be-forgotten

lesson.

Work was started at once on the bilge keels and to repair the hull. We

midshipmen took little part in it, however, for we soon left the ship for

Annapolis to take our final examinations at the Naval Academy. While the

examinations covered the higher theoretical book courses, they also covered the

practical side of naval work that we had gathered on our middy cruise. The

exams were very comprehensive and our marks were averaged with those in the

59
An Admiral's Yarn

Academy course. The tests were vitally important to us because they determined

our standing in the lineal list of the navy. All during our middy cruise we had

prepared for them, and after our return to Annapolis we were allowed a couple

of weeks to study for the examinations.

It was enjoyable for the remaining thirty-one or two classmates to meet again

and swap yarns about our cruises. It was also a relief to end our competitive work

as students and learn our place on the list of commissioned officers of the U.S.

Navy. We new ensigns were then ordered home on a month s leave to await out

assignments to various navy ships.

Before leaving the Washington area, I decided to interview the Detail Officer

in the Navy Department to learn where I might be ordered. Having had two

years in the Pacific, I had made written application for assignment to the Atlantic

Station but thought a personal request might improve my chances.

The Detail Officer receives requests from many officers, and he must consider

the various duties that each position will require. His role is a difficult one, and

he often becomes very unpopular. I received a cordial reception, and with every

assurance ofbeing sent to a ship in the Atlantic, I went on leave in a happy frame

of mind.

Imagine my shock, after being home for about ten days, to receive orders to

the USS Marion, an old wooden square-rigged sailing ship with auxiliary steam

power, then in Honolulu. While the jolt of being ordered to another three

years' cruise on the Pacific was considerable, the greatest displeasure for me came

from being assigned to one of the oldest "wooden tubs" in the navy. My recent

training had been in the newest and finest of steel ships, and I felt the blow very

keenly. But there was not a thing I could do about it, so I pocketed my pride and

went to Honolulu to join the Marion.

60
IX

The Woods Again

WHILE HAWAII IN 1897 was not the Hawaii of today, nor that often

and more years prior, it was still a kingdom that observed nearly all the old native customs. When I reached there it had become the Republic of

Hawaii, and the old element was losing some of its power to representatives

of the white race. New ways of life and government were gradually

usurping the old, although the population at the time was still preponderantly native and the islands only a foreign country to which the

Marion had been sent to protect United States interests, if necessary The

islands were, even then, strongly for annexation, so all the Marion had to do

was show the flag!

When I arrived, the ship was in the small harbor of Honolulu, moored at the

end ofthe "Man O' War" Row. To moor in the row, a ship had to drop anchor in

the middle of the harbor and then, with lines leading from its stern to some old

boilers on the coral reef, be hauled into position. A telephone line from the citywould be installed via the reef.

In such a small harbor the boating problems were simple, and although the

ship was only a five-minute pull from the landing, our own boats were seldom

used for transportation to shore, as we were constandy surrounded by those

manned by natives eager for regular customers. In addition to this regular work,

when a passenger steamer entered port, the "boat boys" would swim alongside it and dive for pennies and other coins that passengers would throw into the water.

If ever a coin escaped them, I did not hear of it. Their boats, which

accommodated two or three passengers, were well-kept, fine-pulling boats,
An Admiral's Yarn

beautifully painted, with each name displayed on the stern, inside and out. The

boat service was perfect, except on three occasions when a boat boy got drunk.

One evening shortly after I arrived, my shipmate, "Brit" England, and I were

going off to the ship for dinner. We went down to the boat landing and, as usual,

it was surrounded by boat boys. Among them was "Sam," who was Brit's

particular boy. On the way over to the ship, "Brit" said to him, "What would you

do if I gave you an extra quarter?" "Oh," said he, "I'd get drunk." We asked how

that could be done on a quarter and Sam assured us it was easy if he drank

"swipes." That was a very strong and cheap form of rum distilled from a by-product of refined sugar. "Well," said Brit, "Here's the quarter, and when I return ashore in about an hour you had better be good and drunk." "All right, I will," said Sam. After we had our dinner, Brit and I found that Sam had sent my

boat to the ship to take us ashore, but there was no sign of Sam, even though he

was the only one who knew that we wanted a boat at that particular time.

Rather surprised, we immediately, upon landing, inquired ofthe boat boys about

Sam. Almost as one man they replied, "In his boat drunk, like he said." Sure

enough, there Sam lay, as thoroughly drunk as he could be.

Living in our ship with its excellent telephone and boat service to Honolulu,

we used our free time to enjoy Hawaii. The Marion, of course, followed the usual

navy routine ofcalling "all hands" at five o'clock, cleaning ship, and polishing the

"bright work" until nine-thirty. The weekly routine of drills or inspections was

carried out until eleven-thirty, when the "watch" on duty took over the ship's

work until the next morning, allowing those not on duty to go ashore.

Honolulu was not the large, sprawling city that it is now. Its people,

numbering about thirty thousand, were clustered rather near the harbor and the

business section of the city, the outlying areas being devoted mostly to

agricultural activities.

There were few rail or trolley cars, practically all transportation being by foot or horseback, by bicycles, or by carts and carriages over unpaved streets and

country roads that led to the numerous homes and villages 'round about. The

center of tourist activity was the old Royal Hawaiian Hotel near the town and,

as now, near the Waikiki Beach where the swimming was delightful.

Waikiki has changed much since 1897 when it was just a great, long stretch of

sand some distance inside the reef over which the Pacific swells rolled or broke

before coming up on the beach. The only structures one could see along the

beach were bathhouses, all else being open country covered with rice and taro

fields, with palm trees growing here and there. At the eastern end the old

mountain crater, "Diamond Head," rose majestically, and at the other end of the

beach was the Honolulu harbor. In the background were the beautiful

62
The Woods Again

mountains of Oahu. The warm, balmy air, the delightful tropical temperature of

the water, and the delicious languor in lying on the beach amid such beautiful

surroundings entranced everyone. Waikiki became a great social gathering place.

While the beautiful Hawaiian moonlight turned it into a veritable fairyland

during the full moon, the Royal Hawaiian band played in nearby Rapiolani

Park. How romantic it all was. However, not all of our free time was devoted to Waikiki, moonlight,

Hawaiian music, and romance, for there were other places to visit which were

perfectly fascinating. When we could afford a horse and buggy, we drove to the

places of glorious beauty which today remain the great scenic attractions,

although now with paved roads leading to them and automobiles whisking

along too quickly for one to fully appreciate the beauty of the surrounding

country. In 1897 it took an entire day to drive up Tantalus, the highest mountain

on the island of Oahu; a half-day for a trip to the Pali; an afternoon to visit the

"Punch Bowl" (the old extinct volcano now inside the city limits) or the

outlying plantations or beautiful valleys where waterfalls were everywhere.

Such pleasures were quite routine for visitors to Honolulu, but occasionally

there were other events to enjoy, and I was especially fortunate in having my

friend Dan from San Francisco to experience them with me. Dan, who was

about my age, was the son of a San Francisco banker and seemed to have about

everything a young man could wish for—good looks, money, free time, and the

happy, winsome ways of his charming ancestors—perhaps too attractive for his

own good. In any event, his father thought it best for him to leave San Francisco,

go to Hawaii, and take charge of a coffee plantation which his father had given

him. Dan came to the Island of Hawaii all right, but he seemed to prefer

Honolulu life to that on a plantation and took quarters at the Royal Hawaiian

Hotel. He remained there, where he at once established close intimacy with the

leading families ofthe city, whatever race or nationality. Wanting companionship

when he arrived, he got in touch with me, and I offered what hospitality was

available, based mostly on the attractions of the islands that I have mentioned.

But there were some attractions that were peculiar to the Hawaiians and not

usually open to visitors, so when Dan was invited to those rare parties, he

generally took me along.

One night we were asked to an old-time Hawaiian hula dance, which in those

days decidedly lacked refinement. (And because of their lewdness were finally

regulated under the laws ofthe Republic.) The hulas oftoday retain many ofthe

less lascivious motions and actions of the old ones. Their interpretations are considerably different and far more beautiful to watch.

63
An Admiral's Yam

Under the circumstances, the old hula in 1897 had to be a very secret affair

and was difficult to plan. It so happened that this hula could be arranged because

of a rising and already prominent young lecturer, Burton Holmes, who was

visiting Hawaii for the first time, seeking material for a lecture. Quite naturally,

he sought to learn about the old Hawaiian customs, the most famous ofall being

the hula dance.

Wishing to see only the authentic, true Hawaiian hula, Mr. Holmes got in

touch with the former king's old master who agreed, I suppose for a "considerable consideration," to arrange for a hula such as the king himself

would have given. As he did not dare to stage it in the city, it was given in a

native's house far up the mountain, which in reality was a very large lanai, not

unlike a dancing pavilion.

Those of us attending the hula met at a hotel where I expected to see a fairly

large group of guests, but to my amazement there were only four in the party:

Burton Holmes and his secretary, Dan, and I. Waiting for us outside the hotel

was a mysterious looking light-weight bus driven by an elderly native and drawn

by a lively team of horses. Into that we piled and were rapidly driven up the

mountain over a narrow and tortuous road to the place where the dance was to

be held. So far as seclusion went, it seemed ideally isolated. We saw neither lights

nor people during the last half hour of our drive, and all remained dark until we

found the lanai, which, though perfectly dark from the outside, was well-lighted

within. Entering, we found about twenty or more Hawaiians ready for the hula,

about half ofwhom were musicians and the rest dancers—young Hawaiian girls

of the ages between fourteen and eighteen. The musicians had an unusual array

of instruments, mosdy made out of large, highly polished gourds on which they

could beat time to their chanting for the dance. The dancing girls wore only

grass skirts, to their knees, and flowers in their hair, leis around their necks, and

small decorations around their ankles added to their costumes.

Hawaiian girls of the age of those dancers are beautiful women. They have

not yet begun to get enormously fat as they generally do after the age of twenty;

they have not become as sun-burned as the older natives; they are graceful and

splendidly proportioned and have lovely features and complexions. With the

dancers standing in a row behind the musicians, who sat on the floor in a large

semicircle, the group made a wonderful picture.

We four guests were seated well in front ofthe musicians, and when the dance

was ready to start, immediately a door opened behind us and in came two huge

native men lugging a large tub. When they placed it on the floor in front of

Burton Holmes, I said to Dan, who was sitting next to me, "What in the world is

all that tub ofbooze for?" It was filled with bottles ofgin and beer. "Don't worry,

64
Tlte Woods Again

the beer is for the guests and the gin is for the natives." At that instant, the men in

charge of the liquor began opening bottles and pouring gin in ordinary water

tumblers. Then, to my surprise, each native present—musicians, dancers,

chanters, or whoever—was handed a glass and proceeded to down the contents,

gin neat, without batting an eye.

With that formality over and with the gin taking hold, the musicians at once

started the music while the dancers moved out in front of them, and the dance

was on. The first part of the hula was not unlike the lovely hulas of today, and

except for the absence of clothes, it was not suggestive and was really beautiful to

watch.

However, as the dancing continued, both musicians and dancers gradually

increased their fervor, though whether from physical emotions aroused by the

dance or from the additional glasses of gin each one took from time to time, I cannot say In any event, the dancers and musicians grew wilder and wilder, and

the girls, seemingly overwhelmed, became more and more lewd and suggestive

in their dancing. Each one of them seemed to select one of the guests to dance

to, and when her chosen one failed to respond, she would redouble her

lasciviousness.

What the outcome of an ancient hula was supposed to be, I can only guess,

but it evidently was to offer the dancers to the guests. At this point we decided

we had better go home. However, the girls clung to us and we had a difficult

time drawing away so that we could enter the bus for the drive back to

Honolulu.

A week or two went by before Dan and I were invited to another party. This

one was to be a luau, or native feast, attended by the leading Hawaiians of

Honolulu—a very fine affair of its kind, and Dan and I were the only white

people invited, so I was keen to accept.

On the day of the feast we engaged a horse and buggy and eventually found

our way to the place where it was to be held. The older members of families

were holding the luau, and they welcomed us royally. All spoke English perfectly

and dressed in the height of American fashion. They had grown up together in

the days ofthe kingdom and liked renewing their friendships at an old-time luau

circle in the atmosphere of old Hawaii. But none of the guests were our age, and

instead of sitting on the ground in a semicircle, we were seated at a temporary

table laid with up-to-date silver and china.

A servant passed a bowl ofwater and towel around the table so that the guests

could wash their fingers before dipping into the poi. The table was laden with

calabashes and native foods, the most conspicuous being bowls of poi, a product

of taro root, which, when cooked, is much like our oatmeal. There were dishes

65
An Admiral's Yarn

of sliced raw fish and snails, great platters of cut chicken rolled in tea leaves and

cooked over very hot stones, quantities of cooked yams, and many delicacies of

the island. It was a great display that included several varieties offruit. I was much

interested when my neighbor at the table described each one, adding that, being

a foreigner, I should not be tempted to taste all the dishes. In fact, when I sipped a

glass of liquor, I was warned that it was swipes and very strong; but the native

women all took a full tumbler and had their glasses refilled once. Eating poi is an art, using either two or three fingers dipped in the poi, stirred

around a bit, and then quickly put in the mouth. I ate little of it, as I did not care for the fermented taste, although I am told that it is an excellent and nourishing

food. I was doing very well with the chicken and yams when Dan sang out from

across the table, "Harrie, I'll eat a snail with you," and I prompdy reached for

one, much against the advice ofmy neighbor. I realized I had made a sad mistake,

thinking it would be similar to a raw oyster and slide down easily—but not the

snail. It was like a piece of leather that could not be chewed or swallowed and

had a most unpleasant taste. I worked on it for a long time with everyone at the

table watching me. Although there were no uncomfortable results, I lost my

appetite completely.

The other guests, however, found much pleasure in eating heavily and

drinking quantities of swipes, and after two or three hours moved to a large lanai

where native musicians had assembled, and we danced in the usual formal

European way. That form of dancing did not continue long. The musicians,

having imbibed freely ofswipes, ceased playing waltzes and two step—and from

then on there were only native airs that gradually became more and more

temperamental and seductive. Our hostesses were more familiar with the native

dances and enjoyed them, even though their dress in fashionable European

clothes appeared rather ludicrous. Although assured that the party was just

beginning, Dan and I decided it was time to go home.

While we officers found many personal enjoyments in Honolulu, none of us were disappointed when after three months the orders came for the Marion to

return to Mare Island to be taken out of commission; it was a very old wooden

ship that had to be shelved. We worked on it for some time to strengthen the

knees and frames in the bilges before taking our chances at sea. Before we left

Honolulu, the captain announced that we would proceed under sail, using the

engines only for leaving and entering port. That meant a much longer trip for

us; instead ofabout ten days under steam, it would be three times longer, because

under sail the prevailing winds would be dead against us on the direct course. Therefore we would have to go north to a much higher latitude than San

Francisco before we would find a favorable wind to take us to the Golden Gate.

66
The Woods Again

No one would have thought much of such a sea trip had the ship been just

starting on a cruise with a full supply of sea stores, but having been away for so long, our stores were very low, and for some months we had been living almost

entirely on fresh supplies obtained daily from shore. Our problem was to subsist

without carrying a lot ofsea stores and to make the fresh supplies last a month or more at sea without cold storage facilities.

Although I had no responsibility in the matter, I was keenly interested in how

the food problem could be solved—and, as a matter offact, it was a rather simple

one.At that time, manufactured ice was still little used, even in the United States,

but was the only kind available in Honolulu. A large ice plant had been built

there and it had served us well during our stay, although our ice boxes could hold

only a day's supply. The large blocks ofice weighed about three hundred pounds,

and when delivered, each cake was well wrapped in gunnysacking. When the ice

was ordered for the trip to San Francisco, it was arranged to have butter, fresh

meat, fowl, etc., suspended in the ice tanks and frozen into the cakes, thereby

being available each day. But the problem of storing such quantities of ice

remained. A large wooden bin was built on the gun deck, and several

wagonloads of sawdust were packed around the large blocks of ice, properly

tagged, and the bin then covered with tarpaulins.

I was surprised at the success of that cold storage, as we had fresh food during

our entire trip to San Francisco, which took about three weeks. The trip was

very monotonous, as we did not sight a single sail. The breezes were generally

steady and favorable, but there was little to do, so we rather enjoyed shortening

sail and reefing top sails each evening before sunset and then slaking out the reefs

and making sail again at dawn.

The distance we covered was about three thousand miles or more, and it took

us just twenty-one days to reach "soundings" off Golden Gate. The weather was

fine and clear until the last two days when we encountered a dense fog which

held until we crossed the bar to enter the bay. This was a clever bit of navigation,

without celestial observations and when nothing could be seen or even heard; it was long before the days of radio or listening devices, and a ship depended on

the depth of the water and character of the bottom to fix its position. Because of

this, surveys and charts ofcoastal waters are very complete and accurate, showing

not only the exact location of every landmark, navigational mark, shoal, and

channel but also the depth of water at every point on the chart and exactly the

kind of bottom to be found there.

Having a chart ofthat type and lead lines or sounding machines that bring up

a sample ofthe bottom on every sounding, and knowing the course and speed of

67
An Admiral's Yarn

the ship over the bottom, the navigator is able to determine the ship's position.

He does this by first drawing a line on a transparent piece of paper to represent

the course of the ship. Then, using the exact scale of the chart and the speed of

the ship to determine the distance run between the soundings, he marks along

the course line on his transparent paper each depth obtained and the kind of

bottom found. Then, keeping his rulers on the chart in the direction ofthe ship's course and moving them along together with markings he has made on the

transparent paper, he finally locates a line on the chart where his line of plotted

soundings agrees exactly with the soundings and bottoms found on the chart.

Having established that, he has fixed the ship's position, with this position as a starting point and continuing to use his soundings, bottoms, and the runs between, he follows the chart to enter the harbor.

Using this method in the fog, the Marion was led right up to the channel

entrance buoy. As the visibility improved, we stood on into San Francisco Bay,

and the next day went to the Navy Yard and at once started on the work of

decommissioning.

Long before the nineties, the United States organized the Weather Bureau.

It was not quite the efficient Bureau of today, for there were no radios for

reporting weather conditions at sea or from remote places, and only a few places

had telegraphic reports. However limited, the Weather Bureau made excellent

forecasts for that time, each day telegraphing weather data to key points from

which the forecasts were published. Every Navy Yard was sent the forecasts and,

as received, copies were sent at once to each ship present. Hence, each day at about 2 p.m. the Mare Island ships received a forecast.

One day, while I was officer ofthe deck, the regular afternoon weather report

was delivered, which I read at once. It predicted generally clear weather with

"northwesterly winds of gale force." Inasmuch as there was not anything unusual

in that report, since it merely indicated we might expect the usual good weather

with the strong winds so frequent on the California coast in winter, I did

nothing more than send it direcdy to the executive officer, who happened to be

in command that afternoon while the captain was ashore.

The executive officer, well known in the navy, had been on duty at the Naval

Academy while I was a cadet there. He was quite popular, as the cadets often

succeeded in "putting things over on him," but their being able to do so resulted

in his being called "Wooden Dan." He was in command of the Marion the

afternoon I received the weather report.

At the time, the ship was securely moored to the wharf by numerous heavy

lines, more than enough to hold it safely in a storm. Since the usual fair winter

68
The Woods Again

weather was to be expected, I made no attempt to put out more lines and

continued to stand by watch in the usual way.

About five minutes after Wooden Dan received the weather report, he rushed

up on the quarter deck, report in hand, and cried out, "Mr. Laning, there's a gale

coming. What have you done to secure the ship better?" I replied that I had not

done anything as the weather report was just the usual good winter weather, and

as we were secured for much worse weather than even experienced at this yard,

we should not put out any more lines. He looked at me in a disgusted manner

and said, "You don't know much about northwesterly gales. Double the lines at once."

I broke out the watch and doubled the lines, much to the amazement of the

old sailors in the crew. With that done, the ship was secured even for a hurricane,

and I sent word to Wooden Dan, "All lines have been doubled." No sooner did

he receive that report than he rushed up on deck again and said, "Those

northwesterly gales are terrible. Put out all lines in the ship."

So once more we went to work and in about an hour, when we had put out

every line in the ship, I reported the fact to Wooden Dan. Again he bounced up

on deck and said "Those gales are terrible. Find more lines," and when I told

him all were used, he said to put on the mooring chains then lying on the deck.

With that he went below.

When the mooring chains were out, the Marion was secured to the wharf as never before, the lines and chains making an almost solid network between the

ship and dock. I was standing on the gangway when Wooden Dan appeared

again, and I at once started to point out the splendid job the men had done in

securing the ship against any wind that ever blew, when suddenly he turned to

me and said, "Northwest winds are terrible. Is there not something more you

can do?" "Great Heavens," I said, "the only other protection I can think of is to

let go an anchor." Then said Wooden Dan, "Let go the starboard anchor."

That order was too much for me, and I asked him not to do this, but he

looked me in the eye and said, "You let that anchor go, young man, or I'll put

you under suspension at once!" Whereupon I let go the starboard anchor.

By the time I secured the anchor chain and reported the fact to the executive

officer, it was late in the afternoon. As he did not come on deck, I once more

took station at the gangway to look over the lines. While I stood there

pondering, the captain started up the gangway. Suddenly he stopped and began

looking up and down over the moorings, seemingly unable to believe his eyes.

Then he said, "What is the meaning ofall these mooring chains and lines?" I told

him of the afternoon weather report and that the executive officer had ordered

the ship secured that way. "Well," said the captain, "you certainly did some job."

69
An Admiral's Yarn

As he started along the quarter deck for his cabin, I squealed out, "And, Captain,

we have dropped the starboard anchor too!"

At that, the captain almost exploded and cried out. "Young man, what did

you mean by letting go an anchor alongside a pier when the ship is secured as this ship is?" I replied that I had remonstrated with the executive officer but was

told by him to drop anchor or go under suspension. With that the captain bolted

for his cabin, calling out in a loud voice, "Orderly, orderly, tell the executive

officer I want to see him in my cabin immediately."

I never learned what was said in that interview, but my imagination was very

vivid, for in a few moments the executive appeared on deck and ordered me to

get the anchor up at once and I did!

70
X

Still in Wood

ALONGWITH OUR ORDERS to put the Marion out of commission were

orders to place the USS Mohican into commission. The change in ships

was very welcome, for although the Mohican was another old wooden ship, an

exact sister of the Marion, it had been under reconstruction for years and was

completely rebuilt. It was like moving to a new ship but just like our old one. However, the Mohican was to serve a far different purpose, for instead of doing

"Pacific Station" duty as did the Marion, it was to be the training ship for the

West Coast apprentices, making long cruises over the Pacific Ocean. It is no

wonder that we looked forward to the change.

Fitting out the Mohican was routine uninteresting work. We retained as many

as possible of the old Marions crew, saving sufficient space for the three hundred

apprentices who were to come aboard for training.

Our orders were for a circular cruise around the South Pacific Ocean over a route to Honolulu, Fanning Island, Samoa, Fiji, Australia, New Zealand, Chile,

and then north along the coast of the Americas to San Francisco. A more

interesting cruise could hardly be imagined.

Although the Mohican had been nearly entirely rebuilt, it had not been

modernized. It still had only the old muzzle-loading guns of Civil War days and

cramped quarters for both officers and men. While the officers had the usual

small rooms in the wardroom, all enlisted men slept in hammocks, which had to

be lashed and stored in the nettings on the spar deck every morning. Here and

there throughout the ship were the usual old-time oil, standing lamps, but in the

officers' rooms there were only candles. There were neither baths nor running
An Admiral's Yarn

water; the enlisted men always washed on deck from buckets, generally filled

with salt water. Each officer's room had a tin water pitcher and basin, but for

bathing, a small, shallow, round tub was placed in each room with a bucket of

water in it. Since the floor space was tiny, there was not enough room for the tub

unless the chair was removed. As soon as the officer had dried himself after a bath, he had to climb up on to his bunk while the little tub was moved out to

provide floor space for dressing. All in all, no one lived very sumptuously in the

Mohican, yet we were all well pleased to be there and starting on such a wonderful cruise.

Having completed our Navy Yard work, we dropped down to San Francisco

to load our fuel and supplies before sailing. Our bunkers were already full ofcoal,

but as we would have much steaming to do entering and leaving ports on such a long cruise, it was decided to take on a deck load also. To permit that, the waist

broadside guns were run out and the ports closed tightly before bulkheads were

erected all along the deck, inboard of the guns. Thus we created a space around

and over the guns between the bulkheads and the ship's side that could be filled

with coal to the level of the hammock nettings. It was a crude arrangement but

the best we could do before taking on a deck load of coal.

While we were thus engaged, the newspapers printed the startling news that

the USS Maine had been blown up in Havana Harbor. Unable to predict the

ramifications of this, we continued coaling and preparations for sea. Just before

the hour set for our sailing, we received an order to depart on our cruise as scheduled but to await further orders when we arrived at Honolulu.

Our departure from San Francisco was the usual "get-away," but as we crossed

the bar we found a heavy swell running, and that night we ran into a strong gale

and heavy seas. Being an excellent sea boat, the ship stood the bad weather well

enough, although it rolled and pitched so heavily that not only were all of the

young apprentices seasick but our deck load of coal began to shift and knock

down the bulkheads.

There was no great danger to the ship, however, and we thought little of it beyond the mess it caused, as it finally packed itself down again. Still there was

danger to our seasick apprentices, for they droppedjust any place and we did not

know if any of them had been caught in the shifting coal. We therefore held a muster, a very difficult matter in the darkness of night when the boys were lying

all over the ship, too sick to answer when their names were called. The muster

took most of the night, and we accounted for every soul but one, a rather small

boy named Ross. Consequently, all the next day we searched the ship high and

low for Ross. When he was not found, we feared he had been caught under the

coal, so be began to dig frantically trying to find him. How all the hands worked

72
Still in Wood

on that coal in the rolling, pitching ship, I do not know, but when all three

hundred tons of it was moved and not a trace of Ross was found, we made

another complete search of the ship for him. We were unsuccessful and had to

enter in the log that Ross has been lost overboard during the night.

The bad weather continued for two or three days, and during all of it the

apprentices remained too seasick to work. Wherever there was a clear space on

deck, it was always full of seasick boys, and even when the sea had gone down

and water no longer came over the forecastle, the deck remained covered with

boys too ill to be disturbed.

It was while I was on watch looking over the forecastle on our third

afternoon out that a small apprentice started up the forecastle ladder looking

very dirty and pale. But as he seemed rather spry, I began watching him when

suddenly I realized it was Ross. I could hardly believe my eyes, for there he was,

alive and on board, so I called him to the bridge and asked where in the world he

had been hiding during our search for him. Ross was greatly surprised that he

had been missed, and still more that we thought he had fallen overboard. When I insisted on knowing where he had been, he said he could not tell exactly but

would show us the place. A master-at-arms was sent with him, and it turned out

to be a tiny, remote corner in the ship's bilges—a place that had been looked into

repeatedly but in which Ross, who was then about the color of the bilge water

itself, could not be seen. He seemed at a loss to know how he found the place but

did remember being "awfully sick" and, thinking there would be less motion at the bottom of the ship, had squeezed himself into a tiny niche. When he

recovered, he crawled out and followed daylight until he finally came out on

deck where he soon began to feel better.

I was delighted to find Ross safe and sound and told the master-at-arms to

take him to the galley for something to eat and then have him "wash up," put on

clean clothes, and carry on. Toward the end of my watch I saw Ross again,

apparently sneaking up on the forecastle where some twenty-five or thirty

seasick boys were lying seemingly "dead to the world."

Ross looked them over in a superior sort of way. He then went to one,

unrolled a good-sized piece of bacon rind stolen from the galley, to which he

had tied a string, placed the bacon close under the nose ofthe sick boy, withdrew

to the length of the string and sat down to watch. His victim suddenly jumped

up, made a dash for the side of the ship and heaved up. Ross then began to look

for another victim, but before he could locate one, I called him to the bridge for

"look-out watch," made him toss the bacon overboard, and thus ended that bit

of mischief.

73
An Admiral's Yarn

Finally the sea quieted down, the wind came out from the northeast, and we

put on all sail. Soon our seasick boys became better and we made a fine trip to

Honolulu.

But while the boys all went back to work with a will, Ross did not. He was

always up to some mischief, loafed and shirked all the time, and was on report

every day for some wilful disobedience of regulations. He was surly and

insubordinate and such a nuisance that shortly after we arrived in Honolulu, the

captain decided to discharge him as undesirable, even though he knew that was

exactly what Ross wanted.

There is a naval regulation that undesirables cannot be discharged in a foreign

port, and since Hawaii was not then a part ofthe United States, it was impossible

to discharge Ross there. The captain told him that no more time could be

wasted on him, but he would merely keep him on board until the opportunity

arrived to send him home. In the meantime, Ross was told not to consider

himself a member of the ship's company or work with it and to remain under a certain deck where he could sleep on a chest and have his meals brought to him,

not associating with any of the boys.

Ross then appeared in fine feather as he moved his belongings to the chest

and proceeded to live there. At first he seemed happy and proud as he saw the

other boys at work and made fun of them, but when the tables were turned and

they jeered at him, that was a different story, and he became sullen.

One day when I was on watch, Ross put on his best uniform and came

around to "the mast" where men stood when they wished to present a grievance. When asked what he wanted, he said, "I want to see the captain and

tell him I'll be good if he will take me off that chest." The captain really hurried

to the deck when told that Ross wanted to see him. Litde Ross stood there like a man, saluted the captain and said gravely, "Captain, if you will take me off the

chest and let me go back to work, I promise that you will never have trouble

with me again." He was at once restored to duty and for the remainder of my

duty on the Mohican, little Ross was one of the best boys on board.

That stay in Honolulu was uneventful, and those who had friends there were

soon again engulfed in the pleasures of Honolulu life. But although all seemed

quiet on the surface, there was great unrest throughout the islands because ofthe

question ofannexation. Hawaii was frantically seeking it, but Congress, although

in session, had not voted on it, and then, too, there was the growing possibility of

the United States declaring war on Spain.

Under the circumstances, intense interest for news from the Coast was

paramount, but there was no cable, and the only means of hearing was via the

74
Still in Wood

mail which steamers brought about twice a week. Both Americans and

Hawaiians were very aroused.

After several weeks ofwaiting, still without news ofwar or annexation, one of

the mail steamers brought orders for the Mohican to return to San Francisco, and

we lost no time in starting. With bunkers full, we made the best speed possible,

using sail to increase it whenever there was a fair wind. Even so, the trip took

about seven days and it was May 3rd [1898] before we reached San Francisco bar.

As we headed for the entrance buoy, the pilot stood to intercept us, and when

within hailing distance, we heard that war had been declared on Spain the week

before. Our Asiatic Fleet under Commodore [George] Dewey entered Manila

Bay on May 1st and sank the entire Spanish fleet. After that news, the three hours

it took us to reach San Francisco seemed endless, but when we finally anchored

and confirmed the news, we were all agog as to what might happen to us on the

old wooden Mohican, as it could not be used for war operations.

We immediately reported our arrival in San Francisco to the Navy

Department, and the following morning we received telegraphic orders to

proceed to the Mare Island Yard at once, where we waited impatiently for a few

days to know our next assignment. To our amazement we received orders to

disembark our apprentices and prepare for duty in the Pacific Islands. This was

not very welcome news. We had expected the ship to be decommissioned at once and all ofus sent East to ships in the fighting zone. So, when it appeared we

were destined for other than was service, our disappointment knew no bounds.

Nor was the disappointment lessened as we noted the. activities on more

modern ships in the Navy Yard. Several years of rebuilding the Baltimore had just

been completed, and she was hurriedly commissioned and then rushed to

Honolulu to await further orders to proceed to the Philippines to join Dewey.

The monitors Monterey and Monadnock came in to prepare for war service, as did

other ships for hurried work, and officers of the yard were sent East to join ships

there—while the Oregon was started around the Horn. But for us on the

Mohican, nothing happened. We prepared the old ship for probable peaceful

Pacific duty, while longing for active war service, but even our requests in

writing for assignments in the Far East went unanswered.

A few days after the Baltimore departed for Honolulu, the Department

received a cable from Dewey requesting ammunition be sent via the Baltimore to

refill his magazines that were emptied at the battle of Manila Bay.

Because there was no cable to Honolulu and no way to intercept the

Baltimore, the Mohican was ordered to take on the ammunition for Dewey and

proceed at once to Honolulu with all speed.

75
An Admiral's Yarn

It was quite a problem to stow all that ammunition in the old Mohican, but we

worked day and night, reduced our own supplies to a minimum, and in a few

days started on our way. With a good wind behind us, filling our sails all the way

and steaming at our best speed, we made Honolulu in less than a week. The

transfer of ammunition was rushed to the Baltimore and it was soon on its way to

Dewey.

Alone there in Honolulu, the Mohican prepared for war situations that might

arise. None of us had hope of seeing active service, since the first mail steamer

that came in brought word to each one who had applied for war duty that his

request "had been placed on file." That irked me considerably, especially because

I had also asked the Congressman from my district to help me get Atlantic

duty, and a letter from him in the same mail said he had written the Department

but was told "We must keep experienced officers in Honolulu."

It was thus apparent that if I were to get into the war at all, I would have to

find a way by myself, so I decided to write the Navy Department again. I pointed out that practically all ofmy experience at sea had been in modern ships,

that I knew modern ordnance and had been turret officer on the Oregon, and

that I knew nothing about the old muzzle-loading Civil War guns on the

Mohican. Then I asked once more to be sent to war service and ended my letter

by saying, "I do not want to spend the rest of my life explaining why I did not

get into the war with Spain."

As was necessary with an official letter, I handed mine to the captain to

forward it. He was furious when he read it and sent for me at once. When I appeared, he demanded to know what I meant by sending in such a letter. I explained that it was the only way I could be sent to the war and I would like to

have it go to the Department. He just glared at me and said, "Young man, you

will be court-martialled ifyou send in that letter," to which I replied, "I might as well be court-martialled as not get in that war." With that he yelled "Get out of

my cabin," which I did.

For the next three or four weeks I was on "tenterhooks," for I knew the

captain had sent the letter, although what he recommended for me, I did not

know. All I could do was wait, helping as best I could to keep the Mohican ready

to meet emergencies. But after the Battle of Manila Bay, Spain had no real

fighting ships in the Pacific, and it did not seem possible that there would be

trouble in Honolulu, a neutral port. Still, if there were Spanish sympathizers in

Hawaii, they might attempt to seize our ship. Or, if there were Spanish merchant

ships somewhere in the Pacific, they could be armed to attack us—so we made

ready for those contingencies.

76
Still in Wood

The ship was moved so that its guns would cover the channel into the harbor,

and we trained daily for firing on any ship that entered. Had a wooden ship with

old-fashioned, muzzle-loading guns tried to come in, we probably could have

stopped it. But, had steel ships with breech-loading rifles appeared, we could

have been destroyed before even getting our guns within range. However, we

were not deterred in our efforts. Our starboard battery, which covered the

harbor entrance, was kept busy at all times. The ship's complement was divided

into parts, each trained to operate the starboard battery; only the watch "off

duty" was allowed ashore.

In such ways did we make ready for an attack from the sea and also from ships

that entered the port, which our captain considered more probable, so we made

greater preparations for that.

Not only were rifles, pistols, cutlasses, and pikes kept on deck, ready for instant use against "boarders," but the captain arranged for a "boning water defense."

The boiling water defense was a new one on us! To provide it, the captain had

the bottom blows [values and piping for expelling sludge] of our twelve Scotch

boilers connected directly to the fire main. By merely opening the bottom valves

ofthe boilers under steam, the pressure would drive the water and steam into the

fire mains and out the fire hose. To permit the nozzles of the hoses to be handled

while shooting out the hot water, they were covered with heavy burlap

wrappings.

Our preparations for fighting made our spar deck a rare sight indeed. The

entire starboard battery was kept case-loose, with the guns trained on the

entrance channel ready for instant use. Easily available were the rifles, pistols, and

cutlasses; and attached to each fireplug was a boiling water hose.

By drilling daily, we kept the ship in constant readiness, but when not on duty

we enjoyed recreations and pleasures on shore—although the greatest

excitement for everyone was the arrival of the steamers with mail which

brought the only news we had of either the "war or annexation, unless navy

transports bound for Manila carried some mail for us. How we studied the war

news and how we envied those being ordered to join Dewey in Manila Bay!

As the weeks went by, we gradually grew resigned to our fate but always

hoped there might be a change for us. In the interim, I decided to buy a bicycle

and enjoy riding, though always keeping an eye out for the arrival ofmail, which

became more and more important to me as the time approached for a reply to

my last request for active service. Would the request bring war duty or an order

to be court-martialled as the Captain predicted?

The answer came the very day I bought that bicycle. I had gone ashore after

lunch, paid the $105 standard price for a new bicycle in Honolulu, and had

77
An Admiral's Yarn

ridden off on it to Waikiki for a swim. I was barely into the water when I saw a mail steamer nosing its way around Diamond Head. Anxious to learn what

word, if any, it might be bringing to me, I rushed into my clothes,jumped on my

bicycle, and hurried back to town.

The mail was on the Mohican when I reached it, and shordy thereafter the

captain sent for me and handed me a paper to read. It was an order detaching me

from the Mohican upon the arrival of the USS Monadnock on its way to Manila,

directing me to report to that ship for duty.

The captain was as mad as a hornet, for instead of a court-martial, which he

had recommended for me, I was being sent to the war as I had requested. The

Department had received my pleasing letter one day and issued my orders the

next. Naturally I was overjoyed.

78
XI

Off to War in a Monitor

WHEN DEWEY DESTROYED THE SPANISH FLEET at Manila, the war

changed for the United States. Until then, we had thought war would be

almost entirely against the Spanish army in Cuba and against the Spanish navy in the

Adantic. But Dewey's victory so altered the picture that the Philippines took on

great importance. By the Manila Bay battle, he had gained control ofthe sea, but the

Spanish army still held the islands, even in the face of a then rising native

insurrection. If we were to realize complete success in the war, we had not only to

retain our control ofthe sea in the Philippines but to defeat the Spanish army there.

Our activities in the Pacific at once became intensified. The first step was to so increase the naval strength under Dewey that his superiority over any naval

force that might be sent against him from Spain would be assured. As far as we

knew, practically all the Spanish ships were then in Spain and under command of

Admiral Cervera, and Admiral Camara could be sent to fight Dewey.

To prepare for such a naval threat, every suitable warship on our coast was

hurriedly fitted out and dispatched to Manila. The first to go was the Baltimore,

with the ammunition, followed soon by the cruiser Charleston. Then, as Dewey

might require some really heavy fighting ships, it was decided to send him the

two West Coast monitors, Monterey and Monadnock

At the same time that the navy was preparing to retain command ofthe sea in

the Philippines, the army was making ready to seize the islands and was moving

troops to Manila Bay by transports as rapidly as possible. Hence, until the

Monadnock left, Honolulu was a busy place, each transport having to stop there to

replenish itself.
An Admiral's Yarn

I joined the Monadnock when it arrived, about ten days after I had received my

orders. Up to that time, the warships and transports that touched at Honolulu

hurried to be on their way, perhaps some of them leaving before being

thoroughly prepared for duty in the war area. The Monadnock's captain, however,

did not take that chance. Having learned on the trip from San Francisco what

the principal deficiencies of his monitor were for war service in the tropics, he

determined to remedy them before leaving Honolulu. Consequendy the

Monadnock remained almost two weeks, working night and day to remedy

defects.

Whether the delay was really advisable or not was a serious question. The ship

was considerably improved for war service, but since Admiral Dewey could not

be informed of the cause for the delay, he was greatly upset by our late arrival in

Manila Bay, and our captain was terribly criticized for it. Before leaving Honolulu, we knew that Cervera's squadron had crossed the

Atlantic and reached Santiago de Cuba, to be bottled up there by [Rear]

Admiral [William T] Sampson's fleet. We knew of the military operations our

country was undertaking in Cuba, not only toward capturing Santiago with

Cervera's squadron hiding there, but also toward defeating the army that Spain

had in Cuba. We also knew that the squadron in Spain under command of

Admiral Camara was being prepared for sea, but what we did not know was

whether it was to cross the Atlantic to support Cervera, go to the Philippines to

attack Dewey, or intercept the Monadnock. Such was the information as the

Monadnock stood out in Honolulu.

Monitors like the Monterey and Monadnock were built solely for coastal

defense purposes and were totally unsuited for deep-sea warfare; not only did

every ocean swell roll right over their main decks, but their fuel supplies were far

too small for long trips. At sea the main decks had always to be battened down

and secured. The ships could engage in battle only in smooth water and only

when comparatively little steaming would be required either before or after

action. Since the monitors would be useful for defense purposes in the

Philippine waters, our first major problem was to get them there even in the face

of possible heavy enemy opposition.

Because their fuel supplies were too small to permit steaming from Honolulu

to Guam or even from Guam to Manila against opposition, it was decided that

the ships must be towed most of the way and refueled en route. A collier that

could manage both was assigned to each monitor and was equipped with huge,

specially made towing hawsers. For the Monadnock, the towing ship was the USS

Nero, a commissioned collier purchased for that purpose.

80
Off to War in a Monitor

In addition to having its towing and fueling ship, the Monadnock carried not

only all the coal it could stow in its bunkers but also as much of a deck load as could be put on board. The ship had a small deck over the superstructure, which

was the only out-of-door space the personnel could use at sea, and that deck was

filled with coal too. We rigged heavy rope netting entirely around each turret

and filled it with bags of coal, hoping to use it before heavy seas could wash it overboard. So filled, the Monadnock had only fourteen inches freeboard when

ready to sail, and more than ever looked like a heavily laden raft. To make the

ship's appearance worse, each of the turrets stood out from a pile of coal and all personnel were black and dirty from coal dust when the monitor and collier

stood out of Honolulu on the morning ofJuly 13th, 1898.

As soon as the two ships were well clear of the channel, they stopped to rig

the heavy towing gear, a trying and difficult bit of work in the swell that was

running and which took until late afternoon to complete. Thenjust as we were

about to signal the Nero to start ahead with the tow, we saw the O. and O.

steamship Coptic round Diamond Head and come at once toward us with

unusual speed. We never learned why the Coptic did so, but it may have been that

we looked exactly like a sinking warship.

The Coptic presented an unusual appearance, as the ship was dressed with flags

from end to end and was flying a signal meaning "annexed." We immediately

lowered a lifeboat which, under my charge, went to the Coptic for late

newspapers and mail. The lifeboat was as messy a sight as could be

imagined—both it and its occupants were grimy with coal dust and

water-soaked with spray. It was difficult getting out of the boat and up the

Jacob's ladder to the Coptics deck, and by the time I clambered over the ship's

rail, I couldn't have looked much like a naval officer. Not only was the Coptics

captain there to greet me, but all the passengers also, all talking at once about the

war, about annexation, and about the great victory at Santiago just won by

Sampson's fleet. Interesting as the news was, I could not stop to discuss it, but

returned to the Monadnock with complete files of the latest San Francisco papers

telling it all. As soon as the boat could be hoisted, signal was made to the Nero to proceed

towing. At last we were on our way to Dewey, leaving it for someone else to raise

the United States flag over Hawaii.

Important though the annexation of Hawaii was, news of it meant very little to the Monadnock starting for the Philippines. What we needed most was

information to indicate what we might expect on our way out, so it was indeed

fortunate to have San Francisco newspapers with vitally important news items.

Two of great interest to us were Sampson's destruction of the Spanish squadron

81
An Admirals Yarn

at Santiago, which removed any threat from Cervera, and the bad news that

Camara's squadron had passed through the Suez Canal bound eastward.

This caused us great concern, for if his squadron had transited the Suez Canal

a full week before the Monadnock left Honolulu, Camara not only would reach

Manila well before the Monadnock but might even defeat Dewey's fleet and

attack the Monadnock before it could join up. We did not know the fighting

strength Camara might have, but no doubt Dewey's fleet would be superior with

the addition of the monitors, so we hurried on, hoping to arrive before an

engagement.

That passage to Manila was a nightmare. Speed was all-important, but even

with the Nero up to its maximum towing speed, we found that we were making

only 4/4 knots instead of the 7/4 we had counted on. Fortunately we could help

some by using enough of our precious fuel to keep our engines turning over

slowly, thereby overcoming our propeller drag—which we had planned to do in

any event. Having adjusted ourselves to that fact, we soon learned as we neared

the Philippines that we could not be sure of even 4V4 knots if we were to have

fuel enough for fighting. Not built for long trips in warm waters, the

Monadnock's machinery soon developed troubles that necessitated stopping for

repairs that would take from a few hours to two days to complete—a very

discouraging fact when speed was so vital.

Our speed provided anything but cheer, and there were other depressing

things to keep our spirits low. The very first night out, heavy seas rolling over the

forecasde washed overboard the eighteen tons of coal we had stowed around the

forward turret—the supply for one day's steaming—and we also lost some ofthe

coal from around the after turret! With our coal losses and poor speed, we were a depressed lot!

It took us exacdy three weeks to reach Guam. Having the trade winds on our

quarter, we rigged the bridge screens and made sails of our awnings to take

advantage of it, but even with the wind and sea following us, we could never make over one hundred and ninety miles a day, and often much less. During those three weeks our sufferings were great, for the ship was battened

down to keep out the seas and almost no fresh air could enter except through the

blowers to the fire rooms. Thus, the heat in the ship became intense and the air

foul. In the steerage, where seven of us junior officers lived in a space of about

ten feet by twenty feet, the temperature was usually 115°. One very smooth day

we succeeded in luring a little fresh air into it and the temperature went down to

97° for a few hours, the lowest during our entire trip. Yet the seven of us had to

eat, sleep, and live in that compartment, except when on watch on the

superstructure, which for a week remained covered with coal.

82
Off to War in a Monitor

We did not have refrigeration on the ship and were soon without fresh

supplies, as the heat melted all the ice we had stowed aboard at Honolulu; the

drinking water had a temperature of 100° and more, and we were obliged to

resort to canned sea stores. Still, we gave litde thought to our discomforts

because we were on our way to fight for our country; we worked day and night

to have the ship continuously ready for battle.

When we finally reached Guam, we found it had been captured by the USS

Charleston and had the United States flag floating over it. My, but it seemed

good to be in a port, even such as Guam, to open the ship to fresh air, to eat fresh

food, and to stretch our legs for a few hours on shore, and particularly to drink

water under 90°, even though Guam had no ice. As pleasant as the change was,

we could not stop for long. The Monadnock at once started repairs, the Nero came

alongside, and we began coaling immediately. It took us two days to prepare our

ship for the most dangerous part of our passage. Camara could intercept us anywhere between Guam and Manila, so we had to be prepared at all times to

fight his squadron as well as making all speed possible to Manila.

Camara's squadron did not appear as we stood away from Guam, so the Nero

again took us in tow and headed for a prearranged rendezvous six hundred miles

due east of Cape Engafio where Admiral Dewey could communicate with us.

It was bright and early one Sunday morning when we sighted Cape Engafio,

cast off the heavy towline, and headed west across the Gulf of Aparri at the

northern end ofLuzon. Being in the lee ofthe islands, the Gulfwas as smooth as a millpond, an ideal condition for the Monadnock should we have the battle that

everyone was expecting. But we did not see anything until we were just ready to

round the northern point of Luzon and head to the southward for Manila Bay.

Then on the horizon and about where were we heading, we saw three columns

of smoke rising straight in the air and looking as though three large ships were

steaming in column.

To us, that smoke meant but one thing—Camara's squadron ready to attack

us, and after our long, hard trip, we were delighted with the prospect, although

we realized that with three powerful ships to our one, all the advantage would lie

with Camara. Nevertheless the Monadnock continued on its way toward the

probable enemy, all hands feeling that in those waters, a monitor like ours might

whip even three heavy Spanish ships. So sure were our men of a fight that they

made all the preparations for battle; but the call for "general quarters" never

sounded.

We never got much nearer to that smoke than when we first sighted it, as the

ships responsible stood on to the northwest and finally disappeared over the

horizon while the Monadnock headed for Manila, thus ending all chance of a

83
An Admiral's Yarn

battle. We learned later that the smoke came from three merchant ships bound

from Manila to Hong Kong; but at the time our disappointment over missing a battle with the Spaniards was keenly felt. As the Monadnock stood down the west

coast of Luzon, there was considerable sea which made heavy going for us. Just

before dark that night we sighted a merchant ship flying the United States flag

coming up on our starboard quarter. We endeavored to exchange calls with it, but after taking a good look at us, it continued, speedily, on its way.

At about noon the following day, while the sea was still heavy, and the

Monadnock about thirty miles from the entrance to Manila Bay, we saw a man-of-war standing toward us at full speed dead ahead. We at once went to

quarters, but as the ship neared we recognized our own USS Baltimore. It had

been sent out full speed by Dewey when the merchant ship that passed us the

evening before informed him of seeing an American man-of-war in a sinking

condition.

While we were neither sinking nor in any clanger of it, we were still glad to see a ship from Manila Bay, for the mere sight of it assured us that all was well

with Dewey. But our happiness did not last long after reading a signal it flew that

meant: "Hostilities have ceased." Then, as if that were not enough, a wig-wag

message was received saying "Spanish army surrendered to Dewey before

hostilities ceased. Our troops hold Manila. The war is over."

Our late arrival in manila was a terrible anticlimax for us. We were, of course,

glad the war and our trip were over and we could return to peacetime living, but

we felt we could never live down the stigma ofhaving missed the war entirely.

84
XII

In Manila Bay

THEWAR WAS OVER and we were again at peacetime. Manila Bay and the

surrounding area were fascinating, and after anchoring in smooth water at Cavite, we soon had awnings spread and the ship open to air. Natives in "bum"

boats flocked around to sell us the local vegetables and fruits, and particularly

"Filipino mangoes," the best in the world at the time. We also received fresh

meats and ice from the refrigerating ships chartered by Dewey, which were

known as "beef boats."

After six weeks at sea in a monitor, that change in living was delightful, but it was really only a small part of our total change, for Manila and Cavite were

under the command of the army—and there were many pleasant contests

between the army and the navy.

Our army in the Philippines numbered about fifteen thousand men, possibly

less than Spain had in Manila, but the Spaniards surrendered—not so much

because of the army, but because if they did not, Dewey's fleet stood ready to

blast them out ofManila. However, it was to the United States forces that Manila

surrendered. While a considerable army of Filipinos around the city were in

insurrection against Spain, the insurrectionists took no part in the capture of

Manila, and when the American troops entered the city, the Filipinos remained

outside.

As Manila and Cavite were properly under our control shortly after the

Monadnock arrived, we were soon allowed to visit. Each morning, one of the

captured Spanish gunboats would leave the Cavite Navy Yard and stop near the

Olympia, Dewey's flagship, to pick up a party from the fleet, take them to Manila,
An Admiral's Yarn

and return in the late afternoon. Thus, by taking advantage ofthis transportation,

we could spend many off-duty hours in the interesting city.

Manila, just after the surrender, was little like the Manila of recent years.

Today it is a modern American city, but then it was an ancient Spanish town. It was built around a large, old fort behind the heavy walls that enclosed the

governor's palace and government buildings as well as the houses of important

Spanish officials and businessmen. The walls were protected by a moat, and the

area was known as the "Walled City"—truly representative of "Old Spain."

Private business was not conducted there, so to see the "real" Manila, one

remained in the large area outside. The strangest thing to me was to find nearly

no Filipino stores in the business section; most of them were owned and

operated by Spaniards or other Europeans. The less important and smaller shops

were operated by Chinese or other Asiatics. The big hotel, the "Oriente," was

typically Spanish in structure, built for the tropics and city limits. But as one

wandered away from this district to the outskirts, only the reed and thatched

huts of the natives were to be found.

There was enough sight-seeing to keep us amused for a while, but there was

no social life at all, and it was not long before Manila grew monotonous. Some of

us decided to organize the "Army and Navy Club," but even then we saw only

officers of our service and then, too, there were restrictions on our

wanderings—because of the Filipino insurrectionist army which had taken

control outside, we had to remain inside our lines at Manila and Cavite.

The fifteen thousand U.S. troops in the Philippines as well as Dewey's fleet

were barely sufficient to keep the armed Filipinos from taking over Manila and

Cavite too.

For the first few months after Manila fell and the Spanish forces were being

evacuated, the situation appeared fairly peaceful, though we knew the Filipino

insurrectionists were claiming that the islands belonged to them rather than to

the Americans. Pending the adoption of the treaty of peace with Spain, the

Filipinos built up their army, ready to take over when the islands were handed to

them. However, when the terms of the treaty were announced, Spain, of course,

had ceded the islands to the United States. How our small military force could

keep them safe for us was not apparent, and our country was not going to send

more troops to the islands. The insurrection movement was confined chiefly to

one tribe, the Tagalogs, which wanted to rule all others. It seemed to us that the

majority of Filipinos wanted U.S. rule and protection, fearing the Tagalogs

would control the islands to exploit the people for purely personal gain.

The Philippine situation became serious. Although the native group seeking

control was only a small minority of one tribe, it was, unfortunately, an

86
In Manila Bay

organized and armed native that greatly out numbered the small force of the

United States there. It is probable that, had it not been for our far-better

equipped army and its artillery, the insurrectionists would have attempted to

gain control as soon as Spain ceded the islands to us. A period of great tension

arose during which the Americans did little to strengthen themselves against the

increasingly ominous threat of the insurrectionists' efforts to gain strength and

their apparent readiness to attack our troops to drive them out. With no

reinforcements arriving from the U.S., there was little we could do to prevent

the growth of the uprising. The army built and occupied a line of trenches

completely around Manila, and at points north and south of the city where the

entrenchments reached the bay, navy ships were anchored in position to support

the army.

The defensive line around Manila was far from strong. Because of the size of

the city, the line was perhaps twenty miles long, but we had only 15,000 troops

to maintain it. The insurrectionists were said to number about 60,000 men and

could make heavy attacks along our line should they so elect.

Because of its light draft and powerful guns, the Monadnock was detailed to

support the army line near the Bay, south of Manila, at an old stone fort called

"Malata." The line there was fairly strong, for in addition to Fort Malata, the

Spanish had built a wall that extended inland some distance and could be held by

comparatively small force if supported by a ship with guns to enfilade a frontal

attack made on it. It was such a position, about seven hundred yards from Fort

Malata, that the Monadnock took in the early winter of 1898. For nearly two

months, little happened. Both the army and navy had been directed to avoid any

act that might initiate trouble, so both attempted to carry on in a quiet manner,

though being always ready to repel an attack. Supplies for the Monadnock were

delivered by boat from the fleet, and each afternoon the dinghy would land three or four of us on the beach behind our lines just to stretch our legs a bit; but for

the most part, we remained on board. Under such circumstances, life became

monotonous. We were comfortable enough under our awnings with plenty of

fresh food, but made much ofany happening that was a trifle out of the ordinary.

Hence, when a Filipino boat came down on us one night, it created a little excitement.

The officer of the deck was a young ensign, generally spoken of as "Dickey."

He was very popular in the ship and was one who took his duties seriously.

1

4

For

some reason, when he went on watch that night, he stuck his loaded revolver in

his belt, although at that time there was no order for the officer of the deck to be

armed. The usual lookout and sentries were at their several stations around the

ship, the night was clear with bright starlight, and to Dickey, all seemed set for a

87
An Admiral's Yarn

pleasant watch in the beautiful tropical weather. As was the custom, Dickey

spent most of his time walking back and forth on the quarterdeck, alert to every

movement either on shore or around the Bay Each half hour, he went entirely

around the main deck, speaking to each sentry and lookout to check on their

alertness. He found the watch being maintained faithfully and well. Some two

hours after he had taken over, and while he was on the quarterdeck, Dickey

heard the sentry on the forecastle cry out "Boat ahoy." Rushing to the forecastle,

he saw a boat about seventy-five yards away approaching very slowly along the

starboard side.

Dickey at once became suspicious and directed the lookout to hail the boat,

which he did several times. But as the boat continued to move slowly, Dickey

hailed the boat himself, calling "Boat ahoy" After no response, he finally ordered

it to "halt." As the boat continued to move toward the ship, Dickey whipped out

his revolver and fired a shot in the water near it. Still the boat did not stop or show any sign of life in it, and, as the deck watch had then gathered about him,

Dickey ordered a couple of hands to take the dinghy and bring the boat to the

ship. When the boat came under the ship's lights, it was found to be an empty

Filipino canoe, dugout type, with an outrigger and a fishing net lying in the

bottom. Apparently it was a poor fisherman's canoe broken adrift by the wind

and tide. It was still secured alongside when all hands turned out the next

morning, and it is probable that nothing more would have been heard of the

boat incident had not Dickey been so "cocky" and pleased with himself over his

actions. This stirred the other officers of his mess, so they began to plan a way to

take him down a peg. To that end they evolved a scheme which, since I was the

"captain's clerk," required my assistance.

I was much perturbed, as they wanted to use my office to give official

appearance to their prank. I feared this might tend to compromise some interests

of the captain, for which I was responsible. They then agreed to make the plan

known to the captain who, to my surprise, allowed it to be carried out. He said

to me, "I am rather put out with Dickey over the way he handled the matter,

although it showed he was keen and alert, as I had given no orders for the officer

of the deck to arm himself or to fire on an approaching boat. More than that," he

added, "that one shot fired by Dickey might have started a Filipino uprising, as the present situation is so intense. I do not wish to punish him, as he is really an

excellent officer, but it might be a good thing if the other officers could make

him realize the danger of misapplied initiative. Tell the officers to go ahead with

their prank, but they simply must not involve the admiral or me in any way." I was to keep him posted.

88
In Manila Bay

The plotters were delighted and we all set about to put their plan into effect.

The first step was to make Dickey write a report of his "Capture of a Filipino

Vessel." Doing that proved easy, for when I said to him a day or two later,

"Dickey, you recall, of course, Article of the Navy Regulations, which

requires a written report to be made of any vessels captured, so do not forget to

hand it in to me." Dickey wrote a long letter giving every detail of his "Capture

of one Filipino vessel," and while not describing the "vessel," he devoted his

efforts to showing his own alert and efficient performance of duty which so

closely followed the old adage, "Whoso tooteth not his own horn, the same shall

not be tooted." Dickey dreamed of a promotion and became cockier than ever,

even after reading a fake endorsement we had put on his letter, suggesting the

court enquire into the capture. Why Dickey did not tumble to the joke when he

saw that endorsement, we could not understand, for it had been prepared by the

plotters and was so utterly unlike anything official that "fake" was apparent all the way through. Still, his hope of great glory was too keen to allow him to see any impropriety in it. His failure to recognize the absurdity of the endorsement

caused the joke to go much further than the plotters ever intended and put them

in the position of having to either continue with it or beat an ignominious

retreat. Since the court must not have even a semblance ofbeing official, it could

not be carried on during working hours. It was therefore held at night as an

after-dinner feature for the Wardroom Officers' Mess, but even that ridiculous

procedure did not arouse Dickey's suspicion.

After coffee, one evening, the self-appointed court members called for their

swords while the other members of the mess moved from the table to chairs

around the wardroom, and court opened. Dickey was told to take the seat next

to the "recorder." It was unlike any court the navy had ever known. The senior

member gravely began to read Dickey's letter to the court, putting particular

emphasis on the most self-laudatory part. That reading was a histrionic

masterpiece, I assure you, which should have brought the joke to a good end.

However, Dickey still did not see anything wrong with the court, so it directed

him to give a full verbal account of the capture. He was then asked what he, as a naval expert, considered the value of the Filipino vessel, and after thinking a moment, to our utter amazement replied, "About two thousand dollars." This

valuation left the court gasping, but one member asked if he meant gold or "mex." "Two thousand gold," said Dickey without batting an eye. The court was

more astounded than ever, as the little boat was about as worthless as a boat could

be. Then he was questioned on the size of the boat—about which he seemed in

doubt—but gave dimensions in figures almost double those of the captured

vessel. The court followed along this line for half an hour, and Dickey at last had

89
An Admiral's Yarn

to admit it was only a small boat in poor condition and that perhaps he had

overvalued it. Thus, apparently, he was beginning to feel some doubt as to the

magnitude ofhis heroism. However, as Dickey still seemed very much in earnest,

the court continued. To tell the truth, the proceedings were so ridiculously

preposterous that the members wondered whether the "leg-pulling" was done

by themselves or by Dickey!

Though the members were full of doubt, they decided on a new tack the

following night and asked Dickey if it was customary for an officer of the deck

to be armed and to fire on a passing ship when in an American port under

conditions of peace. He answered in the negative and was then questioned on

the political situation. Finally he admitted that it was so serious that a mere spark

could easily explode it into a real war. He was growing a bit nervous but still did

not belittle himselfor his performance ofduty, even when asked if he had turned

the ship's searchlights on the boat. The court knew he had failed to do so, as it also knew he had neglected to have the lights tested.

With this evidence against him, Dickey began shifting from seat to seat along

the table until, instead ofbeing next to the recorder at one end, he was alongside

the members at the other. The members then began shifting to the other side of

the table, one seat at a time, and as Dickey continued to follow, they continued to

move. I doubt if in all of naval history there is anything to equal the "run

around" of that remarkable court, for it made two complete circuits before

adjournment was announced to await action of the "convening authority." The

recorder was directed to prepare the record for signing, since no other witnesses

were to be called. When he realized all the work and time this involved, the

recorder demanded to know who the victim of the joke was—Dickey or

himself! It took much persuasion to convince the recorder that such an amusing

and unusual court proceedings should be preserved in writing, but he finally

agreed to cooperate. Although it took a week to complete, with signatures, etc.,

the record was then handed to the senior member ofthe court while Dickey was

present. Then I was asked to deliver it to the captain and, in consequence, was

hounded by Dickey to know what the captain would do about it. But I could

not venture a hint. He feared the captain might send it to the commander in

chief, and he watched the mail boats constantly. He was a good actor if he was

"stringing us," because we were not quite sure of ourselves.

The next evening just before coffee was served, the captain's orderly,

following instructions, hurried to the wardroom and without a word handed a huge envelope to the senior member of the court. Slowly he opened the

envelope, glanced at the court record it contained and saying "Humph! Dickey's

court," he uninterestedly stuck it back in the envelope, lighted a cigar, and began

90
In Manila Bay

his smoke over his coffee. Dickey nearly passed out. At last, the senior member

again took up the record and, glancing slowly over its pages, suddenly said "Ah,

here we are" and with that proceeded to read the endorsement to the record by

the "convening authority," which I knew well, because I had typed it.

1

.

The convening authority desires this endorsement be read to Wardroom offi- cers assembled at mess.

2. The convening authority wishes to express its appreciation of the zeal shown by

Ensign while officer ofthe deck at the time of the capture of the

Philippine vessel. His bravery is clearly proven by his own testimony.

3. It is noted that although no details of the captured vessel were given by Ensign

in his written report, he did, while testifying as a naval expert,

prove the vessel was only a very old, rotten canoe, the value of which he gradually

reduced from two thousand dollars gold to twenty-five dollars "mex."

4. Certain facts were elicited from the ensign's report which the convening

authority cannot ignore and are as follows:

First, That Ensign armed himselfwith a loaded revolver before

going on watch that night although he had no orders to do so.

Second, That Ensign fired on a friendly vessel in time of peace,

not having orders to do so.

Third, That by firing that shot, the ensign ignored the possibility of his start- ing a condition of war by firing on a Filipino vessel.

Fourth, The ensign failed to use a searchlight to determine the character of a suspicious vessel.

Fifth, That before shooting, the ensign had completely neglected to test the

searchlights of the Monadnock when coming on duty.

These facts do not harmonize well with his testimony proving his zeal and

bravery but indicate a laxity in the performance of duty by officers of the

Monadnock, a laxity the "convening authority" does not concede. Since the

actions of Ensign on the night of the capture tend to reflect a certain amount of discredit on all of the Monadnock's officers, the "convening

authority" deems it only right and proper that Ensign furnish to

the Wardroom Mess ofthe Monadnock six quarts ofchampagne properly chilled.

91
An Admiral's Yarn

There was, of course, great suspense while that endorsement was being read

out, for only at the end, when we could see Dickey s reaction to it, would we

know whether he would accept the joke or pass it back to the court. He showed

various emotions, but finally broke into a broad smile of relief and pleasure.

Almost at once he cried out, "Boy, boy! Bring on the champagne." It appeared

almost at once, as all preparations for serving it had been prearranged, although it was not known whether the members ofthe court or Dickey would have to pay

for it. Dickey elected himself the host!

We all remained at the table, talking the court over and drinking champagne

for a considerable time, and when the last bottle was consumed and it was

thought the party about ended, I said to Dickey, "When did you catch on to the

fact that the court was a joke?" Looking around the table in wild-eyed

amazement he said, "Joke! Joke! You don't mean the whole thing is a joke?"

Then when we confirmed the fact, he looked solemn for a second and then

called, "Boy! Boy! Bring on six more quarts." Thus ended the court.

Not every unusual event aboard the Monadnock had such a pleasant

ending—there was one that caused us all sadness and regret. The Chief Petty

Officer's mess had a drinking party which was kept very secret. No one except

the mess members would ever have known of it except for the unfortunate fact

that the day after it, the Chief Boatswain's Mate of the ship was found lying on

the forecastle in a state of coma. He was at once carried to "sick bay," where the

doctors quickly found that he had been drinking. But whether his condition was

caused by that or not was not at once ascertained. However, instead of

recovering, the man was sinking rapidly and was rushed ashore to the Naval

Hospital where he died that night. Word ofhis alarming attack went through the

ship like wildfire, but even the doctors were at a loss to determine whether it was

caused by poison or excessive drinking. Soon the Chief Master at Arms was

taken ill and, while in "sick bay" and badly frightened, divulged the fact that

some alcohol had been stolen from the ship's supply and made into a punch of

which they all drank freely.

At that time, because it was rather new to the world, the poisonous effects of

wood alcohol were not known, and little attention had been paid when the

alcohol supplied to naval ships was changed from grain to wood alcohol. Possibly

the doctors knew about the deadly effects of the latter for which there was no

known antidote, but not realizing anyone would steal or drink it, failed to

caution those aboard ship. The Chief Master of Arms died, and the following

day another of our Chief Petty Officers passed on. The deaths of three leading enlisted men of the Monadnock from wood

alcohol poisoning brought a wave of consternation in Dewey's fleet. Steps were

92
In Manila Bay

taken immediately to warn everyone in the fleet of the deadly effects of wood

alcohol, for which there was no antidote, and to use caution against the fumes

when applying shellac on inside doors.

Report was also made by cable to the Navy Department that it might inform

all ships of the danger in the alcohol supplied them. We thought that having sent

out such a warning, the Navy Department would continue to supply wood

alcohol, but instead, it ordered all ships to rid themselves ofwood alcohol at once

and directed that thereafter they carry only grain alcohol. As far as I know, that

order is still in effect.

Time dragged heavily from our arrival in August '98 until February 5, '99, on

which day the great Filipino insurrection broke out. As far as we knew, there

were no overt actions on our part that started it. Nevertheless, about two o'clock

in the morning, February 5th, the insurrectionist army, in all its strength,

suddenly began heavy attacks along the entire length of our defensive line

around Manila.

93

XIII

Insurrection in the Philippines

WHYTHE FILIPINOS ATTACKED when they should not have was ever a mystery to us. We firmly believed that every Filipino would benefit from

U.S. rule and that the vast majority ofthem wanted that. We could only reason that

not an act of commission by the United States but rather an act of omission caused

the outbreak, i.e., because we could not immediately establish a civil government for

them when Spain ceded the islands to us. I still believe that had the United States

not omitted to prompdy set up a government throughout the islands, the

insurrection might not have occurred. However, that was nearly impossible for us. We had never before dealt with the problem ofgoverning a large and populous area

far across the sea. We were not prepared. Thus, at the outbreak of the insurrection,

the only portion of the islands governed by us was the area around Manila Bay.

Apparently it was the absence of government at that time that prompted the

Filipinos to establish one. The set-up was almost perfect, for except at Manila

and Cavite close by, where our troops were, the only organized group on the

islands was the one gathered around Manila, calling itself the "Filipino Army." It was a comparatively small, minority group of a local tribe, but it wanted to hold

the reins and accumulate the spoils through governing the entire archipelago.

They believed they were strong enough not only to defeat the small army we

had in the islands but to establish a government of their own long before the

United States could do anything about it. In the parlance of the time, "the

psychological moment had arrived," so they struck.

It was said that the insurrectionists around Manila numbered nearly sixty

thousand men, most of whom were equipped with rifles and plenty of
An Admiral's Yarn

ammunition. The remainder carried bolos, spears, and other native equipment.

Holding the initiative and being in a position to select the points ofattack, while

our own small force was spread over the entire defensive line, the insurrectionists

had us in the "jaybird seat." If such a movement could have ever succeeded, it should have been that day. Both sides realized this, and the fighting was

desperate.

The Monadnock's position on the extreme right of the defensive line around

Manila was a vital one. The terrain outside the line was dry and furnished such

fine cover for the attacks that the insurrectionists close it for their major effort. If

they could break through our defense there, they not only would have easy and

quick access to the business and wealthy part of Manila for looting, but at the

same time would outflank the defenders and have them at their mercy For that

reason, they concentrated their attack on that flank and on the Monadnock.

As signal officer of the Monadnock, and responsible for our communication

with the army, I took station aloft where I had a wonderful view of the battle in

the Fort Malata area. The insurrectionists had a good plan. They put the army

line and the Monadnock under intense rifle fire, apparendy to weaken or drive the

defenders away, their intent being to seize the line. Therefore, from about 2 a.m.

until early the following afternoon, we were besieged with a hail of Mauser

bullets. The firing was incessant, so the noise ofthe battle continued steadily. But,

although the army defenders were firing constantly, the Monadnock remained

silent; the army had requested us not to open fire until they needed our support.

It was not pleasant to be under such heavy fire and not reply to it, and it is possible the insurrectionists thought they had silenced the ship; since the time

we had carried out a stern anchor and moored the ship so that it would be

parallel to the beach when we "opened fire," they had not seen any activity on

board. To haul the ship to its position necessitated using men to heave in on the

exposed quarterdeck capstan. As we did that, the Filipinos concentrated their

fire on the capstan. Strange to say, even with such a hail of bullets, only one man

was wounded—a fireman who came up to get some fresh air. As he stepped on a deck, a bullet struck his kneecap, crippling him for life. Shortly after noon the

volume of fire on the Monadnock decreased considerably. Nevertheless, we were

kept under a constant stream of single bullets sufficiently accurate to be

annoying. We could not see anyone firing the shots, but after careful watch we

decided the most effective ones came from an old wreck lying on the beach just

outside our defensive line. Making sure that insurrectionist sharpshooters were

sniping at us from that wreck, we gained permission from the army to shell them

with our 6-pdr. guns. It did not take long to rout the snipers, for when our little shells began to burst we saw some of them running, and later discovered the

96
Insurrection in the Philippines

bodies of others. The insurrectionists continued their heavy firing on our army's

trenches, and when I saw they were massing their reserves in the wood, brush,

and fields close behind their line of trenches, I sent a report at once to the army

to warn them of an impending charge. They had just observed the

concentration and requested us to open fire on it, which we did. Being all set up

for it, we responded quickly with all our guns, 10-inch, 4-inch, 6-pdrs. and

3-pdrs. That heavy gunfire and the tremendous explosions of our 10-inch shells,

coupled with the army's heavy, rapid fire, just as the Filipinos charged, was too

much for them. The front of the charge barely reached our trenches when

suddenly the entire charging line turned tail and ran. Our army rushed out of

their trenches after them, and the Monadnock steamed along the beach while

continuing its gunfire.

How far the insurrectionists on that Fort Malata front ran that day we never knew, but the army chased them about three miles to the village of Paraiiaque

and then halted to dig in, not wanting to extend their defensive line to the

breaking point. The Monadnock anchored off the village to continue its support,

if necessary, but by dark that night, the great attack on Manila had not only

utterly failed but our army had established a new defensive line around the city,

two or three miles farther out.

The next several days were quiet. As we took stock of the battle, we felt we

had inflicted a crushing defeat sufficient to stop the movement forever. However,

we soon found we were wrong, for within a week the insurrectionists, not seeing

the arrival of further troops or activity from us, again began to assemble outside

our new defensive line. At first their slow movements were scarcely apparent to

us, but before long troops and trenches began to appear, compelling the

Monadnock to illuminate them with searchlights should their plan be to surprise

attack us. For a while the searchlights kept the Filipinos fairly quiet at night, but

as time passed they grew bolder and bolder. Finally they fired on the ship. This

continued for several weeks and, although not incessant, it continued

sporadically throughout the day and night.

Unpleasant as we found the firing, it was rather ineffective, for bullets hitting

the ship did no damage at all and practically none hit personnel. We became so accustomed to their whizzing around that we paid little attention to them

except when the firing became very heavy and in volleys, and we were obliged

to seek protection. That condition held for several weeks before anyone was

wounded. But one day, when the firing was light and we were sitting around the

decks, a stray bullet came along where two men were talking. The bullet hit one

of them in the jaw, passed through under his tongue, and brought up in his

97
An Admiral's Yarn

shoulder on the other side. It was not a particularly serious wound but enough

to make us realize that real hits might be expected at any time.

During this period we remained generally inactive though occasionally, when

the firing at us became unusually heavy, the ship would throw a few shells into

the Filipino trenches and the buildings of Paranaque. The firing would then

cease. But as we never made a hostile move, and as troop reinforcements were

not arriving, the insurrectionists grew steadily bolder and more active. They not

only fired on our trenches and the Monadnock continuously, but they started to

attack and kill every American found outside our lines. We tried to "hold

everything" until sufficient troops arrived to handle the situation, and when they

finally did, our very weak lines were strengthened. The Filipinos continued a heavy fire all about the city and made every effort to establish their own

government. Our first move against the insurrectionists was to the southward of

Manila where the insurgent army was forming. The initiative for forcing matters

was in our hands at last, so at a pre-established time, the army on our front

advanced from the trenches and, with the Monadnock steaming along the shore

and shellingjust ahead of them, they drove the Filipinos back several miles more

in what was called "the Battle of Paranaque."

Apparently in the belief that this southward attack would weaken our lines

north of the city, the insurrectionists began to assemble a large army there and

attack from that point. They did not succeed in breaking the line, yet the attempt

was more than abortive—it resulted in the Monadnock being sent to support the

line there and the army sending heavy reinforcements.

The area to the north of Manila was considerably more swampy than to the

south and far more difficult for our army to attack, especially since the

insurrectionists were well entrenched. Because of this swampy shoreline, they

were unable to keep the Monadnock under fire while we waited for the army to

attack. Also, the heavy swamp growth so hid the ship from shore that it attracted

little attention. On the other hand, from our guns or from the bridge, we could

not see the ground that we were expected to fire on or even see our army's

position on shore. To send to or receive signals from the army, I had to climb

high on the mast, and I found also from that position that I could see both our

own and the insurgent lines beyond the low trees. In those days, naval ships were not equipped for "indirect firing," and in order

to inflict hits, we had to see the targets through our gunsights. Thus it appeared

that the Monadnock's guns would be of little help in driving out the

insurrectionists north of the city.

The first initiative was the army's. After a quick survey, it prepared an accurate

map of the area showing the exact locations of the Filipino trenches and the

98
Insurrection in the Philippines

Monadnock, which was again moved head and stern in a fixed position. Then,

having decided where they wanted our shells to fall, the army sent us messages

giving the exact range and bearing from our guns and the spot they wanted our

shells to strike. It then became the navy's problem to make them hit there!

Present day equipment can place an out-of-sight area under accurate gunfire,

but this was not so in 1899. We had only the magnetic compasses used for

steering from which to obtain direction, and no devices for transferring that

direction to the guns—and gunsights were not designed to make hits at a particular range unless the target was visible to us. These were not the only

difficulties, for while in the navy we ordinarily dealt only with magnetic

directions, those given us by the army were always true directions. To shift from

one to the other, we had to apply two correctives in azimuth—first the variation

between the true north ofthe earth and the magnetic north as kept by a compass

in the part of the world we were in at the time, and second, the deviation of the

compass caused by the magnetism of the ship itself. With the gyrocompass we

no longer have to compensate for these two errors. Getting true direction is easy

now, but it was not that way forty years ago.

The azimuth corrections were quickly ascertained, but to lay the guns in a certain true direction given by the army was another problem. The only way we

could meet that was to work from the true direction in which the ship was

pointing (the true direction of our fore and aft line) , and then train the guns

through the proper number of degrees from the fore and aft lines to bring them

to the correct true direction. Under today's conditions, pointing a ship's guns in

the exact true direction desired requires only a few seconds, but at that time, it took a full day to accomplish it. With the guns pointed correctly in azimuth, our

next problem was to point them above horizontal to the exact degree necessary

to ensure that the shells would fall a given distance away. Today this is a simple

matter, but not so in '99 when there was nothing to establish the horizontal or

zero line—the angle of elevation from which the guns had to be measured. We

were obliged to use a "gunner's quadrant," a device that when set on the gun

itself would cause the pendulum to read 0° elevation when the gun was exactly

horizontal. It would then show the number of degrees the gun moved through

as its muzzle was elevated or depressed. This was a rather crude device for

obtaining exact range, but it enabled us to lay the guns at the approximate angle

of elevation necessary to hit the desired range.

It was fortunate that the ship was moored securely in position, for the slightest

change in heading or heel would have necessitated complete alteration in the

way the guns were laid. Being thus prepared, we were ready to do the navy's part

when the army needed us. We arranged with them to do three trail shots, then to

99
An Admiral's Yarn

make the necessary corrections, and then to fire a designated number of single

10-inch shots. The explosion of the last shell was to be the signal for a general

charge on the Filipino trenches. Out three trial shots were very deliberate, since

after each one we had to await an army signal from the top ofa church on shore

informing us of exactly where our shot hit. Having made some corrections, the

army then signaled us to "start string."

Not knowing just where the army wanted our shells to fall, I could not tell from my position high on the mast whether or not we were hitting "that"

particular spot, but I could follow the shells with my eye and see them strike and

explode close to the Filipino trenches. I think it was about the fifth shell of our

string that raised unusual commotion as it threw up much debris. The army

informed us later that the debris was the wreckage ofthe Filipino main artillery

emplacement—the very object that the army had wanted destroyed. With the

heavy artillery and rifle fire of the army and the terrific explosions of the

Monadnock's 10-inch shells, the insurrection cracked, and cracked hard. From my

perch on the mast I could see the entire Filipino line desert its trenches and run

to the rear, pursued by our "dough boys." The firing became heavy and

continued until, after capturing the village of Caloocan, the army stopped to

consolidate its gains.

Those gains took them well beyond where naval ships could give support,

and the natives suffered such defeat that their main army was badly damaged.

However, the great victory at Caloocan was not without its cost to us—our

army suffered severe losses in both men and officers. Killed in that fight was the

very able and gready beloved General Lawton.

After the battle of Caloocan, the insurrection took a new turn. Numerous

and heavy engagements continued to occur around Manila as the army carried

on clean-up operations to destroy the large insurrectionist army north of the

city. Under the pressure there and with the battle continuing southward, the

army was kept busy, although it had the situation well in hand around Manila.

The islands at the time were populated by about seven million Filipinos who

belonged to a large number of different tribes, each occupying certain areas on

islands and each having its own language, customs, and religion. There was no

common feeling or purpose among them, and each tribe wanted to fight with

any other tribe they encountered. The Tagalogs were perhaps the strongest, the

best-educated, and most politically minded of any, and it was they who first

attempted to seize control. Without established government in the various areas, certain groups attempted to gain control, and it took the army and navy

operating together to curtail this. To the navy fell the task of occupying the

100
Insurrection in the Philippines

larger towns, most of which were accessible by water, to prevent trade and

assistance from reaching the rebel group.

There are hundreds of islands in the Philippine group, extending over an

enormous area, and many of the islands are large. Therefore, covering the waters

required many ships and especially several small ones of light draft, inland-water

gunboats. The United States did not have gunboats of that type in the islands

other than those taken from Spain. The sea-going ships ofDewey were available

and their number slightly augmented by some from home, but they were

generally too large and far too few to do all the reconnoitering and patrol work

required of the navy.

Spain before us had faced the same problem, and so, while Dewey had

destroyed their fleet ofsea-going ships, there remained a considerable number of

gunboats when the islands were ceded to us. Of no use to Spain, the gunboats

were turned over when we took the islands and soon after transferred to Manila,

where they were surrendered to Dewey.

Most of us had not heard about the gunboats, so when eighteen of them

stood into Manila Bay, each flying its largest Spanish flag, we did not know what

was up. The surprise was soon over as the gunboats steamed past our fleet into

the Pasig River where they were moored in shallow water, their Spanish flags

hauled down, and control of them given to Dewey. None of us expected those

little gunboats to ever be ofuse to us. They were very old, sadly in need ofrepair,

without equipment, and so covered surrounded by the silt of the Pasig River

that they were considered junk. However, when suddenly faced with the

necessity of establishing a naval force to cover the entire Philippine archipelago,

the Admiral's eye turned longingly to those apparendy worthless gunboats. He

knew they were only junk according to our standards, but believed that by

considerable patching up, they could be of use in the contingency. So each

gunboat was assigned to a large ship. Each was to be taken out of the river,

repaired, equipped, manned, and operated.

101

XIV

Around Luzon in a Gunboat

THEOLD SPANISH GUN-BOATS were ofvarious types and sizes, and all were low in steaming power. Their displacement ran from about 30

tons to nearly 200, and their length from 50 to 120 feet, drawing about five to

eight feet of water. They could not have been worth very much when new,

and they were a sorry lot in their worn out and broken down old age. Still, all our young officers wanted duty in them and especially desired to have

command of one. Because I was the junior commissioned officer of the Monadnock, serving as Signal Officer and Captain s Clerk, it did not occur to me that the command of

the Monadnock's gunboat might be given to me. I was therefore surprised and

delighted one evening when the captain sent for me, told me the Panay had been

assigned to our ship and that I would command it. He told me to get it out ofthe

river and bring it to the ship to be patched up, equipped, and ready for three

months of operation.

To command a ship is the great ambition of every young naval officer,

especially one on war duty. For those given command of the old gunboats, it mattered not at all that these ships were on their "last legs," weak, and not even

seaworthy. They were commands and we were proud to get them.

It was scarcely daylight the next morning when our steam launch took me

with a working party to the Panay—a discouraging sight deep in the mud of the

Pasig Paver. Short of a wreck on the beach, it is difficult to conceive of worse

looking ships than those old gunboats lying in the Pasig. Rusty and about to fall apart, they were filled with dirt. Bad as they were, we were an undismayed and
An Admiral's Yarn

set to with a will to getting the Panay out—which we accomplished at high tide

that evening, using the Monadnock's launch as a tow.

For more than a week we worked hard on that ancient gunboat, uncovering

all sorts of troubles and weaknesses. While discouraged at times, we ultimately

effected sufficient repairs to permit the little ship to proceed under its own

power. We painted it inside and out, stowed supplies and dry provisions to last a month, took on fuel and water, and with a crew of two officers and eighteen

men, I reported "ready for sea." Gauged by the usual standards set for naval ships,

my report "ready for sea" was overly optimistic. Except in emergencies, ships in

the Panay 's condition are not allowed at sea. However, I decided this was an

emergency that required taking risks.

When I reported the Panay ready to Admiral Dewey, he ordered me to report

at once to the captain ofthe USS Wheeling, one of our seagoing gunboats ofover

a thousand tons displacement, for a reconnaissance trip completely around the

island of Luzon where the Tagalogs were fighting for control. On such a mission we had to cover approximately a thousand miles of coast, investigate

dozens of small towns and harbors, and do about six hundred miles of steaming

in the open sea. It was a large order for the rickety little Panay, but we were glad

to undertake it and started out with the Wheeling nearly at once. While the Wheeling was well fitted out for cruising in most parts of the world,

it was far from being well equipped for that particular bit of work. At the time,

we knew almost nothing about the Philippines, and no one, even in Manila,

could tell us much about the islands that would be ofservice to us. Few charts of

the local waters had been drawn, even though the coasts and harbors of the

islands were full ofunmarked rocks, reefs, and shoals. The Wheeling was so poorly

prepared for its task that it obtained the services of a so-called pilot, although we

on the Panay did not even know that he was aboard. We had only one chart and

almost no navigational instruments. Our chart was little help as it was just a general one for the northern half of Luzon, based on some rather rough surveys

made in 1797. It carried the notations "incomplete," "inaccurate" and "not to be

relied on." Fortunately for us, our runs between the little harbors were always

short and made by daylight, keeping lookouts aloft where they could see shoal

spots and rocks through the clear water. We remained just long enough in each

harbor to learn about existing conditions there, but every port showed hostility

when the ship appeared. In some of them, insurgent troops were lined up ready

to fight or seize anyone attempting to land, while in others, insurrectionist flags

were hoisted over the towns. In no case did native boats come to the ship either

to barter or ascertain our purpose, but in a few ports groups of natives opened

fire on us as soon as it was dark. We sometimes replied to their firing, but as our

104
Around Luzon in a Gunboat

mission was one of peace and merely to learn what the native feeling toward us might be, we fought only when necessary to protect ourselves.

That reconnaissance was a month long, and when it was finished, we reported

that every coastal village on the island of Luzon was in the hands of a hostile

native group. The information was, of course, invaluable to our high command,

and though visiting the ports was interesting and at times exciting, there was

little pleasure in doing so. In that land of plenty, with its fresh fruits and

vegetables, our only food was from cans in our storeroom. Small and cramped as our ships were, no one could leave them without danger of being killed or

captured, and we were ever facing catastrophe when we moved about in those

dangerous waters. We lived through all those troubles only to encounter a more

trying and dangerous one, when we met a typhoon as we stood down the China

Sea returning to Manila.

In Far Eastern waters, tropical storms are known as typhoons, and the one we

encountered was of hurricane force, which would have meant trouble for any

ship. But for the tiny Panay, with little steaming power and many serious defects

in hull and machinery, that storm was just too fierce. I have been through

innumerable storms at sea, in all parts of the world, but the nightmare of that

China Sea experience, in command of the Panay, stands out as the worst in my

memory.

There is little difference in the responsibilities of commanding officers, be the

ship large or small, strong in structure or weak, seaworthy or not. No matter

what it may be or what it encounters, it is up to him to bring it and its personnel

through safely. There is no greater stigma for a seafaring man than to have it said

of him that "he lost his ship." So although the Panay had a length of only 97 feet, a displacement of only 147 tons, only a small crew and, even when new, was for use only in inland waters, bringing it through that storm in the China sea safely

meant as much to me personally as it would have to bring a great new batdeship

through.

The Panay had no barometer, but the weather looked perfect when we

steamed out of the Gulf of Aparri at the northern end of Luzon, and we had no

hint ofthe dangers ahead.Just before we passed into the China Sea, the Wheeling

stopped, transferred its so-called pilot to the Panay, and directed us to make the

best of our way to Manila. Then it proceeded at high speed, leaving the Panay

behind.

I never did understandjust why that pilot was sent to the Panay, unless he was

supposed to compensate for the lack of charts and provide us with the

barometer, which was of new design and caused much comment and

admiration. It was a fine barometer, developed by the weather predictors for the

105
An Admiral's Yarn

Philippines, perhaps the most expert in the world for typhoon warnings. It was

an aneroid with a huge dial so marked that a mere reading would give us a weather prognostication for the next twenty-four hours or more. When the

pilot came to me with the barometer in his hand and said, "Barometer fall, fall,

fall. Ship find harbor quick," and I did not immediately change course, he took

on a most lugubrious air, gave a shrug to his shoulders, and in a loud sepulchrous

voice cried out "Panay go down, down, down." Then after repeating the

warning several times, he betook himself to place under a table secured to the

deck and lashed himself to its legs. It was a most emphatic gesture of resignation.

I did not head for a harbor. Inexperienced in typhoons and anxious to get back

to Manila, I headed the ship farther out to sea and stood on down the coast.

There are numerous forerunners to tropical storms. Usually a long swell starts before there is any visible indication of a high wind, and just before sundown

that day, we ran into such a swell. But although it was unusually high, the Panay

took it so nicely that I decided to go on through it. At about nine o'clock the sky

darkened and the wind increased rapidly, roughing up the swells and causing

them to break over the ship, which gave us a terrific pounding. We could not

make headway against the wind and sea, and we were in danger of being

swamped if we continued, so I, at last, eased off toward shore hoping to make

Lingayen Gulf.

We had a good deal of luck that dark, black night, for in spite of our fear that

every sea that came along would surely swamp us, we managed to meet each one

and go over rather than under it. The motion was terrible. The Panay seemed to

stand first on one end and then on the other, then it would suddenly throw itself

from bean end to beam end. Anything not tighdy secured, including men, were

thrown about like corks. Yet somehow we managed to keep the little ship afloat,

and when daylight showed us to be in sight ofthe high point on the western side

of Lingayen Gulf, we eased off to round it and seek protection.

It helped matters greatly to have something of a lee from the Point, for by the

time we had reached it, the hurricane had grown to full strength. Only by

steaming at maximum power and keeping as close to the land as we dared could

we work our way down Lingayen Gulf. But shortly before dark we reached a

little cove in the southwest corner and dropped our anchor close to the USS ^ i 108 Concord.

That night was a wild one. The wind blowing offshore could not raise much

of a sea where we were, nevertheless it was of such force that we were obliged to

steam toward our anchor all night and most of the next day to keep from

dragging. Standing watch in the rain that came down in torrents was not a joyful

106
Around Luzon in a Gunboat

task, hence we felt greatly relieved on the second evening when both wind and

rain eased.

By the following morning the weather had moderated to such an extent that

it seemed the storm was over, but I went over the USS Concord to talk over weather conditions with the captain. His barometer had begun to rise from its very low, and the wind seemed moderate and the clouds were breaking. He

agreed with me that I should start for Manila lest they worry there over the

Panay's safety. So at about eight o'clock that morning we got underway for

Manila.

The weather seemed fairly good that day, and as the pilot's barometer

continued to rise for a couple of hours, we felt our troubles were over. However,

they were not far away. As we rounded into the China Sea, we found the huge

swells running as darkness approached, and the wind increased rapidly. By nine

o'clock that night, not only was the hurricane again blowing full force, but the

seas and motion of the ship were worse than ever. The sky was black, the rain

came down in torrents, and we could see nothing at all in the inky darkness. I thought our situation was bad enough our first night in the storm, but it was

much worse that second night. I thought of turning back to Lingayen Gulf but

did not dare attempt turning the Panay in such a sea. I doubted we could keep

afloat with the huge seas following us and breaking over the ship, and in the

black darkness there was no chance at all of finding a harbor on that unlighted

and hostile coast. We had to keep on. As it was impossible to maintain hold on

anything for long, I lashed myself to a stanchion by the wheel to watch and

advise the helmsman on meeting each wave and on the course he should try to

hold to keep us off the shore. In that condition and with every hatch battened

down, the pumps going hard, and all hands bailing, the long, dreadful night

passed.

With the daylight, we were amazed to find ourselves still afloat, for the seas were still mountains high, lashed to fury by the terrific wind. The sky was black

with clouds, and although the rain had ceased, the air was too full offlying spray

for us to see much. On the crest of a wave we saw ourselves about to drop into a deep abyss of water, and when we dropped we found ourselves surrounded by

walls ofwater far higher than our masts. Every minute we expected the little ship

to be engulfed.

About three hours after daybreak the wind seemed to ease a bit and the seas, though as tremendous as ever, became a little more regular and did not break as badly. At least we found we could see through the flying spume. But even then

we were not hopeful of saving the ship, for on our lee, and not far distant, we

could see terrific seas breaking on the mountainous and rocky shores of Luzon.

107
An Admiral's Yarn

Meanwhile we still had to meet every great roller just right to keep from being

swamped.

To make matters worse, every man on board was near exhaustion and

collapse. We had not eaten food since noon the day before, and the seas rolling over us had drowned the galley fires. There was not even a cup of coffee to be

had. Fortunately the ship's cook was a game old seaman, and although the

terrible motion continued, he finally succeeded, about noon, in getting the fire

going again. By skillfully lashing a kettle over the galley range, he succeeded in

making a little coffee, which, together with some canned corned beefand soggy

hard tack, was our first food in twenty-four hours.

Meager though it was, it revived hope in us, even though we had to work hard

to keep off that dangerous lee shore and keep the ship from being swamped. I began to feel that if the wind did not increase, and if the old Panay and its worn

out machinery would only hold together, we might survive, but my outlook was

not optimistic.

As we went over one of the huge seas late that morning, and while it was still "touch and go" with us, we picked up a ship ahead ofus, fighting its way through

the storm toward us. We could see it only now and then when both ships were

on the crests of waves, but we made it out to be the Wheeling, seeking to locate

and rescue us from the storm. Although we knew the Wheeling could do little to

help if disaster hit us, it did boost our morale greatly to see it. When it succeeded

in rounding to our lee and blowing three blasts on its whistle, we felt much

encouraged, although it was plain to see that the Wheeling was having nearly as

difficult a time as the Panay.

Both ships battled on, the crew of the Wheeling doing its best to buck us up.

They gathered aft, clinging to the rail and rigging, and every time they saw the

Panay on top of a roller, they gave us a tremendous cheer. Each time the Panay

fell into a trough in the sea, the watchers on the Wheeling thought we had surely

gone under for good, so when we bobbed up again, they would go wild with

joyFortunately the wind abated and by about three in the afternoon both ships

were making much better weather ofit. We were then off the entrance to Subic

Bay, and I was expecting to seek shelter there when the captain of the Wheeling

[Commander William T. Burwell] sent orders for us to try to make Mariveles

Bay, about twenty miles farther along. Completely worn out, as we all were on

the Panay, the thought oftrying to drive the little ship twenty miles more in such

a sea seemed appalling, but drive we did, andjust as the sun went down we made

Mariveles Bay and anchored.

108
Around Luzon in a Gunboat

The relief we felt in having successfully brought our ship through such a storm buoyed us all up immensely, and although I looked worn and my eyes

completely red, I at once put on a fresh uniform and went over to the Wheeling

to report. All hands were on the quarterdeck to greet me, and as the captain led

me into his cabin, I heard him direct the orderly to tell all officers to assemble in

his cabin at once. They were congratulating me heavily for having brought the

Panay safely through that storm, when I heard champagne corks pop and saw

glasses passed to each officer. Then the captain made a rousing speech toasting

the officers and men of the Panay for their wonderful achievement.

It was all very exciting and pleasant, and though almost dead with fatigue and

hunger, I drank my glass of wine sitting in the captain's easy chair. Then a peculiar thing happened. Although the champagne seemed to have no effect on

me while sitting down, when it came time for me to leave I could not move and

had to tell the captain ofmy difficulty. The doctor rushed to me and although he

found me as clear as a bell mentally, I was paralyzed from head to foot from sheer

physical exhaustion.

I was carried back to the Panay, given a little food and tucked into bed where I slept for over twelve hours—orders being given on both ships for all possible

quietude until I wakened. When I did so, I felt fine, and shordy after, the two

ships went on to Manila.

Thus ended my trip around Luzon in a gunboat, but strange to say, it was not

the end ofthe storm. The typhoon continued for three days and rain came down

in such torrents that when a man was out in it, he involuntarily started the

motions of swimming. Everything not secured was washed down into Manila

Bay, which soon became a sea of muddy water covered with wrecked houses,

floating trees, and all manner of debris. The Manila newspapers reported a "three-day cloud burst." At any rate, the official record of the rainfall for

seventy-two hours was fifty-two inches—which is some rain.

109

XV

More Gunboating

ASSOON AS THE GREAT STORM was over, the Panay went to the Cavite

Navy Yard for a week of repairs and immediately afterward was sent with

another small gunboat, the Mindoro, to patrol Verde Island Passage, Balayan and

Batangas Bays, and adjacent waters to prevent arms and supplies from reaching

the very large insurrectionist forces assembling about thirty miles north of

Manila in the vicinity of Lake Taal and Batangas.

That service was of much importance because, by bartering stolen hemp,

copra, and other island products for rifles and ammunition, the insurgents were

strengthening their military power gready, even though they were a minority

group. Our orders were to stop all waterborne traffic engaged in bartering and

either destroy the seized vessels or take them to Manila with their cargoes. Such

orders seemed rather piratical, but we were obliged to take drastic measures

because the insurrectionists were not only operating as bandits but were killing

every American in sight. However, until they began shooting our men, we took

great care to send ashore every person from a seized ship before destroying the

vessel, and we did not fire on the many insurrectionists gathered in troops on the

shore.

I have often wondered whether our leniency toward the insurrectionists was

not a mistake, since they attributed our not firing on them to fear and weakness

on our part and were thereby greatly encouraged, and their sense of power

attracted many natives who hastened to join them.

Though we did not kill anyone, the Panay and Mindoro were very busy, and

during the first few days of our patrol we made many seizures in both Balayan
An Admiral's Yarn

109 and Batangas bays. Practically all that we confiscated, however, were bancas

leaving insurrectionist ports after having discharged their cargoes. All were

sailing craft, the only type of boat that the natives possessed. Each carried

passengers in addition to their crews, and each carried food stuffs, always

numerous bags of rice, fresh fruits and vegetables, coconuts, chickens,

occasionally a pig, and many bolos. On boats other than bancas, we found

shipments of cloth, cigarettes, crockery, sewing materials, etc., designated for a native store. Our task was to destroy the natives' means of getting supplies to the

insurrectionist army, though rarely did we capture those supplies.

From the moment we arrived in the area, it was a war of wits between the

natives and ourselves—the advantage laying mostly with the natives. The area was much too large for two slow gunboats to police effectively—we could not

navigate during darkness in those dangerous channels, unknown to us but very

familiar to the natives who did their running at night when we generally had to

be at anchor. However, they never knew quite where we would appear at early

dawn, and it was at that time of the day that we made most of our captures.

Each seized craft had to be destroyed, and the many useful articles found on

them, particularly fresh foodstuffs that we could eat, soon gave an unusual

appearance to our gunboats. Our crews quickly became outfitted with bolos and

huge native hats large enough to keep off both sun and rain. We looked like

pirates and our decks had the appearance ofwell-stocked farmyards. Bunches of

bananas hung in the rigging, and in midship bins we had oranges, raw sugar in

molds wrapped in palm leaves, coconuts, numerous small fruits, and yams. Under

cover we had many large sacks of rice, and in the very eyes of the ship we had a well-stocked chicken coop and a pen with a pig in it. While we were well

supplied with fresh food, our fresh-water tanks held only six hundred gallons,

upon which we had to depend not only for drinking, cooking, and washing but

for feeding the ship's boilers.

The water problem was significant, for we did not have a distilling plant and

could operate for only a few days before having to replenish our supply. Good

fresh water was very plentiful on shore but too dangerous to obtain, so we

depended on the rain. Fortunately there are many rain showers every day in the

Philippines, and we rigged a system of canvas gutters on our awnings to catch

the rainfall. By skimping, we managed to have enough.

All in all, we were doing fairly well on our patrol, and although we made few

captures of any value, we gradually succeeded in destroying most of the native

shipping that carried arms and supplies to the insurrectionists. Now and then

there was a bit of excitement, especially one day when some of the seized

Filipinos launched at us with bolos and dirks, but we managed to overpower

112
More Gunboating

them before much damage was done. Another time, we seized a banca with

fifteen or twenty young men passengers who were in such a state of excitement

that I knew something must be wrong. All were in ragged native clothing

except for one whom they treated as the leader. He acted in a very suspicious

manner, gathering several large sacks of rice around him, sitting on the top of

one. When we attempted to examine them, he objected strenuously. Hidden in

the sacks we found, a uniform, coat, and pants worn by insurrectionist officers, a pair ofshoulder straps, a pocket compass, whistle, and most important of all, his

commission as first lieutenant in the Philippine army, signed by Emilio

Aguinaldo, and a paper directing that he be recognized by the Filipinos as Aguinaldo's representative. Evidendy the lieutenant had been out recruiting

and was taking his "catch" to Batangas to join the army.

As we read the papers, the group became even more excited and began to beg

for mercy, though of course we had no intention of maltreating them. My only

desire was to keep them away from the insurrectionist army, so we took them

about twenty miles to a little island where we put them ashore. They seemed

much surprised at the action, but I rather think they felt it was from fear on our

part rather than kindness.

After keeping out of Batangas Bay all of one day, I decided to slip in during

darkness one night so that at dawn we would be off the town where the

insurrectionist-based army was. Whether I fooled the natives or they simply had

bad luck, I do not know, but just as it grew light, I found a good-sized,

schooner-rigged banca near the Panay, trying to get to a landing that the

insurrectionists had in a bayou. Of course we seized the banca, and to our

amazement found it full of fine, five, fat steers crowded into the schooner. I considered it quite a catch and at once took it in tow to safer waters. Then arose the problem ofwhat to do with the prize. I had either to take it to Manila intact or else destroy it, and killing thirty big, fat steers was a somewhat unusual task,

even for sailors. I considered the matter for an hour or so and then, having sent

the crew of the schooner ashore in their boat, I put two men on the schooner

and set out for Manila to divide the steers among Dewey's fleet, which had been

without fresh meat for several weeks.

For a man-of-war, the litde Panay must have presented an amazing

appearance at that time, with its chicken coops, pigpen, bunches of bananas,

coconuts, yams, etc., on its deck, and some twenty-five live steers trailing behind

in its tow. But we thought little of that as we gauged ourselves on results. We

stood out of Batangas Bay and headed up the coast for Manila in beautiful

weather. After several hours and shortly after midday, we rounded Cape Santiago

113
An Admiral's Yarn

to pass into the China Sea when suddenly, in the quiet afternoon, came a loud

hail from our lookout aloft, "Horse, ho."

As far as any ofus knew, never before had the lookout ofa man-of-war passed

such an outlandish hail, and being somewhat concerned anyway with the

bucolic appearance ofmy command, I thought the "lookout" might be playing a joke. I therefore hailed him and demanded to know what he thought he was

doing by passing such a ridiculous hail. But instead of assuming an apologetic

attitude, he cried out loudly, "Captain, there is a horse swimming out there,

broad off our starboard bow, and I didn't know how else to report it."

I at once headed the Panay toward the horse and stopped the ship, whereupon

the horse began to circle round and round it as fast as it could swim, while we

chased after it with a lowered lifeboat. For a few minutes there was an exciting

race between boat and horse, but while the boat could easily overtake the horse,

the bowman, in his attempt to grab the horse's mane or forelock, caused it to

start offwildly in a reverse direction around the ship. It looked for a time that the

horse might prevent our saving him, but when the resourceful sailors could not

catch him by the head, they grabbed his tail, and while holding it tightly, the boat

was worked up alongside the horse. They caught his mane and towed him, bows

on, to the ship, where he was promptly swung into the grips of the lifeboat and

hoisted on board with the boat falls. We looked the horse over, found him to be a beautiful little native stallion,

almostjet black, and we fell in love with him at once. Deciding to keep him ifwe

could get him to Manila, the men began building a stall for him.

We had gone only a short distance, much excited over having added a fine

horse to our barnyard collection, when the lookout once more passed a loud

hail, "Horse, ho." Not to be caught napping again, I promptly called out "Where

away horse?" "Two points on the starboard bow," reported the lookout. Sure

enough, there was another horse swimming wildly. From our experience with

the first horse, we knew exactly what method of rescue to take "with the second

one, and it was not to long before he too was on board—a beautiful little, dark,

sorrel stallion. They were such fine horses, we wondered how they came to be

adrift in the China Sea, several miles offshore. Then we saw, stretched along the

large white beach at cape Santiago, clearly visible through our glasses, an

insurrectionist cavalry regiment busily engaged in cleaning its horses. Evidently

the ones we caught had gone beyond their depth and were swept out to sea by

the strong current.

Once more starting for Manila, but losing the protection of land as we stood

into the China Sea, we soon encountered a considerable trade wind swell. It was

not too much for the Panay to buck, even laden as it was, but it soon proved

114
More Qunboating

difficult for the schooner with the steers. Old and not built to stand heavy seas or being towed into one, the vessel began to open its seams. I could see our men

pumping frantically, trying to keep ahead of the water, but before long they

hailed the Panay and reported that the schooner would surely sink if we

continued to buck the sea. There was nothing to do but head back, and with

great reluctance we did so, finally reaching a safe anchorage in Balayan Bay,

long after dark, where the Panay took the schooner alongside and worked all night to keep it afloat.

Daybreak found us in a worse-than-ever fix, for in addition to the pigs,

chickens, and horses that we had on the Panay, we had our twenty-five live steers

on the sinking schooner. Thus, once again the valuable steers became a problem.

We could not care for them, and even if we could have managed to land them,

they would have been taken by the insurrectionists for whom they were

originally intended. Under our orders, there remained only one thing to

do—destroy the steers as well as the schooner.

As the steers had to be killed before we could destroy the schooner, we were

obliged to find a humane way to do what we so abhorred. Fortunately, the way

the steers had been loaded helped us greatly, for they were packed in tighdy,

standing on their feet, alternately head to tail. The heads of half of them were to

starboard and the other half to port, so by first shooting all on the one side, in the

head, and then quickly moving across and shooting the others, all were killed

within two minutes without a commotion. Then, after tricing up one of the

carcasses to a boat davit to butcher for our own use, we destroyed the schooner.

It was a great relief to get rid of those steers, which ofcourse by that time had

been suffering intensely from hunger and thirst. But we still had the one to be

butchered, hanging at a davit, and I began to worry over that. However, worry is generally unnecessary when confronted with a job when sailors are around—

I

have learned from experience that always one is found who can handle a

difficult situation. Hence, when I inquired of our crew if there was a butcher

aboard, one old seaman agreed to tackle the steer. In less than an hour, the Panay

was once more on its patrol task but with four beef quarters hanging in the

rigging with the bananas.

That night, on falling in with the Mindoro, I relieved the strain on our rigging

by sending two of the beef quarters to its crew—a considerable amount offresh

meat for a crew of eighteen. We had little worry about food, but we were

concerned about our livestock, especially the two horses. We had captured

enough rice to feed our cattle, and the horses seemed to enjoy it, but when it came to water, we found the horses drank so heavily of our small supply that if

we continued to keep them on board we would soon not have any water for

115
An Admiral's Yarn

ourselves. We therefore sought to find a place where they could live until we

again returned to Manila. We discovered a small island at the northern end of

Verde Island Passage, which had both grass and water and but one empty native

hut. We seized the island and put the horses ashore, taking a look at them every

few days, but alas, when we started back to Manila we were in too great a rush

to catch the animals—so, in spite of the pride we had expected to take in riding

the horses around Manila, we were forced to leave them behind.

Our patrol duty went on as before, but by the time we had been out for nearly

three weeks, there was little shipping left to be seized and our job became

monotonous. Our one excitement, after meeting up with the Mindoro, was the

gift, with the compliments ofher captain, ofa huge dressed pig, one ofthree they

had captured a few days before.

We were all anxious to get back to Manila Bay where once again the Panay

could assume the characteristics ofa man-of-war. Also, the ship needed docking,

painting, and numerous repairs, so as soon as we arrived we were ordered to the

Cavite Yard to have the work done. While at the Yard the Panay 's "mother ship,"

the Monadnock, was ordered to Cebu, and I was given orders to join it there with

the Panay when our repairs were completed. I did not look forward to the run to

Cebu, which was about three hundred miles through unknown waters filled

with shoals. Because there were no navigational maps to be had, I bought a map

of the islands which, while it showed the location of the principal towns, merely

showed blue where there was water and nothing at all in the way of depths,

dangers, or navigational marks. However, with our experience in navigating the

unknown and dangerous waters, I felt we could get there if we knew where it was. We did so and found the Monadnock in port, expecting us. We replenished our fuel, fresh water, and supplies, and with another similar

gunboat, the Calamianes (always called "Calamity Ann"), were sent to stop traffic

on the coast ofLeyte and Samar. Up until that time, no attempts had been made

to establish our control in those islands, and therefore, some fierce and

bloodthirsty native groups had seized the various towns and were preying on the

population. Of course there was little that gunboats could do to free the towns

from bandits, but we did prevent the bandits from obtaining additional rifles and

ammunition.

The arrival ofthe gunboats was a tremendous surprise to the insurrectionists,

who, having seized all available hemp and other products, were busily engaged in

shipping and bartering. Hence, the gunboats encountered much traffic, and for

several days were busy destroying it. Since the natives would run their bancas

ashore as soon as a gunboat was seen, remove their cargoes with great speed, and

then abandon ship, we failed to capture rifles and ammunition. We did seize

116
More Gunboating

many fierce-looking bolos, some food, clothing, and occasionally a wooden

rifle so expertly made that it exactly resembled the real article. For a while the

natives bluffed us considerably with those wooden rifles, and by keeping near

their grounded bancas in large and apparendy well-armed groups, they caused

us to do our destruction work by gunfire some distance away. However, we

soon learned their "racket" and afterward used a small boat to take a party

ashore to the grounded banca and burn it, being careful to avoid an attack of

their horrible bolos.

On this trip, each gunboat captured a cargo steamer of about five

hundred-ton capacity. Both were fine little ships that were used to carry hemp to

Asiatic ports where they would trade it for ammunition. Unluckily, the steamers

were empty when we took them, for having received word of our approach,

they had been rushed to little piers in well-covered harbors and discharged of

their cargo by the time we reached them. But even without cargoes, the ships

were most important captures, since they were the principal means by which the

Leyte and Samar insurrectionists were obtaining arms from Asia.

After finishing that expedition, the two gunboats were sent on a similar one

around the Island of Bohol and along the north coast of Mindanao. Nothing of

unusual interest occurred except toward the end of the trip when we were

caught in a typhoon in the Mindanao Sea. Both gunboats endeavored to find

refuge behind an island, in the center of which was a volcano, often active. We

spent all of one day making a clockwise circuit of the island, trying to find a lee,

but we never succeeded. The wind was shifting so rapidly that no matter which

side ofthe island we reached there was always a gale blowing directly toward the

shore. That condition was a result of our proximity to the center of the stormOn our return to Cebu, we found that the Monadnock had just received a cable message from Admiral Dewey to be conveyed to the USS Castine at Zamboanga as soon as possible. Although Zamboanga was in the Sulu Sea,

two hundred miles away on the southern tip of Mindanao Island, I volunteered

to deliver the message, and left the following morning. It was another trip into

unknown waters, made especially difficult by the fact that on the way to

Zamboanga I was to follow the Mindanao coast closely from Camiguin Island

and destroy illicit traffic. Those orders added zest to the trip, and while several

native vessels were seized, none carried munitions. In the Sulu Sea we saw its great display ofwater snakes and turtles; there were hundreds of them in sight on

the surface at all times.

We delivered the dispatch to the USS Castine, and when I returned to Cebu

my command ended, for while I had been four months in the Panay, the detail

was limited, by order, to three. Of course I regretted having to give up my first

117
An Admiral's Yarn

command, but it had been a strenuous and trying experience, and it was

advisable to rest a bit whether I wanted to or not.

118
XVI

In the Monadnock Again

IT WAS A GREAT TREAT to have the comforts of the Monadnock again, and I appreciated them. There were no clashes with insurrectionists, and it was safe

to go ashore in Cebu, which was held by the army. On the ship it was cool, quiet,

and pleasant. We received mail every week or two and were kept informed of

important events by cable messages from Manila.

One of the most important events to us and to the army officers on shore was

the approaching Army-Navy football game of 1899. We knew nothing about

the teams, but had so many heated arguments over them that bets had to be

made. The army files placed four hundred "dobie dollars" in a bag and dared the

navy to cover them. We did, and by putting up all available cash and obligating

every dollar we would receive in the next two months, we raised a few hundred

dollars more than they did. We then shook the bag of money in the faces of the

army until they raised additional money to cover ours. After that, we spent out

time planning how we would spend our winnings. The Monadnock had orders to

proceed to Hong Kong for docking and repairs after the game, and the nearly

two thousand dobie dollars in the bag would ensure us a good time for the

several weeks we were to be there. However, the army won, and we reached

Hong Kong dead broke.

There was a little excitement before we left Cebu. A large British

merchantman ran aground and I had to take a boat and working party to get it afloat. By putting tremendous strain on heavy kedge anchors that we planted,

and by backing the engines full power at high tide, we succeeded in getting the

ship off the reef. For the job which took us all day, we received a very curt
An Admiral's Yarn

"Thank You" from the captain, who I thought would provide food for my men

for their hard work.

On another occasion, I was given six men and ordered to use the captain s launch, Mercedes, to hunt among the reefs and little islands north of Bobul to

destroy all shipping found there. Because the Mercedes had only fifteen tons

displacement and the crew was small, the three-day search had its dangers; not

only was the area known to be a transshipping place and hideout for many

insurrectionist groups and craft, but we were entirely unfamiliar with its very

shallow waters and its narrow, intricate, and dangerous channels. To make

matters more difficult, the islands and reefs were covered with heavy tropical

growth, which prevented us from seeing more than two or three hundred yards

in any direction, and we expected to be ambushed and attacked at any moment.

Evidently our entering these waters caught the natives unawares, and they

assumed neither defensive nor offensive positions. We managed to avoid the

shoals as we went through the tortuous channels, stopping frequently to

investigate, seize, and often destroy the numerous native craft that we found. The

papers of almost every one of them confirmed they were operating under

insurrectionist control, in active trade. While we did not find firearms or ammunition to seize, we did appropriate many lots of war bolos, considerable

materials that were used by the insurrectionists, and some large shipments of

hemp and copra.

We caught one fair-sized schooner with a very large hemp shipment. As we

approached, I noticed it was making considerable effort to keep its stern toward

us, and as soon as we drew alongside, a fat Chinaman handed me a bamboo case containing the ship's papers. I took them out, and while unrolling them and

looking over the schooner, I felt a peculiar tickling sensation on my hand that

held the papers. Giving it a quick brush, I knocked off a sizeable object that

plumped to the deck. It was a large centipede, about six inches long. Being

brushed off so quickly, it did not have time, very fortunately, to sting me.

Naturally I was furious, knowing that the centipede could have been there only

by design. Then I wondered why it had been done, since the year-old papers had

been issued by our own authorities in Manila, authorizing the schooner bearing

the name painted on the stern to trade freely in the islands.

Ofcourse, having such a permit to trade, the schooner seemed to be all right,

and while weighing the situation in my mind, one of my men rushed to me

saying, "Is it all right for this schooner to have on its bow a name in large letters

that is different from the name on the stern?" Of course it was at least

extraordinary, and when the fat Chinaman showed such great excitement over our discovery, I ordered a thorough search of the schooner.

120
In the Monadnock Again

For a considerable time we found nothing suspicious, and I had about

decided the schooner could not be seized when another bamboo tube was

found, cleverly hidden over a beam in the cabin. Inside that tube we found

another complete set of ship's papers, but for a schooner with the name painted

on the bow. Those papers had been issued by the insurrectionists some six

months after those issued in Manila and showed that for several months the

schooner had been engaged in insurrectionist traffic. Theirs was a clever ruse, for

by showing the name of the stern and the American papers to Americans, and

showing the name on the bow and insurrectionist papers to Filipinos, the

schooner was ready for any contingency. Having discovered their trick, we were

forced to burn the schooner and its large cargo of hemp.

When the Mercedes returned to the Monadnock, it was loaded with loot,

especially weird-looking bolos of the Moro type, all very heavy and sharp as razors, which we gave away as souvenirs. During the next few, quiet days, the Iris, a combination collier and water ship, came in to supply the Monadnock with coal

and water for our trip to Hong Kong.

We were eager for that visit, with its rest from war conditions, and looked

forward to a little night freedom and the enjoyment we might find in the famous

fleshpots of Hong Kong. But the prospects for pleasure were considerably

dimmed by the loss ofall our money, which had been bet money on the football

game!

It was cold that winter, but we could visit back and forth with the British and

American residents as well as with numerous foreign warships in the harbor. We

could attend the races, but not bet on them, and there were even occasional

dances. And, something quite out ofthe ordinary occurred. Ferdie lost his pants!

Ferdie (not his real name) was an ensign in the Monadnock. We were very fond

ofhim, not only because ofhis ability as an officer but also because ofhis "happy

go lucky" nature and disposition. While on duty, Ferdie was very serious, but

when off, particularly on shore, he would be so highly frivolous that we dubbed

him "Festive Ferdie." He lived high, quickly spending every dollar he managed

to get his hands on and often sponged a bit on the rest of us, even though he had

no money for clothes. Because of these traits, the commissioned officers

eventually refused to go ashore with him—and that was the state of affairs when

we arrived in Hong Kong.

When in uniform, and especially while on the ship, Ferdie was a most

courteous and punctilious gentlemen of the old school type and expected all naval officers to be the same. For that reason, Ferdie was quite upset over an

incident that occurred on the Iris when that ship came alongside the Monadnock

at Cebu.

121
An Admiral's Yarn

No sooner had the Iris secured than Ferdie went over to "call" on the officers

and probably to acquire a few of the drinks usually served to visitors. To reach

the wardroom, he had to go down a long, narrow passageway, so narrow in fact

that two men of just ordinary size had to squeeze to pass each other. Just as Ferdie started down the passageway, a door at the other end of the wardroom

opened and out came a large, rather obese, medical officer, lieutenant junior

grade, one rank above Ferdie.

Although each officer saw the other approaching, neither showed a sign of

giving way. Ferdie, being a visiting officer, felt that mere courtesy gave him the

right of way, while the junior lieutenant doctor felt that rank had its privileges.

So they continued on, and when meeting, Ferdie told the doctor that he should

give way to a visitor, while the doctor informed Ferdie that rank took

precedence. When Ferdie backed out of the passageway, he called out, "You are no gentleman."

That incident so enraged Ferdie that he did not make his call; instead, he

returned to the Monadnock, and complained bitterly of the lack of courtesy on

the Iris and of what he called the insulting and ungendemanly conduct of the

doctor. The rest of us gave little thought to the occurrence, but it rankled and

was not forgotten by Ferdie.

It was only a few weeks later that the Monadnock went to Hong Kong. Just

before we left, Ferdie received a letter from home with an enclosed check for

one hundred fifty dollars. As soon as we arrived in Hong Kong, he went ashore

and bought fifty dollars worth of new clothes and decided to make a good

liberty on the remaining hundred dollars. He based himself at the home of our

consul in Hong Kong, who happened to be related to Ferdie.

For his night ofliberty, Ferdie wanted company, but knowing his penchant for

roughhousing when he had money, none of his messmates would join him. He

therefore sought the ship's gunner, whose liberty tastes were similar. They went

ashore together, Ferdie sending his suitcase to the consul's house, where he

expected to overnight.

It was a bit early when they landed, so Ferdie and the gunner repaired to the

bar ofthe Hong Kong Hotel where, for about an hour, they imbibed freely. They

were a bit tight when about nine o'clock a large, obese man, also considerably in

liquor, came in. Ferdie at once cried out, "My God! It's that damned doctor" and

immediately went up to him and said, "You insulted me. You're no gentleman,

and you've got to fight." The doctor was amazed, and in his confused state,

Ferdie and the gunner were complete strangers to him. However, when Ferdie

explained what had happened on the Iris, reiterated that the doctor was no

122
In the Monadnock Again

gentleman, and said he would have to fight, the doctor declared he was a gentleman, a Virginia gentleman, and in Virginia gentlemen fought!

Many details had to be arranged before the fight could be properly carried on,

so the three of them decided to have a few drinks together while making the

plans, which took about two hours to complete to the satisfaction of all. The

doctor informed them that he was leaving for the United States on the mail

steamer sailing at two o'clock the next day, so it was unanimously decided that

the fight should take place that night and also that the gunner should act as second for both. They realized they could not fight in the Hong Kong Hotel or

in the busy English part of the town, so a secluded spot must be found. On

coming ashore, Ferdie had noticed a boatyard on the waterfront, and both he and

the doctor thought that would be an ideal place for the fight.

Down to the boatyard they went, all fairly drunk by that time and locking

arms to keep from falling. On the way, Ferdie happened to recall what a fighter

he was, having won a hard fistfight while a cadet at Annapolis, and ever since had

been considered a great scrapper—especially by himself. Thinking it over as they

rolled down the street, Ferdie began to feel sorry for the doctor. Even though the

doctor weighed about seventy-five pounds more than he did, Ferdie feared he

might kill the doctor. So Ferdie suggested that the fight be six rounds, the first

three of wrestling in which the heavy doctor would have great advantage, and

the last three of fistfighting in which Ferdie excelled.

When they arrived at the boatyard, it seemed deserted. The place they

selected for the fight was between boats where there was an arc light above the

rough, cobblestoned ground. The three rounds of wrestling went off with both

contestants fully dressed, the gunner acting as referee and second to both. As

expected, the heavy doctor had considerably the better ofit, and Ferdie, who was

underneath on the cobblestones most of the time, by the end of the last round

was much disheveled. Recalling that he was wearing his new suit of clothes and

wishing to prevent further damage, Ferdie asked the referee to call "time" so he

could remove his pants. That being done, Ferdie rolled them up carefully to keep

his remaining cash from falling out of his pockets and placed them under a boat.

Then the fight was resumed, this time with fists. In the second round Ferdie suddenly launched a mighty swing, which he

thought knocked the doctor far under a boat and probably killed him, so he

started a search for the body, crawling under every boat, but not finding the

doctor's body. He then began to look for his pants, and after he and the gunner

had looked under every boat in the yard, they gave up the search.

By that time it was well after midnight and Ferdie and the gunner were in a predicament. Not only were they both very drunk, and Ferdie without his pants

123
An Admiral's Yam

and money, but worse still, they were miles from the consul's house far up on the

Peak, and had to go through the busiest part of town to reach it. Could the

gunner have found one of Hong Kong's numerous chairs to carry Ferdie to the

consul's, that problem would have been solved, but there were none at that time

of night in that part of the city. By dodging from one door entrance to another

and from shadow to shadow, clinging to each other, they finally reached the

Hong Kong Hotel. There they found sedan chairs and Ferdie was escorted by

the gunner to the consul's house. The maid, who was waiting up for him, did not

at once recognize him, but after much explaining he was allowed to enter. The

next morning, the Consul questioned the maid about Ferdie and she said, "Oh

yes, the lieutenant came in all right, but he must have been riding very late as he

was wearing his riding breeches." Ferdie was still without pants, and he was due

back on the ship very soon, so the maid hurried a note to us on the ship, telling

of his predicament and asking us to send him a pair ofpants immediately. We did

so and then waited to hear Ferdie 's story when he came aboard.

Ferdie was much cut up over the loss of his pants and money, but he had

greater worries over what had become ofthe doctor and expected to be arrested

at any moment for killing him. Ferdie could stand the suspense no longer, and

after lunch asked some of us to go ashore with him to find out the doctor's fate.

The first thing we did was go to the steamer on which the doctor had expected

to sail and find out if he was still alive and perhaps under medical care, badly

battered and bruised. As we neared the boat, we saw the doctor leaning over the

rail, looking clean, dapper, and carefree, without a mark on him. At the sight of

him, Ferdie nearly collapsed and begged to be taken back to the ship and put to

bed. Evidently he could stand the loss of his pants and money, but his loss of

prestige in not having killed or marred the doctor in the fight was too much for

him. He knew he was no longer "a great scrapper."

The Monadnock remained for several weeks in Hong Kong where, although

ever full of interest, comfortable living, and pleasure, there were few incidents

worth recounting. We saw all the points ofinterest, enjoyed the shops with their

wonderful articles of Chinese handicraft, and were always cool and comfortable.

For those reasons, we dreaded returning to the Philippines and once more

engaging in hostilities.

It was therefore a pleasant and great surprise to me when a few days before

the Monadnock was to sail orders arrived detaching me from it and directing me

to report for duty on the Isla de Cuba, a Spanish ship which, sunk by Dewey at the Battle ofManila Bay, had been raised and sent to Hong Kong to be rebuilt.

The work on it was nearing completion and the officers and crew were being

assembled to commission the ship to be taken to Manila. I was delighted to go to

124
In the Monadnock Again

what had once been an old Spanish ship and would soon be an almost new one

in the LIS. Navy. Also, I was pleased not to be returning to the Philippines

immediately; the Cuba was not yet finished and would be in Hong Kong several

months more.

125

XVII

Ordered Home

IT WAS NEARLY TWO MONTHS after the Monadnock left Hong Kong

before the Isla de Cuba was commissioned, and during that time we officers of

the Cuba had to live ashore. Doing so was delightful, and we found many

interesting ways to enjoy life when not busy with our duties "fitting out" the

ship.

All the officers took quarters at the Connaught Hotel where the very low

prices afforded us all the comforts necessary, even at our pay. Adding to our easy

living were the Chinese messmen, also waiting for the Cuba, who were assigned

as our valets. Under such circumstances, we youngsters were living in a style we

had never enjoyed before.

The boy detailed to me was named Ah Sing. He had been the personal

servant of a Mr. Gillis, then President of the Hong Kong and Whampoa Dock

Company, the great shipyard of Hong Kong that had the contract for rebuilding

the Cuba. Ah Sing, like all man servants in China, had been very anxious to join

the U.S. Navy, where the lowliest messman received pay of sixteen gold dollars a month, twice what he could earn in his native land. Ofcourse we were delighted

to enlist a reliable, energetic boy recommended by Mr. Gillis, although we had to

turn down dozens of other applicants.

Assigned to look out for me, Ah Sing carried on just as he had for Mr. Gillis,

for when a Chinaman first learns to do a job, he will continue the same routine

forever after. He brushed my clothes and every morning arranged each piece so

that I could jump into it quickly. Then, having everything ready, he would squat

by my bed, very quietly, to watch for some indication that I was awakening.
An Admiral's Yarn

When this happened, Sing would say, "I catch coffee," and back he would come

with a steaming cupful which I had to drink before getting out of bed. Ah sing

seemed to think I should not move until I had my coffee, so I learned to wait for

it, and when I had finished, he would say, "Bath ready." After that, Sing would

hand me each garment in the order I was to put it on. During the day, Sing

would anticipate my every move. Service of that kind was utterly unknown to

me, and although I did not especially care for it, I felt I had to allow Sing to carry

on—for the most part.

My street clothes were always immaculate and in perfect repair, cleaned, and

pressed. One day I said to Sing, "You very good boy, always work, clean and press

clothes, where you learn to be tailor?"

"Me no tailor," said Sing. "All time I take clothes to tailor man. He fix."

Then I said, "Tailor man no send me bill for work. You must not run up bills

for me unless I tell you. I no got money to pay tailor man all the time."

"Oh, that all right" said Sing. "You no pay tailor man. He think clothes

belong to Mr. Gillis."

In that way I became aware that Sing was actually carrying me on Mr. Gillis 's credit, which he thought a clever thing to do. I finally straightened the matter

out but had a difficult time convincing Sing that I did not do things that way.

About that time something happened to one of the higher officers of the

Cuba, which left a lasting impression on me of the dangers of the alcohol in

liquor. He was lovingly called "Blokie. ' Able and efficient, Blokie never showed outward signs of overindulgence in liquor. Standing over six feet two, he

looked the picture of health, and although we knew he was a steady drinker and

that he consumed a quart or two of whiskey every day, we saw no evidence that

it affected him. It was quite a surprise when we heard one day that "Blokie" was

ill, in his room at the hotel, and that the doctor had told him that if he did not

stop drinking, he would die.

That afternoon I went to see Blokie, expecting to find him in bed looking

badly, but he was up and fully dressed when I went in and seemed in his usual

bright and jovial mood. After I had been there a moment, Blokie said, "Let's

have a drink," whereupon I refused, but he went to his locker, took out a couple

of quarts of whiskey and some glasses and insisted that I have a drink with him.

Then he said to me, "Laning, what do you think! The doctor told me yesterday

that if I go on drinking whiskey it will kill me, but when I said it would kill me

just as dead if I stopped drinking altogether, he advised me to taper off. Thus it was decided that I should take only four drinks a day, but I cannot restrain that

long, so have hit on a scheme of dividing my drinks into quarters." With that

Blokie filled his large glass to the brim, and with "Glad to see you aboard," drank

128
Ordered Home

it neat. I then decided it was time to leave and did so, realizing that even size and

strength cannot stand up against alcohol. A few weeks later Blokie was invalided

home where, shordy afterwards, he died.

For the most part, Hong Kong was mightily pleasant though not exciting. We

finally commissioned the Cuba and expected to return to Manila in a month or

six weeks when, to my surprise, a mail brought orders detaching me from the

Cuba and directing me to proceed by mail steamer to Nagasaki,Japan, to report

for duty on the USS Remington, which was then under orders to return to the

United States. The orders meant that my cruise was over and I was delighted,

especially because I was to be married as soon as I reached California.

Though the navy is full of romances, they all encounter difficulties and mine

was no exception. I had met my fiancee while a middy on my first visit to Santa

Barbara in 1895, and although we had danced together both there and in Los

Angeles and our admiration for each other seemed mutual, we were too young

to take ourselves seriously. One afternoon in the late winter of 1897 when I was ashore in San Francisco, whom should I meet tripping down Kearney Street

but the charming young lady from Santa Barbara. With her permission I accompanied her on her errands, after which we took a long car ride to the park

and once more found ourselves at least a bit interested in each other.

It was about that time that the Maine was blown up in Havana and my ship,

the Mohican, started on its extended training cruise with apprentices in the South

Pacific. Having such a cruise ahead of me was of course a severe setback to a budding romance, for although we had not talked oflove and marriage, we both

feared what a long separation might do to us. But the blowing up of the Maine

had greatly changed things, and although the Mohican had started on its long

cruise, it was called offwhen we reached Honolulu. About four months later we

returned to San Francisco where the lady of my heart was still attending the

Mark Hopkins Institute of Art.

Because that term ofthe art school was about to close and my lady love about

to return to Santa Barbara, and as the Spanish War was then on, we decided that

because we were deeply in love we would become engaged before another

unforeseen development could occur. Though we had known each other for

nearly three years and had been devoted for months, the duration of our actual

courtship was only a few weeks. We became engaged—and our troubles began.

After seeing my fiancee on a train to go home and promising to follow ten days

later in order to meet her family, the Mohican received orders to sail at once for

Honolulu, carrying ammunition for Dewey. We wrote to each other every day,

and the frequent mail steamers kept us in close touch, but it became very

different when I was transferred to the Monadnock and sent to the Philippines.

129
An Admiral's Yarn

Even though we continued to write each day, mail became very irregular and

infrequent, and at times did not get through at all. Not knowing whether our

failure to receive letters from each other was due to a break in the mail service or

a discontinuance of writing, our romance endured quite a strain.

For a matter of time, mail irregularity caused few misgivings, and several

weeks or a month would go by without worry. However, there came a long

period when not one letter from me reached Santa Barbara. After nearly three

months of waiting and often reading in the San Francisco papers that mail was

arriving from the Far East, my fiancee decided I had changed my mind and had

stopped writing to her.

I still do not like to think of the strain our romance underwent at that time,

and strange to say, I knew nothing of it until I began receiving letters from my

fiancee stating that mail from me had not arrived for about three months and

apparently our engagement was ended. I was greatly upset, because I had written

every day and had posted the letters for every mail leaving for the States. Could

the change in her letters mean that she herself was changing, or what? Then in

the Manila papers I found the answer. It was the "bubonic plague."

In the United States we are fortunate to have infrequent contact with the

bubonic plague and naturally have great dread of it. At the turn of the century,

however, while the cities ofthe Far East feared and fought the disease, they never seemed to be entirely free of it, and one or two sporadic cases of plague would

appear each day. The plague seldom became epidemic, because each case was

promptly quarantined and treated, and every day the public health authorities

issued a bulletin telling the location of each new case, specifying the area under

quarantine. The situation seemed well in hand and litde attention was paid to it beyond the health authorities in distant ports where cases were increasing to over a dozen a day—and only then were those cities severely quarantined.

Thus it was in '99 that plague cases in Manila increased so rapidly that our

West Coast demanded a very strict quarantine against the Philippines,

forbidding even mail from Manila to enter the United States.

For whatever reason, those of us serving in the Philippines had not heard of

the quarantine. We of course were receiving our mail alright and continued

writing and posting our letters as usual, not imagining that our mail for the

United States was being held up. Fortunately for our peace of mind, just as we

heard of the stoppage, the local papers also announced the release in San

Francisco of the three months' mail held there because of the plague. So I knew

my financee would soon cease to blame me.

It was over none too soon, for the interruption of letters had done great

damage. Not only had my fiancee's family lost faith in me, but even my fiancee's

130
Ordered Home

faith had been taxed. Then, in one day's mail, the picture was changed, for in that

one mail, tied in a huge bundle, were three months' of my daily letters. Needless

to say, the arrival of those letters, showing the dates they were posted, brought

our romance back to its even keel, and I decided it was the psychological

moment to write my future father-in-law and ask for his blessing, which he

promptly gave.

Thus stood our romance as my cruise neared its end. It was no wonder that I was overjoyed to have orders to join the homeward bound Bennington, for we

were to be married as soon as I returned to the United States. I made the trip

from Hong Kong to Nagasaki by mail steamer in a state of great excitement and

was no less excited after joining the Bennington, which was filled with officers

who were nearing the end of their tours of sea duty and going home.

It was on the mail steamer that I met a delightful person, a young man en

route to Japan. His name was well known at home but meant nothing to me

who had been separated from news in the United States for over two years. I therefore enjoyed him for his delightful and interesting self and not for his fame.

When our steamer touched at Shanghai, we went ashore in the same tender and

then returned to the ship together, displaying our purchases, etc., after a day of

shopping. Finally my companion said to me, "My, this is a small world" and

pulled from his pocket a small book. He said, "Well, I do a lot of writing, so I went to a shop to buy some stationery, quite a bit of it in fact, and the merchant

gave me a 'cumshaw,' a little book just in from New York. Here it is. Would you

like to read it?" Whereupon he handed me a copy of Fables in Slang, which had

just been published.

I took the book and with much enjoyment read it through that night, noting

when I did, that it had been written by the author of Artie, another book that I had enjoyed. When I returned the book I thanked him for the pleasure it had

given me and told him of my having read Artie by the same author. Then I said,

"Would you mind telling me why you considered this such a small world "when

an up-to-date Chinese bookseller in Shanghai gave you a copy of it?" "Well,"

said my companion, "you see, I wrote the book." I was talking with George Ade.

It was a happy crowd on the homeward bound Bennington, and perhaps the

happiest of all officers were Bill, Jack, and myself, as we three were going home

to be married.

Our trip through the beautiful Inland Sea ofJapan to Yokohama where we

were to fill with supplies for the long run to Honolulu seemed all too slow, and

once in Yokohama we rushed to prepare the ship for carrying out its orders.Just

as we were finishing, a sister ship to the Bennington anchored near us, also having

on board a number of young officers homeward bound.

131
An Admiral's Yarn

Both gunboats were small and the run to Honolulu would be a severe test. The two skippers, in a discussion of the trip, decided to leave Yokohama

together and make a race of the run to Honolulu. When we learned of the race, we were gready excited. Although the Bennington was entirely ready to sail at once, those on board were quite willing to delay our departure for a few days

that we might start with the Yorktown and, we hoped, leave it far behind.

It had been decided that the start of the race was to be about ten o'clock of a certain day, so the night before, the officers of the Bennington who were not on

duty gathered at the Grand Hotel in Yokohama for a parting dinner. We finished

and were sitting on the hotel veranda taking a final look over the night life of

that fascinating city when suddenly into our midst walked a solemn young

officer in uniform who informed us that the captain [Commander Conway

Arnold] ordered us all to return to the ship immediately—orders by cable had

just canceled the ship's return to the United States, directing it to proceed to

Manila at once! We left at daybreak. No words of mine can do justice to the

shock and disappointment when I learned that instead of going home we were

returning to Manila and the insurrection. We hurriedly went back to the ship,

hoping against hope the orders would be changed, but when daybreak came we

were on our way to Manila.

We supposed that on reaching Manila we would immediately start operating

once more against the insurgents, but although the Bennington eventually did, it was not until we officers due for home had been replaced by new arrivals. My

orders to the Monadnock soon came, so after being due for home, there I was

back on my old ship at Cavite.

Fortunately I did not remain there long. The Solace, then being used as the

navy transport ship between Manila and San Francisco, arrived at Cavite, and

after dispersing its personnel of young officers due for duty in the Philippines,

we "homeward bounders" were ordered to it for the trip back to San Francisco.

Only we did not sail for home. Just then the Boxer Rebellion in China broke,

and the Solace

1 was filled with Marines to be taken to Tientsin to become part

of the International Force marching to support the foreigners in Peking.

Again, Bill, Jack, and I were dreadfully disappointed, but taking part in the

China Relief Expedition was preferable to fighting Filipinos, and we were not

too unhappy. The Solace made all speed to Taku near Tientsin, discharged its Marines, and then awaited orders. All of us expected to be sent ashore but we

were not, and after several days of waiting the Solace was ordered to Nagasaki to

refuel before returning to Manila.

Nagasaki was a port of call for the army's homeward bound transports, and

shortly after the Solace arrived, the largest and fastest transport, the Hancock,

132
Ordered Home

formerly the Arizona (the speed queen of the Atlantic), touched there. By then

the commander in chief of the Asiatic Station [George C. Remey] had become

weary oftrying to get rid ofthose of us due for home and sent a cable message to

our captain, directing him to send us via army transports or, if accommodations

were not available, allow us to pay our own expenses on a mail steamer if we

wished. This was agreeable to me and I made up my mind to get home

somehow. With the orders in my hand, I went to the Hancock to seek passage but

was informed by the captain that there was no space available. I was so discouraged. The Hancock would reach San Francisco ten days or more before

any mail steamer could arrive there, so I decided to look up an old friend of

mine, who was then the freight clerk of the Hancock, and see if he could find a place for me, even in a storeroom, where I could sleep for the trip home. My tale

of woe impressed him deeply and he said, "Laning, there is a transom seat in my

room which is less than a foot wide but over six feet long. Do you think you

could manage to sleep on it?" I jumped at the chance, and with the Captain's

permission, I sailed for home on the Hancock, the only one from the Solace to get

passage, and even Bill and Jack had to return to Manila and suffer several more

months delay I was truly distressed over that.

My fiancee little knew what was taking place with me. I had told her of my

cruise being over, of my start for home, the orders being changed, and that

before I sailed I would cable her the name of the ship I was on, when I would

reach San Francisco, and the earliest date she could set for the wedding. It was

not a very satisfactory situation but the best we could do under the

circumstances. We had said good-by for only ten days and I had been away for

several months over a two-year period. We had reached the point where we had

to be ready for eventualities.

As soon as I had established myselfon the Hancock andjust before the ship was

to sail, I dashed ashore and sent my cable message "Arriving on Hancock.

Wedding twenty-fourth." I had barely returned when the ship started, and when

at last we were out of Nagasaki Harbor, I felt I was really on my way to be

married.

But even then our way was not entirely smooth, for the Hancock was full of

troops returning home, and on the way across the Pacific an epidemic of mumps

developed among them. We litde thought mumps would interfere with us on

our quick trip across the ocean, but no sooner had we reached San Francisco

than the ship was sent to a quarantine station behind Angel Island where health

authorities interpreted the mumps as possible bubonic plague!

Ofall the blows our romance had suffered, that quarantine seemed about the

worst, for the 24th was only ten days away and the invitations had been mailed.

133
An Admiral's Yarn

We were told the quarantine would last for two weeks. For twenty-four hours

there was great unhappiness and disappointment on the Hancock. Then the

health authorities decided that since there had not been a case of mumps in the

officers' quarters and that none of the officers had been exposed to it, they

should be allowed to debark. We lost no time in going ashore and I was soon on

my way to Santa Barbara where, onJuly 24th, 1900, we were married and started

the happy life that has been ours ever since.

134
XVIII

Annapolis Once More

HAVING AT LAST OVERCOME THE JINX that had for so long interfered

with our wedding, we started on a honeymoon that took us to my old

home in Petersburg to await orders. Where I might be sent from there I did not

know, but shortly before leaving the Philippines, I had studied the places

available for shore duty and, having in mind a temporary period away from

strictly naval duties, submitted a request to be assigned to the Branch

Hydrographic Office at Duluth, Minnesota. So, I expected to find orders to

Duluth when I arrived in Petersburg.

My orders were not to Duluth but to the Naval Academy. The authorities

there had reviewed the list of officers available for shore duty and requested that

I be sent there as an instructor. I was greatly flattered and delighted to take my

bride there but was not optimistic of my ability to instruct cadets, and I feared

they would soon discover it. To be an officer and instructor at Annapolis is altogether different from being

there as a cadet, and while a bit apprehensive at first, I soon began to enjoy it. I was to instruct in the department of "English, History and Law," and because I had not specialized in those subjects, I was obliged to study hard to keep ahead of

the cadets. There was great variety in what I was supposed to teach—English,

including reading, writing, spelling, grammar, rhetoric, theme writing, etc; History, including U.S. history, ancient and modern world history, naval history,

etc; and Law, including both military and international. It took nearly constant

study to cover all the subjects, but I found time to enjoy most of the pleasures of

Annapolis and the Naval Academy On the social side there was always activity,
An Admiral's Yam

although none of the officers had much money to spend. We clubbed together

to give frequent dances in the gymnasium, when the only expenses would be for

a bowl of lemonade. We had use of the many boats at the Academy for sailing

parties and picnics; we watched the numerous cadet teams training for their

games; we witnessed various drills and gathered at friends' quarters for parties;

and we always went to the cadet hops.

Now and then something out of the ordinary would happen, such as my first

examination for promotion, which had become due in July but was held in

October after I settled in at the Academy I studied hard for it and felt quite

prepared when the orders came, but having heard of the thoroughness of the

tests, I was rather in awe of them. With four of my classmates who also had just

returned from the Philippines, I reported to the Naval Examining Board in

Washington.

The members of that Board were "old sea dogs" who were well known to us,

at least by name. Some of them had been our instructors at the Naval Academy

and had written what we considered highbrow books on navigation, ordnance,

etc. To prove ourselves worthy of promotion in the eyes of such men seemed a large order, and when I say we were shaking in our boots, I mean it. The examination lasted from nine a.m. to four p.m. every day for a week. The

members of the Board sat at desks facing the tables where we worked, and while

each had charge of a particular subject," all members passed on the papers. The

officer in charge ofa subject would hand each one of us a slip with a question on

it, which we answered in writing. No two of us were given the same question,

and by thorough and separate examination, each candidate had to show the

Board his fitness for promotion.

Not all the subjects were difficult for me, especially seamanship, navigation,

and such, in which I had extensive experience while at sea. But there were other

subjects, for instance, electrical engineering, steam engineering, ordnance and

gunnery, which I had to study. Then, too, there was my "bete noir," French, for

which I had no gift at all. Hence, when I saw the President of the Board as he

looked at my French paper and heard him say to one of the other board

members, "Laning's French is rich," I was more worried than ever as the end of

the week approached.

Finally, just before the closing hour of the last day, the President suddenly

announced, "The examinations are over. Turn in all papers." Then, with all of

the Board members sitting there looking as solemn as owls, and without even

glancing at the papers we hadjust turned in, we were directed to stand before the

Board. As we did this, the President of the Board, the well-known [Rear]

Admiral Asa Walker,jumped to his feet, extended his hand to each of us in turn

136
Annapolis Once More

and said, "Gentlemen, I congratulate you all in passing a fine examination." That

of course was a great relief to us but we were not quite prepared for his next

remark when he said, "The Board thought you fellows would never finish

writing on this examination. You wore us all out waiting. Why, good heavens,

with the fine work each ofyou did in the Philippines, the Board had decided to

pass all ofyou on those records, long before you ever appeared before us!" A little later we received our commissions as lieutenants, junior grade.

Not long after, the first snow ofwinter arrived. My bride was from California,

and while she had been in the snow in the mountains, she had never seen it falling, so this snowstorm was a new experience for her. Consequendy, she

hoped it would not happen at night when she might miss it. In any event, she

asked the night watchman to keep her posted, no matter what time of night it might be.

We did not have long to wait. A little after two o'clock in the morning, while

we were sound asleep, there was a terrific pounding on our door, and there was

the watchman with the information that it was snowing. We looked out the

window and sure enough snow was falling in huge, beautiful flakes. Of course my bride was terribly excited, and although it was well after two a.m., she

insisted on dressing and going out into it. Of course I went too, and for over an

hour we traveled the deserted streets of Annapolis, my wife marveling at the

beauty of the snow, at the great flakes, and the depth it so quickly reached. She

ate snow, washed my face in it, threw snowballs at me, and thoroughly enjoyed

the new experience. So did I. By morning, when I went to early recitations at seven-thirty, the snow was

more than eight inches deep and still falling. When my classes were over and I started for home shortly after ten o'clock, who should I see on the Academy

grounds but my bride and the wife ofmy dear friend and classmate,Jimmy Raby,

also a Californian. They were throwing snowballs at the cadets as they marched

and at anyone who came along. But as I looked at them, they suddenly stopped

that bombardment and made for a figure coming from the superintendent's

house. It was the superintendent himself, Captain Richard Wainwright of

Spanish War fame. Ofcourse, I thought the brides would not dare attack him,

but they did. I thought the end had come for me and I beat a hasty retreat,

seeking back ways to reach home. When my wife appeared, she was in high

spirits, her eyes dancing, and her rosy-cheeked face wreathed in smiles. I was not

feeling quite that way myself and said, "Now you have done it, we might as well

start packing our trunks, for the superintendent will surely have me sent to

Guam.

137
An Admiral's Yarn

"My," she said in astonishment, "you are not worried about our snowballing

Captain Wainwright are you? He liked it." Well, perhaps he did, as he told his

wife about it and the very next day his orderly brought notes from Mrs.

Wainwright asking the California brides and their husbands to dinner at the

superintendent's house.

That first winter passed gloriously, and because I was then well settled in

family life, I was much upset when orders came in the spring to report as watch

and division officer for the summer cruise of the cadets. The ship for the cruise

was a newly completed square-rigger sailing vessel especially built for training

cadets and without engine power—I looked without favor toward the three

months of strenuous teaching of seamanship on another windjammer.

That cruise in the Chesapeake gave me new experiences, for although the ship

had only sails for motive power, every improvement devised from centuries of

sailing ship experience had been embodied in it. There were, of course, no

changes in the arrangement of sails or rigging, so in respect to masts, yards,

canvas, and gear, the Chesapeake was exacdy like the old Constellation on which I had made my plebe cruise. But there the similarity to the old sailing ship ended.

Built of steel instead of wood, the hull had been designed to give utmost speed.

The ship had a "donkey boiler" that provided steam for the capstan, deck

winches, little electric light plant, and even for certain galley cooking. There was

more height between decks, better storerooms, larger and airier living spaces for

officers and men, modern bathrooms and lavatories, and ever plentiful fresh

water which we could distill on board. So, life on a modern sailing ship had its advantages.

The cruise that summer was north along the Atlantic Coast, stopping for

weekends in a good port and then spending the five weekdays in old-time

sailing work while making a roundabout passage to our next port. "Working

ship" in the Chesapeake with its remarkable speed and easy handling was a joy to

us, and the three months' cruise passed quickly, my wife always being in our

weekend port to greet me when the ship arrived. But although I had at last found myselfwith "a sweetheart in every port," and liked it, I was glad when the

cruise ended.

For our second winter in Annapolis we were assigned government quarters

in the Yard. This had not been available to us when I reported for duty the first

winter, and consequently we were obliged to live in a hotel in town. We came to

know our new quarters as "the corrals"—two buildings where sixteen families

lived in "flats." Compared with city apartments today, they had few attractions,

but the rooms were rather large with high ceilings, French windows, and

fireplaces, although sparsely furnished with heavy government furniture.

138
Annapolis Once More

We in Annapolis were fortunate in 1900 not to have what we now call the

"servant problem." At that time, there were no industrial plants, and the

numerous colored people in the area looked for employment with private

families. One could hire a fine Maryland cook at the then-standard price of

twelve dollars a month and a housemaid to do everything else for eight or ten

dollars. As foodstuffs were cheap and plentiful, even the families of poorly paid

naval officers could live well in Annapolis.

When we went into that flat, we were truly rookies in housekeeping; the lady

of my house, although a splendid artist and musician, was utterly without

housekeeping experience. However, having provided ourselves with both cook

and maid, we went at it! Our first meal was to be a luncheon, and preparing for it became our first

problem when my wife told me that she had never put together a menu or purchased food. I had catered the mess aboard a ship, so I tried to help and

suggested that she buy chops, whereupon she diligently wrote that down on her

list and then inquired, "How many should I buy?" Counting ourselves as two,

the cook and the maid as two, I told her that probably each would eat two chops,

so she should buy eight. She wrote down seven, as she wanted only one. The next morning, for the first time in her life, my wife went to the market,

which she found filled with other wives buying their supplies. Since we were

still classed as "brides" and just starting housekeeping, the others paused in their

ordering to watch my wife do hers. This greatly confused her, so when the

grocer asked what she would have, she gravely said, "Seven pounds of lamb

chops." "Seven pounds did you say, Madam?" Sticking to her guns and knowing

the others were watching, she repeated "Yes, seven pounds of lamb chops,"

adding in her confusion, "My husband is very fond oflamb chops." We have not

cared particularly for lamb chops since!

After that we sought the advice of "Laura," our newly installed cook.

Although still a young woman, Laura was not only an excellent cook but very

experienced in housework, and was also perhaps the best-looking colored girl as well as the blackest in officers row. In face, figure, and activity, she was a real

Amazon.

Toward the end of our first month with Laura, she came to us one day asking

why two young people like ourselves living in a flat needed two servants to look

out for us. She said, "Why does y'all keep that maid? I can cook and do

everything she do, and better too, all for fourteen dollars. You just let that maid

go!" We finally did, and thereafter Laura, who was not only the best cook along

the line, was also quite the snappiest looking maid to admit guests to a house.

139
An Admiral's Yarn

Later, when winter was on us, Laura came to me and said, "What for you have

that old nigger Josh to bring in the wood and coal?" I told her that he also took

out the ashes, cleaned the walks ofsnow and ice, ran errands, and helped with the

heavy work. This did not impress Laura's business calculations, for she argued,

"Deed, Mr. Laning, you don't need Josh. After every meal of the cadets, these

good-for-nothing mess hall boys going along the back alley stops at my kitchen

door and bothers me. You jest get rid ofJosh and I makes them boys do all that

Josh does and more too." And she did.

With Laura taking over all the jobs so well, things went along smoothly, and

we never gave housekeeping a thought until one day in February when she

came to us holding a telegram in one hand while wiping away tears with the

other and shaking with sobs. "My brother is daid. My brother is daid," she

wailed. Doing our best to comfort her, we finally learned that her brother, one of

several, had left home years before,joined a colored regiment and had been sent

to the Philippines where he died. The telegram from the War Department

notifying her of his death also asked if she wished his remains to be sent home at government expense or interred in the National Cemetery in the Philippines.

The four hundred dollars allowed for transporting the remains to Annapolis

would, in the latter case, be sent' to her in cash.

Laura was in a quandary and asked my advice. Being reluctant to give it, I could only point out the advantages of burial in a well-kept National Cemetery

over internment in the Annapolis colored one, and the great financial help to

her family if the burial were in Manila. Otherwise, I left the decision to her.

What her decision was, Laura did not tell us at the time, and she carried on as usual, apparendy not grieving. Then, to my great consternation, when I had to

have breakfast at seven o'clock one morning before an early recitation, there was

no Laura to prepare it nor was she there for a whole week after that. With full

schedules every day and evening, our flat was soon in a most untidy condition.

No mess hall boys appeared to clean the ice from our walks, handle the coal,

ashes, and garbage, or run errands. We did not have time between engagements

and my work to attend to house duties, and the situation grew worse as time

went on. Every dish and cooking utensil was piled up in the kitchen sink waiting

for Laura's return.

We were discussing the possibility of having to hire someone else when the

door of our living room suddenly opened and the happy voice of Laura was

saying "Here I is. I'se back" and there stood Laura, but such a Laura we had never dreamed of—a Junoesque Laura in a perfectly fitting black tailor-made suit with

a large and most becoming widow's hat from which hung the heaviest display of

"widow's weeds" I have ever seen. We gazed at her in speechless awe, for

140
Annapolis Once More

although her with teeth were gleaming out of a jet black face wreathed in

smiles, she stood there in the most lavish display of mourning clothes we had

ever beheld.

My wife and I little thought that anyone so magnificently garbed would want

to work for us again, and probably Laura noticed the consternation on our faces

as she quickly said, "These is fine clothes, all right, but I'll soon have 'em off and

start work right away." What music to our ears! Later Laura told us, "You know, Mr. Laning, I done just what you said. After

you tole all those things about cemeteries, I decided to have my brother buried

in Manila and the money sent to me, so I tole the War Department. Then I had

to wait a long time, but at last my check came and I left for Baltimore to get me

some clothes. First I goes to the best tailor and he fits me like the paper on the

wall. Then I gets this hat and these here veils. Then having some money left, I just has a good time. Now my money is gone and I am ready to work."

I remarked that we were glad to have her back and she must be very proud of

her clothes. "Yes, I is proud of them, Mr. Laning. I knows I'se got the bestest

mourning ever in Annapolis and I sure had a good time in Baltimore, but"

continued Laura, "do you know, Mr. Laning, I sometimes think I would rather

have my brother back."

Shortly after, all was serene in our household, but we had more mess hall boys

hanging around than ever!

At the end of that academic year, I was promoted to the rank oflieutenant and

again became due for sea duty, but I could not ascertain where I might be sent.

Probably it would be to one of the many new ships being added to our North

Atlantic Squadron. However, in May [1902] I was ordered to the Torpedo

Station at Newport, Rhode Island, for instruction in torpedoes. As torpedo

work was highly professional and torpedoes were then becoming more and

more important in naval warfare, I was delighted with the orders and soon

became engrossed in that work.

However, I had completed only about two of the three months' arduous

instruction course when I received a telegram to report for duty on the USS

Dolphin immediately upon its arrival at Newport, and I went aboard the next

day [23 July 1902].

141

XIX

In the Dolphin

i

T WAS QUITE A SURPRISE to find myself an officer of the Dolphin

U4

Though built to be a gunboat, the ship had been fitted out in the manner of

an official yacht for the use ofhigh government officials in Washington. It had in

fact been known as the President's yacht until the palatial Mayflower was placed at his service. The Dolphin was then turned over to the Secretary of the Navy to be

used also for official trips with cabinet officers, senators, congressmen, and

however the Secretary might direct. As the Dolphin generally remained at the

Washington Navy Yard when not on a trip, sea duty on it was thought to be a great snap, and throughout the navy the officers on it were referred to as "Coburgers" (officers who, because ofpowerful political backing, had the softest

and most desirable billets).

Being suddenly thrust into the "Coburger" class was a shock to me. The term

originated in Great Britain where members of the "Saxe-Coburg" family were

always given the easiest and most delightful jobs, and it had become a term of

opprobium when applied to officers in our service. I could not understand why

it should be applied to me, for not only was I utterly unacquainted with even

one high official in Washington, but I also did not want to enter the social life

there. However, I soon learned that being ordered to the Dolphin was not subject

to my wishes or influence but rather to my availability for the duty at a time

when one of the ships officers was hospitalized. I was the only married officer

on the ship except for the captain.

If duty on the Dolphin was a snap or easy, I never found it out, for I avoided all social activities that I possibly could and spent most of my time working hard.
An Admiral's Yarn

125 When I joined, Mr. William Moody, a bachelor, had just become Secretary of

the Navy. Having a somewhat nautical mind and coming from the seagoing area ofMassachusetts, he at once put the Dolphin on a hard schedule, not only using it frequently for his own official visits to our naval activities but also taking other

cabinet officers and committees of Congress on their inspection trips. Through

them I soon became acquainted with several national political leaders of the

time, though if any of them developed a personal interest in me I never found

out! It was interesting, however, to have the political bigwigs on board, and to

talk with them, especially Senators Eugene Hale and Boise Penrose,

1 Congressman "Uncle Joe" Cannon, and other important personages, when

they were relaxing on board and being natural!

It was during the summer of 1902 that the use of naval ships for official

inspection trips became so popular. The Dolphin was under orders almost

continuously, and the ship's officers, ofwhom there were only a few, were always

busy preparing for any duty a gunboat might have while cruising with high

dignitaries. The ship had only the captain, an executive officer, a medical and a pay officer, and three or four watch and division officers; the work was divided

among them. Ofthese, the "watch officers" had the most to do, for in addition to

one always being on watch, be it night or day, one acted as navigator, one was the

chief engineer, and one (which happened to be me) had charge of the ship's

battery and gun divisions. Thus, we not only had an average of from six to eight

hours a day on watch but also devoted many hours a day to drills and other

duties. However, we gave no thought at all to the amount of work on the

Dolphin, and all were interested in doing their jobs well.

Consequently, I was greatly surprised over what Senator Boise Penrose said to

me one night. I had the mid-watch (midnight to four a.m.), and at about half

past one the senator came up on the bridge where I was alone. The night was

balmy and beautiful, so he perched himself on a bridge seat, lighted a cigar,

relaxed, and then suddenly said to me, "Young man, what are you doing up here

on the bridge at this time of night? Don't you ever sleep?" "Yes," I said, "I sleep

when I can, but this is my watch. You know, Senator, there are only three ofus to

stand the watches, and when underway, one of us is always on the bridge. This

just happens to be my turn."

The senator simply sat there smoking, thinking, and looking around. Finally

he said, "I certainly am learning a lot about the navy on this trip, and it is all so

different from what I thought. You know, Lieutenant, when I came on board, I had the idea that our naval officers lived about the easiest and most delightful

lives of anyone. I imagined that all you had to do was sit around a table in

uniform with your sword in one hand and a highball in the other until a call

144
In the Dolphin

came, but I see I was all wrong. I find you officers never seem to rest or take a drink, but work all the time. Coming on deck after my breakfast this morning, I found you there drilling the crew at their guns and I watched during the entire

forenoon. Then after lunch you were drilling them again, and when I came on

the bridge to get some air just before dinner, there you were, looking out for the

ship. Now I'm up here again, long after midnight, and here you are still on watch.

I will have to change my mind completely about naval officers, swords, and

highballs."

After that, Boise Penrose was one of the staunchest and most understanding

supporters of our navy for as long as he lived.

Three nights later when I again had the mid-watch, Uncle Joe Cannon came

on the bridge to smoke and get some fresh air before turning in. After sitting

there a while, he said, "We had a mighty fine game ofpoker in the cabin tonight,

but I didn't see any of you officers there. Why don't some of you come to the

cabin after dinner and join our game? I know you would like it and so would

we.Perhaps we would have enjoyed playing poker with such important persons

had we the time or could we have afforded it, but I merely said that in the navy

we had to live by regulations and that all gambling on naval ships 'was forbidden.

Uncle Joe thought that over a minute and then said, "Well that may be a good

regulation as regards gambling in general, but it is a fool one as far as poker is concerned, and if I am ever Secretary of the Navy, I will have that regulation

changed."

The Dolphin did a great deal of cruising that summer, accompanying the

Atlantic Fleet much of the time and visiting our East Coast ports and naval

activities from Bar Harbor, Maine, to Key West, Florida. But as interesting as that

summer was, it was also trying and brought home to me the difficulties a naval

family endured when the ship moved from port to port too rapidly for a wife to

follow. However, October saw the ship once more in Washington.

At that time, our navy was passing into a new phase. Larger ships had been

added, and in the fall of that year we had about ten battleships, a number of

cruisers, and torpedo boats in the Atlantic Squadron which assembled in

November at Culebra Island, just east of Puerto Rico, for a period of training.

Although that squadron was the most powerful naval force our country had at the time, it was still being trained along the old lines—to protect United States

interests in various ports of the world. This left little attention devoted to the

great role of the navy—obtaining and maintaining control of the sea areas. As a matter of fact, it was while the ships were assembled at Culebra, years after

Captain Mahan's Influence ofSea Power upon History had made the real purpose

145
An Admiral's Yarn

of navies clear to the world, that Lieutenant Commander William S. Sims (later

Admiral) planted the seed that grew into our present day navy.

Sims had returned the preceding spring for a cruise of the Asiatic Station

where he had learned (through a close friend in the British navy) about the

remarkable shooting ability of the British ships that delivered many more hits in

a given number of shots and fired many more shots in a given length of time

than we were able to do in our navy. Sims invested his efforts to learn how the

British did this and, after pondering it over, realized that our navy would be

utterly wiped out if confronted with such superiority.

Ordered to Washington, Sims at once began a crusade to better our naval

shooting skills. He did not have the enthusiastic support of naval officials but

succeeded in reaching the President, Theodore Roosevelt, who recognized that

the situation must be corrected at once. Roosevelt directed that an office,

"Inspector of Target Practice," be established for the navy with Sims in charge

and ordered him to elevate our navy's proficiency lest we suffer the

consequences.

When the Atlantic squadron assembled at Culebra in the fall of 1902, Sims

was Inspector of Target Practice for the navy, and the Dolphin was ordered to

take him to Culebra to instruct the fleet in shooting. Because his ideas had not

been well received by the high naval officials in Washington, Sims knew there

would be great opposition among the higher officers in the fleet. This resistance

did not issue from the absence of a desire to shoot better, but rather from a reactionary attitude, i.e., the additional work it would require, the criticism of

the current training system that was implied by the introduction of a new and

radically different method, and perhaps a hesitancy to question the idea voiced

throughout the country that, being born American, our sailors, even without

much training, couldjust naturally fight and shoot better than any other sailors.

Sims came to the Dolphin well realizing the opposition he would encounter,

and in his quarters in the wardroom with the ship's officers, he proceeded to

prove his case to us immediately after the ship left Washington. At first we too

were a bit reactionary, but when Sims made it clear that to continue as we were

was to invite "not honorable defeat for the U.S. Navy in war, but complete

annihilation," we began to take notice as did the younger officers of the ships at Culebra after Sims had spent a day aboard each ship, explaining the situation.

Hence, by the time the fleet left Culebra in December, I think nearly every

officer junior to Sims was completely sold on his ideas, though many of the

higher ranking officers would not permit themselves to be convinced. The navy

was therefore rather divided into anti-Sims and pro-Sims groups, the latter in the

vast majority, but the former with more rank.

146
In the Dolphin

I was thoroughly convinced that a great change in our navy's purpose and its training for it had occurred, and being in charge of gunnery on the Dolphin, I began to put the new ideas into effect as soon as the ship returned to

Washington—as did other gunnery officers on ships throughout the navy. The

new methods of training required altogether different equipment—equipment

that seemed unnecessary on what was then considered a yacht rather than a fighting ship, but I went ahead with the preparations, confident that the same

was being done on every fighting ship in the navy In doing that, I reckoned

without my boss, and when the captain [Lt. Commander George Stoney] came

on deck one day and saw all the gear rigged and me busily trying to train our

gun crew, he cried out, "Young man, what in the world are you doing?" When I told him that I was training our gun crews to shoot better, he said, "Stop it at once. You are trying to carry out the ideas of Sims and I do not like them,"

adding that he did not care about the ship's shooting, that all he wanted was a happy ship and instructed me to send all those funny contraptions ashore at once. To put it mildly, I was amazed at the captain's attitude, though as I learned

later, it was not unusual. Similar opposition had often been encountered on

other ships. However, I did not send my "funny contraptions" ashore but had

them taken to the storeroom and continued the training work without them.

After the return from Culebra, we remained in Washington until the end of

January when we received orders to prepare the ship for a long trip through the

West Indies with the Secretary of the Navy and a party. This necessitated our

going to the Norfolk Navy Yard for about a month to prepare the ship. After

that, we started on the trip.

Our first port in the West Indies was Havana, where we arrived about the end

of February 1903. Up to that time, not a great many of the high officials in our

government had visited the capital of the new Republic of Cuba, so the visit of

the Dolphin with high cabinet officers and other important government officials

on board was an outstanding event. The Cuban government gave us a royal

welcome, with receptions and a variety of interesting entertainments that lasted

the several days we were there.

It was during the afternoon of the second day in port that an interesting

incident occurred. I was officer of the deck at the time, responsible for the ship

and for handling such emergencies as might arise. In connection with my

responsibilities, I had studied up on weather dangers in Havana harbor and was

consequently familiar with Havana's so-called "white squalls." Accompanied by

terrific rains, they would arrive without warning and be of such force as to lash

the harbor's surface into white foam (hence the name). Ships were warned ofthe

dangers and prepared for them.

147
An Admiral's Yarn

It was shortly before four o'clock that day when a white squall hit the harbor

with unusual suddenness. Up til then it had been one of the finest of Havana

days. Then, when I looked north, out of the harbor entrance, I saw a small but

very black cloud appear to form a few miles out. I had never seen a bleaker cloud

or one that appeared so suddenly. As I looked in awe, I shouted an order to stand

by to veer chain and let go the other anchor. But even as I did, the cloud grew

with tremendous speed, and in an incredibly short time it had so completely

covered the entire heavens with its dense blackness that night seemed upon us. Then, almost instantly, the rain and wind hit us and it was like a cloudburst and

cyclone all in one. The wind caught the Dolphin broadside to with such force as to throw the ship so far over on its beam ends that I not only had great difficulty

trying to reach the forward anchors but feared the ship might remain on its side.

By the time I reached the forecastle, the ship was swinging round to the anchor

and righting itself as the anchor continued to hold in the deep harbor mud, and

we were soon head to wind and on an even keel. Knowing that the Dolphin was

safe, I looked over the harbor as well as I could in the terrific wind and rain and

saw weird sights. Every one of the little sailboats that had been carrying four or

five passengers each across Havana harbor had capsized when the squall hit, and

the passengers were frantically struggling in the water, crying for help.

Fortunately the Dolphin had two boats secured at the lee boom and were still afloat when the ship righted. One of them was a pulling boat, the captain's gig,

and I shouted to a boatswain's mate who was near me to get some volunteers

into it and save everyone he could. At the same time I ordered our steam launch

with its crew to go to the rescue also. How the men succeeded in climbing into

the boats in that frightful storm or how they kept them afloat was a miracle, but

they rescued everyone they could find in the water. It was a splendid job, and

shordy after the squall ended they came alongside with their cargoes of

half-drowned Cubans, about twenty-six in all. They were in pretty bad shape but

were well taken care of by our doctors and crew before being put ashore.

I had not been overboard, or near drowning, but I was drenched to the skin

and worn out from fighting the storm and its catastrophes.

It was some two hours after the squall had ceased before those of us on the

ship could don dry clothes, and by that time I found myself still shaking and

shivering from the exposure. Nevertheless, I continued with my duties all night,

but the next day I noticed that I was feeling really ill all over, and my poor head

was aching dreadfully. However, I thought it only a temporary condition, and at daylight the next morning the Dolphin got underway for Santiago.

148
XX

A Painful Interlude

ASTHE DOLPHINSTOOD ALONG the north coast of Cuba the following

afternoon, I felt very ill. My head was bursting and my brain was in a most

extraordinary muddle, but still, for some reason that I have never understood, I would not give up or consult the doctor but continued on with my regular

watches, thinking my condition a temporary one. This proved nearly disastrous, for while on duty, when a marked change of

course to the southward was necessary through the old Bahama channel, I ordered the helm the wrong way and headed the ship toward the reef.

Fortunately the navigator was on the bridge and, having noted what I had done,

helped me to get the ship on the proper course. Then he said to me, "Laning,

what is the matter with you? I have never known you to do anything like that

before." I replied that I knew exactly what I wanted to do but my head was so woozy that I became confused. "Well!" said he, "You had better look out." Of

course I tried to "look out" and managed to stand my next two watches,

although as soon as I finished them, I climbed into my bed and stayed there. But

the next night, as the ship stood into Santiago and all hands were called to bring

the ship to anchor, I crawled out of bed and dressed. In some way I reached my

station on the forecasde where I had change of the anchor gear, but felt too ill to

stand, and I asked the boatswain's mate to help me to the punt. He did so and I collapsed, knowing nothing more until the anchor was down and secured and

the boatswain's mate returned, shook me into consciousness and said, "Chain's

secure, Sir. You had better report it." I told him I was too ill and he would have to

help me to my room. I remembered nothing at all after that, but he told me
An Admiral's Yarn

afterward that he thought I was drunk, and since no one had seen him taking me

to my room, he did not report it. The next morning I was called as usual,

managed to dress somehow, and staggered into the wardroom where I collapsed

into a chair. One of the doctors spied me and said, "Laning, you look sick."

When he had taken my pulse and temperature, he rang for his assistants. I was so surprised when the sick-bay nurseman carried me to my room and put me in

bed that I asked the doctors if I was really very ill. "Ill," they said, "111! Man, you

have a temperature of nearly one hundred and five degrees."

That was a bad time for me with the doctors in constant attendance, taking

temperature, marking red spots on my tummy, and giving me ice baths. Burning

with fever, I could not understand what all the fuss was about, even when told

that the Dolphin would make a rush run for Kingston, Jamaica—a new hospital

had just opened, and I was to be left there. The Secretary of the Navy ordered

the ship to take me there, and I was the first patient in the just completed Royal

Naval Hospital. When I was being transferred by stretcher, with the Secretary

and distinguished guests watching the procedure, I noticed considerable

commotion at the gangway. I was told afterward that it was because the stretcher

men carried me feet first over the side; in the navy, this means that the patient

will never return.

It was a great relief to be out of my stuffy little room aboard ship and in a fine,

large, airy room in the hospital. I was told this was at the personal request of "the

first Lord of the American Admiralty," so I was given constant attention.

However, I wanted so much to be with my ship and tour the West Indies as scheduled that I became very resdess and took issue with the doctors about

apparently everything. First, the bed was not comfortable, being just a thin

mattress on ropes stretched across the frame. I begged for one without lumps and

was put on a water mattress, which gurgled at every move, and I complained

about that.

I continued to act so badly that the doctors became considerably alarmed, and

when I fought against everything, the senior doctor decided to make me

understand the situation. Accordingly, by the third evening in the hospital, and

while I was in an especially fractious mood, Dr. Pollard, head of the hospital,

took a chair near my bed and began a quiet little talk. Finally he said, "Laning, do

you realize that you are a very bad patient. You fight us on everything and unless

you stop it and work with us, you are not going to get well. You are a very sick

man." Muddled though I was, the doctor's words had their effect, especially after

he told me that I had a serious case of typhoid fever. Doctor Pollard was

considered the outstanding fever expert in the British navy, and I owe my life to

him and the wonderful care given me in the Royal Naval Hospital.

150
A Painful Interlude

It was a long hard pull while the fever ran its course, and I suffered greatly

with fearful pains in my head and frequent hallucinations, some ofwhich I could

recall afterward. The worst periods were in the evenings when my temperature

would be up and my nurse "Betty" was on duty.

In 1903, female nurses were not allowed in any naval activity, so all nurses were men. Those at the Royal Naval Hospital were the best available, and all were "Jamaican darkies," two of whom were assigned to my care. More faithful

fellows there never were than "Brown" and "Betty," though it took me several

days to understand them. Instead of a southern drawl with which I was familiar,

they had of course acquired the words and intonations of the high-class British

residents ofJamaica, which in a darkie sounded affected to me at first. Both of

my nurses believed in voodoos and hoodoos, in dreams, witches, and weird

things in general, but withal, they were splendid nurses. Of the two, Betty appeared to be less intelligent than Brown, but I noticed

that Betty always came on duty at six in the evening when I would be at my

worst and that he would sit at the head of my bed, rubbing certain places on my

head, which I did not like at first, but soon found made my headache easier and I could go to sleep. Thus I became very dependent on Betty and was so impressed

with his ability that I reported it to the doctor as a form of treatment that might

be developed to aid other fever cases. "Brown" did not have the same ability and

apparently could not learn it, although he rubbed the exact spots and used the

exact motions used by Betty. In talking with the doctor about it, he said, "Great

heavens, man, did you think for a minute that we were unaware ofBetty's ability

in helping cases like yours? Of course we know about it and have known it for

years." Then he added that Betty himself did not know how he did it. Doctors

had worked with him for months trying to learn his methods, but only Betty

could get results.

About ten days after I entered the hospital, and while at my worst, my wife

arrived. She had been in Georgia on a visit, and, rushing to New York, she

caught a little freight steamer coming to Kingston. I was too ill to appear

enthusiastic over her arrival, but her nearness helped me greatly; gradually after

that my fever went down, but it was weeks before it would remain down for

twenty-four hours, and during that time I literally wasted away. Solid food of

every kind was forbidden, and as only milk and barley water were allowed, and

not much of either, I felt like a starving man after the fever left me, and I begged

for food. My greatest longing was for Irish stew, though before my illness I had

never thought much of it. But now it sounded "solid."

My convalescence was slow, and I thought I would never walk again. Strength

finally came to my rescue, and I was allowed to be out in the beautiful grounds

151
An Admiral's Yarn

around the hospital where flowers and shrubs grew in profusion. Although I had

lost forty-seven pounds and my clothes hung like bags on me, I was at last allowed to leave the hospital andjoin my wife at the Constant Springs Hotel, far

up on the hills behind Kingston. We sailed home a week later.

The best steamers then available were those of the United Fruit Company,

and our accommodations were on the Admiral Farragut, a rather new boat

running to Boston. It carried about five hundred passengers in comfortable

rooms on the upper deck, but its main purpose was transporting

bananas—hence, seafaring men called them "banana boats." I found they were

well named, for although the passengers were given excellent service and

attention, they were "second fiddle" to the cargo of bananas which numbered

about fifty thousand bunches.

As we struck some bad weather en route to Boston, I was often the only

passenger in the dining room and I lived high and ate much!

When the ship entered Boston Harbor late one Sunday morning, I fully

realized for how very little its passengers counted. We were told that because

there was no way to cool off the banana holds, the ship would not be docked that

night but would remain in the outer harbor until Monday so that the bananas

would not spoil. Fortunately, a cool, fresh easterly wind brought relief by dark

and the ship went in. The next day my wife and I went to West Point where we

spent my month's "sick leave" with my brother-in-lawJohn Palmer and his wife.

I grew stronger rapidly and by the latter part ofJune was able to return to the

Dolphin, where I was not anxious to continue with Sims' method ofshooting. By

that time, I think, most officers were convinced it was the best and only way to

train our navy to become the best shots in the world.

152
XXI

More of the Dolphin

A

WONDERFUL WELCOME awaited me when I returned to the Dolphin,

and I was soon again in charge ofits guns and standing watch. I was a bit in

doubt, at first, as to whether or not I would be allowed to work on the ship's

shooting because of the captain's attitude toward it, but his tour of sea duty was

coming to an end, and I was confident this would bring about a change.

In a few weeks the new captain [Lieutenant CommanderJohn Gibbons] took

over and, much to his apparent interest, found the ship with all its training gear

rigged and the gun crews hard at work. He was a well-known bachelor in the

navy and ideal for the command, but also known for not thinking highly of

married naval officers, of whom I was now the only one on the ship. In fact, he

said to me one day, "Laning, you probably know that I believe a naval officer

married is a naval officer marred." Initially I was speechless with astonishment,

but then said I had not asked for the duty and if he wanted to establish that

policy on the Dolphin, to ask for my detachment. The talk thus ended and of

course I expected my orders momentarily, but as time went on the captain

seemed to be taking more and more interest in my gunnery work, and finally I ceased to think of the matter.

That summer on the Dolphin passed quickly, for not only were we busy

improving our shooting, but we cruised almost continuously. A new Secretary of

the Navy, Mr. Paul Morton, had been appointed, and he wanted to see the navy

at work. So, with the Congressional committees on their tours of inspection,

we were kept busy until September when we went to the Brooklyn Navy Yard

for repairs.
An Admiral's Yarn

When they were completed, we expected the Dolphin to return to

Washington, but we were given orders to go direcdy to Pensacola, Florida, and

New Orleans to pick up the Secretary ofWar and party and take them to Colon

to inspect the work being done on the start of the Panama Canal. At that time,

the canal was nearly in the stage of a project for which the preliminaries had just

been completed by President Theodore Roosevelt. Through his farsighted

energies, he had opened the way for the building of the canal by the United

States. The project was at the forefront of national interest, and those of us attached to the Dolphin were greatly pleased with the opportunity to see the

work being done as well as to be taking the Secretary of War, The Honorable

William H. Taft, there.

We left New York one beautiful October morning, and for about

twenty-four hours the weather remained perfect. It was still good when I took

the deck for the four to eight watch the next morning, but when my relief came,

he said, "With all this fine weather, the barometer is dropping as though the

bottom has fallen out. I have reported to the captain each hour. It looks as though we are in for some bad weather."

At that time the ship was about opposite Cape Henry on a course to round

Cape Hatteras, about seventy miles ahead. There was a long, rolling swell from

the southeast but no wind at all, the water smooth, not a cloud in the sky, and the

sunrise was beautiful. It seemed impossible for such perfect weather to become a full-fledged storm in a matter ofminutes, and we thought we could round Cape

Hatteras before real trouble started. However, the barometer continued to drop

rapidly and clouds soon appeared in the sky in the southwest, while a breeze

kicked up considerable sea. By eight o'clock the wind had reached gale force

and the water was so rough that we were obliged to reduce our speed. Two hours

later the Dolphin was in a tropical hurricane of terrific intensity.

There were no radios in those days, and ships at sea had no advance notice of

storms except from their own barometer readings and the local weather

conditions. Neither seemed to warrant the ships seeking shelter that day. We

merely prepared the Dolphin for bad weather and continued trying to round

Cape Hatteras. We did not accomplish it that day or even the next, as the

southeast wind quickly grew into a hurricane and threw such tremendous

breaking seas over us that the ship did not advance. We had to take the wind on

our bow and make revolutions for seven knots speed in order to control the ship

to meet the seas. But the great seas threw the ship first on one beam end and then

on the other, and everything in the ship that could move was thrown about; even

the men on deck did not escape injury. The heavy seas broke over us so fast that

our "freeing ports" could not accommodate the water on deck and much of it

154
More of the Dolphin

forced its way below. Not only were all our steam pumps kept going, but the

crew continued bailing out certain parts with buckets. Later on we learned that

at Cape Hatteras the wind had attained a velocity of a hundred and twenty miles

an hour.

For thirty-six hours we fought that storm with all our might, thinking every

moment would be our last. When the sun went down on the second day, the

wind and sea began to abate and we attempted working ourselves out of the

dilemma that had given the ship and crew such a fearful beating. What a beating

it was may be appreciated from the fact that though the ship bucked the wind

and seas for thirty-six hours at a speed that should have advanced it some seven

miles an hour, we found ourselves actually seventy miles farther back from

where we had been when the storm struck us. Partly, I suppose, because the

terrific wind had driven the Gulf Stream currents in shore to where we were.

It was about forty-eight hours after the expected time that we finally rounded

Cape Hatteras and stood across the Gulf Stream into perfect weather. We may

have thought ourselves foolish to continue going to sea in such a storm, but

none of us wanted to give it up. One officer, however, must have considered

doing so for a long time, for he said to me when the storm was over, "Never

again will I go through an experience like that, and just as soon as the ship

reaches Pensacola, my resignation as a naval officer goes in by despatch."

Inasmuch as that officer was known to be financially well-fixed and had a splendid opening in business ready for him, I believed what he said, and after we

anchored at Pensacola, I asked if he had resigned. His reply was "I cannot resign

now and leave you fellows doing my work on this trip. That would not be fair. I will resign after the ship makes that trip to Panama." With that I let the matter

drop until we were back in Washington where I asked once more if he was going

to resign. This time he said, "No, I'll not resign now when winter is just starting

and it is no time to start a job ashore. I'll wait until spring."

When spring came, he had given up the idea; he never resigned and rose to

high rank in later years. Occasionally I see him and we often talk over the storm

off Hatteras, but although neither he nor I will ever forget the horrors of such

storms at sea, we certainly would never give up our sea life because of them.

Having taken most of the Secretary of War's party on board at Pensacola, the

ship went to New Orleans to pick up the secretary himself. That visit was the

first to New Orleans for many of us, and of course we were keen to see for

ourselves if it was as fascinating and interesting as reported to be. Although our

stay there was brief, we found the charms had not been exaggerated. We drove

around the city looking at the lovely homes with beautiful grounds; we ate meals

at Mme. Antonio's and other famous restaurants; we went to Szererac's for their

155
An Admiral's Yarn

well-known specialty, and met some of the city's prominent citizens—we were

shown the true hospitality of old New Orleans. So pleased were we with our

visit that we were loathe to leave, but as soon as Mr. Taft came on board we

steamed away.

It is difficult for those who see the Panama Canal as it is now to visualize what

it was in 1903 when we first saw it. Though the French had put a tremendous

amount ofwork into it, what they had accomplished was a mere scratch on what

had to be done—and even that had been absorbed by the tropical jungle that

covered the workmen's quarters and shops. While the daily trains crossing the

isthmus on the Panama Railroad kept the growth down on the mainline, one

could see the miles of tracks and switches used by the French and also their dirt

cars, engines, and derricks, now corroded with rust and disintegrating. The

havoc and waste everywhere were appalling, and realizing what had to be faced

in nature and in disease problems, it was hard to believe that even the United

States could overcome it. On our return to Washington we began to hear the news about "wireless

telegraphy," then being developed by Marconi and others. We realized, if ever

perfected, "wireless" would be of tremendous importance in seafaring life, but

some were quite skeptical of the claims made for it at that time. Nevertheless, a wireless set was to be installed on the Dolphin.

It took a long time to complete the installation and still longer before the set would work satisfactorily. When I left the ship the wireless was still in the

experimental stage, but as long as we were not far from other sending and

receiving stations, we could get messages through when conditions were right.

In that manner, use of radios in the navy began.

The winter of 1903—04 was a busy one, standing watches and training the

crew for better shooting. We knew we were improving considerably in rapid and

accurate firing, but our gun equipment was old and poor, and we felt we could

not expect satisfactory results. However, our real purpose was to show that

although the Dolphin was spoken of as a Coburger, it was a better shooting

gunboat than others in its class. When spring arrived, we were in Washington once more and facing two

commitments: one to take a party up the James Paver for a thorough inspection

of the many historical places located on or near its banks, and the other to

exhibit our shooting ability by firing in the first competitive target practice ever held among all U.S. naval ships.

We spent about two weeks on the James River trip and enjoyed it to the

utmost. At that time, not one of the old historical places had been modernized

or restored, each being practically as it had been for years, occupied and cared for

156
More of the Dolphin

by the descendants of the original owners or local families. Under the

circumstances, they were not quite the beautifully kept places that large money

expenditures have since made them, but interesting and charming nevertheless,

depicting as they did our country's earliest Colonial days, in the Revolution, and

the Civil War. Jamestown Island, the site of old Jamestown, was quite bare, and

Williamsburg, once the capital of the Virginia Colony, was somewhat

dilapidated.

Fortunately many of the old houses and estates along the river were not

greatly changed from what they had been, especially Westover, Upper and

Lower Brandon, and Bermuda Hundred, to mention only a few.

We also visited the Civil War battlefields nearby and Yorktown, where we

could follow our country's history for almost two centuries.

At the end of the James Paver trip, we fired the required target practice, and

although the Dolphin did much better shooting than had seemed possible to us a year before, we still felt that with good gun equipment we could have done

better. In that practice, each gun fired as many shots as it could in one minute,

and the record for a gun was the number of hits made by it in that time. What

counted was the actual hits per minute made in the target by a gunboat, and to

obtain that goal we had worked first to develop rapidity in firing and second to

develop accuracy.

Even on that first record practice, we were amazed at our shooting, for not

only did we manage to fire three or four times as many shots as we had thought

possible in the time allowed, but also we had made three or four times as many

hits, which was most gratifying. That first record target practice therefore clearly

proved to us on the Dolphin that Sims was on the right track, and never since has

there been any question of it.

It took some weeks after June 30th, when the shooting year ended, before all the reports of the practices fired in different parts of the world could reach

Washington, and as we were only hoping not to be shown up as the worst in

gunboat shooting, we gave little thought to the result. You can therefore imagine

our surprise one day when we received a letter from the Navy Department

saying that in competing against the eighteen other gunboats in the U.S. Navy,

the Dolphin had been awarded the shooting trophy for the gunboat class. The

surprise and thrill to the Dolphin was equalled only by the amazement that it caused in the rest of the navy. It likewise surprised both Sims and his target

practice officer, and when I saw Sims after the announcement, he said "Well, I'll be damned! To think of a Coburger ship doing that! Why, Laning, you are some

good after all." From that day on Admiral Sims was ever my close and good

friend.

157
An Admiral's Yarn

For the Dolphin, the summer, fall, and winter of 1904 were about the same as the two previous years. Once more the navy had been given a new Secretary,

Charles J. Bonaparte, who was to be shown around as were committees of

Congress. The ship covered our Atlantic coast from end to end and also went to

the West Indies. Later, in the spring of 1905, we took another important official

party to inspect the Panama Canal—a repetition of previous trips and little to

relate, though on all trips we continued our training in shooting, hoping to

retain our trophy.

It was just before we were to fire our second record target practice that we

made our second visit to the Panama Canal, about a year and a half after the first one. During the interval we had read much of the work being done to clear the

jungles and of the new methods using vastly improved equipment; equally

important were the changes made for bettering the health of Canal workers.

However, we were not prepared to find that the Panama Railroad had become a modern and very busy one nor to see the splendid quarters provided for the

Canal workers. Best of all, the mosquito problem had nearly been solved. Great

as were the changes along the Canal, the greatest were within the prism itself, as the dense tropical growth had given way to fresh cuts through the hills that were

teeming with workmen and huge excavating machines, while trains and scows

carried earth and stone, clearing channels to the sea at both ends. We saw huge

dams and locks being built at Gatun and Miraflores, and at last we could visualize

the great ship canal across the Isthmus of Panama that was being built by the

United States—a vast undertaking at tremendous cost. Being practical seafaring men and not engineers, the problem of getting the

ships in and out of the Canal impressed us mightily. Large, well-protected

harbors were absolutely necessary at both ends and especially on the Atlantic

side, where ships intending to transit the Canal had to be protected from the

heavy seas and winds often experienced at Colon; during such times, shipping

had to put to sea to be safe. Fortunately, the engineers realized this and requested

the Canal Commission to permit the building of harbors. The request was

finally granted, but not without heated arguments which lasted some time

between the canal engineers and the commission.

To other than seagoing people, building the harbors seemed of small

importance compared to building the canal. Fortunately, the engineers realized

the necessity of the harbors and that construction of miles of breakwater would

greatly simplify their work, allowing them to use the rock and stone taken from

the canal to build the breakwater—solving the problem of what to do with the

excavated material.

158
More of the Dolphin

The commission sent for the head engineer of the canal to question him on

the advisability of the work, and when we reached Colon, that was the main

subject discussed. When the commission asked the engineer how long it would

take him to finish the harbor, if authorized to construct it, he replied, "We can

finish that breakwater in less time than it takes the commission to make up its mind to build it," and with that, he left the hearing.

The work was soon authorized and begun. By the time the canal was finished,

that harbor was ready too. Quite naturally, the wonderful harbor at Colon has

proved to be one ofthe greatest assets ofthe canal and also has even greater value

to our country because of its tremendous strategic importance to the United

States Navy in its vital work of safeguarding our national interests.

Shortly after the Dolphin returned from the Panama trip, it went out to fire its second record target practice. We knew our standing at the top the first year had

made the other gunboats work harder, but we had worked too, and every officer

and man had given much time to gunnery training. Thus the interest in the

practice was intense, and we had improved many of the defects in our worn-out

guns. We believed we would shoot as well as any ship with our kind of ordnance

equipment.

As I recall it, the Dolphin left Washington on a Monday to fire the practice,

and we expected to take as many days for it as might be necessary for a good test. Although the ship had been away from Washington frequently that spring, there

was no apparent reason for hurrying back. Even though we stood our watches as usual, our main interests were in shooting.

The first two days on the target range were fine ones. We checked up on the

range, made a few practice runs and began our firing. We did splendidly the first

few strings, and those of us at the guns were elated, but when we had finished

about half the firing runs, there came a change in the weather, with heavy winds,

rains, and squalls hitting us. Often we could hardly see the target, and high winds

blew the spray from the rough sea over the crews and guns on the open deck.

Never before or since have I seen a ship fire a record target practice in such

weather as the Dolphin did that afternoon, and as the rules for conducting

practices directed that to be certain firing conditions were equal for all ships,

record practice be held in good weather, I at once requested a postponement of

further firing until the squalls were over. Although the captain knew the rules

for practices as well as I did, he told me to go on with the firing because he

wanted to return to Washington.

We tried to continue shooting, but it was soon evident that good firing was

impossible under the conditions and that if we went on, the Dolphin would lose

the trophy. The men had worked so hard to qualify as gunpointers, but it seemed

159
An Admiral's Yarn

the crews had no chance of winning the money prizes, which had been a great

incentive to their training. Therefore, I again went to the bridge, and as the rules

required me to do, requested the captain to order "cease firing" until the weather

improved. He again refused and shouted loudly to me, "Do you think for a minute that I am going to devote another day to this practice? I certainly will

not.

Knowing how much our good shooting meant to the ship and everyone on

it, I begged him to reconsider, inviting his attention to the fact that because ofhis

unwillingness to give a few days of his time to the firing, he would completely

nullify the months and months of hard work done by his officers and crew to

prepare his ship in its effort to again win the trophy. But my reminding him of

this only increased his anger and he yelled, "You get off this bridge and go ahead

with your shooting." I did so. No words of mine can describe the anguish we endured during those

remaining runs. After having worked a full year to prepare for them, we believed

the fruits of our labor were being lost to us. Even so, we did not give up and still fought to make each shot good. But of course, we could not fire nearly as many

shots or make nearly as many hits as we would have in good weather. Our

training and skill entitled us to better treatment.

I was not at all happy doing my report of the target practice. Although we had

not done badly, my heart wanted to prove we were really the very best shooters,

and I hated to report the lowered score caused by the stormy weather. Perhaps I was galled also because no one but ourselves would know why we had not done

better, since all ships were ordered to fire, for record, only in good weather.

Hence, the poor scores made by the Dolphin would be attributed to its being a Coburger that did not work as hard or as successfully as other ships.

The reports of that year's practices were slow in reaching the Target Practice

Office. Many of the ships on far distant stations did not fire until the end of the

shooting year, and consequently, when they finished, it took a month or six

weeks for the results to reach Washington.

Strange to say, when most of the reports were in, we found we had not done

too badly, for the Dolphin still stood at the top. That fact encouraged us somewhat and we began to have hope. The captain s attitude changed a bit too

when he saw that even under the handicap of firing in bad weather his ship had

done well. But for the handicap that he himselfhad imposed, we probably would

have been at the top again, and he told me frequendy that he regretted not

having taken my advice.

The reports drifted in slowly, and waiting to hear the result of the Dolphin's

standing was a strain on everyone. Eighteen gunboats participated, and when

160
More of the Dolphin

seventeen had sent in their scores, the Dolphin was still ahead, but the eighteenth

one had us worried; it had been the runner-up the year before, was known to be

an excellent shooting ship, and had spent a full year of hard training in an effort

to beat us. Knowing the race between the ships, Sims and his "Target Practice

Office" became almost as interested in the outcome as we were. Sims also knew

that the number of hits made by the Dolphin in even bad weather had been

impressive proof of the value of his training methods.

I suspect he rather wanted us to win, because he seemed as disappointed as I was the day he telephoned to tell me that the last report was in and the Dolphin

had lost the trophy by just a fraction of one point. Then he said, "Great God,

Laning, if you people had not gone on firing in that bad weather, you would

have again won the trophy hands down. You would have won it anyway had the

ship made just one more hit in the practice."

Thus was the trophy lost by us, though we had done fairly well—remarkably

so in a storm. Practically all ofour gunpointers had qualified for pointer pay, and

our gun crews had won a creditable number of prizes for excellence. We were

commended highly for the shooting, and our records for the two years of

shooting still put the Dolphin at the top. Nevertheless, we grieved deeply over

losing that trophy, and I think the captain grieved too.

The summer of 1905 was another busy one as our ship continued to take out

inspection parties, but during it, we had a new experience that was caused by the

ending of the Russo-Japanese War. Few who were following the news believed

the end was near, so the surprise was great when the move for peace made by

President Theodore Roosevelt was met with quick response from both

belligerents, and each rushed conferees to Washington to negotiate.

Summertime in Washington is much too hot for negotiating anything,

especially peace. It became evident that the conference had to be held in a cooler

place, so after careful consideration, Portsmouth, New Hampshire, was chosen.

Then arose the problem of getting the two groups of conferees, who were

gathering in Washington with all their aides and paraphernalia, established at Portsmouth to avoid their meeting before the actual conference. Since the

members of the peace parties were the leading statesmen of their respective

countries, they had to be taken to Portsmouth in a most official manner, so the

two U.S. ships best equipped for the purpose were assigned the task.

The magnificent Mayflower (the President's yacht) was directed to take the

Russian delegation, and the Dolphin (the Secretary of the Navy's yacht) was

directed to take the Japanese. The delegations were still not to contact each

other, and they embarked on their respective ships on the same day, getting

under way, singly, for Portsmouth. The run was uneventful, and we officers ofthe

161
An Admiral's Yarn

Dolphin found pleasure in meeting and conversing with the Japanese statesmen

of whom we had read so much. We found them charming, courteous, affable,

and intensely interested in both the United States and what they saw ofits navy.

We therefore were sorry to have them leave us at Portsmouth and establish

themselves in hotels.

By that time my tour of sea duty was about over, and while I had not received

word that I would be sent ashore, I had been attached to the Dolphin for over

three years and had more than made up for the time lost while sick. Therefore, I was not surprised when toward the end ofSeptember orders came detaching me

from the Dolphin, granting me one month's leave, and directing me to report for

duty at the Naval Academy by the end of October.

I was sorry to leave the Dolphin where I was still the only married ofEcer and

where I had so many friends. On the day I left, after saying good-bye to my

messmates, I went in to bid farewell to the captain who wished me all sorts of

good things. Then,just as I was leaving, he looked at me and said, "Laning, I am

sorry you are leaving the ship. You have done so much for it and for me by

always being on the job. Do you remember when I first took command, I told

you I considered a naval officer married, a naval officer marred? Well, I want to

tell you now you've done much to make me change my mind."

A few months later we received an invitation to his wedding. I suspect he had

been in love with his charming young lady all the time we were shipmates.

162
XXII

A New Shooting Game

IN MY ONE MONTH'S LEAVE before reporting to the Naval Academy, my

wife and I went west, first to visit my family in Illinois and then to spend two

weeks with her family in Santa Barbara. After our delightful vacation, we went

to Annapolis where I reported for duty and was assigned to the Department of

Applied Mathematics as an instructor.

It would be difficult to conceive greater consternation than mine when I found I was assigned to that office. Quite the most highbrow, it covered so many

branches, and I had never been adept in any of them. By hard study I had

completed them fairly well as a cadet, but since then I had used little of the

knowledge gained and had not opened a textbook on any of the subjects. Yet,

there I was, detailed to teach calculus, solid geometry, least squares,

hydromechanics, and the like.

The situation seemed worse than when I was an instructor in English, history

and law on my previous tour at the Academy. By resolute study I had been able

to keep ahead of the cadets in those branches, but "applied math" was different.

Cadets were not nearly as strong in "English, history, and law" as they were in

mathematics. In fact, the essential for graduating from the Academy was to have

a mathematical mind, and in each class there were always several geniuses who

could properly appraise an instructor in mathematics.

Not wanting cadets to think for a minute that I was not as capable in

mathematics as they were, I was forced to study every free moment to keep

ahead of them. I succeeded, and then, when I had my subject well in hand,

surprise orders transferred me to the Department of Ordnance and Gunnery.
An Admiral's Yarn

Teaching ordnance and gunnery is very different from teaching higher

mathematics, for although mathematics enter into it, the former is truly a technical subject and a highly practical one. Under such circumstances, I was

delighted to be made an instructor in that branch, and although I felt well

qualified by virtue of my gunnery work at sea, I feared I was being transferred

because of unsatisfactory work in "math." I Uneasy as to the cause of the transfer, I went to the superintendent's aide for

information. He was greatly surprised at my asking, since he thought I knew all about it and said, "You know, Laning, Lieutenant B , who has just been

ordered to sea, was not only captain of the Navy Rifle Team but also an

instructor in ordnance and gunnery. He was responsible for training all cadets in

small arms shooting and was in charge of the Academy rifle range and shooting

galleries. Because the Navy Rifle Team is not part of the Academy but directly

under the Inspector ofTarget Practice for the Navy, the Superintendent felt that

Sims, not he, should name the successor. The superintendent got in touch with

Sims by telephone and asked him to designate an officer. Sims asked for the

names of the lieutenants at the Academy, and when the list was read to him, he

said, 'Stop! Laning is the man.'" Hence, I was transferred to Ordnance and

Gunnery to be captain ofthe Navy Rifle Team and to teach cadets both rifle and

pistol shooting.

I was much relieved that I had not been fired from mathematics but had been

chosen for another shooting job by the navy's head of target practice, even

though I had litde experience in small arms work. I therefore went at it with a

will. Since I knew a good deal about ordnance and gunnery, instructing in that

branch was not difficult, and I easily kept far ahead of the cadets. Teaching them

to shoot rifles and pistols accurately, however, and leading the Navy Rifle Team

were different matters entirely.

There was and still is a general idea in the United States that by virtue of

being Americans we are somehow born to excel in certain things, especially

shooting. I suppose the idea developed from the lurid tales of accurate shooting

in our Indian and hunting days, wild West activities, and even early naval

engagements. From my own reading, I had something of the same idea. Then

too, I came from the Middle West, where every boy could shoot fairly well with

a .22 caliber rifle and shotgun, which seemed to confirm this belief. I soon found

that every man born an American is not a naturally good lawyer, doctor,

businessman, ballplayer, artist, or whatnot.

In teaching cadets to shoot, I had to start from zero. Few of them had ever

fired a rifle or pistol or knew anything about either weapon. They were only

boys, most of them coming from cities and towns, and did not even know how

164
A New Shooting Game

to hold, load, or even sight a gun, so we began from scratch. Between recitation

room and shooting duties, I had little free time. The former kept me busy from 8

a.m. until 3:30 p.m. each weekday, and the latter from 3:30 p.m. until dark.

Besides that, I had to devote each night to study and research, and each Saturday

and holidays to shooting in the gallery or on the range. Thus my work was

never-ending, but interesting, and since it was with youngsters of fine

understanding, great mentality, excellent physique, and perfect eyesight—all keen to learn shooting—we progressed rapidly.

As soon as the weather moderated in March, all shooting took place on the

open range across the Severn River, but otherwise there was no change in my

schedule. All drill periods were still devoted to teaching every cadet to shoot

well, and all other daylight hours, except those on Sunday, were devoted to

developing expert riflemen to represent the Academy in competitions. Selecting

such a team was most important, and only by competing with known good

"shots" could we gauge the efficiency of the navy's marksmanship. To that end, I was obliged to test the cadets' firing skills against the best shots in the country.

Therefore, during the winter I invited three well-known rifle teams to come to

the Academy for matches. One was a team of good average shooting ability, the

National Guard of Maryland, one a team always above average, the National

Guard of the District of Columbia, and the other best shooting regimental team

in the United States at that time, the Seventy-first Regiment of New York. I knew there was litde hope ofwinning all the matches against those teams, but at least they would prove a good yardstick to measure our shooting ability

The matches proved to be just that, but they also showed us something else.

The only match the cadets won was that with the fairly good team of the State

of Maryland. When teamed against the shooting skills of the District and with

the Seventy-first Regiment of New York, we were not good enough, and they

both won easily.

It was evident that while probably sound in the rudiments of shooting, the

navy had to learn the refinements if it were to excel. Therefore, at the end of the

Academy shooting season, at the very time I had taken charge of the U.S. Rifle

Team that was to compete in the National Matches, I was also obliged to begin

learning the refinements of shooting. The Navy Rifle Team, of which I was

captain in the summer, was not connected with the Naval Academy Rifle Team

I had coached all winter. Cadets were neither available for it nor allowed on it; it was only for seagoing officers and enlisted men ofthe navy. As such men had few

opportunities for small arms practice aside from their "great gun" work, it was

something of an anomaly for sailors to compete with soldiers in military

marksmanship, yet the Navy Rifle Team was for just that purpose—to compete

165
An Admiral's Yarn

with teams from the U.S. Infantry, Cavalry, Artillery, Marine Corps, and with

National Guard teams from each state and territory. Quite an undertaking for

the navy! Realizing that I new very litde about expert rifle shooting, I was

concerned about what would be the best way to teach the navy team. My

predecessor had encountered that same problem, and the Navy Department had

employed a professional to coach his team. Naturally I supposed a professional

would also be allowed me, but Sims simply said, "No professional help. Coach

the team yourself."

I new then I was "up against it" and in some way had to learn all about expert

shooting to train the navy team. I had expected to train the team at the Naval

Academy, and the candidates began to assemble there at the end of the cadet

shooting season. When I found I had to do all the teaching and coaching myself,

however, I knew the Academy range would not be suitable and that to learn

expert rifle shooting, the practice range had to be of high quality. Therefore, I tried to arrange the training at Creedmoor, the magnificent range of the State of

New York, where the finest rifle shots in the country did their practicing and

where the New York State Rifle Team, which had always stood first in the

national matches, did its training. Right there I struck a snag. The Navy Team

had trained there the year before and had had some sort of row that ended with

the New York authorities forbidding our team to use the Creedmoor range

again. I was crushed. How we eventually managed to obtain permission to use

the range again is too long a story to relate here, but by the first ofJuly we were

in camp at Creedmoor. At that time, the officer in charge of the range was the

Inspector of Target Practice for the state of New York, Colonel Thurston, a martinet of the first order, but such a loved one that to every militiaman in New

York, he was always affectionately called "Peggy." He was given to much

boisterous bluster and talk, but behind it was knowledge, efficiency, ability, and

above all, fairness. He was particularly famous for his profanity and could outdo

even the hardiest of sailors; everyone stood in awe of him.

Not only was he in charge of the great Creedmoor range where all New York

National Guardsmen were taught shooting, Peggy was captain of the New York

State Rifle team. I cautioned our men to show utmost attention and respect to

Peggy, but it may have been unnecessary, for every one ofus was soon devoted to

him and became gready interested in his control at Creedmoor.

The navy team's devotion to Colonel Thurston soon became apparent to

him, and he often called on our men to assist him, even though he could draw on

the militia organizations for help. Consequently, I always had buglers and

orderlies report to him whenever he came on the range. Dressed always in clean,

white, working clothes and leggings, they stood out clearly from the hundreds of

166
A New Shooting Game

other men on the range who were dressed all in khaki. As they always kept just

behind Peggy, it was not difficult for everyone on the range to know when the

boss arrived. I was pleased when he asked our navy buglers to sound the firing

and cease-firing calls and requested our orderlies to carry his verbal orders. He

explained later that our men understood his orders and carried his messages

exactly as given. Then he added that he knew only two languages, English and

profane, and sailors always understood both.

What we learned at Creedmoor about small arms shooting was most valuable,

although the experts who generously helped us were not very encouraging and

warned that it took at least seven years to develop skills such as they had. I therefore did not expect the navy team to shine greatly at the National

Matches—and it didn't! Nevertheless, the team scored better than the navy team

of the year before and continued to stand in sixth place out of thirty-eight

competing teams. But, of course ,we were disappointed.

Perhaps the most important of the many things we learned at the matches

concerned "team shooting." We realized there must be real teamwork in the

National Match teams, but so far the only cooperation between team members

was a brief discussion of shooting conditions between successive strings. The

final score merely reflected the sum of the individual scores made by the twelve

men.

It seemed that something vitally important was lacking, and although I had

no idea just what to do about it, I felt that if the combined ability of the twelve

navy men could be made available to each one of them while shooting, our

team's score could be considerably increased—if not enough to win the match,

perhaps enough to partly offset our lack of expertise. The National Matches of

1906 ended with that idea firmly planted in my mind.

When the matches were over, and as I bid good-bye to the various team

captains, I was full of ideas and plans for improving the navy team. As usual,

Peggy Thurston's New York State Team won the big match, and I congratulated

him heartily as well as thanked him for what he had done for our team at Creedmoor, expressing the hope that he would authorize the navy team to train

at Creedmoor the following year. I added that we had learned so much from him

that even his New York team would have to look out for the navy team the next

year. Peggy laughed heartily as he replied, "Of course your navy team can come

to Creedmoor next year, and I do not doubt it will shoot better because ofwhat

you have learned here, but don't get the idea that a navy team will ever beat the

New York State Team." Then he added, "Laning, if that ever happens, I quit rifle

shooting then and there."

167
An Admiral's Yarn

Back in Annapolis, I devoted every moment to digesting what we had

learned about rifle shooting and to applying the knowledge practically Not

content with what I had learned from actual tiring, I bought every available

book written on the subject of shooting, and by December, when the Academy

shooting course began, I felt quite qualified to train our team in expert shooting.

I still believed, however, that more teamwork was key to improvement and set myself to the task of developing it. At this point, the big-gun shooting of naval ships gave me a clue, for, whether

firing .30 caliber rifles or 14-inch guns, the problems are exactly the same; the

means that determine the accuracy of guns fired by a team from a ship are the

same as those that govern a rifle team. The navy used methods that made all the

shots from a ship hit in practically the same place when fired at the same time,

and I believed I could teach the rifle team to do the same.

It was easier to develop teamwork with ship's guns than with rifles. The sight

readings of ship's guns could be adjusted mechanically, whereas the rifles could

not be. For instance, on ships we could set the scales on all the sights to hit an

object at five thousand yards. A similar adjustment on military rifles was not

possible. All rifle sights were built exactly alike and merely screwed onto a gun.

Each rifle required its sight to be set for each range of firing. For specified

distances, the settings varied greatly between rifles. The sights of very few rifles

could be set at a thousand when the range was a thousand yards. For some rifles,

the correct range settings for this distance would be perhaps as high as twelve

hundred yards and for others as low as eight hundred yards.

There were also wide lateral discrepancies. On a zero lateral setting, some

rifles shot far to the right of the point at which they were aimed, while others

shot far to the left. For that reason, team shooting with rifles was far more

difficult than team shooting with a ship's guns. For team shooting with rifles,

each one had to be given its own particular corrections for every range. To do

this required the careful analysis of each rifle's shooting records.

I will not attempt to relate all that was done that winter to teach cadets how

to shoot or to train the Naval Academy Rifle Team. The cadets liked shooting

and many of them devoted every free moment to it, which enabled me to easily

select candidates for their rifle team. The cadets advanced so rapidly in rifle

shooting that, even though far less experienced than the riflemen they would

have to compete with, I believed they would give excellent accounts of

themselves in match shooting and decided it only fair to enter them—the Naval

Academy Team—in the National Matches. I so recommended and their entry

was authorized.

168
A New Shooting Game

While instruction in shooting a rifle was foremost, proficiency in pistol

shooting was also very important. Naval officers always carried a pistol in

combat, and both officers and men believed it essential to use this weapon with

accuracy

Trying to teach good pistol firing was a veritable nightmare, for although we

had learned equally as much about it as rifle shooting, our navy men were

getting poor results. So universally poor were the results, we came to the

conclusion that navy men were poor shots with a pistol.

That they might qualify with both weapons, the members of the Navy Rifle

Team continued practicing with pistols all during the 1906 summer at Creedmoor, and while on the pistol range met many of the crack shots of the

country who were practicing there. It was noticed that nearly all of them used a Colt .38 revolver, apparently of the exact type used by the navy, but they made

almost perfect scores. Our scores were poor, although some of our men seemed

to do exacdy as the crack shots did. Noting the unaccountability for the

difference in scores, one of our men suggested to one ofthe crack shots that they

exchange pistols and have a little match. This they did.

The result of that match was a revelation. The navy man made a perfect score,

and the crack shot made a very poor one. After that there were several small

matches with pistols exchanged, and in every case the man with the crack shot's

pistol won.

Our men were convinced, of course, that there was something vitally wrong

with our pistols. I hurried to my friend, Tom Anderton, of the Seventh

Regiment ofNew York, who was one ofthe finest pistol shots in the country, to

ask for an explanation. He said that the navy refused to use a standard "Navy

Colt" and their problem stemmed from the size of the bore on the pistols they

were using. He then asked me to come into the armory with him so that he

could show me why the navy pistols would not shoot straight. The .38 caliber

bullets completely filled the barrel of his pistol and took its rifling beautifully,

while the same bullets dropped right through the barrels of navy pistols. Less

accurate shooting weapons than those navy pistols could hardly be imagined.

What I had learned alarmed me gready, for the navy was entirely equipped

with them—every one of which was worthless. Delving into the matter with

the Bureau that provided the pistols, we discovered that the specifications under

which they were purchased called for barrels with a somewhat larger bore than

.38 caliber pistols should have. No one could explain the error, but apparently

the mistake was made in the first specification and carried on from there. Every

.38 caliber pistol ever purchased for the United States Navy was defective—an

astounding fact. This situation could not be tolerated, and the Bureau of

169
An Admiral's Yarn

Ordnance wanted to correct it at once, without having to wait until the new

automatic pistols, then under consideration, could be developed and supplied.

I was directed to test various types of specially designed .38 caliber bullets to

determine if, by merely changing the bullets, the pistols would shoot straight.

That test went on for two months. Since there was no one else to do the

shooting, all had to be done by cadets, and I chose the best shots among them.

Each one selected was to fire hundreds of carefully aimed shots, and although

some gave more accuracy than others, none gave anything near the standard of

the .38 caliber ammunition fired from standard .38 Colt pistols. The tests confirmed the utter inaccuracy of the navy pistols and showed that our navy

men were equal to most crack shots when using the standard Colt.

170
XXIII

Another Season with Small Arms

WHEN THE WEATHER PERMITTED, cadet shooting was transferred

once more to the rifle range, where it soon became evident that the

team would be greatly improved over last year, especially in team shooting. By

the time the matches were to start, the Academy team had been making better

scores than the expert visiting teams had made the year before. This of course was encouraging, and I began to feel that with a little luck, the Naval Academy

might even beat the Seventy-first Regiment Team of New York.

Just then occurred an event of vast importance to me and mine. A few days

before the cadet's first team match, the stork visited my house and left our

daughter. Evidendy other things were left too, because with her arrival came not

only the luck I was looking for but also a happiness and contentment that has

been ours ever since. Then, too, the Naval Academy Rifle Team immediately

assumed our daughter for its mascot.

That she was a good mascot cannot be questioned, for when the team fired its first match of the year, with the State of Maryland's team, the cadets won

overwhelmingly. Then, on the following Saturday they swamped the District of

Columbia's team. On the third Saturday came the match with the crack team of

the Seventy-first Regiment, many of whom were members of the New York

State Team and thought to be invincible. In spite of that, and to the New York

Team's enormous surprise and chagrin, not only did the Academy team win

easily but almost man for man made better scores. Thus it took but one year to

disprove the fallacy that the length of time required to make expert riflemen -was close to "seven years."
An Admiral's Yarn

The match with the Seventy-first Regiment ended my direct responsibility

for Naval Academy shooting instruction, for although the Academy team was to

take part in the national matches, it was to do so under the supervision of the

officer who had spent the spring understudying me while I assumed my duties as captain and coach of the Navy Rifle Team.

No sooner were the graduation exercises over than the candidates for the

navy team began to assemble, and I looked them over with great interest,

because the selection of them had been based on specifications that I had drawn

up the previous winter. In addition to being sent better prepared candidates, I was infinitely better prepared to coach and train them. During the month of

June, I was able to reduce the squad from about eighty fair shots to about thirty

of the best shots available in the navy. Thus I had the material for the best rifle

team the navy could turn out.

Just as they did the preceding year, the navy team went to Creedmoor around

July first for two full months of training preparatory to the national match. We

devoted the first month to individual firing, and by the end of it, I had selected

the fifteen men best qualified for the team. Then it was time to weld them into

the shooting team that I had in mind, but for which there was neither example

nor precedent.

As I visualized it, team shooting had to be developed along two lines, one for

slow fire shooting at fixed distances ranging from two hundred to a thousand

yards, the other for skirmish runs in which, starting six hundred yards from the

target, the team would run down the range to the two-hundred-yard mark,

stopping at certain specified points to fire a given number of rounds. Because in

the former the twelve men on a team shot by pairs in succession, and in the

latter, all shot rapidly together during the few seconds at each stop, two quite

different forms of teamwork were required, and both were essential if the navy

was to overcome its handicaps in individual experience, knowledge, and ability.

In its big-gun shooting, the navy had to employ both forms, and I intended to

introduce them in team rifle shooting.

In naval gunnery, it is vital that the shots from every gun on the ship hit the

same object simultaneously. My scheme was to have the very best shooters shoot

first and then use their results to determine the exact data for making bull's-eye

hits. Then, based on that data, give each succeeding shooter the exact sight

readings to use to hit the bull's-eye. There was nothing particularly new or

revolutionary in the idea, but the scheme was original in its intent to use all the

precision and thoroughness of the United States Navy. It was also revolutionary

for team shooting to have a team captain play a vital part, such as the navy

captain would do, working out the correct data and passing it along.

172
Another Season with Small Arms

I doubt our scheme would have succeeded if tried by a team of other than

navy men new to rifle shooting. For one thing, the experts of other teams simply

could not be convinced that a team captain who was not actually shooting could

be helpful to his men. The men preferred to get their own data, even though

precious points might be lost to their team from the several shots it took to

obtain it. They also believed that shooters were apt to make bull's-eyes on their

very first shots, which were "sighting shots" not for record, and considered that

to be bad luck. Their superstition against getting "bulls on sighting shots"

prevented their acceptance of an innovation that would produce them. Thank

the good Lord we sailors had no such superstition. We wanted to start with

bull's-eyes and continue making them.

Although our "skirmish run shooting" worked on this same principle, there

was a major difference in its application. On the run, the team members fired

simultaneously rather than at an individual pace. The only way to apply the

principle here was to ascertain what corrections, if any, should be made on one

firing gun, referred to as the "master gun." The team was quickly directed to

make exactly the same corrections on their guns. It was, of course, a considerable

task to get all guns "standardized," but once done, with one command I could

expect all guns to hit the mark simultaneously.

The members were chosen and we immediately began shooting as a team,

continuously perfecting our system. Each weekday the team went through the

entire national match course until it became merely a day's work. At first our

goal was to have the best team score ever made in a national match, but as we

scored higher every day, we correspondingly elevated our goal. Then we set for

ourselves the task of scoring better at each distance than any match team had

ever done before. This gave us a considerably higher objective, but by the end of

the month we were surpassing it daily.

It might be thought that having attained such a high standard, we could be

rather sure ofwinning the match, and although we had that hope, it was merely a hope, since we had no knowledge at all about the practice scores the expert

teams were shooting.

Of the teams we thought dangerous, the one most feared was Peggy

Thurston's New Yorkers, for they often watched us shoot and knew exactly how

good our scores were. In particular, Peggy himself watched and often stood

behind us buried in thought. The day of our last shooting at Creedmoor, we

wound up shooting on the "Thousand-Yard Range," where Peggy approached

and said, "Laning,you probably remember the little talk we had at the end ofthe

national matches last year when I said that if ever a navy team beat the New York

team I would at once quit rifle shooting. I'm sorry now that I made that remark

173
An Admiral's Yarn

and want to withdraw it. I don't want to quit rifle shootingjust yet." Thereupon

we shook hands and Peggy left, but I had the feeling he was quite impressed by

the navy team's shooting.

The 1907 matches were held at Camp Perry on the wonderful range just

completed by the State of Ohio. When we arrived there a few days before the

matches, teams and individual shooters were pouring in from all over the

country. Ofrifle teams, I believe there were forty-eight and of other crack shots,

several hundred—quite the greatest gathering ever in the Western Hemisphere,

all quartered on the range in one vast camp.

At once there was a great deal ofvisiting between teams, and I was especially

delighted to foregather once more with the Naval Academy team I had worked

so hard to develop. It was by far the youngest team in age and shooting

experience, but it made up for that with its tremendous will to win. I had

brought the Academy's "standard Colt pistols" and was told the cadets were to

enter both the pistol and the rifle matches.

One of the early visitors to the navy camp was the coach of the U.S. Infantry

team, an outstanding military marksman whose books and treatises on the

subject were considered authoritative. He commented on the many teams and

expert shots attending the match and then expressed a hope that the five service

teams would do well. Inasmuch as the Naval Academy team was a "service

team," I said, "You mean six instead of five, do you not?" "No" he said, "I mean

five. You are probably counting the Naval Academy team which no one takes

seriously." He may have felt that way, but I could not agree with him.

A little later we talked ofskirmish firing and after telling me how the Infantry

team grouped its men by threes to dope out their sight corrections during a run,

he said, "I am told you use a new and altogether different method for controlling

the skirmish firing of the Navy team. As I could not possibly make use of it at this late date, would you mind explaining it to me?" Of course I did not mind,

and he listened very carefully while I explained the method in detail. After

thinking about it for a minute or two, he remarked, "Well, perhaps one has to use some scheme like that with the green shots of the navy team, but it certainly

would not do for the experienced Infantry team." I could only smile!

The "national matches" were in reality two groups of matches, each lasting a week—first the matches of the National Pdfle Association, and then the second,

which were "national matches" conducted by the War Department for the

National Board for the Promotion of Rifle Practice. The important matches of

the first group were all individual matches, and while each one of them was

important, the National Rifle Association Match was the "President's Match" to

174
Another Season with Small Arms

determine the best military marksman of the country, who would then be

proclaimed as such by a letter from the President of the United States.

The real national matches were in the second group and consisted of the

National Pistol Match, the National Individual Match, and the National Team

Match. Ofthese, the last match was the one for which the navy teams and Naval

Academy teams had been training.

Both navy teams entered all of the rifle matches, mostly for the practice to be

obtained, and a few of the cadets entered the National Pistol Match. Under such

circumstances there was utter amazement when the cadets won the President's

Match, the National Pistol Match, and the National Individual Match. Then, all eyes turned to the National Team Match to see what the navy shooters would

do in that.

The match was a hot one, the navy team standing at the top. In the skirmish

run they made their usual excellent score, larger than ever before scored in the

national match. However, our closest rival, the team from Massachusetts, made a phenomenal score on its run. As the match entered its final stage at the

one-thousand-yard range, that team, famous for its long-range shooting, led us by twelve points.

At that time almost everyone at Camp Perry, except the navy, was conceding

the match to Massachusetts. But the navy team, with true John Paul Jones spirit,

was just beginning to fight, using its teamwork to the utmost, fighting for every

possible point. Our first pair centered their first shots in the bull's-eye, making a splendid score and receiving perfect shooting data; the second and third pairs did

equally well.

I could only believe that, with the scores made by our first three pairs, we

were gaining on the Massachusetts team. But I was disappointed to learn that

they had scored exactly the same as we had, and with the final stage half over,

they still led by twelve points.

When our fourth team came to shoot, I said to them, "Our situation is desperate. I can put you two in the bull's-eye, but you will have to shoot better

than you ever have before if you are going to win this match." "The pair" were

"Captain Jack" Williams, a lieutenant, and Steve Doherty, an ensign, and almost

together they said, "By God! We'll do it." They did, and by as fine a one-thousand-yard shooting as I have ever seen. Those two alone gained nine

points on the Massachusetts' pair.

In the firing of the final pairs from each team, the match became the most

hotly contested national match ever, and a tremendous gallery of spectators

gathered behind the teams, who were shooting on nearly adjacent targets. When

our fifth pair started to shoot, old Peggy, whose team was then out of the

175
An Admiral's Yarn

running, stood not far behind me. As I sat at my telescope, keeping close touch

on the data for the team, the captain ofthe Massachusetts teamjoined Peggy, and

I heard him say, "That navy team is shooting a lot better than it knows how! It is due for a blowup and my team will win." Then I heard Peggy say, "No, your

team will not win but the navy's will." He then added, "I have been watching

that bunch all summer, and once they are in the center of the bulls, as they are now, they will stay there. Your team may blow up, but the navy team won't."

Dear old Peggy! The navy team did not blow up and the strength of team

shooting was not to be denied. Our fifth pair gained three more points on the

other team's pair, and as the sixth pairs started firing, the scores were a tie. Then

teamwork again took its toll, this time against the best shots ofMassachusetts, for

our sixth pair gained three points and we won the match by that amount, to the

great delight ofthe spectators. We had beaten the best previous team record by a large margin.

The navy shooters had come into their own. In one season we had

accomplished what was theretofore unheard of—winning all four of the

country's most important military matches: the President's Match, the National

Pistol Match, the National Individual Match, and the National Team Match. In

addition, the Naval Academy took sixth place in the Team Match, even beating

the Marines and the U.S. Infantry Team that would not "take them seriously."

Navy shooting and team shooting stood proved to the world. It was a fine time

for me to give up the shooting game. I had received orders to sea, and I left to

join my ship, leaving it to someone else to outdo our record.

176
XXIV

In a Battleship Once More

ABOUT A MONTH BEFORE the navy team left Creedmoor, I received a

letter from Captain R.E Nicholson, then in charge of officer

assignments in the Navy Department. He informed me that he had been

selected to command the battleship Nebraska, about to be commissioned, and

wished me to join the ship as navigating officer. I was greatly surprised when I read that letter, because my acquaintance with Captain Nicholson was only a casual one, and I was much younger, less experienced, and far junior in rank to

the officers usually assigned to navigating battleships. I lost no time in telling

Captain Nicholson how honored and delighted I would be to serve under him

in such a capacity and on so fine a ship. A week or two before the team left for

Camp Perry, my orders came, effective after the national match.

The Nebraska was then at the Puget Sound Navy Yard, receiving its finishing

touches, and as soon as I could close the affairs ofthe rifle team, I hurried there with

my family—still hesitant to believe the honor and responsibility that I had been

assigned. When I saw the ship I was even more impressed, for not only was it one of

our newest and finest battleships, but also it was the largest naval ship I had ever seen

or served on. Being only a lieutenant, thirty-four years old, and a commissioned

officer for only ten years, I had my doubts, for not only was I to be responsible for

the safe navigation of the ship, but also I was to be third in command under the

captain. I would be responsible for the ship in such battle and war maneuvers that

might be our lot, and it was up to me to prove myself equal to it. Ten years had passed since my time in the USS Oregon at the Puget Sound

Yard, and I was unprepared for the great changes there. The little gash in the
An Admiral's Yarn

woods for the first dry dock had become a huge, cleared space that boasted of a navy yard with many acres of improved land around it. Hills had been cut away

and the ground leveled for another dry dock, and many shops for heavy

equipment and buildings of all sorts had been added. The northern end of the

yard was called Bremerton, a good-sized town, and at its southern end stood the

village of Charleston. Everywhere there was great activity and bustle.

However, in spite of the almost unbelievable development, finding a place for

my family to five was difficult. The building of residences could not keep pace

with the rapid growth in population, and about the only shelter for newly

arrived families was in the temporary houses and shacks left vacant by the

workmen who had cleared off the area. Even most ofthose were occupied when

the Nebraska's families reached there. The only empty building available was a dilapidated one, formerly a boarding house for about twenty lumberjacks, which

had been abandoned as too crude and shaky for further use. Nevertheless, the

higher officers of the Nebraska, having persuaded a woman to take charge and

open the place, moved their families into it.

I will not attempt to describe the way we lived the next five or six months

while the Nebraska was being completed, for no one would believe what we

endured. The incessant chilly rains of a Puget Sound winter made it difficult for

everyone aboard ship and ashore.

We officers were much better off than our families, for we lived aboard the

ship during numerous "try-out" runs. Also, our days were full of work and our

time aboard was considerably more than our time at home. I found myself

particularly busy, not only brushing up on navigation but also supervising the

electrical department of the ship, then a responsibility of the navigator.

That electrical department was not much like the old Oregon's, for in the years

since she was built, electricity had advanced by such leaps and bounds that in the

Nebraska it was used not only for light but for nearly all power except that of the

main engines.

The Nebraska's electric plant was nearly equivalent to the light and power

plant of a fair-sized city, and supervising it was no small task. Navigation was my

primary duty, and the combination of duties kept me always busy, both in port

and at sea. My first and one of my most difficult problems had to do with the compasses

of the ship. The magnetism in the tremendous mass of the steel hull, and

particularly in the great superimposed turrets (one turret on top of another)

close to the bridge, so affected the compasses that they pointed anywhere but to

the north pole. In fact, the south pole of the compass used in steering was so

attracted by the forward turret that no matter where the ship was heading, the

178
In a Battleship Once More

course shown by that compass was always south or only a very few degrees from

it.

It took much time, ingenuity, and several trips to sea to correct the compasses

to show true magnetic headings, and I spent many anxious hours until it was

accomplished. Navigators should never cease to give thanks that gyroscopes,

rather than magnetism, control compass directions today.

At last our compasses were right, our ship was completed, and we could start our "shakedown" cruise. The cruise was to Magdalena Bay in lower California

where the weather always seemed perfect, and rain was almost unknown. We

were delighted with the prospect. The executive officer and I, the only officers

in our mess who had ever been there, were considered authorities on it, and we

rhapsodized considerably over its suitability for training work, its perfect winter

climate, its utter freedom from rain, and the wonderful hunting and fishing to be

had there.

So much did we talk that the hunters amongst us outfitted themselves with

shotguns and sporting rifles; all fishermen replenished their supplies and tackle;

and the large seine [net] that was issued to the ship was gone over carefully and

made flawless.

The usual winter rain of Puget Sound was falling when we started, and it followed us nearly all the way down the coast. The run to Magdalena seemed far

from propitious to our rain-soaked crew, hence, as weather prognosticates for

southern and lower California, the executive and I lost considerable prestige. We

lost much more when almost as soon as the ship anchored in the bay the skies

clouded over and rain came down in torrents. Worse still, the downpour

continued for three days and prevented any training work. So much rain fell that

the brown hills and desert land around the bay actually became quite green with

verdure. Except that we were not quite as cold, we might as well have been in

Puget Sound.

It was nearly a week before we could start our training work, and by the time

the weather returned to normal for Magdalena Bay, anything the executive and I said about it was taken with a grain of salt, especially when all the carefully

arranged hunting parties returned to the ship empty-handed. But in spite of that

we continued with our fish stories, since the fishing parties always caught

enough to supply the officer messes, though of course far from enough to

provide a mess for the eight or nine hundred men of the crew. As the executive and I continued our talk about fish and strongly urged using

the seine to catch enough for the crew, many officers volunteered to take out

seining parties and asked us where to go. We pored over the charts for likely

places, and although the volunteer seiners tried all of them, not a fish did they

179
An Admiral's Yam

catch. Before long, no one would volunteer for a seining party, but being sure there were plenty of fish to be had somewhere, the executive ordered officers,

one-by-one, to organize and take out seining parties; although they seined

everywhere, the fish evaded them. However, I continued talking about fish and

suggesting this or that spot until there were no more spots to suggest. Then one

day when the mess was at lunch, the executive loudly announced, "Laning,

having talked more about fishing than anyone else, will take out a seining party

today." Then turning to me, he said, "I expect you to bring back a boatload of

fish for the crew."

Taken aback that the third ranking officer of the ship should be ordered to

take out a seining party, and believing I was about to be shown up as a mere

talky-talk fisherman, I shoved off with the party immediately after luncheon.

Thinking that we could not be successful, no matter where we seined, we went

to a place not far from the ship to make our try.

As it had proved the best place for fishing with lines, many seining parties had

previously tried there without success. But it was easy to reach and to seine, so I decided I might as well be "shown up" there as anywhere else.

We made three hauls with the seine without getting a fish, then, being rather

tired, we all went swimming. After enough time had elapsed for what would

have been a day's work of seining, and I had recalled the party to the ship,

someone suggested making "just one more haul." Having plenty of time, I told

him to "go ahead." Everything was done as before, but when the party tried to

haul the seine in, they could hardly pull the weight, it was so full offish, hundreds

and hundreds of pompano, therefore unknown to us in that locality. We had

more than enough for the entire ship's company, but since we had not quite

filled our boat, we decided to cast our seine again. While the next haul caught as many or even more fish than the preceding one, there was not a single pompano

in it—every fish was Spanish mackerel, each weighing about three or four

pounds. Amazed, we made another haul, but instead of pompano or mackerel,

we caught a dozen or more huge sea bass and a five-foot tiger shark. Excited by

then and wondering what would happen next, we made another try, which was

the last for our seine; as we hauled, we watched a big sea Hon tear its way out,

ruining the net.

With our big boat full offish and our seine ruined, we returned to the ship. I think all hands were on the rail to give us a big laugh at the expected empty boat.

When we came alongside and pulled back the tarpaulin displaying our

enormous catch, the laughs turned to wonder. Of course we had a great bit of

"fisherman's luck," but just the same, I regained my prestige for fish stories and

once more could "ad lib" to my heart's content on Magdalena fishing.

180
In a Battleship Once More

The remainder of our stay in the bay was more or less routine and unexciting,

though we made great progress in our work, and by the time we started north,

the Nebraska was in fine shape except for a few final adjustments for which we

returned to the Puget Sound Yard. With these completed, we left to join the

battleship fleet as it entered San Francisco Bay before its cruise around the

world.

"Cruising in formation" with battleships was then rather new to our navy,

and no one in the Nebraska was experienced in doing it. Therefore, joining an

experienced well-drilled fleet and standing into San Francisco Bay with it, while

over a hundred thousand people watched, was a considerable strain on the

navigator. However, we were not recognized as a "rookie" ship and from then on

were accepted as a member of the fleet, enjoying the overwhelming hospitality

of San Francisco for a week, then proceeding on to Seattle for a brief stay.

While the passage to Seattle was uneventful, it proved that the navy was

advancing its preparations for the possibility of war. Up to that time, most of us had thought only in terms of the "Old Navy," wherein ships were expected to

fight singly. But the commissioning of many ships that were to fight together in

battle began a new era for the Navy, an era no longer of only individual ship skill

in fighting but rather an era of "group skill." Our first step was to prepare our

battleship group to function as a team in battle.

Although the "round the world" cruise of the battleships in 1908 was

primarily to impress upon the world the tremendous sea power of the United

States, the runs between ports provided a rare opportunity to prepare us to fight

as a group in war, and doing that was the fleets everyday job at sea. We drilled

day and night, devoting each morning to battle drill and each afternoon to fleet

maneuvers. It was the very beginning of the navy's teamwork, which has since

progressed from teamwork in groups of battleships to teamwork in groups of

different types of ships, to teamwork in all aspects of the entire United States

Navy. Thus, this important world cruise shaped the navy's efficiency of today.

Having been introduced to an entirely new type of navy, we continued on to

Seattle, where we received the usual great welcome and the overwhelming

hospitality that we received in every port we visited. Then, leaving Seattle, we

returned to San Francisco for the duration of the long cruise that would end at Hampton Roads, Virginia.

No sooner had we anchored off San Francisco than a signal came for me to

report to the commander in chief [Robley D. Evans]. I did so at once, was

handed a letter from the Melbourne Rifle Team challenging the fleet to a team

rifle match in Melbourne and directing me to organize and captain a fleet team

for that purpose. As navigator of the Nebraska, every day was a full day's work,

181
An Admiral's Yarn

and I thought I was finished with rifle shooting for all time. I was not greatly

pleased with the order; nevertheless, I was obliged to organize a team. First I would have to comb sixteen batdeships for riflemen and then train them into a team in the few days we would spend in port before reaching Melbourne. All in

all, it was rather a large order, but difficult though it might be to carry out

successfully, I was expected to do exactly that.

One might have thought I had trouble enough to last until the visit to

Melbourne was over, but more problems arose almost immediately. When I started to assemble candidates for the team, several cases of scarlet fever

developed in the Nebraska, and the ship was sent to Angel Island. It was placed in

such strict quarantine that all rifle team matters had to be abandoned until we

reached Honolulu. Even then I could not be certain of an opportunity to train

my team, because the epidemic was so serious that the rest of the fleet departed

before the fumigation of the Nebraska was completed. However, as soon as that

was over, we managed to catch up with the fleet before it reached Honolulu.

182
XXV

A Trip Around the World

IT WAS GOOD TOJOIN UP with the fleet and settle down once more to real

naval work at sea. When people tour the world, they usually think more ofthe

points to be visited then of the sea voyages between those destinations, but not

so in the navy. While we enjoy the ports and especially the opportunities to

represent the United States, the most important thing to the fleet in a world

cruise is the training that is made possible. Our training goes on day and night.

Although every officer and man did a full day's work everyday, while the

battleship fleet was at sea, I somehow felt that we navigators had rather more

than our share. In addition to supervising the electrical department, we did all the navigation work and handled the ship in daily battle maneuvers.

Navigation work is about the same for a ship on its own as it is for one in a

fleet. With the latter, however, there are added complications, due partly to

continual maneuvering and the requirement that each ship indicate by signal its exact latitude and longitude three times every day, at 8 a.m., noon, and 8 p.m.

Since every signaled position is noted and compared by each ship, the

competition for accuracy is keen. Merely good navigation was not sufficient; ours had to be perfect—every instant.

Usually a navigator begins taking sights before dawn in order to insure a perfect "fix" prior to the 8 a.m. report. At nine o'clock he becomes officer ofthe

deck for a two-hour drill in battle tactics, after which, at twelve by the clock

(whether noon or not) he must again signal his position. While he has no direct

responsibility from then until about four o'clock, the fleet generally maneuvers

for two hours or more under the officer of the deck, and during that time the
An Admiral's Yarn

navigator keeps close watch on the ship and its course. Then, as the sun sets and

the stars appear, the navigator tries to obtain new astronomical fixes for his 8 p.m.

report. We thus became rather expert, both in navigation and in battleship

tactics.

Although we were accorded the usual great welcome and hospitality at Honolulu, I could enjoy it but briefly, because I was obliged to assemble the rifle

team candidates and test them on the rifle range.

Consequently, we started for the range as soon as the anchor went down. If

we had not done so, we would not have reached there, because another case of

scarlet fever was discovered and the ship was once more placed in quarantine and

fumigated. As it turned out, the candidates did enough demonstration shooting

for all but twenty-three to eliminate themselves before our start for Auckland.

Among those retained were twelve members of my old navy and Naval

Academy teams, out of whom a good ten-man team could be developed for the

Melbourne match, even in the few days ofpractice. The eleven "green" riflemen

were retained for emergencies, although it seemed improbable that I would use them.

We arrived in Auckland on a Sunday morning and were scarcely anchored

when I was once more ordered, by signal, to report to the commander in chief

immediately. When I did so, I found the aide de camp of the governor of New

Zealand with him and was informed he would arrange for a rifle match between

fifty men from the fleet and a like number from New Zealand.

As the proposal was utterly unexpected and involved a far larger number of

good rifle shots than we had, even including the eleven "green" men, I had to

confess that I did not know where to find fifty men who could shoot at all, much

less be capable of representing the fleet in a match against fifty of New Zealand's

best shots. Thereupon we compromised on twenty-five-man teams, ours composed of the twenty-three men on our squad plus two of the men whose

shooting had not been satisfactory enough to warrant training. Then, with

almost no training or practice for our team, we fired the match. Although our

fifteen good shots did better shooting than the best fifteen on the New Zealand

team, they could not make up for the poor shooting of our ten inexperienced

men, so we lost the match. However, we had made a better showing than seemed

possible with such a team, and I was not discouraged, knowing that among our

fifteen good shots, I would have a strong ten-man team for Melbourne—our

really important match.

After remaining in Auckland a week, the fleet proceeded to Sydney where we

entered one of the world's most spectacularly beautiful harbors. We were given a tremendous ovation by the nearly one million Australians assembled to watch

184
A Trip Around the World

our entrance. Knowing that Sydney would be one of the highlights of the cruise,

I wanted to enjoy it, but instead I had to rush to the rifle range to prepare the

team for the match in Melbourne. We were then shocked by a challenge to a fifteen-man match by the Sydney rifle team—a challenge we felt forced to

accept. Not having had an opportunity to train, I was somewhat skeptical of our

ability, but we at once set to work to create a team. I had trained some ofthe men

a year or two before, and with only three days practice, I was able to get such

quick results that we won the match easily

The extent of the Sydney team's surprise became apparent at a banquet

hosted by the Minister ofDefense for Australia the night after the match. Since I had never before been received as a guest of honor by a cabinet minister nor

replied to one in a speech, much of that banquet was trying for me. But it had its compensation—the minister spoke of the unanticipated defeat of Australia's

soldier marksmen by a group of American sailors. He said that knowing we had

been beaten by New Zealanders, who were always beaten by Australians, they

had not taken the U.S. Navy shooting seriously enough. Then he added, "But

we will take you seriously in Melbourne, for in that match you will meet

Australia's finest marksmen. We expect a very different outcome there."

By the time we left Sydney, I had determined the makeup of our ten-man

team to fire against Australia's "best shots." Although these men had never fired

together as a team, I felt certain they would uphold our navy's prestige in

shooting. Immediately upon reaching Melbourne, we rushed to the range

where we had four days of practice team shooting. It was fortunate that we had

even that time, because the range at Melbourne is a difficult one and full of

tricky conditions to be solved. Our knowledge of shooting proved sufficient to

overcome them, and when the match started, we were not only ready to meet

the problems of the range but also ready for real team shooting.

The match turned out to be a walkover for us, and we outshot the Australians

from start to finish. Not only had we mastered the vagaries oftheir range, but we

took only about half as much time to finish as they (who were so accustomed to

shooting there) did, and our scores were invariably better at each distance.

Perhaps the comment that pleased me most was made at a banquet that night by

the Australian team captain who said, "We Australians little thought we could be

taught anything about rifle shooting from sailors, but we learned differently

today. Ofcourse we hated to lose the match and be beaten so badly, but what we

learned is worth it. Never before have we seen or heard of team rifle shooting

such as we did today."

That match marked the end of our shooting season and, having foregone all the pleasures of ports ever since leaving San Francisco, the team held a big

185
An Admiral's Yarn

theater party that night to celebrate—and apparently did a thorough job! For

that reason they were a seedy looking bunch the next morning when they

"came to" sufficiently to start for the range of the Women's Rifle Club, where

they were to fire a match with Australian ladies.

That match was in no sense a fleet team match but just a friendly little shoot

between ladies and gentlemen, in which I did not participate. Our team was

composed ofjust young officers of the fleet team who wanted the diversion of

the first rifle match (that they had ever heard of) with women.

That match was utterly unlike any the officers had ever seen. It was fired at short range with special miniature rifles and other equipment provided by the

ladies. It was an entirely new type of shooting. Instead of teammates firing

together in their matches, each member of the "lady team" paired off with one

of the opponents for shooting. That, of course, made the match rather a sociable

affair and handicapped our young officers, since the members of the ladies team

were young, good-looking girls with true Australian charm. Whether it was the

manner offiring, the altogether different kind ofshooting, the result of the night

before, or all three, we never knew, but those Australian ladies so completely

swamped the fleet's crack-shooting officers that the Australian papers could not

help but comment on the gallantry of the Americans who one day outshot the

best riflemen, only to allow the Australian ladies to outshoot them the next.

Perhaps it was gallantry after all. I never knew!

The rifle team job ended, and I was at last able to enjoy the ports we visited.

Our first, after Melbourne, was Albany in the southwest ofAustralia. From there

we went to Manila, then to Yokohama before returning to Manila. The

receptions at each place were wonderful, and we were shown many of the most

interesting sights. That given at Yokohama was a stupendous affair. The Emperor

and the Japanese people joined together, not only in hospitality but in showing

us the attractions of their famous city. Few visitors see as much in a ten-day visit as we did. By Imperial command, the very best features ofJapanese life were

displayed in the palace grounds at the Emperor's garden party. Assembled from

far and near, they were shown only by royal command, and thus we saw not only

Yokohama and Tokyo at their best, but the finest in all ofJapan.

After our visit to Japan, the fleet returned to Manila Bay for a month of target

practice and similar training. I found Manila greatly changed from the days of

the Empire, as the first few years of our occupation in the Philippines was called.

The old Spanish buildings and walls were, of course, quite as they had been, but

American-type buildings were everywhere now. An outer harbor had been

constructed, the old Pasig River had been made usable for vastly increased

shipping, and the Army and Navy Club, which I had helped to organize, had

186
A Trip Around the World

become the great service center of the islands. The changes were marked, and

they greatly improved Manila as a city. Nevertheless, we were glad when our

month's stay was over and we could proceed on our way.

The next run took us through the Strait of Malacca, past Singapore, to

Colombo on the island of Ceylon. We were taken on trips to Kandy and other

interesting parts of the island, but there was not as much official entertaining as in other ports, and we were glad to roam around and see something ofHindu life

and activities.

Naturally, being near the equator, Colombo was too hot for comfort—so much so that we had not given a thought to Christmas, which was due in a few

days. But once more, as sailors at sea always do at Christmas time, a proper

celebration was arranged. Christmas parties are not especially difficult to prepare

when trees, decorations, and presents are plentiful, but to plan one on the spur of

the moment in the middle of the Indian Ocean is quite another matter. Of the

essentials, the only one actually available to us was food for the dinner. A tree,

Santa Claus' clothes, decorations, and presents had to be created from such

material as we had on board, and a committee was appointed to provide them.

Out of our lumber they made a tree trunk, limbs, branches, and twigs. And for

the pine needles or leaves, they used straws and strips of paper dipped in green

paint. Tree decorations were the brass rings and balls removed from all curtain

rods, and for Santa Claus, they made whiskers out ofrope fibre, a suit and cap out

of red signal flag muslin trimmed with bands of absorbent cotton, and boots

from black oilcloth wrappings. An empty coffee sack found in the galley served

as his pack, and for presents, each officer ransacked his belongings for small

mementos he had accumulated here and there.

The party was a huge success, and when the "beautiful tree" that was hidden

behind curtains was revealed after dinner, a Santa Claus stood beside it with

"snow" from a hatch above falling about him. There was great applause, and

even in the Indian Ocean, close to the equator, we had a white Christmas never

to be forgotten.

Our next stop was Suez, and while waiting to transit the Canal, we had time

for a three-day visit to Cairo. As often attested to by others, Cairo was the most

unusual and interesting of all the places we visited. Its centuries of history were

recorded in the Pyramids of Giza, the Sphinx, the Roman Aqueduct, the old

temples, and museums. Having visited each one singly, I spent my last few hours

in Cairo on the hill of the Temple of Mohammed AH from where I could see them all with the great Nile River and the desert beyond. It was indeed difficult

to leave that fascinating spot and return to the ship.

187
An Admiral's Yarn

After transiting the canal, the fleet stopped at Port Said for a few days. The

expectation was that the fleet would leave and then separate for visits to several

Mediterranean ports, the Nebraska being assigned to Genoa. However, that order never did materialize because the great earthquake that destroyed Messina

occurred while we were in the Suez Canal. The only ships allowed to go to

Italy were the relief ships sent to Messina. The Nebraska was diverted to

Marseilles.

We enjoyed the opportunity to roam about and visit places of

interest—although this freedom generated a temporary upset in our mess. No

sooner did our negro mess attendants go on liberty than they were seized upon

by French girls who held them captive until just before the ship sailed.

Leaving Marseilles, we went to Tangier for two days before crossing to

Gibraltar where the fleet reassembled. Both places proved interesting, but by that

time we were fed up with port visiting and talked only of the homeward trip to

join our families waiting for us at Hampton Roads. We were a happy lot when

the Rock of Gibraltar disappeared over the horizon, and happier still when we

passed in review before President Theodore Roosevelt at the entrance to

Chesapeake Bay at 10 a.m. on February 22nd, 1909, the exact instant set for our

doing so in a schedule that had been made out for us more than a year before.

That review marked the end ofthe battleship cruise around the world, and we

did not regret the fact. We had enjoyed a delightful experience and developed a wonderful battle team for the United States, but to us, the crowning event of the

cruise was being with our families again. They filled every available space around

Hampton Roads, Old Point Comfort, Newport News, Hampton, and even

Norfolk, so our homecoming was a great event, and we made the most of it during the next week.

Although the family reunions culminated the cruise for officers and men, we

were scheduled to attend a great celebration planned for the fleet by the officials

of New York City. There can be no greater thrill for an American, who has been

representing our country in foreign ports, than to witness the magnificent Statue

ofLiberty upon entering the greatest harbor ofall at New York City. There were

tears in my eyes and in my voice when I whispered to myself, "This is my own,

my native land."

New York's celebration was rather different from the receptions given us elsewhere, inasmuch as it entailed none of the official stiffness of international

courtesy. On the contrary, it was an outburst of cordiality and appreciation

extended by a city of people to those who had served them in distant lands.

These people, who spoke our language and whose every act and action we

understood, reassured us, as nothing else could, that we were really home again.

188
A Trip Around the World

When New York's great welcome was over, the fleet disbanded and its ships

were sent to navy yards for repair work and docking, etc., things that could not

be accomplished at sea. It took several months for the work and many major

improvements to be added before the ships were ready to continue routine

cruises.

That next year was an important one to our ever-growing fleet—it was

marked by many changes as the competitions in gunnery and engineering

continued to bear fruit, causing armaments and engines to be improved.

Battleships of the type used on the cruise around the world were fast becoming

obsolete, for the super-imposed turret had long since been discredited as had the

eight-inch guns, which were part of a ship's main battery. The day of "all big

gun" battleships, often spoken of as "dreadnoughts," had arrived. The new ones

were joining the fleet as were torpedo-boat destroyers, replacing the former

torpedo boat, and even submarines were now being built. For the next year the

fleet trained for battle.

We were a month in Cape Cod Bay for battleship torpedo practice before

sailing for the southern drill grounds off the Virginia coast between Capes

Henry and Hatteras. We did take time off, however, to attend the

Hudson-Fulton celebration in New York on the 300th anniversary of Henry

Hudson's discovery of the port. In the fall, we went to Cuba for several months

training while based on Guantanamo Bay and the Gulf of Guacanayabo (this

latter always spoken of in the fleet as "Hungry Gulf").

Guantanamo Bay, the site of our naval station in Cuba, was leased to the

United States by the Republic of Cuba after the war with Spain and was

developed into a splendid base for fleet training. Although there are no shops or

storehouses, a great coaling plant was erected and athletic fields, tennis courts,

baseball diamonds, and beaches made suitable for swirnming were developed,

making it almost ideal for the fleet's winter work.

The training took many forms; maneuvers at sea, gun and torpedo practice in

Hungry Gulf, landing parties, regimental drills and encampments on the

station's grounds, and continuous artillery, rifle, and pistol practice on the rifle

range. These last were a most important part ofour training, for although we had

outgrown the idea of using battleships to protect American interests in foreign

ports, we still devoted much time to training crews for that duty. Teaching

accuracy with artillery, boat guns, rifles, and pistols was necessary, but there was a more important factor for developing riflemen—we had learned that the best

shots were also the best pointers for a ship's big guns.

Although navigators are not supposed to be responsible for gunnery training,

no sooner had we reached Guantanamo than I was put in charge of all range

189
An Admiral's Yarn

target practice and directed to supervise the shooting of the several thousand

men sent each day to the range.

Though that was quite a task, I rather enjoyed it. Nevertheless, I was glad

when after three months I resumed my regular duty of navigating the Nebraska

during the Hungry Gulf and sea training that lasted until early spring. Having

run what I thought was the full gamut of rifle shooting, I felt that I was finished

with rifle ranges forever when the fleet started its northward trip.

Spring found the fleet once more on the southern drill grounds, firing its record target practices. About the time it was finished, I had been nearly three

years in the Nebraska, and my cruise as navigating officer was nearing its finish.

As a young lieutenant commander, I had given little thought to my next

assignment. Soon, however, orders arrived that directed me to take charge of

Physical Training and Athletics at the Naval Academy, at the request of the

commandant of midshipmen, Captain Charles A. Gove.

•

190
XXVI

A New Type of Work

RETURNING TO ANNAPOLIS THAT SUMMER, I found the Academy

that I had known and loved almost entirely replaced by a new one. The

only buildings left from my cadet days were the little watchman houses at the

main gate, the "corrals" where my family had lived for two tours of duty and

where my daughter was born, and several houses for officers in "Oklahoma," a newer area added to the Academy when I was a cadet. The name "naval cadet"

had been officially changed to "midshipman," the two-year middy cruise had

been abolished, and instead of having less than two hundred and fifty students as in my day, there were from twelve to fifteen hundred. Nor were we assigned to

live in the "corrals," as before. Because of my new rank, we were given a fairly

good-sized house, quite recendy built.

Almost everything about the Academy was as new and strange to me as my

new duty, which, as its name implied, did not require books, studies, or

recitations. My primary task was to perfect the physique of the midshipmen and

to supervise all of their athletic activities. I was also to run the Army-Navy

football game, which had by then become one of the outstanding annual sports

events of the United States. Never having given much thought to physical

training—nor even having been athletically inclined—I found the work a complete change, but it was up to me to "make good."

Although by far the most important to the navy, physical training was one of

my simpler tasks, because there were many assistants in the department, and each

was an expert in his particular line, such as gymnastics, wrestling, boxing,

swimming, etc. Also there were medical officers whose specialization in
An Admiral's Yarn

physique development insured that it was not overdone. All midshipmen were

carefully instructed in each form of the prescribed course in physical training,

one of which was the Swedish system, which measured their physical

development. The system did not attempt to develop certain muscles but rather

to increase the body's strength and agility sufficiently to meet any physical

demand a naval officer might encounter. Anyone found under par was placed in

the "weak squad" and required to carry out the system until results were

satisfactory. Midshipmen were also obliged to be proficient with small arms and

deft in boating of every kind as well as in swimming, boxing, wrestling, fencing,

and dancing. All were encouraged to become adept in some form of athletic

sport.

Although not as important to the navy as the physical development of its future officers, athletics attract great attention in the naval service, and every

effort is made to perfect the midshipmen in the various sports. There were

football and baseball teams when I entered the Academy, and later collegiate

crew racing; but when I took charge of athletics there were many other teams

too, such as basketball, swimming, gymnasium, boxing, wrestling, fencing, rifle,

lacrosse, and tennis. Although I did not participate in the training, I had to

provide coaches and equipment, arrange time for training, conduct all competitions, provide athletic fields, and so forth.

There were many "Academy teams," and a considerable number of

midshipmen received athletic training through them, though of course the

majority did not. We wanted every midshipman to participate in some form of

sport, so I arranged for class teams in every sport, provided complete equipment,

created and assigned playing fields, and laid out a full schedule of interclass

events. Tennis courts were built to accommodate fifty or a hundred players. To

encourage the midshipmen to enter some form of sport, one drill period each

week was devoted to athletics.

Under the system we established, the Academy had two fine athletic years and

won almost every competition, even including the Army-Navy football games,

so I was well pleased, especially with the splendid physique of the men of our

teams. However, during the second year I was in charge, a rather discouraging

rule was established. Midshipmen with unsatisfactory marks in one or more

studies for the month were prohibited from representing the Academy on an

athletic team.

Although I was thoroughly in accord with the plan that every man in a "varsity team" should have a satisfactory scholastic standing, the rules established

for the Naval Academy did not allow a midshipman the opportunity to redeem

himself once his grades had slipped. Not only were unsatisfactory midshipmen

192
A New Type of Work

"bilged" from the Academy twice each year, but if a student's scholastic

standing was considered below par for one month, he would lose his eligibility

for varsity team participation.

Our troubles in athletics appeared at the end of October in my second year,

when the marks for the month were posted, listing an unusual number of

unsatisfactory grades. In particular, over one half of the first class was "unsat"in

navigation because of the unusual and unexpected type of examination given.

Since most of the football team came from that class and would be barred from

playing, our team would be utterly ruined for the Army-Navy football game in

November. Believing the rule, as applied to the Naval Academy, was wrong, and

having experience in navigation, I decided to look over the examinations given

the first class. I found that the questions were not at all on practical navigation

but dealt almost entirely with the mathematical deductions of the abstruse

formulae used in it. In other words, the so-called navigation examination was

actually one in higher mathematics for which the midshipmen were not

prepared.

Shocked by what I had learned, I hurried to the commandant, not only to

protest the rule but more to right the wrong that had been made in trying to

make our midshipmen highbrow mathematicians in nautical astronomy rather

than teaching them the practical navigation so essential to every naval officer.

Being a practical navigator, and knowing that the commandant was also, I suggested teaching practical navigation along the lines prescribed in Bowditch's

book, a treatise prepared by the U.S. Navy Department and accepted the world

over as the standard work on practical navigation. Concerning the rules as applied to athletics, they were partially rescinded, giving the Naval Academy that

year not only one of the best football teams it ever had but also unusual success

in all its sports.

As can be surmised, it was a busy time for me, especially since I also had the

rather extraneous task of building the first half of what continues to be the

Academy's athletic stadium, now known as Thompson Field. Shortly after I was

put in charge of athletics, I received a letter from Colonel Robert M.

Thompson, a wealthy civilian alumnus of the Academy who for many years had

been its athletic "angel." In the letter he informed me that if I could raise a similar amount by subscription, he would donate ten thousand dollars toward a stand for spectators on our athletic field. His offer was accepted and I spent much

of my first year in athletics raising our part of the money through the small

subscriptions our graduates could afford to make. By the end of the year this was

accomplished, and Colonel Thompson promptly sent his check. The work on a

193
An Admiral's Yarn

huge stand was started and then completed during my second year at the

Academy, in time for the Army-Navy baseball game in May.

With the decision to organize and send a great United States team to

Stockholm, Sweden, to compete in the Olympic Games to be held there that

summer [1912], that spring became an exceptionally active period in American

athletics.

Since we did not have midshipmen of outstanding ability in any of the many

games that were scheduled, we gave little thought to any of them making the

American team—although athletics had taken on greater importance for usjust

as it had for everyone else.

One of the events scheduled was a match with military rifles between teams

from the several more important countries, and I was interested, since the

United States was entering a team in this competition. My interest was purely

one ofcuriosity, and I was taken completely unawares one day when I received a

letter from the president of the National Rifle Association, which sponsored the

U.S. Rifle Team, urging me to take full charge of our team and be its captain. It was, ofcourse, a great tribute to the navy's shooting and to me personally, and I at once placed the matter before the Navy Department. Orders were immediately

issued that enabled me to prepare the team and take it to Stockholm.

While I was thinking over the problems confronting me with the Olympic

Games, I was called to the commandant's [Commander George WLogan] office

and told to report to the superintendent of the Academy [Captain John H.

Gibbons]. When I said to the commandant, "I wonder what I have been up to

now," he laughed and replied, "I think he is going to ask you to become Head of

the Department of Navigation when you return from the Olympic Games."

Sure enough, he did. I warned him of some drastic changes I would want to

make in teaching practical navigation to the midshipmen. The superintendent

said, "That is exactly what I want and the department is yours when you return

from Stockholm." I was most gratified and pleased.

Nevertheless, I was rather awed by the thought ofbecoming a member of the

"Academic Board" of our great naval school, particularly because I was a grade

lower than any other member and by far its youngest and least experienced.

194
XXVII

The Olympic Games

THAT THE UNITED STATES OLYMPIC TEAM might present the best it could offer in the many competitive games, great attention was given to

selecting the team members. To this end, a long series of competitive "tryouts"

was conducted in an effort that not only assured us of having the best team

possible but also thoroughly fulfilled our country's democratic ideals.

The members of the rifle team that I was to captain were chosen by this

method, hence, I was not responsible for the selection. That I might know their

qualifications and lose no time in training the team, I attended the national

"tryout" held on the U.S. Marine Corps range at Quantico, Virginia. When the

team composition was determined, it was immediately turned over to me, and

thereafter all responsibility for it was mine.

The men who made the team were the pick of the military marksmen of

the Army, Navy, Marine Corps, and National Guards of the various states as well as civilian organizations. Although only eight men were scheduled to

fire rifles, several extras were prepared to fill any vacancies that might occur

before the team left the United States, and two alternates were also allowed

for emergencies. Our squad of sixteen men was accompanied by Colonel

William Libby of Princeton University (our adjutant) and Commander

Neill McDonnell, Medical Corps, U.S. Navy (our doctor). The team had

more riflemen than needed for the final tryout at Stockholm where the

men who did not qualify would be let go. I now devoted all my energy to

developing team shooting in the three weeks remaining before leaving for

Stockholm.
An Admiral's Yam

I knew that for the United States Rifle Team to win the greatest international

match ever fired, not only should its individual members be the best shooters we

could produce, but they must also be able to gain every point they could while

shooting as a team. Except for three navy men who had been on my previous

teams, not a man on the Olympic squad knew about, or believed in, team rifle

shooting required for the match; so to win their hearty support, it was up to me

to show them the value of it. Fortunately, one of the navy riflemen, Ensign C.

[Carl] T. Osborne, had been "master gun" of the Navy Rifle Team when it won

the national match. Because he had topped the field as an individual shot in the

tryouts, there was no question that he would fill that role on the Olympic team;

immediately the squad was assembled on the Naval Academy's range, I gathered

our data for the Olympic shooting.

Although the targets for that shooting looked like our own from a distance,

they actually were very different. They had a double bull's-eye about the size of

ours, to provide a point of aim, but within it was a much smaller "invisible bull"

into which shots had to hit to count as 5's. Also, distances for the match were in

meters instead of in yards, and this made the shooting much more difficult than

at the range we were accustomed to. For instance, when firing at six hundred

yards in the United States, we had a bull's-eye twenty inches in diameter; but for

the Olympic Games, the corresponding distance was six hundred meters (about

639 yards) and the "invisible bull" was only sixteen inches in diameter. It took

real shooting skill to make the shots fired from a point 639 yards away strike

within that circle, especially with the rifles, sights, and ammunition ofthat time.

For training the team, I had prepared an "Olympic range" at the Academy

with targets and distances (in meters) just as they would be at Stockholm, and as soon as the team had assembled, we started work. With such splendid shots,

getting the accurate data for the team shooting was rather easy, but I knew I would have some difficulty in convincing the country's best individual rifle shots

that using it would greatly improve both individual and team scores. It was the

old antagonisms of individual effort vs. team effort, and I had to win complete

support for the team shooting idea at once ifwe were to perfect ourselves in it in

the short time available to us. Accordingly, as soon as the data was complete, I unexpectedly called the squad

to the six-hundred-meter firing point one day, and after assigning each man a target, told them I would prove to them what team shooting could do. I then

directed the "master gun," who knew exactly what was wanted, to fire shots to

establish sight settings for the team. His allowed "sighting shots" put him "in the

bull," and after he made some minor sight adjustments to center his hits in the

center of the bull, he told me his sight readings. Based on them, I told each man

196
The Olympic Games

the sight setting for his rifle and directed him to fire one carefully aimed shot at his own target when I gave the order. Then, when the wind and light were the

same as used by the "master gun," I gave the order to fire. To the complete

amazement of the sixteen firing men (and to me too for that matter), fourteen

fives and two fours were indicated on the targets.

That one demonstration sold the idea to the team, especially because the

settings I had given to them were not at all what they would have used had they

been firing as individuals. Then and there they announced their allegiance to

team shooting, and in the week or so before starting for the games, the team

became as nearly perfect in it as mere human beings could be.

The U.S. Olympic Team of 1912 went to the games in the chartered Atlantic

liner Finland and lived on board for the duration. Ofcourse it was expensive, but

it kept problems to a minimum as well as representing the United State as a cohesive unit, something no country had done before. It was very worthwhile.

All team members worked together to strive for perfection, and it was little wonder that every member ofour fine team was imbued with "the will to win."

The trip across was intensely interesting, as each team member constantly

tried to train at sea for his event, as best he could. The riflemen had a much easier

time keeping fit than the athletes, but somehow all succeeded rather well and

were quite ready for the games when the ship reached Stockholm.

The members of the team came from all over the United States, from large

colleges and universities, small and remote ones, and even unheard of towns.

They included full-blooded Indians, Hawaiians, and every nationality in our

country.

At first the large university chaps rather "high-hatted" the others, although

that soon wore off. One man, however, who particularly attracted my attention,

was a splendid looking athlete who always wore a blue sweater with an

enormous white Y on it. We assumed he was a Yale man, but strange to say, instead of mingling with the Yale men or other college groups, he associated

with the rifle team entirely—so much so that at last we asked his reason for it. Thereupon he said, "I am not friendly with most of the other athletes. Seeing

the Y on my sweater, they assume that I am from Yale, which I am not and don't

want to be. I earned that letter at my own university, of which I am very proud,

but many think I am pretending to be from Yale when I am not, so they high-hat

me. I am a Mormon and won that Y at Brigham Young University, and I won't

be high-hatted by Yale men or anyone else. Besides, there is another thing. These

other fellows talk too much. I'm a highjumper and the otherjumpers are always

telling me how much higher they have jumped than I have. They talk of their

five-feet nine-inch jumps, and when I tell them I can jump only five feet six

197
An Admiral's Yarn

inches, they sneer at me and I don't like it. Maybe they can jump to

five-feet-nine now and then, and maybe they can't. I wouldn't know. But I do

know one thing—I may not be in their class but I can always do my five-feet-six,

and I'll do it at the games." He did exacdy that and won the event.

Though chartered for the games, the Finland did not go direcdy to

Stockholm but stopped at Antwerp to discharge a cargo, reaching Stockholm

just before the track and field events opened in the stadium. Inasmuch as the

shooting events were to be held before the stadium events, the rifle team could

not wait for the ship but was obliged to leave it at Antwerp and hasten to

Stockholm by rail and boat to be there in time for its matches. That trip took

almost a day, as we encountered troubles upon reaching the German frontier.

Our rifles and ammunition were held up, although they had supposedly been

cleared for us by the U.S. State Department.

Immediately we established ourselves in Stockholm, donned shooting

clothes, and rushed to the rifle range to learn as much as we could about

conditions there and get in such practice as would be possible that afternoon and

the next day before the matches started. We found many teams practicing and

the range was sufficiendy different from those we had used before, thus

requiring careful study. The ground was not level, as on our ranges, and was

surrounded by broken woods that produced peculiar wind currents; it was

covered with the greenest grass we had even seen on a range. And because of the

high latitude and low altitude of the sun, the light had a yellowish tinge that

made everything look different. A day and a half of practice seemed all too litde

for mastering such a range, and since there was no time to lose, we went to work

with a will. Our rather complete knowledge ofshooting helped immeasurably.

At first we expected to show up poorly in comparison with the teams already

there, but once we had obtained our data at one of the distances, our team

shooting system became effective. From then on, our hopes and spirits rose. Never before had any of us seen such a firing line. Instead of the teams dressed

in like uniforms, each wore the uniform peculiar to his country—some of

which seemed rather fantastic compared with our own khaki, "Rough Rider"

outfits. Then too, directly behind each team stood the flag of the country

represented. The long line appeared more like a gay bazaar than a firing line for

the world's best military marksmen.

One vacant allocation became obvious when the line moved back to the

six-hundred-meter distance, and curiosity was rampant about what country was

missing. We were not uncertain for long, for scarcely had the firing started at the

new distance when we heard a great honking of automobile horns behind us. Turning to look, we beheld a long cavalcade of open autos standing down the

198
The Olympic Games

range at high speed toward the vacant place on the line. The leading car bore a huge Russian national flag. In each car behind it were four men, two in the rear

seat wearing green suits and alpine hats with a long cock feather sticking rakishly

back on the left side, while the two in the front seat, in gaudy uniforms of some

particular Russian regiment, were carrying the longest rifles I have ever seen. As the cavalcade approached the firing line and the party disembarked, I thought we were about to be visited by a member of the Royal Family if not the

Czar himself, but I soon found that I was mistaken. The Russian Rifle Team had

arrived!

That team and its methods were eye-openers to us. The men in green were

the shooters, the soldiers in uniform, their orderlies. As soon as the riflemen

went to their firing points, their orderlies, with the rifles and ammunition, took

stations direcdy behind them, handing the shooter his loaded rifle which, after

each shot, would be handed back to the orderly who loaded and returned it to

the riflemen when it came his turn to fire again.

Needless to say, the orderly performance was a new one to our men, who

always did everything for themselves. However, though new to us, it was

probably necessary to the Russians because of their peculiar rifles, which, fired

with heavy bayonets fixed as their regulations required, were so long and heavy

that merely aiming carefully and holding them between shots brought enough

strain on firing muscles to ruin a man's accuracy. Although their team and

equipment did not seem as business-like as ours, those Russians worried us considerably until we watched them shoot for some time and then realized that

with all their folderols and show, they were not in our class. They were a long

time attempting to hit the targets, and it was a much longer time before one hit

the bull's-eye. When it did, all the other Russians stopped shooting long enough

to congratulate and shake hands with the man who had fired the successful shot.

As our team was then making bull's-eyes on nearly every shot, we ceased to

worry about the Russians.

The next day was our one full practice day before the match, and we made

the most of it, using our team system through the course and checking up

carefully on every detail. When the day ended, we thought ourselves all set and

ready—although perhaps the other teams did not think as highly of us, at least I know the British team did not.

For shooting, the U.S. Rifle Team wore a close approximation to the so-called

"Rough Rider" uniform which, while not especially fetching to the eye, was an

excellent one for the purpose and well known in Europe, because in his widely

displayed pictures, President "Teddy" Roosevelt always wore one. We knew

nothing of our uniform's prominence, however, until that last practice day when,

199
An Admiral's Yarn

having ceased firing for a delayed luncheon and a little rest, the captain of the

British team approached me and said, "I say, old top, I see your Teddy

Roosevelt is here with your team." As he was not, I asked what had given him

that impression. "Why," he said, "if that is not Teddy Roosevelt dozing against

that tree around the corner, who in the world is it?" When I looked to see, there

was our big six-foot doctor [Commander Neill McDonnell], looking the

perfect image of Theodore Roosevelt as a rough rider, even to the facial

contour, brown mustache, and eyeglasses. I learned afterward that the doctor

took considerable pride in his resemblance to Theodore Roosevelt. The British

captain appeared greatly revived, for he turned to me and said, "I am glad of

that, as I thought if he were with you, we might be beaten, but now there is only one team that worries me at all, the Swedes, and I am not greatly

concerned about them."

For the United States Olympic Team, the games started the next morning

with the Team Rifle Match. However, although specified as a "team match," and

particularly designed as a test in team shooting, it was soon apparent that of all the teams participating, the only one shooting as a team, and not as a group of

individuals, was our own. Shooting as a team we at once forged ahead, never

wasting a point by having individuals establish their own sight settings. That,

however, was not our only advantage, for instead of firing by pairs in succession

as is usual in team matches, our four pairs (in each team) fired simultaneously,

each on its own target, all under the control of the team captain. While on other

teams, eight individuals struggled with their personal shooting problems, our

team captain handled them all at one time, merely watching our "master gun"

closely. When the firing conditions were right for the "master gun," I had only

to order "commence firing" and our pairs would all shoot as rapidly as careful

aiming permitted. Shooting in that manner, our team not only made better

scores than the others but finished firing in less than half the time of the other

teams.

It was little wonder the spectators massed to watch the United States Rifle

Team at work, for as distances increased and the shooting became more difficult,

the greater became our gains over other teams. One can gauge the quality ofour

shooting by what we did at 500 meters: out of 120 shots fired (15 per man), 118

were in the little bull's-eye, a truly remarkable performance, though not any

more so than those we gave at the other distances. As was to be expected, and

even in the face of the other teams shooting as good as they had ever shot, our

team won the match by a wide margin.

Although winning by such a large score once more emphasized the value of

team shooting, I was particularly keen to see how it may have affected the scores of our individuals. To my surprise, not one man on any other team outshot a

200
The Olympic Games

single man on the United States Team. The highest score made by any one of

them only tied the lowest made by a member of our team.

With the team match won, our great task had been accomplished. There were

a few other rifle matches that we entered, although only one was with military

rifles—that was an individual match. The others were the famous "running

deer" team match for sports rifles and several "small bore" matches as well, none

ofwhich were familiar to our military marksmen. In fact, we knew so little about

them that the only preparation we had given them was a hurried purchase of six

"over-the-counter" sports rifles and six .22 caliber rifles before the Finland sailed

from New York. Although neither rifle was the type or design considered

suitable for the matches, and we had no experience with them, our men insisted

on entering the matches.

It is interesting what Americans can do when they really try! As was to be

expected, our men did well in the individual match with military rifles and

won points for the United States, but in the other matches, we surprised

everyone, including ourselves. The first was the "running deer" team match in

which four men fire at the silhouette ofa deer while it apparendy runs some fifty

yards along the top of a target pit. The silhouette, which is made of paper, is divided into many parts, each assigned a value as a vital spot, the score for a team

being the sum of the values of the hits made.

"Running deer" was not known in the United States, and our riflemen first

encountered it on the afternoon allowed for practice. There at the running deer

range they tried their luck. With sporting rifles they were not good at all, but

with the military rifles so familiar to them they could do fairly well. So, based on

that one day's shooting, four men were chosen to be a U.S. "Running Deer

Team." Using their regular rifles, they took third place in a match of expert

European running deer teams. If anything more had been needed to

demonstrate the remarkable shooting ability of American riflemen, that match

provided it. But there was more!

The .22 caliber rifles picked up by us over the counter were not at all like the

European well-made weapons for small bore shooting. Their rifles had every

known refinement to insure accuracy—their sights were fitted with verniers for

both vertical and lateral adjustment. Our rifles were the run of the mill, often

spoken of as "floberts" made for American boys, and were equipped with

old-time open sights that had no means of adjustment. It did not seem possible

that our men, in a form of shooting new to them and with such relatively crude

firearms, could win a single point against the perfectly equipped experts with

whom they had to compete. Nevertheless, they did, and by the time all but one

of the small bore matches had been completed, every man on our squad, except

201
An Admiral's Yarn

for one of the substitutes, even including the doctor and the team adjutant

[Colonel William Libby], had won one or more of the prized "Olympic

Medals."

The afternoon preceding the last of the small bore matches, the substitute

[Frederick Hird], who had not yet won a medal, came to me with a long face

and wanted to know what to do since he simply could not return to his home in

Iowa without an Olympic Medal. There was only the one remaining rifle match,

and the only advice I could give him was to tell him he must win first place. "But

how can I?" said he. "That match is the most difficult to win of all the small bore

matches. The entire target is smaller than a post card; there are the concentric

circles on it, the inner one a bull's-eye that counts as ten, being smaller than a ten-cent piece, and each successive circle outside it counts one point less. To win

that match, a man not only has to be a perfect shot but also must have a perfect

rifle made for that kind of shooting. Perhaps I am a good enough shot to win

such a match but never in the world could those .22 caliber guns of ours, with

their fixed open sights, do it." "Well," I said, "that may be true for most people,

Hird, but it is not so for you. If you will work to win in the way I know you

alone can work, the match will be yours. So go to it and work like hell."

Next morning when the match started, there at his firing point was Hird with

his over-the-counter rifle, a box of .22 caliber cartridges, and a tack hammer. As

compared with that of forty or fifty other competitions, his equipment was a sorry sight. But even so, no one on the firing line seemed more business-like

than Hird, as we stood back ofthe line to watch him shoot. What we saw was the

most unusual and wonderful exhibition of shooting, wherein all his talent and

energy went into every shot, even to the three sighting shots allowed each

contestant that he might adjust his sights to perfection. But Hird had none ofthe

ordinary means of sight adjustments, and when his first shot went far to one side

of the bull's-eye, he picked up his tack hammer and calmly knocked his front

sight a trifle to one side to correct it. Then he fired his other two sighters,

stopping after each to make a few more tack hammer adjustments, where upon

he fired his record string of twenty shots, each a bull's-eye except for one that

was outside by a hair's breadth. He had made the remarkable score of 199 out of

his possible 200, which won him the match and the coveted gold Olympic

Medal. To win first place in any Olympic contest a man must fight all the way,

but to win with the poor equipment and little training that Hird had, showed a brand of determination and courage seldom encountered in this world.

The amazing shooting of the Americans drew attention to them whenever

they competed, and starting with the military team match, we always had a

202
The Olympic Games

gallery. Among those ever following our team was a fine appearing young man

to whom the other spectators showed such deference that I inquired as to his

identity and learned that he was the Crown Prince of Sweden [later Gustav VI].

Not only did he show great interest in shooting, in which he was said to be

rather expert, but also he seemed to enjoy talking to our men and "hobnobbing"

with them in a free and easy manner that surprised me. In fact, with us, he did

not act the Crown Prince at all but was rather a companionable individual,

apparently as democratic as we Americans were. He seemed particularly attracted to one of our riflemen, a typical "as good as anybody" American who at home was a sergeant in the National Guard of his

state, and the two often sat together on the ground laughing and talking without

restraint. As the sergeant was given to considerable loudjoking and horseplay, his

bearing and manner when with the Crown Prince was nothing short ofstartling

to me; but as the Prince seemed to enjoy it and always sought him out, I could

only watch with amusement, although with a bit of consternation too.

However, during one of the small bore matches, when the sergeant was not

shooting and all was quiet along the firing line, I noted the Crown Price and he

were seated together on the ground with a large clump of grass between them.

As they talked, each would occasionally pluck a blade and chew it, a habit to

which the sergeant was much addicted. Though their doing that seemed

somewhat unconventional, I did not give particular heed to them and turned my

back to watch the shooting. Suddenly from behind me came such loud guffaws

and roars of laughter that I turned to look. What I saw surprised me, for the

laughter came from the Crown Prince and the guffaws from the sergeant who

was lying on his back with his heels kicking in the air! Shocked beyond words

that an American sergeant would behave with such levity in the presence of the

Crown Prince, I called him to me when they had separated. I asked how a fine

soldier could so lose his dignity to behave as he did and wondered if he knew

with whom he had been talking. In a loud voice, so that the Prince could hear,

the sergeant said, "Of course I know exacdy who he is, the Crown Prince of

Sweden." Then he added, "You needn't worry about us, Captain, him and me is great friends." I had nothing more to say. Whether or not the Crown Prince spoke to his father about our team, I do

not know, but now and then I saw the King [Gustav V] himself watching us

shoot, and then, as the last match drew to its end, the King's aide came to me and

said, "His Majesty has noted the remarkable shooting of the American team and

has sent me with his congratulations and compliments to ask if you will permit

the team to give a demonstration of its shooting tomorrow morning for the

Royal Artillery School." Of course I said we would be gready pleased to do so

203
An Admiral's Yarn

and spent the next morning explaining and showing his young officers all we

knew. However, that was not all, for the King came to the range with them and

spent an hour with me, learning about our shooting. Inasmuch as the King had a thorough knowledge of rifle shooting, it was a pleasure to explain our methods

to him—but the greatest honor was his recognition of the United States'

supremacy in military marksmanship.

Another recognition of that supremacy came from the Russians, when the

captain of their team asked me for a set of certified composite targets showing

exactly where each shot fired by us, at each distance, had hit. All our men had

picture records of their hits, and authentic composite records were easily

prepared, but because I could not conceive why he wanted them, I asked. His

reply was perhaps typical of foreign opinion, for he said, "On my return to

Russia I must make a full report on the military team match, and I know that

when I tell of the remarkable shooting by you Americans, no one will believe

me. I will need the authenticated composite targets for proof."

The shooting part of the Olympic Games was completed the day before the

Finland arrived in Stockholm. When the ship arrived, the rifle team returned on

board where word of our success had preceded us. Hence, when we went to

dinner that night, the entire U.S. Olympic Team was present to give us an

ovation, for not only had we won the military match and the three points that a

first place gives to a nation, but also we had won a total ofthirteen points for our

country out of a possible eighteen in the events we had entered. In fact, of the

total points for all rifle shooting, even though we could not enter all contests, we

had won more points for the United States than had been won by all the other

countries of the world together. We had given the United States Olympic Team

a splendid start. Not all the Olympic contests are held in the stadium. Those such as shooting,

swimming, diving, rowing, sailing, skating, skiing, football, etc., are held at other

specially prepared places. But because the stadium was the assembly center for

the meet as well as where all field, track, and gymnastic competitions were to

take place, it was opened with a grand ceremonial parade in which all contestants took part, each marching as a member of his country's team, at the

head of which was carried the country's flag. To the spectators as well as the

competitors, that opening was an inspiring sight for the teams of the various

countries, marching once around the stadium, lining up in a row of columns,

each headed by its national flag, completely filling the stadium field. Then after a few words of welcome by the King of Sweden, the teams marched forward and

the stadium events were started.

204
The Olympic Games

In the march around the stadium, our victorious rifle team in Rough Rider

uniforms, was greeted with such applause as to dumbfound us. At first I thought

it was given us for winning our event, but I soon learned differently, for as we

passed an English speaking group, I heard them shouting, "Look! Look at the

Americans! There goes Teddy Roosevelt almost in the lead." Then I remembered our doctor was marching with me at the head of our rough rider

group. The applause was not for our victorious rifle team at all; it was a tribute to

Theodore Roosevelt.

With our shooting completed, we riflemen were free to watch and enjoy the

games from our "season seats" in the American section. We attended the

stadium competitions morning and afternoon, and in the evenings we watched

the aquatics. As the games were held in the early summer when, in that latitude,

the sun is below the horizon for only a few minutes before and after midnight, it was always daylight, and because there were so many competitions, each contest

was a series of "preliminaries "followed by "finals "Being acquainted with every

man on our team, the games thus became one long strain of nervous excitement

for us. It was like attending an Army-Navy football game that lasted twelve

hours a day, every day, for three weeks! Fortunately for our peace of mind, the

United States teams did most of the winning and stood at the top easily, but even

so, the end of the games brought general relief.

The last great feature of the Olympic dream was the awarding of medals and

the crowning of winners with laurel wreaths. That, too, took place in the

stadium, where the flags of the competing countries were massed and into

which the winners marched, no longer grouped in national teams but by

competitive events. Perhaps that final act was not as spectacular as the opening

one, but those who witnessed it saw before them the champions of the world in

every amateur sport known at that time. Only once in every four years is there

such a gathering. Assuredly, it is impressive.

With the winners assembled, the King of Sweden took his stand before them,

and as their names were called, each advanced to be given his medal, to be

crowned with the coveted laurel wreath, and to be congratulated. It may be that

somewhere in life there is a greater individual thrill than being crowned an

Olympic champion, but if so, not many in this world experience it. When the games were over, every member of our team could have returned

to the United States on the Finland, but as each one had been given a ticket for

passage on any Red Star Liner within the next few months, many of us took

advantage ofthe allowed delay to visit European cities. I myselfjoined a group to

spend a carefully planned sightseeing week in Paris, and since we were all vigorous men, we covered the interesting points of that great city rather

205
An Admiral's Yarn

thoroughly. However, at the end of the week I was weary and more than

delighted to return to my litde family and my new work at the Naval Academy.

That academic year was a busy one in the Department of Navigation, for we

changed it from one on theories of navigation to that ofpractice. Our first move

was to make each recitation room a navigator's workroom, with all the books,

charts, and paraphernalia found in a ship's "chart house," and which every

midshipman was taught to use. We went over Bowditch's Practical Navigation

carefully, and when we had written new chapters for it and brought its old ones

up to the minute in modern navigation work, it was reprinted by the Navy

Department and became our basic textbook. Although the old textbooks on the

theories of navigation were retained, they were utilized only as reference

books—now, instead ofreciting daily on the deduction ofnavigational formulae,

midshipmen were taught how to use them to obtain navigational fixes from

astronomical observations. To practice them thoroughly in a navigator's work at

sea, two two-hour periods each week were devoted to what was called "practical

nav.The course we put in effect that year was not one to make midshipmen good

theorists in navigation, but it certainly taught them to be the proficient

navigators required for the navy. More than that, once the confusing influence of

theory no longer interfered with the practice ofit, the midshipmen began to like

navigation and ceased to worry about becoming "unsat" in it. Instead of from

one-third to one-halfa class making unsatisfactory marks on the annual "exams"

in navigation, as was the case the year before, on a more thorough exam only two

men in the entire class failed. I was elated with our progress and

accomplishments.

As the year neared its end, I was again due for sea and made a formal request

to be ordered as executive officer of a batdeship, but the detail officer felt I had

had more than my share of battleship duty and should take command of a destroyer. Soon came my orders to report to the USS Cassin, which had just

been built in Bath, Maine, and was a fine, large destroyer which I was to

command and put into commission. I was pleased.

206
XXVIII

In Destroyers

ARRIVING IN BATH about the end ofJune, I had six weeks there before

146 the USS Cassin was completed. At the same time, a sister destroyer, the

147 Cummings, was also being finished, and the officers of both ships, who did not

have their families with them, joined in keeping "bachelor hall" in a large, old,

colonial house that we were able to rent fully furnished.

It was summer, and we had a joyous time during the height of the season in

southeastern Maine. Early in August, after work on the Cassin was finished, the

new ship was delivered to the Navy Yard in Boston. Commissioned at once and

quickly fitted out, Cassin joined the destroyer flotilla in Narragansett Bay about

the first of September, 1913.

There we entered a new kind of naval life, for although all ships are similar, as are all horses, I was to change from the draft horse type of work done by the

battleships to the race horse sort performed by the destroyers. It was akin to a

shift from driving truck horses to the thrilling excitement of racehorse

jockeying. Nor was the change merely in the kind ofwork, forjust as race horses

are livelier than draft horses, so destroyers with their great speed and slender lines are far more lively at sea than other ships. Their personnel must develop a set of

"sea-legs" considerably stronger and more active than those required on

slow-moving ships.

The quick twists, rolls, and pitches of speeding destroyers are such a physical

strain to those on board that they are always waiting and hoping for a lessening

of the activity. Hence, when the Cassin joined the flotilla, all eyes were on it to

note the behavior of a new type of ship, a third larger than the old vessels.
An Admiral's Yarn

Naturally I too was interested as well as pleased to have a division of older boats

steam along with us on our first run in a rough sea so that we might compare

proficiencies and skills. When we reached port, the division commander

remarked that though his ships had cavorted as usual in the seaway, the Cassin

went along "as steady as a church." Only it really had not, for our carefully kept

records showed the Cassin's movements to be just as fast, hard, large, and frequent

as were those of the older destroyers.

In fact, every ship at sea rolls and tosses at certain times to a degree that is dependent mosdy on the hull shape and the size of the seas. The larger the ship

the larger the sea must be to affect it, but there is little difference between

destroyers, whatever the class. As soon as a fresh wind creates a rough sea, all behave abominably, and for that reason, life at sea on a destroyer is perhaps the

most trying challenge in a navy man's career. That month with the flotilla gave me a fair insight into destroyer life as well as an understanding of what is needed to prepare destroyers for service. When the

rest of the flotilla went to navy yards to prepare for a winter's cruise in the West

Indies, the Cassin, which had just left a yard, was ordered to do a "shakedown

cruise" in Florida waters. The Cummings and two other destroyers, the Dowries

and Duncan, also were to get ready for the flotilla and were directed to join the

Cassin to form the "Sixth Division," under my command. That Sixth Division

was a fine command, and I was keen to have it show up well that winter.

The other ships were not ready to go south at the moment, so the Cassin

proceeded alone, to be joined by them later where they came out for a "shakedown" period around Key West and the Dry Tortugas. Situated on the

most western and remote of the larger Florida Keys, only ninety miles from

Havana, Key West had a life all its own—American, southern, tropical, and

Cuban. Linked to the mainland only by steamers and the railroad over the

Florida Keys, its easygoing life was one we entered into fully when in port.

Proud of their isolation and individuality, Key Westers called themselves

"Conches," after the shellfish of that area, a name they retain to this day.

Although we often went to Key West for mail, fuel, supplies, and liberty, our

base for work was the Dry Tortugas, a ring of small coral keys and sandbanks

about sixty miles farther west, within which is a large deep-water area suitable

for anchorage and torpedo work. On Loggerhead Key, the small islet farthest to

the westward, stood the great Tortugas lighthouse to guide the ships entering or

leaving the Straits of Florida. While the entire Dry Tortugas group is a bird

sanctuary, a low flat sand key on the southern side of the harbor, known locally as "Bird Key," fairly teemed with feathered life, and during the winter months was

so filled with migratory birds that it drew many naturalists there to study them.

208
In Destroyers

But the outstanding features of the group were the abandoned Fort Jefferson

and the naval coaling plant on the larger of the keys, on the southeastern side of

the harbor.

Unless one actually sees them, it is almost impossible to believe that in the

remote Tortugas, our country could have erected and then completely

abandoned such costly affairs. Yet there stand Fort Jefferson and the coaling

plant, monuments not to an error in judgment but to the tremendous changes in

warfare that took place in the 19th century.

In the first half of that century, to protect its seaports, the United States spent

about a billion dollars erecting massive stone and masonry forts—from Maine to

the Rio Grande—covering the entrance channels to its important ports. When

completed, those forts were the last word in harbor defense; but of them all, because it defended the harbor from which the entrance on the western side to

the Florida Straits was controlled, Fort Jefferson was perhaps the costliest, as every brick, stone, and even the earth for it had to be carried there in ships. Huge

and seemingly impregnable, the fort approximated half a mile in diameter;

around it was a moat and huge seawall; and inside it were barracks, many

buildings, and a large, earth-covered, parade ground. In addition, a deep channel

had been cut through the reef to the eastward, the coral and sand from which

had been used to enlarge an area alongside the fort where the navy had erected

two coaling plants, and where several fine wharves had been built.

During the Civil War, and even as late as the war with Spain, "Dry Tortugas"

was vitally important to the United States, though in neither war was it attacked.

In the former, Fort Jefferson came to be a Federal prison where many war

prisoners as well as the Jefferson Davis and the Lincoln assassination conspirators

(except Booth) were confined. In the war with Spain, the great coaling plants

supplied fuel for the U.S. naval ships fighting around Cuba. But the introduction

of long-range guns and oil fuel changed all that and rendered the entire Dry

Tortugas outfit so useless that when we went ashore there in 1913, we had it to

ourselves except for the lightkeepers on Loggerhead Key and a custodian for the

immense abandoned military plant, who lived with his wife in a small house

within the old fort.

Deserted and isolated though it was, the Dry Tortugas area was ideal for

training work, and we progressed rapidly. Without the fleshpots of a seaport

town, one might think it would be a dull place for several hundred officers and

men, but instead of feeling disconnected from life, we found ourselves (at no

expense whatever) enjoying a winter outing in the Florida Keys for which other

men had to pay hundreds of dollars. We worked hard during work hours, but for

every moment of recreation time, we had no end of healthy and interesting

209
An Admiral's Yarn

outdoor pastimes right at our door. In the old fort's parade ground, we had a perfect baseball field; on the concrete floors of the old coaling plant we had

splendid tennis courts; in the fort and around the seawall, we took wonderfully

interesting walks; there was no end to boating, swimming, and bathing; on visits

to the nearby reefs and Keys, we collected a vast number of beautiful sea life

curios, and the fishing was such that few men have the opportunity to enjoy

The Florida Keys have long been famous for wonderful fishing, but in all that

vast area, the Dry Tortugas is perhaps the best. Depending on where and how we

fished, we had no difficulty in catching immense barracuda, grouper, red

snapper, Spanish mackerel, and kingfish and a dozen kinds of beautiful pan-fish.

Tarpon were plentiful, though not having proper equipment and bait we never

tried for them, being quite satisfied with the gaminess of fish easier to catch,

which often weighed from twenty to forty pounds. The barracuda were

particularly large and so voracious that they often stole our hooked mackerel

and kingfish before we could land them. One day when I had worked for some

time bringing a large kingfish to the boat, we saw an immense barracuda nip off

the greater part of it, right alongside the boat. When I returned to the ship, I weighted the part the barracuda had failed to get and it weighed fourteen

pounds. A fish that could bite off considerably more than that amount in one

gulp had to be of substantial size.

Having spend some eight or ten weeks around Key West and the Dry

Tortugas, the division went to Guantanamo Bay where we joined the destroyer

flotilla and the entire U.S. Atlantic Fleet for a winter of training. We had

prepared ourselves rather fully in the individual work of destroyers and even in

operating as a division, so when we joined the flotilla, we were ready for the

work that destroyers had been called upon to do up to that time.

But that year they were assigned a new type of work by the then flotilla

commander, Captain WS. Sims. The fleet had become proficient in gunnery

and engineering, and the battleships were trained to maneuver as a unit in battle,

but other types of ships had learned little of teamwork. Sims developed it that

149 winter.

Although enemy heavy ships have always been the main objective for both

battleships and destroyers in war, it was the general naval practice in 1913 for the

two types ofvessels to work more or less independently. Although the battleships

were fairly well trained in their task, the destroyers had yet to be prepared. The

only way destroyers could get close enough to hit large ships with torpedoes was

to slip up on them under cover of darkness. Hence, Sims began training the

flotilla in what he called "night search and attack." This was a new type of

operation that became possible only because our ships were equipped with

210
In Destroyers

radio. Radio brought an almost complete change to naval warfare, but at that

time, use of it was still in its infancy—so much so that "night search and attack,"

as developed that winter, was just about the first step in a great revolution.

Although not entirely recognizable at that time, what Sims did in the winter

of 1913 marked the very start ofprofound change in our fleet's war operations. A

considerable amount of teamwork between battleships had been done

previously, but what we did that winter not only developed teamwork in

destroyers, but at the same time began teamwork between battleships and

destroyers. That winter was the beginning of what our battle fleet has become

today, a huge company of teams working together in one coordinated effort to

destroy the enemy fleet.

It was an arduous winter. We worked night and day, sometimes at Guantanamo, sometimes in "Hungry Gulf," but mostly at sea. At last, however, it ended with the new destroyers being hurried north for their inspection

preliminary to final acceptance. The rest of the fleet remained to rest for a week

in Guantanamo. In all, eight destroyers went north for those final trials, four in

my Sixth Division and four in the Seventh, which had been formed when

additional, just completed ships, joined the flotilla in Cuba.

On the run north, we encountered a bit ofrough weather. As senior officer of

the group, I directed the Seventh Division to proceed independently to better

meet weather conditions. The two divisions were in rough sea in the vicinity of

Cape Hatteras about two o'clock one morning, when I received a radio message

from the other division asking that my ships stand by them as a boiler explosion

in one ofits ships had killed or wounded several men and blown out one side of

the ship abreast the boiler. Of course the Sixth Division rushed at best speed to

assist, but by the time we reached the stricken ship, the Aylwin, it had been taken

in tow by another destroyer, and the Seventh Division was slowly standing

toward Hatteras lightship.

Never before had I seen such a sight as that disclosed by our searchlights and

the breaking when we drew near the Aylwin. It was so far down by the head that

it seemed to be sinking. Utterly without lights or power, its personnel, all gathered on deck wearing life preservers, were ready to jump overboard should

the ship go under. It was truly a weird sight that became even more so when I saw that a great piece of the outside hull had been torn away at the keel. It was

blown so far out and upward that it appeared like a giant wing over a tremendous hole in the ship's side, through which the sea rolled in and out. From

its appearance, the Aylwin seemed almost certain to break in two in the heavy sea then running, or sink if the inside bulkheads should give way. But it did neither,

for miraculously, the wind dropped, the sea flattened, and we moved slowly

211
An Admiral's Yam

toward Norfolk where we arrived late that night. The Aylwin was immediately

placed in dry-dock.

After that, our final trials and inspections went off according to schedule, with

only one occurrence worth recounting. It had to do with an enlisted man on the

Cassin. His name was Carter. Carter, who was almost jet black, was cook for the

officers' mess. He first came to my notice one day when, shordy after the

commissioning of the ship, he greeted me at the galley door saying, "Captain, I guess you don't remember me, but I was your mess hall boy when you was a midshipman at the Academy. I'se been a cook in the navy for nearly fifteen years

now, and I'se mighty glad to be working for you again. My name is Carter."

During all the time he had served in the Cassin, Carter had proved such an

excellent cook and was so interested in his work that all the officers thought

highly of him, especially since his record showed that in all the years he had

served in the navy, he had never been "on the report." He seldom left the ship, never asked a favor, and proved steady and reliable. It is little wonder we officers

were great believers in Carter.

One day during our final acceptance trails, the Cassin sailed into Hampton

Roads to pick up supplies for another week at sea. Because it was already about

five o'clock in the afternoon when we anchored, and we were to depart at seven

the next morning, I announced there would no be liberty that night—the only

men to go ashore would be stewards going for supplies. Shordy after that and

just before the boat with the stewards was to shove off, the officer of the deck

came to me and reported that Carter was at mast and wished to see me about

going ashore that night. Had anyone but Carter wanted to request liberty that

night, I probably would not have seen him, but since it was faithful old Carter, I went to the mast. There stood Carter dressed in his best shore-going clothes.

When I neared him, he said, "Captain, I ain't never asked for nothing before, but

it is so important for me to get ashore tonight, I begs you to let me go. I'll sure come back in the market boat at five o'clock tomorrow morning."

I felt I had to do something about it, so after thinking it over, I said to him,

"Carter, you need not tell me why it is so important for you to go ashore, but

when a man ofyour stand and reliability feels it is so necessary to go ashore, I will

allow it. But remember, you must not fail to return in the market boat early

tomorrow morning." "Yes sir, Captain," replied Carter, "I'll be in that boat and I thank you."

Before seven the following morning, the officer of the deck reported the

Cassin ready to get underway and added, "The market boat has returned and is hoisted and all stewards are on board with their supplies, but Carter did not

212
In Destroyers

come back, although the boat waited an hour for him. So he is absent over leave

and has missed the ship

" The next week at sea without a cook was not a happy one, and by the time

the ship was in Hampton Roads again, we officers were in a bad humor and

disgusted with Carter, whom I intended to have counter-martialled as soon as he returned. He did so in the first boat, but as it was then evening and the officer

of the deck reported him almost in collapse over the enormity of his offense, I decided to wait until I held mast next day to take his case. When I did so, there stood Carter waiting his turn with tears rolling down his

face, the first time he had ever appeared before his captain for punishment.

Seeing his distress, I made his the last case called. When his turn came, the ship's

officers and the master-at-arms present at the hearing all drew long and solemn

faces as I said to him, "Carter, you have betrayed the great trust I put in you

when I granted you a very special favor. Now what have you to say about your

treatment ofme in not returning to the ship as you promised?" When I finished,

Carter's tears increased and he could scarcely speak, but at last he managed

through his tears to explain. "Captain," said he, "I didn't mean to treat you that

way, deed I didn't. When you let me go ashore that night I sure thought I'd get

back in that market boat, but, Captain, things began to happen as soon as I got

ashore. I got married right away and the baby was born next morning, so I just

couldn't come back to the ship."

Although doing so was difficult, those of us who heard Carter remained as solemn as owls. When at last I was able to speak, I said, "Carter, I have heard

many excuses for being over leave, but never have I heard one like yours. I shall

think about it and review your record again, for this is indeed a grave offense." A

few days later I decided the excuse was worthy of a dismissal of the case against

Carter but warned him never to overstay his leave again. "Deed, Sir, I won't,"

sobbed Carter, and as far a I know, he ever did.

The spring of 1914 proved an eventful one in several ways. I had been a member of the American Olympic Committee at the time of the 1912 games,

but until I came north that spring, there had been no call for my services. The

International Olympic Committee was to meet in Paris in June, and I was

designated to attend it as one of the United States representatives. Inasmuch as the month ofJune had been set aside as an overhaul period for the fleet, and I could be absent during it, arrangements were made for me to go to Paris. I would be accompanied by my family, who was to remain several months in

Europe after I returned. Alas, these plans never materialized, for in April a crisis

in Mexico changed the U.S. Fleet from its peacetime schedule to a

213
An Admiral's Yarn

ready-for-emergency basis, requiring it to rush from Guantanamo Bay to

Mexican waters to meet the situation.

To the destroyers then in the Chesapeake Bay undergoing final acceptance

trials, not being with the fleet at that time was a great blow, especially when we

read of the Vera Cruz incident, handled so well by the navy. We, of course,

wished we had been there, but we were far away and seemingly not needed as well as having our own work to do. We gave up all hope of going to Mexico, and

after establishing our families in Hampton Roads, we settled ourselves in to

remain there for a month or two. I was, therefore, greatly surprised when shortly

after the Vera Cruz affair I was aroused one night by an officer from the Cassin,

bearing a radio message that had just reached the ship. It stated that the

merchant ship Mono Castle, with a large force of Marines on board, had just left

New York for Mexico and it directed the Cassin to contact the ship off Hatteras

the following afternoon and convoy it to Vera Cruz.

Having been wakened from a sound sleep to receive it, that message was a veritable bombshell to my family. Not only did it send me on what they

considered war service, but at the same time it ended our reunion after a six-month separation. It also removed every possibility of attending the

Olympic Conference.

Fortunately the Cassin had taken on a full load offuel and supplies that day, so

as soon as I understood the order, I told the officer to return to the ship, send a boat for me at six o'clock the next morning, and have the Cassin ready to leave as soon as the liberty party returned at eight o'clock. I then went back to bed and

promptly slept. While this was a bitter disappointment to me, it was part of a regular day's work in the navy. But to my family, it was indeed a catastrophe.

We met the Mono Castle off Hatteras and convoyed it to Vera Cruz where we

found all the larger ships at anchor. But no destroyers were there, and as soon as the Mono Castle had been turned over to him, the admiral [Henry T. Mayo]

ordered the Cassin to Tampico to join the destroyer flotilla in blockading that

port to prevent the escape of three Mexican gunboats there. I found the flotilla

anchored in a huge semicircle in the Gulf around the mouth of the Panuco

River. Having been assigned a berth, we anchored.

Although the destroyers off Tampico had to be continuously ready to get

underway and to fight should the Mexican gunboats attempt to leave the river,

there was little excitement in being there, and we suffered hardships. Perhaps the

worst was from the heavy and incessant rolling. There was no protection from

the huge Gulf of Mexico swells, and taking a position in the trough of them, the

destroyers rolled terribly Being accustomed to some rolling, it did not bother us

at first, but as it went on, thirty-five degrees or more to each side, every six

214
In Destroyers

seconds, day and night, it ultimately became wearing beyond words—so much

so that every ten days or so each destroyer would be sent to Lobos Keys, a group

of reefs off the great oil port of Luxpam, to get a twenty-four hour rest. But the

best break in the dreadful monotony came in being tasked to Galveston for mail

and for a night at the pier there. Fortunately the Cassin was sent on several

missions, one with a group of three army transports carrying troops dispatched

from New Orleans; we were flag-boat for the destroyers, with orders to convoy

them to Vera Cruz. Later, when permission had been given the three Mexican

gunboats at Tampico to proceed to Puerto Mexico, to be laid up there, the

Cassin once again was flagship for destroyers that accompanied them.

Our most interesting trip was when the Cassin was ordered to assist a stranded

merchant ship. The Atlantic, a steamer on the run between New Orleans and

Tampico, was returning from the former port when it ran ashore about a hundred miles from its destination. The ship usually carried a few passengers on

its return trips, but on that occasion it had more than one hundred renegade

aliens who had tried to escape to the United States from Mexico. They had been

held up by the immigration authorities at New Orleans and were being

returned to Tampico. Of course we knew nothing about the people we had to

rescue, nor would that have made any difference. The Cassin was ordered to their

assistance.

We found the Atlantic soon after sunrise the following morning, hard ashore

on a long, sandy beach. As it was a ship several times the size of the Cassin, and

aground for its full length with but litde water tinder the stern and its bow deep

in the sand, it was at once apparent we could not do anything except save those

on board. They were in no immediate danger from the weather, but we realized

that should the seas increase, the passengers would be swept off, and at best,

rescuing them from the ship would be both difficult and dangerous. We

anchored the Cassin as near the ship as possible and started the rescue.

It was quite a task taking off one hundred and five passengers in the heavy

Gulf rollers breaking all around the Atlantic. Nerve and skill were required to

keep the boats from floundering or being smashed, and only five or six

passengers could be taken at one time. Late that afternoon the Cassin had them

all on board and sped back to Tampico, where we arrived at midnight, too late to

rid ourselves of our guests that night.

They were indeed a motley crowd, the very scum of the alien population of

the Mexican oil fields around Tampico. There were no U.S. citizens or Mexicans

among them, but almost every other nationality was represented—Chinese,

Hindu, Greeks, Indians, Negroes, etc. The great majority were men, but there

were many women, several with children. They were the gamblers and the

215
An Admiral's Yarn

keepers and inmates of dives, brothels, and baudy houses of Tampico, the very

riffraff of a wide-open, oil-rush, waterfront city.

Caring for that crowd overnight in an already well-filled ship, with sleeping

quarters and toilet facilities barely sufficient for the crew, was no delicate matter.

We were further complicated by the need to protect the ship and ourselves

against damage and looting. It is little wonder that we were thankful when

daylight came and we received orders to put our guests ashore in Tampico after

removing the weapons we found on the adults. I do not recall ever seeing a more

vicious looking lot of weapons than we found on them—pistols of all kinds,

daggers, dirks, and knives, and even black-jacks, all of which they tried to retain

against their return to Tampico. When we had garnered them in, the Cassin

steamed up the Panuco Paver to a city pier and put the passengers ashore in the

very face of Mexican troops whom we expected to fire on us, but fortunately

they made no attempt to do so. When we finished that task we returned to our

station.

After we had been in Mexican waters for about three months, the situation

began to ease there as far as the fleet was concerned. The army and Marines had

taken control on shore, and fewer ships were needed. Accordingly, the Cassin was

sent home, long overdue for Navy Yard overhaul. As the crisis in Mexico seemed

about over, many newspaper representatives took the opportunity to return

home on the ships. One, a writer for Collier's Weekly, sailed on the Cassin.

Our return trip was about like any other on a destroyer, but to the Colliers

reporter, it seemed sufficiendy unique to warrant a write-up in which a little storm that we encountered figured conspicuously. It came as quite a surprise to us that the next issue of Colliers after our return, carried so many photographs

and such an extensive account of the trip as to make it appear almost historic.

Nevertheless, it was pleasant to be on a peace basis once more and to enjoy

the restfulness of the Boston Navy Yard. However, I was soon ordered to

Washington to be examined for promotion to the rank of commander and then

to assume command of the Reserve Destroyer Flotilla.

216
XXIX

Commanding a Destroyer Flotilla

THIS NEW DUTY WAS VERY INTERESTING, for although it would

take me away from a certain amount of activity with the fleet, my

command, which was increased to thirteen destroyers and a tender, was

practically independent, and I became entirely responsible for the war

preparation and training of an important part of the fleet. While the ships

operating with half complements of officers and men could accomplish only

as much as reduced personnel allowed, I realized that good results under such

conditions would be very meaningful both to the navy and to me, so I went

to work. It marked that important turn in life wherein one ceases to be a follower and becomes a leader. For me it meant that I would no longer work

always under plans and orders of others, but would be doing the planning and

ordering myself.

Since it was impossible to operate on the fleet's schedule, a special one was

laid out for the flotilla, with the Navy Yard, Charleston, South Carolina, as its repair base. In general, the schedule called for four months of operation from a northern base, two months for repair and upkeep at Charleston, four months of

work from a southern base, and then two more months at the Navy Yard. For the

summer, the Block Island Sound-Narragansett Bay area was chosen, and for the

winter, the Key West-Dry Tortugas area. However, although training was the all-important matter of the moment in

order to prepare my command for war, it was only a peacetime job for me,

utterly unlike what I would be called upon to do in war. Hence, though my

orders made me entirely responsible for preparing those under me for active
An Admiral's Yarn

service, it was nonetheless my responsibility to prepare myself for what might

come my way.

From having worked with them for a year, I knew what to do for the

destroyers, but I also gave much thought to preparing myself. Ofall the efforts of

man, the most tremendous and difficult are those ofwar, because it is not merely

force against force but wits and force against the like, and it is the most

kaleidoscopic of men's activities. From history we have gleaned a few general

principles that must be observed—principles that students ofwarfare sometimes

sum up in the words "get there first-est with the most-est." Other than such few

generalities, we can be taught little about war other than learning through the

experience of war operations.

To educate its command officers to conduct their forces in war, our country

established the Naval War College. To most people, the name "College" seems

something of a misnomer, since, while one may learn much about wars there

and how to fight them, there is practically no standard teaching. By reading

history and writings, we may learn why wars develop and the general principles

that a commander offorces must observe to gain success. But what the nature of

war will be, where and how it will be fought, and what will constitute a final

decision, must be deduced. By conducting wars, campaigns, operations, and

battles in miniature, with the goal in mind to win, we may learn much about

moving the forces we command.

The conduct of war is an inexact science; one is never sure what the enemy

will do. Furthermore, because technology advances so rapidly, what one learns

today may be obsolete tomorrow. Uncertain as war operations may be, those in

high command must know how to conduct them successfully, and studies at the

Naval War College are designed to do just that. It makes possible an ongoing

examination of the constantly changing practices of war. Before one is fully prepared to take up high command in war, he must have

served long enough in positions of low command to know fully the capabilities

and limitations of the ships and weapons under him. Not every high-ranking

officer is able to attend the War College. Therefore, to assist those unable to go

there for early training, the college started [April 1914] what is called the

"Correspondence Course," one that in no way takes the place of the regular course but which will partially prepare an officer for high command. He will not

become well-practiced in war operations, but at least he will learn to "estimate

the situation" and thereby draw up plans and issue orders for his force.

Although the correspondence course would not offer nearly as much

preparation for high command as I felt I needed, it could do much to improve

218
Commanding a Destroyer Flotilla

me for war duties in the rank I then held and at the same time better prepare me

for further study at a later date. Therefore, I enrolled.

That summer of 1914 marked a momentous period in the history of the

world. About six weeks after I took command of the Reserve Flotilla, the

nations of Europe became engulfed in war. Though we litde thought that we

too would become involved, those of us in the service nevertheless gave close

attention to it and endeavored to have the navy prepared should the United

States be dragged in. We hoped that by our preparing, the warring nations

would be forewarned not to interfere in the preservation of our rights.

Unfortunately, while the spending ofonly two billion dollars or less on our navy

would have made other nations respect our power, the United States did almost

nothing. Day by day, the warring nations encroached on our rights, until about

three years later we too were drawn in. During those years the navy had done all

it could to make itself ready. What a pity the entire United States had not done

the same. The next two years, though of vital importance to my command and to me

personally, were not given to many exciting activities. We simply worked hard at our task, trying to be thorough in it while making as much use as possible of

recreational facilities such as our bases provided. There were many: Narragansett

Bay for summer; Dry Tortugas in winter; and Charleston in between. Always

having a perfect climate in which to operate, and following a carefully prepared

routine in which we were all intensely interested, we kept ourselves and our

flotilla continuously ready for a call. For my personal preparation, the conditions were splendid. Whenever the

destroyers were on individual work, my time was free for the correspondence

course for which I had the facilities and space of the flotilla commanders cabin.

Thus I had an unusual combination, and because the war problems proved

intensely interesting, it soon took the place of all my other recreations, such as chess, bridge, golf, and tennis. I gave every free moment to the course between

breakfast at 7 a.m. and turning in at 1 1 p.m. As can be supposed, I learned a great

deal about wars and how to conduct them, and that was an asset of continuing

value.

It was nearly a year and a half before a truly unusual occurrence happened to

the Reserve Flotilla. We had been called on a few times to operate with the fleet,

and we showed up well enough in the maneuvers to prove that our training

work was good. Perhaps more than satisfactory, for to our surprise, in the early

spring in 1916, when I had been in command a bit over eighteen months, the

flotilla was suddenly ordered to Santo Domingo to assist in quelling a severe uprising inimical to both the Dominican Republic and to the United States.

219

153
An Admiral's Yarn

The use of destroyers for such a purpose was theretofore unheard of, and the use of destroyers with only a half complement was even more unexpected.

Nevertheless, we felt highly honored to have been called on for the duty and set out without delay Fortunately our ships were materially ready, and what we

lacked in personnel we made up for with a will to succeed against all odds.

The destroyers went to Santo Domingo City direct and, arriving there before

my flagship, the Panther, were sent to various coastal towns by Admiral

Caperton, commanding our naval forces, to protect American interests. The

Panther was obliged to stop at both Port au Prince and Cap-Haitien for a marine

contingent for delivery to Santo Domingo City. Having done that, I was

immediately ordered to Montecristi in the northwest corner of Santo Domingo

with the Panther, about eighty Marines, and five of my destroyers to handle the

situation there. The situation was the most serious in all Santo Domingo at that

time. A group of several hundred armed oudaws had over-awed the entire

province and were living on tribute and loot exacted from the inhabitants.

Arriving at Montecristi, we found its people in great distress and fear,

surrounded by bandits that had preyed at will on them, taking nearly all their

money and supplies. I wanted to land at once and clean out the outlaws, but

since a similar condition existed throughout Santo Domingo, and it was still hoped that it would be corrected without our actual intervention, landing was

delayed. Unfortunately, the situation not only failed to improve but became

worse. The governor of the Montecristi province was forced to take refuge in

Haiti; government disappeared; no raw food was allowed to enter the city, and its people were existing on seagull eggs; the demands of the brigands were fast

bleeding the entire province to death; and the city of Montecristi was in danger

of even having its fresh water cut off.

When at last almost every city and town in the Dominican Republic had

become menaced by thieving groups—each group seemingly acting only for

itself—an order came for us to land the following morning and take control in

the Montecristi area. In the face of the bandit strength and talk, doing that

seemed a tall order for our small number of men, particularly because the

outlaws far outnumbered our force and had sent us word that they would fight if

we landed, and that "one Dominican bandit could whip seven Yankees,

anyhow." Nevertheless, we sent word ashore that we would land and take control

early the next morning and that if any of our men were hurt or a shot fired as we

moved in, our ships would blow up Montecristi, bandits and all. That message probably had its effect, for when at sunrise the destroyers took

up covering positions and Captain [Frederick M.] "Fritz" Wise with his eighty

Marines moved ashore and took over the town, peace and quiet reigned

220
Commanding a Destroyer Flotilla

supreme. But the situation was still precarious, for although the outlaws left the

town when we entered, they took stations just outside and defiantly sent word

they would retake the city when they wished and everything would be as before.

Ofcourse we knew they would never try to capture the town from our Marines,

but they did hold the waterworks some miles outside the town, and we feared

they might deprive the people of water.

In such a condition, and in spite of the fact that we had control in the city, the

brigands had something of a whip hand and let us know they would fight any

attempt to seize the waterworks. This was, of course, an unendurable state of

affairs, and though there had not been bloodshed so far, we realized there soon

might be when we attempted to take control of the water supply, as we had been

directed to do.

Matters remained that way for about two days after our landing. We hoped

that the brigands would recognize our power and surrender without fighting,

but as they grew bolder and more threatening, and as the admiral gave emphasis

to the necessity of our controlling the fresh water supply everywhere, it became

evident that we must act. That evening, Captain Wise came on board to discuss

the situation, and I told him the waterworks must be seized the following day.

Being a splendid Marine officer and not wishing bloodshed any more than I did, Wise could not but point out to the bandits what would happen if he moved

to take the water supply, saying it could probably not be done without some

people being killed. I sent some "blue jackets" ashore at sunrise the next

morning to hold the town, and Captain Wise took about forty Marines and set out for the waterworks, hoping to take it without fighting.

It was shortly before dark that night when Wise returned to the ship to

inform me that he had accomplished his mission and all was quiet on shore.

Then he added, "In our fight, a few of the outlaws were killed when two or

three hundred of them jumped' us at noon as we ate our lunch. But we

surprised them with our readiness to meet them, and they turned tail and ran without even wounding a Marine. They were still running the last we saw of

them. When all was quiet and serene, we went on to assume control of the

waterworks and en route saw two or three bodies. We regretted that bloodshed

had been necessary to accomplish our important mission."

With that seemingly small fracas, a sudden peace came to Montecristi—not a bandit appearing anywhere. Taking advantage of it, I rushed a destroyer to

Cap-Haitien to bring back the governor who, within two days, had so

reestablished normal civil government that leading citizens of the town hurried

to inform me that not in twenty years had they known such quiet and safety. It amazed us that they were so certain that their troubles were over, for with several

221
An Admiral's Yam

hundred oudaws in hiding, the trouble seemed as alarming as ever to us. However, we were told that the bandits were so thoroughly "licked" by Captain

Wise that the band was broken for all time, and one can well imagine the relief

after being preyed upon by the outlaws for years.

There being no further need for it, my flotilla was ordered to return to Key

West to resume its schedule.

As the summer of 1916 drew to an end, so did my three years of sea duty,

which, while not exciting, were nevertheless years as fruitful and interesting as I had ever known. During them, I had completed the long correspondence

course, but at the same time I had well prepared myself to "estimate situations"

by drawing up plans and orders. Thus, I felt I could meet most duties that a commander might expect in the near future, but not, I realized, for the far

future—I knew my study of naval warfare had barely begun.

My orders to the Office of Chief of Naval Operations soon came, and I was

greatly pleased.

222
XXX

War

i

N OCTOBER 1916, I REPORTED to the Office of the Chief of Naval

Operations, responsible for the navy's war plans and readiness for war. Inasmuch as "Operations" is to the navy what the "General Staff" is to the army,

the winter of 1916—1917, with war increasingly imminent, was a trying time,

especially since it was impossible to predict what might happen should the

United States be drawn into war. Our war plans were utterly unlike those of a nation about to engage in a war

entirely on its own. The World War had been going on for over two years. In a military sense, it was almost a stalemate on the western front, while at sea, although the Allied navies controlled on the surface and had cut the Central

Powers off from all overseas supplies, the Germans, by their unrestricted

submarine campaign, were fast depriving the Allies of their overseas supplies

too. Thus the war was nearing an impasse, with both sides worn to a frazzle

and badly in need of various means of assistance. However, as neither dared

announce their particular need, the United States had no way of knowing what

role it was expected to assume until after it had joined with the Allies.

In April 1917, conditions had become so intolerable that war was declared on

Germany. Even then it was some weeks before the Allies and we could reach an

agreement on the best action for us to take to insure winning. They needed

assistance from us to frustrate the German submarine campaign, though not

from our main naval fighting strength. They needed our manpower to give their

armies superiority on the western front; our help in finance, supplies, and

military equipment; and substantial shipping to offset the terrible toll being
An Admiral's Yarn

exacted by the German submarines that were sinking the Allies' merchant ships.

These desperate circumstances determined the role the United States had to

assume, although for the navy, it was very different from a usual one in a war at

sea. Nevertheless, our navy had to adjust itself to the circumstances and simply

do it. The British navy was in control of the surface of the sea. Therefore there was

no call for the great righting power of our fleet—though we were obliged to

keep it fully manned and ready to fight should the British lose that control.

Hence, even though our battle fleet would not be actually engaged in hostilities,

it still had to be kept in readiness. Simultaneously, the navy had to prepare for and

carry out a successful antisubmarine campaign in European waters and to safely

transport huge armies and vast supplies to France.

The tasks ofboth the army and navy were difficult. The former had to raise

and operate armies and provide the military equipment and supplies needed by

the Allies, while the latter had to create and put antisubmarine forces into

operation and provide a transocean transportation service of tremendous

proportions. Under such circumstances, our maximum assistance could not be

extended immediately; but to show our good will, the War Department

hurriedly sent General [John J.] Pershing and his staff to France to command our

armies as soon as they arrived, and the Navy Department sent Admiral Sims to

command our naval forces in Europe. Destroyers were sent at once to assist in

the antisubmarine effort.

When it was decided to send armies and supplies to France, our naval

operations became confronted with the serious and complex problem of

transporting them safely. At the time, the navy did not have ships suitable for

either troop or cargo transport. All such government ships were under the newly

created Shipping Board, which, though it probably understood peacetime

merchant shipping operations far better than the navy did, had little knowledge

of wartime operation. Since troops and supplies would have to be carried to

France in merchant ships rather than in combatant ships, the Shipping Board

assumed it would control the transportation; whereas the navy, responsible for all ships at sea, knew that proper safeguard could be assured only by the navy's

control of every detail. Although the lives of our soldiers and the important

cargoes were far too valuable to trust to merchant shipping methods, which had

previously proved utterly unsafe in the submarine-infested waters of the war

zone, the Shipping Board of that time nevertheless believed the problem theirs

rather than the navy's.

The first clash regarding control of our war zone shipping occurred almost as soon as war was declared and before General Pershing set sail for France. As soon

224
War

as it was decided to send troops and supplies across, the navy immediately began

to plan safe transport. Since we did not have ships suitable for the task, the first

step was to obtain the sixteen large German passenger and cargo ships that had

been interred in our ports early in the World War and later seized by our

Treasury Department when we entered the hostilities. The Shipping Board

expected those ships to be turned over to it for general shipping purposes, while

the navy Department wanted them to meet important war needs. At the time, I was Assistant to the Aide for Materiel in Operations [Captain Josiah S. McKean],

and the matter of acquiring ships for the navy, whether of combatant or other

types, was the responsibility ofour office. I was at once on a collision course with

the Shipping Board, which sought to give the seized German ships to the

merchant marine service rather than to the navy for overseas transportation.

Inasmuch as the country at large still had a more peacetime than wartime

conception of what transportation problems would be in the war area, it is probable that the seized German ships would have been turned over to the

Shipping Board had it not been that General Pershing and his staff were being

assembled in Washington at just that time. On the staff was my boyhood friend

and brother-in-law, Colonel John M. Palmer, who was staying at my home for

his few days in Washington and with whom I discussed the problem of

transporting our armies and military supplies to France. John understood the

difficulties and dangers in sending General Pershing's great expeditionary armies

across in merchant ships that were untrained and unversed in war operations at

sea. He realized that unless the navy, which was trained for such work, took

complete charge of the transportation, our country would face horrible

disasters. So fearful was he that he asked me to give him a memorandum on the

subject to hand to General Pershing, who was, of course, vitally concerned that

our troops and supplies reach France safely.

I prepared the memorandum on the Sunday before General Pershing sailed,

and as soon as the general had read it, he indicated to the War Department the

necessity of the navy controlling the transport service to France. What in

particular was done by the War Department, I never knew, but in a few days all the seized German ships were turned over to the navy, and they became the

nucleus from which grew the enormous transportation service that worked so splendidly for the United States throughout the war. "Operations" continued working on the navy's antisubmarine effort and

immediately sent every available destroyer across to help. But we were not

entirely sufficient to meet the emergency and therefore accumulated every

yacht, tug, and other small vessel suitable for the work, and laid out a plan for

building as many destroyers and 110-foot sub chasers as could be constructed.

225
An Admiral's Yarn

Thus began a huge expansion program for the navy, which, although it entailed

no building of heavy ships, ultimately increased our naval strength from a 65,000-man navy of heavy fighting ships to a 600,000-man navy that could

perform every type of operation called for by the World War.

ByJuly 1917, the general plan the navy would be obliged to follow in the war

was fairly clear. At that time, I made up my mind that I might go to sea in the fall when I had completed one year's duty on shore. But it was not to be, for just as I made that decision, the Chief of Naval Operations sent word that the Chief of

the Bureau ofNavigation (which handles many matters, including the personnel

of the navy) wanted me to take charge of the Officer Personnel Division.

Admiral [William S.] Benson honored me by saying that, though he wished to

retain me in his own office, Admiral [Leigh C] Palmer, then Chief of the

Bureau, needed me badly. My orders came the next day and I took over, armed

with a memorandum of the naval plan and a list of the many vessels that would

be added.

I relieved [Captain Thomas Senn], who had been ordered to sea. He had

worked hard to complete the stationing of officers in accordance with the navy's

previously prepared mobilization plan, and when he turned over the office to

me, he said, "There is little to do in this office immediately. The navy is completely mobilized in accordance with the plan, and every officer has been

sent to his station for war." When I asked what plans had been made to detail

officers for the multitudinous additional activities about to be started, he told me

that no officers were left; everyone had been assigned in the mobilization plan.

Having in my pocket the names of the sixteen large German ships that had to

be manned almost immediately for transports, and knowing that we soon would

be obliged to man many more ships of that type as well as hundreds of new

destroyers, sub-chasers, converted yachts, tugs, etc., I was stunned by the

knowledge that the supply of naval officers was exhausted and it was my job to

provide the many thousands more required if the Navy's program for winning

the war was to be effective.

This was the situation that confronted us when we entered the World War.

Our great fighting fleet had to be kept constantly ready, and new naval forces,

many times larger, had to be created to meet the submarine and transport

problems of the time.

Perhaps ofall the problems that I ever experienced, the officer problem ofthe

World War was the most difficult to solve as well as the one most vital to our

country, since upon its solution much of the navy's success depended. It would

have been difficult enough for peacetime operation of ships, but to furnish

officers who would be prepared not only for such duties but also for duties in

226
War

war was infinitely more difficult—our great naval efforts in the World War were

to be so different from those usual to a navy, and the old laws and training

methods had to be utilized in an entirely unanticipated way to accomplish this.

An utter hodgepodge oflaws and training facilities had to be combined to form

an accurately working machine that would "grind out" officers as fast as needed

for a navy multiplying rapidly in size and hastily acquiring new duties to be

performed.

To create such a machine, a careful estimation ofthe situation had to be made,

so I listed all the calls for officers that were then apparent. Realizing that this

need would not only continue throughout the war but would also constantly

increase, I was appalled. Making note ofevery law under which officers could be

appointed and every facility we had for training them, I tried to combine laws

and training facilities to turn out enough properly trained officers to meet the

demand, but it seemed impossible. Day and night I worked on the problem and

lost much sleep over it. Then one night while tossing and worrying, the idea for

a solution occurred to me. I jumped out of bed and made a note of it lest I not

remember the details in the morning, and then promptly went to sleep for my

first night s rest in over a week.

As I look back, it should not have been so difficult to arrive at the solutions.

The answer was, merely, rather than prepare every new officer for every rank and

duty in the navy, we should use our previously highly trained officers for duties

requiring all-around naval skill, high rank, and great responsibility, and use the

additional temporary officers in lower ranks where a minimum of skill,

knowledge, experience, and responsibility was required. Thus, by familiarizing

officers oflower rank with a particular task of a higher ranking officer, and then

requiring the lower ranking officer to take up that task when learned, we could

develop officers trained for one duty only, to help replace officers who were

trained in every line. This would enable us to release higher ranking regular

officers from the fighting fleet for duties in the war zone. Such a plan, of course,

meant that our battle fleet would ultimately lose most of its older and best

trained officers, which would tend to weaken it. But, since we would not be

called upon to fight as long as the British fleet remained undefeated, I felt the

risk was warranted to meet the immediate and far more urgent demand. I therefore prepared the plan along that line.

It took many days to work out all the details, after which came the problem of

"selling" the idea to the Bureau of Navigation, the Chief of Naval Operations,

and the Navy Department. Fortunately my "estimate" proved the case to them.

Success, however, would depend upon the fleet's acceptance of the understudy

227
An Admiral's Yarn

and agreement to carry out the idea. I was sent to the fleet to explain it and to

learn the reaction of the fleet's officers.

That visit was outstanding in importance. At the time, nearly the entire U.S.

Fleet was concentrated in Huntington Bay, Long Island. It was such a tremendous gathering of our country's naval power that a mere commander like

myself could not but be awed by it. The fleet commander in chief [Henry

Mayo] " had been advised ofmy arrival and sent a boat to meet me. His greeting

was far from cordial, and because I had known him since my Academy days, I was scarcely prepared for his gruff opening remark—"Laning, I know what you

are here for. You want to take more officers from this fleet; and I tell you now, it can't be done. I have been ordered to keep the fleet ready to fight and you have

not left me enough officers to do it. You might as well know right now that no

more officers can be taken from me." Ofcourse that remark -was a terrible blow

and I feared for my plan, which had to be explained to the admiral in any event. I then asked to be allowed to talk over my plan with him. "Of course you may,"

said he. "Take dinner with me and talk all you want."

That evening proved important to both the United States and its navy, for the

admiral was not only enthusiastic over the "win the war" program planned for

the navy but also of the place the fleet had in it, of officers that would be

required, and of what had to be done to provide officers, etc. After I had

explained the situation as well as I could, I said, "Admiral, merely keeping the

fleet ready to fight will not be enough to win this war, for as long as the great

British navy exists, our fighting fleet will not be called on. But, although our

fleet will probably not have to fight, what the navy does toward winning the war,

depends almost entirely on the battle fleet. If it can keep itself ready to fight on a few week's notice, and at the same time train the thousands ofofficers and tens of

thousands of men needed to carry on our 'win the war' activities, the United

States and our Allies will win. As I see it, winning the war is up to the fleet,

whether it has to fight or not."

When I rose to leave him, the admiral rose too, put his hand on my shoulder

and walked to the cabin door with me, saying as he did so, "Go to bed, Laning.

Don't worry, and get some sleep, for the fleet will do its part. We will hold a conference on it tomorrow afternoon."

I will never forget that conference. The admiral kept me in his cabin [of the

flagship Pennsylvania] until the attendees were assembled, and then, taking me by

the arm, led me in. Never before had I seen such a gathering of high-ranking

officers ofthe navy. Not only were all the flag officers ofour great fleet there but

also all the captains and executive officers. So much rank in one place rather

staggered me, and as the attitude seemed as hostile as the admiral's had been

228
War

when I reported to him, the sinking feeling returned to me. Nevertheless, the

admiral marched me in, and when we stood before the gathering, he said,

"Gentlemen, Laning has come from the Navy Department to explain

something of the navy's plan for the war. When he reported to me last night,

and before I knew those plans, I told him he could not get any more officers

from this fleet. After he had talked with me for over three hours, I changed my

mind. However, unless you officers come to that conclusion and will agree to

work for Laning's plan, the navy can do little toward winning the war. I want to

know if you think the fleet can do what is proposed. Laning, tell this conference

what you told me last night."

I first called their attention to the fact that our navy had only a secondary part

in the war and that the great task ahead was to overcome Germany's submarines

and carry our troops and supplies to France safely. Merely keeping the fleet ready

to fight would not bring real United States power into contact with the enemy,

and such contact could not be made unless the plan being suggested was carried

out. At any rate, I could feel the attitude changing as I talked, and when I closed

by saying, "If the United States Navy does its part to win the war, it will be by

carrying out the unusual tasks that this particular war calls on the navy to

perform. Whether the navy does that or merely maintains a ready fleet depends

on what you officers of the fleet are willing to do. I have explained the situation;

now it is up to you."

No sooner had I said that than the second in command of the fleet jumped to

his feet and said, "By God, my part ofthe fleet can do it." Immediately the other

admirals and captains followed his lead. Never have I seen such unanimity or

such intensity of purpose to make a plan work than was shown that day by the

leaders of our fighting fleet. They were out to win the war. Having sold the plan "lock, stock, and barrel" to the fleet, I hurried back to

Washington to report the result and to put the plan into operation. This was not

easy, because of the many laws to observe and the activities involved. However,

the various difficulties were overcome, the various parts assembled, and our

machine for grinding our officers started.

I will not try to describe the detail of the plan. It was too complicated. We

sought officer candidates from everywhere—from not only the navy but outside

ofit, giving preference to men with education comparable to that received at the

Naval Academy. These men were then given three month's of intensive

instruction in naval subjects at schools established at the Naval Academy and

elsewhere. They were then hurried to ships from training in actual service. Every

ship in home waters was filled with them, and each took the training job

seriously and with great energy.

229
An Admiral's Yarn

To this day, I continue to be amazed at what the fleet accomplished, for it not

only kept itself ever ready for sea and to fight, but at the same time very quickly

turned out officers fairly well qualified in a particular duty. Initially, all individuals considered eligible for duty as officers were accepted, and

consequently, the growing number of personnel compelled continuous

redistribution of grades and ranks. Promotion became very rapid, and we always

kept our best prepared officers at the top. Each ship continuously reported, by

name and duty, the qualified officers who could be detached, and my office soon

became a clearing house for placement of officers. Before long we had all the

officers we needed.

While our greatest difficulty with the early ships was filling officer

requirements, it was the rush to get our great armies across the ocean that

consumed our energies with later ships. Our first call was for officers needed on

the seized German transports. Fortunately they would not be sent at once, as the

Army and American industry needed time to train and equip the soldiers those

ships would carry. We had the transports ready as soon as the troops and

supplies were ready, and once the transport service started, it grew and grew. I suspect that had we foreseen what it would become we might have given up in

despair, but thanks to the training work of the fleet, the larger the transport

service became, the better prepared we became to provide officers and men. The

transport demand was not the only one we were required to meet successfully.

There was also a need for officers for our hurriedly built sub-chasers and

destroyers, of which there were several hundred. We also were called on to man

yachts, tugs, and small craft of all kinds as well as cargo ships by the dozen, many

built by the Shipping Board to meet the emergency. We provided officers for the

ships that laid the great antisubmarine barrage across the North Sea as well as the

railroad battery of heavy guns sent by the navy to the Western front. We

prepared to man the antisubmarine "Eagle Boats" as fast as they were built and

provided officers for seven old British battleships that were loaned for our

transport service.

Looking back, the plan used by the navy to provide additional officers for the

World War worked perfectly. Not only did we supply efficient officers for every

naval project that arose, but under the plan we could go on supplying them for

years, should the war continue. But it did not, ending just about the time the

Officer Personnel Division had reached its stride and seemed capable of

providing officers forever.

Although my job in the department was important, I felt that in war a naval

officer should be at sea. Hence, as soon as it was apparent that our officer plan

was working satisfactorily and required only its administration, I again began to

230
War

plan for sea duty. I knew I would not be entitled to a sea job of great importance

such as the one I had on shore; but even so, I abhorred the idea ofnot meeting up

with the enemy. Therefore, as soon as I knew the officer problem was well in

hand, I asked permission to be sent to sea—but was not allowed to go. On the

contrary, I was told not to ask again, for not only must I continue to run officer

personnel for the time being, but when the chief of the Bureau went to sea, I would still be serving there.

One day a ray of hope that I might get near the hostilities appeared when the

Chief of the Bureau said, "Laning, it may interest you to know that in seeking

three officers to send to London for the planning division of the British

Admiralty, Operations has asked me to permit you to be one of them." I was

delighted and promptly said to the chief, "That group is to sail from New York

tomorrow night and I can turn over this office immediately andjoin it." "Oh, no

you can't," said he, "for you are not to go. I told Operations that our Navy

Department needs you much more than the British Admiralty does, so you will

stay here. But," he added, "I am telling you of the request only because I thought

you might like to know about it." I simply cannot describe my bitter

disappointment.

The war dragged on. When I had been in the department over a year, the

Assistant Chief of the Bureau was allowed to go to sea and I was assigned to his

job. Then, when the war was nearing its end, the Chief of the Bureau went to sea

too, and I became Acting Chief, a duty that I performed for about five months.

One might think our personnel troubles would have ended with the end of

the war, but they did not, for we were not able to return to our previous status. Our navy was vasdy different from what it had been before. We were adding

hundreds of new destroyers and submarines to it and had launched a building

program of capital ships that would give the United States the greatest navy in

the world. During the war, Congress had increased the authorized personnel

strength from the 65,000 men allowed before the war to 135,000. But, even

though this new number would not be sufficient to man the substantial increase

in navy materiel, there were very powerful influences at work to force us back to

65,000 men. Because of this, the Bureau found itself in a quandary as to the

number of personnel to recommend to Congress. Should we recommend that

the navy again be made completely unprepared for war as it would be with

65,000 men? Should we suggest an authorized strength of only 135,000 men,

which was certainly not sufficient to man the ships Congress was building, or should we prepare to man all the ships being built? Congress itself had not given

a clue as to the navy it intended to keep in readiness; it had authorized the

building of ships but without plans for manning them. This left the Bureau in

231
An Admiral's Yarn

the position of having to submit a plan for manning ships without knowing the

strength of the navy that Congress would provide.

Under the circumstances, it was difficult to prepare a personnel plan, to say

the least, but I was to be appointed Chief of Bureau and had to submit one. I knew of the powerful move being made to return the navy to its 65,000-man

pre-war status, but I dared not base the plan on 65,000 men or even on the

135,000 already authorized, since the latter number would not be sufficient for

the navy being built.

Realizing that the size of the navy our country should maintain in readiness

was something Congress, not the Navy Department or an individual like myself,

should decide on, I determined, if called on, to tell the Congressional

Committee exactly the personnel required to man all the combatant ships that

Congress had authorized and then leave the decision to Congress. In the

United States we did not then, and do not even now, measure naval strength by

our readiness to fight but rather by the types and numbers of our ships, whether

or not those ships are manned.

Since unmanned ships are of little use in war, I felt the responsibility of

Congress to man them was just as great as its responsibility to build them and

that it must be made fully cognizant of that. I decided to make the Congress

aware of this during the hearings, if possible.

It was no easy matter to bring the situation home to the Naval Committee,

for certain powerful influences were at work to prevent my doing so. The

questions I was to be asked were to be answered only yes or no—answers that

would make it appear that in the opinion of the personnel bureau, the navy

should be allowed only 65,000 men. Fortunately I was able to avoid the traps set for me, and when a member ofthe committee insisted on hearing what I wanted

to tell them, I was allowed to explain the whole matter and show that if the

building plan were carried through, it would take over 200,000 men to man the

ships—a considerably larger number than the 135,000 men certain high civil

authorities wanted for the navy.

I think my report must have been fairly convincing, because several members

of the committee rushed to me after it was over and said that their responsibility

to naval personnel had been made clear to them and that, of course, the navy

would get the men to man all the ships being provided. However, Congress

failed to do this. The powerful 65,000-man "bloc" worked so hard to break

down my report that Congress refused to authorize the 200,000. However, we

were allowed to retain our 135,000 strength, which was better than 65,000.

In presenting the navy's actual personnel problem to the Congressional

Committee, I fully realized I was making myself "persona non grata" with

232
War

certain political powers, and as I had otherwise made myself unpopular because

I insisted on the personnel bureau being conducted on naval standards rather

than political ones, I knew I would not be made Chief of the Bureau of

Navigation. The appointment of this man was no great shock to me, however,

for I would not play politics to get advancement, and I longed to be at sea again

after over two years on shore. I was asked by Admiral [Charles] Plunkett,

recently ordered to command our then-huge destroyer force, to become his

chief of staff, and I accepted at once. At that time I had the temporary rank of

captain, but as soon as the peacetime naval strength had been established at 135,000, it created a vacancy for me as a permanent captain, to which rank I was

appointed shortly after taking over my new duty.

233

XXXI

The First Transatlantic Flight

ABOUTTHE FIRST OF APRIL 1919,1 reported on the Rochester, Destroyer

Force flagship, at the Navy Yard, Brooklyn, for duty as Chief ofStaff. At

that time, one hundred fifty destroyers were in commission, and nearly all that

had been in Europe during the war had now returned. Our East Coast ports and

Navy yards were so crowded that we wondered how it could be possible to

employ so many people during peacetime.

I did not wonder for long, because no sooner had I taken over the new duty

than I was directed to prepare a plan for the Destroyer Force's participation in

the U.S. Navy's attempt to fly the first airplane across the Atlantic. When I received the order, I thought the complete flight plan would be prepared in the

Navy Department and that the destroyers' only participation would be to police

the route and lend assistance if needed. However, I soon learned differently, for

instead of merely having a part in an operation planned by the department, the

Destroyer Force commander was to be in charge of the attempt, and instead of

merely policing the route, he was to prepare all plans for the flight and then

follow through on execution ofthem. Ofcourse, aviators would ready the planes

and fly them, but all other details were to be worked out by the Destroyer Force.

Trans-ocean flying in 1919 differed vasdy from such flying today. The

equipment now used for long distance flying over the sea was almost unknown

then. There were no radio direction finders, and flight courses were obtained

from the magnetic compasses then available. Because it was nearly impossible for

a plane flying over the sea to ascertain the exact effect of the air currents, its probable position on a long sea flight could only be estimated, and the
An Admiral's Yarn

calculation could be far from correct in both direction and distance covered. To

add to the difficulty, navigating planes by celestial observation was new, and

Lieutenant Commander (later Admiral) Byrd was only then developing the

"bubble sextant" that made it possible to accurately calculate an airplane's

altitude.

Because planes could not accurately compute over-sea navigation, the

Destroyer Force provided navigation marks for them. Many other requirements

were also filled by the force, the most important being the distance that the

plane's fuel capacity would allow. There were few planes in the world carrying

sufficient fuel to fly from Newfoundland to Ireland, even if aided by a strong

following wind all the way—and there were none that could fly the distance

under adverse wind conditions.

Since there was no way to predict winds that would be encountered on a trans-ocean flight, it was evident that if airplanes were to fly across the North

Atlantic, they could do so only by "hopping" from point to point within their

flight range.

Even so, there were few planes with sufficient flying radius to make the

successive hops—the only ones being the large NC type planes ofthe U.S. Navy.

Four planes of that type had just been acquired, and it was decided to use them

in the attempt; it fell to me to prepare the planes for the flight. The care and

thought needed in overseas flight preparation in 1919 was indeed complicated

and intense. Under existing conditions, distances, points of touching, weather

and winds that might be encountered, navigational assistance, rescue, fuel,

supplies, bases for the planes and personnel at ports, and many other matters had

to be provided for. That I might cover all those points properly, I had to learn

from the aviators and then base all my decisions on that knowledge.

It took several weeks to prepare an "estimate of the situation," conclude what

should be done, and prepare orders to carry out the work; I was obliged to

contact the Navy Department for all information necessary to complete the

plan.

The first step was to learn precisely what the planes could do and then to suit

the other elements of the flight to those limitations and capabilities. As the

problem was utterly new, even to the aviators, and involved ramifications never

before considered, the estimate I made was quite the longest and most complex I had ever prepared. Just as the estimate was long and complex, so were the

decisions reached for carrying out the order. That order followed the form of

our campaign orders in war, but only in form, since almost every task under the

plan was new in both kind and purpose.

236
The First Transatlantic Flight

Nevertheless, though what needed to be done was very different from

anything the Navy had attempted before, the order had to be completely

foolproof; every man connected with the flight, whether at sea, in the air, or on

the ground, must know exactly what was to be done and then do it.

I will not dwell on our order for the flight which covered the entire plan. It was widely published at the time and is doubtless easily available to anyone

interested. The planes were to fly from New York to Trepassey Bay,

Newfoundland; to Ponta Delgada, Azores; to Lisbon, Portugal; and to Plymouth,

England. Ships to serve as bases for the planes were provided at each stopping

place along the entire route. Destroyers were stationed every fifty miles to guide

the planes and lend assistance if necessary, and battleships were stationed in

various parts of the North Atlantic to gather and report weather data by radio.

The route chosen was based partly on the length of the "hops," but particularly

on the weather that years of observation had shown could be expected in the

North Atlantic during the month of the scheduled flight. From that data, we

determined that if we started the flight when good flying weather was assured

for the first half of the distance to the Azores, the balance of the trip through the

almost invariably good June weather near the islands and on to Lisbon would

allow the planes to fly the entire trip with a minimum of weather-related

trouble. Under the plan, weather risks seemed almost negligible.

There was a short delay in starting from Trepassey, because of ice, fog, and

weather conditions there, but when permitted, the flight started. Four planes

were scheduled, but one was unable to lift its heavy load of fuel, leaving only

three to take off. When they did, the Rochester, carrying the Destroyer Force

Commander in charge of the flight, left Ponta Delgada en route to Lisbon to be

there when the planes arrived. As we proceeded toward that port, we were kept

informed by radio as the planes passed each destroyer along the route. The flight

went so well all during the night that we became rather confident that the three

planes would reach Ponta Delgada. However, as the planes neared the Azores, we

began to receive reports of bad weather from the destroyers—and in the very

area where high winds and fog were almost unheard of. One by one, contact

with checkpoints was lost in the thick weather, and by the time the Rochester

reached Lisbon, all communications with the airplanes had ceased.

For the next few hours we were under a tremendous strain on the Rochester,

and when sufficient time had elapsed for the planes to have reached some part of

the Azores, we began to fear that not only had the flight failed, but infinitely

worse, the six brave men in each of the planes may have been lost.

The first break in the horror we were suffering was some hours reaching us, but finally a message came saying that the plane commanded by Lieutenant

237
An Admiral's Yarn

(now Captain) P. NX. Bellinger, having run into fog and rain when nearing the

precipitous islands, had landed on the water rather than risk hitting a mountain

in the fog, and in coming down on what appeared from aloft to be a smooth sea had found the water so rough that it carried away a wing of the airplane. No

land could be seen and the plane was badly wrecked. The aviators saw little chance of being saved, but at that point, fortunately, a tramp steamer, without

radio, appeared, took our men aboard, and carried them to a nearby port.

The saving of "Pat" Bellinger's crew gave us heart, and we were rejoicing

when a second message came reporting that NC-4, under Lieutenant A.C.

Read, had arrived at Horta, plane and crew intact. Knowing he was among the

islands, Read had also come down, fortunately in the lee of the one on which

Horta is situated. By taxiing his plane Read had succeeded in taking it to the city

under its own power, and when the weather cleared sufficiently, he flew it on to

Ponta Delgada.

Two of the starting planes were now accounted for; but the third,

commanded by Lieutenant J.H. Towers (now Rear Admiral at the Bureau of

Aeronautics), was still unreported and its whereabouts unknown. Quickly, all destroyers and other naval craft in the vicinity of the Azores were started on a systematic search. We did not know whether it was short of or beyond the

islands or whether it had passed them to the right or left, and the search was like

hunting for a needle in a haystack. Nevertheless, it continued.

Into the third day we were almost frantic over not having the slightest clue,

when a radio message announced that a plane was in sight, on the water,

approaching Ponta Delgada. It proved to be Towers' plane approaching its official destination.

In the thick weather, it had flown to the right of and well past the Azores. It landed, when its fuel gave out, striking heavy seas that carried away a pontoon

on one side. Then, with the character of a true sea epic, in that rough water, with

the men perched on the wing on the side ofthe good pontoon to keep the plane

from turning over and sinking, Towers and his crew utilized the wind and the

plane's rudder to make the plane sail backward, and they navigated to Ponta

Delgada where, just as it entered the port, the plane turned over and sank.

The navigating skill and seamanship shown by Towers and his five men

during the trying three days that it took to bring the crippled plane to Ponta

Delgada should never be forgotten, for they are splendid examples of the ability

and resourcefulness of our naval men. With nearly nothing to eat, with no fresh

water other than that in the radiator of the plane, and fearful the plane would

capsize and sink any instant, those men succeeded in bringing the plane to its

238
The First Transatlantic Flight

proper destination. The story of that adventure, found in the annals of naval

history, is well worth reading.

With all the fliers safe in Ponta Delgada, completing the flight across the

ocean became again the major task of Admiral Plunkett and his staff, so we set about to finish it with one plane intact. We established the line of ships from

Ponta Delgada to Lisbon. "Putty" Read made his plane ready, and with the

Rochester in Lisbon to receive it, NC-4 started the last leg ofthe flight to Europe.

With only one plane remaining out of the four that had left New York, those

ofus in charge of the flight watched with intensity the NC-4's progress from the

Azores to Lisbon, as successive destroyers along the route reported it. To me, that

day was the longest I have ever known; the plane left Ponta Delgada at dawn and

did not reach Lisbon until the sun was going down. We felt very hopeful when

the last sea station reported the plane passing, but the next hour dragged horribly

as we strained our eyes for a glimpse of the plane coming up the Tagus River.

When at last we sighted it on the horizon, we were still fearful that something

might happen before it could land at Lisbon. On it came, slowly rounding into

the wind and alighting on the water like a bird—the NC-4 completed the first

successful air flight across the Atlantic Ocean.

That the first crossing would have an important place in world history is perhaps the reason why the U.S. Navy made such a tremendous and costly effort.

When the Rochester arrived in Lisbon, we found that the eyes of the world were

so focused on the crossing that all the great newspapers and press associations

had rushed representatives to Lisbon from the Peace Conference in Paris to

report the completion of the flight. Those representatives and the leading

Portuguese officials were all on the Rochester to witness the plane's arrival and to

welcome and congratulate Read and his crew on their great accomplishment.

As soon as the NC-4 was safely moored, boats brought the fliers to the

Rochester where they were received with great acclaim. Portuguese officials and

officers who had planned and supervised the flight gathered around them, and

soon Portugal's Premier, representing the President, who was too ill to come on

board himself, stepped forward and pinned on each one ofus the most cherished

of Portugal's decorations, the order of the Avis, which had originated during the

Crusades.

That night was a gay one in Lisbon, with all the people of the city joining in

celebration of the historic event. Somewhat off the usual tourist path, Lisbon at that time was not well known to Americans, but we found it charming,

interesting and hospitable, and especially suited for the celebration held that

night.

239
An Admiral's Yarn

It almost surpassed Monte Carlo and other Riviera cities in attractions and

gaiety—wine, women and song, gambling, and hilarity. All of its great clubs,

created as they had been out of royal palaces when the revolution [1910]

changed Portugal from a Kingdom to a Republic, were opened to welcome us, and a truly gala night was experienced.

Although NC-4 had flown successfully from the mainland of the United

States to the mainland ofEurope, the flight was not yet officially completed. The

scheduled terminus was Plymouth, England, and so, even though the plane was

across, we still had to continue the flight as planned. While NC-4 was making

itself ready for that last hop, the Rochester hurried to Plymouth. We would have

arrived there after NC-4 except for trouble the plane had en route, forcing it down at Vigo, Spain, where it remained overnight. Because of that delay, the

Rochester reached Plymouth about ten o'clock in the morning and NC-4

arrived shortly after noon.

When it became evident that the Rochester would reach Plymouth first, we

sent radio messages to the Lord Mayor Q.B. Brown] and to the admiral and

general in command there, inviting them to the Rochester to meet the fliers when

they arrived on board.

That gathering to welcome Read and his crew was unique. The first British

official to arrive on board was the Lord Mayor, wearing the official robes of his

office, followed by the town clerk in his robes, and then by a most attractive lady

whom we all assumed to be the Lord Mayor's wife and to whom we were

accordingly attentive. A few minutes later the British admiral and general arrived

in full regalia to complete the official reception party.

In the interim, NC-4 was approaching the station with destroyers reporting

its progress. When the plane reached Plymouth, we brought its personnel to the

Rochester where they were once more officially received, this time at the very

end of the first transatlantic flight. We had quite a bounteous luncheon for them

and the official party. Then we all went ashore, landing at "Plymouth Rock,"

which marked the place from which the Pilgrim Fathers had embarked on the

Mayflower and sailed centuries before to establish Plymouth Colony.

Having the Americans who made the first successful transatlantic flight step

on English soil at the very spot from which their Pilgrim forefathers had left was

a perfect ending for the historic crossing. The crowd assembled there was

enormous—apparendy all of Plymouth and the surrounding country were

either at the landing place or along the route the party followed to the City Hall

where the fliers were officially welcomed.

Plymouth is not New York City, and the crowd that lined the route was not

like the one in later years [1927] that cheered Lindbergh in his ticker-tape

240
The First Transatlantic Flight

parade up Broadway to New York's City Hall after his successful solo flight

across. But as demonstrations then went, the one in Plymouth was one that I marveled at and personally will never forget.

When luncheon was over, the official party, consisting of the aviators, the

Lord Mayor's Party, the army and navy representatives of Great Britain, and

Admiral Plunkett and his staff, went ashore in the admiral's barge, from which

we stepped out onto England's "Plymouth Rock." An area for the party had

been roped off, and cars stood ready to take us to City Hall. Quite naturally, the

official British parties took the first cars to lead the parade and then came the

cars for the aviators. Behind the aviators was a car for Admiral Plunkett, and

following that were cars for the remainder of the party. The Lord Mayor, the

British admiral and general, and the aviators all took their proper cars, but when

the one for Admiral Plunkett drove up, the lady who had come to the Rochester

with the Lord Mayor quickly stepped into it and directed the driver to keep

right behind the aviators, thereby obliging Admiral Plunkett to take the next car. When the parade started, the lone lady in the car ahead of our admiral and next

behind the aviators, became a cynosure for all eyes, since she seemed to belong

to the aviators.

As the aviators passed, the crowd set up a tremendous cheering, which the

aviators acknowledged with becoming sailor-man meekness. While the cheers

were not for her at all, the lady following them seemed to take the enthusiasm to

herselfand stood up in her car, bowing right and left to the great throng. It was as perfect an example of "stealing the show" as I have ever seen, and I could not but

admire the ability and astuteness of the lady in the way she did it. Believing she

was the wife of the Lord Mayor, I thought to myself that under her guidance it was little wonder that he had been elected Mayor of Plymouth.

Slowly the parade made its way to City Hall, where a great reception was

given the aviators, and, after which, we Americans returned to our ship.

Talking over the events of the day at dinner that night with Admiral Plunkett,

I said to him, "Admiral, it is little wonder the Lord Mayor of Plymouth was

elected, with a wife like his. From the way she stole the show, even from the

aviators, I am sure she could elect any man to any office. But is it not strange,

Admiral, that the woman is an American? I looked out for her on the ship while

waiting for the plane and during lunch, and I noticed that she has exacdy the

charm and speech of our southern girls. Still, I must say, she did not show

particular interest in the Lord Mayor. As a matter offact, she often mimicked and

made fun of him in that delightful southern drawl of hers." "Humph," said the

admiral, "you took her to be the Lord Mayor's wife, did you? Well so did I for a time, until she accused me of not recognizing a girl I had once taken to a hop in

241
An Admiral's Yarn

Annapolis. Then looking at her closely I realized she was the young lady I hand

known as Nancy Langhorne, now married to Waldorf Astor, son of Lord

Astor."

At that time, the original Lord Astor was still living, and his son Waldorf was

the House of Commons member ofPlymouth. Later, when Lord Astor died, the

son fleeted up to the title and left the House of Commons to take his seat in the

House of Lords. His wife, Nancy Langhorne Astor, then Lady Astor, was chosen

to fill the vacancy he left in the House of Commons. She has been a member

ever since, andjudging from what I have read about her in the newspapers, she is a leading member. I am not surprised at that. Anyone who could turn the

acclaim for that first transatlantic flight into an ovation for herself as she did,

certainly has what it takes to be a good politician, and apparendy she is quite as able in politics as she is a very charming woman.

Having succeeded in flying a plane from the United States to England, the

navy officers felt our worries were over for the time being, and we had only to

enjoy life until returning home to take up our regular duties once more.

There remained much to coordinate in the celebration—the British

Government wished to show its appreciation and had arranged to give honor to

the accomplishment in London, so the next day the aviators, Admiral Plunkett,

and his staff went there.

Since the demonstrations in London were for the fliers rather than for the

admiral and his staff, we avoided attending them as much as possible, leaving the

aviators to be the official guests in London. The admiral arranged for himselfand

his staff to stop at the Savoy Hotel, which, because wartime regulations were still in force, was a sort of headquarters for high naval and military officers visiting

London. At the Savoy we were given a wonderful suite at small cost, and then set out to see all that we could of London.

At that time, Admiral Knapp, who had relieved Admiral Sims as Commander,

U.S. Naval Forces in Europe, was in Paris at the Peace Conference. Having

learned that Admiral Plunkett and his staff would be in London with the fliers,

he directed that his official automobile be turned over to us for the London visit.

The Cadillac was a seven-passenger car equipped with a chauffeur who knew

London well. It was a wonderful opportunity to see the city, especially since our

uniforms opened nearly every door in London to us. We set about sightseeing in a big way, but Admiral Plunkett wanted to get to

Paris, possibly to take advantage of peace conditions to see where his naval

railroad battery had operated in war, but more probably to be in Paris where the

Peace Conference was. He arranged to go to France as soon as the splendid

welcome in London would permit. He applied to the British Air Ministry for a

242
The First Transatlantic Flight

plane to take him and his chief of staff from London to Paris the morning after

our last London function, but during the night, before we were to leave London,

such a storm broke that the Air Ministry was unwilling to risk flying the admiral

to Paris. Inasmuch as the admiral was in a hurry, he decided to go by train and

boat, at once, leaving me in London with the rest of his staff and turning over to us the official automobile of the Commander in Chief, U.S. Naval Forces in

Europe.

243

XXXII

London and Paris

LIVING AT THE SAVOY HOTEL and having an official automobile at our

service gave us a rare opportunity to see London. It helped also to be on

official duty and in uniform at all times, because the uniform of the U.S. Navy

was well known in London at the end of the war. Our appearance opened doors

everywhere, inviting every possible attention and courtesy from British officials.

Under such auspicious conditions, we visited Hampton Court, Westminster

Abbey, the Tower of London, the Parliament, and many other nationally

supervised points of interest in London. But of all there was to see, I think the

British Museum attracted us the most, and we decided to leave the hotel early

one morning and devote an entire day to a visit there.

While we were eating breakfast that morning, the headwaiter hurried to me

and said that I was wanted on the telephone by our naval headquarters. When I answered, an officer asked if we had planned to use the official car that morning.

When I told him yes, and we intended to go to the British Museum in it at nine

o'clock, he cried out, "Captain, don't you know that today is the King's birthday

and he is to be honored, as of yore, by the 'trooping of the colors'?" I told the

officer that having read the newspapers we knew of the King's birthday, but that

we were weary of parades and had decided it would be a good time to visit the

museum.

"Great heavens," said the officer, "don't you realize that the King's birthday is a gala day in the British Empire? This one is particularly so because it will be

celebrated by the 'trooping of the colors'—the first since the war began—and it will also celebrate the end of the war." Then he added, "This trooping will be
An Admiral's Yarn

the most elaborate ever held, and because of the tremendous crowd expected, it will be held in Hyde Park. You will miss the opportunity of a lifetime if you do

not see it. The King has but one birthday a year, and on that day only may the

trooping of the colors be performed. Because this is the first in five years and

celebrates the end of the war, it will be the greatest trooping of the century. Why

bypass it for the British Museum?"

Realizing the truth in this conversation, I replied that of course we would

attend the trooping and would be glad to provide transportation to it for as many

as possible from headquarters.

When we left the Savoy, the seven-passenger car held eight officers in

uniform, and of course the driver, for a total of nine people. As we neared

Buckingham Palace on our way to the Park, we found such a huge throng

waiting to see the Royal family as they left for Hyde Park that we thought we

could go no farther in the car. However, as soon as the police saw an official

automobile filled with U.S. naval officers, a way was opened to us through the

crowds. When we neared Hyde Park we encountered a far greater crowd, so

large in fact that the car could not enter, so we decided to walk to a point near

the parade ground.

Out of the car we were little better off, for the dense masses of people lined

up, dozens deep, along both sides of a road that paralleled the park's boundary

and which we had to cross to be near the "trooping." While we were discussing

our situation, a tall officer from headquarters, standing on something that made

him visible to the police, held up his hand and called out to one of them, "I say, officer, how do we get to the reserved seats?" That query was sufficient. A way

through the crowd was opened for us, and we were to follow that roadway right

to our seats. The only thing we had wished to do was cross the road, and we were

rather embarrassed to be directed to seats for which we did not have tickets.

Nevertheless, we started along, but as soon as we came to a curve in the road,

out of sight of the accommodating police officers, we hurried to the other side

of the road where the crowds opened to let us pass. Then, seeing the huge

assemblage around the parade grounds, where both infantry and cavalry

regiments were fined up, we headed in that direction.

As the prospects for actually seeing the "trooping" seemed nil, we held

another quick consultation and decided not to waste any more time on it but to

go to the British Museum. However, when we tried to retrace our footsteps and

return to the car, we found ourselves still blocked by the great crowd. Once

again our tall officer went into action and, over the heads ofthe huge assemblage,

caught the eye of the British officer in charge of the troops on the roadway and

cried out to him the "open sesame" he had used before, "How do we get to the

246
London and Paris

reserved seats?" The officer opened a passage through the crowd for us, and then

the Army officer added, "This officer with me is going right to the reserved seats and will escort you there."

Once more we were in the embarrassing predicament of not having tickets

for reserved seats and certainly did not want to be refused admission when we

reached them. At that moment the police, the troops, and the great crowd

galvanized to "attention" as a tremendous clatter of hoofs could be heard

coming along the roadway. We officers, of course, stood at attention too, and

looking at the approaching cavalcade, we saw it was the King and his party on

their way to the "trooping."

They made a remarkable picture. Everyone was in full uniform and mounted

on a beautifully equipped horse. Heading the cavalcade were King George and

the Prince of Wales, (now Duke of Windsor) riding abreast. Next behind rode

the King's brother, the Duke of Connaught. Behind him rode the highest

officers of the World War, including many representing foreign nations, making

the group perhaps the most imposing that could be assembled anywhere in the

world.

When the party had passed us and we intended to return to our car, the

British army officer, still looking out for us, said to me, "Captain, just follow the

King's party with this officer and he will show you to your seats." Ofcourse we

did not wish to follow at all but were obliged to form in columns of two and, led

by the British Army officer, marched down the roadway right behind the King

and his followers.

I suppose the sea-minded British who knew sailors did not ride horseback

thought nothing of seeing American naval officers on foot, apparently

accompanying the King. In any event, as we passed, the crowd gave us a tremendous ovation, cheering so hard that we could not but continue on. Then

suddenly we found ourselves passing from the roadway into a huge roped off

parade ground, surrounded by an even denser crowd. Ahead we could see the

lines ofBritish troops and bands, mounted and unmounted, each organization in

its special uniform. To our right was the royal pavilion in which were members

of the Royal Family of Great Britain. On each side of the royal pavilion and a

little forward of it were large roped-off areas which held the seats reserved for

invited foreign diplomats, leading British officials, high-ranking naval and army

officers, and members of the nobility.

Seeing that we were in the "holy of holies," where we had no right to be, and

with the British army officer pointing out the reserved seat section, we were at a

loss as to our next move. Automatically we drew together to discuss the best way

to get out, but as we did so, a gentleman in a top hat and morning coat hurried to

247
An Admiral's Yarn

us from the royal pavilion and, after saying, "Gentlemen, please follow me,"

started toward a point between the roped off sections and rings in front of the

royal box.

We followed him for a moment, but when we saw he was leading us from our

already conspicuous place into the very center of the official party, we held back,

hoping he would get so far ahead that we could beat a retreat without being

missed. It was not to be, for as soon as he noticed our reluctance in following, he

said, "Come right along, gentlemen. I assure you it is quite all right." Then, with

the entire Royal Family watching us, he placed us in front of the pavilion.

I doubt if anyone was ever more embarrassed than we were. Our group,

though not official, had been given the place of highest honor for the trooping

of the colors. Leaving us there, the civilian then returned to the royal box. Then,

when we saw him speak in a very cordial manner to Queens Alexandra and

Mary, we became more perturbed then ever. I asked one of our officers from

headquarters to ask a British naval officer in the roped off area near him if it was

all right for us to remain in those seats. The British officer said, "My word, how

in the world did you get there?" "Oh," replied our officer, "That gentleman in

civilian clothes in the royal box, talking to the Queen, put us here." "Well," said

the British officer, "if he did it, it is quite all right as he is the Master of the King's

Household."

That statement relieved us somewhat, but scarcely had we heard it than the

Master of the Household hurried back and, handing us each a program, said,

"Gentlemen, the ladies of the Royal Family send you these programs with their

compliments." At that we turned toward the royal box and bowed

acknowledgment. The Queen and Royal Family returned bows and smiled

broadly at us. The entire Royal Family, except the King and the Crown Prince,

were in the box—the Queen, Queen Mother, and all the princes and princesses

were being most gracious to us. While we stood there trying to place each one

from the pictures we had seen, there was suddenly a great clatter of hoofs

approaching. It was the King's cavalcade which, having completed its ceremonial

inspection of the parading regiments, was taking position in front ofthe pavilion

for the "Passing in Review."

Maintaining formation and order of rank, the King's party took position for

the "March Past." I expected it would be well ahead of our group, but not so. The King and Prince of Wales took their station exacdy abreast of us, with the

remainder of the party formed behind them. As we Americans were in line, in

order of rank from the right, when the King and Prince stopped, it made the

reviewing party appear to consist of the King, the Crown Prince, and our line of

American naval officers.

248
London and Paris

The Prince was next to the King on his left while I was next to and so close to

the Prince that I could have touched him. Then with the King's party in

position, the march started. Being abreast the King, and somewhat in front of the

Duke of Connaught and the rest of the King's party, we saw the "trooping"

exactly as the King himself did. Be that as it may, we saw the "trooping" amid

great splendor and in a most unusual way.

The "trooping of the colors" probably originated hundreds of years ago for

the amusement of a very young King and was far more spectacular and colorful

than any other parade I have ever seen. As soon as the "March Past" was

completed, the King's party departed, the King and Crown Prince dismounting

near the royal box where the royal carriage waited to take them back to

Buckingham Palace. As they left, we Americans faced the royal pavilion, bowing

our appreciation to its occupants and once again receiving bows and smiles from

the Queen and her party in return. Then, still flustered and greatly perturbed

over what had happened, we made our way back to our car and went, at last, to

the British Museum.

However, we were still greatly worried over the experience with the King's

birthday party, and I was especially concerned over what our Admiral [Plunkett]

and Ambassador [John W. Davis] might do when they heard that an unofficial

group ofU.S. naval officers had crashed the party. Therefore, we determined not

to say anything about it to higher authority, and as none of the officers of the

group ever heard of it again, I presume there was no aftermath.

Still, I could not but marvel over our wonderful treatment and felt that had

such a crashing of an official function occurred in the United States, the

uncredited foreigners would have been shown scant courtesy.

At a reception that evening at the Royal Air Club, we discussed with a British

army officer our embarrassing situation during the "trooping of the colors" and

how royally we had been received. He said he was not surprised, as both the

United States and its navy were highly esteemed for their help during the war

and also for having completed the first transadantic flight. Hence, when a group

ofAmerican naval officers in uniform asked the way to the reserved seats, British

army and police officers could not but lead us to them. Then, when the Royal

Family observed our entering the parade enclosure right behind the King's

party, appearing lost, they knew at once that a mistake had been made and,

whether ours or Great Britain's, it had to be corrected immediately. That is when they sent the "Master of the Household" to do the greatest possible honor

to representatives of the United States. The clever handling of what might have

become a delicate international situation was characteristic of the reigning

Royal Family.

249
An Admiral's Yarn

The next day I took luncheon at the famous London restaurant of Dickens'

day—"The Cheshire Cheese." I had just given my order for its famous kidney

and beef pudding when a waiter rushed to me asking if I were Captain Laning

and, if so, I was wanted on the telephone by our naval headquarters. I was

informed that a dispatch had been received from the Chief of Naval Operations,

who was then attending the Peace Conference in Paris, directing me to report to

him as soon as possible and that, in accordance with the order, they had arranged

transportation for me by the first train and cross-channel boat the next morning.

The orders were a complete surprise and would deprive me of more sightseeing

in London, but as Paris and the Peace Conference lured me too, I was not greatly

perturbed.

The first "boat train" left London early in the morning, and I was on it, looking forward to a lonely and dull crossing.Just before the train started, a most

attractive couple entered my car and took seats near me. The man was a complete stranger to me, but, the lady, although very heavily veiled, looked

familiar and seemed to be expecting me to join them. I was reluctant to do so as I was not sure of her identity through that veil.

Reaching Dover, I hurried to board the channel steamer and then watched

the other passengers come on board. At length the couple from my car came

aboard and then I recognized the lady as Mrs. Astor. I hurried to greet her, and

she introduced me to her husband, Waldorf Astor. We sat together for the

crossing.

WaldorfAstor did not remain with us long, for seeing a man he knew looking

over the rail, Mr. Astor joined him. When he left, Mrs. Astor remarked, "Is that

not just like a politician? The man he has joined is Lord Northcliffe, owner of

our most powerful newspaper chain, and they will talk politics for a long time.

We will enjoy the crossing without him." (I could not have had a more charming

companion.) Mrs. Astor and I were discussing both Great Britain's and our

after-the-war problems when a man Mrs. Astor knew joined us. He was

introduced as Mr. Thomas Grasty, the internationally famous war correspondent

of The New York Times, whose articles on the war and its aftermath I always read

with great interest. As Mrs. Astor seemed as well posted on events as Thomas

Grasty, and as I was fairly familiar with our American problems with which they

were out of touch, we had a most interesting and enlightening talk—and

Waldorf Astor and Lord Northcliffe joined us later.

The Astors and Lord Northcliffe left us at Boulonge, but Grasty and I continued on to Paris where we arrived in the late afternoon, and where I found

Admiral Plunkett waiting at the station for me with the official car assigned to

him during his stay in Paris. Surprised at being met, I asked the admiral

250
London and Paris

immediately about my orders, and he said that the Chief of Naval Operations

wished to talk with me about NC-4 s flight, and he gladly arranged for my

orders. He said that I was to occupy a suite with him at the Crillon Hotel, which

our delegation to the Peace Conference had taken over, and that as soon as Admiral [William S.] Benson (our Chief of Operations) had finished

interviewing me, I would join him in seeing Paris. Then he added, "Tonight,

after we have had dinner, we will go to the opera."

Grand Opera, unfortunately, has never appealed to me and usually makes me

sleepy, so, since I was fatigued after my early start and long day, I feared the worst.

Nevertheless, we went to the opera, and although it was the delightful "La

Boheme" and splendidly presented, I could not stay awake. Naturally the

admiral, a true lover of Grand Opera, was disgusted, and on our way back to the

hotel said, "Laning, you went to sleep on me tonight but you will stay awake for

the show I am taking you to tomorrow night."

He was right, the show that second night was too typically Parisian to miss by

going to sleep. It was put on to attract the thousands ofEnglish-speaking people

passing through Paris on their way home after the war, and, all in uniform, they

packed the theater—soldiers, nurses, and war workers of every kind. The show,

called "Hello Paris," was a spectacular musical extravaganza ofthe type seen only

in Paris.

I will not attempt to describe that show, but you may draw your own

conclusions from the way it opened. The curtain rose on a scene in the "Bois,"

and as it went up, a "gendarme" could be seen strolling along swinging his club.

Just then, three soldiers on leave from the war front met there—an "Anzac," a "Tommy," and a "Yank," all in Paris for the first time. As they started talking, a very attractive young woman entered the park, selected a shady spot, unfolded a

little stool, seated herself, and began to knit. Naturally, the soldiers stared at her,

and as they did the girl crossed her legs and displayed her very shapely

"starboard" calf to the knee, encased in a vivid green stocking. The sight was too

much for the soldiers, and as they gazed, the young woman crossed her legs

again, exposing her "port" calfwhich instead ofbeing in a bright green stocking,

was encased in a bright red one. The soldiers were dumfounded, and as they

discussed the subject, the girl pulled down her shirt. Thereupon a solider

argument started regarding the color of her stockings. The debate soon became

so vociferous that the gendarme rushed over to learn the trouble. When he did,

he walked over to the young woman, lifted her skirt to the knees, and the

shapely legs were clothed in neither red nor green stockings, but in brown ones. The astounded soldiers asked the gendarme how it was done. "Humph," said he,

"this is nothing. Come with me, and when I have shown you Paris, you will

251
An Admiral's Yarn

understand." With that the gendarme took the soldiers to see Paris and the rest of the show was what they saw!! It was enough to keep anyone awake, and I ceased to wonder why the thousands of English-speaking strangers, passing

through that fascinating city, remained to see "Hello Paris."

We left Paris the second morning after the show, taking the train to Brest

where the Rochester awaited our arrival, and from there we started for home the

following day. Our return was uneventful and ended in Narragansett Bay where

our huge destroyer force was assembling to once more engage in peacetime

training for war.

252
XXXIII

Destroyers after the War

IT MIGHT BE THOUGHT that after participating in the most colossal war the

world had ever known, our navy, and especially the destroyers that had been

so active in it, would be well-trained for another war. Such, however, was far

from the fact. The U.S. Navy efficiendy trained great numbers of men for war

duty in combating submarines, in minelaying, in operating a huge overseas

transport service, etc. But in the usual naval tasks of warfare, there had been little experience, except perhaps in the four battleships that had joined the British

Grand Fleet long after the battle ofJutland.

The sea-fighting ofthe war, even after we entered, continued to be the task of

the British navy, without much help from us. Hence, when the war came to an

end, although highly efficient in its actual activities, our navy was decidedly out

oftraining in the usual war operations. Not only had there been little experience

in such operations during the year and a halfwe were in the war, but most of the

great lessons learned from it were yet to be applied in our navy. Further, the

United States and even the navy had developed erroneous ideas for operating in

a war of our own; these plans were based on our own war problems rather than

on those of the British and Allied navies in a European war. We found ourselves

investing too much emphasis on antisubmarine warfare, troop transport and

supply, and too little on naval righting.

Utilizing our navy in a secondary role in a naval war peculiar to the

geography of Europe was one thing, but on our own, in a war peculiar to the

geography of the United States, would be quite another. The navy had to

prepare for this probable eventuality, however, and it began intensive training
An Admiral's Yarn

that would never stop because of the continuous upgrades in naval equipment

and improved combat.

When the World War ended, we had the largest destroyer force in the world,

and since the war had given us many new ideas with regard to destroyer

employment, preparing that huge force for a future war of our own became the

immediate and all-important task of Admiral Plunkett and his staff. The problem was immense and intricate, involving as it did the training of

almost two hundred destroyers in each one ofits manifold duties in war, while at the same time training all destroyers to operate in groups or as a unit to destroy

the enemy It was a considerable job to plan and oversee such a course of training

for so many destroyers, most ofwhich were new and practically untrained in the

usual war duties of destroyers. But in reality, it was the lesser part of the task to be

carried out by the admiral and his staff. The greater part was the development of

destroyer teamwork in fighting maneuvers, which we had to devise if the United

States was to make the most of the great force it had created.

Night search and attack and other surprise efforts of destroyers on which we

had previously concentrated, while still of great importance in destroyer warfare,

had become secondary to using destroyers in major battles. The Germans had

demonstrated the value of such an attack with a small destroyer group at the

battle ofJutland, which caused the vastly superior British batde line that had the

German line "T'd" to turn away, thereby breaking off that engagement at the

crucial moment and saving the German High Seas Fleet from destruction.

That one example of the power of destroyers in naval actions opened the eyes of

the world to their possibilities. Hence, Admiral Plunkett s staff, in addition to

many other matters pertaining to destroyer training, employment, tactics, and

administration, had to make a particular study of using torpedo power in battle.

It took much time, and from the late summer of 1919 until this very day, the U.S.

Fleet continues developing uses and tactics for destroyers as well as training the

entire fleet in their employment.

We started our training work as soon as the destroyer force assembled in

Narragansett Bay after the transatlantic flight. Since many destroyers that

returned from the war or the flight had to be repaired, and many newly built

ships were joining immediately upon completion, the assembling of the huge

force was not finished until nearly summer. Then arose the question ofwhere to

base them so that their training might continue without a break during the fall and winter months.

That was soon setded by orders to Pensacola Bay for the fall and Guantanamo

Bay for the winter. From these bases we could train in every form of destroyer

254
Destroyers after the War

fighting that was then known, while also testing new ideas and methods as rapidly as we devised them. For the next ten months our staffwas busy indeed.

I might write at length about that training period, for during that time we

introduced many of the fighting ideas and methods that have since become

standard practice in the U.S. Fleet. However, because such details are confidential

as well as much too technical to be interesting, I will not dwell on them. Suffice

it to say that as chief of staff, I spent every moment in the study of destroyer uses and tactics and became very familiar with the war operations of an entire fleet.

The work was most interesting to say the least.

About the end ofJanuary 1920, there arose a matter of great import to the

United States and particularly to its navy. Admiral Sims, who had commanded

the U.S. naval forces operating in Europe during the war, chose that time to

submit a letter to the Secretary of the Navy on "Certain Lessons in War." This

letter, although possibly intended to make the navy more efficient in war, was

seemingly an arraignment of the Navy Department for its conduct in the

handling of some of the operations in the World War. The letter was made

public and was sufficiently severe in stricture to start an after-the-war

controversy similar in tone and bitterness to the so-called "Sampson-Schley

Controversy" after the Spanish-American War.

As happened in that case, the new controversy was largely developed by a press ever-seeking news items. Then too, since 1920 was a presidential election

year, every newspaper with a political bias was quick to grasp anything that

might supply political ammunition for the campaign. Republican papers sought

to damn the Democrats by slamming President Wilson, his cabinet and

supporters, while Democratic papers sought to retain the party's prestige by

praising the Administration's work.

But, be all that as it may, Sims' letter started a tremendous controversy in the

press. At its beginning, the navy as a whole was not party to it, but later, as a result

of the publicity, it seemed to divide into two groups, one composed of the rank

and file who believed Sims to be right, the other composed mainly of officers

closely associated with the Navy Department during the war and who were

against practically everything Sims said and recommended.

Working up to a maximum pitch by the newspapers, the so-called "Naval

Controversy" soon became the news feature of the day. So bitter became the

squabble between administration and anti-administration papers that the U.S.

Senate, then Republican, decided to investigate the matter and appointed a committee for this purpose. That committee met in March 1920, and for the

next several months, everything that took place before it was headlined daily in

the press.

255
An Admiral's Yarn

It is not my intention to dwell on either the "Controversy" or the Senate

investigation. A complete history ofthe facts is covered in the report of about six

thousand printed pages. Having been in the Navy Department, in touch with its workings during the war, and having collected and retained a number of "not

wanted documents" that I could turn over to the committee, I was one of the

officers called by the committee to testify and my testimony gave considerable

support to Sims' charges.

As often happens in Congressional investigations, that one gradually ended,

assisted somewhat by political expediency. Even so, it lasted from March until the

latter part of May 1920, during which time it furnished front-page material for

politically minded newspapers. Both sides of the controversy were fully

examined by the committee, and most of us in the navy thought it had obtained

all the information needed from which to draw conclusions and make sound

recommendations. But evidently it did not. The presidential campaign had

started by the time the hearings were completed, and since Congress wished to

adjourn for the campaign, on about May 20th, without finishing its report, the

investigating committee was also adjourned to await the call of the chairman.

Shortly thereafter, Congress adjourned the 66th Session.

Whether the controversy influenced the presidential election of 1920 I do

not know, but the election was won by the Republicans, and on March 4th,

1921, the new administration took over. I think the entire navy expected the

change of administration to also bring a change in the senior officers of the

Navy Department, but it did not, for they were retained in their posts. Since

many of them had supported the Administration in the "controversy," little change took place in the Navy Department's attitude or policies. Some thought

a change might be made when the committee finally issued a report. But when

that happened about a year later, it merely covered testimony taken without

recommending changes in laws or in naval administration to correct the faults

found by Sims—no changes were made.

Thus died the greatest naval controversy of my time. Although it turned out

to be something of a "dud," I personally felt its consequences for a long time,

because I became "persona non grata" with many high officers who had been

retained in the Navy Department under the new administration. However, at that time, I was becoming engrossed in the conduct of naval warfare, strategy,

and tactics, disliking the political atmosphere surrounding a government

department, and much preferring fleet operation to administrative work on

shore. For that reason I was serene in mind and worked blissfully to prepare our

destroyers for war.

256
Destroyers after the War

Although no highly exciting incidents occurred during my second year as chief of staff of the Destroyer Force, many important matters besides those of

training arose. One developed at the end of the winter's work in Cuba when it became evident that not all of our two hundred or so destroyers could be

retained in a full commission status. The country could not afford the expense of

such a large force and the personnel of the navy was not sufficient to fully man

it—the number of new destroyers we had was disproportionate to the rest of the

navy. Hence, even though the United States had started a huge building program

that would give us the most powerful navy in the world, it was still inadvisable to

retain in full commission all the destroyers built during the World War for our

antisubmarine effort. Then, too, a large part of the fleet was being sent to the

Pacific Coast, thereby changing the number of ships to be kept fully manned.

The ships of the battle line and others belonging to the battle force were sent to

the Pacific, while the lighter ships, useful in what was called the "Scouting

Force," were kept in the Atlantic—most of them with "skeleton" crews. With the navy divided between two oceans and Admiral Plunkett retaining

command of the destroyers in the Atlantic, nearly all of which were manned

with one-third crews, conditions changed completely for our staff. We still had

to train our destroyers in all war duties, but now with crews that were hardly

large enough for mere material upkeep. These complications made our problem

more difficult.

Fortunately, my two years' experience in the Reserve Flotilla now came to

our support. The new problem was similar to my old one, the main difference

being that we now had about eight times as many ships, each with only a one-third crew instead of the one-half I had previously worked with. Our first

task was to find bases that would conveniently accommodate such a large

number of ships and also provide sufficient, easily accessible sea room for the

necessary war maneuvers.

To solve that problem we considered every harbor from Maine to Panama,

but at last came to the conclusion that Narragansett Bay would be best in the

summer months, and Charleston, South Carolina, during the rest of the year.

Our next step was to provide moorings for the destroyers—no small task with

so many ships to be accommodated. However, by utilizing the buoys and

anchors employed during the World War in connection with our antisubmarine

nets for harbor entrances, we solved that problem too. We had Charleston

Harbor ready for our huge force of undermanned destroyers by the time the

force assumed its new status at the end of the summer's work in Narragansett

Bay.

257
An Admiral's Yarn

That winter in Charleston was delightful and proved a great success. I will not

bore you with details of our work there, but probably I should relate something

about the life we led.

Charleston was not a large city, and the basing of so many ships in its harbor

exercised a decided influence over the area. At times there were over a hundred

destroyers, flagships, and tenders, which contained a total of about seven or eight

thousand officers and men. Thus, the actual wage earners our force took to

Charleston was over one-tenth the population of the city, and, with their

families, the total contingent equaled nearly a fifth of the people living there.

The ships purchased considerable quantities of supplies and provisions in the

city, and the resulting increases in business were appreciated.

We were shown great hospitality in the social life of Charleston that winter,

which we greatly enjoyed while we carried on, most successfully, our navy work

with the destroyers.

With the onset of spring, we gave thought to moving our ships to our

northern base to continue the training. The base had been prepared but there

arose the problem of moving more than a hundred destroyers over the ocean on

a trip of about seven hundred miles with crews only large enough to operate at sea for a few hours at a time.

At first it seemed that such a movement should not be attempted, but some of

our young and highly energetic commanding officers were positive their ships

could make it, and we issued orders for the trip.

When an order is undertaken in the navy, everyone concerned works with all his might to carry it out successfully. But if the order unduly jeopardizes a ship,

that jeopardy must be reported at once. For that reason, as soon as the order was

issued, a few of our more than a hundred commanding officers felt obliged to

report the potential dangers to their particular ships while being operated by

such small crews. Admiral Plunkett issued the order that any captain who

doubted the ability of his destroyer to make the trip safely could hold his ship in

Charleston for the summer.

We rather expected some of the destroyers would consider the trip too risky,

but when the signal was given to get underway, every destroyer responded, even

with its few men on a watch and watch basis. I must admit to a bit ofworry over

that trip lest some untoward happening should mar it, but nothing did. Exactly

on time, in perfect formation, and in fine condition, the destroyers entered

Narragansett Bay and secured to the buoys awaiting them.

By that time my tour of sea duty was about over. I was then a permanent

captain and thereby allowed but two years on a cruise. I had given considerable

thought to my next duty, and as I had developed an intense interest in naval

258
Destroyers after the War

strategy and tactics, I requested duty at the Naval War College as a student. The

orders were issued shordy after that; and so, after twenty-six months as chief of

staff of the Destroyer Force, I became a student of the Naval War College at Newport, Rhode Island.

179

259

XXXIV

Naval War College Student

THOUGH THE NAVAL WAR COLLEGE has a vital place in our national

defense, few civilians know anything of it. The college is on an island in

Narragansett Bay in Newport, R.I., but because there is nothing spectacular to

be seen there and the War College is not open to the public, even sightseers are given litde more than a distant glance at it. Aside from those interested in naval

features of our national defense, few people give any attention to the War

College.

Yet, in spite of that, the college does more toward the development of sound

fighting ideas in the United States Navy than does any other agency. Most

Americans seem to believe that naval fighting power is measured by the types

and numbers of ships possessed, and litde or no thought is given to the fact that

unless men give life to ships, they are as inanimate as ore in the mountains. In any

country, fighting ships are merely the tools of its navy. What is done with those

tools depends on the skill with which they are handled. It is the aim of the Naval

War College to develop in the higher officers of the navy the skills in the use of

their ships and weapons that will permit them the utmost power should war

befall us. Another idea prevalent in the country is that four years of study at the Naval

Academy fully prepares its graduates for practically everything pertaining to

naval warfare. Nothing could be further from fact. At the Academy, young men

of college age simply learn the ABC's of a profession that requires a lifetime to

master. When a young man graduates, he is merely beginning the naval

profession. What he later becomes depends, naturally, on his ability. Like great
An Admiral's Yarn

surgeons or doctors, our great war commanders become great through

practicing their profession, not through intuition or inspiration. In the medical

profession, however, doctors and surgeons have almost instant practice, whereas

in both the navy and the army, professional practice is to be had only in the event

of war—which we endeavor to avoid.

Every nation must develop vitally important war skills, or ultimately pay for

not having done so. To develop war skills while not begin engaged in war is difficult. A man may spend a lifetime thinking of and studying war operations,

and he may develop many ideas for winning. But unless they can be tested in

practice, he will never know whether they will prevail against those of an

opposing commander. The Naval War College curriculum was devised to

provide such tests. In miniature, it pits naval forces against each other in every

conceivable form of war operation. By constantly measuring results and

applying losses as they occur, the miniature operations become almost exactly

those of actual war. By carrying out batdes, campaigns, and even entire naval wars in miniature,

the college develops in officers the skill and wit essential to operate successfully

the navy's fighting tools that are so vital to our national defense.

The system used at the college is referred to as the "Applicatory System,"

because student officers train for high command in war by actually applying

their knowledge of fighting to war situations; in war, no one condition is quite

like another, and what might win in one case could bring complete disaster in

another. All that can be done for prospective high commanders is to give them

an understanding of the principles of fighting that tend to succeed when

followed, and then allow them to practice applying those principles.

Because the ability to fight skillfully, regardless of the situation, is achieved

only through practice, the War College does not have lessons, recitations, or

examinations, nor is there any formal attempt to measure the relative ability of

students. Thus there is no competition in class standing; each student works

solely to perfect himself in war strategy and tactics. Certain students do, of

course, show up better than others as winners of conflicts, but no attempt is made to rate them in that ability. Each officer is strictly on his own and works to

enhance his performance in the art of naval warfare.

The student course is eleven months' long, and during that time an officer has

no other duty than to study for high command in war and prepare himself for

the greatest responsibility a man can have—that of winning for his country

should he be chosen for high war command.

The game ofwar, even when played in miniature, is one ofintense fascination,

and its lure surpasses all other competitive games. In other games, the stake, if any,

262
Naval War College Student

is small, and the reward of winning applies generally to an individual or to small

groups ofindividuals. But in war, the ante is often the very existence ofa country

and its people, and the contestants are entire nations. The teams for contests in

war often consist of many thousands or even millions of people who operate

powerful weapons of destruction. A country's navy is a team made up of many

teams. One large ship often requires a team of over a thousand men to operate it. Groups ofone type ofship form "type" group teams, and "type" group teams are formed into fleet teams.

Little wonder there is fascination in practicing war with such teams. Still less

should be any wonder that the officers who are to command and operate such

teams in war must devote every minute of their eleven months at the War

College to perfecting themselves for that task. But even so, they are not

completely prepared for war when they finish the course. They may be

well-versed in the principles to observe when fighting, but constant practice in

operating fighting teams must ever continue to win the finals in war contests.

Until I became a student at the War College, I thought my previous work was

as important as it was interesting, and of course for one in low command, it was,

However, as soon as I realized (from the college course) what I would be

responsible for if chosen for high command, the visualization I had of my life

changed. Instead of dealing with only the relatively minor war duties for which

officers in low command are responsible, I now might be responsible for the

important war duties of a high command. Not for much longer would I be

obliged only to carry out the plans and orders ofsomeone else; I might be called

on to do the planning and ordering, and since it was ever my ambition to be an

able high commander in the navy, I bent every energy to prepare myself to make

good in the role.

Looking at my future in that light, I worked feverishly on the War College

course and in particular strove to improve myself in naval fighting through the

war operations conducted in miniature. It proved worthwhile, for, about a month before my student course ended, I was sent for by the president of the

college. Admiral Sims invited me to join the War College staff as head of the

Department of Tactics; he told me that my work at the college had warranted

this.

That invitation to be head of the Tactics Department hit me like a thunderbolt, for until that time, I had no idea that my work as a student

warranted such recognition. I knew I had given all ofmy time, energy, and ability

to the course and had been quite successful in winning miniature war games, but

had never given thought to having even a minor position on the War College

staff. I had given a little consideration to what duty I would like to have after

263
An Admiral's Yarn

completing the course and, desiring to continue my study ofwar, had decided to

request assignment as a student at the Army War College. Should that request be

granted, I would have two months between courses to spend with my litde

family, and I had planned to take them to visit my wife's sister, who had a delightful summer place in the pristine forests of western Oregon.

We had practically made up our family mind as to what we wanted to do after

my graduation, so I was completely surprised when Admiral Sims asked me to

joint the college staff. Since I was not entirely confident of my ability a make

good on the job, was keen to continue my study of war by going to the Army

War College, and realized that a two-month vacation in the woods of Oregon

was quite essential to keeping physically fit, I felt compelled to explain the

situation to the admiral. When I had done so, he said, "Laning, the college wants

you, and if you will take the position I believe I can arrange everything else to

your satisfaction. As the tactics work of the college course does not start until a month after the course opens, you can have your two months leave and still be

back in time for it. When that course is ended, and you wish to attend the Army

War College course, I think I can arrange it. Under those circumstances, will you

accept the billet?" Quite naturally I said I would.

264
XXXV

A Vacation in the Oregon Woods

IMMEDIATELY AFTER GRADUATION the Laning family started for

Oregon. The place we visited is an island on the Umpqua River. Owned by

my wife's sister, it is not far from where the river flows into the sea, to the

westward of Oregon's coastal mountains.

In 1922, when we were there, that part of Oregon was still a barely opened

primeval forest. It was nearly devoid of roads, and only here and there, where

lumbering operations had cleared off trees along streams, were there people or

houses. The only means of reaching that area were by boat, by rough wagon

roads across the mountains from the railroad village of Drain, and over a spur of

the Southern Pacific Railroad which was constructed, I believe, during the

World War to remove spruce timber used to build airplane propeller blades.

Because of the poor connections with the outside world, entering this area was

spoken of as "going in" and leaving as "going out."

We left our train at the village of Gardiner where the Gardiner Mill Company,

largely owned by my brother-in-law and his family, had a sawmill for the huge

logs that were floated down the Umpqua River and its tributaries. But the mill

had burned, and the lumber operations of the area had almost ceased with the

ending of the war. About the only business remaining in the small villages came

from the fishing industry and from the small dairy farms along the streams where

lumbering operations had cleared openings in the forest.

To make the situation more difficult, my sister-in-law's husband had recently

died, and her two sons, after graduating from college, needed guidance for their

future; there were several important opportunities open to them in both San
An Admiral's Yarn

Francisco and Oregon. My brother-in-law had envisioned a great future for the

Umpqua area and had become heavily involved there. Not only did he have vast

timber and other land holdings in it but he had also started several development

projects. He had established a chain of banks in the villages, and since water was

the easiest means oftransportation, he had created what he called "The Umpqua

Navigation Company" with a number of shallow-draft power boats that

operated on all the streams (those with enough water to float them) in the largest

cleared off space in the remarkably fertile valley of the Umpqua. He started a ranch and had selected a mile-long island in the river abreast of it for a summer

home among the giant spruce trees. Out of logs, a house had been built which

was named "Spruce Reach Cabin," and then, so that his and other remote cabins

along the river might have contact with each other and the villages of Gardiner

and Reedsport, he arrange a telephone line up the Umpqua Valley to all the

cabins.

But for all of that, the country was scarcely tapped, and when we stepped off

our little train shordy after dawn one morning, even though we were met by my

wife's sister and her sons, we seemed to be entering an almost uninhabited world

of great beauty and charm. We were given a tremendous welcome and then

hurried to a small boat landing near the station where we boarded a fine cabin

motor launch that immediately started up the river.

I will never forget that seven-mile run up the Umpqua to Spruce Reach

Cabin. We seemed to go deeper and deeper into a dense forest that covered the

river valley. The beautiful mountains enclosing it and the scenery were

awe-inspiring—so close to nature and unspoiled by the world's progress. Only

now and then could we see a cabin or any sign ofhuman life. After an hour's run,

we arrived at Spruce Reach Island and, leaving the launch at a log raft landing,

we went to the cabin.

Both Spruce Reach Island and the cabin on it were in keeping with the

primal forest surrounding it. The underbrush had been cleared away, leaving a land of giant spruces with a rambling, many-roomed cabin sprawled between

the huge trees. While from the outside the appearance of the cabin seemed to be

in keeping with the primitive surroundings, inside we found practically all the

comforts of civilization, although most ofthe furniture and equipment had been

made in the backwoods pattern. The cabin was heated by huge, log-burning

fireplaces, and it was lighted by electricity from a motor-driven dynamo and

storage battery; it had bathrooms with an endless supply of fresh water piped

from a spring in the mountains four hundred feet above. Spruce Reach Cabin

provided all the comforts ofa city, in a remote area where all else was deep forest.

266
A Vacation in the Oregon Woods

Thoughts of war operations and sea life had no place there, so I banished them

from my thoughts and thoroughly enjoyed life in the forest.

For relaxation, rest, and freedom from worries, Spruce Reach left nothing to

be desired. Wonderful fishing and hunting were to be had nearby, and the

beautiful Umpqua valley provided enchanting picnic places to which we were

taken on many delightful jaunts, one of which, though, nearly caused my

undoing. For this one, the launch took us some fifteen or twenty miles up the

river to the mouth of "Litde Mill Creek." At that point, the riverbank provided a splendid picnic place, while the creek fairly teemed with what my nephew

called brook or mountain trout. The plan was to secure the launch to the

riverbank at the mouth of the creek, where the ladies of our party and one

nephew would remain to prepare the picnic supper, while the other nephew and

I fished the lower two miles of the creek.

As the plan was an excellent one, I entered it with great zest, especially

because I had never before fished a mountain stream for trout. Not knowingjust

how to equip myself for such fishing, I dressed as I would for sea fishing from a boat. I donned old clothes, the heaviest shoes I had, and an old green Austrian

velour fedora that had a lone feather sticking up on one side. Though I probably

looked the way I knew a fisherman to look, I noted my nephew looking askance

when I appeared in that outfit. He asked if I had "corks" in my shoes and could

get through the brush in such clothes. He was wearing woodsman's canvas

clothes over a heavy khaki shirt, a cap and high, thick-soled, laced, watertight

boots, heavily "corked." However, I said I could do without "corks" and go

through the woods easily. Hence, when we reach the mouth of the creek, the

two of us went some miles up that we might fish the stream coming down.

Going the two miles up that creek, I realized what struggling through the

virgin forest of Oregon meant. The stream rushed down the mountain in a somewhat precipitous valley, and close to the creek, the woods and brush were

denser than they were back on the rugged hillsides. Therefore, we climbed the

hills. But even so, I made heavy weather of the passage, and it took me almost

two hours to cover the two miles to the "starting to fish" point.

By that time I was fairly tired, but when we had worked back to the creek and

found rocks and boulders sufficiendy clear of trees and underbrush for me to

cast, I went at it. The fishing was excellent and I quickly landed several fine trout,

but working down that stream was slow, hard work for me. It would take me

from five to ten minutes to get from one casting place to the next, and since we

dared not stop long, I could make only a few casts before having to move on. It was therefore lucky for me that the fish were so plentiful.

267
An Admiral's Yarn

When I had gone farther downstream, I came to a waterfall about twelve feet

high where the stream, after rushing through rocks and boulders, poured over a

cliff into a large pool. Although I knew almost nothing about the habits of

mountain trout, I thought there must be hundreds of them in that pool and

decided to fish it. Inasmuch as the trees and brush were too thick to permit casting from the

side I was on, I crossed over at the crest of the falls as it looked easy enough at that point as the water rushed between a series of boulders that made fine

stepping stones. True, the boulders were wet and moss-covered, but I thought

my heavily soled shoes would prevent slipping and I made the hop—but landed

on my right hip and then down the falls I shot, feet first! I do not know whether

or not I hit a boulder at the bottom of the fall, but the first thing I knew, I was

standing on my head in the icy pool. I struggled to reverse ends and was soon on

my feet, gasping for breath in the icy cold water that came up to my arm pits,

with my right leg seemingly out of commission. As I looked around, too

paralyzed to move, I saw my green velour hat with the feather still sticking up as cocky as ever, floating near one side of the pool and my fishing rod floating near

the other side. Meanwhile, lying across a fallen log, where he had collapsed from

laughing, was my nephew. He had seen me shoot the falls into the pool, come up

feet first while I stood on my head, and for a moment he feared I was badly hurt.

However, when he saw me on my feet, my head above water, and the green hat

floating with its feather up, it was too much for him and he exploded with

laughter. Such is youth. Personally I did not see anything funny about the

situation, for not only was I nearly freezing in the cold water, but the pain in my

right leg was excruciating. I thought I could not get out of the pool, let alone

ever use my leg again. However, I floundered to the bank and crawled up before

collapsing. I laid there for some time, but my nephew assured me my leg was not

broken and that I must get back to the launch. With his help, keeping to the bed

of the creek, we started—but I will never forget my two-mile crawl down icy

Litde Mill Creek. Time and again I thought I could not make it, but we finally

reached the launch where food and hot coffee were awaiting. Wrapped in

blankets after the removal of my wet clothes, I relaxed a bit but was indeed

thankful to reach the cabin where treating the badly injured leg began at once. By morning that leg was a sight, for not only was it blue from hip to knee but

ruptured blood vessels had turned almost the entire leg purple. To move it was

agony, even in bed, and it was over a week before I could sit up, and still another

week before I could limp around—a cruel way to spend a vacation with all out-of-doors beckoning me. During that time my nephews were planning what

they called a real fishing trip, and as soon as I was able to go, we went first to the

268
A Vacation in the Oregon Woods

Mill Company's store in Gardiner to outfit me for it. When that was done, I looked woodsy. My green hat with its feather was too fantastic to give up, but

below the hat I wore a khaki shirt, canvas trousers and coat, heavy woolen socks

and high, watertight lumberman's boots into which the boys had driven long,

sharp pointed corks that would prevent my slipping on logs and mossy rocks. It took me some days to accustom myself to the outfit, but the boys made me

practice going through the woods near the cabin before we started on the "real

fishing trip."

Leaving Spruce Reach at the crack of dawn one morning, the launch took us down the Umpqua to Reedsport, where we transferred to the Navigation

Company's Smith River boat. This was an imposing flat bottom power affair of

about ten feet beam and fifty feet in length. When we boarded it, we found there

were several passengers who were going up the river, a small cargo of supplies,

and a full cargo of empty ten-gallon milk cans. As soon as we were aboard, the

boat started off.

Near its mouth, Smith River was a long, fairly wide bay, the shores of which

were lined for several miles with immense booms of logs for the sawmill. As we

went up the channel between them, we could see an occasional little boat

landing, cabin, or shed; but where the bay and boom ended and the river

narrowed, the valley seemed to close in and we found ourselves once again

entering the great woods. Here and there along the river we saw small areas that

had become farms, each having a log raft landing at the river bank. As it neared a landing, the boat would whistle, and when alongside, deposit the required

number of empty milk cans, such supplies as had been ordered from the Mill

Store, and the mail. Seldom was there anyone at the landing except those

wishing to go farther up the river. The boat went twenty-two miles before the

river became too full of shallows, rocks, and rapids to navigate.

As v^e progressed we delivered passengers and cargo along the way until we

had left on board only those for the last landing, above which no one lived in the

Smith Paver Valley. However, it was the most important landing, for in addition

to being the entrance to a great unopened forest of the Upper Smith Valley, it was the landing of a seven-mile flat area that, having been completely

de-forested, had become the largest dairy area of the region. There several

families lived and, compared to other places along the river, it was something ofa metropolis. The boat reached there every day just before noon, and after

stopping for an hour, started on its return trip. During that stop, dinner was

served, generally to fire or game wardens going up or leaving the valley, who

were joined by several men ofthe neighborhood to discuss the news ofthe day.

269
An Admiral's Yarn

I thought that in such a remote spot my nephews and I would be complete

strangers, but on the contrary, I found that everyone but myself knew the others

well. The men who lived in the cabins had known my nephews from the day

they were born and had watched them going in and out of the company's

timberland so often that they called the boys by their nicknames. More hearty

greetings and backslapping I had never seen, and when the boys told them we

were on our way up Smith River to fish, they offered every kind of help.

From what I had seen ofthe country and the way men in it lived, I was greatly

surprised after lunch to find an old, decrepit "Model T" car with a pack saddle in

it waiting for us at the door of a cabin. As it was, of course, the only car in the

valley, I naturally began to ask questions about it—how it ever got that far and

where it would go when there were no roads. It had been taken up on the little boat and used for distributing and collecting milk cans and doing other chores

for the small farms on the flat area. There was a so-called road through the

cleared area, the remains of a trail the Mill Company had used in taking supplies

from the boat landing to its logging camps. The "road" was just a succession of

ruts which nothing except a decrepit "Model T" car would have attempted to

negotiate.

Nevertheless, on that road we went some four miles through the cleared area

until the upper end of the valley narrowed to cliffs and steep hills and the forest

remained unopened. At that point we unloaded ourselves, our gear and the pack

saddle. There were several mules and burros and also a cow grazing nearby. I wondered if the boys would be able to catch the mules which were so wild, but

they soon had the pack saddle on one of them and piled our gear on top. The

mules had been turned loose by the Mill Company when it stopped logging in

that location and anyone going up Smith River was welcome to capture one to

transport his pack.

Although we were only going fishing, that mule was of great service, for

instead of having to carry our equipment up the valley on our backs, the mule

could take all but about fifteen pounds or more from each one of us. It was not

just fishing gear, but what three men would need for a week in the forest, miles

beyond where even backwoodsmen lived. The paraphernalia was not that of a deep sea sailor, but the boys were gready pleased with it as the three ofus and the

mule started up the valley.

We finally reached the fishing place by following a faint, rugged trail some

seven miles farther along, and just as the sun was setting. At that point the trail

was close to the river and mostly covered by beautiful giant ferns and heavy

underbrush. There we unpacked and the boys told me to catch a mess of trout

for our supper while they made camp.

270
A Vacation in the Oregon Woods

I had about an hour of fishing before dusk came, and the boys called out that

camp was ready. In that time I had landed seven beautiful trout, each weighing

from one to two pounds. Then the boys cleaned and cooked the trout, and soon

we were eating a supper offreshly caught fish, bacon, flapjacks, and coffee. It was

a bully meal. Then, as it was getting dark, we turned in. We had neither tent nor

overhead covering, but our sleeping bags were laid on piles of ferns and made a comfortable sleeping place. Through the trees the stars shone brightly, and the

sound of the river's rapids soon lulled us to sleep.

It seemed as though I had only just closed my eyes when I was awakened by

the boys moving around. On looking at my watch I found it was half past three

and time to turn out—dawn was breaking and we had decided on early fishing.

That night in the woods brought me some realization of the hardships our

forefathers endured to open up that wonderful country for us. Even with

modern equipment such as we had, living in the woods seemed mighty difficult

to a sailor, but for the early settlers with almost no equipment, in forests teeming

with wild animals and Indians, it must have been appalling.

With our comforts and luxurious living, we Americans of today give little thought to what our forefathers suffered for us, but ever since that first night in

the woods of Smith River, I think often ofthose early settlers and what today we

might speak of as their "guts." we might do worse than to adopt for ourselves

their standard of "intestinal fortitude."

We remained in the woods several days as planned, and they were full of new

experiences for me. We fished mostly at sunrise or sunset, and even in those

short hours caught more fish than we could use, so we explored the forest, which

we had all to ourselves, for there were no people within miles.

Our return trip was simply a reversal of the trip "up," and when we reached

Reedsport, we found the launch waiting to take us up the Umpqua Paver to

Spruce Reach Cabin. It had been a glorious experience, and I will always be

grateful to my nephews for making it possible.

A few days later we journeyed back to Newport, Rhode Island, so that I could take up my new duties.

271

XXXVI

On the War College Staff

THE WAR COLLEGE was just going into the second month of the course when I assumed charge of the Tactics Department. During the first

month, the students had devoted their time to reading and studying the causes,

nature, and conduct of wars; in the second month, they began strategy and

tactics. The course work covered the same ground that I had studied, except for

the addition of a pamphlet on tactics titled "The Naval Battle," a not too long

treatise on the team play of a modern fighting fleet, which had been culled,

without my knowing it, from the thesis on tactics I had submitted at the end of

my student year.

At the time that I had taken the course, students were required to submit four

theses on war subjects during the year, and I used mine to make a rather

complete resume of the general principles I would observe were I responsible

for fighting operations. I wanted to be ready to win in battle, so I went into

considerable detail on tactics. However, since my writing was intended only to

crystalize sound ideas in my own mind, and was in no way intended for anyone

else, you can imagine my surprise on returning from leave to find it had been

published by the college as a guide for students in the conduct of naval battles.

By that action, the college conveyed to me that I was no longer responsible

merely for preparing myself for high command in battle but for training all officers who attended the college.

Until that tour of shore duty ended in two years, I remained Head of the

Department of Tactics. I had learned much during my student year, but it was

only a smattering to what I learned during my time on the college staff.
An Admiral's Yarn

Although my department was an intensely busy one, I was able to attend the

weekly lectures and discussions of national and international affairs, enter the

discussions of international law, study the strategic problems under

consideration, and participate in all critiques of them. But of all the college

work, what I considered the most interesting—as well as the most

important—was that of training officers for batde command.

Although preparing officers to conduct war has always been the primary

purpose of the War College, a by-product of doing that had become of

tremendous importance: the miniature war operations that are really researches

that test and evaluate every detail of naval warfare. Because of that, the College

gradually evolved into a guide for the entire navy.

Its influence may not be realized even by naval officers, but it is my opinion

that much of our naval advancement in recent years has resulted from War

College research.

Because of the importance of the college, both to the navy and to the entire

United States, it appeared to me that its work in naval tactics should be

progressive from year to year and that student officers of our class should take up

tactical work at about the point where the preceding class left off. As a student, I had found it impossible to do that, since no record had been kept of the

miniature battles of the preceding classes. It was largely because of that

deficiency that I summarized in my thesis on tactics what my class had learned.

That summary was now being made a starting point for the new classes and,

hence, "The Naval Battle" had become the connecting link for a progressive

development of battle tactics.

Realizing that, it occurred to me that if we would correct, revise, and add the

sound fighting ideas developed by successive classes to "The Naval Battle"

pamphlet each year, we would have not only what would enable one class to

start tactical work where its predecessor stopped, but also a pamphlet that would

be a guide even for a fleet in battle. I therefore determined to use the pamphlet

that way; in order that the principles enumerated in it would be based on

recorded data, I started making full records and analyses of each miniature batde

fought, confident the results would be well worth the effort.

Histories and analyses of batdes from which sound principles of fighting can

be deduced are essential in the study of tactics. However, because real naval

battles are, fortunately, few and far between, not only are they too rare to provide

sufficient information but the only records we have of them are from

recollections of men participating in them rather than from exact data. For that

reason, what we have concerning real batdes is incomplete and often incorrect,

frequently leading us to wrong deductions.

274
On the War College Staff

In miniature battles, which can be stopped instantly to permit accurate

plotting of movements and measurement of the effects of gunfire, torpedoes,

bombs, mines, etc., there are no uncertainties. Causes and effects are accurately

determined.

When I was a student, we had but one modern naval battle to study—Jutland.

That battle had been fought years before, and when I started to study it closely, I found the records too incomplete to permit more than a general conclusion.

Hence, although we studied that battle thoroughly, we learned litde from it. However great and important the battle ofJutland was, it could teach us only so much about naval fighting; it was almost as outmoded as the battle of Trafalgar.

The characteristics of naval ships had changed greatly since then, and two

startling new types had been added to fleets. We were in a new era of naval

warfare, one quite different from the battle ofJutland days.

The changes in characteristics so affected the capabilities and limitations of

surface ships that radical changes were needed in the battle tactics of a fleet made

up only of surface ships. The addition of underwater and air forces to fighting

fleets brought about still greater changes. At the time the World War ended,

neither submarines nor aircraft had taken part in a major naval battle, so no one

knew much about their use. Inasmuch as both are extremely powerful hitting types, it was essential that

the U.S. Navy learn how to utilize them to best advantage and how to defend

against them. It was therefore to a post-Jutland type of naval battle that the War

College devoted its energies, paying particular attention to air and underwater

forces of modern fleets.

As can be imagined, the changes in tactics necessitated by the makeup ofnaval

fighting teams were very great. The fundamental principles of fighting that

centuries of war had proved to be immutable were of course the same as ever; but in the application of those principles, almost everything was different. The

changes in fighting methods would be great, and we went into them with zest,

assembling all known data about the characteristics, capabilities, and limitations

of each type of modern naval craft, and, having established rules based on them

to govern our miniature battles, we went to work.

The task of making a complete record and analysis of every battle fought was

enormous, for the ramifications in naval battles are innumerable. They result

from the complicated operations of opposing fleets, the ships that fight not

individually but in teams composed of many groups of ships. Of the half dozen

or more types of ships in a modern fleet, only battleships operate together as a

unit. Cruisers, destroyers, aircraft carriers, submarines, and aircraft operate in

groups, each having a particular position and role in the team play of a battle.

275
An Admiral's Yarn

Since sea battles are between fleets, every part ofwhich does its righting while

maneuvering at high speed, it is exceedingly difficult to picture actual battle for

any particular instant, even though every part of each fleet knows exacdy where

it is and what it is doing at that instant. To visualize such a picture for an entire

battle at sea seems, of course, impossible. Nevertheless we could and did make

detailed records of our miniature battles, from which we deduced the

corrections, additions, and changes to make in "The Naval Battle."

Doing that work took much time and application, but by it, I gained

considerable knowledge of the new naval fighting, as did both the college staff

and students. Still, it took a man from outside the college and navy to make us

realized the extent of our learning.

Usually civilians are not permitted to watch the college war games, but one

day while we were at work on the big game at the end of my first year on the

staff, the president of the college, Admiral Sims, sent for me. He introduced me

to Mr. ofHarvard University, told me the gentleman was making a study of

the research work being done in our colleges and universities, and was

particularly interested in the work we were doing. He directed me to allow the

gentleman to watch our batde and to explain to him our method of fighting.

Our visitor watched our fight closely for several days, and on departing said to

me, "Captain, I am reluctant to leave this fascinating game, the most interesting I have ever seen. No wonder you navy men enjoy it. But I did not come here to

see your war game but rather to study what you are doing in research work. I am

making a study of such activities for Harvard University and so felt obliged to

see what the Naval War College is doing. I want you to know that I am amazed

at what I have found here. I thought the research conducted at our universities

was about the last word on that work, but at the Naval War College I find the

most thorough example ofit. The work here not only teaches naval officers how

to fight their fleets but also determines for the United States the line it should

follow in its naval policy, naval building, and naval operations. The United States

is indeed fortunate to have a research laboratory from which it derives such great

knowledge."

That statement not only encouraged us but made us realize clearly the value

of our teachings, and we worked even harder to perfect the new edition of our

pamphlet on battle. No attempt was made to force the students to observe the

principles and methods of fighting set forth in it. On the contrary, the idea was

simply to make available what the college had learned, in a continuing effort to

improve and give the United States the best battle navy in the world.

Not all officers agreed with the methods of fighting suggested in the

pamphlet, and of course every officer sought to improve on them. During my

276
On the War College Staff

second year on the staff, a group of the cleverest tacticians among the students

came to me and said that though the conclusions enumerated in the pamphlet

seemed sound, they believed there were better methods and they intended to

find them. As I was merely the analyst of the battles fought, had no vested

interest in what seemed proved by them, and wished only to make the U.S. Fleet

the best fighting fleet in the world, I was delighted with their attitude. Therefore,

the group took up its self-imposed task with all the support I could give.

The group analyzed every idea in the pamphlet and thought up many new

ones to try out against them, but strange as it may seem, the methods of "The

Naval Battle" proved so sound that one by one the group members became

convinced that if there were better ways to fight, they could not discover them.

Nevertheless they could and did suggest a few improvements in the pamphlet.

That proof in the soundness of our ideas impressed me greatly, and I had

considerable faith not only in the tactical employment of modern surface ships

but in submarines and aircraft as well. Having proved their hitting power in the

World War, submarines and aircraft were being proclaimed by the "Press" as having revolutionized naval warfare, and that it was essential that the United

States Navy learn immediately the best ways to use them, and that it was for the

War College to ascertain those ways.

It mattered not to the navy what type or types of craft—surface, sub-surface, or air—might dominate in war, only that the United States be better prepared to use them than anyone else. The college research therefore had to make certain

what could be done with the new types and then determine how best to

accomplish it. Through research, the War College pioneered modern ways of fighting on

the sea, and although I did not realize it at the time, I soon found that what we

were learning was considered most important by both the fleet and the Navy

Department. Although we made no direct recommendations to either, both

began studying our pamphlets, which were based on our research work. I also

noted that several officers in positions of responsibility in the fleet and the Navy

Department often wrote personal letters to inquire about the work we were

doing at the college on jobs for which they were responsible. One was from a friend holding an important post in the Navy Department's Bureau of

Aeronautics [Rear Admiral William A. Moffett] , which is largely responsible for

the aircraft policies of the navy. He asked what our research seemed to prove.

Just as in the case of submarine and surface craft, the college had devoted

much energy to aviation research—not to aircraft design but to the status of

aircraft in modern sea warfare. Up to that time, naval aviation had developed

airplanes, but how the planes would reach enemy ships and how they would

277
An Admiral's Yarn

operate was still unknown to the navy—while non-seagoers were shouting that

airplanes would blast surface ships from the sea. So we thoroughly researched

both offense and defense naval air activities, allowing the officers who were

commanding miniature fleets a rather free hand in the use of aircraft. They were

allowed planes of any type and as many as their ships would carry. The only

restriction was that planes had to operate in accordance with the capabilities and

limitations established by the knowledge and experience of aviators.

That freedom of action in aviation work brought forth an extraordinary

number of ideas in the study of offense and defense. No sooner would officers

on one side try something new in offense than the officers on the other side

would work up a defense against it. With about fifty keen officers familiar with

sea conditions in each of the opposing fleets, each trying to win for his side,

everything that any of them could think of was tried out. From that welter of

tests, certain points regarding aircraft and air fighting in sea operations began to

establish themselves as facts. Gradually we came to know what aircraft could and

could not do. With that knowledge we were able to decide on the proper

aviation equipment for our miniature fleets and to know the principles of

fighting that equipment should observe.

I wrote to my friend in Aeronautics, giving him the summary of our

deductions, not thinking they would be of great help. You can imagine my

surprise a few weeks later when I received a dispatch order to appear before the

General Board of the Navy for a hearing on naval aviation. The General Board

of the Navy recommends to Congress the naval policies and building program

for our country, and I knew that in preparing its recommendations, the Board

often called on the navy's experts for information on technical points. However,

not being an aviator, I though some mistake had been made when the Board

called on me to attend an aviation hearing. As soon as I reached the Navy

Department, I hurried to my friend to learn what was up.

In reply to my query he said, "You know, Laning, the General Board is now at work on its recommendations to Congress, and a few days ago it called on this

Bureau for aviation suggestions. Probably influenced by the insistence of the

press that planes would blow up all surface ships, the Board had all but decided to

recommend only one type of plane for the navy, a heavy bomber. It may be that

ifyou had not written that letter to me, the Bureau would have concurred in the

recommendation, but the letter opened our eyes. Until we received it, the

officers of the Bureau could suggest only such aviation procedure as could be

deduced through sitting here thinking. But the War College deductions were

not of that kind, for instead of presenting untested visions, you have conclusions

drawn from many visions, all thoroughly tested to determine the soundest ones.

278
On the War College Staff

The correctness of your deductions was so self-evident that, as soon as we read

them, we decided to make them our recommendations to the General Board.

When we did that, however, the Board thought them only aviators' flights of

fancy, so we suggested they call on you to obtain the results of the War College

research. All you have to do is give the Board your War College conclusions and

explain how they were reached."

What my friend said did not completely reassure me, so when I appeared

before the Board at ten o'clock, I still was not convinced I could give any

worthwhile information. However, the longer the Board and the aviators before

it quizzed me, the more important the results of our research appeared to be. We

had started with the newspaper idea that airplanes could destroy ships, ports, and

anything else on the earth's surface with their bombs and machine guns. From

there we went on to find, from our miniature battles, that the bombers would

encounter every form of defense the opponents could devise. From those

defense activities, it quickly became apparent that not all planes carried by a fleet

should be of the bombing type, but that an efficient air force had to have speedy

fighting (or combat) planes too. Then again, from using planes for other essential

purposes, we found that types other than fighters were required in sea work—scouting planes and observation planes. Now, since the total number of

planes any fleet can have is the number it can carry in its ships, we had to

apportion that total number among the several types we found to be necessary.

By actual trial, we established for our tiny replicas of the navies of the world the

air equipment that each should carry.

It was about equipment for our own fleet that the General Board wanted

information, so I gave our conclusions as best I could without notes or

preparation. As I told of our "step by step" progress, the members of the Board

and the aviators present showed intense interest and asked innumerable

questions. I think the Board was antagonistic toward me when the hearing

started, but as it went on, the conclusions of the War College seemed axiomatic

once the Board had a picture of our battles. At the end of the hearing, the

President of the Board said to me, "Captain, what you have said has cleared up

many points for us. The War College research seems to have developed such

sound conclusions with respect to naval aviation that this Board will call on the

college soon for its conclusions on other naval matters."

It was some weeks before I knew the extent to which our college deductions

on aviation had been adopted by the General Board, and then I learned that its recommendations to Congress conformed exacdy to the conclusions the

college had drawn for its fleets. That recommendation further proved the value

of our aviation research, but inasmuch as our researchers also covered

279
An Admiral's Yarn

underwater and surface craft operations, I reasoned that we had probably learned

as much about other aspects of naval warfare as we had about aviation. To one

whose great ambition was to be an able, high, naval commander, that beliefwas a great comfort.

Among the many points our researchers studied was the effect of the Treaty

Limiting Armaments on the United States, which came into being while I was

at the college. You may recall that the conference leading to the treaty was

suggested by the United States, as was the proposal to reduce the likelihood of

war by so limiting and balancing naval armaments that although each of the

great powers would have a navy sufficient for its defense, none would have one

sufficiently strong to be certain of winning an aggressive war against another

signatory power. The United States was at that time about to become the

greatest naval power in the world, and everyone wished to avoid the terrific cost

of competitive naval building. Therefore, the other nations were quick to accept

our proposals.

To my mind, the treaty that resulted was probably the best initiative toward

peace that the world had ever known, for, if the signatory powers lived up to its terms, rival navies would be so nearly balanced that none would have a winning

advantage over another in war. However, it should be noted that the value of the

Treaty was to be derived entirely from the balancing of naval strengths. Unless

they were kept in balance, in accord with the terms of the treaty, the agreement

would be worthless as a war preventative.

Until the terms of the treaty were known, the miniature navies of the War

College continued to be replicas of the navies of the world. However, as the

various changes in navies were made, our little navies were changed to emulate

them. For most navies, these changes were usually small and were generally

additions; but for the United States, the changes were great and resulted in

reductions. The United States had to scrap most of the splendid new ships it was

building to reduce its navy from the strongest in the world to what was allowed

by the treaty.

To those who believed that having the strongest navy in the world was the

surest way to prevent another country from attacking us, scrapping the best

fighting ships in the world seemed a terrible calamity. However, if by suffering

this loss, war between the United States and any of the great powers could be

prevented, it was perhaps not too great a price to pay. As the terms of the treaty

became known, the College changed its little navies to conform to them, and by

the time the treaty was ratified, our researches were being based entirely on

"Treaty Navies." We soon knew what the changes meant to the United States.

280
On the War College Staff

Shortly after the treaty's ratification, when I was in Washington, I encountered on the street the Chairman of the House Naval Affairs Committee

[Thomas S. Butler, R-PA]. As I had previously had many contacts with him

during the World War, he greeted me warmly But I was surprised when he said,

"Captain, you are just the man I want to talk to about this Disarmament Treaty.

Can you meet me in the Naval Committee Room at the Capitol this

afternoon?" I said I could, and when I arrived there, he drew me at once into his

private office and demanded to be told whether or not the treaty was a success. As no one could answer that unless he knew the treaty was really preventing war,

I had to admit I did not know. Then I added, "Of course you realize it cannot

possibly be a success unless the powers signing it maintain their navies at exactly

the strength assigned them by the treaty. That fact applies to the United States as well as to other countries. The treaty is not a disarmament treaty but is one to

balance naval strengths by limiting armaments. Therefore, although we have to

scrap ships of certain types to get down to our limit, we must actually build ships

of other types."

As I said that, the Congressman appeared enraged, shook his fist at me and

shouted, "That is just the way with you navy men. No sooner than we agree to

disarm than you tell us we must keep armed. We cannot count on you for

anything." With that, the "powwow" ended.

That gave me my first intimation of the danger to the United States in the

treaty. All during the conference leading to it, the "press" and pacifists spoke of

the conference as a "disarmament conference." When it ended in a treaty

intended to prevent war by limiting and balancing naval armaments, the treaty

was spoken of as the "disarmament treaty." Because of that wrong title, many

unthinking people believed there would be no war if only the United States

would disarm itself. In this way, a mere misnomer caused great trouble for the United States as foreign countries, pacifists, and even some of our legislators playing politics

advocated our practical disarmament. I have since seen misnomers create similar

trouble—for instance when an embargo act that was meant to eliminate a possible cause ofwar became spoken of as the "neutrality act." However, it did

not prove as harmful as did referring to the treaty limiting naval armaments as a "disarmament treaty." That name so befuddled the country that, after scrapping

our excess ships in certain classes, we refused to build up the classes in which we

were insufficient. For years the country did no naval building, and as a result, the

United States not only ceased to be the greatest naval power in the world but

quickly went so far below the strength assigned to it that it was nearly reduced to

third place.

281
An Admiral's Yarn

Our failure to do our part in keeping naval armaments in balance destroyed

the strategy for making war improbable. Although the idea had originated with

us and was a splendid one, it was the United States' failure to do its part that

ruined us. When other countries realized we had permitted our navy to plunge

from first place to a poor second, they refused to renew the treaty. Therefore, not

only did rivalry in naval building return, but the United States was forced into

far greater building programs to catch up. Not only was prevention of war by

balancing naval armaments lost to the world, but our country was forced into

enormous expenditures to regain its naval standing.

Of course we could only surmise these results as that tour of duty at the War

College was drawing to a close. The knowledge I had gained there on naval

fighting would be, I hoped, of use to the fleet were I to become chief ofstaff to a high command. But I realized that should I be given such an assignment at that

time, it would probably finish me in the navy, since too much staff duty was

frowned upon in the selection of officers for flag rank, and I was soon to be up

for selection.

I never quite understood why staff duty was not considered important, since

there is nothing else better that prepares an officer for high command than being

an assistant to an officer in that position. Apparently the important thing with

selection boards is whether an officer under consideration has commanded a capital ship. Although I might be ofvastly more value to the navy at the moment

in a chief of staffjob, I knew that if I were to be of any value to it later on, I must

qualify for selection. Accordingly I made a written request for command of a battleship and was informed I would be so assigned.

While waiting for the orders, I received a letter inviting me to become chief

of staff to the vice admiral in command ofbattleships. As I was a great admirer of

that admiral and would have dearly loved to assist him in operating the navy's

battle line, about which I had learned so thoroughly, declining that invitation

was not easy. Nevertheless, I felt obliged to say the only duty I could afford to

accept was the battleship command promised me.

At that point, I understood one of Satan's temptations, for the admiral

promptly sent word that if I would be his chief ofstaff for the one year more that

he would command the battleships, he would see to my getting command ofour

best battleship at the end of that time. As the proffer was flattering and

apparently met my requirements, I was rather prone to accept it but decided to

think it over before doing so. After much thought, I declined the offer once

more.

The orders I received assigned me to command the battleship Pennsylvania.

282
XXXVII

Commanding a Battleship

WHEN I JOINED, the Pennsylvania was at San Pedro, California, with the

battle fleet. I had heard much of the vast harbor improvements there, of

course, and expected to find considerable change from my middy days, but it was

far greater than I had dreamed. In addition to a mile-long breakwater extending

eastward from Point Fermin, a large, deep-water inner harbor had been

constructed, and a city with paved streets, city blocks, and streetcar lines stood

where only a fishing village had been.

The changes were not confined to San Pedro. To the eastward, where there

had been only miles of white beach and sand dunes, stood the city of Long

Beach, famous for its Signal Hill and other oil fields. It was filled with fine

houses, hotels, and even "skyscrapers," and it was teeming with activity. Nor

were the changes only on shore. The Port ofLos Angeles had become one ofthe

leading seaports, full of busy merchant shipping, great seagoing passenger and

cargo ships, oil tankers, lumber carriers, and even many fine yachts. So changed

was the entire area that I could scarcely believe I was once again in San Pedro.

But as I thought about it, I realized that equally changed, too, were the naval

ships in the harbor.

While I had lived and grown up with naval changes, I nevertheless was a bit

awed by the huge batdeship I had been ordered to command, over thirty-three

thousand tons of it. The old Nebraska, less than half the size, had seemed to me

about the last word in battleships when I joined it fifteen years before, but as a matter of fact, it was only a step beyond the older Oregon. However, the

Pennsylvania was many more steps beyond the Nebraska. It could smother an
An Admiral's Yarn

enemy ship with gunfire at several times the distance at which the Nebraska

could make a few hits; it used oil instead of coal for fuel; it could steam much

faster and farther; it carried radio, gyrocompasses, and even airplanes; and it required almost a hundred officers and over twelve hundred men to man it for

battle. The Pennsylvania was one of the fifteen battleships that the United States

was allowed to have. It had cost the country almost forty million dollars, and it had taken several years to build it. Merely to supervise such a plant was no small

responsibility, but to operate for the purpose of securing safety, security,

protection, and victory in war was an infinitely greater one. Small wonder the

outlook appeared awesome.

I had, however, the good fortune when I assumed command to find that the

crew of the Pennsylvania was a wonderfully trained and highly skilled fighting

unit. It stood at the top of the battleship list in both gunnery and engineering,

and from its masthead flew the "meatball," the most prized trophy a naval ship

can win, indicating it had stood first in battle efficiency for the preceding year.

One might suppose that in taking command of a ship so splendidly trained for

fighting that many of the problems were over for me. In certain ways they were. On the other hand, the perfected fighting efficiency of the Pennsylvania was

something of a handicap, since an officer's ability in command is measured

almost entirely by the improvement he can make in his ship's fighting efficiency.

It is far less difficult to improve that efficiency in a low-standing ship than in one

at the very top, which the Pennsylvania then was.

Difficult as it always is to better the top score ofa big competition, doing so in

the navy's battle efficiency competitions is still more so because of the

"handicaps" brought by success. They are much like golf handicaps and in the

navy are determined by setting a standard for a ship based on its best scores. The

higher the score, the higher the standard set for it in the next competition.

Hence, a ship that scores a top rating for a year's excellence is assigned a top

"standard," which, if equaled the following year (rather than surpassed), reduces

the ship to an average score in that following year. In other words, a score at the

top for one year must be followed by improvement to allow a top score again the

following year.

Fortunately for me, the ship's crew at that time was not only the finest I had

ever managed but also the "fightingest." Never considering the handicap too

great to overcome, they sought to stay at the top. They almost did. They made

the ship the runner-up in the next year's competition, and when that brought a further increase in handicap, they continued to keep it near the top. It was a remarkable display of the will to win.

284
Commanding a Battleship

However, I must mention that the afternoon of the day I assumed command,

a great tragedy occurred that brought deep sorrow to all in the navy. I had been

two hours on the bridge and in the conning tower, planning how to control the

ship both in peace and in battle, when suddenly the communication officer

rushed to me with a radio message that hadjust been intercepted. It was from the

battleship Mississippi reporting an explosion in the forward turret; the ship was

rushing to port for medical assistance. Looking to seaward, I could see the

Mississippi and at once ordered our medical department into boats to go to its assistance.

Not knowing how great the explosion had been, I feared the ship might be

seriously damaged and was greatly relieved to see it apparendy intact as it came

to anchor. But although the ship looked normal, a frightful catastrophe had

occurred. A flareback from a turret gun had fired the powder charges being sent

up for loading and had exploded them. The entire crew of the turret, except one

or two men who had miraculously escaped, had been killed. Fifty-six officers

and men had lost their lives, making the explosion the worst of its kind the navy

had ever known.

As is always the case in such tragedies, the public was greatly aroused and

there was talk in the press of probable carelessness by the navy in its handling of

high explosives. However, if the United States Navy is careless, I have never known it. In tragedies such as this, every precaution devised has always been

taken; but just as with railroads, ships at sea, and even industrial plants, not every

danger can be foreseen and guarded against. It is the unforeseeable accidents that

show the navy the additional precautions it must take, and of course the

Mississippi explosion did just that. The navy seeks to preserve not only the

nation's fighting ships but its personnel as well.

Although our immediate concern was to ensure against further explosions,

the fleet personnel were also overwhelmed with grief over their brother officers

and men who, in serving their country, had suffered so tragically. But great as our

griefwas, we longed to honor them in the manner they so well deserved, and the

most impressive funeral service I have ever known was arranged.

Every officer and man of the fleet wished to attend the services, and it had to

be held on the fleet's athletic field to accommodate all of them. As junior

battleship captain, I was placed in charge of the funeral cortege. Led by the

massed bands of the fleet, with all officers in dress uniform, it was an inspiring

spectacle as they entered the field to the music of the funeral dirge—but little thought was given to that, because the focus ofeveryone's aching heart was upon

the fifty-six caskets, each covered with a flag and flowers, in rows across the

football field. In the sideline stands were thousands ofenlisted men ofthe fleet; at

285
An Admiral's Yarn

the ends were the thousands of civilians who came to honor the dead; in special

stands were the families of the deceased, while around the entire circumference

of the field stood rank after rank of mourning officers. The church service was

short, but it brought home to every navy man present that "in the midst oflife

we are in death."

The service over, the cortege and the massed bands marched off the field.

Perhaps in this world there is a more inspiring and heart-rending ceremony than

a navy funeral, though not to navy men. We returned from that one with a sadness men rarely feel or ever forget.

A few days later, the battle fleet left San Pedro for its summer cruise, stopping

at San Francisco for the Fourth ofJuly week and then proceeding to the Puget

Sound area. There was little unusual in the cruise, though we did enjoy the

manifold hospitalities of the Puget Sound ports between the sea maneuvers that

lasted a week at a time and were spent in training and practicing the fleet-in-war

operations. It was interesting but not always enjoyable, as the weather was

generally bad and fogs were frequent. Our mood was still somewhat downcast.

To my mind, of all the vicissitudes at sea, the most trying on captains is when

the fleet encounters thick fog. Fog is a worry to the captain even when his ship is operating singly, but more so when his ship is one of many in close formation

where even a slight change of speed or course by any ship may cause a collision.

Responsibility for the safety of over a thousand lives and a forty-milHon-dollar

ship is certain to bring worries to any captain in a fog, and they came to me that

summer.

One ofour worst fog areas is west and northwest ofthe Strait ofJuan de Fuca,

where our sea maneuvers were held that summer. Few days were entirely free of

fog, and frequently it was continuous for several days. Not only did I remain on

the bridge for five days but had to remain awake and alert for any emergency.

None came, I am thankful to say, but when at last we returned to port, I had been

sixty-two consecutive hours without any rest. I sometimes hear that eight hours

should be a day's work for a man at sea, and certainly it would be a relief if that

could be. However, I doubt if it ever will be, since the perils of the sea do not

observe union hours. Sailors must meet them without respect to hours of work,

be they stretches ofeight hours, twenty-four hours, or even several days. I believe

in unions and in union hours, but they do not work at sea. Between training periods, we visited Puget Sound ports from Port Angeles to

Tacoma and enjoyed their many hospitalities. Besides attending dinners,

receptions, luncheons, and dances, we were taken on numerous trips about the

surrounding country to view the scenic wonders. One such trip was up Mt.

Rainier to Paradise Inn, at the foot ofthe great glacier, where we spent two days.

286
Commanding a Battleship

The Inn is about halfway up the fourteen-thousand-foot peak, and the road

leading to it is as beautiful as it is spectacular. Above the inn, the mountain is covered by the glacier, and the great adventure is for visitors to climb to the

mountain top. To reach there takes a day and a half ofhard work, but the return

passage is made less difficult as the climbers wear what the guides call "tin

pants." Sitting in the pants, on the snow, you simply slide down the glacier to

the inn.

Through large telescopes we watched a "climb up" and a "slide down,"

which were most interesting. The only other sport was horseback riding.

Whether or not putting "sailors on horseback" was to work a time-honored

joke on us, I never learned; but the first thing I knew, admirals and captains were

on horses. We had a great time covering considerable distance along the foot of

the glacier and even examining ice caves and all sorts of unusual formations.

By the end of September, the fleet was once more in southern California

waters and starting another six months of strenuous gunnery training. During

these months we spent one week of each month in port for ship overhaul and

upkeep work, and two days at sea for fleet maneuvers. The remainder of the time

was used to prepare for and engage in target practice, which covered every form

of defense against an enemy. Ships fired singly at short range, battle range, and

extreme range, and singly practiced with torpedoes, anti-aircraft, and

anti-torpedo-boat batteries. Collectively, they fired at targets as they would in

battle, until at last every part of the fleet's fighting paraphernalia was as ready for

war as we could make it. The shooting season ended with spring, and our major training effort was

changed from gunnery to fleet operations at sea. In this practice, the entire fleet

engages in a great war game for about two months. Each year the game is based

on a particular naval problem. Those of 1925 were centered about the Hawaiian

Islands and were designed not only to test the defenses there but to train both

navy and army, the former in attacks on shore bases, the latter in defending

against them. In addition to the war problem, the operations that year were to

afford still other opportunities for training; the fleet was given orders to make a three-month cruise in the southern Pacific, visiting Samoa, Australia, and New

Zealand.

The fleet assembled in San Francisco Bay in April and, as was to be expected,

there was much ado over the upcoming war game and cruise. Not only was the

United States interested in a cruise that would culminate in a great gesture of

amity toward Australia and New Zealand, but there was even more excitement

in those islands; Australia went to the extent of sending its only official

287
An Admiral's Yarn

representative in the United States to speed the fleet on its way, while San

Francisco made every effort to honor the country's departing convoy.

Ofthe many parties that were tendered the fleet, the one that most impressed

me was the luncheon the Australian Commissioner gave for the admirals and

captains. While it differed little from other luncheons of international character,

including the speeches, the one given by the Australian Commissioner was quite

different and amazing, for after voicing Australia's welcome to the fleet, he added

words to this effect: "Officers of the fleet, you should not allow yourselves to

gauge Australia's welcome to the fleet by San Francisco's marvelous farewell. I concede the spontaneousness of that and realize that as a city San Francisco is most generous to the fleet. But last night as I walked down Market Street, I realized that something was missing when I saw groups of handsome, young

sailors and groups ofSan Francisco's lovely girls parading Market Street, allowing

only glances at each other. Your strict American custom demanded formal

introductions, and without them, they could not meet one another."

"Thank Heaven, you will not find introductions necessary in Australia. When

your young men encounter Australia's young ladies in Sydney or Melbourne,

they will be taken right to their bosoms, and I mean that literally as well as figuratively. Permit me to suggest, gentlemen, that you advise your men

accordingly."

Needless to say, the interest in the cruise was intensified to some extent after

that speech, and it may be that all minds in the fleet were not on our war games

when we stood out of the Golden Gate. But if such were the case, it was not

apparent. The fleet worked its hardest on the battle problem for some six weeks

and seemed to think ofnothing else. A royal welcome awaited us everywhere we

stopped along our way to Australia.

288
XXXVIII

We Visit the Antipodes

IT WAS IN JULY (WINTERTIME IN AUSTRALIA) when the fleet left

Honolulu. To many of us the voyage was just another cruise during which

training for war would continue throughout the day and night. Nevertheless, we

could not help but enjoy the many experiences of that journey.

The Samoan Islands were along our route both going and returning, and the

four thousand miles between Honolulu and Australia and New Zealand were

mostly in tropical waters where the weather was perfect for drills. We made the

most of it, but did not fail to observe the amenities, the most important

occurring when "crossing the line," an event for which every ship made

elaborate preparations.

I doubt if Father Neptune's minions ever had a busier day than when the

great fleet crossed the equator on its way to Samoa. Every ship had to be visited,

and each one of the thousands of men on board who had never before crossed

the line had to be initiated and accepted into his realm by the "God of the Sea."

Since the entire day ofcrossing was required for initiations, it was made a holiday

for the fleet, and all thoughts turned from war maneuvers to Father Neptune.

However, because the ceremony is an ancient one, the details of which are always carefully observed, I will not attempt to describe it here.

Where we crossed the equator, I fully realized how small the world had

become because of radio. When I was a youngster, a ship at sea was entirely

severed from the rest of the world. Later, ships could exchange wireless messages

with shore stations that were nearby, and when the battleship fleet made its cruise around the world in 1908, we received the big league baseball scores and a
An Admiral's Yarn

few news items every night. But by 1925, radio was covering the world rather

thoroughly. Not only were messages transmitted day and night, but news

broadcasting was such that every ship of the fleet turned out a little newspaper

each morning containing highlights of the world's news.

To sailors who had first experienced sea life in the old sailing ships before

radio was even dreamed of, the changes were impressive, especially since radio

was available for private telegrams as well as official messages and news

broadcasts. I was a bit skeptical about private messages—however, as the 24th of

July approached and with it my silver wedding anniversary. I was determined to

send greetings to my wife.

At that time, we were in the middle of the Pacific Ocean, while my wife and

daughter were in Paris, France. I knew of course that, given time, the message

would reach them, but in the hope that they might receive it when they

wakened on the 24th, I filed it the morning ofthe 23rd. To my utter amazement,

less than three hours after I sent it, I received a reply not only thanking me for

my message and extending anniversary greetings, but to my great comfort it told

me that my little family in Paris was in fine health. Though separated ten

thousand miles by sea and land, my family and I were only an hour or two apart

by wireless. How small the world had become.

Radio bettered life at sea, which had been improved in many other ways too,

one of which was in the care of the sick and wounded. When I joined the navy,

every ship had its doctor—larger vessels often had more than one—and every

man was given medical attention as good as he would have received at home in a

city. The doctors also performed emergency operations, but a patient requiring

hospitalization could receive it on shore only. During the Spanish War, the navy

acquired several "hospital ships" and stationed them at fleet bases. Those ships

marked a great advance in naval medical care and became a regular part of the

fleet, accompanying it on cruises, providing us with a hospital in every port. That

Australian cruise, however, was fraught with incidents that made us realize how

much we under-valued our hospital ships. One such occurrence was on the

Pennsylvania.

One afternoon while on our way to Samoa, the senior doctor of the ship

rushed to me and reported that one of our most beloved officers had acute

appendicitis and must be operated on at once. He said he could perform the

operation on the Pennsylvania, but it could be done more quickly and with far

greater prospects of success if the officer were transferred to the hospital ship. I therefore rushed a radio message to the commander in chief [Robert E.

Coontz], requesting the hospital ship's aid. Almost immediately that ship, which

was then leading the fleet, turned back, and the Pennsylvania was directed to

290
We Visit the Antipodes

leave formation and transfer the officer to it for treatment. Within an hour after

the case was reported to me, the patient had been transferred and the

Pennsylvania had rejoined the formation. In another hour the hospital ship

reported the operation a success. That experience revealed to all ofus how much

the care of naval men at sea had improved.

For the remainder ofthe run to Australia, all went as usual. The fleet anchored

for one day in the Samoan Islands on the southeastern side of Tutuila, and the

Pennsylvania was sent into Pago Pago harbor for a few hours. The small harbor

has room for but one battleship. Pago Pago, the capital of American Samoa, also

is the site ofour naval station. The harbor is fascinating; it appears to be the crater

of an extinct volcano, part of whose outside wall had fallen into the sea, thus

providing an entrance channel. The rest of the crater wall forms mountainous

cliffs close around the anchorage, and centuries of rain have produced a dense

growth oftropical trees that make the cliffs as beautiful as they are awe-inspiring.

But, because every few hours there would be a heavy downpour followed by

great heat, we were thankful to leave that pocket of far too much rain and

steaming heat. As we stood out, the fleet got underway for the last of the run to

Australia.

The ships of the fleet were divided into two parts for the visits to Australia

and New Zealand. One went to Sydney and Auckland and the other, to which

the Pennsylvania belonged, to Melbourne and Wellington. The city of

Melbourne looked about the same as it did when I was there in the Nebraska

eighteen years before, but, whereas all the ships had anchored out in the bay on

the previous visit, they now were assigned berths at the recently completed piers.

The one to which the Pennsylvania, two other battleships, and the fleet flagship

Seattle were moored was enormous. Even with two ships on each side, it had

room for two more. Because the huge pier could handle tens of thousands of

visitors at a time and all types of transportation to it were available, we received a tremendous welcome as soon as the ships secured.

The commander in chief at the time was a close and very dear friend of mine

who had been executive officer of the Nebraska on my previous visit to Australia.

Because of our duties on the first visit, neither of us had partaken of the

hospitalities then, so we both had much to learn and to enjoy on this, our second

visit to Australia. The commander in chief was certain to be on every important

invitation list, but to insure that I would be also, he informed me in Honolulu

that he had directed his aide to schedule me for them too.

I cannot begin to do justice in relating the many delightful entertainments.

They covered every day and night for the two weeks—official ones by the

governor general, the Australian Parliament, and the city of Melbourne, and

291
An Admiral's Yarn

unofficial ones by various organizations and individuals. In addition, a number

of one-day trips were made to nearby cities, one of which was a group of five

hundred men of whom I was given charge to take to a health resort in the hills

some sixty miles east of Melbourne.

That trip was delightful, and the town we visited outdid itself entertaining us. Unfortunately the weather was cold and, although southeastern Australia has a climate much like ours in southern California, artificial heat is often needed in

mid-winter. However, the heat in the buildings usually came from one open

fireplace which, while sufficiendy warming the Australians, left us feeling

uncomfortably cold.

Conversation often drifted to heat in houses, and while I was talking to a leading citizen of the town and his wife, they commented on the central heating

system of America and wondered how in the world we endured it. They said

they had been in a New York hotel one winter and almost "roasted." I cleared

the point a trifle by saying that, even though the weather outside might be zero,

Americans would open windows, something rarely done in Australia during the

winter, and also would turn off the heat occasionally. Our hosts seemed not to

realize that heaters could be adjusted, but even so, they did not care for central

heating.

About a week later I entertained the hospitality committee of that town at a luncheon on the Pennsylvania. The weather was like a fine fall day and the guests

seemed to enjoy themselves immensely. They arrived about eleven o'clock and

were shown over the ship before luncheon, but when that was over, they

remained right in my cabin until seven o'clock that evening. I finally asked if

they would kindly excuse me because I was obliged to dress for the House of

Parliament dinner. They soon departed, but before they left, the lady who had

condemned American central heating said to me, "You know, Captain, we

realize as well as you do that we should have left this ship hours ago, but we were

all warm for the first time this winter and decided to make the most ofit. Central

heating is indeed delightful."

Ofall the experiences that winter in Australia, the most interesting to me was

a four-day train tour, which included a party of sixty higher fleet officers, taken

around the state of Victoria. It was arranged to enable the outlying cities and

towns of the state to participate in Australia's welcome to the fleet, and they

responded with a great ovation. The train was the finest in Australia, used a few

months previously for a tour of the state by the then Prince of Wales, later

British King, and later the Duke ofWindsor, on his visit to the Commonwealth.

It was a fine train, comparable to those used in the United States for similar

292
We Visit the Antipodes

occasions, but because the state-owned railroads used different gauges, it was

forced to remain within the state. We lived in the train for four days—it had sleeping, dining, and "club" cars, one of which contained a wonderfully equipped bar, so it was quite an ideal

arrangement except that it did not have central heating, and the weather was

well below the freezing point. We were forced to wear overcoats, wrap ourselves

in blankets, and ask constantly for the hot-water foot warmers provided by the

train.

The schedule was a stiff one, and about the only good rest on the trip came

the first night. We left Melbourne at about dark in order to reach a Murray

River town on Victoria's northern boundary early the following day. From then

on, a typical day's festivities would start with a two-hour forenoon visit in the

town, a short run to another town for luncheon, a run to a third for an afternoon

reception and tea, and then to a fourth where we would attend a dinner and

grand ball. As the balls were generally all-night affairs, the train would wait until

about 3 a.m., and at that, we would barely catch it. In spite of our schedule being

strenuous we saw much of the state of Victoria.

We visited all ofits principal towns and cities, including Bendigo, Ballarat, and

Geelong. We were taken over Australia's mined-out gold fields, and we saw a few

of the immense ranches, which they call "stations," for huge herds of cattle and

sheep. In most respects the country did not appear greatly different from our

own. The people lived much as we do and faced similar problems. Their

automobiles were not quite as numerous, and all were American made.

Advertising signs in Australia were about the same as in our country, for

apparently most manufactured articles—from automobiles to sewing machines,

typewriters, and patent medicines—came from the United States.

Although Australia's entertainment, business, luxuries, habits, and problems

seemed about the same as our own, there was one different form of life we

particularly wanted to see—the wild kangaroos. We had seen them in zoos and

circuses but never in the wild. Since they are native to Australia, we had expected

to see many of them jumping about in the vast open spaces where the train

passed through. When we failed to see a single one the first two days of the trip,

all hands watched eagerly for them. The people at one of the small stations

brought a baby kangaroo to greet us, which only increased our desire to see wild

ones en masse. Then, when we were running between distant and far apart little towns in

western Victoria, we suddenly came upon a herd of a dozen or more kangaroos

jumping across a pasture, apparently frightened by the noise of the train, and we

293
An Admiral's Yam

had an excellent view of them. The newspaper men with us evinced even

greater excitement than we naval officers.

In discussing the trip after our return to Melbourne, a leading citizen told me

he had followed the newspaper account ofit with much interest. Then he added,

"But those reporters with you must have been storytellers. I believed everything

they wrote except their kangaroo story. That one was too much for me. Were

they drunk when they wrote it, or what happened?"

I looked at him in amazement, for to us those kangaroos were merely what

we expected to see. I asked the reason for his doubt, while stating that every

naval officer as well as the newspaper men saw them exactly as described in the

paper—the story was true. "Great Scot," said he, "there has not been a wild

kangaroo in this part of Australia for years, and if that is a fact, I once again take

off my hat to the Australians in entertaining visitors!"

Shortly after the tour, our stay in Australia ended. The usual functions marked

its close, perhaps the most outstanding being the fleet's farewell "reception and

ball," the largest affair of its kind that we could manage. The Pennsylvania had

been designed as a fleet flagship, and being the best-equipped for entertaining, it was chosen to do the honors. We soon realized, however, that for all its size, the

Pennsylvania would not hold all our invited guests, of whom there were legion.

We wished to entertain everyone who had entertained us, and thousands of

invitations were issued, not only to private individuals but to government and

city officials as well as the entire membership of many organizations. We knew

too that each of the invitations would bring whole families to the party, so we

prepared for an enormous gathering.

Fortunately the great pier and the three other large ships secured to it enabled

us to meet the situation. We arranged to receive our guests on the Pennsylvania,

using the other three ships for dancing, and the pier for promenading. In that

way we could care for thousands of guests—and we had them!

The invitations were for nine o'clock, but just as I was starting to dress for the

ball shortly before eight o'clock, the orderly hurried to the cabin to report that

guests were arriving. The early arrival greatly surprised me, just as it would, I knew, the other fleet officers. I therefore hustled into my evening uniform and

rushed messengers and signals to the commander in chief and the other ships.

How they did it I do not know, but before eight-thirty, all officers were at their

stations and the ball went off like clockwork. At nine o'clock, all other guests

being present, the Governor General, representative of Britain's King, came on

board. At this point, something became clear to me. In Great Britain and its Colonies, I surmised, guests must arrive before the King or his representative

appears. The wording in our invitations told Australians that the governor

294
We Visit the Antipodes

would arrive at nine o'clock; therefore, they were all on board to greet him well

before that time. Thus we learned an important lesson in British royal etiquette.

A day or two after the ball, the fleet left Australia, with the division at Melbourne going to Wellington, New Zealand's capital. To reach there, we

crossed the Tasman Sea, continuing on through Cook Strait between North and

South Islands. Having read much concerning the rough weather of the Tasman

Sea in winter, we expected what we found there. We were not, however,

prepared for the scenic splendors of New Zealand that we saw from Cook Strait

on that clear cool morning when we stood through the break in the great

mountain chain that extends the length of New Zealand.

Wellington, on North Island, lies at the eastern entrance to the strait and has

one of the most beautiful harbors I have ever seen. It is large, with high, steep

hills surrounding it, some of which jut out toward the bay like huge fingers. In

the city, the houses and buildings are of typically old English design, sprawling

over the hills, the red roofs showing through the trees, creating a remarkable

picture. The harbor apparently leaves nothing to be desired, but in actuality, it is not an ideal place for ships. Fierce squalls from the mountains rush across it so frequently that the city is spoken of as "Windy Wellington." We found it very

deserving of this name.

New Zealand's entertainment of the fleet was similar to Australia's, and we

were shown as many courtesies and attentions along the same lines.

Nevertheless, the two peoples were very different, I thought, for while the

Australians are quite outspoken like the Americans, New Zealanders have the

more formal manner of Englishmen. However, after greetings were over, we

found them very charming.

Aside from attending innumerable entertainments in Wellington, we were

shown historical places of interest and many wonderful factories, including

those producing woolen goods, etc. Never had we seen such blankets, steamer

rugs, and fabrics as we saw being made there, and every man in the fleet

purchased as much as he possibly could. Interesting though New Zealand's

greatest industry is, our sightseeing activities were not confined to it. Especially

intriguing to me was the visit to Parliament.

At one of the great banquets, I sat next to the "Speaker of the House," who

invited several ofus to attend one ofthe afternoon sessions ofParliament, which

of course we did. The "Capitol" of New Zealand, or Parliament as they call it, is the large, handsome structure one would expect the "Capitol" of a great

Commonwealth to be—but we were scarcely prepared for our reception there.

No sooner was our party announced to the speaker than he hurried out to great

and escort us into the "Chamber," where seated around the Speaker's table were

295
An Admiral's Yam

the members of Parliament. Being the senior officer present, I was given a seat

on the rostrum, and for nearly an hour we were treated as participants in the

legislative activities of New Zealand.

Then came time for tea, and in apparent accord with an old English custom,

the House took recess for it. Expecting the members to hurry to their restaurant,

our party started to say goodbye, whereupon the speaker informed us that we

were to have tea with them and we were conducted to a beautiful housekeeping

apartment in the Capitol. In addition to that apartment for the speaker and his

family, the building contained one for every member of Parliament. Thus we

learned something new about governments. Some are far more liberal toward

"public servants" than are others.

As many of the House members accompanied our party to tea, we soon

found ourselves in a gathering of New Zealand's political leaders, all of whom

seemed to be dominated by the Speaker's charming wife. Not only was she a perfect hostess for such an occasion, but she seemed to radiate a political wisdom

much sought after by the men. When at last I could engage her in conversation,

she told me much about New Zealand politics, on which she undoubtedly was

an authority. Then she greatly surprised me by saying that she was the daughter

of a Maori chief.

When New Zealand was discovered by the whites, it was inhabited by the

Maoris, perhaps the finest people in all the Polynesian Islands. Though they lived

in much the same way as other Polynesians, they were almost as light in coloring

as northern Europeans and were of a fine physique and appearance. In their

dealings they observed high standards of moral obligation. They were great

warriors, willing to fight for their land, but they had none of the

blood-thirstiness of savages and always fought fairly or not at all. Being a splendid people, they quickly won the hearts of the British who took the islands

and who have since then looked to the natives with pride, accepting them as equals. Many intermarried, and when we went to New Zealand we found that

many ofits finest men and women, its leaders, boasted Maori blood. Our hostess

was one ofthem and gave me a clear understanding ofMaori character and life. Scheduled for a few days later was a tour to Rotorua, which we were anxious

to make, and it proved to be the outstanding event of our visit to Zealand. Our

train left about mid-day from Wellington and carried us to a city where a fine,

small hotel provided a late dinner for us, gave us an impromptu dance, and put us up overnight. After an early breakfast we were taken the remainder ofthe way to

Rotorua in automobiles, stopping en route to see New Zealand's wonderful

caves, which are said to be the largest and most spectacular in the

world—although at that time the Carlsbad Caverns had not been opened. I

296
We Visit the Antipodes

know now that in size and in certain beauties, Carlsbad Caverns surpass them,

but in its "Glow Worm Cave," New Zealand apparently had something entirely

its own.

Glow Worm Cave, through which runs a subterranean stream, probably ranks

among the world's finest, but what makes it so utterly unique is the myriad of

glow worms that hang from the dome, outlining it in a pale blue ethereal light.

As artificial light is not permitted in the cavern, its darkness is intense. Too dark

for walking, we were taken through it in boats pulled along wires stretched over

the stream, with not a sound to be heard. We seemed to be in another world,

impressive and wonderful, but from which we were rather glad to emerge and

then enter our automobiles for Rotorua.

Rotorua is in the heart of what New Zealand calls the "thermal regions," an

immense national park filled with geysers, boiling springs, warm mineral springs,

fiery pits, and red hot fumaroles. Except for sightseers and those who go there

for medicinal baths, the area is a reservation for Maoris, where they may pursue

their own way oflife. The men carry on the agricultural work and industries of

the area, while the women, particularly the unmarried ones, in addition to their

household duties, act as guides for visitors. Besides its marvels ofnature, Rotorua

has the quiet charm of Maori life. Our party from Melbourne reached the Rotorua railroad station at the same

time a train from Auckland appeared with a contingent of officers from the part

of the fleet that was based there. After the two groups joined, we marched into

the native village at the entrance to the park where we were received in the

ancient Maori manner, the like of which we had never before experienced.

The village is built around a large plaza. In the plaza were groups of children,

old women, men, and girls. At the plaza entrance stood rows of the fiercest

looking warriors that can be imagined. All were garbed in accordance with the

old Maori ritual. In addition to their savage dress, the warriors were painted in a horrifying manner and carried long spears and huge war clubs. They made ugly

faces at us, stuck out their tongues, and acted sufficiendy ferocious to scare away

any enemy. Gradually the warriors fell back to allow us to enter the plaza.

Having thus been accepted by the Maoris, we were seated on one side of the

plaza, while in front of us they exhibited their native dances, their skill in

fighting, and cleverness in handling their peculiar weapons. It was a picturesque

performance in which we were very interested and regretted when it was time

for tea. After that we were shown "medicinal baths," and most of us tried one. The

one I was given was a sunken affair in a marble pit that had steps all around

297
An Admiral's Yarn

leading to the tub—quite enticing, I thought, but when I got into the horrible

smelling water I started to collapse and an attendant pulled me out.

After a hasty supper, we were taken to the amusement hall, a small theater

similar to those in our own little towns, where the Maoris put on a "musical

show." In collaboration with the natives, it had been composed and staged by

New Zealand's leading producers for the Prince of Wales' visit to Rotorua and

was repeated for us. We did not expect much of a show when we entered the

little theater, so were gready surprised when it proved to be quite beautiful and

delightful. Stage settings and acts were all based on Maori scenes and customs.

Into the music and songs was woven the full Maori personality of handsome

young men and beautiful girls. They seemed to be natural born actors, and they

put on a most convincing exhibition.

After the performance there was a grand ball with all Rotoruans in

attendance in native dress—quite a spectacular and unusual affair which we

enjoyed until the "wee small hours."

After breakfast the next morning we were shown Rotorua's natural wonders.

We had been told that the villagers would guide us, and we expected to find

them waiting for us in their native garments. Imagine our surprise when instead

of wonderfully bedecked natives, we were met by formally attired English ladies

and gentlemen. It was hard to believe they were the hosts and hostesses of the

night before. They conversed with us in beautiful English, proved to be highly

educated and well informed, and were vasdy pleased over having fooled us the

night before. Little wonder I think highly of Maori acting ability.

They made that morning a memorable one, and the wonders of the "thermal

regions" lost nothing by their exploitation of them. Each officer had a Maori

maiden guide watching over him to see that he did not burn a foot off in a fumarole by walking into boiling mud or springs or from being drenched by a geyser. At noon that day we were taken to our trains for a return to Wellington

and Auckland.

Our New Zealand visit was then almost over and farewell parties became the

order. After a Grand Ball given on the Pennsylvania, we regretfully got under way

and sailed for home ports.

298
XXXIX

We Return to the U.S.

A

GREATLY THOUGH WE ENJOYED OUR VISIT and interlude from

training, we were happy to be returning to our own United States. Off

Auckland, the two parts ofthe fleet reassembled, and from then on training at sea was again continuous.

The first break in it came at Samoa, where the fleet anchored off the island of

Tutuila for a few days. On the way to Australia, we had visited the windward

(southeastern) side of the island, but on the return trip we anchored in long lines

close to the shore on the lee (northwestern) side. From there, Tutuila looked

very different, for instead of high mountains rising abruptly from the rough

waters of a rockbound coast, there is a long sandy beach behind which hills rise

somewhat gradually into the mountains. The verdure and beauty of the island

are the same on both sides, but because the lee probably provides easier living, its nooks and crannies are rilled with small villages. Hidden away, they were not

visible from our anchorage, but scarcely were our anchors down before huge

canoes hurried from them to trade and barter with us. The ways of Samoans may not be different from the natives of other islands in

the South Pacific, but to us they were new and strange. The great canoes carried

not only coconuts, fruits, and curios for trade but also about forty natives—men,

women, and children. We learned later that each canoe was a native craft under

the charge of the village chief who was responsible for the welfare of the

inhabitants, and he had brought them to the ships with everything they had for

trade. Unfortunately, some of the men had elephantiasis, but as a people, they

were handsome and of splendid physique. What they had to barter, other than
An Admiral's Yam

fruit was rather crude, for having no tools as we know them, their curios were

mostly tapa cloth, miniature Samoan canoes, ferocious looking war clubs and

fantastic fighting weapons, mats, and other articles of plaited reeds and palm

leaves.

Apparently there was no trading competition between the canoes of the

different villages, although when a ship dropped anchor, the canoes engaged in a race to it. The canoe to first reach a ship "claimed" that vessel for its village.

Thereafter, no other canoe would approach that ship, and all of the ship's

intercourse with shore was always through the inhabitants of that one village.

The village that gained charge of the Pennsylvania was about the same size as the others, but was somewhat more important because of an experience it had

had with France. Many years before, when native tribes were supreme, a French

man-of-war visiting Tutuila had permitted its officers to land in the village,

where three of them were ambushed and killed by the wild Samoans. The

French, of course, retaliated, but later, when the island became peaceful once

more, France erected a small memorial cemetery in the village for the slain

officers. It was enclosed by an iron fence; the tombs were substantial and suitably

inscribed; and arrangements were made with the village to care for it. To impress

Samoans with the importance of the trust, the village was presented with the

gold-lace embroidered coat and cocked hat of an ambassador of France, to be

worn by the village chief on important occasions. Evidently it served its purpose,

for among the numerous villages, the one whose chief could sport such a coat

and hat stood at the very top of his fellow man.

Having acquired the Pennsylvania for his village, the chief called formally on

the Admiral [Coontz] and Captain [Laning] the morning after our arrival. On

anchoring, we had seen him in native garb in his village canoe and expected him

to appear in the same outfit when calling. But, although canoe, cargo, and the

other occupants were as before, the chief was of vastly different appearance.

Dressed otherwise as a native, he sported the ambassador's coat and cocked hat!

As he sat in his canoe, he looked rather imposing, but when he came over the

side, where the admiral and I met him to extend formal greetings, he appeared

much less so. Although he wore the usual native short pants and a shirt with tails out, his only other garments were the coat and cocked hat, neither of which

fitted him. His huge feet and legs were bare, his great arms far too long for the

coat, and because of their age, both coat and hat were badly worn and faded. On

our great modern battleship, he looked grotesque—a fact that bothered him not

at all. Accompanied by the several lesser lights of his village and a native interpreter,

he acted the chief and was treated as such. Neither to the Samoans nor to

300
We Return to the U.S.A.

ourselves was there anything ludicrous about the visit, and when it was time for

his departure, he invited the admiral, captain, and ten of the ship's officers to visit

his village. We accepted with alacrity. Soon after, we prepared our gifts, since gifts are the all-important feature of an official visit to a village. We took colored

cloth, broken tools, old garments and numerous cans of salmon, the food prized

above all others by Samoans.

The visit was one to remember. The coral reefs prevented our boat from

reaching the beach, so the natives waded out, carried us ashore on their backs,

and led us to the well-kept little cemetery. Then we were taken to the village of

some fifteen or twenty huts sprawled over about ten acres of cleared jungle. The

huts were all alike, thatch-covered domes set on about a dozen high posts

arranged in a circle. The huts were utterly bare and, except when mats were

hung from the roofs as screens, afforded no privacy. The floors were the hard, dry

earth.

Outside each was a small rock oven, but otherwise, the natives seemed to

possess absolutely nothing but the scanty clothing on their backs. If there were

any living conveniences, they were not visible, and in that climate and those

surroundings, it is probable that none were needed. I believe the natives

cultivated a few yams and perhaps raised a few pigs, but otherwise they seemed

to live on what grew wild. There was no evidence of their making curios.

The official welcome started in one of the huts. We officers and the leading

men of the village sat on mats in a large circle, made speeches, and then partook

of the native drink of welcome. The highly ceremonial drink was prepared in a

large calabash in the center of the circle. It contained no alcohol and was made

by soaking a native plant in the water of the calabash and then squeezing it out.

While we thought the drink seemed insipid and utterly without effect, the

whites on the island vociferously opposed its use by the natives in their

welcoming ceremonies, claiming it caused "trouble." Each of us drank the half

coconut shell of liquid passed to us by a Samoan warrior.

After the welcome speeches and drinking were completed, we were taken to

another hut for a feast. A large circle offresh palm leaves had been laid out on the

floor, and food for each village dignitary and guest had been arranged in piles

around its outer edge. In addition to the food, the place for the admiral boasted a bent pewter knife and fork and also a broken cup, the only eating utensils in the

village! We drank from freshly opened green coconuts and used our hands to

consume food. On the inside of the palm leaf circle, opposite each place on the

outside, sat a woman of the village waving a green palm leaf. The women were

not there to eat with us, so we thought their duty was to keep us cool by fanning

301
An Admiral's Yarn

us, but we soon learned they were there to fight off the millions of flies that

swarmed about us. As the measure ofa Samoan feast is determined by the number and size of the

yams served, this was probably a great affair, for at each place were six or eight

huge yams. Also there were many pieces of roast pig and much fruit. We tried to

eat a little of everything but found it difficult; the meat was overly tough and the

yams enormous. Consequendy, immense quantities of food remained when we

rose from the feast, and the women started shrieking and grabbing for it. It was

not that they were so hungry, but each one was supposed to gather in the

leftovers for her family. It was a Samoan custom.

After the feast we were taken through and around the village. All of the

inhabitants took part and we went to a hut overlooking a fair-sized open space

where the natives gave what they called their "Siva-siva dance." The dance had

many ramifications, since old men, young men, women, children, warriors, and

maidens all dramatize different features of Samoan life. The last presentation was

by unmarried girls, who, just as the sun went down, were apparendy offering

themselves to the guests in accordance with the old Samoan custom. At that

point our admiral announced it was a time to return to the ship, which we did.

Naturally we gave a return party on the Pennsylvania, and the entire village

came. The natives did not seem to care for our tables, chairs, or eating methods,

but after piling their food on paper plates, they squatted about the deck to eat. Afterward they made a series of speeches and then gave another "Siva-siva"

dance for the benefit of the Pennsylvania's crew. We were careful, however, to

send them ashore before sunset.

Although the battleships evidently impressed them greatly, the Samoans were

most excited over our airplanes which, not having been flown in Australia or New Zealand, were sent up daily for drill at Tutuila. In one of the flowery

orations that the native chiefs love to make, the oldest of them, who in his

younger days had been a great warrior, brought his speech to a close by speaking

of the aircraft. It was interpreted for us that he had recounted the legendary

history of the island and spoke of the wonders that our American occupation

had brought to it. Then he added, "We are not awed by your great ships that go

on the water or under the water, but when we were told that you have ships that

fly like birds we would not believe it. Now I have seen those ships that fly like

birds and I am ready to die."

Remarkable as our mechanical devices must have seemed to Samoans, I suspect some of our everyday customs were equally amazing, especially our use of money for trade. I discovered that when I tendered money for curios, the

natives did not want it and appeared not to know what it was. I tried to buy two

302
We Return to the U.S.A.

or three war clubs and a canoe, but when I offered money for them, they turned

me down. Thinking they might not be satisfied with the amount offered, I kept

raising my bid until it was seven dollars and a half, much more than the curios

were worth. The more I offered the more disgusted they became. At that point,

my Filipino mess boy came to me and suggested that I offer two enlisted men's

undershirts (which I think cost sixty-five cents each). That worked like a charm,

and not only did I get all the curios I had tried to buy but numerous sea-bean

necklaces, carved coconut shells, tapa cloths and the like. All for two shirts!

Our next run was to Honolulu where we interrupted fleet training for a week to enjoy Hawaii before returning to our California bases for six months of

intensive gunnery. The work was along the lines ofthe preceding winter, though

aircraft were much more important now. Not only did our larger ships have full

quotas of planes, but two huge aircraft carriers had also joined the fleet. Having

battleships, cruisers, destroyers, and submarines as well as aircraft gave us a navy

vastly different from the one I had joined as a boy. No longer was it merely a few

antiquated ships operating singly here and there over the world. It had become

an aggregation of powerful modern warships to be operated together as an

immense fighting team, and it was probably as well trained for war as any in the

world at that time.

To test its readiness, we had the annual war problem, that particular one

concentrating on the defense of the Panama Canal against an enemy in the

Pacific. After that main problem was completed, the fleet remained at Panama

about six weeks to engage in minor ones, but the Pennsylvania did not remain

there. Our time for Navy Yard overhaul had come, so when the big game was

over, the ship made a high-speed run to Puget Sound.

The overhaul took nearly two months, and at its end, about the first ofJune,

the Pennsylvania rejoined the fleet at San Pedro. Because I was then finishing my

allowed two years in command of a battleship, I prepared for shore duty by

requesting duty as a student at the Army War College—spending my time until

then at the Naval War College. The request was granted, and when my two years

in command were up, I relinquished the Pennsylvania to my successor. Leaving a ship at the end of a cruise is always trying, but leaving the last ship

an officer will ever command is a fearful strain on the heart strings. It marks his

end in the navy unless he should be selected for flag rank, and I had arrived at that point. But sad as I was over the possible ending of my sea-going life, I was

more distressed over leaving the Pennsylvania and the officers and men who, by

their tireless teamwork, indefatigable energy, and never-ending loyalty and

devotion, had kept the ship outstanding in spite ofevery handicap. Small wonder

I broke down when the entire ship's company gathered on deck to bid me

303
An Admiral's Yarn

good-bye; when officers manned the boat to take me ashore; when the band

played "Auld Lang Syne," and I was given a tremendous farewell cheer. I had

hardly recovered my voice that night when the crew gave a great ball in my

honor, and it was only after I had boarded the train the next day to start east that

it lost its huskiness.

304
XL

Shore Duty Again

TRYING THOUGH IT WAS TO LEAVE THE PENNSYLVANIA,

compensation lay ahead. My little family had toured Europe the last year of

my cruise and was now in Newport waiting to greet me when I reported to the

Naval War College. Since being together would mean personal happiness for us, my sadness over giving up command soon disappeared in the joyful anticipation

of resuming family life after the longest separation we had known. Reunions

had always beenjoyous for us, but ofthem all, this one meant the most, because it promised to keep the family together for a long time.

Our plan was a delightful one. We were to spendJuly and August in Newport

while I worked at the War College, and then live in Washington all winter

during my course at the Army War College. The arrangement seemed perfect.

I could continue my study of national defense, my family could enjoy Newport

and Washington, and best of all, we would be together.

However, no sooner had I reported to the Naval War College than I was

handed orders to proceed to Washington at once for temporary duty as senior

member of a Joint Army and Navy Board to plan the underwater defense of our

coasts and harbors. Those orders played havoc with our summer plans, but since

the Board would probably complete its work before the Army War College

course started, we still expected at least to carry out our winter plans. Because of

the heat in summer in Washington, and the uncertainties of the temporary duty,

my family remained in Newport.

It may seem that planning underwater defense for our coasts and harbors

would be a simple matter, but take it from me, it is far from that. Underwater
An Admiral's Yam

defense is an important part of the total defense system and must fit into it closely. Both navy and army have their parts to play, and with the divided

responsibilities, planning becomes difficult.

Perhaps the most severely criticized aspect of national defense is the seeming

friction between generals and admirals who are working together. Both groups

have been condemned for failing to cooperate, when actually the fault was rarely

theirs. The trouble generally arises from laws that delegate to each service

responsibility for certain parts of the coastal defense, but make neither service

responsible for the defense in its entirety. Thus the joint operations for defense

have had two masters, neither ofwhom can assume each other's responsibilities.

Though much thought was given to joint action before our Board met, little actual progress was made in overcoming the conflict in responsibility that had

been imposed by law. Our board consisted of experts on the underwater devices

of the two services, but since navy devices had to be used even within entrances

to harbors, and army devices had to be used well to seaward, we still faced the

same conflict in authority with all joint actions, whether they be in the air, on

the sea's surface, or under it. Nothing could be done until the board studied all plans and rules governing all joint coast defense activities. Under such

circumstances, we had to go far beyond our orders by assuming what would be

the general rules that should govern joint coast defense activities, and then plan

an underwater system that conformed to them. It was a considerable

undertaking, and we worked on it day and night. In one way, the weather helped

us, for without doubt, the seven weeks we worked were the hottest I have ever known. For ten consecutive days the mercury went to 105° or over. However,

instead of considering it too hot for work, we hustled all the more from eight in

the morning until after midnight every day, including Sundays, to finish the job.

We first drew up what we considered to be adequate rules to govern joint

action, and based on those rules, we planned for the underwater part of the

defense. Naturally our report went far beyond what we were directed to do, and

the Board felt quite satisfied with it, accepting fully our underwater plan.

As the Board's work neared an end, I began to look for a house in anticipation

of my family moving to Washington. I was surprised indeed when I received

word from the detail officer not to rent a house because I was to be ordered to

command the Naval Training Station in San Diego, California. Having

recently left the West Coast, and looking forward to a tour of duty in the East, I could hardly believe my change of orders. Going back meant the destruction of

our family plans. The news was upsetting because, not only would I be unable to

continue my war studies, but the plans of my family for a winter in Washington,

where our daughter was to make her debut, were completely wrecked.

306
Shore Duty Again

Command of the Training Station at San Diego is considered a "plum" in the

naval service, not only because it is splendidly equipped, but because southern

California is blessed with all the attractions of that type of climate, such as flowers and ease of living. We arrived to a warm welcome at the railroad station

by a delegation of San Diegans, who took us to the commanding officer's

quarters where we were made to feel at home.

I might write pages on that tour of duty—so different from any I had ever experienced. Having authority over one of San Diego's most prized naval assets,

we immediately became a part of the community's social and civic life. Since I also supervised the training of nearly all the navy's recruits from west of the

Mississippi Paver, we had a busy and interesting life. Having entered the navy at a time when its recruits were mosdy seagoing

foreigners picked up on the waterfronts of our seaport cities, it was indeed

revealing to see our naval recruits of 1926. All were young men a trifle over

eighteen years of age; all had gone to our public schools; and all were American

citizens. Though many had graduated from high school and some had been in

college, their combined education averaged over two years of high school work.

Nearly all of them joined the navy to prepare for the future and were sincere,

hard workers.

We Americans are ever boastful of our young men and of what they can

accomplish compared with others, but not long after I began training recruits,

and when I found they could do almost anything and do it well, I became more

boastful than anyone. I do not mean that they, as individuals, were "Jacks of all trades," but collectively they were. The specialties that recruits could select for

study covered every branch of naval activity, allowing them to choose what they

desired. Since the activities covered almost every line of human endeavors, small

wonder young men sought to join the navy. Not only did they receive pay while

learning the trade they wished to follow, but they could see the world while

doing it. To help young men perfect themselves in their specialties, the navy offered a number of educational courses covering all branches of public school work,

many of college work, and various specialties of the navy—electricity, radio, gas

engines, marine engines, ordnance, etc. All were available for the asking.

However, one man who said he was preparing for the ministry requested a course in "Ancient Hebrew," and I believe a partial course was arranged for him.

Although our time was well occupied, Sundays and holidays were free, and

we made the most of them. I purchased my first automobile and we spent many

interesting hours seeing southern California, the mountains, deserts and

seacoast. I took the opportunity to read many historical novels of the area and to

307
An Admiral's Yarn

visit the localities of the stories. It was fascinating to see where such stories as Charles Dana's Two Years before the Mast and Helen Hunt Jackson's Ramona had

their origin.

But not all our amusements were sightseeing or historical. There were other

adventures, such as being taken to Hollywood for the preview of a Marine

Corps movie featuring Lon Chaney, and being called on to fight overflowing

rivers after a deluge of rain. Of them all, the most exciting was Charles A.

Lindbergh's preparation for his famous transatlantic flight.

There was little interest in San Diego when a fair-haired aviator came there

seeking an airplane for a flight across the Adantic. Enterprising reporters wrote

short news squibs about it for the local papers, but in the area of huge navy, army,

and commercial air activities, Lindbergh's proposed flight attracted little public

attention. However, our recruits were intensely interested in flying and spent

much of their spare time at the commercial airfield and plant across the road

from our station, where Lindbergh's plane was being built. They soon came to

know all about the plane, and since Lindbergh himself was always friendly

toward them, his flight quickly became theirs.

At last the plane was assembled, and tuning it began—much of which was

done in the air over the station. The noise became terrific, though it did not

seem to annoy the recruits. They looked on that plane and Lindbergh as their

particular property and watched them by the hour. When the plane started

eastward, they eagerly noted its progress; and when the flight across the Atlantic

started, they could think of nothing else.

Although few of the several thousand experienced aviators of the

neighborhood thought one lone man could fly a plane all the way across the

Atlantic, the station's recruits were certain that Lindbergh could do it. Therefore,

while the flight was in progress [20-21 May 1927], it was difficult to get them to

think of anything else. When it ended successfully, they assumed the "I told you

so" attitude and returned to work.

Our radio loud speakers were busy spreading the news of Lindbergh's

triumphal ovations to the recruits, and I particularly recall his arrival in

Washington, D.C., where President Coolidge and the entire capital welcomed

him. What a great achievement and how small the world has become since then.

After a year at the Training Station, it began to appear that I would be under

consideration for selection to the rank of rear admiral when the Board met in

July, but at that time I gave little thought to being chosen. You can imagine my

surprise, therefore, when, while at my desk one morning, I heard a loud cheer in

my outer office and a clerk rushed in waving a telegram, shouting, "Captain,

Captain! You've been made an admiral." Never will I forget the thrill of that

308
Shore Duty Again

moment! My boyhood ambition had been to be an admiral in the navy, and for

thirty-six years I had worked steadily to become worthy of the rank. So, little wonder I was thrilled and excited over the news that I had made it.

I suspect my excitement transmitted itself to the entire Training Station. At

any rate, they hurried to do me honor, and my last few weeks there were exciting

with all sorts of entertainments to celebrate my promotion. And, as though that

were not enough joy, I received a message from the commander in chief of the

Battle Fleet asking me to be his chief of staff for the year he would be

commanding it. That invitation filled my cup ofjoy to overflowing, for not only

was I to be an admiral but also I was to assist in operating our country's Batde

Fleet, the paramount naval duty in war and the one for which I had worked years

to prepare myself.

309
0) <u o o o3 a

•g U CQ CQ

59 C/J ^ jS GO 00
XLI

At Sea as a Rear Admiral

ONE YEAR AFTER TAKING COMMAND of the San Diego Training

Station, I became a rear admiral and Chief of Staff of the Batde Fleet.

Having spent years preparing for such work, I was ready for it, and, as the

Commander in Chief [L.R. de Steigner] and I generally agreed on most

solutions to problems, we had an unusually happy year together, during which

19S the battle fleet improved steadily in fighting efficiency

The batde fleet's general schedule followed the pattern ofprevious years—six

months devoted to gunnery and tactical training at the regular base, three

months to major war exercises and games at sea, and three months to minor

exercises at San Francisco Bay or Puget Sound.

For the first six months my family took a house in Long Beach, California,

which was during the "winter season." Unlike most parts of the world, southern

California has two "seasons," both delightful, with very little difference in

temperatures. Visitors flocked there in winter to avoid freezing weather, snow,

and ice, and in summer to bask in the sunshine of a temperature that rarely rises

to 90°. About the only difference in California seasons is that beaches are crowded in summer compared to fewer bathers during the winter.

Our house was on the bluff, at the foot ofwhich lies the seven-mile beach for

which Long Beach is famous. Our view was magnificent. To our right, facing

the ocean, lay San Pedro harbor, full of ships, with mountain-like San Pedro Hill

rising spectacularly behind it. To our left the sea and beaches reached beyond the

horizon. In front, mountains rose in the sea to form the Santa Barbara Islands of

which the nearest and most famous is Santa Catalina.
An Admiral's Yarn

For scenery and delightful climate, we were on the "Riviera;" for naval

training work we had perhaps the most suitable base in the world.

It is difficult to conceive ofa more perfect setting for the intense naval activity

than we had that winter. However, we had more than a scenic setting and work

to interest us, for in our free time there were innumerable things to do and see. Pasadena, Palm Springs, Los Angeles, Santa Monica, and Hollywood, and other

world renowned spots were not far away. We could drive over Skyline Boulevard

and visit Lake Arrowhead high in the mountains in less than a day; we were

guests of Pasadena for its Rose Parade and Rose Bowl football game; we were

guests of Hollywood, invited to see movies being made, and among other

delightful experiences we visited Santa Barbara for the "Old Spanish Days

Fiesta" that had replaced the Flower Carnival of former years. All in all it was a marvelous winter; but still, when spring came, we were not averse to carrying

out the navy's great annual war games.

The games that year were centered on the Hawaiian Islands, and the major

problem for the batde fleet was to transfer its bases from California to Honolulu

without suffering seriously from the attacks ofan "enemy" who was particularly

strong in submarine activity. The operation was an excellent one, purposely

made difficult for the battle fleet by limiting its time to complete the movement,

thereby forcing it to pass through areas that would surely be covered by the

"enemy." For the fleet, the problem was twofold, first to evade as many of the

enemy forces as possible, and second to avoid being attacked by their submarines.

Since we had worked all winter on the latter problem and believed we had the

solution to it, evading the enemy became the all-important issue to us. If the

fleet could accomplish that, it would be completely successful.

In war, of course, each side endeavors to foresee everything the other side can

attempt, and then makes plans to defeat the other's efforts. Hence a vital factor in

war is to surprise the enemy and counter its ability to meet the attack. The

courses of action a naval force can take are generally controlled by factors, most

of which—strength, hitting power, speed, etc.—are usually well known to the

enemy. Hence, if an enemy is to be surprised at all, strategy or tactics are the tools

to accomplish it. In this case, we were so restricted by the moderate speed of

some of our ships that the only way we could create a strategic surprise was to

find a way to increase our speed beyond anything the enemy force would think

possible.

Though the battle fleet had many ships that could make fairly high speed, it also had a number of slow ships, such as submarines, supply, and repair ships. We

had a dozen subs capable of only 10!^ knots sustained speed, even on the surface,

and a repair ship that could make only 9/4 knots. The speed that a fleet can sail is

312
At Sea as a Rear Admiral

established by its slowest moving ships, and since the enemy knew our speed as well as we did, there seemed little likelihood, at first, of springing a surprise on

him. Then it occurred to me that we might accomplish our objective if we could

increase the speed of the slow ships by towing them. Accordingly, we arranged

for battleships to tow the slow submarines and for our highest speed tanker to

tow the 9 M-knot repair ship.

We hoped the towing scheme would enable the fleet to make as much as 12V£

knots per hour instead of 9V£, which in the ten or twelve days permitted for the

trip would give us six or eight hundred miles that we could utilize for a strategic

surprise move. We found, however, that we could count on only a 12-knot speed

by towing, but even that would allow us almost five hundred miles for a strategic

move—so we decided to make a southerly detour to where we would find

favorable trade winds and ocean currents to aid us. The added speed, for which the opposing force failed to prepare, did the trick

for us. It enabled us to slip around the southern end of the enemy scouting line

without discovery and approach Honolulu from the southwest instead of from

the expected northeast. In fact, when the battle fleet reached Honolulu, the

"enemy" was still searching for us some four hundred miles to eastward. The

surprise had worked perfectly.

The fleet remained in Hawaii for about six weeks, spending most of the time,

when not at sea, in Honolulu. Around the islands there was no end of "sea

room" for maneuvering, and since there were ships from other forces to act as an

"enemy" for the battle fleet, we could train the entire United States Battle Fleet

as a unit in the battle operations we had planned. The fleet was also kept busy

with many other forms of training, principally in conjunction with the army's

defense ofHawaii. Still we had some time for pleasures and made the most ofit. Because the fleet was to remain about six weeks in the islands, many officers'

families had arranged to be in Honolulu for that time, and when we arrived, they

were all set to greet us. The flagship was given a berth at a pier in Honolulu's

inner harbor, and as soon as the ship reached it, the commander in chief's family

and mine, heavily laden with Hawaiian leis, boarded and extend to us the usual

Hawaiian welcome. The admiral, however, refused to be decorated, so all the leis

were thrown over my head until I was fairly smothered with them—looking

anything but the Chief of Staff of the Batde Fleet. Suddenly out of nowhere

popped a dozen newspaper men with cameras to take our pictures, which to me

at the time seemed quite a joke. I learned later, however, that the pictures were

not a joke to them but were "news," and in about three weeks friends from all over the United States started sending me pictures of the leis episode, culled

from the newspapers. They had been published in rotogravure supplements all

313
An Admiral's Yarn

over the country, and though the texts under them credited me with being

Chief of Staff of the Battle Fleet, I cannot say I felt like one when I saw the

pictures.

Soon after our arrival, social activity began as the Islanders showered us with

hospitality. So busy were we in port that only while training at sea did we have

any relaxation at all. Still, we enjoyed ourselves.

My family had a hotel cottage on the beach at Waikiki. I had sent my

automobile to Honolulu with that of the commander in chief, so we were able

to move at will about the island of Oahu. We were shown everything of interest

including the ancient royal robes (made entirely of feathers), hula dances, native

feasts, the Pali, Mount Tautulus, the Punch Bowl, and Diamond Head. Also,

there were dinners, receptions, teas, and balls ad infinitum, all of which my

family enjoyed with me.

When our duty in the islands ended, the fleet returned to the West Coast, and

after another Fourth ofJuly in San Francisco, we went to Puget Sound. While in

Washington my family made another visit to Spruce Reach Cabin on the

Umpqua Paver, where Ave were somewhat shocked to see the changes there. In

the five years since our previous visit, several automobile roads had been

constructed, and the great forests were being opened. Trout was still to be caught

in the mountain streams, but otherwise the area appeared to have lost much ofits old backwoods' flavor. Spruce Reach Cabin still remained the most delightful

vacation spot I had ever known, but people visiting and settling in the

neighborhood did deprive it of some of its charm.

When the fleet returned to San Pedro and a new commander in chief

[William V. Pratt] took over, my tour as chief of staff ended and I was ordered to

command Battleship Division Two. I rather disliked giving up the work with the

battle fleet, but I had reached the point where I must exercise a flag command,

and I could not but be proud of the one given to me. Young rear admirals of that

day did not usually command a battleship division.

"Batdiv Two," as the command was called, belonged to what was then known

as the Scouting Fleet, stationed in the Atlantic. It was used in summer as a "practice squadron" for the Naval Academy, and when I took command, it had

just returned to Annapolis with the midshipmen. Its battleships were the oldest

in the navy, but they were still powerful fighting ships, one-fifth of the country's

battleship strength, and very important. But, being in the scouting fleet instead

of the battle fleet, and being composed of older ships, Batdiv Two had lost

prestige, and some of its personnel were discouraged—a condition to be

rectified immediately.

314
At Sea as a Rear Admiral

It so happened that the cruises of all the current captains of the ships expired

just as I assumed command, and new captains took over. They were all able and

energetic officers seeking to make good in their first big commands, and

therefore were quick to join in rebuilding the prestige of their ships and the

division. The tireless work and loyal efforts soon reaped results, and "Batdiv

Two" started on its upward trend.

That fall and winter the division cruised from New England to Panama. With

no opportunity to train after the midshipmen cruise, it was necessary to conduct

several forms of target practice off the Virginia Capes in September and

October. We did poorly, but after a Navy Yard overhaul, we went to the

Caribbean for the winter where we started in earnest on the rehabilitation. We

knew exactly what would make the division efficient in war and what would

make it a "smart division." Our goals were "efficiency and smartness," and

centered our efforts on attaining them.

We spent about two months at Guantanamo and then a month or two at the

Canal. While at Panama, the itinerary for the midshipman practice cruise for the

next summer was announced, and we learned that for the first time in years it would be in Europe. Inasmuch as all recent cruises had been along our Atlantic

Coast, the division was delighted. When my wife and daughter, who were in

Panama at the time, heard the news, they promptly announced they would go to

Europe for the summer too.

I pondered. Within one year they had visited Hawaii, the Pacific Northwest,

the Atlantic seaboard from New York to Hampton Roads, and were then in the

Canal Zone. Adding a three-month tour ofEurope to such travels seemed rather

staggering, particularly since they could be with me in only two of the ports we

were to visit. We discussed the issue pro and con for a week or two, my wife and

daughter taking the affirmative and I a rather weak negative. How long the

debate would have lasted if our daughter had not proposed that a vote be taken

was unknown. Finally, she took charge and asked, "Daddy, how do you vote?" I replied, "I vote no." Turning to her mother she asked how she would vote, and

to my amazement my wife voted "Yes." Thereupon our daughter shouted, "And

I vote 'yes,' so the vote is two to one and off to Europe we go!" They went, and

the result of the vote proved so happy that ever since then the family has

regarded that method of deciding questions as most satisfactory, and I strongly

recommend it. When Batdiv Two returned north after the winter's work, it was beginning to

"feel its oats." Its personnel had the exalted idea that they could do better work

than most could; that even if their ships were old they could keep them cleaner,

snappier, and better than new ones; and that within the limits of their somewhat

315
An Admiral's Yarn

outmoded gun batteries, they fought as well or better than any other ship. The

navy spirit was again rampant in Batdiv Two.

People may wonder how it happened that three of our battleships had

become reduced in fighting efficiency, but the cause is very clear. To keep a ship

in fighting readiness, its crew must be permanendy on board and practice daily as a fighting team. Unfortunately, that very obvious rule had not been observed for

Batdiv Two. Each year when it was being used for the midshipmen's practice

cruise, a considerable portion of the fighting crews of the ship would be

removed in May and not replaced until September, after the cruise ended. The

men retained on a ship were there to train the midshipmen but not to engage in

team fighting. Thus for four months of each year, the ships were without

fighting crews, and all effort was concentrated on teaching midshipmen the ways

of life at sea. Small wonder that with fighting crews for only eight months of a year, the ships suffered in war efficiency.

Realizing that Batdiv Two could never maintain the navy fighting standard

under such circumstances, we sought ways to retain and train the fighting crews,

even with the midshipmen on board. Doing so seemed hopeless at first, but by

consulting together and devising ways to gain additional space for midshipmen,

we ultimately arranged matters in such a way that we could carry the

midshipmen quotas in addition to holding nearly every man in a key position in

the regular fighting complements. Therefore, on the cruise in 1929, each ship

carried almost two crews, one of midshipmen for training and another for

fighting the ship.

That two-crew system about doubled the work for the ship's officers, since

both crews had to be trained daily. However, we arranged a schedule that would

do that. We started our drills much earlier and continued with them much

longer. Midshipmen gun crews were exercised first and then turned over to the

Naval Academy officers who supervised their instruction in technical subjects.

Thereupon the regular crews took up their battle training, and for the rest of the

day midshipmen and regular crews underwent training simultaneously.

Strange to say, both midshipmen and regular crews seemed to enjoy working

under such heavy pressure and soon started an unofficial competition between

themselves in developing fighting efficiency. This, of course, made for cruise

success, and the results proved far beyond our fondest hopes. When the cruise

ended, each of our ships had a highly skilled regular fighting crew and

well-trained midshipmen.

316
XLII

A Cruise to Europe

LEAVING ANNAPOLIS IMMEDIATELY after graduation day, the Practice

Squadron started for Europe en route ports in Barcelona, Naples, Gibraltar,

and Weymouth, England.

Standing out of the Chesapeake the weather was fine, but almost immediately

the barometer began to drop and the predictions became bad. We knew we were

in for a storm. It hit us the next day with a northeast wind that quickly rose to gale

force and created a very heavy sea. Apparendy our course across the Atlantic was

the very track of the storm, for we went along in it for ten days before it finally

passed ahead of us. During that time the ships took a terrific pounding, huge seas boarded them and did considerable damage. Boats were badly smashed and the

midshipmen learned rather quickly what might be expected in a life at sea. Of course they were horribly seasick, and I suspect many would have given

up sea careers then and there had we not required them to go right on with

routine work—seasick or not. Doing that may seem heardess, but men who

follow the sea learn early that no matter what the weather is, their work must be

done. At sailor may be considered incapacitated from other illnesses but never from seasickness. So the storm could really be considered a blessing in disguise

for the midshipmen. From it they learned something ofthe responsibilities ofsea

life. At the same time, they developed their "sea legs"—some would never again

have to worry over that type of sickness, and almost all the others knew they

would adjust and recover quickly enough when it recurred.

However, one result ofmiddy seasickness on previous cruises had been a great

increase in appendicitis among those stricken, so a navy specialist was sent on
An Admiral's Yarn

this cruise to operate immediately should a case develop. I was hopeful he might

be merely a passenger, but after about a week in that storm, one of the ships

made a sudden call for his service. At that time the seas were enormous, and the

ships were jumping around like so many corks. I hesitated to lower a boat to

transfer the doctor, feeling, too, a doubt that he could successfully operate in

such a storm. However, the doctor was willing to take the chance so the

squadron hove to, and a boat with the doctor in it was lowered without being

smashed. We were fearful every second that the boat would swamp in the

tremendous seas, and more fearful it would smash up alongside the other ship.

Our prayers were answered when the boat went under the ship's crane, which

hoisted the doctor on board. The boat then returned to the flagship where our

own crane hooked on and hoisted it on board. What had appeared to be the

impossible had been accomplished without mishap; but the delicate appendicitis

operation, to be performed aboard a heavily pounding ship, had yet to be

accomplished.

I had long known that most ofour naval surgeons were the peers ofany in the

world and quite as good sailors too. It was only about an hour after the specialist

had boarded that the ship reported the operation completed successfully, and we

could breathe easily once more. But our troubles with appendicitis were not

over. That night a middy on the flagship developed an acute case, and early next

morning he was operated on successfully. There was a third case, while we were

in port, so it was easily handled.

Our first stop was Barcelona, Spain, where a great "World Industrial

Exposition" was being held. Even without an exposition, Barcelona is well

worth a visit, and pages might be written about Spain's great industrial city, its beauties, and places of interest in the country about it. Such descriptions are far

beyond my ability to offer, but I will relate some ofour experiences while there.

The first had to do with hotel accommodations, since my wife and daughter

were to join me. I had written ahead to hotels and to my surprise was informed

that two rooms with bath, without food, would cost me half again as much per

day as the United States paid me for commanding a division of its battleships.

That struck me as a rather steep price for merely a place to sleep, so I decided to

seek a less expensive hotel. At the time I was in correspondence with the U.S.

Consul-General at Barcelona [Nathaniel B. Stewart] in connection with the

official features of our visit, and I told him of our hotel predicament and asked if

he could have someone from his office meet my wife and daughter on arrival

and find a more reasonably priced place for them to stay. Imagine my surprise

when on reaching Barcelona the Consul's representative boarded the flagship

318
A Cruise to Europe

immediately and told me my family had arrived safely and were awaiting me at Barcelona's "swankiest" hotel, the one that had quoted the highest rates of all! When I reached there I found we had been assigned a beautiful suite, were

having a great fuss made over us by the entire menage, and that the hotel was

flying a large United States flag. Having some idea of what the cost would be, I was somewhat appalled to think of what I was in for until the Consul-General

informed me that as commander of an American squadron on an official visit to

the city, I was entitled to diplomatic courtesies. He said that every hotel in

Barcelona wanted us as guests and the charges would be nominal. They were. The consuls were as eager as I to uphold the prestige of our country, and they

looked out for us well, extending to us all the courtesies that a member of a reigning family might expect.

Immediately the exchange ofofficial calls had been completed, the hospitality

of Barcelona opened in full with dinners, luncheons, receptions, and dances. I daresay our having so many handsome young midshipmen, all excellent dancers

as well as being attractive, added considerably to the attentions shown us. Aside

from social activities, there was the Exposition to see, trips to the monasteries of

mountainous Catalonia and visits to the museums, churches, and cathedrals. But

ofall, Barcelona's night life taxed us most. It did not really begin until one or two

in the morning, and then for two or three hours the whole city turned out to

parade the "Avenue" and fill the cafes, restaurants, and clubs with strenuous

gaiety. Each night was almost a "Carnival Night," but since our days had to be

devoted to work, we needed relaxation.

Soon, too, I noted a peculiarity in the attentions shown us, which though

multitudinous, were not of the official nature usually bestowed upon visiting

ships of another country. Individuals and organizations outdid themselves to

honor us, but except for exchanging "official calls," we were scarcely noticed by

the Spanish government officials. Commenting on this to the Consul-General, I was surprised to learn that the laws we Americans made for our internal welfare

often did considerable injury to other countries.

The cause of Spain's official coolness toward us that summer was a tariff bill

which, while passed by one of the Houses of Congress, was not a law because

adjournment had preempted it being taken up for vote by the other House. The

bill, if enacted into law, would increase tariffs on certain imports. We had given

little thought to it because it was still far from becoming a law. Spain was greatly

upset over an anticipated increase in duty on items such as olives and their

by-products, laces, etc.—increases which seemed of little importance to us, apparently. However, to Spain the increase meant that many thousands of its poorer families would lose the principal market for their products, so the

319
An Admiral's Yarn

Spanish government showed its displeasure over the bill through coolness

toward us. Thus I came to understand the effects that tariffs can have on

international relations.

But for all the official coolness and the strenuousness of the unofficial

entertaining, we enjoyed Barcelona, and before leaving gave a great reception on

the flagship in return for the many courtesies shown us. That reception was

planned with great care, and to make sure no one was overlooked, the

Consul-General worked with us on the invitation list. When it was completed,

we found we had to issue over three hundred and fifty invitations—a goodly

number of guests to care for on a ship anchored well outside the harbor in the

open Mediterranean. However, when I suggested to the Consul-General that

we were possibly inviting more people than we could care for properly, he

laughed and said, "Don't worry, I know these Catalonians, and not one-half of

those invited will venture that far from shore."

That relieved my mind, so I ordered all officers not on duty and three

hundred middies to assist at the reception, make ready for five or six hundred

guests, and ordered every powerboat in the squadron to carry guests to and from

the ship.

It was well we had so many boats, for although the expected guests numbered

fewer than four hundred, I think all who were invited came and brought their

sisters, cousins, and aunts in addition to their daughters and nieces. The boats

could scarcely handle the crowds and soon we had over fifteen hundred guests

on board, of whom a thousand or more were young ladies the age of

midshipmen. Realizing that three hundred midshipmen were far too few for so many girls, I made signal for all midshipmen still on the ships to come to the

party at once, and soon our decks were crowded.

Since we were not sufficiently familiar with Spanish social customs, we soon

found a great mass ofmiddies on deck amidships, while along the ship's rail, with

their duennas, were hundreds of girls waiting to dance with the middies. Our

giant navigator of the flagship, Jack Shafroth, suggested a "Paul Jones," and he

managed to succeed in arranging the girls and middies alternately in a huge

circle that extend completely around the ship's deck. Then ordering "grand

right and left," which of course the middies understood, it was not long before

the girls and middies were at least shaking hands. Then, when he blew a whistle,

they started waltzing. It seemed for a minute that we were set for a good party,

but no sooner was the waltz over than the girls rushed back to their duennas.

Once again we found ourselves in the original dilemma. We started another Paul

Jones and passed word to the middies to keep the girls away from their

chaperonesses when the waltz ended, and soon the party became a huge success.

320
A Cruise to Europe

True, the unexpected crowd quickly consumed all of our refreshments, but

otherwise there were not any real flaws.

As stated in the invitations, the time for the reception was from four until seven o'clock, and most of the guests arrived promptly at four. Nevertheless,

when seven o'clock came, not one made a move to leave the ship, for by then the

dancing was at its height. When at eight o'clock there were still no departures,

and it was time for us to prepare for dinners being given us on shore, I directed

the band to play the national airs and so end the party. However, our guests did

not respond. In fact one lady, whose husband had been the Spanish Minister to

Washington, and who spoke English perfectly, rushed to me and said, "Admiral,

why do you play the national airs now when we are all having such a good

time?" When I told her we must send our guests safely ashore before dark and

that we officers were due at dinners and other engagements ashore, she sniffed

and said, "Well, we don't care to go home now. We are ready to dance all night

and leave at dawn in the morning. Why is it when you Americans come to

Barcelona, you do not observe our ways? If while you are here you would do

everything three hours later than your American schedule, you would be on

ours. You make the midshipmen return to the ships at midnight, which is just

the time enjoyment is starting with us. Do learn to observe our ways when you

visit us." Of course we could not oblige the lady, so the party ended. Two days

later we went to Naples.

We found Naples quite different from Barcelona—not nearly as many

entertainments and more things to see. However, the Italians were just as cool to us officially as the Spaniards had been, and except for the usual courtesy calls,

paid little attention to us. Even the vice admiral in command of the local naval

activities avoided us, his aide telling mine that the admiral had intended to honor

us with a large dinner but had received word from Rome not to extend official

courtesies. When I asked why the Italians were so against us, I was told that it was

due to our proposed tariff on preserved cherries, from which practically all of

the small farmers on the slopes of the Apennines derived their living. Perhaps

there were other causes, too, but Italy was so displeased that it was boycotting

both United States products and U.S. officials.

I had intended to visit Rome, and arrangements had been made for my family

and me to have an audience with the Pope [Pius XI] . However, we did not make

the trip (although my wife and daughter did so later) as our naval attache

informed me that even though I would be going to Rome unofficially for a papal audience, I would still be obliged to call officially on the King and on

Mussolini. I felt it best not to go at all and remained in Naples, seeing many

321
An Admiral's Yarn

points of interest thereabouts, such as Vesuvius, Pompeii, Sorrento, and the

famous Amain* Drive, and also Capri with its famous Blue Grotto.

Fortunately the midshipmen were not so restricted as I, for they not only saw

all the interesting places that we saw, but they also went to Rome. For that visit

they were divided into two groups, each numbering about five hundred and

each staying there two full days. Of course that was far too little time to see Rome, but one of the great tourist agencies handled the middies' trip and they

probably saw as much in their visits as most tourists would see in a week. In

addition, each party was given an audience with the Pope.

When the first party returned, our chaplain, who was a Catholic priest and

had accompanied the midshipmen, immediately reported on the visit. Evidently

it was a great success, and what most impressed him about it was, of course, the

audience with the Holy Father, who was exceedingly gracious to the middies.

So pleased were they by his cordial reception that when the audience ended and

a middy called for three cheers for the Pope, the cheers were given so heartily

that they resounded throughout the Vatican. I could not but shudder when told

ofthe cheering, for I felt the Pope must have been greatly shocked by it. "Oh no,

not at all" said the chaplain. "He liked it." After the second midshipmen party made its visit, the chaplain reported it to

be even more successful than the first, although I had cautioned against any such

repeat of enthusiastic outburst. When I expressed the hope that the second

group had been more decorous than the first and had not done any cheering in

the presence of the Pope, the chaplain looked at me in disgust and said,

"Admiral, you don't suppose the second party was going to be outdone by the

first, do you? When their audience ended, the cheerleader called for the Naval

Academy '4 N' with three 'Pope's' at the end. I wish you could have heard it." When I asked if the Pope had not been deeply shocked and angry over it, I was

assured that he was delighted, especially when the cheer ended with "Pope!

Pope!! Pope!!!" If he was not shocked, I was!

The next port after Naples was Gibraltar, which, being a British military and

naval outpost, received us quite differently than ports previously visited. Not

only was the squadron made very welcome, but we were once again in a naval-military atmosphere rather than one of international relationship. There

were few sights to be seen there, and our stay was brief.

Our next port was Weymouth in southern England, where the British fairly

overwhelmed us with courtesies. Weymouth is a well-known summer resort

bordering on Portland Hill, the small but well-known naval station. Three

British battleships had been sent there to welcome us, and every attention

322
A Cruise to Europe

possible was extended to us, not only by the navy but by the people of Great

Britain.

Weymouth is an interesting city, formed by several old towns growing into

each other: Weymouth, Melcombe Regis, and Wyhe Regis. The steep green

hills ofDorset Heights rise behind it, and on one side, visible for twenty miles at sea, is a huge picture, inlaid of white rock, of a man on horseback standing

toward the town. It represented King George III on his way to Weymouth

where he spent his summers, and brought to mind the close association of

Weymouth with the last king to govern the American Colonies. It made us

realize that we might find much connected with the colonial history of the

United States in that neighborhood.

The first fact of historical interest developed almost immediately when I returned the official call of the mayor ofWeymouth and Melcombe Regis. The

"City Hall" ofWeymouth is across a small park from the head of the pier where

the boat landing is, and I was taken direcdy to it on arrival. When the call was

over, the mayor announced that he would walk back to my boat with me so that

a photograph of us together might be taken at the "monument," which was

close to where I had stepped ashore and could easily be seen from the head of

the pier. As I surmised, it had to do with the pilgrimage, after the one by the

Mayflower. The mayor related that at Plymouth there is the famous "Plymouth

Rock" marking the spot where the Pilgrim Fathers boarded the Mayflower for

their passage to America; but in Weymouth, the monument represented the

"Salem Pilgrims," where they embarked eight years later to found the colony of

Salem. He continued, "I think it would be fitting for us to be photographed

together in front of the monument that marks that spot." Strange that in my two

consecutive visits to England I would, on the first visit, which was in connection

with the first transatlantic air flight, step on English soil at the spot from which

the Pilgrim Fathers had left England, and on my second visit, stand on the

ground from which the Salem Pilgrims had departed for America.

Litde do we realize how closely our colonial history is joined to southern

England, which our visit to Weymouth impressed upon us. The automobile

trips constandy led us to towns and localities connected with the founding of

our country. Recalling and discussing these connections in a casual way as we

went along, we were quite surprised when near the end of our visit the mayor

said, "These little trips with you have opened my eyes historically. I was born and

raised in this vicinity, but not until you Americans came here did I realize how

little I knew of its importance in your country's early history. I may be showing

history to you, but you are teaching it to me."

323
An Admiral's Yarn

There was more to those trips than history—we were seeing the attractions of

rural England, its simple but fascinating homes, it flowers and splendidly kept

gardens, its attractive tiny shops with the unusual signs and names, and its many

inns where we longed to stop>and enjoy the quaint quietness. When I called on

the major, I had expressed a wish to see something of the countryside and

particularly the great estates of the region. Therefore, I was not surprised on the

first trip we made that the mayor announced we were to stop for tea at the

largest and most beautiful estate in the south of England.

When we reached it, we were received by the family, and although they were

most gracious, I could not but feel that instead of being invited to the estate as the mayor had made it seem, we had apparently forced ourselves upon the

owners. Accordingly, when we returned to Weymouth, I directed my aide to

ascertain the preliminaries of our visit to the estate and found that we had not

been invited at all but that the mayor had merely telephoned that the "American

admiral" wished to visit at four o'clock and, adhering to Britain's customary

courtesy to foreign officials, the family had shown us every hospitality. However,

having no wish to thrust myself on British noble families, I requested the mayor

not to repeat such trips. There were enough other trips ofinterest, including one

of two days in London.

But to me the outstanding effort of sincere hospitality demonstrated by the

people ofWeymouth was the mayor's official banquet given at the King George

III Hotel. When the invitation came, we thought it just another large civic

dinner, but when we entered the hotel I realized it was to be quite different. The

fine appearing attendants in gold-braided, red velvet uniforms directed us not to

an ordinary hotel reception room but to an oak-paneled drawing room with

handsome furnishings. When the guests had assembled, a large double door at the end of the room opened and there stood two elderly men in red uniforms,

each bearing an enormous brass mace. Thereupon, the mayor took my arm and

announced that we would led the way to the dining room. When we reached

the double doors, the mace bearers faced about, and marching ahead down the

hall between two rows of the uniformed attendants, led us to the dining room

where they took positions directly behind the chairs that the major and I were to

occupy That march to dinner was quite the most formal I had ever known, and

even when the guests were seated, the formality continued for a time. Noting

that the dining room was unlike that ofthe usual hotel, I commented on it to the

mayor, who thereupon said to me, "No, this hotel is not like the modern hotel.

This part of it was the summer residence of George III and has had few changes.

In fact, this room has not been altered at all. Weymouth glories in its history and

tries to follow the old traditions. For instance, we are proud of the maces that led

324
A Cruise to Europe

us into this room and never fail to use them on occasions of state. They were

presented to Weymouth over seven hundred years ago and have been used ever

since." When I asked if the elderly men carrying the maces had come with them,

he said, not even smiling, "No, those men are newer and the finest looking of

our retired police officers. They will stand there like ramrods until dismissed,

which I will do now and end some of the formality."

It is probable that where I sat at that dinner was the approximate place

occupied by George III during the days when the American colonies were not

in accord with his administration. However, times had changed since George III. The United States had become a great country; it had almost forgotten the reign

of George III; and instead of being hostile, Great Britain, possibly because of

him, had become its ally in the World War.

Although it was rather a new experience for me to give an after-dinner

speech in such an atmosphere, I did so. After the usual farewell party on the flagship, the squadron left for home. The

return passage was delightful, the weather clear, and the sea sufficiendy rough to

afford excellent training conditions. After the pleasures ofEurope, all hands were

apparently glad to be at work again, and the training went on almost

continuously day and night. It was very thorough and the gunnery and other

officers reported splendid results. Nevertheless, I was apprehensive of what

might develop later in our target practice and fleet maneuvers. Would our

training system continue to prove its efficiency?

The midshipmen target practices were held as soon as the ships had been

fueled and provisioned after reaching Hampton Roads. They were surprisingly

splendid; never before had middies made such scores. They even broke the best

records of our ships' type of 14-inch turrets, no small feat in itself, and a

particularly fine one for midshipmen. Hence, we were very proud of ourselves

when we returned to Annapolis, but we became even more so when the

Academy authorities informed us that, in their opinions, it was the most

successful cruise midshipmen had ever experienced.

Getting our ships back to normal routine after the three months of practice

cruise was not difficult under our new plan, and after a week for stabilization, we

went out to fire the ships' own "short-range battle practice." Having seen the

middies break the previous record for their type ofturret, the regular crews were

on their mettle and proceeded to outdo them, chalking up even better records.

The morale had become very high, the ships were "spic and span," and because

we had become particularly proficient in battle maneuvering, we no longer

thought of ourselves as "has beens" but rather as fine examples for even new

ships.

325
An Admiral's Yarn

After carrying out further training details and being docked and repaired at navy yards, the division was sent south with the scouting fleet for winter

training. During most of it we based on Guantanamo for long-range battle

practices off Gonaives, Haiti, and anti-aircraft practices in the Caribbean. To

break the monotony of the heavy shooting schedule, we were sent to Puerto

Rican ports for a week, and from Mayagiiez, Ponce, and San Juan we were

shown over most of that remarkably beautiful and fertile island. Later, when the

target practices had been completed, the scouting fleet was sent through the

canal to join the battle fleet from California bases for several weeks of combined

maneuvers in the Pacific and the Gulf of Panama. When the two fleets

combined, Batdiv Two was given a place in the "battle line." It had never trained

in battle maneuvers, and for that reason I was somewhat fearful of the showing

we might make in such skilled company, although knowing what would be

expected ofthe division were it put in the battle line, we had worked assiduously

to develop precision in all batde movements. I quickly learned that our training

work had been thorough. The division not only showed a complete

understanding of battle tactics, but also it proved outstanding in the precision

with which it maneuvered.

In addition to noting these facts, the commander in chief of the fleet also

noted the excellent appearance of our ships, their efficient operation, and the

"cockiness" of personnel that ever sought to do things better than anyone else.

The tremendous improvement of Batdiv Two was remarked about throughout

the fleet and was a considerable reward for our efforts. But the greatest reward

came from the commander in chief himself, who characterized "Batdiv Two" as one of the smart, if not the smartest, divisions in the entire fleet. It could shoot,

maneuver, and fight as well as the fleet's best. However, all this could not have

been accomplished without the splendid cooperation ofevery man on board the

ships.

That cruise lasted about five months, and not until early May 1930 did we

return north to prepare for another practice cruise. By that time I had been on

sea duty for almost three years and had commanded a battleship division for two

of them. I knew I would be assigned shore duty that summer, and I requested

duty as President of the Naval War College, for which I felt quite prepared,

having concentrated on naval war operations for years. I had little hope of being

so assigned, however, so you can imagine my delight to learn, when the slate for

flag officer assignments was announced by radio the day before Batdiv Two

reached New York, that I was to have the duty I wanted. I was slated to be

President of the Naval War College.

326
XLIII

President of the Naval War College

INJUNE 1930 I TOOK OVER MY NEW DUTY, and on July 14th the college

year opened. Inasmuch as training for high naval command must keep abreast or even somewhat ahead of the changes in sea warfare brought about by new

inventions and improved methods and equipment, the college courses are anything but static. They must reflect naval developments, actual and proposed,

and employ them in miniature war operations for the students' application. It is through this training that officers are prepared for the conduit of wars for today

and tomorrow.

Though not always credited with being "up-to-date" by taking advantage of

new ideas in sea warfare, the United States Navy, thanks to its War College,

probably has the most advanced officer personnel in the world. Although the

college uses the fleet as it is actually built, or being built, for its games, the navies

that oppose us are given every known improvement, whether or not the United

States has adopted it. Since our students operate the other navies as well as our own in the games,

nothing new is overlooked, be it for the sea surface, under the sea, or in the air. Every form of attack and defense that hundreds of skilled officers can imagine

are tested so that very little connected with fighting at sea is neglected.

Nevertheless, in spite of that, I have often heard men, who are entirely

uninformed concerning war at sea, express beliefs that certain weapons or types

of ships will dominate all others and should replace the existing, when, as a matter of fact, what they advocate has generally been thoroughly tested at the

college and perhaps been found wanting.
An Admiral's Yarn

For instance, the navy is frequently criticized because it does not accept as a

fact the complete domination of the sea by air or underwater forces, and its officers are said to have some ulterior motive because they do not admit it. Those critics fail to realize that naval officers, more than anyone else, want to

win our wars at sea and care little as to the kind of weapon used, only that it be

legal and bring victory. For that reason they try out every device, every method,

and every suggestion, but advocate only those with satisfactory results. The

writings and talks of columnists and others unacquainted with sea warfare or with the practical utilization of sea weapons cannot convince the navy to adopt

unproven ideas. The navy tries every new, feasible, and worthwhile suggestion,

hoping to find more certain ways to win a war. It does not however, accept

neophyte suggestions.

Though the college devotes most of its time to practicing war operations, its students are required to study the policies of the various world powers to

ascertain in what ways they may conflict with our own. Where friction appears

possible, students study ways to best fight in support of our policies, should we

go to war in defense ofthem. That takes much study and time, and coupled with

practicing the actual fighting operations, the students fulfill a heavy schedule.

Every detail of possible wars must be tested if students are to derive maximum

benefit from the course. Because for the two or three years that an officer serves on the staff he must analyze and measure the results of fighting operations,

perhaps he learns even more than the students.

It is evident that members of the college staff become unusually well-versed

in naval warfare, from the "grand plans" for an entire war to the very details of

fighting. That is as true for the president of the college as it is for staff members;

but since the president's directives are meant to engage officers in activities that

best prepare them for high command in war, I soon found myself an unusually

busy person. Fortunately there was no need to drive the students. The college

had only to point the way to these energetic, middle-aged officers who sought

skills in naval fighting and who desired to perfect themselves in war operations.

As does everyone in the Navy, the students immediately put all their energies to

work on the task at hand.

Few activities in life are carried on with an intensity as great as that of the

Naval War College. For that reason, the work is not only greatly important to

the United States but also to every country with the potential to become our

enemy in war. Potential enemies are constantly seeking confirmation about the courses at the War College, and there is little doubt they would give much to

learn the planned strategy and tactics that our navy would use if war presented

itself. Not only do they study all public utterances of college spokesmen in the

328
President of the Naval War College

hope of obtaining some hint to developments there, but their naval attaches

make periodic official visits to the College for the purpose of gathering

whatever information may be gleaned. These visits offoreign attaches probably

net them little, since in appearance the college is supremely innocuous.

In the large, somewhat rambling building, with desk-filled rooms of staff

officers and students, fairly good-sized but rather bare game rooms, and a library,

there is little of the underlying purpose apparent. War games are not carried on

for the viewing of visitors who see only officers working at desks. Game

equipment is almost nil, and the tiny lead ships used in the games tell nothing of

the characteristics of the ships they represent in battle. Since visitors to the

college may inspect the interior without learning a thing about work being

conducted there, attache visits are infrequent and not too worrisome. But talk

outside the college can be.

This concerned me, for no sooner had I become president than I found

myselfin considerable demand as a speaker. Gifted though I may be in that art, it was apparent that I was wanted not for my oratorical ability but rather because as President of the Naval War College, I was a student ofinternational policies and

how our navy would operate in war in support of United States policy. Such

thoughts are of great interest to the citizens of our country, of course, but

probably of even greater interest to the foreign governments with which we

might go to war. For that reason, and because my position was that of a follower

rather than a leader in national affairs, I dared not talk about them lest,

inadvertendy, I give away what might be national secrets. Accordingly, I resolved never to speak publicly on War College affairs.

Although that resolution caused me to decline most invitations to speak on

Atlantic or Pacific problems requested by organizations, I still had much talking

to do. Having the prestige of the War College behind me, and being the senior

naval officer thereabouts, I think every patriotic, civic, or historical organization

that met in the vicinity requested me to be present and give a talk—the Society

of Cincinnati, Sons of the Revolution, D.A.R., G.A.R., Spanish War Veterans,

American Legion, Chambers of Commerce, Rotary Clubs, and many others.

Fortunately I was generally expected to talk about patriotism, civic affairs, or

history. Hence, I succeeded in complying with such request, but they proved an

onerous duty and took far too much valuable time. Also, even though not

forewarned, I often would be called upon to "say a few words," so I had always to

be prepared for an extemporaneous talk when I attended any gathering of that

type.

One of my first speaking invitations came a few days after I assumed the

presidency of the college. It was from the Episcopal cathedral in Providence,

329
An Admiral's Yarn

which asked me to deliver the sermon at its Armistice Sunday Memorial

Service. You can imagine the surprise of a fighting sailor on being asked to

deliver any sermon, let alone one in the cathedral of the presiding Bishop of the

Episcopal Church of the United States. So appalled was I that I felt more then

comforted upon looking over my engagement book to find I had an appointment for that day. I therefore declined the invitation, and in doing so thought I was safe for all time. But I was badly mistaken, for no sooner had I declined for that Sunday three months ahead than I received another request to

deliver the sermon on Armistice day the following year—fifteen months ahead

and for which "I undoubtedly would be free." Believing something would

surely come up in the meantime to prevent me from fulfilling the engagement, I accepted.

However, not a thing occurred to prevent it, and on Armistice Sunday 1931,

1

delivered the sermon. Knowing that I would be like "Alice in Wonderland" in a pulpit, the Dean of the Cathedral offered to help me with the sermon if I would

send an advance copy to him. I decided neither to accept his kindness nor his

proposal to wear a surplice at the service, which would have been in keeping

with the attire of the Dean as well as Bishop Perry, the presiding bishop. I felt

that, after all, I was merely a naval officer and should not hide the fact behind the

vestments of the Church, so I delivered my sermon in the uniform of a fighting

rear admiral.

The Episcopal service is impressive, and not only was the congregation large,

but a considerable part ofit was made up ofpatriotic organizations dressed in full

regalia. While I had many qualms as I mounted the steps to the pulpit and looked

down on those men in uniform, I soon gained my composure.

I believe that the pulpit of that church was by far the most ideal place for

giving a talk. Realizing the importance of what is said from their pulpits,

churches have made them highly efficient. Speaking is made easier than it is from a banquet table or even the usual lecture platform. Because of their

position above the congregation, looking down, preachers are able to read

prepared talks while appearing to speak extemporaneously. Doing that was a tremendous help to me, and in the pulpit I felt far more convincing than I had

ever before felt.

I have often wished my grandmother, who wanted me to become a bishop,

could have lived to attend that service. Hearing me talk from the pulpit of the

presiding bishop of her church, at a service in which he participated, would

perhaps have ameliorated her disappointment in my choice of profession.

Nevertheless, I still felt my proper calling to be that of naval officer.

330
President of the Naval War College

Not all activities outside the War College were of a speech-making nature.

Many were social, since my official position opened much of Newport's society

life to us, and many were civic because I was the highest naval or military officer

on duty in that locality We became familiar with the Casino, the Reading

Room, Bailey's Beach, the annual tennis tournaments, horse shows, flower

shows, the Clambake Club, and in fact with all the centers of Newport's social

life.There were conventions, yacht races, and dedications of historical spots, as well as visits by high U.S. officials, foreign military or naval leaders, and

contingents of our own and foreign fleets. In arranging to handle those

important events, city officials of Newport always invited the local naval and

military authorities to assist, and we took pleasure in doing so, as they generally

were most interesting.

One of the most unusual events was the 1930 international yacht races for the

America's Cup. I had hardly assumed my new duty when Newport's mayor

invited me to join in preparation for the races. Although the City of Newport

was not responsible for the races, the competing yachts and thousands of people

would base in Newport for them, and great preparations needed to be made. I was on the committee to welcome Sir Thomas Lipton and his Shamrock Pf and

through that pleasant duty became associated with him.

Newport harbor was very much alive when Sir Thomas, in his steam yacht,

accompanied by Shamrock grounded Fort Adams. Hundreds of America's finest

yachts, both sail and steam, were there to greet the contender, and the shoreline

was packed with people. A shore battery opened up with a salute when Shamrock

V headed in, and at the first gun, every yacht and vessel in the harbor dressed

ship, rainbow fashion, and every whisde in Newport blew its loudest.

A more spectacular or noisier welcome could hardly be imagined, and Sir

Thomas Lipton, who for the fifth time had brought a yacht to the United States

to race for the Cup, was greatly moved by it. He could scarcely speak and his eyes

were still wet with tears when our committee boarded his steam yacht to extend

Newport's official welcome.

The races were sailed in accordance with schedule, and I witnessed most of

them. However, as I had seen many previous Cup races, which though always a beautiful sight were not highly exciting, I paid more attention to the shore

activities. This brought me constantly in the presence of Sir Thomas and his

cohorts, and I did then become intensely interested in the outcome of the races. However, Sir Thomas, as usual, failed to win the Cup, though by that time he

had made a place for himself in the hearts of the Newporters, who realized that

the fine old gentleman was fast failing in health and probably would not enter a

331
An Admiral's Yarn

yacht race again. He died a few months later. I will ever cherish having known

him.

The same holds true for the many other contacts with distinguished men

who visited Newport during the next three years: British war admirals, French

admirals and generals, and even our own General Pershing. Most of them were

received officially by the City of Newport, although many others ofimportance

came to address the War College classes and slipped in and out of the city

practically unbeknownst to all but college associates. Some were worldrenowned commentators on national and international affairs; some were

famous students, analysts, and lecturers on Near or Far East problems; and some

came from the Department of State to acquaint the college with the official

attitude of our country in certain of its dealings with other nations.

The distinguished men who came, unheralded, to Newport to address our

classes were indeed important to our work. Almost every Friday afternoon

during the college year one of them would give an "up-to-the-minute"

confidential talk on some aspect of world affairs in what we termed the "lecture

course." This was, possibly, as complete a presentation of the international

situation of the moment as could be made. Fortunately for the college, which

had but little money to spend on them, the lectures were not expensive, usually

costing little more than the expenses incurred by the visitors. They were

patriotic citizens doing what they could for our national defense without

monetary reward. If reward were theirs, it possibly came from the prestige of

being a Naval War College lecturer. Hence, at small cost to the government, the

officers who were being prepared to lead its navy in war gained much

knowledge that would be extremely useful to them.

Perhaps though, I, as college president, gained the most from the lecturers, for

many ofthem were lunch guests in my home, and the intimate contacts were not

only tremendously interesting, but very educational concerning international

relations.

Among the most famous of Newport's visitors were France's great military

leader, Marshal Petain, and our General Pershing. In recognition of the

sesquicentennial of the surrender at Yorktown and the part France played in

bringing about that surrender, an official delegation headed by Marshal Petain

had been sent from France. The celebration was quite elaborate, but Newporters

were a bit chagrined not to have been invited to participate. One hundred fifty

years ago the French forces had landed first in Newport and then had gone on to

help win at Yorktown—Newport officials felt there should have been some

recognition of the connection between Newport and the French forces. The

City of Newport therefore invited the French delegation to visit it officially, and

332
President of the Naval War College

the invitation was accepted. Immediately after the Yorktown celebration, the

French squadron brought the delegation to Newport, accompanied by General

Pershing.

That visit helped to refresh our memories of the role that Rhode Island,

Narragansett Bay, and particularly Newport played in the birth of our country.

When Marshal Petain came to Newport, they were recalled in full, and I came to

realize the historical importance of my surroundings.

Though Newport's sesquicentennial observance of the arrival of the French

forces in the Colonies did not compare with the elaborate ceremonies at Yorktown that remembered the battle and surrender, it was illuminating. All of

Newport and much of Rhode Island took part in it, and Marshal Petain was

given a busy day, including a banquet at night where I was called upon to "say a few words." He also managed to visit the War College and made brief addresses

to the students and staff.

It might appear that with so many outside diversions, the training of officers

for high war command would be wanting, but it was so arranged that every

forenoon and most afternoons were devoted entirely to it, with no interruptions

permitted. Thus there was a vast amount of training that yielded consequences

of inestimable value to our national defense.

During my first tour at the college, we had been told of the part that aviation

would have in sea warfare, so we were able to advise what the navy's aviation

policy should be. On this second tour, we found that the college could

recommend policies for other types of naval craft too, thereby considerably

increasing its value to the country.

That the college could contribute much to the plans for national defense had

long been recognized, so much so that its president was ex-officio a member of

the Navy's General Board. To my mind, that membership was of inestimable

value, not only to the Board in drawing up naval policies but also to the college

in preparing officers to conduct war. I therefore took great interest in the work

of the Board and particularly strove to use my connection with it to aid both it and the college.

To illustrate how close the relationship is between the college and the

General Board, I need but to recall to you that the aircraft policy of the navy was

established with their close cooperation. That policy was only one of many that

had to be determined, and not long after I took over the presidency, there arose the question of what submarine policy we should follow. The existing policy

had become badly obscured because of an interpretation given to the popular

slogan, "A Navy for Defense Only." For some reason a "navy for defense" was

believed by many persons of national influence to be one suited only to

333
An Admiral's Yarn

preventing an invasion of our homeland. Apparently defense against anything

but invasion was not contemplated, even though the country could be as effectively bled to death by cutting off distant arteries that sustained its economic life. A question that arose concerned the type of submarines the

country should build. It was being strongly advocated that all our submarines be

small, suitable only for use close along our coasts.

Naturally the War College gave considerable attention to the use of

submarines in national defense, and it soon became apparent that subs restricted

by size to only coastal operation would be of little help in protecting distant

national interests. Furthermore, the cost to building numerous small subs would

be above that for a sufficient number of the deep-sea submarines. The college

reported to the Navy Department what it had learned—with some influence.

At least, all the subs built since that time have the capabilities to go to any port

where defense measures must be applied.

Because the "dividends" of the War College training courses were so valued

by the navy, they became emphasized and the college was asked to heighten its research and experimentation. We replied that if we had officers for the purpose

we could do so, but the college staffwas already overworked merely carrying out

training operations. The only way to develop further would be to establish a "research department" for that purpose. Accordingly, officers were sent to the

college to engage in this activity and, having only that work to do, quickly began

to gather many worthwhile facts concerning details of sea warfare that

theretofore had not materialized. We obtained data that told us the amounts of

ammunition, fuel, and supplies that would be required in various kinds of distant

operations; the probable amount of damage (not the kind that would occur) in

such operations and for which repair facilities should be provided; where and

what fleet base should be prepared for them; and other numerous vitally

important details. In addition to training the officers for high command, the

college became an almost perfect research laboratory for every detail of naval

warfare.

Among the many recommendations made by the college was the one

concerning so-called "light cruisers." Under the terms ofthe Washington Treaty

Limiting Armaments, the United States was permitted to have a specified

amount of cruiser tonnage, a certain portion of which could be used only for

"light cruisers" carrying guns of six-inch caliber or less. The rest of the tonnage

could be used for what is known as "heavy cruisers" with guns of not over

eight-inch caliber, and the United States had already laid down its allowed quota

for ships of that type. It had not, however, decided on its program of "light

cruisers," and considerable discussion had arisen as to what the size and

334
President of the Naval War College

characteristics of such ships should be. Each of several types, all differing in size,

armament, defense, etc., were being advocated, but which type would be the

most effective for the United States could not be determined merely by

argument.

The War College was directed to ascertain the relative merits of the several

types through miniature fighting operations. The order came just before the

Christmas holiday period, and because there was no other time open for

research, the college staff devoted its holiday period to it. The conclusions

reached were surprising but sufficiently irrefutable to decide the type of light

cruisers the Untied States should build under the terms of the treaty. That type

was adhered to for as long as the treaty limiting armaments remained in force.

The research activities of the War College were so valuable to the General

Board, it was difficult to understand why, in later years, the President of the

College was no longer a member of that Board.

During the winter of 1932, I was informed that in the spring I would

accompany the fleet on the annual war problem as assistant to the chief umpire. I was delighted with the assignment since it would place me in a position to

observe all that the fleet had accomplished from its greatest training activity and

the latest forms of war operations at sea.

335

XLIV

Interlude at Sea

THE UMPIRE DUTY [FOR FLEET PROBLEM XIII] LASTED about two

months [in 1932], and I enjoyed it thoroughly, when I joined the fleet at San Pedro, the commander in chief [Richard H. Leigh] took me into his

quarters and mess, which gave me close contact with all fleet activities but

without the responsibility for them. To one who had theretofore exercised

important responsibility in maneuvers, being in their midst without such

oversight was a delightful, interesting, and unique experience.

When the fleet arrived offHonolulu, it found itselfin the midst ofthe famous

Massey case, which was being headlined in most of our country's newspapers.

The trial of five natives accused of horribly assaulting the wife of a U.S. naval

officer had just ended in a "hungjury," and bitter feelings over it had developed

between the whites and the natives of Hawaii. The former felt there had been

such a dreadful failure ofjustice that white women would no longer be safe in

the islands, while the latter seemed jubilant that natives were not to be punished

for the crime.

When we arrived, the situation was tense, especially between the native

sympathizers and navy men. Fearing it might develop into rioting and fighting,

shore leave for the navy had been canceled, and navy men were restricted to

their ships or stations. Into that serious situation arrived the U.S. Fleet with

about forty thousand more navy men, all wishful for liberty in delightful Hawaii

after two weeks at sea. Thus arose several complications. All Hawaii had prepared for the fleet's visit

and especially for garnering the several million dollars that visiting sailors would
An Admiral's Yarn

spend. Therefore, while canceling shore liberty was a terrific blow to navy men,

it was an even worse disappointment for the people of Honolulu, who had

counted on a boom in business activities. The commander in chief had no desire

to add fuel to the fire by sending thousands of men ashore each day, and

Honolulu was in no position to stop a riot should one develop. It was a dilemma

of the first order.

Whether it was due to a suggestion from Washington or by his own initiative

I never knew, but shordy after we reached Pearl Harbor, the commander in chief

started an investigation of the situation and asked me to attend. Of course I had

no official connection with it, but when it was over, I had gained considerable

knowledge of the Massey case. Apparently the horror of the crime had given way to bitter feelings toward

the courts for not having convicted men of native blood for their outrageous

crimes. To me, an outsider, the clash appeared to be between a group that felt it stood for law and order and one that (though not opposed to law and order) had

been led to the belief by the trial defense lawyers that the white element was

using the guise of a court oflaw to seek control of the islands by sending natives

to jail.

The clever lawyers responsible for developing that idea in the minds of the

natives had been hired by Kanaka groups to provide the best possible defense for

the accused men. Doing so was quite right, of course, but opposing this brilliant

defense lawyer was a prosecuting attorney who was also an elected

official—whose re-election was dependent upon native votes! Whether the

prosecuting officer's presentation of his case was influenced by a desire not to

antagonize voters, no one could say, but we were informed that the defense

lawyer was able to "put it over" the prosecutor and cause the jury to "hang" in

spite of seemed to be absolute proof of guilt.

We were told that the scheme used by the defense to "hang" the jury was to

get considerable native representation on it and then take advantage of their

ignorance of American law, causing them to misinterpret the meaning of

"corroborative testimony." In Hawaii, as elsewhere, convictions on rape charges

cannot stand on the testimony of only one person. For the protection of men

who might be wrongly accused by a single blackmailing individual,

corroborative testimony is required. The defense cleverly used that requirement

to convince one or more members of the jury to believe that the essential

"corroborative" testimony required must relate to actually witnessing the assault.

Ofcourse, since none of the attackers would turn state's evidence, that particular

form of corroboration was impossible to obtain and for that reason the jury

hung.

338
Interlude at Sea

In fact, the corroborative evidence was plentiful. Mrs. Massey had neither seen nor heard of the defendants before the assault, but she so fully described her

assailants that there was no doubt as to their identities. She gave many details

about their automobile, even most of the figures of its license number, the places

she was taken, and all details of the attack. That testimony alone was not

sufficient to convict, but the prosecutor was able to corroborate it in many ways.

He proved through the testimony of other witnesses that the men so fully

described by the victim were seen before and after the attack in the car. Beads

torn from the woman's dress were found in the car, and medical examination

proved clearly the brutal attack. As far as I could tell, the prosecution made a case

that would have convinced every member of the usual American jury. However,

he appeared to have failed in one particular aspect. He had not made it clear to

the Hawaiian jury how completely the victim's testimony had been

"corroborated."

The apparent miscarriage of justice tended to increase the already

considerable antagonism between the races. While the native group was satisfied

with a "hung"jury, the white element thought another trial was essential. That

justice might surely be meted out, the whites sought to obtain "corroborative

evidence" of the attack itself. Hoping one of the attackers might turn state's evidence, the Chamber of Commerce offered $10,000 for the testimony of an

eyewitness. Through that and other actions, the law-and-order group hoped to

leave no doubt, in even the most ignorant mind, as to what had actually

happened.

When the fleet arrived, both Honolulu and the U.S. Navy wanted the normal

activities of a fleet visit to take place. But when even a slight argument between a navy man and a civilian might set off an explosion, this appeared to be

impossible. Nevertheless, a way to clear the situation was found through making

it plain to both navy men and civilians that the processes oflaw must be allowed

to take their course, and pending that, all controversies must be avoided or shore

liberty would cease at once. Inasmuch as such a stoppage would inflict hardships

on everyone, a condition of truce quickly developed, and the tension gradually

lessened. We were skeptical of what the outcome might be when the

commander in chief lifted the liberty ban, but the truce proved to be effective

for the entire visit of the fleet.

This is not to say that the Massey case was then over—it was far from that.

Preparations went on for a second trial, and the hunt for additional

corroborative evidence continued. During that time, the leader of the assault

gang was abducted and shot by the complainant's family, which brought about a renewal of friction. However, I was no longer in Hawaii when the second

339
An Admiral's Yarn

flare-up occurred, so it has no place in this story. As it was, the fleet remained in

the islands several weeks after the truce started, and except for newspapers,

particularly those that came from the West Coast, no one would have guessed

that affairs in Honolulu were at a near-explosive stage.

A few days after the lifting of the liberty ban, the fleet moved to Lahaina

Roads, at the northwest corner of the island ofMaui. Since I was not concerned

with the fleet's work there, I took ten days leave to remain in Honolulu for a rest. In cognito, with not even the hotel knowing of my position in the navy, I slept,

ate, and enjoyed the swimming. The commandant of the Naval Station [Yates

Sterling, Jr.] placed a small automobile at my disposal. Whenever weather

permitted, I used it to visit every part of Oahu, for the defense of which I had

made as complete a study as possible from military maps and naval charts. By

having that car, I visited every accessible part of the island and learned by

personal investigation Oahu's weaknesses and strengths as the site of our

country's most advanced and important Pacific naval base. Between doing that

and relaxing about a dozen hours a day, I was gready improved physically, so when the leave was over and I rejoined the fleet at Lahaina, I was a new man.

While I had visited Maui many times, the several days I spent on the island

that spring, with no work to do, were unusual. Living with the commander in

chief, I partook of all the entertainments given him. He was an enthusiastic

automobile cruiser, and took me on drives that covered most of the island. On

one trip, we went to the head of automobile navigation on huge Haleakala

Crater, which rises direcdy from the sea to about twelve thousand feet. This

extinct volcano's crater is said to be the largest in the world, miles across and

almost two thousand feet deep—impossible to visit. When we arrived at the

high spot of automobile traffic, some six or seven thousand feet up the

mountain, we stopped for the night at a beautiful estate, the owner ofwhich was

a friend of the admiral's. From it we could see the whole of beautiful Maui, a magnificent sight which tourists came thousands of miles to see. That night on the mountain was delightful, and we were shown the full

hospitality of a great Hawaiian estate in its food, drink, and attention. Our

quarters were in a charming guest bungalow, which was the coolest spot we had

encountered in Hawaii. But how really cold it could be on that mountain I did

not realize until morning, for from the time I turned out until I was dressed and

warming myself before a big wood fire in the main house, I nearly shook apart

shivering. I could not see that the cold had frozen anything thereabouts, but to

me, the temperature that morning felt considerably below the freezing point. If

you are ever to spend the night on one of the high mountains of tropical Hawaii,

340
Interlude at Sea

take my advice and have woolen clothes for the morning. (I had only the

thinnest of tropical suits!)

After breakfast we spent the morning driving around the highest mountain

roads, which were very beautiful and at times exciting, but when we returned to

the house for luncheon, we were gready upset to be met at the door with the

announcement that there had been a death that morning, a few miles down the

mountain, from bubonic plague. Hawaii is covered with sugar plantations, and

rats, the carriers ofplague-infected vermin, inhabit the cane fields. Even one case of plague causes intense apprehension in the islands, because it is so difficult to

prevent an epidemic. With thousands of men on liberty in the island, the

commander in chief was gready perturbed over the situation and became more

so when he learned the case had appeared near a school—the children ofwhich

were scheduled to visit his flagship the following day. It was time for prompt

action and the admiral proceeded to take it. His first step was to locate the principal of the school in order to cancel the

visit of the children. We started down the mountain at a furious rate, and

fortunately the principal was found quickly. After calling off the visit, the admiral

drove the full length ofMaui, at high speed, to Lahaina. Upon reaching there, he

found all serene, since word of the plague case had not been received, but he

immediately recalled all men then on liberty and stopped all communication

with Maui.

It was remarkable how quickly and completely that great fleet was severed

from all contact with shore. But isolated though the fleet was, the several days it remained at Lahaina were days of anxiety. The plague did not become epidemic

due to the quick and effective action of Hawaii's health officials, who succeeded

in preventing the spread ofthe disease on shore, and the admiral's prompt action,

which prevented it from reaching the fleet. Hence, when the time came for our

return trip to California, the plague threat had ceased.

When I arrived once more at the War College, I was scheduled for one more

year as its President before having the opportunity for a last tour of sea duty

before retiring from the navy. Having another year to devote to naval warfare in

miniature, I worked harder than ever to prepare myself for my next command.

Externally, that last year at the college was quite like the two that preceded it, but

internally it provided the finishing touch to my study of naval warfare.

It is sometimes said in our country that high war commanders are chosen for

"political pull" rather than for fitness. This may or may not be the case, but for all of my naval life I have wanted to achieve high command through competency,

not political favor. And, while not an inkling of my next command was even

341
An Admiral's Yarn

rumored during all that winter, I knew I would be sent to sea when summer

came.

About the middle ofApril a break came. As I left home one morning to go to

my office, the garbage man was in the roadway with his wagon, and as usual we

passed the morning hail. Then, to his "good morning," the garbage man added,

"Congratulations on your being made a vice admiral." When I questioned him,

he said he had read it in the little Newport paper along with the new command

assignments, and that I was to command cruisers with the rank of vice admiral.

When I reached the office, clerks coming from town verified the news, but it took me some moments to get over the jolt that the garbage man knew more

about my future orders than I did.

I was gready pleased over becoming a vice admiral and having a three-star

admiral's flag, but even more so to command the "heavy cruisers"—the navy's

newest and fastest large ships. For the three years I was president of the War

College, we had continuously utilized those ships in miniature wars, so I felt well

versed on their war operations. I did not have long to wait to utilize my

knowledge, as I was directed to assume command on May 26th. I therefore had

to leave the college soon after the slate was announced.

The change of duty, of course, affected my family's plans too, and they

remained in Newport two weeks longer to pack our household goods, while I left by automobile almost at once. Ordinarily I would have made the

transcontinental trip by rail, but as I wanted to take my automobile to the West

Coast, I decided to go across the continent in it. An enlisted man ordered to my

ship offered to drive the car from Newport to San Francisco, and we started off.

342
XLV

Vice Admiral

ALTHOUGH CROSSING THE CONTINENT by automobile was not

unusual in 1933, such trips were not as commonplace as they are today.

There were fewer highways, and those that had been opened were not

hard-surfaced from beginning to end. Furthermore, they were not equipped

to meet the demands of automobile traffic. Therefore, our route had to be

carefully planned and each day's stopover decided on before getting

underway lest we unexpectedly reach the desert without gas, food, or a place

to sleep. Hence, transcontinental navigation differed considerably from that

at sea. Nevertheless, we enjoyed the trip. Being well up on auto touring in the east,

we experienced no difficulties as far as Kansas City, where I spent three days with

my mother. However, from there on, matters were not so simple. Leaving Kansas

City before six o'clock one morning, we found ourselves in western Kansas at noon, where we stopped for lunch. The roads were excellent, and we had

averaged nearly fifty miles an hour. Therefore, we began to think that

cross-country driving had few difficulties. However, we realized we might be

quite mistaken when the blackest cloud I had ever seen appeared on the

southwest horizon about one o'clock in the afternoon. From the way it looked, I though we were in for a terrific rainstorm or cyclone, but other symptoms did

not support the case. The air was hot and dry, the little bit of wind was from

behind us rather than in front, and almost before we knew it our freshly filled

radiator started to boil over, obliging us to head into the wind every two or three

miles to cool if off. I though there was something definitely wrong with our car.
An Admiral's Yarn

Although there were no cars going our way, those passing in the opposite

direction seemed to have no difficulty at all. All this time it was growing darker and the air becoming thicker with dust.

Soon every car had its headlights on, and we were stopping at every store or gas

station along the way to fill the radiator with water. While we were stopped at one, an old "Model T" drove up and the driver said, "This is the strangest thing

I've ever seen. Until now, my Ford has run on gas, but today it is running on

'water.' I have to fill up every time I come to a house."

Between the heat and the awful dryness of the air filled with dust, we felt suffocated, but what bothered us most was the intense darkness. At two-thirty in

the afternoon we could see absolutely nothing, and even in the rays of our

headlights, the road was visible for less than twenty feet, so we crept along the

edge of the pavement at slowest speed.

That utter blackness lasted nearly four hours until about five-thirty when it seemed a bit less intense, though even then our headlights would penetrate only

about fifty feet. I had heard of dust storms that came from the so called "dust

bowl," but until that experience, it never occurred to me that such quantities of

earth could be carried by the atmosphere. Though we closed the car tighdy, dust

more than an eighth of an inch thick soon covered everything in it, while

opposite each crack through which air could enter, the dust lay in snow-like

drifts.

During the four hours of darkness, we crawled along for some fifteen miles.

About six o'clock we found ourselves in a village with a crossroad leading north

about thirty miles to the town of Colby, through which ran another highway to

Denver. Suspecting that dust storms might follow what seafaring men know as the "law of storms," and that, like ships at sea, automobiles could navigate

themselves out of a storm area, I decided to change our course from west to

north at the crossroad, in hopes of running clear of the storm.

I happened to be right, for apparently we were on the northern flank of the

storm and in this new direction we soon began to run out ofit. The air gradually

cleared and before long we could see the pavement without our headlights and

could increase our speed, but we still found difficulty in breathing. At

seven-thirty we reached Colby and decided to seek a hotel and call it a day.

In the six hours before we struck that storm, we had driven over three

hundred miles, but in the next six hours, even with our best efforts, we had

covered less than fifty.

I will not forget the car's appearance as I disembarked that night, for instead of

the shining car in which we had left Kansas city that morning, it was the worst

looking wreck I had ever seen. Dust had piled over it exacdy as snow during a

344
Vice Admiral

heavy fall. It looked unseaworthy for the fifteen hundred miles of desert and

mountains that lay between us and San Francisco. However, you cannot always

tell about automobiles by the way they look. We turned that one (a

Pierce-Arrow) over to a garage to be cleaned up during the night, then we had

baths and dinner and went to bed. In the night the wind shifted to north, the

dust blew back toward the "bowl," and the morning dawned bright and clear.

Far to the west the Rocky Mountains rose over the horizon. The country about

was green with budding spring, and in front of the hotel stood our car, shinning

and looking very fit for the trip ahead.

I wanted to continue west from Denver and cross the Rockies before heading

for Salt Lake City, but we were told in Denver, under no circumstances attempt

that route because of snow, but to travel via Cheyenne where the Lincoln

Highway was clear. So we turned north again and arrived in Laramie that

evening.

Our next day's run was on the high plateau and over the "Continental

Divide" to Salt Lake City, so, after leaving Laramie, we found ourselves going

higher and higher. We were not actually "climbing" mountains, but as we

worked our way up valleys, we could see them rising high on both sides of the

road, their tops covered with snow. There was no vegetation. Now and then we

could see a few ranch houses or a tiny village, but for the most part, the country,

though beautiful in the clear atmosphere, seemed barren and uninhabited. As we

crossed the Continental Divide at snow level altitude, the view was magnificent

and we had the highway to ourselves.

As we worked down to Salt Lake City, we found a change in the country.

Towns became more frequent, there were more rivers, vegetation, and people,

and we began to believe ourselves clear of the desert country. When we reached

Salt Lake City, we seemed, once again, in a metropolis. As night was closing in,

and hotels were available, we anchored there for the night, getting under way the

next morning at five-thirty for the five hundred-and forty mile run to Reno,

which proved to be quite different from our previous treks.

Although the country was beautiful and green as we left Salt Lake City, it did

not continue that way. Great Salt Lake looked to have the charms ofthe ocean as we rounded its southern end, but as soon as we left it we entered the uninhabited

Great Salt Lake Desert. I daresay the world contains other places just as desolate

as that desert, but I doubt if many sailors ever see them. At first I thought we

were crossing a great, frozen lake, for as far as the eye could see, the desert was as

flat as water, covered with what looked like ice. That illusion became greater as we went along, and here and there we could see small hummocks or stakes that

the highway construction workers had left. Each seemed to be supporting

345
An Admiral's Yarn

immense ice cakes, but when we neared them we found huge rocks of solid salt that sparkled in the sunlight like a fancy Christmas card.

At the highway, Salt Desert is some fifty miles across, and for all that distance

the road runs west as straight as an arrow. It is built of earth thrown from each

side, and stands two or three feet above the floor of the desert, absolutely level

through its entire length. It was not paved but its surface was of a smooth, hard

gravel on which cars could travel maximum speed. Inasmuch as the road was

wide and devoid oftraffic, we made standard speed ofseventy miles per hour and

covered the fifty miles across the dried up salt lake in less than forty minutes.

Strange to say, though going steadily at that high speed, we seemed to be

moving leisurely, since the desert had no landmarks on which to gauge our

speed. The apparently slow movement produced a peculiar effect, for as we

looked across the dead level white salt, we became obsessed with a desire to ride

on it and "really" travel. I suppose the same feeling comes to every automobilist

on that road, and that is why there are signs all along it, and even road maps, that

warn against venturing on the salt. Therefore, in spite ofour longing, we stuck to

the road, and almost before we knew it, we were climbing the hills that mark the

western boundary of Great Salt Lake Valley. Although the level Great Salt Lake

Desert was then behind us, we were still in desert country with hills and

mountains all around us. Every twenty or thirty miles we could see a group of

houses or gasoline stations, but otherwise not a sign of people, and the highway

remained deserted.

Going over one of the high hills, we saw another automobile far ahead in the

valley. The sight ofa car was sufficiendy unusual to attract attention, but we soon

saw that this particular one was not moving, and we had learned from

experience that any car stopped in the desert was in trouble. As we approached

we found a large and dilapidated old roadster with two women in the front seat

waving frantically and calling for help. That, of course, was quite starding, but

when we saw that the rumble seat contained a young couple "spooning," we

concluded there was not a real disaster. The woman driver cried out, "Can you

beat this? Here we are in the middle of the desert without gas. Please give us some." We had filled our tank at the last station we had passed and had come

only thirty miles since, so we promptly backed our tank against theirs to transfer

gas. Then and there we learned something about motoring in the desert, for to

our utter consternation, neither car had a tube with which to siphon gas out ofa tank or even a container in which to carry it from one car to the other. Being

unable to render assistance when it was needed was, of course, a disturbing

situation for sailors, and we quickly made up our minds never to be in a desert

again without proper equipment. All of which caused the people in the roadster

346
Vice Admiral

to become more excited than ever, and even the spooners joined in the

lamentations.

The only answer seemed to be the nearest gas station. Our map showed one

about twelve miles distant, and I suggested taking the young man in the rumble

seat with us to bring back a can ofgas. He strongly objected, but when I told him

we would have him back quickly, he consented to go. The three of us sat on our

front seat, and soon we were traveling seventy miles an hour toward the gas

station. Suddenly he cried out, "Great Scot, the speedometer shows seventy

miles an hour and we can't be going that fast. What on earth is the matter?"

When we told him it was our usual speed in the desert, he was amazed that there

was so little motion. He exclaimed, "In that car of ours, when we run it up to

thirty-five it throws us almost through the top."

The remainder of our run, after delivering the young man to his car, was

uneventful. Exactly twelve hours after leaving Salt Lake City we arrived at the

Reno Hotel. Our odometer registered that in twelve hours we had covered five

hundred and fifty miles, even doing our "Boy Scout" deed, stopping twice for

gas, and once for lunch. Deserts have drawbacks, but automobiles can certainly

make speed on them.

We found Reno an attractive city, and after dinner I took a walk through the

business section, which differed greatly from most I had seen. Everywhere there

were evidences of its predominant activities—gambling and divorce. But as important as the divorce business appeared to be, Reno was filled with

diversions of every kind for those seeking them. I thought I had learned about

"wide open" towns in my middy days, but, for its size, Reno outclassed them all in gambling dens, nightclubs, dance halls, and gilded palaces ofgay life. However,

being anything but divorce bent, those places held no charm for me, and after

looking at them from the outside for an hour, I returned to my hotel and turned

in.

As navy craft always report arrival in port by dispatch, I sent a telegram to my

wife in Newport telling her of having reached Reno, and I was surprised to find

an answer when I returned from my walk. It read: "Reno very dangerous for

married men. Suggest you leave at once. All well here." Both of us having a keen

sense of humor, and inasmuch as we had been married over thirty years and I had always found my wife right in everything, I decided not to tarry in Reno

but to get underway for San Francisco as soon as I had some sleep and breakfast.

At seven the next morning I went out to board my car, and for the first time

failed to find it ready and waiting. Not knowing where the driver had put up for

the night, and being fearful of the effect that a wide open desert town might

have on a sailor, I worried quite a bit for the next fifteen minutes before the car

347
An Admiral's Yarn

appeared. When it arrived, I was even more worried. My seaman driver, who

never drank or smoked, was a sight to behold. His eyes were red and swollen, and

he was almost asleep at the wheel. To my query as to what was wrong, he

answered, "Admiral, let's get out of this town as fast as we can. It's no place for

sailors. I decided to take a look at Reno before I went to bed last night and I've been looking ever since." Then he added, "I have not had a drink but I took in

every 'hell spot' in this place. I thought a sailor might show a desert town a thing or two about gambling, but I have changed my mind. It not only took all my

money but it kept me up all night even after all that hard driving yesterday. I need

rest but I need more to get away from Reno, so let's be off to San Francisco."

The run to the West Coast was delightful, though we had to stop often for

strong coffee to keep the driver awake. Soon after starting, we were standing up

the eastern slope of the High Sierras, and when we gained the top, all vestige of

desert disappeared. The great mountains were covered with melting snow, down

every valley tumbled a stream ofwater, and the highway led through great forests

of huge trees. It is hard to imagine the difference between the desert and that

gorgeous western slope of the Sierras with fertile California lying before you.

After we left that awe-inspiring scenery at the top of the forest-covered

mountains, we came to the old "gold diggins," where picks, shovels, and

manpower long ago had given way to the giant hydraulic machines that melted

mountains down to bare clay cliffs, showing that vast despoiled area which the

lure of gold had produced and which had been the ruin of one of the great

beauty spots of nature.

With our speed, we were not long among the ugly clay banks but soon

reached Sacramento and the fertile farms of central California. Pressing on, we

were ferried across Carquinez Strait at Benicia and, following the eastern shore

of San Francisco Bay, stood on to Oakland where another ferry carried us across the bay to our destination.

I had wired the Chicago, my flagship, the anticipated hour of arrival at its boat

landing. On reaching there, I found my flag lieutenant with the barge and a working party to transfer us to the ship. He had arranged for the care of the car, and it was turned over to the working party to unload while we went direcdy to

the ship. We had enjoyed our auto cruise across the continent, but it had made us long more than ever to be afloat once more with the navy, and the U.S.S. Chicago

looked mighty good to us. Next morning I formally assumed my new command and rank. The navy has

a prescribed procedure for such functions, which we carried out to the

letter—officers and men in dress uniform, all hands on the quarter-deck, band

and marine guard paraded, and the orders read aloud. Having read mine so all

348
Vice Admiral

could hear, I announced that I assumed command and directed the Chicago to

break my flag. At that instant a three-star admiral's flag flew out from the

masthead and a fifteen-gun salute was fired. I had become vice admiral.

349

XLVI

In Heavy Cruisers

ATTHE TIME I BECAME "COMMANDER CRUISERS," the heavy cruiser

group was not yet a complete unit. Ten ships of the type had been

202 commissioned, but five more still under construction were to join later. Since

all were of a type new to our navy and their employment in war not yet fully

determined, my task was a complex one. I was responsible for war employment

as well as training in a class of ships, born of the Washington Treaty, to replace

some of our all-powerful capital ships.

Do not imagine that up to that time this country had not given thought to

heavy cruisers or considered them unimportant. However, until the

Washington Treaty limited the signatory nations in the size and number of

capital ships they could possess, the United States had developed its navy on

the basis that hard-fighting battleships and battle cruisers were more

important than ships of lighter displacement. Therefore, heavy cruisers were

considered unnecessary to us before the treaty. Also, since the country had

interpreted the treaty to be one of disarmament, and in so doing had ceased

naval building for years, it was almost 1931 before heavy cruisers appeared in

the fleet. However, by 1933 the importance of the type under Washington

Treaty conditions had become evident, and my responsibility was to

ascertain for the United States the utmost that could be expected from the

heavy cruisers in time of war. What might constitute that utmost was

something of a moot question because of the changes in sea fighting brought

about by a treaty that limited and balanced naval strengths and took from us our superiority in striking power.
An Admiral's Yarn

Before the restrictions in naval buildings, our plan was to have more and

stronger fighting ships than other nations, using them to obliterate enemy ships.

This plan was sound policy for our rich country when it was not bound by

restrictions on ship types. We could build enough capital ships to increase armor

and armament by making some sacrifices, even in speed to some extent. The

American way of naval fighting had become "to bore in" and take such

punishment as an enemy might inflict, if by so doing we were afforded the

opportunity to destroy him with our superior ships.

"The wade in and fight anything" idea that flowed so naturally from the

building policy prior to the Washington Treaty had become almost a fetish with

us. For that reason, when the treaty took away the superior hitting ability and its advantages to us, we continued to feel the "fetish." Even though balancing the

strengths of the navies had so equalized them that no one nation had a fighting

advantage over another, and even though we had not maintained our navy at the

strength set for it by the treaty, we still wished to fight as though we had superior

striking power. Therefore, when we were given heavy cruisers with eight-inch

guns that could shoot ten or fifteen miles with nearly the accuracy of capital

ships' guns, it was thought that they too could wade in and fight anything.

It seemed that only by doing so could the U.S. Navy live up to its fighting

traditions. The intent to fight that way was still prevalent in the fleet when I joined the cruisers, exactly as it had been the governing influence in student

operations at the War College when I had become President. However, at the

college it soon became evident that fighting capital ships with heavy cruisers

usually resulted in the cruisers being sunk without their inflicting much damage

to the battleships. Having found that a heavy cruiser was subject to large-caliber

shellfire while closing the enemy battleships, and that once the enemy had been

brought within range of the cruiser's eight-inch guns the cruiser was under far

more devastating fourteen- and sixteen-inch fire, the students saw the danger in

attempting to close with the powerful ships. Therefore, a new procedure for

operating cruisers gradually developed.

Inasmuch as efficient cruiser operation is offar more importance in war than

the small amount of damage the cruisers could inflict on capital ships, the War

College sought to develop a suitable technique for them. It had gone far in

doing so when I took over the cruisers, but the technique had not been

introduced into the fleet, and it became my duty to install it. Doing so was no simple matter, but I selected a staff of War College officers

familiar with the changed technique, and the work progressed rapidly. Within a year we had a "doctrine" for heavy cruiser work in war with which all ships had

352
In Heavy Cruisers

been familiarized, and thereafter we had only to perfect ourselves in

teamwork—for which the fleet schedule provided ample opportunity.

To a student of naval warfare, our course to prepare the heavy cruisers might

be interesting, but it is very technical and has no place in this yarn. Suffice to say

the training went on steadily, and the unusual experiences that happened to me

on that cruise were mostly outside routine work.

In addition to commanding all heavy cruisers, I had direct command of one

division (four ships) of them. When I joined the division, it was in San Francisco

for Memorial Day exercises, and as soon as they were finished we returned to

our training base at San Pedro. A month later the Scouting Force (of which the

cruisers were a part) went north for a summer in the Puget Sound area; but

inasmuch as the cruise was merely a repetition of former ones, I will not dwell

on it here. It was very much like its predecessors except that much of the

speech-making at banquets and luncheons fell on me. For that reason, although I otherwise had a fine summer, I was not sorry to return to San Pedro where we

could carry on our work without so many folderols on the side.

But folderols and other out-of-routine events continued to crop up, some of

them sufficiently unusual to be worth mentioning. One was in connection with

an "inspection" visit by members of the Naval Affairs Committee of the House

of Representatives, who, accompanied by wives and other members of their

families, came to the coast in a navy transport. As might be expected, an

official visit by members of that committee to the bases of the great United

States fleet, for which it recommended appropriations, created considerable

excitement in southern California. No opportunity was missed either to aid in

the inspection or to entertain the men conducting it. They were given

receptions, banquets, and luncheons, which included nearly all the higher

officers of the fleet.

Being vitally concerned with fleet appropriations, we officers were delighted

to be included in the hospitalities, and although they often interfered with our

routine work, each was something new and worth recalling. Ofthem all, the one

that stood out was an all-day entertainment in Hollywood, sponsored by the

moving picture industry. > Hollywood and its great industry were not new to the fleet, but what they did

for the Congressional Committee possibly surpassed any previous effort along

that line. Ordinarily, visitors to Hollywood are lucky to be shown over the "lot"

of one of the great companies. But "all lots" were to open the committee, had

there been time to visit them, which of course there was not. We were rushed

from one movie high spot to another, the principal event being a mammoth

luncheon. As I remember, it was held in one of Warner Brothers' huge studio

353
An Admiral's Yarn

buildings that had been cleared of its usual picture settings and converted into a "set" for the luncheon with that perfection of detail for which movie sets are famous. I do not know how many people were seated at the luncheon, but from

my experience, I suspect that over a thousand people attended. At the head table

alone, on the great dais around one end of the enormous studio, were seated

nearly one hundred men—the heads of the movie organizations, who were our

hosts, members of Congress, the twenty admirals of the fleet who were honored

guests, and the speakers ofthe day At the table before us sat nearly every man and

woman then famous in the movies, may of whom were introduced while

luncheon was being served.

I sat next to a man who apparently knew them all and pointed out the

celebrities to me. Some I had met at smaller gatherings, but most of them I had

seen only on the screen. Nevertheless, by the time luncheon was over, I had met

them all personally and especially enjoyed Will Rogers, who sat at the head of

the table and later made a speech.

Participating in the Congressional entertainments in addition to carrying out

routine work was a bit strenuous, so most of us officers were relieved when the

committee's visit was over. But even when it was, other extraneous activities

continued to occur. In accord with the usual custom, the fleet split up for Navy

Day, October 27th, each port on the coast being assigned a ship or a larger fleet

unit according to its size. My own Division was assigned to San Francisco, so shordy before Navy Day, we proceeded there.

Ordinarily we knew what to expect on a little trip to San Francisco, but we

certainly were not expecting what happened on that one. The Division left San

Pedro about noon one day to reach San Francisco the next evening. The first afternoon and night were fine, and dawn found us about twenty miles off Point

Sur with one hundred and fifty miles to go. Everything seemed propitious at that

time, and having been on the bridge most of the night, I was thankful to turn the

ships over to their skippers at 7 a.m. to carry out specified exercise singly, while I went below for breakfast.

Just as I was finishing, about eight o'clock, the Chicago sounded its fog whistles

and slowed speed. A few moments later I felt the engines stop and heard the ship

sound the "stopped signal." I hurried to the bridge. There I found all quiet, the

ship stopped with it powerful whistle sounding the two required blasts. There

was a slight fog. The visibility ahead and in some directions extended for miles,

although in other directions there were patches of fog. My signalman on watch

said he heard a steamer's whistle coming from it, so the Chicago had stopped. As I stood looking, the fog patch drifted away and disclosed the whistling steamer,

probably two miles away, standing on a course parallel to our own and in no way

354
In Heavy Cruisers

dangerous to us. Finding he was clear ofthe steamer whose whistle he had heard

and seeing that all was clear ahead for several miles, the captain [Herbert Emory

Kays] ordered the engines started and we began moving ahead slowly.

However, toward our course and well away on our port bow was another

small patch ofwhite fog which our ship would evidently miss, but because ofits peculiar whiteness, all hands were watching it. Suddenly, out of it appeared a large steamer with a big "bone in its teeth," heading across our course at very

high speed.

As the steamer was then a mile or more away and the atmosphere beautifully

clear except for the small fog patches, we had no idea it might in any way

endanger the Chicago which, under the "rules of the road," was required to

maintain course and speed that the other ship might maneuver freely to avoid

colliding. But the other ship came on and on, holding a course that would surely

bring on a collision if continued, and so our captain rang for full speed astern,

sounded the collision siren, and sounded the whisde to indicate his movements.

From what I saw as I stood there watching, the other ship apparendy had no

suspicion of the Chicago's nearness until the siren and whistle were heard. Even

then it made no change in its course to avoid colliding, though as it neared I did

note a slight diminution in bow wave.

It appeared certain the oncoming ship would ram us near the crew space abaft

our engine room, but the backing power of the Chicago was great, and as it took

effect, the apparent point of impact slowly drew forward. It passed the engine

rooms, fire rooms, wardroom, the bridge where I stood, and even the forward

turret. Had there been fifteen or twenty seconds more time, the Chicago would

have drawn clear of the other ship's track. On and on came the fourteenthousand-ton freighter, still making about twelve knots, and struck the Chicago

slighdy forward of the forward turret at an angle of about 60°.

From where I was, I looked down on the freighter driving its way into my

flagship. I saw its great bow crush through the ship to the centerline, where it struck the forward barbette and then stopped. I saw the Chicago's heavy steel

plates and frames buckle under the terrific impact and roll up as if made ofpaper.

And I saw the stem and bow of the freighter, a ship's strongest part, crumple and

telescope back for a distance of fifteen or twenty feet.

Never having been in a bad collision, I braced myself for the impact,

expecting to be thrown down by it. However, it was less of a jolt than I expected,

for the buckling of plates and the "slewing" around of the Chicago gradually

absorbed the impact until both ships were moving in the same direction, the

crushed bow of the freighter half-way through the Chicago. For a moment I

355
An Admiral's Yarn

thought the two ships might cling together, but then the freighter started

backing and pulled itself clear.

When I saw the section missing, I wondered how the Chicago could proceed

but was thankful to note the calmness of the crew as they went about "saving

ship." The instant of the collision I radioed my other ships to stand by and soon

received word that though they were in a fog patch, they would be alongside in a few minutes. That knowledge was a comfort, for in the havoc it could not be

ascertained at once what bulkheads were gone, how badly the ship was flooded, or how effectively the crew had established watertight integrity. The crew's

work had been perfect, and soon the captain sent me word that the only water in

the ship was in the stove-in compartments and that he would soon know the full

extent of the damage to the bulkheads.

The damage to the Chicago was great but confined to the compartments

containing officers' quarters and the ship's storeroom. Casualties to personnel,

therefore, were fewer than feared. One officer had been crushed in his room,

another was so badly injured that he died later, and a third officer lost his foot.

Though deeply depressed over what had happened to our shipmates, we took

some comfort in the fact that the casualties would have been far greater had the

ship been hit farther aft—for instance, at a crew's compartment or the officers'

mess room, where practically all hands were at breakfast.

Still, our troubles were not over, especially my own, for the badly injured

Chicago was in a fog a hundred and fifty miles from port, and radio warnings of

bad weather were constant. The first of my ships, after contacting the freighter

and being informed that it did not need assistance,joined the Chicago. Afterwards

the other cruisers joined us, so the Division was assembled and ready for

eventualities. As rapidly as inspections were completed, the captain reported

results and in half an hour informed me that the bulkheads would hold if the

ship steamed ahead slowly. Thereupon I signaled the Division to make five knots

and form column with the Chicago leading. In that formation the other ships

could render assistance immediately if needed.

Each hour or less after proceeding, the captain notified me ofthe condition of

our bulkheads and I gradually increased the speed. In an hour or two we were

going ahead at fifteen knots in an effort to reach San Francisco Bay shordy after

dark to avoid having to stay at sea all night in a predicted gale. The fog cleared as we started ahead, but when we were making fifteen knots the captain sent word

that it was inadvisable to increase the speed.

To one seeing it from starboard, the Division looked as snappy and

immaculate as ever, but from the other side, the Chicago, with a huge section

gone was a sorry sight.

356
In Heavy Cruisers

We crossed San Francisco bay at nine that night and an hour later anchored

off California City where a tug with the inevitable news gatherers came

alongside immediately. We told them the story ofthe collision and for two hours

they made flashbulb photographs of the damage. The next day, front pages of

newspapers the country over were devoted to the thrilling yarn.

When the tide turned, the Chicago made its way to the Mare Island Navy Yard

where it was placed in dry dock, ending our worries for the ship's safety

As always in the navy when an accident occurs, a court of inquiry was

convened at once to investigate the collision and to report the damages. As was

to be expected, the court placed the entire blame on the freighter, reporting half

a million dollars damage to the Chicago. Since the ship would require two

months of repair work, I directed another of my cruisers, the Chester, to come to

Mare Island and transfer my flag and equipment to it. Then we proceeded to San

Francisco where we carried out our Navy Day task as directed.

When the blame for the collision was officially placed on the freighter, the

United States prompdy libeled the ship and sued its owners for the cost of

repairs and for compensation to injured personnel. As the freighter had been

insured by Lloyds, that great company fought the suit "tooth and nail," but with

little effect. The United States won its case completely, contrary to the usual

result in collisions. Almost invariably both ships are held partly to blame, and the

amount of reparation is based on the allocation of blame. It should be a comfort

to Americans to know that in the case of the Chicago collision, the courts placed

the entire blame on the freighter.

Navy Day over, we returned to San Pedro and took up a winter's schedule

that had few interruptions. There were the usual warm, gusty winds known as Santa Anas, and a ten-day holiday at Christmas. Otherwise, for the most part, our

time was devoted to gunnery exercises and to training for war. We made great

progress in both.

One event that is vivid in my memory is the Rose Festival in Pasadena, held

on New Year's Day. Occurring in mid-winter when much of our country is covered with ice and snow, the magnificent display of blooming California

flowers invariably attracts nationwide attention. But to navy men and other

seafarers who attended the Rose Festival of 1934, it will ever hold a treasured

memory.

In planning the annual event, Pasadena always establishes a "theme," and each

float in the great parade presents a picture—made entirely of freshly gathered

flowers—that illustrates the theme. One would scarcely think the many

blossoms needed to create even one of the gorgeous pictures could be

357
An Admiral's Yarn

assembled, but nearly one hundred such floats were in the parade, and each one

was remarkably complete in detail and beautiful in coloring.

The "theme" chosen for the 1934 parade was "Tales of the Seven Seas," so each float depicted some "saga of the sea"—a story of the Spanish Main, a whaling adventure of Moby Dick, a cruise of a Viking ship, sea battles ancient

and modern, the voyage of Christopher Columbus, and, among others too

numerous to mention, "Little America" as established by Admiral Richard E.

Byrd in his successful attempt to reach the South Pole. To add to the interest for

sailors, the parade was reviewed by the country's leading World War naval figure,

Admiral William S. Sims, who was well attended by all the admirals of the

existing fleet.

I had attended other Rose Festivals, once as a guest of Pasadena, so they were

not new to me, but never before was I so closely associated with one. A goodly

portion of the leading hotel had been taken by the city for its guests, the

admirals, and their families, and we were treated royally for three days at the

hotel as well as at many social functions connected with the festival.

While all went off beautifully for official guests, Pasadena and the million

people who wished to attend the festival had a somewhat more difficult time,

since the worst storm I had ever seen in California took that occasion to visit. Not only did fierce winds blow, but there was a deluge of rain—thirteen inches

of it in forty-eight hours!

If you are familiar with southern California, you will understand what so much rain in such a short time will do to it. The area is mountainous and hilly,

and water runs off quickly. While rivers, creeks, and drains were sufficient for the

ordinary rains ofthe region, they were utterly inadequate in a downpour ofwhat

equaled an entire year's precipitation in less than forty-eight hours. Streets

became rivers, and every depression where water could accumulate became a lake. Right up until nearly time for the Rose Parade to begin, we thought the

floats were going to float on a sea background and that the delicate flowers that

made the pictures would be washed away. Then, miraculously, the rain stopped

and, the gorgeous floats that had been so carefully created undercover came out

and went over the route in perfect condition. The huge crowd that watched the

parade had their reward, for the flowers and floats were magnificent. However,

the improved weather did not last long, and later, when about ninety thousand

people waded through mud and pools to the Rose Bowl to see America's annual

football classic, it started to rain again shortly after the kickoff and flooded out

most of the spectators, including my family. As the game marked the end of the

festival, we made our way through the downpour to our station in Long Beach.

358
In Heavy Cruisers

The Pasadena Rose Festival is well worth seeing. There is not anything quite

like it any place in the world. Let me hope, though, that when you attend you

will be greeted by fair skies.

The New Year's events over, we once more concentrated on training, but in

connection with it, something new appeared. It was decided that the annual war

problem of the fleet would deal with the defense of the Panama Canal, passing

through it and operating in the Caribbean, ending with a great fleet review by

the President off New York and followed by several months of visits in Atlantic

ports. Needless to say, everyone in the fleet was greatly intrigued by such a program, and for the next three months we worked harder than ever to perfect

ourselves for war work and to be ready for inspection by the President of the

United States as well as millions of people on the East Coast who had not seen

the fleet for almost fifteen years.

359
& C3 IS +j

xn U

bO a

Kj G ur.M C/3 bO

g £

'3 W

03 '— J 09 &n '3 "s s- 03 U

DC j4

"3 -a

'— &

1

<

3

£

£o

a>o U

> _>

CO

o3 15

r-
XLVII

We Change Oceans

THE FLEET'S WAR GAME OF 1934 began in early April when we left

California, bound southward. The run to Panama is long, and since our

advance was limited to about two hundred miles per day, the fleet had ample

time for war exercises en route. Every fleet element in both offense and defense

was practiced, so we not only were busy but progressed far in developing our

team play for war. The last exercise before entering Panama was to attack the

canal with all the forces of the fleet—surface, sub-surface, and air—opposed by

the canal's army and navy defense forces.

Americans are gready interested in the practice games of their armed forces—so much so that for years press associations and leading newspapers were allowed to

send special correspondents with the fleet to provide eyewitness reports. Because of

the variety of operations in the 1934 games, which extended from California

through the canal and ended with a review ofthe fleet by the President offthe coast

ofNew York, we had an unusual number ofcorrespondents with us. Since there was

intense interest, too, in canal defense, other correspondents were in the zone to

witness the attack from shore. All reports had to be carefully censored before release

lest confidential information be divulged, but otherwise the correspondents

endured few restrictions. They were welcomed into the ships officers' messes and

soon became almost integral with the ships' personnel. With the war game so fully

covered by the press, the attention of the entire United States was focused on the

fleet and the canal by the time we reached Panama.

For days, radio invitations to official functions had been pouring in from zone

and Panama officials, and when we arrived in port from our cruise, where
An Admiral's Yarn

practically all our time had been given to war operations, we found ourselves

dedicating that much time and more to the social side of international relations.

For the ranking officers who were in need of rest but were obliged to attend the

functions, the prospects were not alluring.

Since the cruise, as scheduled, required the fleet to operate from ports on the

Atlantic coast all summer long, many officers' families planned to spend that season in the east too. My own family decided to go there by steamer, leaving

San Pedro on one of the beautiful Grace Line ships about the time the fleet did,

stopping in Panama for a month to be there with the fleet. Therefore, when I arrived, I gathered up my "gold-laced" uniforms for official functions and

rushed ashore to join them.

Seven o'clock the next morning found me at the boat landing, returning to

the ship, and to my surprise, I found it in great commotion. Officers and men

were rushing to the ships which were then "standing" through the canal. When

I asked my coxswain about it, he said he did not know except that the ships had

recalled every one and were starting through the canal. When I arrived on board,

the captain of my flagship told me that the fleet started transiting the canal at 2

a.m. and that orders were on board for the Chicago to start through at 2 o'clock

that afternoon. Beyond those facts, he knew little. Needless to say, I was startled by what he told me. It meant not only a cancellation ofthe Republic ofPanama's official entertainment but that we must

rush the fleet through the Canal. What could it mean? Was the move

discourteous to Panama, or had an emergency arisen necessitating quick action?

No one seemed to know. The commander in chief had issued the order and the

movement started.

Having a few hours before the Chicago sailed, I rushed ashore to recover my

uniforms and notify my family that my stay in Panama City was over. On my

return to the ship, I was met at the gangway by the press correspondent on the

Chicago, who begged me to tell him what was up. When I replied that I knew no

more than he did, he would not believe me and hurriedly began questioning my

staff and other ship's officers to find a leak in the news somewhere. But there was

none, since they knew no more than I did. The correspondent came to me again

saying he was done for, that his press association would decide he had failed

completely for not reporting on the occurrence when he was in the very midst

of it. He complained that even the ship's radio was closed to him. When I explained that radio silence had been ordered for the fleet he became desperate.

There were still two hours before the Chicago would leave, so he called a water-taxi alongside and rushed ashore, remaining there for an hour. When he

362
We Change Oceans

returned, he was smiling like the cat that swallowed the canary and announced

he had put one over on the navy by sending his report by cable.

Happy over having beaten us, you should have seen his face when just as the

Chicago got underway it received a message from the cable office informing the

correspondent that his message could not be transmitted immediately, but

would be sent when the ban on cables had been lifted. That information was not

pleasant for him, but he realized the other correspondents must be experiencing

the same dilemma.

By that time, the people of the United States had a mystery on their hands. In

a blaze of headlines, the press had made them aware of the fleet's arrival in

Panama and of the great reception to be tendered it there. Then came sudden

silence. Neither Panama nor Washington divulged what was occurring, and

curiosity became rampant.

Had it been a publicity stunt, the country's loss of contact with the fleet and

the canal would have proved the most successful one ever. Not anything of the

kind was intended. The fleet had reached the canal in a war game that would

take it into the Caribbean; what better opportunity would there ever be to test the ability of the canal to quickly transfer the fleet from one ocean to the other

in an emergency. Neither the canal nor the fleet was expecting it. Both had been

lulled into a quiet state of mind by the week of entertainment in Panama and by

the leisurely plan of transit prepared by the canal. Suddenly, in the dead of night,

came an order for the fleet to transit the canal at once. If you have not been

through the Panama Canal, you may think it is simply a channel through which

ships can steam, almost at will, from one ocean to the other—but it is not that

type of waterway. A ship goes but a short distance into the canal at ocean level,

then is raised by locks to the artificial lake over the backbone of the isthmus, and

is lowered at the other end to ocean level. It takes an army of men to operate the

canal, and since only trained canal pilots can conduct ships through it, the

unexpected order to rush the fleet through gave the canal force a much more

difficult task than even the navy had. To the navy, unexpected orders are almost

routine, and it is generally ready to meet them. But to expect and require the

canal to change suddenly from the peacetime handling of merchant ships to

wartime operations of a fleet in rapid transit is something else again.

I have ever admired the efficiency of the Panama Canal, but the way it met

that unexpected call opened my eyes. It went from peacetime operation to

emergency war operation at once, and ships began to move through the canal

with clocklike regularity. The frequency of passage, of course, depended on the

time required by a lock to handle a ship, which seemed to be about fifteen

minutes. In that time, a ship, often over thirty-five thousand tons, would be

363
An Admiral's Yarn

pulled into a lock, the gate closed, the ship raised or lowered to the next level,

another gate opened, and the ship pulled into the next lock where the process

would be repeated while the first lock made ready for another ship. The

operation called for infinite precision, and though requiring the teamwork of

hundreds of men, we heard no sound other than an occasional mouth whistle.

So perfect was the coordination between the several locks and pilots, that

ships moved along steadily about fifteen minutes apart. Perhaps somewhere

there is a more perfect man-operated machine than the Panama Canal, but I doubt it. What can be more perfect than perfection?

Because of the canal's length, the many operations necessary to bring a ship

through it, and the restrictions on speed in cuts (where the waterway had been

dug through mountains) , about eight hours is required for a transit. However, the

flow of ships was so continuous that scarcely thirty hours after the movement

from the Pacific started, the United States Fleet was quietly at anchor in

Cristobal harbor on the western end of the Caribbean.

By that time, both fleet and canal were well aware of the absorbing mystery

that gripped the United States, for though neither could transmit messages, both

heard all news broadcasts. Our morning news sheets were full of them, and what

to us was merely an unexpected naval exercise had drawn the attention of the

entire Untied States. For the remainder of the summer it held the spotlight.

We stayed at Cristobal for the length of time the fleet was scheduled to be in

Panama City, but being no longer in the country's capital, there were few

functions for us to attend. Our families crossed the isthmus to join us, so we had

a delightful rest in the cooling trade winds of the Caribbean while making ready

for our Adantic maneuvers.

While these first great exercises in the area since the "World War" came all too soon, they were also most interesting. They took us back to old haunts—the

West Indies, the Greater and Lesser Antilles, Cuba, Haiti, Puerto Pdco, Jamaica,

Guantanamo Bay, and even "Hungry Gulf"—all of which elicited pleasant

memories.

The exercises in the Caribbean covered many of the war operations that

might be expected in that area and were followed by a period of repairs,

cleaning, and painting in preparation for the President's review and our visit in

New York. Leaving Guantanamo, the fleet headed for the reviewing point a few

miles from Ambrose Lightship off New York. All went well until the morning of

the review, when a thick fog almost ruined our plans. The cruiser carrying the

President had so much difficulty getting out of New York harbor that the fleet,

in formation to parade past him, had to maneuver for two hours until the

President was in position. Had the visibility been even fair, the delay would not

364
We Change Oceans

have bothered us, but to hold that miles-long fleet in review formation in a dense fog in the main traffic lane to the world's greatest seaport was a real test in

fleet control. However, the fleet was equal to it, and the instant we were advised

that the President was ready, the parade started exactly as though there had been

a fog, and fortunately the visibility increased to several miles.

Our long column was headed by the giant aircraft carriers Saratoga and

Lexington, while next came my heavy cruisers. The fleet could see enough of its ships to maintain exact formation, but in the remaining haze we could not see the President's ship until almost upon it. Then suddenly it loomed up in the

exact position as planned. Until then I had been concerned about the review in

the open sea in such poor visibility, but when I saw that the fleet would pass the

President exactly as planned, my mind became at rest. I knew that, barring

another closing in of fog, the spectacle would be perfect.

It was. As each ship approached the President with "rail manned" and crew

"paraded," it fired the President's salute of twenty-one guns. Then, as it passed,

the ship's band played the national air with all hands saluting. For two hours the

parade of ships continued, and then behind the last ship came the fleet's air force

in mass formation, providing a noisy and fitting finale to a magnificent spectacle.

We had feared that in the fog no one would see the review except those in the

fleet or reviewing party, and the great steamship companies that had prepared to

carry over two-hundred thousand people to witness the parade would be deeply

disappointed. Imagine our surprise on nearing the reviewing ship to see assembled there a great fleet of passenger ships packed with sightseers.

Until that moment I little realized New York's intense interest in our visit.

Great though the crowd was that greeted the fleet at sea, it was small compared

with that along the shore as we stood up New York Bay and North River.

People were everywhere—in windows, on roofs, and in every vantage point

from the Narrows to the George Washington Bridge. It gave us the feeling of

being in a vast stadium fifteen miles long, filled with human beings. Then and

there we realized the extent of Americans' interest in their navy.

Knowing the sun would set before the fleet would be anchored in North

River, the exchange of courtesy calls between city and fleet officials had been

scheduled for the next morning. Promptly at ten o'clock, Mayor Fiorello La

Guardia, accompanied by New York's official reception committee, called on

the commander in chief, and an hour later the flag officers of the fleet, in dress

uniforms and cocked hats, assembled at the 72nd Street landing to return the

call. There we were met by a large police escort and a dozen open automobiles

to take us to City Hall.

365
An Admiral's Yarn

It is about five miles from 72nd Street to the Battery, and as New York's West

Side Highway was then under construction, our cavalcade used the regular city

streets. However, doing so seemed not to bother city police and chauffeurs, so with sirens shrieking we went at fifty miles an hour, and I must admit that

holding on to our cocked hats with both hands detracted from our efforts to

present a dignified appearance.

When that wild ride was over, we found ourselves at City Pier and the boat

landing at the Battery where a parade was forming—the Police Band leading

and "motor cops" surrounding it. Almost before we knew it, we were moving

up Broadway in the same way that "heroes" returning from abroad are escorted

to City Hall. Having read of those triumphal processions, I had long wished to see one, and here, unexpectedly, I found myself a part of one with paper snow,

confetti, and ticker tape being showered upon us from the great office buildings

that make lower Broadway a canyon. It was a spectacular beginning to one of

New York's greatest displays of hospitality.

It would take volumes to describe the city's festivities—morning and evening

papers devoted pages to them—yet entertaining personnel was only a part ofthe

attention given the fleet. New Yorkers and people from nearby cities fairly filled

Riverside Drive and the Palisades for a look at the fleet lying so quietly in North

River. Hundreds of thousands filled the ships every day, and the interest

continued for our entire stay in North River.

We were well worn from the continuous official ceremonies and hospitality

extended during our visit and hoped to be able to rest when we left New York,

but it was not to be. Though divided into groups to visit several Middle Atlantic

ports, attention remained focused on the fleet. I had command of a group of

cruisers and destroyers sent to Philadelphia, and although it was not a large force,

its welcome to the "City ofBrotherly Love" was on the same colossal scale as the

one in New York.

I sensed it as we stood up Delaware River where, from Wilmington on,

immense crowds filled every vantage point to watch the ships pass. Arriving at Philadelphia, each ship was taken to the city pier that had been prepared for it and for handling the throngs that would visit. Near my gangway stood the

official limousine and police escort assigned me by the city for the duration of

the visit. I was taken at once to Philadelphia's most delightful hotel where the

city had provided a large suite for my family and me.

Our arrival in Philadelphia on a Saturday evening gave us an opportunity to

rest the following day and prepare for the week ahead, which included the

Fourth ofJuly celebration. The festivities began on Monday morning when the

major and I exchanged official calls. They continued for a week, beginning at

366
We Change Oceans

ten o'clock each morning and lasting nearly all night. My family and I rushed

from one function to another, and at many I was called on for a speech—a trying

task for a sailor.

On the Fourth of July I delivered a broadcast address during the

Independence Hall ceremonies and attended divine services in Old Christ

Church, where my family and I sat in the pew that had been occupied by

George Washington when he was President. During the week we visited many

other historical shrines, including Independence Hall, Congress Hall, the

Liberty Bell, Valley Forge, Betsy Ross House, and others perhaps less well

known. Between these visits were luncheons, receptions, dinners, banquets, and

balls, so that for eighteen hours out of each twenty-four, it was rush, rush, rush.

We were whisked from place to place in the city's official car, surrounded by a police detachment with shrieking sirens, and we had less privacy than goldfish. I asked the chief ofpolice if the sirens could not be dispensed with, but the Mayor

would not permit it and said, "Admiral, for a long time Philadelphia has not

been able to honor the fleet that the nation depends on for security and

independence, and I want our people to realize the importance ofthe U.S. Navy.

You are its symbol, and for that reason I am having as much attention drawn to

you as possible. Aside from that, Philadelphia has its share of radicals opposed to

our government. We must continue the police escort and the sirens."

Being accustomed to long hours with little sleep, we sailors might have given

little thought to the physical strain had the weather been reasonably cool, but it was not, and the intense humidity added greatly to the discomfort of our visit

the entire time we were in Philadelphia. However, we did appreciate the great

welcome that had been extended to us and the hospitality shown not only to the

officers of the fleet but to all personnel. Our week in the "City of Brotherly

Love" will remain a treasured memory.

After leaving, we headed for sea and anchored off Cape Henlopen, where we

had a twenty-four hour wait before joining the rest of the fleet for a week ofwar

exercises, which were strenuous and took pace in bad weather. Later the fleet

was divided between Narragansett Bay and Provincetown for a period of

individual ship training. My cruisers went to the latter, where we remained

about three weeks and saw much of interesting Cape Cod.

I had not expected to attract much attention there, but not only did everyone

on the Cape for the summer take a lively interest in us, but daily excursions from

Boston brought so many visitors that Provincetown became a carnival city for

the duration of our stay. Still, we carried out our scheduled work, and we

enjoyed ourselves in the Cape's usual delightful summer weather.

367
An Admiral's Yarn

After that training period, the fleet was again subdivided and ships were sent

to many New England ports. My flagship, the Chicago, went to Marblehead,

where for a week it was the center of excitement for the surrounding area, and

we were shown all the points of historical interest in the vicinity.

With the New England visits finished, the fleet assembled at Hampton Roads

for another week ofwar training, but unfortunately the Chicago could not join it. While in Marblehead, we had discovered parts of our fire mains so eaten by

electrolysis that immediate replacement was required. The ship was rushed to

the New York Navy Yard, and I began seeking another flagship.

It so happened the cruiser Houston had just returned from a trip to the Pacific

with the President, and being immediately available, I requested a transfer to it. A

day or so after the Chicago reached Brooklyn, the Houston came in, the transfer

was made, and we joined the fleet in time to participate in a maneuver that

extended from the Chesapeake through the Florida Straits. At its end, the fleet

was once again subdivided, this time to visit ports south of Cape Hatteras.

The Chicago had been scheduled for New Orleans, but my new flagship was

assigned to the city for which it was named—Houston, Texas. The change of

port was not unwelcome, since it would take me to an area about which I had

heard much but had never seen. Unless one visits Houston in a ship, one does not realize what people can do

to create a seaport where there is no sea. In that respect Houston seems unique.

I had seen Galveston and its Bay and thought highly of them, particularly of

the energy and foresight that had made Galveston the fine city that it is. Also, I had read much ofHouston and how by dredging a fifty-mile canal and digging a harbor it had made a great seaport in the plains of Texas. Still, I was not quite

prepared for what I saw. The twenty-mile channel across shallow Galveston Bay

did not end at the shoreline but continued across the prairie for thirty miles to

Houston harbor. As long as we were in the broad Galveston Bay with water

around the ship for miles, I thought little of being in a dredged channel.

However, once the Bay was behind, a different feeling arose, for from the bridge

the Houston seemed to be standing straight across a prairie that ended only at the

horizon. I had cruised through a sand desert in the Suez Canal, had become

reasonably accustomed to ships passing through mountains in the Panama Canal

as well as their being hoisted up and down hill by locks—but to stand through

farmland in an oceangoing ship was a new experience indeed.

Reaching Houston's harbor we found it small, busy, and completely

surrounded by piers crowded with ships taking cargoes of cotton, grain, and oil,

for which Houston is a great shipping center. There was no loafing and the ships

368
We Change Oceans

were loaded with amazing speed, after which they departed immediately to

make way for others.

Houston's man-made harbor may be small compared with those nature

provided elsewhere, but it makes up in speed of operation for all it lacks in size.

Its activity is that of Houston itself, which, from being a small town a few years

ago, is today a rapidly expanding bustling city of over three-hundred thousand

souls.

Half-way measures seemed to have no place there, either in business, building, or hospitality. In particular, Houston is devoted to the cruiser that bears its name,

and from the time we arrived, attentions were showered upon us. Not only did

all Houston visit the ship, but excursionists came from hundreds of miles. The

week in Houston was a gala period, and we thoroughly enjoyed it, especially our

visits to historical places where we were presented with histories of Texas and

books about Sam Houston. We left the city knowing much more about the

earlier days of Texas.

After leaving Houston we went to Guantanamo, where the fleet was

assembling for its return to the Pacific. The never to be forgotten summer was

over, and once more tactical training and gunnery work became paramount.

Our westward trip was devoted to it, and when November found the fleet again

at California bases, it was prepared to go on with winter training exactly as though it had been at the bases all summer.

Little out of the ordinary occurred that winter as we continued to perfect our

team play of war. In January I began to think what might happen to me when

summer came, since in May I would complete two years at sea as a vice admiral,

the length of cruise that is usually allowed flag officers. It was certain I would not

be left at sea as a vice admiral in command of the cruisers, and I was hopeful the

years I had devoted to preparing myself for the navy's highest commands would

be rewarded. To a considerable extent they were, for although I was not made

commander in chief of the fleet, I was given command of the Battle Force with

the rank of admiral and the responsibility of winning in battle for the United

States should war beset us.

369
D o

43

<D C- 43+-> C/3 <4HO S-H -*—

>

Ph o

*d ~&< <u

-(-J t* (3 a • ^H 53 o

o

<u </} 43 1/5 <

.g

s—

60 z 53 C/3 0) £ fi0) do > a o

"2 B

iS <u

H-) s

C/5 ctf 'E

W)

ScS OJO ;— _g "g

4-> -a ^o < 'cL
XLVIII

Four-Star Admiral

ON1 APRIL 1935, with all the pomp prescribed for the ceremony, I took

command of the Battle Force. After reading my orders aloud and

announcing my assumption of command, I directed the captain of my flagship,

the California, to break my flag. The four-star flag of an admiral then flew out

from the masthead, and as it did, the California fired a salute of seventeen guns.

The moment was tense for me, marking as it did the attainment of my life's ambition—rank of admiral in the navy.

My first complex task in the new rank ensued with the annual war problem

that began a few weeks after I hoisted my flag. It was an extensive exercise, its main operation covering the northern Pacific from Hawaii on the east to just

beyond Midway Island on the west. It was also an unfamiliar type of operation.

The enemy, which had considerable strength in surface ships and particular

strengths in aircraft and submarines, was occupying Midway Island. It was the

job of my force—superior in heavy ships but inferior in other types—to retake

the island. This was a situation that would test the defensive power ofaircraft and

submarines opposing heavy surface ships.

My command was the battle force minus three battleships and one large

aircraft carrier assigned to the enemy. In addition, the enemy had all the heavy

cruisers (except three which were assigned to my force), many destroyers, all submarines, the harbor-based aircraft of Hawaii, and a large force of marines.

Under the distribution, my force would be superior in hitting power if I could

bring it to Midway intact, but the process of reaching there would subject us to

all the attrition an enemy strong in scouting ships, bombing aircraft, and
An Admiral's Yarn

submarines could inflict in a 1,300 mile passage from Hawaii at slow speed.

Considering the damage that heavy bombers and submarines were reputedly

able to inflict on battleships, the situation did not look very bright for the battle

force.

The commander in chief had said the problem was designed to make the

force suffer heavily from air and submarine attack all the way from Hawaii, so it seemed litde of my force would be afloat to recapture Midway, should any of it reach there.

On the face of it, the problem for the battle force was not encouraging to

contemplate. It seemed hardly possible the enemy could fail to locate us and

deliver attacks incessantly from the moment we left Hawaii. However, in war

situations, a high commander must often fight with the odds decidedly against

him, and the measure of his ability is often reflected by the outcome. Hence,

though the set-up was anything but favorable for my force, it was my task to win

in spite of it. The Hawaiian archipelago extends some thirteen hundred miles

west-northwest from Hawaii, with Midway at its western end. From an atlas

map, it appears simply as a chain of widely separated small islands, but as shown

on navigational charts, the archipelago is actually a long stretch of shoals and

reefs which, if they show above the sea at all, are little more than uninhabited

sandbanks. Since there are no navigational marks along the chain, ships usually

pass well to the northward or southward, but seaplanes find considerable

directional value in the sand patches as well as occasional areas where safe

landings can be made. Thus the chain, though it handicaps ship operations, is an

aid to air operations—another point unfavorable to the batde force!

With the enemy having so many advantages, "estimating the situation" and

"preparing plans" for my force was unusually difficult. There was little we could

do to destroy his aircraft or submarines, so to be successful we must evade them.

We hoped to weaken his air strength by a surprise night attack on the

long-range bombers that we knew were in "Midway Lagoon" when the war

opened, but the vital element remained evasion. In fact, we made the surprise air

attack, although our available air force was puny and not equipped for the work.

The only planes we had within a thousand miles of Midway were the scouting

planes of the three heavy cruisers—which were four to each cruiser. They were

equipped with machine guns to fight enemy planes in the air but otherwise had

no hitting power at all. Still, it was so important to reduce the enemy's air

strength that we decided the possible gain was well worth the risk of a theretofore untried night air attack on the enemy's long-range planes. Having

been in command of the heavy cruisers for two years, responsible for their

372
Four- Star Admiral

training, I had little doubt their aircraft could successfully carry out the unusual

task.

That attack was one ofconsummate gall on the part of the battle force and of

even more consummate nerve and skill on the part of the aviators that made it. Knowing the moon would be nearly full, we counted on its light to enable the

attack. When the sun went down, our cruisers were over a hundred miles from

Midway, much too far for planes to fly at night and find a group of small, low

sandbanks ringing the atoll. Accordingly, at dusk the cruisers started for Midway

at high speed and reached a point, about ten miles from the island, where it could

be seen in the moonlight. At that point they catapulted their planes and, turning

to a prearranged course, steamed directly away from Midway at top speed,

leaving the planes to attack and then return to the cruisers.

The details of the attack were told to me afterwards by the aviators.

Apparendy it delivered all the surprise we had hoped for. Knowing we had but

three cruisers near the strongly defended Midway area, the enemy, seemingly,

was not prepared to fight a night air attack twelve hours after war had been

declared. Perhaps they were as ready as was possible under the conditions at Midway, but if so, the objective of the attack—the bombing force—was wide

open to it. The shore defenses surrounding the lagoon were ready, but

apparently the lagoon itself was not poised for attack by air. There, moored in

long lines, lay the entire force of giant enemy seaplanes. Had our attack group

been larger or better equipped, it doubtless could have done great damage to the

huge unprotected planes lying quietly in the lagoon. As it was, they probably

crippled many seriously, though their small caliber machine guns could only

make holes that efficient mechanics could certainly repair.

The attack on the bombers continued until the ammunition of the attacking

planes was theoretically exhausted. For as long as the ammunition held out, the

planes stood back and forth close above the lines of anchored bombers and

sprayed them with their machine guns. They then withdrew and followed after

the cruisers, joining them at dawn to be taken aboard. The cruisers continued

standing away from Midway at high speed, lest they be located and bombed by

the enemy, but neither enemy ships nor enemy aircraft found them. The surprise

attack had been accomplished with perfect success, and although we could not

determine the damage it did, a message broadcast the next morning by our

cruisers informed us that the battle force had struck a considerable blow at the

heart of the enemy without our being damaged in any way. The knowledge was

cheering, and as the cruisers were then free to create a previously planned

diversion northeast of Midway, we began to feel greatly encouraged over the

situation.

373
An Admiral's Yarn

At the time the mock war opened, my entire force, except the three cruisers near Midway, was in Pearl Harbor ready to sail. It got underway immediately, and

at exactly noon stood out of its base in the face of an enemy concentration of

submarines that gave it a busy afternoon. Fortunately, the army defense of

Hawaii was available to help us, and as its aircraft forced enemy subs to keep

submerged, the batde force suffered litde in getting to sea and forming for the

advance on Midway.

That afternoon and evening was a period of vital importance to us, since we

were to lay a plan for outwitting and evading the enemy. We knew that although

they might not be able to attack us, enemy submarines would certainly report

our movements, and we hoped to deceive them by standing southward from the

harbor entrance to form up and then ostentatiously turning the fleet to a northwest course as if to pass through Kauai Channel west of Oahu and gain the

northern side of the archipelago. By late afternoon we had passed the

submarines, and our air force concentrated on keeping them submerged until

dark to prevent them from reporting our movements. Then, when darkness fell,

we increased our speed, and at nine o'clock, an hour before the moon rose, the

entire battle force suddenly changed course to southwest to reach the southward

of the archipelago.

After the abrupt change ofcourse and the route in darkness, we had no way of

knowing whether or not the enemy had observed us. So when the moon rose, we became not only vigilant for enemy contacts but especially alert for

intercepted enemy radio messages or detected signals emanating from nearby

that might be reporting the movement. However, none were heard and at dawn

we were some two hundred miles from where we appeared to be going at dark.

All that day we waited for enemy scouting ships or planes to discover us, but

when darkness came again and no contact had been made, our great worry was

over, for by the time it would be light again, the enemy would have a considerable search problem on his hands.

By then we might be anywhere from five hundred miles north of the

archipelago where our early movements indicated we would be, or five hundred

miles south of it where we actually were. The enemy's task had become

equivalent to hunting for a needle in a haystack.

In the next several days our force held a due west course drawing farther to

southward of the northwesterly trending archipelago. We expected to be

discovered at any moment, especially when, having searched to northward ofthe

chain of islands, the enemy would realize we must be south of them.

We could tell by the radio activity that his force was becoming a bit desperate over not locating us, but as the messages seemed to be emanating from points far

374
Four- Star Admiral

to the northward, we felt fairly secure. They were usually in enemy code that

we were unable to break, but now and then we would catch a rush message in

plain language reporting a contact where we had no ships at all. In spite of the

reassurance given by the enemy's radio, we still felt certain that we would be

discovered before reaching the longitude of Midway. We were not, and when

we had reached that longitude we turned north at dusk one evening to head

directly for the island.

Dawn the next morning found us only three hundred miles from Midway,

heading for it on course north. Every minute we expected to be "picked up" by

enemy scouts and attacked by submarines and heavy bombers. Although we

heard the enemy's radio constantly, we remained unseen until just before sunset

when a scouting plane located and reported us. We were then two hundred

miles from Midway, and it was too late in the day for the enemy subs to gain

attack positions before dusk.

Nevertheless, as soon as our position was reported, a force of heavy bombers

set out to attack us. Fortunately darkness came before they could see us, and

although we saw the big bombers plainly against the bright sky background,

they could not see us against the dark water.

We were therefore safe for the night from air, but enemy destroyers and

submarines would certainly attack with torpedoes unless we could fool them.

Accordingly, when it was completely dark, the battle force changed course

ninety degrees to the left for about three hours and then turned back to head for

Midway. I dare say those course changes bothered the enemy considerably, for

no attack reached us until about 2 a.m., when a few destroyers found us. Their

doing so gave our position away, so when dawn came and we were closing

Midway to deliver our attack, the enemy met us with all his forces in

concentration.

Though the situation still left my force considerable fighting to do before

capturing Midway, we had nevertheless accomplished our main task and were

starting the attack at nearly full strength. We had gained the tactical advantage of

hitting power superiority at the critical point and were deployed to take

advantage of it.

It is never possible to measure results in sham battles at sea, and the outcome

in that one was certain to be guesswork. But as matters turned out, the result was

even less determinable than usual, for the big fight had barely started when the

commander in chief suddenly sent us a radio flash discontinuing the battle and

directing radio silence. As a flash of that nature could mean but one thing—

a

disaster—the entire fleet awaited instructions. We had no idea what had

375
An Admiral's Yam

occurred, but we held ourselves ready to meet the emergency whatever it might

be.

We were not long in learning. One of the ''enemy" giant bombers had

crashed into the sea with six officers and men, and the fleet's task thereby

changed instandy from fighting the final battle in a mock campaign to rescuing

real aviators. Unfortunately no ships were sufficiently near the crash to see it or lend assistance. We knew only that the big plane reported itself falling and then

there was silence.

Locating the exact spot of an unwitnessed plane crash at sea is difficult, since

water shows no trace of the crash except through floating survivors or bits of

wreckage. It therefore became necessary for the fleet to go over the possible area very carefully. For ten hours we searched so thoroughly that every bit offloating

material in the area was recovered. With its crew of brave men, the plane had

gone to the bottom of the sea. The sun went down that night on a saddened fleet that had known for hours

that further search was futile. As darkness closed in, the commander in chief

reluctandy stopped the search, and after assembling the fleet, started our return

to Hawaii. The trip was without incident, and in about six days we were once

more in Honolulu, where we were shown the customary hospitalities while

preparing for our return to southern California.

There was nothing unusual in that passage. Although we had been engaged in

war exercises for the previous two months, we continued them on our way

home so that by the time we were again at fleet bases, we were ready for a rest. However, there was litde time to relax. The summer schedule was at hand with

the fleet going to San Francisco for Fourth ofJuly week and then on to Puget

Sound.

That was my last summer in the northwest. Exactly forty years after I had

gone there as a middy, I returned as a full admiral in command ofthe batde force.

The change in me personally was great, but no greater than to the northwest

where development and improvements were amazing. From a distance, Mt.

Rainier, Mt. Baker, and Mt. Olympus seemed unchanged, but when I drove over

the beautiful highways to them I found myself in immense national parks with

paved roadways leading to every scenic wonder. Cities stood where only towns

and villages had been, while factories and farms covered what, in my youth, had

been dense forest.

I had made a trip in my earlier years to the wild virgin forests of Oregon, but

they were no longer wild. Automobiles and people were everywhere, and news

from the outside world was as frequent and complete as in New York City.

376
Four- Star Admiral

One day I motored up Smith River Valley and in two hours had reached the

point where less than fifteen years before men were seldom seen and game and

trout abounded. But now the situation was quite reversed. We found a two-hundred-man C.C.C. [Civilian Conservation Corps] camp where

formerly there had been no men at all, and Smith River utterly denuded offish.

The country was as beautiful as ever, but it had lost its charm for me.

Summer over, the fleet returned to southern California and began its winter

schedule. The work was as continuous, as interesting, and as important as ever,

but I was then completing six years at sea as a flag officer. Accordingly, in January

1936, 1 wrote to a friend in Washington, at work on the high command slate,

that if my services at sea were not needed I would like to become Commandant

of New York Naval District when that officer retired for age, in April.

Shortly after that I received orders detaching me from the battle force exactly

one year after taking command, allowing me one month's leave and directing

me to assume duty as Commandant of the Third Naval District and the New

York Navy Yard on May first. It was a shock to know my seagoing was soon to

end, but I was not greatly depressed since, after all, it was merely age catching up

with me. As I had passed my sixty-second birthday anniversary, had been in the

navy about forty-five years, and had almost completed twenty-five years of duty

at sea, what else could I expect?

The last two months of sea life passed quickly, and then came the day to

relinquish command. Remembering how I felt when I left the Pennsylvania, I expected the day that I gave up sea life forever to be a sad one. To some extent it was. But there was something different in this situation. Whereas I still had my

goal in life to pursue when I left the Pennsylvania, that had now been attained

and surpassed. As I gave up the battle force, not only were my years ofpreparing

for high command in war ending, but my great responsibilities were finishing

too. The sadness of giving up my last command was ameliorated by my relief to

transfer the burden to younger shoulders.

I must confess to husky voice and tearful eyes when my four-star admiral flag

came down. Nevertheless, when my wife and daughter met me at the boat

landing, both voice and eyes returned to normal in their rejoicing that cruises,

separations, and tremendous responsibilities were now in the past. We found

much happiness in the thought of a future together, for we were an unusually

devoted family.

377

XLIX

A Transcontinental Cruise

WHENWE KNEW SEAGOING WOULD SOON BE OVER FOR ME, my

family began to make plans for life ashore. We had toured most of our

coastal states as well as many foreign countries. This brought us to the

conclusion that there were more places left in the United States that we wished

to see than in all the rest of the world together. Our plans for the future,

therefore, were based largely on seeing our own country.

I still had a short tour of shore duty before retiring, leaving little we could do

to immediately gratify our wish to travel. However, I had a month's leave before

having to report for shore duty, so my wife and I determined to make a leisurely

automobile trip to New York. In our many traversings of the country, we had

become familiar with sights along the transcontinental rail routes, so we planned

our motor trip to places not visible from trains. The first visit was to Boulder

Dam.

209 Our daughter had started east by rail the night before, and my wife and I got

underway the next morning. Spring had come and southern California was

gorgeous with flowers. But we were quite familiar with the country west of the

mountain range, so we hurried across it and over Cajon Pass into the Mojave

Desert. All went well until we were in the desert, whereupon entering we found

a strong westerly wind driving across it, carrying dense clouds of sand.

When we reached Barstow and stopped for gas, we were inclined to remain

there awhile, even though sand and dust were as heavy in the town as on the

highway. While we were getting gas, a car came in from eastward looking so

strange that we stared in amazement. Not only was it devoid ofpaint, but its glass
An Admiral's Yarn

windows seemed to be frosted. Being accustomed to queer looking cars on

highways, I assumed it to be just another old desert car—until the man driving it climbed out to look it over. When he did so, his face became one of utter horror. He asked me if we had

come from westward and if I though he could make it to Los Angeles. As we had

just traveled the road, I told him I though he could, whereupon he exclaimed,

"I've been driving automobiles for years, but this is my first experience in a desert. My wife and I are on our honeymoon, driving this brand new car. We

spent last night in Las Vegas, and when we left this morning our car was without

a blemish. Just look at it now—all blemish."

The car looked the part and I became apprehensive about leaving Barstow

until the sandstorm was over. However, the station attendant, while not

encouraging, said that since strong westerly winds often blew sand that way for

days, we might just as well go on. The he added, "Don't let that eastern dude

scare you. Being in the desert for the first time he tried to buck a forty-mile-an-hour sandstorm at sixty miles an hour. He 'sand blasted' the paint

offhis car himself. If he had been satisfied to slow down his car, it would not have

been damaged. However, it will be different with you, since you will be going

with the wind and sand, no matter how fast you go. My advice is to go on to Las

Vegas at best speed."

Although skeptical, we took his advice and continued on across the desert.

The flying sand was thicker than ever, but it merely dropped on the speeding car

like dust. At times visibility was too reduced to travel fast, but on we went for

about a hundred miles, when we had to go over the mountain pass at Ivanpah

Lake. As we neared the top ofthe pass, we found ourselves above the flying sand,

and as we went down the eastern slope, the air was so delightful that we stopped

to eat sandwiches and drink ice water and soda pop while the car cooled off. All was well until we tried to start the engine, which refused to work. It had

been given a careful check-over the day before, and our driver was an excellent

mechanic, so we worried that it was serious and feared we would be stalled in a desert where only one car had been seen since we left Barstow. Fortunately we

were headed down the mountain, and, having assured himself that the engine

was all right mechanically, the driver proposed coasting down the grade.

Coasting down a mountain toward a desert in a heavy automobile is no pastime

for a sailor, and I was a bit dubious about it. But inasmuch as it was better than

spending a night on a desert mountain, I told him to try it.

I have no idea what trick he used to start the flow of gas again, but when we

had coasted a mile or so, the engine began to run and we made it to Las Vegas,

Nevada, sixty miles away. We took advantage of the clear air and splendid

380
A Transcontinental Cruise

highway to make high speed, but I must confess to a nervous tension all during

the run lest the gas stop again on an upgrade.

By the time we drove into a Las Vegas gas station, I felt our troubles were over,

but they were not. Although the station attendants and men from a nearby

garage found our gas line clear from tank to engine, the latter once more refused

to start. We therefore "manhandled" the car a couple ofblocks to a garage, where

by dint of persuasion on the boss who had a brother in the navy, they agreed to

work all night, if necessary, to correct the trouble. It turned out to be sand in the

carburetor, of course, but I had no idea until then what a job it would be to

rectify it. It seemed so complicated as those mechanics went about it that I feared

we would be obliged to spend a day or two in Las Vegas. But the men worked

with such knowledge and skill that in less than four hours the engine was

running smoothly and we were underway for Boulder City where we had

reserved rooms for the night.

It was a great surprise when, driving through the desert, we suddenly came

out on the enormous lake created by the dam. I had informed the supervising

engineer of our visit to the dam, and he had sent word to come to the

Administration Building in Boulder City so that one of his assistants could show

us over it. Accordingly, at nine o'clock next morning, we were taken to the

project by an engineer. Merely to see the lake that had been created in the desert

was astonishing enough—but when we were told the lake extended seventy

miles up the Colorado River gorge, and was seven hundred feet deep at the dam,

we realized as never before what man can do.

As inspiring as the lake was, the feeling was dwarfed at the sight of the dam

that created it. Driving out on the roadway atop the arched structure and

looking over the lake, one felt it was like any great dam; but turning in the

opposite direction and seeing the huge gorge that the dam had closed left one

spellbound. Nearly eight hundred feet below us lay the bed of the Colorado

Paver. Spouting from the cliff on one side were three giant geysers, the Colorado

Paver flowing around the dam site through the tunnels, while the dam was

under construction.

Perhaps the world contains a greater engineering feat, and while I have seen many, none impressed me as did Boulder Dam, when I stood atop it looking first at the lake it created and then at the great gorge it closed. The sight is well worth

traveling thousands of miles to see. Remarkable as the view is from the top of Boulder Dam, one must visit its base to realize what a wonderful achievement it is. A giant elevator takes one

down to the bottom of a gigantic canyon to the power plant with its enormous

turbines. Closed at one end by the man-made dam, it is held open at the other by

381
An Admiral's Yarn

the tremendous forces of nature. Perhaps nowhere else can one see the awesome

power of nature consisting with the nearly as great power of mere man. It is amazing what man can do in this world of ours. From Boulder Dam we went to the Grand Canyon in Arizona via some fifty

more miles of desert before reaching a main east-west highway. Once on it, the

worst of the desert seemed behind us. The country remained arid and thinly

populated as we gradually climbed to the high plateau where winter snows had

been and where desert flowers and other vegetation began to appear between

mountain ranges. At length we reached the timber line, and from there on into

Grand Canyon National Park the country was gorgeous, snow on the hilltops,

snowdrifts near the highway, snow flowers blooming profusely, and great

evergreen forests all about. The altitude was nearly six thousand feet and the air so clear, cool and invigorating that the change from the desert regions was

delightful and gready appreciated.

An hour or two before sunset, we reached the park entrance where all visitors

must register. Imagine my surprise when the ranger who looked at my

registration card suddenly exclaimed, "Oh, you are Admiral Laning. I've been

watching for you all day" Although I was traveling "incog," I replied in the

affirmative and asked how in the world he knew I was coming to Grand

Canyon. He said, "That was easy. A navy captain who had been on your staff

arrived early this morning and asked if you had reached here. I told the park

superintendent you were coming and he gave orders to let him know when you

arrived so that he could place all the park at your disposal." With that we drove

on to our hotel where the captain and his wife were waiting for us. They had

investigated the most interesting point we should see, and at once suggested that

with the sun about to set, we should hurry to a certain place overlooking the

canyon to witness the marvelous changes in color at that time. We were treated

to the gorgeous spectacle of sunset across the Grand Canyon.

After dinner that night the park superintendent came to see me, and I realized

that to experience all the canyon's glories, which he so eagerly described, would

necessitate a much longer visit than we had planned. The superintendent hoped

to show us the canyon from top to bottom. However, having looked at the

bottom, and noting the thousands of feet of cliff to be negotiated to reach it, I regretfully decided it was no trip for a sailor. In any event, we had to be on our

way the following day. The superintendent kindly charted a morning cruise for us along the south rim, which was awe-inspiring and beautiful, and he also

advised us to see the canyon at sunrise. So, we walked out of the hotel about five

o'clock the next morning to watch the morning's rays brighten the walls and

pinnacles of the Grand Canyon.

382
A Transcontinental Cruise

You may think of April as balmy in the Arizona high plateau, and you would

be correct as far as mid-day temperatures are concerned. However, it was

anything but balmy when we departed—in fact all of the outdoor surfaces were

frozen tighdy! Although we believed we had seen the greatest of nature's

spectacles at sunset, we found the sunrise equally gorgeous and very different.

The actual colorings obviously were the same; but whereas at sunset they lead to

a fade-out of the picture, at sunrise they go from blackness to the wonderful

majesty of the Grand Canyon. One can hardly say which effect is the more

beautiful, since each defies comparison. But having seen the canyon at both

sunrise and sunset, I found its immensity and colorings in mid-day an

anti-climax. When noon came we were willing to move on. For the next several days our stops were at less spectacular spots. We went to

Prescott, Phoenix, and Tucson, then across the Dragoon Mountains to

Tombstone, Arizona, which,judging from its numerous tombstones, is the most

properly named town we encountered. Over the mountains and down a beautiful canyon lies Bisbee and the enormous copper mines for which it is famous.

After Douglas, Arizona, and El Paso, Texas, we went to Carlsbad, New

Mexico, to inspect the Carlsbad Caverns, which, within my time, had become

one of our most remarkable national monuments. One might think of them as merely caves, but having seen some of the other famous caves of the world,

particularly those of New Zealand, I am certain Carlsbad Caverns is one of the

greatest wonders of our time. Going down a prosaic looking caved-in hole on a desert hillside, one is not prepared for the overwhelming beauties soon to be

encountered.

The story of Carlsbad Caverns—their discovery, exploration, and

exploitation—is a romance all its own, but even today the story is not complete.

There are still vast caverns yet to be explored. Only a portion of those on one of

the three known levels has been opened to visitors, and they surpass imagination.

That level is eight hundred feet below the surface and lighted by electricity, but

so numerous and vast are the others that visitors go through the lighted caves in

carefully counted groups, surrounded by Cavern Rangers lest someone go adrift

in the black darkness. The trip through the opened chain of caverns takes about

five hours to complete and has to be made on foot. Visitors usually start down

the "hole in the desert" hill at ten in the morning and return to the surface at three in the afternoon.

Noon finds the party in an enormous cavern where a light lunch is served

before entering the last of the awe-inspiring caverns, after which an elevator

carries the visitors nine hundred feet to the surface.

383
An Admirals Yarn

The five hours in Carlsbad Caverns was not only one of our most unique

experiences but probably, in its way, the most spectacular. One cannot dream the

myriad of fantastic shapes created by the infinitesimal rock deposits, all from

water dropping slowly for millions of years. They run from seemingly delicate

lacework to immense mounds, icicles, and gigantic columns of every color of

the rainbow; and in the artificial illumination, they sparkle like so many

diamonds. Yet though drops of water created those grandeurs, to sightseers the caverns are as dry as a bone. Year in and year out the temperature remains at 50°,

and though a visitor may find dust on his shoes when returning to the surface,

there is never any moisture.

Having seen one of the most remarkable spectacles of our trip, we left the caverns with a resolve to return someday for a more comprehensive visit.

Our route then took us south to Pecos, Texas, where we again struck a main

east-west highway, and thence to Fort Worth, a run which, though ofabout four

hundred miles, crossed only a part of central Texas. Not until we made that run

did we realize the vastness ofTexas, its endless resources, and its development. All

were so far beyond our imaginings that we became more wedded than ever to

the idea of cruising about our country on land. Seeing the world via water is interesting and exciting, but seeing the United States via highways is even more

so. At Fort Worth we turned northward, and after visiting Tulsa and Oklahoma

City, andJoplin, Missouri, we made our way to Kansas City where we stopped to

spend a week with my mother before driving on to my "old home town,"

Petersburg, Illinois.

I had written a relative that we would be there for a day or two and had

accepted an invitation to a dinner my fellow townsmen wished to give in my

honor. Nevertheless, I was not prepared for the greeting I received.

Having been but sixteen when I left home forty-five years before, and having

returned for only occasional visits in that time, it seemed hardly possible that

Petersburg would still look upon me as one of its citizens. The night before

reaching there we stopped in Jacksonville [Illinois] . We left at about eight in the

morning for the thirty-mile drive to Petersburg. It was through country I had

known well as a boy, but although the route was the same, paved highways

replaced the former dirt roads and we traveled sixty miles an hour instead of the

five or six in horse and buggy days. The old road along the Sangamon Paver to

New Salem had become the important highway linking Petersburg and

Lincoln's old home with Springfield, but thirty minutes away now, by car.

It was indeed a different road from the one I had known, but with the changes

I still did not lose my bearings and, too, I had kept abreast of the numerous

384
A Transcontinental Cruise

improvements. Not only had New Salem been made an important historical

park, but its restoration to the days of Lincoln was complete. It was difficult to

hurry on past the entrance to the park to arrive in Petersburg on time.

Driving into Petersburg, I was surprised to find flags flying everywhere. And

when we arrived at my aunt's house, I asked what sort of celebration was going

on. She looked at me in disgust saying, "Goodness, man! Don't you know?

Petersburg is celebrating the return home ofits native son, Admiral Laning. You

may think yourself still a boy around here, but to the town you are one of our

great admirals. Please remember that."

A few minutes later a delegation of citizens came to pay the town's respects,

and among the oldest were several boyhood schoolmates. Not until I saw them

surrounded by the younger men who were taking their places in town

leadership did I fully realize that I too had reached the "has been" status. That afternoon we went to New Salem and were shown over the restored

village by the curator, another boyhood friend.

The contour of the land and the woods were the same as when I had

wandered over them as a boy, and I could even spot one or two of the old trees

that I thought Lincoln had studied under. But although the village with its restored log cabins looked about as we boys had imagined it, the impressive sight

was beyond our dreams. No wonder that thousands visit New Salem each year. It shows, as do few other shrines, from where a man may start and yet leave a name

in history to last through the ages.

Later that day I visited my father's grave and once more looked at Ann

Rudedge's, so close beside it.

I toured Petersburg's "public square," which had scarcely changed since I was

a boy, but except for the oldest men, there were few I remembered. However, as my arrival had been published, I was given a most hearty welcome.

The town looked about the same as it did when I was a lad, but there was

something missing. I know now that it was my youth.

It was with very deep appreciation that in my boyhood home I was made to

feel, in the eyes ofthose who lived there, that I had made good. A man may attain

great responsibilities and be received with acclaim wherever he goes, but to me,

doing so is far short ofappearing successful to boyhood friends. Because ofthat, I look back on that visit to Petersburg as the high point in my life. After that homecoming, the remainder of our springtime cross-country drive

to New York seemed commonplace. We enjoyed it and saw many places we had

long wished to see, but after the earlier thrills, where we had experienced too

many wonders in too short a time, we were delighted to arrive at the

385
An Admiral's Yarn

commandant's house at the Brooklyn Navy Yard, where we were destined to

remain for the next year and a half.

386
L

Commanding a Naval District and Navy Yard

WHEN I ASSUMED DUTIES IN NEW YORK, I found I had two

commands, both of importance. As Commandant of the Third Naval

District, composed of New York, Connecticut, and northern New Jersey, I was

coordinating head for all naval activities in our country's most important seaport

and industrial area, with headquarters in downtown Manhattan. As

Commandant of the Navy Yard, I was head of one of the navy's greatest

industrial plants, with offices in the Brooklyn Navy Yard.

In war, each of these commands is a full-time job for an energetic officer, but

in peacetime, without war activities to conduct, my principal duty was to

maintain efficiency in work while keeping the commands ready to move into

war status on a moment's notice. Inasmuch as both commands maintain skeleton

organizations for war operations during peacetime, the dual duty was not overly

strenuous. Each was one of coordinating previously organized activities, which,

though complex and technical, were individually supervised by experts.

Therefore, I had little to do with details and could devote my time to supervising

the District and the Yard as separate entities, which together were quite

sufficient to cause me to observe strict office hours.

This was not a hardship for one trained to the twenty-four-hour-day of sea

life and sea-fighting. As a matter of fact, being without responsibility for lives

and ships at sea was a considerable relief.

However, the duty had its drawbacks. I was ranking officer in our country's

most densely populated area and as such was expected to represent the navy at nearly all important civic, patriotic, and historical functions in the District. Mere
An Admiral's Yarn

attendance was not sufficient; almost invariably I was expected to make a speech.

Had I accepted the innumerable invitations, I could not have kept office hours

during the day and would have been busy most nights too.

When I realized that even though I canceled considerable speechmaking, I would still have to be on "display" most of the time from noon until after

midnight each day, I was forced to draw the line. All purely official functions, of

which there were many in the great seaport, had to be meticulously observed.

But as such functions were activities for which I had been trained, and rarely

required speechmaking, there was little cause for worry. However, other

functions did require speaking, and I had to consider them carefully. Some

merely wanted a speechmaker, some sought an admiral in uniform as a sort of

"table decoration," while others wished to add a touch of official recognition to

a gathering.

To avoid having my official position abused and also prevent over-taxing

myself on activities extraneous to my duty, I 'was obliged to restrict outside

requests. However, as Commandant of the Navy Yard, one of the city's greatest

industrial plants, I was pleased to represent the navy at the multitudinous official

functions of Greater New York.

An invitation from the Mayor [Fiorello La Guardia] to do so was invariably

accepted, but when it came to attending the meetings of patriotic, military, or

business organizations, I had to decline unless they were of state-wide or nation-wide importance. Though the restrictions keep me from being utterly

swamped with attendance at hundreds of local activities, I still found it rather

rough going.

Fortunately there were compensations. Many of the functions were intensely

interesting and of historical importance, and I will relate some to show the

variety of happenings in a naval officer's life. There were the usual official naval functions for foreign men-of-war visiting

New York—during my time as commandant, there were British, French,

Japanese, Swedish, Canadian, and Danish as well as visitors from other countries.

But while the exchange of naval courtesies was invariably the same, the city's

activities were somewhat varied, depending on the length of the visit, and as a city representative as well as a naval official, I had little rest when a foreign

warship sailed into New York harbor.

My unique experiences in New York had little to do with the navy. Taking

advantage of holidays, leave periods, etc., my family and I made several

automobile tours through most of the area of my command. We covered Long

Island, Hudson River Valley, the Adirondack^, the shores of Lake George and

Lake Champlain, and much of Connecticut and New Jersey. In addition, these

388
Commanding a Naval District and Navy Yard

areas featured many places of historical interest, and after seeing them, I was

better prepared to understand the history and romance of our nation's early life. More than ever I was convinced there are more interesting places to see in the

United States than in most other parts of the world.

We did not have to leave Greater New York to find points of interest, for

there are hundreds right in the city limits, and most were known to us from

previous visits. One event that particularly remains in my memory was the

fiftieth anniversary celebration ofthe [1886] dedication ofthe Statute ofLiberty.

Although only a school boy in Illinois at the time of the dedication, I always

felt a proprietary interest in the Statue of Liberty I was therefore determined to

see it on my first trip to New York, which occurred when I was seventeen and so

full of energy that I climbed through it from top to bottom. I even went to the

light in the raised arm, which long since has been closed to visitors.

Having had this interest in the statue for the fifty years of its existence, and

having felt its significance every time I passed it "standing" in and out of New

York harbor, observance of the dedication anniversary meant much to me.

Accordingly, when I received an invitation to participate in the ceremonies, I was delighted, especially so since the President of the United States and

important officials ofthis nation, France, and other countries would participate.

The celebration was inspiring. Before actual exercises began, the guests were

taken over to Bedloe s Island and were told its history. They saw the old forts

upon which the foundation for the statue had been erected, and in one of the

forts was shown a motion picture reproduction of the convention where the

United States Constitution had been adopted. I can imagine no better

preliminary to the commemoration exercises, which were held in front of the

huge statue. Around it were gathered representatives of historical organizations

bearing flags and banners and wearing uniforms and costumes of the time when

the Republic was established and our national liberty came into being.

In that setting, President Franklin Roosevelt spoke by radio with the

President of France (who was in Paris at that time) as well as in person with the

French Ambassador and other world personages. Their exchange recalled to

Americans the greatness of our country and the meaning of the statue before

which we were gathered. As a boy I had known the statue as Bartholdi's emblem

of our United States—"Liberty Enlightening the World."

That night at a great banquet held in one of New York's largest hotels, I represented the navy and was seated with the dignitaries on the dais. I did not

know the gendeman on my right until in the course of conversation he asked

when I would retire from active service and what I would do afterward. I told

him my retirement would come in about a year, and when it did, my wife and I

389
An Admiral's Yarn

hoped to spend a year touring the United States in an automobile, stopping here

and there to fish and visit all our national parks. "Well," he said, "perhaps I can

help you on your park visits. I am Head of the National Part Service and as such

am attending this celebration because Bedloe's Island and the Statue of Liberty

have been made a National Park within my jurisdiction. When I return to

Washington I will send you literature on all our parks and a letter ofintroduction

to the park superintendents. From the literature you will learn what to look for,

while the letter will open all our parks to you."

I hardly thought he would remember that talk, but a few days later, descriptive

pamphlets covering all the national parks arrived and also a letter introducing

me to the park superintendents. I retain them still in the hope of using them

some day. However, the letter of introduction goes further than merely asking

each park superintendent to aid me in seeing the sights. It speaks of me as a fisherman and requests them to show me the best fishing a park affords! Poor

though I be with rod and reel, I look forward to the rare treat ahead.

Many but not all events that I participated in while at the New York Navy

Yard were commemorative. On Memorial Day, Fourth of July, and other

anniversaries, I was asked to "receive" the parades, but most celebrations had to

do with happenings of "today." I took part in the official opening of

Tri-Borough Bridge, the groundbreaking for the Midtown Tunnel under the

East River, the receptions for distinguished foreign representatives entering the

United States through New York, the banquet on the Queen Mary the night of

that giant ship's arrival, and in dozens of functions of similar nature.

Still there were others. At the Navy Yard, we had our own ceremonies for

laying of keels and the launching and commissioning of ships. During opera

season, we had a box for certain nights sent by a member of the Metropolitan

Opera Association. In the horse racing season we had club privileges at one of

the great tracks and could enjoy the delights of the fall and spring race meets

whenever we had time. Even without office hours, I never lacked for something

to do in New York. The difficulty was in finding time for the things we

particularly wanted to do.

One form of activity out of the usual was attending commencement

exercises, making graduation addresses, and delivering diplomas. Doing so for

the Submarine School at New London and the Merchant Marine School of

New York State went with my line of work, but certain others did not; among

those were the graduating exercises of my pre-Naval Academy school at Peekskill.

Although I had left that school forty-six years previously, I retained a great

fondness for it. Not having had an opportunity to visit it during my varied

390
Commanding a Naval District and Navy Yard

career, I eagerly accepted an invitation to deliver a graduation address. I cannot

claim that the experience fitted me to address young men about to enter college or business positions, but nevertheless I felt the same sort of pleasure in

addressing them as I had felt upon returning to my boyhood town as an admiral.

A few months later I became a trustee of the Peekskill Military Academy and

later its cadets had my portrait painted to hang with other Academy trustees.

Time flew in New York, and my sixty-fourth birthday anniversary with

consequent retirement for age approached with horrifying rapidity. Although

there is nothing unexpected in retiring for age, and officers have learned to look

on doing so with considerable equanimity, one's actual retirement is nevertheless

a shock. To pass, in one moment, from a position of great responsibility to one

having so little in comparison is a blow indeed, even though I had prepared for it for many years. I was dazed as I turned over my last active command, saw my flag

come down, heard the final gun salute, and bade farewell to the fighting navy I loved and in which I had served for over forty-six years.

I had been depressed when I had given up my last ship and when the four-star

flag that marked my last sea command came down, but on neither occasion did I suffer as I did when I left what had so long been my very life. Fortunately I was not to be completely severed from the navyjust then. Many

years before, when I was a lieutenant, my wife and I had discussed the retirement

and had talked over plans for those future days. We had decided we would be

delighted if I were ordered as Governor of the Naval Home at Philadelphia.

You can imagine our happiness when I received the orders (a few weeks

before my retirement) from the Navy Department that if I wished the duty, I would be made Governor of the Naval Home. I lost no time in accepting it, and

the very day my name went on the retired list ofthe Navy, I became Governor of

the Naval Home—another dream had come true.

391

LI

The Naval Home

THE NAVY IS CONCERNED with many activities, but possibly none so

little known to the public at large, or even to the navy itself, as the U.S.

Naval Home at Philadelphia.

It was established in 1820 "to provide an honorable and comfortable home

during life for old, disabled, and decrepit officers and men of the Navy and

Marine Corps who may be entitled under the law to the benefits of the

institution and who shall be known as beneficiaries."

The home is not a disciplinary institution but is intended to provide a retreat

for the beneficiaries, where they may pass their remaining years in contentment

and happiness. It is the duty of all connected with the home to contribute their

utmost to this end, and the only such discipline enforced is that which may be

necessary to secure the highest good for the beneficiaries—individually and

collectively. Under the supervision ofthe Navy Department, the home is subject

to laws that Congress may pass from time to time.

While officers ofthe Navy or Marine Corps may be admitted to the home by

permission of the Secretary of the Navy, few request it. Practically all beneficiaries are former enlisted men. To be eligible, a man must have been

discharged from service under honorable conditions, must have served in the

armed forces of the United States until incapacitated for further service by

disability incurred in the line of duty, or must be on the retired list. Additionally,

he must be unable to earn a living by manual labor because ofphysical disability.

Under such rules for admission, all beneficiaries are either elderly or have

serious physical defects. For that reason, the home is unlike any other naval
An Admiral's Yarn

activity. Its operation resembles somewhat a hospital, though the beneficiaries

are in no sense patients undergoing hospital treatment. They are, however, under

fairly constant medical observation and are sent to the hospital immediately

when advisable.

It is difficult to imagine a more dramatic change in work then that which

transpired with my transfer from an active naval command to governorship of

the Naval Home. War operations that had been my constant work for over

forty-five years simply faded away. But the change had a compensation. In all the

years I had commanded men, it had ever been a conviction of mine that men

would follow a leader better through devotion to him than they would through

fear. Requiring much from the men under me, I always sought to keep them

happy, contented, and satisfied in their daily life. Hence, when I became

governor of the home, I found I could continue that course for the very men

who had served actively in the navy when I did.

For years I had thought that commanding the Battle Force and being a four-star admiral marked the high spot oflife for me, and of course it did as far as my active naval career was concerned. However, I cannot say it also marked the

high spot in my entire life, for there is something wonderfully satisfying in

making the "old salts and leathernecks" of the Naval Home happy.

As I write this, the home has some two hundred and forty beneficiaries, and

quarters for as many more are nearing completion. Since each has his own room,

is clothed, subsisted, and looked out for in every way, the governor has a large

family to care for, not merely as to actual living but even recreation, amusement,

medical, and dental care. Fortunately, I enjoy the care of the big family. Once it was my ambition to

win battles for my country during war, but age has precluded that, and my

ambition today is to bring contentment and happiness to the veterans of the

Navy and Marine Corps in their remaining years. In the eyes of younger men,

this ambition may not loom large. Nevertheless, in the eyes of a one-time

admiral, it is the most alluring one he has ever had. At least it is not connected

with fighting and killing.

Looking backward, there is little I would change in my life. Looking forward

to my remaining years, I am content to enjoy them in the bosom of my family,

dangling a grandchild on my knee. Separations, war, and unpredictable movings

are over, and I am grateful for the many blessings that have been bestowed upon

my family and me during the years.

When I was seventeen it was my ambition to be an admiral in the navy.

Through hardships, my ambition never wavered, and it would not today. Could I live my life over, I would choose the navy for it.

394
USS Laning

Destroyer Escort 1 59

Commissioned at Navy Yard, Norfolk, Virginia

1 August 1943

christened by

Mrs. Harris Laning

DE 159, USS Laning, served thirty-two years

The keel of the destroyer escort USS Laning (DE 159) was laid on 23 April

1943 at the Norfolk Navy Yard. On the 4th ofJuly, Admiral Laning's widow,

Mrs. Mabel C. Laning, was the ship's sponsor at the launching ceremony. The

Buckley-class destroyer escort was commissioned on 1 August 1943.

During World War II, the Laning escorted numerous convoys to the

Mediterranean until November 1944, when the ship was converted into a high-speed transport (APD 55) at the Philadelphia Navy Yard. Sailing to the

Pacific in 1945, Laning was modified further in San Francisco to operate as an

underwater demolition team flagship. The ship reached Okinawa when the war

ended; occupation duties in Korea and China kept the Laning busy for two

months, then she returned to the U.S. East Coast, decommissioning in Green

Cove Springs, Florida, on 28 June 1946. Laning earned one battle star during the

war.On 6 April 1951 the Laning was recommissioned in the Adantic Fleet. From

1955 through 13 September 1957, the ship was assigned to the Third Naval

District (New York) as a Naval Reserve training vessel. After decommissioning

at Norfolk, Laning remained in inactive status, reclassified as LPR 55 in

accordance with general amphibious redesignations occurring on 1 January

1969.

The ex-USS Laning was stricken from the Naval Vessel Register and sold for

scrapping to the Trebor Marine Corporation of Camden, New Jersey, on 3

December 1975.
Rear Admiral Harris Laning, USN extends best wishes to his successor, Rear Admiral

Clark H. Woodward, USN, during ceremonies installing Woodward as commandant of

the Third Naval District at the Brooklyn Navy Shipyard, New York City, 1 October

1937. (ACME photo)
Appendix I

Opening Address

Delivered before the Naval War College

staff and classes of 1931

by

Rear Admiral Harris Laning, United States Navy

President of the Naval War College

Newport, Rhode Island

2 July 1930

It is a pleasure to welcome to the Naval War College its classes of 1931. The

entire staffjoins with me in the hope that all members of the classes will find

their time at the college to be both enjoyable and profitable.

Many officers coming to the college course do so with the feeling that they

are being let in for a year ofhard work not unlike what they experienced in their

academy days and hence look on coming here as "going back to school."

However, while anyone who completes the college course is certain to study a great deal, work hard, and learn much, nevertheless the college has little that

resembles the ordinary institution oflearning. We call it the Naval War College,

but in reality this institution is more ofa laboratory than a college. Here we study

only enough to learn the sound principles on which successful warfare is based,

the greater part of the time being devoted to actual operations and experiments

carried out in chart maneuvers or on the game board. It is through such war

games, conducted in miniature, that we can see the whole picture, that the

student learns how to apply to actual war situations the principles he has learned

through this study.

In addition to affording students the opportunity to perfect themselves in the

practical application of the principles of war, this institution is also a research

laboratory ofvery high measure. Here we can try out, test, and weigh almost any

idea that has to do with naval war operations. The rules governing our game

work are based on the actualities we have found at sea, and if the rules are correct, the results of the game work are just what we may expect during sea operations. For this reason, not only can students see their ideas given a thorough

test, but also the college is in a better position than any other part of the Navy to
An Admiral's Yarn

reach sound decisions as to the type and characteristics of the ships we should

have as well as to how to organize, employ, and operate those ships in war. With the War College offering the opportunities it does, it must be evident

that taking the course cannot but be of immense value and intense interest to

every officer who comes to the class and who desires to succeed in his

profession. In fact, the course seems to me to be essential to any officer who may

be attached to a high command in war, for it is impossible, except by war

operations in miniature, to bring a complete picture of the naval team play in

war before the individual, or to train the individual in using his wits against

another's in naval operations.

The college, therefore, is not a theoretical institution but an intensely practical one. However, the extent to which a student profits from taking the course depends entirely on the student himself. If he comes here only with the idea of

getting credit for having taken the course, he probably will not make a great deal

out ofit. On the other hand, if he comes with the idea ofgetting from the course everything he can that will make him better for the more important jobs in our

services, he is almost certain to go far. There are many officers who feel they are completely successful as officers if

they attain a certain rank or get certain important assignments. Not all of us weigh in our own minds our personal fitness for the ranks or jobs we aspire to. While most ofus will seemingly get along passing well in almost anyjob during

peacetime, even without the special training that can be had at the college, it might be that in war, those of us without that training would find ourselves

unprepared to carry through successfully the tasks that are ours. Certainly no

officer in this class can desire to go to a job which he may be inadequately

prepared to carry through successfully in war, and for that reason, each of you

here should be glad of this opportunity to prepare thoroughly for war duty in

any assignment you desire or that you may be called to during war. While we all believe that a proper navy will tend to prevent war, we must not

overlook the fact that such a proper navy is more than mere material. It also must

be thoroughly skilled in the conduct of war operations. Too often we think

more about the material that is supplied to us by acts of Congress than we do

about skill in utilizing that material—for which skill we officers alone are responsible. But no matter how good our material may be, unless we handle it with skill, it will get us nowhere. On the other hand, even poor material can be

pardy compensated for by skillful use. And in connection with this thought,

your attention is especially called to the fact that with naval armaments limited

and equalized by treaty, skill—and skill alone—will be the decisive factor of our

naval campaigns in the future.

400
Appendix I

You who are entering the class at this time, when naval teams are apparently

about to become standardized as regards material strength, are very fortunate. At

no other place can we learn as we can here the team play of our standardized

navy to assure its success in war. Hence, if at the college we can carry through

what we hope to do, those of us here should, at the end of the year, have a better

idea than anyone else about how best to use our standardized naval team should

war come about. Thus we should have a considerable advantage over many of

our brothers in service.

That skill in war is the great essential for our Navy must be evident to

everyone, but to make it skillful in war, much must be done during peace. Too

many officers are prone during peace to take things as they find them. During

peacetime, they do not devote the thought and energy they should to

developing either their service or themselves for that perfection in team play so

essential in war. They accept whatever is found in our War, Tactical, and Fleet

instructions as final, whether or not what is there is good or bad or whether or not new material or new conditions call for changes. That is not a correct

attitude to take, since the responsibility for the efficiency of our fighting services

rests not on a certain few officers but on each and every one of us. It is the duty

of every officer to bear his share of that responsibility and not leave it for

someone else. First, each must know thoroughly the Navy as it is provided for us and understand how that Navy should play its game to succeed. And then, each

must do what he can to point out any defects in organization or operation,

suggest ways to correct those defects, and try in every way to make the Navy the

most perfect and highly skilled naval team in the world.

It isn't so much what an officer gets in the War College course that counts as what he does afterward with what he gets. If he keeps what he gets here under

his hat and does nothing with it to improve and perfect the work of our armed

forces, his taking the course will lose most ofits value. He will probably perform

better the work assigned him, but that is not enough. Unless he also endeavors to use his knowledge for the improvement of his service as a whole, he will be

failing in his full duty—and certainly not one ofus here will willingly do that.

We therefore hope that the classes, in taking this course, will keep in mind

two ofthe great benefits that can be derived—first the benefit that will accrue to

each one personally from the knowledge and training for war that he receives,

and second, the benefits that he can give to his service as a whole by using his

knowledge and training to make that service better. The good you get from the course will be measured by these two things and especially by the latter. This

applies to all students, whether from the line of the Navy, the Staff Corps, the

Army, or the Marine Corps.

401
An Admiral's Yarn

As must be expected, the course as carried out has generally to do with

fighting operations on the sea, and on its face would seem to be of more

moment to student officers belonging to the Navy line than it is to other

members of the class. However, a little thought will show there is great benefit

for all—for not until each student knows how the Navy will operate and fight in

war can that student be in a position to determine how his particular

department or branch of the service can best cooperate and coordinate in the

work for which the Navy exists. The background for everything connected

with the Navy is the fighting that the Navy may be called on to do, and not until

there is an understanding of that fighting can members of the Navy Staff Corps

properly coordinate the work of their corps to meet the fundamental needs of

the Navy, or can members of other services cause those services to cooperate

efficiently with the Navy.

That the course will be a bit difficult for students not of the Navy line is probable, and to the end of simplifying matters for such students, we place each

of them in a room with an experienced Navy line officer who can advise and

help them with the technicalities with which they are not familiar. In addition to

the help they get from their roommates, we want such students, and in fact all students, to feel free at all times to ask for help and advice from the staff. We want

each one of you to get every possible advantage from the course and will

consider it a privilege to be of assistance to you in making the course a pleasure

for you to take.

Although the course as laid out will require much work from every student,

the college uses no coercion on students to drive them to it. What the student

does and what he gets out ofthe course is up to his own conscience and himself.

There is no grading of students and no comparison of individual ability other

than what must go in on the regular reports of fitness. That you will find the

work intensely interesting we have no doubt, but always bear in mind that what

you get out of it and what you do with what you get, we must leave to you.

402
Appendix II

THE NAVAL BATTLE

by

Rear Admiral Harris Laning, USN

President, Naval War College

Revised to May 1933

Naval War College

Newport, R.I.

May 1933

CONFIDENTIAL

Not to pass out of the custody of officers of the U.S. Naval or Military Services.

When no longer required this pamphlet should be returned to the

Publication Section, Room N-ll, Naval War College, Newport, R.I.

The Naval Battle

Introduction 409

I Analysis of Tactical Dispositions and Operations in Battle 411

Procedure Followed in the Analysis 41

1

(1) Variations in sea tactics limited 412

(2) The weapons of the sea 412

(3) Types of ships found in battle 413

(4) Coordination of effort between types in battle • • • • 414

The Role of Each Type in the Coordinated Effort • • • 415

Battleships 415

Batde Cruisers 417

Destroyers 419

Light Cruisers 419

Submarines 420

Aircraft 421

Anti-Submarine Craft 423

(5) The Advance, Approach, and Deployment 423

The Advance 424

Linking Up 427

Types of Cruising Dispositions 428

(6) Tactical Scouting 428

(7) Concentration, Approach, and Deployment 431

II Tactical Principles 436

The Basic Principle 437

The Objective 438

Offensive versus Defensive Tactics 440

Conditions and Elements that Influence Tactics •

• • • 440

The Weather Gauge, Gas, and Spray 441

Roll and Pitch 441

Sun Glare, Silhouette, Light 442

Surprise 442

Time 443

Smoke and Smoke Tactics 443

Preparation before Battle 444

The "Follow-up" 445

Your Next Step 446

Introduction

Just as the supreme effort of a state must be put forth in war if the state is to

win, so in battle must be put forth the supreme effort ofthe men and material

engaged in it. Were the mere assembling ofmen and material all that is necessary

to bring a state to its greatest strength in war and war's battles, the task for those

who are responsible for the conduct of war would be comparatively simple. But

such is not the case. For those who conduct war, the assemblage of men and

material is barely the starting point, for unless both are used to the maximum of

their power they are practically certain not to win against even a smaller but well

handled force. From this it follows that those to whom the handling of forces in

war is entrusted are in duty bound to so handle them that those forces will exert

their maximum power all during the campaign but especially exert it in the

battles that are the campaign's crucial and decisive points.

We all know that even tremendous power may be dissipated and utterly

wasted if exerted piece-meal and haphazard, when, were it exerted in

concentration, it could easily accomplish what we want. It is exactly that way

with forces in battle. Utilized each to its maximum strength, and the strength of

all applied in a supreme and coordinated effort, such forces can win; but

operating without coordination, no matter what their individual strengths may

be, the forces can easily fail. Therefore, to get the maximum from our fleet in

battle we must make our battle fleet a battle team—a team so perfected in the

application ofits concentrated power that it will overwhelm an opposing battle

team in any contest it enters.

To keep any team always ready to win its contests requires constant effort, and

this is especially true of the greatest of all teams, a naval battle team. Take the

familiar instance of football teams. Although football contests are always

between forces equal as regards numbers and general make-up, and which are greatly restricted as to what they can do by rules that change only slightly from

year to year, nevertheless the tactics found sufficient to win in one year are rarely

sufficient to win in the next. Even under the restrictions of football, the team

that wins year after year is the team that progresses. With that situation so plainly

evident in just a tiny team offixed strength and restricted as to what it can do, it is

still more evident in our infinitely greater battle team where the units are thousands of men on dozens of mechanisms, and where there are no restrictions

as to what the units may do.
An Admiral's Yarn

Increasingly complicated by a vastly greater number of units and not

restricted by rules as to operation, the naval battle team also has other things that

work constandy to change its style of play. New weapons, more and newer

players, and improved uses of old material are constantly interjected into the

team and whole plan ofbattle as well as the team work ofbattle must take them into

account. Hence no matter how nearly perfect we may make the team work of a naval batde team oftoday, that team work and style ofplay will surely be inadequate

tomorrow. To keep our battle team up to date thus becomes a never ending task,

involving continuous study and development, and continuous progress.

It is toward the end of making our country's largest and most vital team—its naval battle team—the most nearly perfect team of its kind in the world that we

try to make the War College course in tactics a progressive course. The College

endeavors by means of this pamphlet, which is revised frequently, to give each

class, at the very start of the course, a sound general conception of the naval

battle as our Navy would fight it today. By giving it that conception each new

class starts where the last class at the College left off and goes onward from that

point. Thus on leaving the College students will be up to the moment in the

major tactical development of the day, and, taking their ideas to sea with them,

will be better prepared to keep the fleet as perfected in team fighting as is possible for that particular time.

The conception of the naval batde as given in this paper is the general plan for

battle as set forth in out War Instructions, which plan, while approximating the

general plan and ideas followed by both fleets at Jutland, takes into account the

new ideas, the improved weapons, and the new uses of old weapons developed

since that batde. It shows what at present seems to be the best general utilization of

each weapon and each type ofship when operating as a part ofthe naval batde team.

The general term applied to the courses of action taken in battle is tactics, which term covers all of the operations of a naval force from the time it approaches another to engage until it is again out of touch. In a major

engagement these courses of action divide themselves into two classes: first,

those having to do with the broad general plan under which the batde as a whole is to be conducted, which courses are covered by the term major tactics;

and second, those having to do with the several parts of the fleet as each part

carries out the task assigned it under the general plan, which courses are covered

by the term minor tactics. Major tactics decides on the role in battle of each

subdivision ofthe batde force, places each subdivision in position to carry out its role, and indicates the manner in which the several subdivisions are to cooperate

with each other in breaking up the enemy strength and destroying it; minor tactics covers the operations of a subdivision in carrying out the role assigned to it.

410
Appendix II

Minor tactics has many branches, such as battleship tactics, destroyer tactics,

submarine tactics, air tactics, etc. , each developed to make use of the peculiarities

of the type to which it applies. At the War College it is assumed that student

officers taking the senior course are as familiar with minor tactics as they are with the other fundamentals of a naval officer's education such as navigation,

gunnery, engineering, etc., so that in the Senior Course minor tactics are dealt

with only incidentally. Unfortunately, the assumption that student officers are generally familiar with the minor tactics of every type of craft is entirely

unwarranted since the minor tactics for some of our types are not fully

developed and very few officers are familiar even with what has been developed

for types on which they have not served. It was largely for the purpose of

developing a more thorough knowledge of minor tactics that the War College

Junior Course was established and the War College Correspondence Course

was recently revised, and it is hoped that by causing all officers to concentrate on

the study of minor tactics in these courses our minor tactics will soon be not

only well developed but also well known by every officer in the fleet and before

coming to the college.

The conception of the naval battle, as given in this paper, will not go into the

field of minor tactics but will confine itself to the major tactics that cover the

work of a battle force operating as a team. Although minor tactics will not be

dwelt on any further than to state some general principles that govern them as well as major tactics, one must not overlook the importance of such tactics.

Sound major tactics makes the winning ofbattles possible, but only sound minor

tactics wins them. The one is under the province of the high commander, the

other under the subordinate commanders. However, a subordinate commander

can make but little progress with his minor tactics unless he understands exactly

what his force is expected to accomplish in battle, and the purpose of this paper

is to develop such an understanding. It will analyze battle tactics from the

viewpoint of the high commander, which having been done, opens the way for

subordinate commanders to analyze and develop the minor tactics that will

enable their forces to do successfully the things major tactics expects them to do.

I. Analysis of Tactical Dispositions and Operations in Battle

Procedure Followed in the Analysis

The operations of a fleet in battle have four distinct phases:first, the advance

toward and development of the enemy force; second, the concentration of the

battle groups and their deployment to engage; third, the engagement; andfourth,

the "follow up." The critical phase ofbattle being the engagement, the key to all battle tactics lies in that phase. Hence in order to analyze and develop the sound

411
An Admiral's Yarn

tactics required in battle we must begin with the engagement phase to

determine the tactics to employ in it, knowing which we will be in a position to

determine the tactics to employ in the preceding phases to bring about the

tactical situations we find to be required if we are to succeed in the fighting

phase. When we have done those things we can proceed to the "follow up"

stage, which, if a victory is to be complete, must be carried through even more

thoroughly than any other phase of the battle. But, as stated, the key to the

whole battle lies in the engagement phase, and before one can proceed to a full understanding of the tactics to be employed in it, one must have a thorough

grasp of the principles that govern that phase.

(1) Variations in sea tactics limited.

As compared with land battles the possible combinations of forces and

movements in sea battles are somewhat limited. The forces on either side are practically restricted to those created before the war opens, and each

commander has a fair idea of the types he may meet. The terrain of battle, the

sea, offers few peculiarities that can be taken advantage of by either side. The

great uncertainties in a modern sea battle come from the freedom and rapidity

of movement inherent in sea forces and from variations in the employment of

the several forces and types engaged; yet even the movements and the special

employment of the forces and types in sea battles are more easily detected than

in land battles and are restricted by the known speed and maneuvering ability of

ships. For these reasons it is possible to establish a much more definite general plan

to be followed in a naval engagement with a particular enemy than it is to

establish such a plan for land battles in each of which forces, terrain, and

positions have more influence on the tactics to be employed than have

movements and the special employment of forces. Therefore let us look into

what such a general plan should be for a modern fleet, bearing in mind of course

that while the basic idea will be the same in all major batdes against a particular

enemy, the detailed movements and operations of the several forces will differ in

each battle since each part of the fleet team, though carrying out its mission as called for by the basic or general plan, will, in carrying out that mission, have to

operate not only in conformity with any special task assigned it in the general

plan but also in conformity with the particular opposition it meets in doing so.

(2) The weapons of the sea. The weapons of modern navies are^wm, torpedoes, bombs and mines, all used to

destroy enemy fighting craft in order that one's own craft may remain afloat and

thereby have control of the sea. While under favorable circumstances any one of

412
Appendix II

the weapons is sufficiently destructive to prove decisive, nevertheless, owing to

the development of the defense against it, unaided, not one is capable of

winning a decision against a combination of all. Aided by the gun other

weapons can be made to exert a decisive effect, or aided by other weapons the

gun can be made decisive. But because ofits protection against destruction, and

because of its great range of accuracy, rapidity of firing, hitting power, and

ammunition supply, the gun can do the greatest damage of any weapon and for

that reason tactical effort in modern sea battles is still centered around the main

gun action, and the other weapons are made to come into the engagement to

aid the gun or to take advantage of situations created by it. Only by combining

the effort of the several weapons can each be made to exercise its maximum

influence in destroying the enemy, and the end and aim of tactics is to bring

about such coordination of effort of one's own weapons that by their

concentration they will destroy the ships carrying those of the enemy.

(3) Types of ships found in battle.

Naval weapons are carried on ships ofvarious types, the types being more or

less standard in all navies. As a general rule each type has been developed to

utilize one ofthe weapons as its primary weapon, and though it may carry other

weapons they are of secondary importance—the ships of a type being operated

in battle in a way to make their primary weapon most effective. Thus though

capital ships may carry both guns and torpedoes the gun is their primary

weapon and capital ships are always operated in battle to make their guns most

effective. While destroyers carry both torpedoes and light guns, the torpedo is their primary weapon and the movements of destroyers in battle are to the end

of getting their torpedoes home against enemy heavy ships. Light cruisers that

carry intermediate guns and have torpedoes have a dual role, the torpedo being

the primary weapon against the capital ships and the gun primary against light

ships. Anti-submarine craft may carry both depth bombs and torpedoes, the

depth bomb being primary when operating against submarines, the torpedo

when operating against heavy ships. Submarines carry only torpedoes and their

function is to get them home with maximum effect on the enemy. Bombs and

aerial torpedoes are launched from aircraft, which latter must be carried to the scene of the engagement in carriers. The weapon of the aircraft carrier is the

airplane, and carriers are operated to the end of getting their planes to a position

from which they can be sent out to play their part in the battle.

In addition to having the paraphernalia necessary to make its primary

weapon effective, each type of ship has been given such other characteristics as will best enable it to make use of that weapon. These characteristics are

413
An Admiral's Yarn

expressed in size, protection, speed, maneuvering ability, submergence, etc. Thus we find in modern battle fleets types of ships as follows:

(1) Battleships, of great size, medium speed, heavy armor, many heavy guns,

and several airplanes;

(2) Battle cruisers, of size equal to battleships, high speed, little armor, heavy

guns, and several airplanes;

(3) Destroyers, of small size, high speed, many torpedoes, no armor, and with

small guns;

(4) Cruisers, of medium size, high speed, light armor, intermediate guns,

probably some torpedoes, and observation planes;

(5) Anti-submarine craft, often destroyers that carry depth charges;

(6) Submarines, of medium surface speed and long surface radius, low

submerged speed and short submerged radius, carrying torpedoes;

and

(7) Aircraft carriers, with characteristics similar to battle cruisers or light

cruisers but carrying intermediate guns, and airplanes, instead of

heavy guns.

(4) Coordination of effort between types in battle.

With so many weapons carried on such different types of ships it is apparent

that if we are to get the maximum effect of all weapons and make our blow the

sum total of the blows of all, there must be perfect coordination between the

types carrying them. The gun being the only weapon of past years, and in the

present continuing to be the most powerful weapon, sea battles have revolved for

centuries around the ships carrying heavy guns. As other weapons came into

being each endeavored and still endeavors to wrest supremacy from the gun, and

hence in battle the efforts of each type of ship are directly or indirectly against

the ships that carry the heavy guns. However, as each new weapon came to

threaten the gun-carrying ship, steps were taken to counter it, and it is upon

these attacks and counters that battle tactics are based. We have, as the

dominating phase in battle, the gun fight between heavy ships, which fight

establishes the main line of battle. Then we have the attacks on the battle line by

vessels carrying torpedoes, the idea of which is to make the enemy heavy ships

either accept the torpedo menace or else pay a price either in gunfire or in

position, in maneuvering to avoid it. Against such attack we have the counter

made by fast light cruisers which by their speed and superior gun power can prevent surface torpedo craft from obtaining the position to deliver their attack.

Again we have the attacks of submarines which are directed against the heavy

ships and which are countered by anti-submarine craft carrying depth bombs.

414
Appendix II

Finally we have air attacks which can be countered only by guns or air forces,

but which can be prevented if enemy aircraft carriers are damaged in such a way

that they cannot launch their planes.

The Role of Each Type in the Coordinated Effort

From the foregoing, it appears that what we call tactics is in reality the

movements or actions necessary to insure getting home the attacks of one's own

weapons while preventing the enemy from getting home his attacks. The central

and dominating part of the fleet in battle, and around which the entire action

will revolve, being always the battle line, the approach and deployment for battle

always must be such as will not only establish one's heavy ship line to the best

advantage for engaging that of the enemy but also such as will place the ships

carrying other weapons where they can deliver their attacks in coordination

with the main gun attack, or/and where they can prevent the enemy delivering

similar attacks. Therefore as the foundation for our tactical ideas, let us get clearly

in our minds the general procedure each type of ship should follow in battle. To

do this, let us start with the center of the engagement, the fight between the

heavy ships, and then take up the operations that radiate about it as other types

join the issue and attempt to exert the deciding influence on it.

Battleships

Necessities of design give heavy ships their maximum hitting power when

firing on or near the beam, hence in sea battles heavy ships naturally take a formation approximating column and endeavor to hold the enemy about abeam

and under the fire of all heavy guns. The most advantageous position one battle

line can gain over another is the "capping" or "T" position by which that line is in a position to fire its full broadside against the enemy while the enemy can

reply with only the end-on fire of his nearest ships. The position equally

favorable to each of two engaged battle lines is when they are abeam of each

other. The "T" position being so overwhelmingly advantageous, each battle line

endeavors to obtain it for itself, or to approximate it as nearly as possible, while

preventing the enemy from doing anything of the kind; and for this reason we

have as the fundamental principle of batdeship tactics that of always keeping

one's own line normal to the bearing of the center of the enemy's line. Both

before and during the gun fight between heavy ships this principle must be

observed and it is because all competent commanders do observe it that even at the opening of an engagement between heavy ships we almost invariably find

two lines on approximately parallel courses and almost abeam of each other. We

415
An Admiral's Yarn

therefore start from this position of the battle lines in evolving the theory of

modern battle tactics.

Although the heavy ship engagement usually starts under nearly equal

conditions as between the opposing battle lines, due to their being parallel and

about abeam of each other, each line naturally attempts to gain the most

advantageous position, that of the "T." Now the position where the opposing

lines are most nearly equal gradually changes to where one has the maximum

advantage as one column draws ahead ofand across the end of the other column

to the "T" position. The battle line that draws ahead of the other and keeps itself

perpendicular to a line from its center ship to the nearest enemy ship while

doing so, not only has its full broadside bearing on the enemy line but also, and at the same time, reduces the number ofenemy guns that can be brought to bear or kept within range. But to obtain a "T" or "cap," or even approximate it, one

battle line must have a decidedly greater speed than the other, and the other

must hold its course. To prevent a cap, even when a column has less speed, it is only necessary to "swing the line" sufficiently to keep the enemy always abeam.

This "swinging the line" may be accomplished in either of two ways—by a head

of column movement that changes the course of the column to the right or left

by the necessary amount to bring the enemy abeam, or by a "redeployment" of

the line (see Maneuvers of the Battle Line) to bring the enemy on the beam

bearing.

In using the first of these methods, a head of column movement, grave danger

exists since it takes considerable time to complete the maneuver and, in order to

keep the other line abeam or nearly so, the change in direction of the head ofthe

column may be abrupt and through many degrees of arc, thereby creating a bend, or "knuckle," at the turning point. A battle line so bent is in a bad position,

for ships at the knuckle or ahead ofit are laid open to a concentration of gunfire

easily controlled, while those in the rear may be out of range or have but few

guns that will bear.

In using the second method, i.e., "swinging the line" by a "redeployment,"

gunfire may be somewhat interfered with by the several turns and movements

the individual ships must go through, while at the same time the signals and

movements connected with the maneuver are hard to make especially when

both battle lines are firing heavily. Nevertheless, using this second method to

keep the enemy line abeam is usually preferable since the maneuver can be

completed much more quickly than a column movement, thereby permitting

one's own battle line to be ready in less time to carry out future maneuvers,

while at the same time it will disconcert the enemy's gunfire much more than

one's own because one will know beforehand when and what turns are to be

416
Appendix II

made, and can make the set up on his own fire control instruments to cover

them, whereas the enemy will require time to ascertain the changes and make

his fire control corrections.

So valuable is bending an enemy battle line, or forcing it into complicated and

possibly wild maneuvers while under heavy gunfire, that all battle line

commanders seek to force one or the other of these conditions on the enemy

line and thereby gain an advantage in gunfire that will be decisive. However, in

these days, it is hardly possible for one battle line to have sufficient speed to force

a properly handled enemy line into a knuckle or even into difficult maneuvers in

redeploying, and since some such decisive advantage must be gained other craft are brought into play to produce it. The types used for such purpose are heavily

gunned and fast battle cruisers, and vessels that carry torpedoes. By the proper

use of these types their weapons can be brought to bear on an enemy line,

forcing it into possibly wild maneuvers to avoid the menace or to accept the

menace and the damage to ships it imposes. In either case, the advantage gained

may prove decisive; hence battle tactics, to be sound, must be such as to give one

that advantage while denying it to the enemy. Let us see how forces not of the

battle line should be used to gain the advantage for ourselves while at the same

time preventing similar enemy forces from doing that same thing to us.

Battle Cruisers

Battle cruisers, like battleships, have guns for their primary weapon. Their

high speed enables them to do what battleships cannot do, i.e., obtain or approximate the capping position. However, weak in heavy armor and having

but few guns, they dare not engage battleships ship for ship, but must by their

speed attain a position from which they can bring their full broadsides to bear

while the enemy, unless he maneuvers his line, can return the fire with but few

guns. Hence, in battle, battle cruisers have their greatest value as "fast wings,"

fighting from advantageous positions against either end of the enemy line, but

preferably against its head, and causing the enemy line to suffer either from the

cruisers' guns or from those of the other heavy ships as the line maneuvers to

parry the battle cruiser attack. It is this that determines the disposition and

employment of battle cruisers in a general engagement, and we therefore,

wherever practicable, use them as fast wings, with missions to attack the enemy

battle line from advantageous positions and destroy its ships by gunfire or force

them to maneuver so the battleships can do so. From the advantageous position battle cruisers can take at the ends ofa battle

line, they are able to play a dual role in an engagement. Not only are they placed

417
An Admiral's Yarn

well to attack the enemy heavy ships but from these positions their great speed

and gun power enable them to protect the ends of their own column from all kinds of attacks by enemy light fast surface craft.

Prior to the time of the treaties limiting armaments, a fleet that had battle

cruisers without having to sacrifice battleship tonnage to get them had many

advantages. Not only was such a fleet able to use battle cruisers to strike hard at the enemy line at its weakest point—its flanks—but at the same time it had a most powerful support for its own light forces on the flanks of its battle line, and

a most powerful defense against enemy light force attacks from the flank. One

should always remember, however, that for all their strength battle cruisers could

fill their dual role successfully only when in gun support of their own battle line.

Worked, as regards gun range, in perfect coordination with a battle line

approximately equal to that ofthe enemy, they could do much to the enemy line

while at the same time protecting their own, and in this was their great value.

But to use them successfully, and to have them always sufficiently supported by

their battle line to prevent their destruction through lack of gun support,

required the closest coordination in gun range between the cruisers and the

battle line, and it is in the difficulty of so coordinating the ranges of dispersed

forces that the weakness of battle cruisers lies. This point must be remembered

always, and especially now when capital ship tonnage is limited, for should there

be a failure in mutual gun support between a battle line and its detached wing,

even if the wing is a fast one of battle cruisers, both the batde line and the

detached wing open themselves to destruction in detail. One of the groups will

get within range when the other is out ofit, or will get to a short range when the

other is at extreme range, and when this happens a concentration of gunfire on

the near group will quickly destroy it.

It is the impracticability of coordinating in battle the movements and gun

ranges of two widely separated groups of capital ships that has caused navies,

limited in capital ship strength by treaty, to cease to build battle cruisers. The

price paid for them in battleship strength is far above any possible gain they

might give us in battle. However, although we ourselves have no battle cruisers

and therefore have no worries as to our using them in battle, other countries still have them; hence we must reckon with them in our batde operations. But we

will suffer little damage from them in battle if we keep our own battle line in

concentration, for doing so will enable us to remain at least equal to our enemy

in the battle fine if he operates his battle cruisers in his own battle line, and will

give us an almost certain opportunity to destroy his capital ship strength in detail

if he separates his battleship and batde cruiser groups.

418
Appendix II

Destroyers

In the same way that battle cruisers, through their speed, can gain a position

favorable for attacking a battle line with heavy guns and force it into a knuckle

or cause it to maneuver when under heavy fire, lighter craft of high speed can

gain a similar position from which, by attacking with torpedoes, they too can

force the same disadvantages on an engaged enemy. Since the positions least

open to enemy gunfire are those on the flanks of his line, such positions are comparatively safe not only for vulnerable battle cruisers but also for the still more vulnerable destroyers. Therefore, destroyers sent in on the bow, or forward

of the beam, of an enemy batdeship line to fire long range torpedoes have

excellent opportunities to compel an engaged battle line to maneuver under fire or accept the menace of their weapons. This fact gives us the key to the

employment of destroyers in battle, and it becomes a principle ofbattle tactics to

so employ them. Like battle cruisers, their stations, except those of the

anti-submarine screen, on deploying are on the engaged bow of their battle line

(in order that they may strike at the enemy fine from ahead if the enemy

continues on his course), or astern, or on the engaged quarter, that they may

strike in case he turns about.

Thus are the positions ofthe ships that have heavy guns and torpedoes as their

major weapons ofattack determined for us, and in the opening stages of modern

battles they probably will be found about as follows: opposing battleships will be

in parallel columns and about abeam of each other while the major part of the

battle cruisers and destroyers will be ahead and on the bow of their battleship

line, the remainder in the rear on its engaged quarter. From these positions, and

all advancing simultaneously, each type will endeavor to hit the enemy heavy

ships with the full power of its weapons, overcoming such resistance as may be

met in reaching the position to deliver their attacks.

Light Cruisers

In a normal naval engagement, other things being equal, the force that can get

home quickest the simultaneous attack of its several weapons or types of ships

has every prospect of winning the engagement, and to prevent the enemy

getting home such a simultaneous attack each side counters the various parts

that go to make it up. Such counters, however, are not always carried out by ships

of the same type as the attackers. The counter to heavy ship attacks is generally

made by heavy ships, but the counter to the attacks ofdestroyers is made by ships

of the cruiser type, by battle cruisers from their positions as fast wings, and by

heavy or light cruisers which have the speed of destroyers but very much heavier

419
An Admiral's Yarn

batteries. Hence, interposed between the enemy's cruisers and destroyers and

our battle line and destroyers, we place cruisers, whose mission it is to cover and

clear the way for their own destroyers and light craft in their attacks at the same

time that they prevent attacks on their own heavy ships by enemy destroyers

.

and light craft. With this disposition and use of the cruiser type also before us, we have the broad general plan for the deployment stations and use of

battleships, battle cruisers, destroyers, and cruisers in battle.

Submarines

In addition to the offensive types so far discussed as operating entirely on the

surface and against surface craft, and which, as we have seen, work in close

coordination with each other, we find in battle two other offensive types

previously mentioned, submarines and aircraft. These types, though capable of

delivering powerful attacks, cannot carry out their roles in battle with anything

like as much synchronization as is possible between the surface types. Though

the submarine is a more recent addition to battle fleets than the surface types

already discussed, its weapon—the torpedo—is not new. Like the torpedoes of

surface craft, those of submarines, to be effective, must be launched from

favorable positions, but owing to the limitations imposed on submarines by their

low submerged speed and their inability to observe, gaining that position is most

difficult. Their great strength lies in the element of surprise contained in their

attack, but their success is largely dependent on their original position as the

battle opens and on the movements of the enemy thereafter. Hence only the

broadest principles can be laid down for their use in battle. All that can be done is to so place them in the disposition for advance that as many as possible will be in or near the area that the enemy battle line must occupy to be within gun range

of our own, and then afterward to so maneuver our own battle line as to hold or draw the enemy battle fine near the submarines so they can attack. That they

must do at every opportunity with a view to destroying the enemy heavy ships or throwing them into such confusion that gunfire can destroy them.

When successful, a submarine attack exacts a heavy toll, usually at small cost,

and so, though successful attack by submarines cannot be counted on in battle to

the extent we can count on the attacks of surface craft, nevertheless submarines

always offer the possibility of obtaining a decisive advantage. The mere suspicion

that submarines are in a certain area may be sufficient to interfere with the

enemy's plan either by keeping his heavy ships out ofthe area or by forcing them

into maneuvers they do not wish to make.

420
Appendix II

Aircraft

Of the many weapons or types found in the up-to-date naval batde, aircraft

stand out as peculiarly affecting batde operations. Because of the newness of

aircraft in actual war operations at sea their capabilities and limitations are not as well established as are the capabilities and limitations of other types. However,

much study has been made of aircraft operations in peace-time maneuvers and

through those studies we have obtained a fair understanding of the manner in

which they probably will be used. But before going into the manner of using

them in battle, it is advisable to have some understanding of what our studies

have shown aircraft can be relied upon to do. It appears they can accomplish the

following:

First: Locate and keep touch with practically all types of enemy craft,

reporting their strength, dispositions, and movements. This includes

such things as

(a) Tactical scouting and protective scouting against all surface

types, and

(b) the detection of submarines and torpedoes.

Second: Spot gunfire, thereby increasing both effective range and accuracy.

Third: Attack enemy ships with bombs containing high explosive or

chemicals, or with torpedoes.

Fourth: Lay smoke screens.

Fifth: Engage other aircraft, and

Sixth: Possibly supply an auxiliary means of communication by radio, or as direct messengers, should the ordinary lines fail.

From the above list ofthings that aircraft can do it is evident that the influence

of aircraft on the naval battle may begin when the opposing fleets are still several

hundred miles apart and will continue even after all other types have passed far

out ofsight contact. By the information aircraft can gain before, during, and after

battle, they can provide what is necessary to enable all types of craft to be

maneuvered intelligently to gain decisive tactical advantages. By spotting for

gunfire they may give a decisive advantage in such fire. By attacks with chemical

bombs, the gas from which temporarily disables personnel, they may place vital

units hors de combat for a period sufficiently long to give one side a decisive

advantage in gun or torpedo fire. By the use of torpedoes or explosive bombs

they may inflict lasting damage to vital units or even destroy them; and smoke

screens made by aircraft often can be better and more quickly placed than those

by destroyers, and may be even more efficacious.

421
An Admiral's Yarn

Great as will be the influence of aircraft on the trend of a naval battle, it is apparent that to get full results the aircraft effort must be closely coordinated

with the efforts of the other types. Only by direct attack on enemy ships can

aircraft by themselves accomplish much, and though such attacks may prove,

deadly and possibly have a decisive value, nevertheless, because of the limited

number of carriers allowed by treaty, air attack usually cannot be made in

sufficient numbers to gain as much for their fleet as can be gained by other

aircraft efforts in which the influence is indirect, as, for instance, information

work, spotting gunfire, laying smoke screens, etc. But that aircraft may do the

things open to them their carriers must be so placed, both before and during

battle, that they can launch their planes freely and in safety, and for this reason

carriers must be well protected and kept out of the area of gunfire. Hence in

battle, carriers are usually stationed well away from the battle line on its disengaged side as the battle opens. Also there must be for the battle a very

definite and well understood "air plan" conforming to and furthering the

general plan established for the surface craft.

In order to carry out any worthwhile air plan, and particularly to protect one's

own fleet against enemy air attacks, the first effort in an air plan should be to

insure, as nearly as possible, control ofthe air in the vital areas. Such control often

has to be fought for, and for that reason we usually find the first step in any air

plan is the getting up of sufficient combat planes to dominate the air at least in

the vicinity of one's own fleet. It has been found, however, that aircraft alone, no

matter what the type, can not insure complete control of the air over a fleet or

protect it against all enemy air attacks. Apparently the only way to insure

protection to a fleet is to so damage in time the enemy's carriers that planes

cannot take off from them; and for that reason great effort must be made to

attack and injure enemy carriers at the earliest possible moment.

Once one is in position to make full use of his aircraft hitting power, one

should lose no time in taking advantage of it to attack enemy fighting ships, to

lay smoke screens either to blanket the enemy's gunfire or cover the attacks of

one's own forces, and to destroy all remaining enemy planes. However, in

attacking enemy ships or in laying smoke screens to cover attacks by our own

forces, sound judgment must be used. The objective for either effort must be

selected with wisdom and must be that part ofthe enemy fleet we most desire to

put out of action. Also, in attacking from the air, careful consideration must be

given to the weapon used by the planes, and the one selected should be a suitable one. For instance, if the attacks are made before the objective is under gunfire,

one should use bombs or torpedoes that do lasting damage. When the objective

is under fire it may be advisable to have some planes use chemical or smoke

422
Appendix II

bombs, for the increased effectiveness that comes to one's own gun, torpedo,

and bomb attacks from a wise use of chemicals or smoke that renders a part of

the enemy force helpless for even a short time may far exceed any damage a like

number of aircraft can possibly do with torpedoes or explosive bombs. These

and many other things must be considered in preparing the air part of a battle

plan; only by considering them can we arrange to gain from air forces all the

assistance of which they are capable.

But however great the air effort may be in other directions, one must never

lose sight of the necessity of watching the enemy from the air. Aircraft are the

eyes of the fleet in battle, and without such eyes, because of the enormous area covered by huge modern fleets in battle, a fleet may easily become as a blind

man. For that reason, both long before and all during battle we must have

observation planes out in sufficient numbers and so stationed as to see and report

all enemy movements. As a corollary to this part of the air effort, the air plan

should provide means for denying the enemy similar information by fighting off

his planes. In the air, as on the surface, one must gain information for one's self

and deny it to the enemy.

Anti-Submarine Craft

All the types of craft found in the naval battle of today have now been

discussed except the purely defensive anti-submarine type. Ships of this type

merely keep in positions to protect the more important ships from submarine

attack; as long as they maintain such positions they have no great offensive role

to play in battle. But in protecting important ships against submarine attacks,

anti-submarine craft, when in position, are able to play another very important

defensive role, for should the ships they are protecting suffer too much from

gunfire, the anti-submarine craft are in excellent position to cover them with

smoke and thereby reduce the damage being done. While such defensive

operations will not of themselves win a battle, they may prevent one's losing it and thereby make winning possible, and for that reason a fleet must be ready to use them whenever advisable or necessary.

(5) The Advance, Approach, and Deployment.

With the idea in our minds of the general role each type has to play in the

engagement phase ofbattle and ofits approximate station as that phase opens, we

are now in a position to determine the dispositions and tactics to employ in the

advance, approach, and deployment. To do this we again start with the

battleships, taking up the other types in turn,just as was done to determine the

dispositions and procedure in the fighting phase.

423
An Admiral's Yarn

The Advance

To win in battle with as little loss as possible, it is necessary to bring the

maximum gun hitting strength of the heavy ships to bear on the enemy at the

earliest possible instant after the firing starts, and because of that fact battleships

must, during the advance of a fleet, be kept concentrated and ready for quick

deployment. Unfortunately for a fleet commander, there can be no certain

knowledge beforehand as to what will be the bearing of the enemy battle line

from one's own line when contact is made, and for this reason, in the advance

and approach, heavy ships cannot be placed in a battle formation while seeking

the enemy but must take some other formation from which they can deploy

quickly for engaging on such course as happens to be normal to the bearing of

the enemy battle line when that line is approaching gun range.

Without going into details as to why, it has been found that the best cruising

formation for battleships, from which quick deployment can be made in any

direction and in any order of divisions, is some form of a "line of division

columns," and heavy ships are always kept in such a formation, with its general

line of bearing normal to the expected bearing of the enemy when sighted,

whenever there is any possibility of meeting him. It is impracticable in this paper

to discuss these cruising formations of the battle line or the deployments

therefrom, and it is unnecessary to do so since they are all indicated in the official

publication Formations and Maneuvers of the Battle Line. For the purposes of this

paper it can be accepted that battleships must be in such a formation whenever

battle is even a possibility, and that from the formation they can deploy quickly

on any course and in almost any order of divisions. Bearing this in mind, we will

pass on to the disposition of the other types of ships during the advance.

The fundamentals ofa sound disposition for the advance ofa battle fleet are:

First, that it be suitable for offensive operations;

Second, that it provide for the quick and accurate deployment of the entire fleet no matter what may be the bearing ofthe enemy when contact is made;

Third, that it insure time for deployment after contact has been made, no

matter what the visibility may be;

Fourth, that it permit rapid maneuvering of the entire fleet during the

advance but more especially after scouting contact has been made

and tactical advantages in position are being sought; and

Fifth, that it insure the safety of the units in the disposition and provide an overwhelming defense against surprise attacks of every kind,

including those of destroyers, aircraft, and submarines.

424
Appendix II

If a fleet had an unlimited number of ships of the types other than heavy, it would not be difficult during an advance of the fleet to provide both for

information and security and still have a complete "battle team" in

concentration and ready for quick movement and deployment for battle. As

things are, however, a battle force has to do much if not all of its own tactical

scouting and screening, and the task of providing for both, while at the same

time permitting flexibility ofmovement for the force, yet holding all types ready

to take their position and play their roles in a general engagement, is very

difficult. Not only must all types be in correct position and ready to engage as the heavy ships come within range of each other, but immediately prior to that

time they must be in an easily maneuvered disposition that will enable them to

locate the enemy, prevent surprise attacks of all kinds, and deny the enemy

information. Assuming that the heavy ships will be in concentration and in a formation from which they can deploy quickly for battle, what, in the advance,

should be the disposition of the other types found in a battle force?

The ships nearest the battleships will, of course, be those of the

anti-submarine type. Beyond them there must be ships for protective screening,

and, still further beyond, ships for searching and contact scouting. These

necessities largely determine the disposition of the outlying ships during the

advance of a battle force to meet an enemy, and in the several oudying lines of

ships that result from meeting the necessities we find we must use ships of all the

types at our disposal, excepting only battleships and aircraft carriers. Further,

when the enemy has batde cruisers and we have not, or is greatly superior to us

in light cruisers, even battleships may have to be placed in these outer lines.

Though many dispositions can be laid out, each of which will provide the

necessities for the advance and still leave the fleet ready for quick concentration

and deployment for battle, nevertheless any one of them, to be effective, will

have attributes about as follows:

First: Around the disposition, and well beyond all other forces, and

covering them especially on the front and flanks, a force of

submarines;

Second: Inside the submarines, one or more lines of destroyers to act as a protective screen, give timely information of enemy forces, and to

force down any submarines coming into the disposition;

Third: Within supporting distance inside of the destroyer line (or lines), a strong line of cruisers to support the outer lines (note: The actual

distances of the second and third lines from the center are direct

functions of the visibility and therefore cannot be definitely laid

down in a paper of this nature);

425
An Admiral's Yarn

Fourth: Between the cruiser line and the main body, a protective screening

line of destroyers, concentrated, as far as their numbers and the area to be covered permits, in sections of divisions, and ready for further

concentration before deployment takes place;

Fifth: Inside the several screening lines, the battleships in a quick

deployment formation;

Sixth: Near the battleships, the aircraft carriers;

Seventh: Around all heavy ships, wherever placed, an anti-submarine screen.

Any disposition used in advancing into waters where enemy forces may be

encountered must be strong in defense as well as in offense, for unless it is strong

in defense, especially against surprise raiding attacks, the strength of even a powerful

battle force may be seriously impaired before it can force a general engagement.

This fact is sometimes lost sight of, and in developing a disposition for the

advance, students frequently base it solely on its efficiency for deploying without

taking into account what may and probably will happen before an engagement

starts if there is not sufficient defense against surprise raids by aircraft or submarines, or even by fast cruisers and destroyers. No matter how much on the

offensive an advancing force may be, it must not overlook the vital necessity of

having a thorough defense against raids. In fact, the more offensive an operation

is, and the deeper it penetrates into the enemy's area, the more likely it is to be

subjected to surprise attacks, and to overlook the defensive necessities of a disposition just because it is to be used in an offensive operation is to make one

of the most dangerous mistakes a naval commander can make.

If in laying out a disposition for the advance there were nothing more to it than giving it the ability, first, to destroy enemy raiding forces that attack during

the advance and, second, to deploy and fight a general engagement when the

enemy's heavy forces are met, the problem of our cruising dispositions would be

much simplified. However, in addition to providing both for an overwhelming

defense against raids and for quick deployment and fighting, a disposition for the

advance must be able quickly to change both the direction ofits advance and the

direction of its axis. Let us investigate these several requirements, taking up first the matter of quick deployment.

In our discussion of the employment of types of ships in battle, we deduced

the approximate station of each type at the time the major ship action opens.

Also we have seen how, for the purposes of security and information, the types

must be dispersed in a cruising disposition just prior to that time. (For diagrams

of Cruising Dispositions see Tentative Fleet Dispositions and Battle Plans, U.S. Fleet,

1930 and the War College pamphlet Example Fighting Instructionsfor a Battle Force

426
Appendix II

using a Circular Disposition.) Now the deployment of a fleet changes it from a "disposition for the advance" to a "battle disposition," and as can be readily seen

the problem in deploying becomes one of time and distance. Evidently the

disposition used for the advance must be such that when contact is made with an

enemy battle force there will be sufficient time, before the opposing battle lines

get within gun range, for the outlying forces in the disposition to concentrate

and cover the distance to their stations for deploying and opening the

engagement. Providing for even that would be less difficult were we always sure of a smooth sea and could count on all types making their maximum speed.

What makes the quick deployment requirement difficult to meet is the effect

the wind and sea may have, for the outlying craft in a cruising disposition are generally small and light and the speed they can make is often reduced several

knots by even a moderate wind and sea. Therefore a disposition for the advance

must be such that, even with their speed reduced by adverse sea or weather

conditions, the light craft in it will still have time to concentrate and reach their

deployment stations by the time the major ship action opens.

In addition to permitting rapid concentration of its many subdivisions and

their quick deployment for battle, the "disposition for the advance" must also be

such as will permit the quick maneuvering of the entire force whenever

necessity warrants and especially when seeking an advantageous position over an

enemy force just prior to engaging. Hence to be properly efficient our

dispositions must be able to make changes of course quickly and without

confusion, during either daylight or darkness, must not weaken its strong

defensive properties while so doing, and must retain at all times its ability to

deploy quickly and accurately.

Linking Up

While every sound cruising disposition must have all the above-named

qualities, there is yet another point that must be looked for in them. Because of

the very great area it covers when in a cruising disposition, no part of a huge

modern fleet is visible to all the other parts, nor can enemy ships outside of or even on the edge ofthe disposition be seen by more than a few ships in it. Yet the

units of the fleet must maintain their stations at all times when the fleet is cruising or maneuvering itself into a position favorable for deploying for battle,

must concentrate and gain their positions for deployment when engagement is imminent, and then must fall on the enemy quickly with all the hitting power

they have. To do all these things requires considerable precision both as regards

427
An Admiral's Yarn

keeping position while cruising or advancing to engage, and as regards

movements while concentrating and taking battle stations.

That all contacts made can be reported and plotted with the accuracy

necessary to enable subordinate commanders to bring their forces into

concentration and to their deployment stations with rapidity and precision, all ships in a cruising disposition must know at all times their exact location with

reference to the battleship force. Therefore all ships must keep positions

accurately with reference to that force, and to facilitate their doing so, ships for

"linking up" positions by visibility must be provided in all cruising dispositions.

Keeping stations accurately through "linking up" ships, and aided by frequent

reports as to the "reference position" of the battle line, a fleet is ready to

concentrate and deploy its forces promptly and accurately.

So vital to successful deployment is the accurate linking of all other forces to

that of the batde line that the utmost attention must be paid to it. Great as may

be the disasters arising from an improper arrangement of forces in a disposition

for the advance, almost as great disaster can result when the fleet's parts are not

sufficiently linked to the position ofthe battleship force as to make possible their

quick and accurate concentration and deployment.

Types of Cruising Dispositions

To meet the necessities when advancing a fleet or force into waters where the

enemy may be met, two general types of cruising dispositions have been

provided for our Navy, one type axial with rectangular coordinates, the other

circular. Both of these types, each in several modifications based on the purpose

for which it is to be used, are described in the publication Tentative Fleet

Dispositions and Battle Plans, U.S. Fleet, 1930. Each type has advantages and

disadvantages, and the one to use, in any particular situation together with the

special modification of it, can be determined only by weighing all the factors

that govern in it. Having weighed them we can then select the cruising

disposition best suited to the need.

(6) Tactical Scouting.

It will be noted from our official publications that the cruising dispositions

laid down usually utilize all the ships we will probably use as a Batde Force in

war but make no special mention of the ships that probably will compose the

Scouting Force. This should not be taken to indicate that our Scouting Force

will not cooperate with the Battle Force to give the latter security and

information, but only that in doing so its dispersion may become so great that it

428
Appendix II

cannot be relied on to take part in the battle or even to do the tactical scouting

preliminary to battle. All we can surely count on from the Scouting Force in

war is that it will scout and screen strategically and will keep the Battle Force

informed as to whether or not the enemy is near. Having that information the

Battle Force must depend on itself for such other information as it needs to

engage successfully, and it is to the end of gaining such information that our

cruising dispositions are given their rather far flung outer screens. Should the

Scouting Force drop back on the Battle Force as the latter nears the enemy, so much the better for us; but we dare not count on its doing so and must provide

accordingly.

While the cruising dispositions laid down for our Navy are so devised that

water-borne craft, surface or submarine, will probably give us reasonably early

information of the nearness of the enemy and will generally prevent our main

body being surprised, it is evident that an enemy only eighty or ninety miles

from the main body might not be discovered by them. Were a Battle Force

merely on the defensive and awaiting attack it might be sufficient only to know

the enemy is within such a distance, though with earlier information even a fleet

on the defensive would be benefited by having more time to maneuver for a favorable position as regards wind, sea spray, light, etc. However, to a Battle Force

on the offensive and seeking the enemy, it is essential that it know if the enemy

fleet is within two or three hundred miles. So, in addition to the far distant

strategic scouting done by the Scouting Force, a Battle Force requires tactical

scouting offar greater range than is provided by the outlying surface craft in our

cruising dispositions. Such tactical scouting, in ordinary weather, can be done by

aircraft; hence, having adopted a somewhat concentrated cruising disposition for

the Battle Force in cruising or advancing toward the enemy, we must also

provide means for air tactical scouting that will let us know of any enemy forces

within several hundred miles of us. The question of air tactical scouting is far from being solved. Until the

engagement phase opens it must be done by planes that can return to their ships

when their search is completed, which planes from light cruisers or other

combatant type ships not fitted with flying-on decks cannot do with certainty.

Therefore planes on combatant ships should be held on their ships until just

before those ships start to engage, at which time they should be launched and

take up the duty of spotting and supply information. Until battle is joined, all air

activities, and especially tactical scouting activities, should be carried out by

planes from ships with landing decks and only when engagement is certain, or some other extremity demands it, should planes be launched from other ships.

But once the main engagement opens, all tactical scouting and spotting should

429
An Admiral's Yarn

be done by planes from ships other than those with landing decks in order that

the latter may drop such tasks and use their planes for offensive purposes.

Having given carriers such stations in our cruising dispositions as will enable

them to carry out air operations as above outlined, the question then before us is how they may provide suitable tactical scouting prior to the time battle becomes

certain and the aircraft from combatant ships become responsible for supplying

information.

If carriers had unlimited numbers of long-range planes and air pilots, air

tactical scouting prior to battle would not bother us greatly. But the numbers

both ofpilots and oflong-range planes are limited. Casualties are not infrequent

even in scouting flights where no contacts are made. Continuous air scouting for

many successive days is often impracticable and even frequent flights exact a considerable toll in damaged or lost planes. Hence there should be practically no

air scouting except when there is a possibility that the enemy is near, and even when he may be near the number ofscouting flights and the number ofplanes in

each flight must be a minimum.

In view of these things and holding the idea that among our Scouting Force,

secret agents, and, other elements of our information service we will at least

know when there is a possibility of our Battle Force being near the enemy, it is suggested, that we confine the Battle Force's air tactical scouting to that time.

The one best scouting plan to be followed in that time has not as yet become

evident, but when devising a plan, the following should govern.

First Searches must be thorough and cover all the area in which the

enemy can be.

Second: Use the minimum number of planes commensurate with thorough

search.

Third: The plan of search should be such as to call for not more than two

changes ofcourse by any one plane between its leaving and its return

to the disposition.

Fourth: The plan of search for a fleet seeking out the enemy may differ

greatly from the plan of search for a fleet on the defensive, so in

drawing up a tactical scouting plan one must base it on his scouting

needs.

Fifth: Usually at least two flights per day is the least number that will

suffice—one made at the earliest possible time after there is sufficient light, the other made as late in the afternoon as is commensurate with getting planes back before dark. The morning

flight should cover all the area from within which surface contact

with the enemy is possible before the afternoon flight; the evening

430
Appendix II

flight should cover as much as possible of the area from which

attacks could get home during the night.

Having in our minds the dispositions suitable for a Batde Force when

cruising or seeking the enemy, and understanding how that Force will locate any

enemy near enough to be engaged, we are now ready to take up the steps

preliminary to engaging.

(7) Concentration, Approach, and Deployment.

When the oudying portions of opposing fleets—be they air, surface, or

sub-surface craft—make contact with each other, they endeavor to locate all the

enemy forces in the vicinity, and, when the heavy forces have been located and

reported, the fleet, after maneuvering to gain the best possible position as regards

wind, sea, light, etc., must then deploy Let us not forget that success in battle

depends on many other elements than the mere arrangement of one's own

forces with reference to themselves and to the enemy after deployment.

Important as is the disposition of one's own forces for battle, these other

elements must be given attention long before deploying. Under the weather

conditions must the fleet seek the weather gauge or can it be content with the

lee gauge? What bearing from the enemy is best to gain the advantages of sun

and light? What bearing from the enemy will give a battle course least

handicapped by wind, sea, and spray and at the same time not cause our aircraft

carriers to run into dangerous situations when heading into the wind to launch

and receive planes? Can we interpose between the enemy and his base? Each of

these points or a combination of them and others can easily become a decisive

factor in a batde, so much so that before closing the enemy a battle force must

often maneuver to gain the position that will give it their advantages and avoid

their disadvantages. When a battle force commander has the power to do so and

other things being equal, he must maneuver his fleet to obtain the deployment

course that will give to himself the major portion of the advantages and the

fewest disadvantages as regards wind, sea, light, etc. Having acquired as many of

the advantages as possible and practicable, he is then ready to close and fight.

As previously stated the concentration of forces and their approach and

deployment are vital features of battle.Just as decisive advantages from wind, sea, light, etc., may be gained or lost by the position a fleet has with reference to the

enemy and by the direction in which deployment is made, so also decisive

advantages as regards the arrangement of one's forces as the engagement opens

may be gained or lost in reaching action stations. Each part of the fleet must

know its station and be in it when the main engagement opens, but owing to the

dispersion of outlying forces while cruising, and to the pressure put on them by

431
An Admiral's Yarn

enemy forces once contact is made, their reaching such stations is not always

easy. The easiest part in deploying to fight falls to the battleships and their

anti-submarine screen, for (concentrated and protected as such ships are) their

operations are simple. With other forces it is very different. The cruisers, far

distant from their fighting positions, widely separated and probably being

pressed by the enemy, not only have to assemble before it is time to deploy but

after assembling may have to reach stations on the extensions of the battleship

line before that line engages. Even more difficult feats may have to be

accomplished by destroyers, while the submarines must attain positions that will

be close to the enemy line after its deployment.

So complicated is the concentration of light forces and their accurate

deployment that a very definite plan must be followed by all parts of a fleet

between the time the outlying forces make contact and the main gun action

opens. Usually the process consists of three distinct steps—first, a concentration

of forces; second, their arrangement into what is called the "approach

dispositions" and, third, the deployment from the approach disposition that

brings all forces to their engagement stations.

The general rule for deployment in our Navy is that two-thirds of the light

forces shall be at engagement stations opposite the van of the enemy battle line

and one-third opposite its rear when the deployment is complete. Since

shortness of time for deploying and avoidance of confusion in doing so both

require that forces nearest these positions while cruising go to them on

deploying, it follows that for deployment we must divide the light forces into

three equal groups and make it clear to each group whether it is to be on the

right or left flank of the battle line as the battle opens. This is provided for

automatically in most of the cruising dispositions prescribed for us; but when for

any cause the automatic feature for the deployment of light forces fails to work,

or whenever the Force Commander so desires, the groups can be easily directed

by signal when to take stations. The stations to be taken by the light forces are of

course dependent on the direction the enemy battle line will bear from our own

when the engagement opens. The bearing of the enemy battle line from our

own is known as the "general bearing" line, which line plays a very important

part both before and all during battle. It becomes the "fleet axis" both for the

approach disposition and the deployment disposition.

That all forces may know what the "general bearing line" is, not only for

approach and deployment purposes but also that they may be ready for

emergencies, the Battle Force Commander, from the time the enemy battle line

is located, uses every effort to keep his force constantly informed by signal ofthe

approximate bearing of that line. If the direction of the "general bearing line"

432
Appendix II

changes due to the relative movements of the two fleets, the new "general

bearing line" or "fleet axis" must be indicated by a signal, for only when all forces know the direction from our batde line in which the enemy strength lies can they be ready to meet surprises or have any idea of what will be the battle course on which they will have to reach deployment stations.

Remembering that a battle line when properly deployed is always on a line of

bearing normal to the bearing of the enemy battle line, knowledge of the

bearing of the enemy's line (i.e., the "general bearing line") shortly before

deployment is all that is necessary to enable forces to know the general direction

the deployment course will take. Naturally the battle will be opened with the

fleet deployed on one or the other of the two courses normal to the "general

bearing line." Hence, once we know approximately what the "general bearing

line" of the enemy will be when the action opens we can at once start the

concentration ofour forces for deployment—and we should start it immediately

for all forces on that side of our cruising disposition away from the enemy

bearing.

The necessity of starting early the concentration of forces preHminary to

deployment is not always realized. Again, when it is realized, commanders often

make the mistake of concentrating all forces early and at a time when a concentration of certain forces is most dangerous and undesirable. Ordinarily

one should not concentrate the light forces between his own and the enemy's

main body until the latest possible moment, for not only should those forces

retain their positions as long as possible for information purposes and for

screening against enemy surface craft, but also they are needed in those positions

to prevent or help defend against air submarine attacks. Furthermore it usually

takes very much less time to concentrate forces that He toward the enemy fleet

than those that lie away from it, since the former have only to drop back on the

battle line, whereas the latter usually have to catch up with it when it is going

only a few knots slower than themselves. Hence, just as soon as we are sure of

what the approximate bearing of the enemy battle line will be when our own

closes it to maximum gun range, all light forces on the side of our disposition

away from the enemy must start their concentrations. Concentrations may be

started at any time by a signal but should start automatically without special

signal as soon as pressure is felt if, in sending out his intentions as regards

engagement, the Battle Force Commander indicates the approximate course on

which he intends to fight.

One can diagram in a general way how concentrations may be effected by the

outlying units in a circular disposition, these concentrations being by type

groups in each sector. The result would show the approximate arrangement and

433
An Admiral's Yarn

position of all forces in a circular disposition when those from the side of the

disposition away from the enemy have concentrated and reached their positions

for deployment on the flanks of their battle line—the flank a sector group goes

to being the one that lies within, or nearest to, its own sector. Thus we see what

the first step is in going from a circular cruising disposition to a deployment.

This same step is necessary in any disposition.

It often takes considerable time to complete this first step toward deployment

and especially so when the disposition is standing directly toward the enemy at the fleet's best speed and forces on the side of the disposition away from the

enemy have a considerable distance to gain. To reduce the time required to

complete this step, a Battle Force Commander should keep his fleet speed as low

as possible during this phase ofthe situation. This point is frequently lost sight of

and, by standing direcdy toward the enemy battle line at best speed as soon as that line is located, fleets sometimes close to fighting ranges long before the

concentrations of light forces have been completed. This is especially true of

fleets in any disposition other than an axial one with all forces ahead, and this fact

is one of the strongest arguments for such formations. However, it is not always

necessary to go full speed toward the enemy as soon as he is sighted; and even when it is necessary, concentrations can usually be completed in ample time if there is no delay in starting them. And, anyhow there is no sound disposition for

cruising so fool-proofthat it will neutralize the errors ofits commander, and one

of the errors most frequently made by commanders is in failing to start soon

enough the concentrations that take long to complete. The very instant a Battle

Force Commander is sure of what the approximate "general bearing line" will

be when the major action starts, he should order the concentration, at deployment stations, of all forces on that side of his disposition that is away from

the enemy. And at that same time he should place his battleships in such a battleship cruising formation as will permit their quick and simple deployment

on either of the two courses normal to the general bearing line.

Even though ordered to concentrate promptly, all of the forces on the side of

a cruising disposition away from the enemy will usually not reach the positions

assigned them before the forces on the side toward the enemy are in contact

with and under the pressure of the enemy forces. For this reason it is not often

that the ideal disposition will be fully attained. However, even though only

partially attained, it will have served its purpose, and when pressure from the

enemy becomes such that the forces toward him have to concentrate, those on

the side away will be near enough to their deployment stations to reach them by

the time those nearer the enemy can reach theirs.

434
Appendix II

The forces on the side of a disposition toward the enemy can of course be

ordered to concentrate whenever the Battle Force Commander wishes but

usually he will not order them to concentrate. On the contrary they should

retain their stations until enemy pressure forces them to seek support, which

they do by falling back towards the battle line and concentrating, then taking

stations to support the main body

The arrangement of forces envisioned between initial sighting of the enemy

and battle line deployment is the "approach disposition." It is a disposition from

which deployment can be made very quickly and is taken in order that the

decision as to the direction of deployment (i.e., to the right or left) can be

postponed to the last instant.

There is a tendency among, inexperienced tacticians to rush into this

approach disposition as soon as an enemy is located without waiting to see whether or not the "general bearing line" changes its direction as the fleets near each other. Besides doing away with a fleet's defensive screening at a time when

it is most needed, the early assumption of the "approach disposition" is most

unwise since if the "general bearing line" changes much while in the

disposition, the disposition must be re-oriented to keep its axis pointed toward

the enemy. The re-orienting of a battle force while in the approach disposition

requires not only a series of complicated maneuvers by each part ofthe force but

often takes so long that deployment becomes necessary before the

re-orientation is completed. For that reason taking the approach disposition

should be delayed as long as possible and done only when the enemy pressure

becomes felt by the outlying forces and deployment is imminent.

From the standard approach disposition, deployment can be made quickly

either to the right or left, the center group of light forces going to the flank

directed by the Battle Force Commander, or to the flank that will be the van

when deployment is completed, or to a position to interpose between the

enemy light forces and our Battle Line. But as with concentration and with

taking the approach disposition, deployment should always be made as late as is commensurate with being fully deployed when gunfire opens.

The matter of delaying deployment until the latest practicable is most

important for several reasons. First of all, too early a deployment may require a re-orientation of one's forces before the main bodies close to gun range, which

for the far-flung flank forces means long maneuvers at high speed to complete,

and always with the danger that the engagement will open before the flank

forces are again in position. Also, too early deployment will leave the choice to

the enemy as to whether the engagement shall take place with the opposing

forces on the same course or on opposite courses, and will leave to him the

435
An Admiral's Yarn

ability to put the major part ofour light forces in his rear while the major part of

his own light forces are on our bow. Furthermore, once committed to a deployment course, a commander will find that changing it is usually very

difficult, and by deploying too soon he may find the movement of the enemy

will prevent his engaging as he wants to or in accordance with his desired plan.

All these, as well as other things, make it advisable to delay deployment until just

reaching extreme gun range; good commanders never lose sight of that fact. In the approach disposition, when the signal for deployment is executed two

of the three groups oflight forces will already be at or near their stations on the

flanks of the battle line while the third group will have only a short distance to

go to reach the flank to which assigned thus bringing about the disposition for

battle we have already deduced as being desirable. With battle cruisers not

present, one flank, probably the van, will have in it an attacking force made up of

two-thirds of the destroyers supported by two-thirds of the light cruisers, while

the rear will be covered by one-third of these types. This disposition of the light

fast forces completes the main deployment but of course does not cover the

deployment of the submarines or carrier-based air forces.

As for the submarines, from their position outside of all in the disposition for

advance, once contact is made with the enemy they proceed at once to place

themselves where they can best attack his heavy ships, acting on their own

initiative from that time on to get their torpedoes home in the best way to

further the general battle plan.

As regards air forces, the consideration they get in deployment is the same as we give to other forces. We place their carriers in such favorable positions that

the planes on them can be operated to carry out their part in the battle plan.

These positions are usually on the disengaged side of the battle line and, being

near and in rear of the battleships when cruising, the carriers can reach them

easily and quickly once deployment is ordered. From those positions the carriers

operate as necessary to enable their planes to carry out the air plan.

II. Tactical Principles.

We have now discussed in a general way the procedure and operation of a battle force from the time the force enters enemy waters until it is in general

engagement. It is impossible to lay down for the operation of a battle force or

fleet, as a whole or as to its parts, in engagement anything more definite than the

battle plan in general. However, when the force or fleet as a whole and in each

part is familiar with the plan, and when the commander of the force and the

commanders of each part are thoroughly indoctrinated with it, are imbued with

initiative, and have the will to win, the force will operate as a team to produce

436
Appendix II

the desired results even though definite details can not be laid down to guide the

individual forces in doing it. The possible combinations standing in the way of

any subordinate commander as he tries to carry out his part in the general

scheme are infinite in number and variety and for that reason no commander

can be given a one sure and certain method of procedure that will cause him to

arrive at the desired result no matter what happens. The recorded experiences in

battle, however, have shown that certain principles, when followed, tend to

bring success and when not followed tend to produce failure or disaster.

Therefore, let us discuss the more important of these principles to the end of

applying them, so far as they fit, to our tactics.

The Basic Principle

The fundamental principle of engagement tactics, axiomatic on its face, but

proved by history and confirmed on the game board, is expressed in the phrase

"Superiority of force at the point of contact." By this is meant one's tactics

should be such as to isolate for the time being from the full support of the

remainder of the fleet such portion ofthe enemy's fleet as one is engaging, while

at the same time a superior part of one's own Force is brought to bear on the

isolated portion.

It should not be gathered from this that superiority of force at the point of

contact can be obtained only through causing an enemy to divide his fleet and

then throwing one's own fleet against a part, though that is one way of obtaining

the superiority referred to. An able commander will not usually divide his fleet

but, for all that, a fleet not divided regarding distance between its parts can still be

put in such a situation that there is not full support between its parts or even

between all the units in one certain part. For instance, a capped battle line, a line

maneuvering under fire, or a line, part of which is blanketed by smoke, has not

mutual support throughout itself, and concentration on a portion of it at that

time is one method ofcarrying out the basic principle. Similarly, the falling upon

a fast wing when it is out of gun support by its battle line, or the bringing ofa full

line to bear on an enemy line only part of which is in range, answers the

requirements. It is impossible to indicate the innumerable ways in which

superiority of force at the point of contact can be gained. Some of them—for

instance, the blanketing off of a portion of the enemy line with smoke—may be

provided for in the general plan adopted for a battle. Other ways of getting it develop in the deployment and at various times throughout the engagement.

Hence, commanders must be constantly on the alert not only to create such

437
An Admiral's Yarn

situations or take advantage of them when they occur but also to prevent the

enemy from doing so. The deployment stations herein deduced, and which are standard for our fleet

for opening an engagement, tend to put a fleet in such concentration that when

.

the fighting starts it is ready to exert its greatest strength against any and all points

of contact, and this is as it should be, both for offense and defense. Because ofthis

fact the general method of deployment is basic and is always followed no matter

what special plan the fleet commander may put into effect for the battle. Like a football team, the battle team, when deployed, is lined up for a play. What special

play, if any, is to be used in the fight is indicated by the fleet commander and that

play must be carried out. But how the fleet and its parts move once the play is started is of course in the hands of the subordinate commanders, and if such

commanders wish to have success they must have a clear conception of what

constitutes proper points of contact and what they must do with the superior

force they bring to them.

While the "point of contact" in the expression quoted above of course refers

to any point where opposing forces are engaged, such points may be divided into

two classes: one, the main point, where superiority has a decisive effect on the

battle as a whole; the other, the secondary points, through which certain parts of

the fleet pass in their attempts to reach the main point and influence the main

decision. Whether the point of contact of any part of a fleet at any particular

instant is main or secondary, the principle to be followed by a commander is always the same—his tactics must be such as to develop a superiority there for

his own force. But having developed a superiority, it must be used in one way at a main point of contact and quite another at a secondary point, and again there

will be secondary points of contact that may have considerable influence on the

battle and others that will have little or none.

The Objective

It is evident that if one is to gain success in battle the important points of

contact must be something more than mere haphazard points where parts of

opposing fleets happen to come together. Ofcourse the main point of contact is determined by the main objective in the battle, but the only important secondary

points are those immediate objectives forced on parts of a fleet by the counters

they meet in trying to reach the main objective. Hence, it is vital in battle that

commanders at every instant have not only a clear conception of what the main

objective is and what the immediate objective may be to enable them to reach

the main, but also they must clearly understand what constitutes gaining an

438
Appendix II

immediate objective to the extent of permitting them to drop it and proceed

toward the main. Thus, after the basic principle of "superiority of force at the

point of contact," we have as a first secondary principle "the efforts of a fleet as a whole or as to its parts must be directed toward the objective and that objective

must be the proper one for the instant and for the force concerned."

That the objective of a fleet as a whole is the enemy fleet is, of course,

self-evident, but the immediate objective of any part of one fleet is not just any

part of the enemy fleet that happens to come near. On the contrary, it is only

such part ofthat fleet as lies in the way ofreaching the main objective. To gain an

understanding of the immediate objective of his force at any given instant in

battle, a commander has but to look upon the battle as a whole. Remembering

that the foundation around which the battle play of any fleet is built is its heavy

battle line and that when the enemy's battle line is broken or destroyed his whole

fighting structure will crumble, it is evident that the main or primary objective

of all parts of a fleet in battle is the opposing batdeship line. Every part of the

fleet that can hit that line a blow must do so at the earliest possible moment and

must keep hitting it with its full strength as long as the line exists and blows can be struck against it. However, in their attempts to strike that line, the various

forces meet counters to their attacks and, when they do, they must destroy or evade the countering forces to such extent as will permit their proceeding to the

main objective. Thus, countering forces frequently become the immediate

objective of an attacking force and because of the necessity for clearing them

from their path, subdivisions of a fleet often lose sight of the main objective and

become so engrossed in an immediate minor objective as to fail to return to

their real mission at the earliest opportunity.

The tendency of oudying forces to follow a temporary, minor, or useless

objective too far must be overcome at all costs, for, unless it is, one's strength can be utterly expended on fighting minor forces without in the least influencing

the general trend of the battle. Subdivisions of a fleet must fight their way

through any opposition tending to hold them from the main objective, but they

must never do so at the expense of the main objective. Destroyers that can attack

the main objective should never stop their attack to enter a melee with other

destroyers or light forces trying to hold them off; cruisers covering a destroyer

attack should never stop to engage enemy light forces that cannot break up the

attack unless such light forces are threatening their own capital ships; battle

cruisers should not forsake a grip on the enemy battle line to drive off cruisers

unless such cruisers threaten to break up the systematic attacks being made on

the enemy line.

439
An Admiral's Yarn

These just stated minor principles are but a few examples of the many that

have arisen from forces losing sight of their primary objective in battle, but they

are sufficient to press home the idea that losing sight of it may cost a commander

his opportunity to deliver the decisive blow. To prevent such occurrences, all commanders in a fleet must always know what the primary objective is and keep

before them the fact that nothing they do will count for much if it draws them

from that objective before it has been gained. When, as always happens in battle,

an enemy force stands in the way of reaching the primary objective, that enemy

force may for the time become the immediate objective, but rarely for long. As

soon as the way to the primary objective again becomes open, the immediate

objective has been gained and no time should be lost in dropping it and going

on to the key of the enemy strength, his battleship line. Ifin his battle tactics each

subordinate commander keeps this idea to the fore he will at least do his

maximum toward bringing victory, for success in battle hinges on knowing the

objective—the right objective for the instant—and going for it.

Offensive versus Defensive Tactics

There is usually only one successful way of going for the objective in battle,

and that is the offensive way. In a sea battle, unless a fleet is forced to a defensive

attitude by the necessity of protecting something, as, for instance, a convoy of

supply or repair ships, defensive tactics will never bring a decisive victory. When

guarding a convoy, even though the dispositions may be defensive, victory may

be obtained by using offensive tactics from them. Therefore, a commander of a

fleet or any part of a fleet, as soon as his objective of the instant becomes evident,

must go for it and gain it in the offensive way. So going, the commander seizes

the initiative and, putting his enemy on the defensive by compelling him to

conform to his movements, he takes the first step that will ultimately enable him

to gain "superiority at the point of contact." Let us not forget that though

defensive tactics sometimes prevent defeat, only by offensive tactics can a decisive victory be gained.

Conditions and Eiements That Influence Tactics

While reference already has been made to some of them, there are certain

things that influence tactics in such a vital way that close attention must be paid

to them from the time ofearliest contact to the closing moments ofbattle. These

points and the bearing they have on tactics will now be discussed: the weather

gauge, gas, and spray; roll and pitch; light, sun-glare, silhouette; surprise; time;

smoke and smoke tactics; and preparation before battle. Knowing how these

440
Appendix II

things may affect results in battle, a commander must at all times take

cognizance of them in his tactics and give their advantages and disadvantages

due consideration in every move he makes.

The Weather Gauge, Gas, and Spray

It is a generally accepted rule that the weather gauge gives one the advantage

in a modern sea battle, and looking on the fleet as a whole this is probably true.

But it is not always true for any single part ofthe fleet. The advantage to a fleet as a whole comes from the fact that, having the weather gauge, its torpedo craft

close for attack with the wind and sea rather than against them, thus retaining

their speed, while at the same time the fleet can make effective use of smoke

screens not only to cover its own attacks but also to protect any of its threatened

parts. Also a fleet having the weather gauge has a decided advantage in operating

the aircraft from its carriers since carriers must steam directly into the wind to

launch or take on planes. A leeward position for carriers in batde greatly restricts

their operation since heading into the wind tends to run them into such enemy

gunfire as to jeopardize the carriers and all their aircraft operations. We thus see how the weather gauge offers possibly decisive advantages both for offense and

defense.

But these are not always its only advantages. If the wind is strong, spray, both

from the sea and from shells that fall short, blows toward the leeward ships and

materially slows the rate of fire especially of ships not fitted with directors. This

may become a disadvantage of no small importance. On the other hand, ships

having the weather gauge often suffer greatly from the interference of their own

gun and funnel gases, sometimes to such an extent that they lose much of their

gunfire while the enemy retains all of his. Hence, while the battle force

commander will almost invariably seek the weather gauge for the action as a whole, or will at least avoid the lee gauge, minor commanders when they have a choice as to course and direction must weigh the spray against the gas penalty

and select the course that will be the better for them.

Roll and Pitch

Another element resulting from weather conditions, and which may have a very considerable effect on the results of battle, is ship motion. Superiority in

gun hitting being practically the deciding factor in battle, all tactics are based on

it, and roll and pitch seriously interfere with hitting. He who can keep his ships

on courses that will give them the minimum roll and pitch will at least not lose

441
An Admiral's Yarn

hits on that account. In any event, unit commanders should not accept roll and

pitch handicaps without trying to impose equal handicaps on the enemy.

Sun Glare, Silhouette, Light

Before the day of telescope sights and colored lenses, another element

interfering with gun pointing and spotting was sun glare, and, until recent years,

sound tactics required one to obtain and keep the "sun gauge," especially if the

sun were low. In recent years, and more particularly in the late war, the sun gauge

has been found to be sometimes distinctly disadvantageous, for not only have

colored lenses partly nullified the glare when the sun shines, but also, because of

the great ranges used, ships with the lighter horizon behind them when the sun

is obscured make much better targets than those having the darker background.

It is believed that the decisive results of Coronel and the superior fire of the

Germans over the British batde cruiser fleet in the early stages ofJutland were

both due to the silhouette of the British ships even before the sun had set. Hence, an effort to impose sun glare on the enemy, which at best may have but

little effect, is of doubtful value, while the danger of silhouetting one's own ships

if the sun becomes obscured may prove decisive. Therefore, unless the weather is clear and the sun very bright, the sun gauge should be avoided rather than

sought even though it may be possible to nullify the effects of silhouette by

throwing a smoke screen behind ships having the sun gauge.

Surprise

In tactics, as in strategy, no one thing has more far-reaching effect than the

element of surprise. A commander whose battle plan or tactics contain some

element of surprise stands to make great gains thereby, since catching an enemy

when unready to ward off a blow makes it possible to inflict great damage that

often may be carried through to decisive victory So great is the danger from a surprise attack that the safety ofa fleet demands at all times a disposition that will

make a major tactical surprise impossible, and such dispositions have already

been discussed in this paper. In spite of these dispositions, however, in war each

fleet always endeavors to get some of the advantages of a major tactical surprise

by coming up on the enemy fleet in a way not expected, even though a complete tactical surprise rarely occurs. However, the possibilities of surprise do

not end with surprises in major tactics, for a surprise at any state of the battle,

even ifbrought about by a comparatively minor force, may be sufficient to give a decisive turn to the whole battle.

442
Appendix II

Any sudden maneuver that enables a commander to hit the enemy a heavy

blow when that blow has not been anticipated has the nature of a surprise and

this should be remembered by all minor commanders. Destroyers attacking from

a smoke screen, a submarine attack, a sudden closing of the range, an unexpected

concentration of fire, a sudden cutting off a part of the enemy's gunfire by a smoke curtain, and heavy air attacks are all examples of minor tactical surprises

that may bring tremendous results. And just as it is strong in offense, a tactical

surprise has great possibilities for defense, as was shown by the Germans in their

"ships right about" maneuver in the battle ofJutland.

There is no possibility ofindicating the infinite number of ways in which the

element of surprise can be injected into battle tactics. It often results from

changes in visibility conditions, unavoidable or created intentionally, but more

generally it is obtained by taking quick advantage ofsome situation brought about

by the maneuvers of battle. All that can be laid down about it is first, that the fleet

commander must seek to inject surprise into his general battle plan and then, after

the battle has opened he and each of his subordinate commanders must take

advantage of every opportunity to strike a blow that has not been anticipated.

Time

In battle, once a fleet begins to reduce the relative strength of an enemy, that

enemy's loss of remaining strength multiplies rapidly. Hence, other things being

equal, the fleet that can hit hardfirst has made a long stride toward winning the

battle. Time, therefore, becomes a most vital element and makes it imperative

that every force strike at the main objective at the earliest possible instant after

the battle lines become heavily engaged. It is not sufficient that a force knows

what to strike and how to strike it. It must also strike in the absolute minimum

oftime and with its utmost strength. Any commander who fails to keep the time

factor in mind and, after the main gun action opens, delays his attack on the main

objective beyond the earliest possible minute it can be delivered, is risking the

success of the whole battle. In tactics, as in strategy, "Time is everything.'

Smoke and Smoke Tactics

The introduction ofsteam-driven ships affected tactics in many ways, some of

which have been touched on in this paper in an indirect way. While the broad

fundamental tactical principles enunciated long ago remain as sound as ever,

new motive power has caused many changes in minor tactics, the results of

added maneuvering ability, speed, etc. But one of the more recent developments

arising from mechanical driving devices has come from their making smoke. We

443
An Admiral's Yarn

have already mentioned the effect on tactics of gun and funnel gases because of

their interference with gunfire, and smoke in its commonest form is a funnel

gas. But smoke has another bearing on tactics in that it can be made a mantle of

invisibility; because certain ship types can make smoke at will, this attribute has

come to play an important part in naval tactics.

To a force driven to defensive measures, ability to make and hide itself in or behind a screen of smoke is of tremendous value. Possibly no other defensive

measure can so quickly and successfully save a force from punishment as a smoke

screen properly thrown between it and a force firing on it. Similarly, a force that can advance under the cover of a smoke screen has a splendid opportunity of

doing so with the maximum immunity. Again it is frequently possible, especially

with smoke-laying airplanes, to cut off the support one part of an enemy fleet is giving another by putting a smoke screen in front of that part and blanketing it. As a defense against air attacks, the value of smoke has not yet been determined,

but it is possible that smoke can be made a great handicap to air attacks. These

and other uses of smoke in battle show its enormous tactical possibilities, and

special devices for making it having been developed for aircraft as well as surface

craft, and may be developed even for submarines, all commanders must make

special study of the use of smoke, and their tactics must be such as to take

advantage of it to the fullest extent for both offense and defense.

But great as are the possibilities of success arising from the proper use of

purposely made smoke in battle, there are grave dangers arising from using it carelessly, for smoke moves with the wind and once launched there is no

controlling it. If carelessly laid, a smoke screen may put out of action a part of

one's own fleet at a time when the hitting power of that part is absolutely

essential to safety or success, and hence, though commanders must know and use smoke tactics, they must use them with discretion, lest they be hoist by their own

petard. But, as has been the case with other things bearing on tactics, we can give

no definite fixed rules concerning the use of smoke. When to make it and when

not, and how to use it when made, can be determined only on the field ofbattle

where the multitude of factors operating at the instant can be taken into

consideration. But knowing the possibilities smoke has for good and evil, it is apparent that any commander who may go into battle must make a study of

smoke and must use it, as far as it may be advantageous to do so, in all his tactics.

Preparation Before Battle

The several points we have just discussed as having a decided bearing on the

tactics to be employed are points that must be considered in and applied during

the various phases connected with the naval battle. There are many other things

444
Appendix II

upon which success in battle depends but which, though given their actual test in battle, must be provided for long before it. In fact, no battle tactics can succeed unless these things are fully developed beforehand, and because they are so vital to the success of battle tactics we cannot omit to mention them as being

the things a commander must look out for before he enters battle.

The points particularly referred to are perfection in ship handling, excellence

in gunnery, by which is meant accuracy and rapidity in the use of all weapons,

readiness of the material to stand up under all strain, knowledge of the general

plan and the part each unit is to play in it, and last but not least, such a will to win

that nothing short of complete victory will be accepted. Only when a fleet has

these things is it ready to enter battle; but, after entering, it can win only by

employing sound tactics which, to a large extent, are based on the principles

herein deduced or discussed.

The "Follow-Up"

Having been thoroughly prepared for battle, and employing sound tactics in

it, a fleet has every prospect of gaining its primary objective, the breaking up of

the enemy battle line. When that has been done, the decisive point of the

engagement has been reached. But having reached it, what remains to be done

to turn the advantage gained into a decisive victory?

As soon as any fleet finds the center of its strength breaking, it cannot but

realize that to continue on as it is then going means only greater disaster. When

this point has been reached the fleet naturally will attempt to withdraw from the

action, and, when it does, the final phase of the battle opens. If a weakening fleet

can withdraw successfully, the battle, even though lost, may not be decisively lost,

and though the other side has won a victory it will not be a decisive victory. It is therefore apparent that though the decisive point in battle comes in the

engagement phase, the decisiveness depends on the follow-up stage. Hence,

commanders must devote as much attention to the "follow-up" as to any other

phase of battle, employing tactics in it that will save their fleet if being defeated,

or, if winning, that will complete the destruction of the enemy.

As to what tactics the retreating and following fleets should employ in this

phase of batde, nothing definite can be stated. The one fleet attempts to conceal

itself and avoid action as much as possible while seeking a safe refuge, while the

other attempts to come up with it and defeat it as a whole or in detail. In general,

both sides endeavor to follow the tactical principles already laid down whenever

contact is made, but the one does so by fighting rear guard actions in a defensive

manner, while the other constantly attacks.

445
An Admiral's Yarn

In this phase, history seems to indicate that a following fleet has the more

difficult role to carry out successfully Aided by the inevitable smoke ofbattle, as well as by smoke screens purposely made, strengthened by the initiative in attack

that to a certain extent goes with retiring tactics, especially in the use of

destroyers, submarines, and mine-laying craft, and often covered by the darkness

of night, a retreating fleet has usually been able to get away. However, it seems

probable that such a result comes less from the strength of retreat than from the

fact that winning fleets have not prepared themselves as they could and should

have done for carrying out this phase of battle.

Possibly the greatest impediment to success lies in the fact that the Battle

Force Commander usually places himself in a battleship in the battle line, and

going through the battle suddenly finds himself without the communication

facilities necessary for reorganizing his fleet for the change in operation. But

whatever the cause may be, certain it is that modern batdes between large fleets

seldom result in decisive victory, since when one fleet decides to withdraw from

battle the other is either unable or incompetent to "follow-up" successfully In

view of the vital effect this stage of a sea batde may have on the result of the war

as a whole, much more attention must be paid to it in the future than it has

received in the past. It requires a plan just as the engagement phase does, though

the tactical principles governing it merely continue from the preceding stages.

Though but briefly outlined, you have now before you a mental picture of a Naval Battle. We hope that through this presentation first of our general battle

plan and second of the tactical principles to be followed in carrying it out, you

are now impressed by these facts: first, that if any subdivision of our battle team

fails in the task assigned to it, the batde may not only not be won, but may be

disastrously lost; second, that to perform its task successfully, each subdivision of

our battle team must in itself be a team highly skilled and trained in the work

peculiar to its type; third, that only by perfect coordination and teamwork

between the type teams is there any reason to hope for a victory in battle for the

fleet team; and fourth, that we officers have a tremendous work before us to

prepare ourselves, our type teams, and our fleet team to be always invincible in

battle.

Your Next Step

It is hoped that having studied this paper to this point the student now has a good general understanding of a "Naval Battle" as our fleet oftoday would fight

it. With such a general understanding, the student is now ready to go more into

446
Appendix II

the details of handling a battle fleet as a whole, and to the end of having a full

knowledge of those details should now study:

(1) The War Instruction: (Navy Department publication),

(2) The General Tactical Instructions (Navy Department publication),

(3) The Tentative Fleet Dispositions and Battle Plans, U.S. Fleet, 1930 (U.S.

Fleet publication), and

(4) Example Fighting Instructions for a Battle Force using the Circular Cruising

Disposition (War College pamphlet).

A thorough knowledge and understanding of what is set forth in these

publications is prerequisite to properly handling our battle force and is the

logical sequel to this preliminary paper on "The Naval Battle." When the above

publications also have been digested—but not until they have been—the

student can proceed logically to a study of the minor tactics that necessarily

follow the major tactical ideas and conceptions he has already learned. This

further study will take him through such publications as: (1) Formations and Maneuvers ofthe Battle Line or Battleship Tactical Instructions,

(2) Cruiser Tactics and Doctrine,

(3) Tactical Employment ofDestroyers and Formations and Maneuvers ofDestroyers,

(4) Submarine Tactical Instructions,

(5) Aircraft Tactical Instructions,

(6) General Signal Book,

(7) Contact and Tactical Report Code.

A thorough knowledge of these will complete his study of up-to-date naval

tactics so far as it can be completed by a study of current official publications.

However, although a student may, from that study, have a fine general knowledge

of present day naval tactics, that knowledge alone will not necessarily make him

a fine tactician. Only by practice in war games in miniature and at sea will he

become that. Hence, after the studies oudined above must come practice ofwhich

the efficient tactician can never get too much.

447

Endnotes

Introduction

1. Quotation of Henry L. Stimson (Secretary ofWar 1911-13 and 1940-45 and Secretary

of State 1929-33) from his memoir, On Active Service in Peace and War, written with McGeorge

Bundy (New York: Harper & Brothers, 1947), p. 506.

2. See, among other works, Mark Russell Shulman, Navalism and the Emergence ofAmerican

Sea Power, 1882-1893 (Annapolis: Naval Institute Press, 1995); Kenneth J. Hagan, Tliis People's

Navy: Hie Making ofAmerican Sea Power (New York: Free Press, 1991); Michael Vlahos, Tlie Blue

Sword: The Naval War College and the American Mission, 1919-1941 (Newport, R.I.: Naval War

College Press, 1980); and Robert L. O'Connell, Sacred Vessels: Tlie Cult ofthe Battleship and the Rise

of the U.S. Navy (Boulder: Westview, 1991).

3. Peter Karsten, Tlie Naval Aristocracy: The Golden Age of Annapolis and the Emergence of

American Navalism (New York: Free Press 1972), pp. 9, 12, 16-18, 26, 31, 75. The fathers of 5

percent of the candidates were bankers. According to Karsten, 40.1 percent of Naval Academy

midshipmen in the years 1885-1895 were Episcopalian, compared with the approximately 2

percent national average. Laning followed his brother-in-law into the military; John McAuley

Palmer went on to a successful career in the United States Army and to considerable renown as a writer on military affairs. For Laning's reading list before entering the Naval Academy, see Yarn, p.

5. For a comprehensive and insightful biography of the fascinating Palmer, see I.B. Holley, Jr., GeneralJohn M. Palmer, Citizen Soldiers and the Army of a Democracy (Westport: Greenwood Press, 1980).

4. Vlahos, Blue Sword, p. 71.

5. See Craig Cameron, American Samurai: The Influence of Myth and Imagination on the Conduct ofBattle in the First Marine Division, 1941-1951 (New York: Cambridge Univ. Press, 1994),

especially chapter III, "Images of the Japanese 'Other' Defined: Guadalcanal and Beyond"; and

John W. Dower, War without Mercy: Race and Power in the Pacific War (New York: Pantheon, 1986), p. 36 et passim. For the best one-volume history, see Ronald Spector, Eagle Against the Sun: The

American War with Japan (New York: Free Press, 1984).

6. The source of the quotation is International News Service report, 31 March 1936, upon

Laning's relinquishing his command of the U.S. Battle Force to "Edward [sic] D. Leahy," available

in Naval War College Archives, Manuscript Collection 115, Series VI, folio 8. 7. The American officer-memoir writers followed a long Anglo-American tradition. See

most notably: Daniel Ammen, The Old Navy and the New (Philadelphia: Lippincott, 1891); Bradley

A. Fiske, From Midshipman to Rear Admiral (New York: Century, 1919); Hugh Rodman, Years ofa Kentucky Admiral (Indianapolis: Bobbs-Merrill, 1928); and Winfield Scott Schley, Forty-Five Years under the Flag (New York: D. Appleton, 1904). The unfortunate exception is that of Stephen B. Luce—the leading reformer of the "New Navy." Robley D.Evans and Alfred Thayer Mahan each

published two: Evans, Sailor's Log (New York: D. Appleton, 1901) and Admiral's Log (New York: D.

Appleton, 1908); Mahan, From Sail to Steam: Recollections ofa Naval Life (New York: Harper, 1907)

and The Harvest Within: Tlioughts on the Life of a Christian (New York: Harper, 1909).

8. An Admiral's Yarn has been cited in several pu ished works including: Karsten, Naval

Aristocracy; Vlahos, Blue Sword; John Hattendorf et al., Sailors and Scholars: Tlie Centennial History of

the U.S. Naval War College (Newport, R.I. : Naval War College Press, 1984); and Shulman, Navalism.

Gerald C. Wheeler published a portion of it in the Naval War College Review, March 1969, under

the title "The War College Years of Admiral Harris Laning," pp. 69-87.

9. See David Alan Rosenberg, "Beyond Toddlerhood: Thoughts on the Future of U.S. Naval history," in John B. Hattendorf, editor, UBI SUMUS? The State ofNaval and Maritime History
An Admiral's Yarn

(Newport, R.I.: Naval War College Press, 1994). Rosenberg calls for increased attention to be

paid to the support system, noting that "the shaft is just as much a part ofthe naval establishment as the spearhead, and the shaft may well have determined the nature and effectiveness of the tip that was sent into harm's way" (p. 417). This is certainly the case for Laning's role in the World War I buildup.

10. Laning's classmates at the Naval War College during 1922-1923 included future admirals

Chester Nimitz, Harold Stark, and Thomas Hart. Laning stayed on for two years as Head of the

Department of Tactics. His presidency there lasted from 1930 until 1933. See his opening

presidential address of 2 July 1930 in which Laning presented an updated version of the thesis he

had written as a student only a few years earlier. "The Tactics Department ofthe War College and

the Relation Between It and the Fleet" (NWC Archives, Record Group 16, "Addresses," Box 1) is reproduced in the appendix to this volume.

11. Cited in Hattendorf et al., Sailors and Scholars, p. 127.

12. Laning, Tactics, NWC thesis, 22 February 1922, p. 7. 13. Laning, "The Naval Battle" (May 1933), Naval War College Archives, RG 64/1836, p. 18. See reference to Sims in Yarn as well as in Elting E. Morison, Admiral Sims and the Modern

American Navy (Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1942).

14. John Tetsuro Sumida, "'The Best Laid Plans': The Development of British Battle-Fleet

Tactics, 1919-1942," International History Review, November 1992, pp. 661-880, especially p. 687.

15. Robert S.Jordan, "Introduction" to John B. Hattendorf and Robert S.Jordan, eds., Maritime Strategy and the Balance of Power (New York: St. Martin's Press, 1989), p. 7 et passim.

16. Origins of this Anglophilia can be found in two prosopographies: Christopher McKee,

"Learning to Be a Navy," in A Gentlemanly and Honorable Profession: The Creation of the U.S. Naval

Officer Corps, 1794-1815 (Annapolis: Naval Institute Press, 1991), especially chapter XIX, pp. 210-5; and Karsten, Naval Aristocracy, pp. 1, 107-14.

17. Yarn, p. 105.

18. Ibid.,p. 109.

19. Ibid. 20. Hawaii was a republic under the domination ofwhite planters in the years following the U.S. Navy-assisted revolution of 1893. American annexation of Hawaii came with the war of

1898.

21. Yarn., p. 63.

22. Ibid., p. 65.

23. Ibid. 24. Ibid. Indeed, Laning frequently attributed good in a strange society to European

influences. Ofthe natives of Guam, whom he encountered in 1898, he remarked, "Their faces are those of intellectual men, the forehead usually being high. This good appearance of the people

may be do [sic] to the white blood which they all have." "Journal ofCruise ofU.S. S. Monadnock," 4

August 1898, p. 24 in Naval War College Archives, Manuscript Collection 1 15, Series II, box 1. 25. Yarn, p. 66. 26. Ibid. 27. Laning, "Journal of Cruise of U.S.S. Monadnock," 4 August 1898, p. 24.

28. The Chicago was one of the controversial (9,300 tons) 8-inch-gunned heavy cruisers

built at Mare Island and commissioned in 1931. These cruisers could fire only three rounds per

gun per minute and were thus not very useful at times of poor visibility (especially at night or in bad weather, but also during a smoky battle) or against fast moving targets, which were difficult to hit on so few shots. Thought not to be useful for defending the fleet, the 8-inch-gunned cruisers were expected to be assigned to distant cruising where, in war, they could either protect sea lines of

450
Endnotes

communication or carry out independent raids. Conway's All the World's Fighting Ships,

1922-1945 (New York: Conway Maritime Press, 1980), p. 112.

29. Yarn, p. 357. Interestingly, this is Lanings only use of the word "yarn" in the entire

narrative entitled An Admiral's Yarn. 30. Yarn, p. 357.

31. Ibid., p. 277. See also pp. 327-328.

32. Fiske, cited in P. Coletta, Admiral Bradley A. Fiske and the American Navy (Lawrence: Univ.

of Kansas Press, 1979), p. 189.

33. Hattendorf et al., Sailors and Scholars, p. 143.

34. The Destroyer Force—Its Mission in the Fleet and the Organization to Enable It to Best

Fulfill its Mission, XTYV, (1919-80), 15 June 1919, p. 2, in Naval War College Archives, Record

Group 8, Intelligence and Technical Archives. Vlahos, Blue Sword, p. 93 refers to Laning as a protege of the insurgent Sims, but more likely Laning was a solid professional who managed to navigate the shoals between conservatives like CNO William S. Benson and the "Simian"

insurgents. Sims quoted in Hattendorf et al., Sailors and Scholars, p. 88. 35. David Maclsaac, "Voices from the Central Blue: The Air Power Theorists," in Peter Paret,

ed., Makers ofModern Strategyfrom Machiavelli to the Nuclear Age (NewJersey: Princeton Univ. Press, 1986), p. 632. Another good primer is Robin Higham, Air Power: A Concise History (New York: St. Martin's, 1973). See also Charles Melhorn, Two-Block Fox (Annapolis: Naval Institute Press, 1974),

especially p. 90. For Mitchell, see Maclsaac, pp. 630—1, as well as Alfred F. Hurley, Billy Mitchell: Crusader for Air Power (Bloomington: Indiana Univ. Press, 1975), who refers to him as an

"originator" to de-emphasize his genius in favor of his ability to bring together doctrine, people,

and machines.

36. "The Destroyer Force," 15 June 1919, p. 2. 37. Yarn, p. 275.

38. International law agreed with Laning. In 1922, the Washington Conference outlawed

unrestricted submarine warfare—an interdiction continued by the subsequent London Treaty.

The conference dictates had been sketched out by navalists, each ofwhom had a stake in sustaining

the battle fleet-oriented navies. See O'Connell, in "Requiem: The Washington Conference" in

Sacred Vessels. 39. Yarn, p. 275. Compare this with Edward L. Beach's comment, "The minds of the men in

control were not attuned to the changes being wrought by advancing technology. Mahan's nearly

mystical pronouncements had taken the place ofreality for men who truly did not understand but were comfortable in not understanding" as cited in Hagan, This People's Navy, p. 275.

40. Paul M. Kennedy, "The Relevance of the Prewar British and American Maritime

Strategies to the First World War and its Aftermath, 1898-1920," in Hattendorf and Jordan,

Maritime Strategy, p. 167.

41. Op. cit., p. 173, or see Edward Beach, The United States Navy: a 200-Year History (Boston:

Houghton Mifflin Co., 1986), p. 435: "As is not unusual in man's development, improvement of

the batde line continued to be pursued by its devotees long after time and events had passed it by."

42. Boston Evening Transcript, 5 November 1923.

43. Ibid., Laning also made this point in public in a 19 March 1924 speech "The Navy in

National Defense," before the Providence City Club. He said, "That aircraft alone can drive every

other type of ship from the sea, as claimed by certain air radicals, is of course ridiculous." NWC

Archives, Record Group 4, Publications, 1400/3-24, p. 18. 44. John Keegan, The Price of Admiralty: The Evolution of Naval Warfare (New York: Viking

Press, 1988), p. 161.

451
An Admiral's Yarn

45. George Grafton Wilson, editor, International Law Situations with Solutions and Notes (with

introduction by Admiral Harris Laning) (Washington: U.S. Govt. Print. Off., 1929), pp. 98-104.

46. NWC Archives, RG 16: Harris Laning, Opening Address, 1 July 1932, p. 3, and J. Hattendorf et al., Sailors and Scholars, p. 142.

47. Keegan, Price of Admiralty, p. 162. See also William T. Larkin, U.S. Navy Aircraft, 1921-1941 (Concord, Calif.: Aviation History Publications, 1961); and Nathan Miller, The U.S. Navy: An Illustrated History (New York and Annapolis: American Heritage and the Naval Institute Press, 1977), p. 285.

48. Testimony on House Bill 6661, NWC Archives, RG 8, "Military and Technical

Intelligence," file XYTB, Accession 1931-120, p. 7 (does not appear on Laning collection

register). For Moffett, see Edward Arpee's descriptive From Frigates to Flat-Tops: Tlie Story of the Life and Achievements of Rear Admiral William Adger Moffett, USN, "Tlie Father of Naval Aviation,"

October 31, 1869-April 4, 1933 (Lake Forest, 111.: Lakeside Press, 1953); and see William F. Trimble, Admiral William A. Moffett, Architect of Naval Aviation (Washington: Smithsonian

Institution Press, 1994).

49. "Military and Technical Intelligence," p. 7. 50. Moffett, "Are We Ready," pp. 222-35.

51. "The Naval Battle," NWC RG4/1836, May 1933.

52. Hattendorf et al., Sailors and Scholars, p. 143.

53. This is a trend well-documented in Hagan, This People's Navy. See also David Alan

Rosenberg, "Process: The Realities ofFormulating Modern Naval Strategy," in James Goldrick and

John B. Hattendorf, eds., Mahan Is Not Enough: The Proceedings ofa Conference on the Works ofSirfulian

Corbett and Admiral Sir Herbert Richmond (Newport, R.I.: Naval War College Press, 1993), especially pp. 150-5, which discusses many factors that shape naval strategy, including foremost: "the nature of

training and education programs, career patterns and professional . . . operational, technical and staffbackgrounds

ofindividual naval officers in significant (national orfleet) positions ofleadership . . . [and] the procurement costs,

capabilities, operating patterns, and sustainment requirements ofnaval weapons systems!' Laning's An Admiral's Yarn provides insight into each of these crucial factors and thus goes far towards explaining the over-reliance upon batdeships in the United States Navy up to December 1941.

54. Spector's, Eagle Against the Sun was the most important volume for bringing out the extent to which the Americans were able to use submarines to defeat the Japanese.

Chapter I

55. The Sangamon river rises near Bloomington, flows near Champaign, Decatur,

Springfield, and Petersburg, before emptying into the Illinois. 56. Petersburg (named for Peter Cartwright, an original settler) was founded in the

eighteen-teens and is still the principal city in Menard County.

57. A variation of hockey played by schoolboys with a curved stick and a ball or block of

wood (also the stick that is used). 58. The New Salem Park, including Offutt's Store, was indeed restored as it would have been

during Lincoln's youth. The mill and dam were again restored in 1992. Lincoln did do some ofthe surveying but did not lay out the town. All this information comes from Mr. Lester Ott (born

1911), who served as town librarian until 1992.

59. By "Henderson," Laning probably means William Henry Herndon and his famous

biography, Herndon's Life ofLincoln (Springfield: Herndon's Lincoln Publishing Company, 1888) in three volumes.

452
Endnotes

60. See Willis J. Abbot, Bluejackets of 61 (New York: Dodd, Mead & Co., 1887); Elbridge

Street Brooks, The Story of the American Sailor in active service on merchant vessel and man-of-war

(Boston: D.Lothrop, 1888);J.F. Cooper, Sea Tales (Laning probably means The Pilot: A Tale ofthe Sea (New York: D. Appleton, 1819), the cover of which had the words "Sea Tales" on the Porter &

Coates edition [Philadelphia, n.d.]); Frederick Marryat, Mr. Midshipman Easy (Boston: Marsh,

1836); George Francis Train, Young American Abroad in Europe, Asia, and Australia (London S. Low,

Son, & Co., 1857) with American edition under title, An American merchant in Europe, Asia, and

Australia; and any offollowing: Oliver Optic, The Yankee Middy; or The Adventures ofa Naval Officer (New York: Hurst [1865?]; Harry Hazel, The Yankee Middy, or the Two Frigates (New York: H. Long,

1853); or Ward Edwards, A Yankee Middy, or Hero of the Blockade (New York: Novelist, 1886).

61. In 1870 there were four Academy graduates from Illinois. The editor was unable to ascertain which was Laning's uncle.

Chapter II

62. John McAuley Palmer (1870-1955) graduated from West Point in 1892, having been

appointed at large from Illinois. Although posted in the infantry, Palmer served widely throughout

his Army career, including on special topographical duty in Arizona (1896-1897), as Professor of

Military Science and Tactics at the University of Chicago (1897-1898), and as a member of the

technical staff at the Washington Conference on Limitations ofArmaments (1921-1 922) as well as active infantry service in Cuba (1899), China (1900 and 1913-1914), the Philippines (1914-1915),

and France (1918), for which he was awarded the Distinguished Service Medal. Directly after World War I, he urged Congress to institute a universal military training program. Palmer retired as a brigadier general in 1926 and continued to write military history. 63. A strong-flavored tobacco with tough and gummy fiber raised in St. James parish,

Louisiana, cured in its own juices, and used chiefly in smoking mixtures.

64. In 1900 the Navy acquired the 1 15.8-acre Iona Island, which is on the west bank of the

Hudson, nine miles south of West Point. Iona Island provided ammunition to the merchant and

naval fleets during World War I. It continued to grow in importance into the Second World War.

See Paolo E. Coletta, editor, and K.Jack Bauer, associate editor, United States Navy and Marine Corps

Bases, Domestic (Westport: Greenwood Press, 1985), p. 370.

65. This match was heralded as "a test of athletic strength between the two Academies." On

the way to West Point, the navy team decided it needed a mascot, as Yale had its "Handsome Dan"

the bulldog. The first candidate to appear was taken, and the Naval Academy adopted a tough old

goat for good luck. See Walter Arnold, "Naval Academy Athletics, from 1845 to 1945," U.S. Naval

Institute Proceedings, October 1945, vol. 71, no. 512.

66. William McKendree Springer (1836-1903), an Illinois Democrat, served in Congress

from 1874 to 1894. From 1895 to 1899, Springer was judge of the U.S. Court for the Northern

Indian Territory and ChiefJustice for the Court of Appeals of the Territory.

Chapter III

67. The Santee was originally a sailing frigate of forty-four guns, 1,726 tons, laid down in

1820 and completed in 1861. The Santee served as a school ship at Annapolis after the Civil War.

68. The Constellation was a large sailing frigate of 1,265 tons. 69. A "bilger" is one required to resign from the Naval Academy because offailure in studies.

453
An Admiral's Yarn

Chapter IV

70. For a complete and more modern account, see Jack Sweetman, T\\e United States Naval

Academy: An Illustrated History (Annapolis: Naval Institute Press, 1979). For ephemera, see the yearbook, published annually since 1894, Lucky Bag.

71. A party with dancing.

72. The editor has not been able to ascertain which of the officers in charge was called "Frenchy."

73. The Commandant of Cadets was Commander CM. Chester and the Superintendent of

the Naval Academy was Captain R.I. Phythian.

74. The USS Philadelphia was authorized in 1887 and commissioned in 1890, a cruiser of

4,324 tons. She was housed over in 1904 and served from then until 1912, and again in 1916-1924

as a receiving ship. From 1912 to 1916, the Philadelphia was a prison ship.

Chapter V

75. The struggle between line officers and engineers for power, rank, and recognition had

been bitterly waged since the introduction ofsteam engines in the 1820s. It was not resolved until 1899 when the two lines were set equal and merged.

76. Foods that are salt-treated for preservation.

77. A box used by sailors to hold small articles of gear, such as thread, needles, and tape.

78. Restrictions of non-U.S. nationals were generally unheeded. For a social history, see Frederick S. Harrod, Manning the New Navy: Tlie Development of a Modern Naval Enlisted Force, 1899-1940 (Westport: Greenwood Press, 1978).

Chapter VI

79. The USS Pennsylvania (BB-38), 31,400 tons, was launched on 16 March 1915 and

commissioned on 12 June 1916. She joined the Pacific Fleet in California on 26 September 1922

and was decommissioned on 29 August 1946 after being towed to Kawajalein Lagoon in the Marshall Islands. 80. The fish, indeed named for Lester Beardslee, is also called a blueback trout. 81. The Puget Sound Naval Shipyard is on the western shore of the Sound, some fifteen miles west of Seattle, and was founded in 1891 at the urging of Lt. A.B. WyckofF. Captain Alfred

Thayer Mahan headed the commission which eventually selected the site. The 1890 Naval

Appropriation bill had provided $210,000 to purchase the land and to construct a dry dock.

Construction started in 1892 and continued into 1896 at an eventual cost of $610,000. The dry

dock's sides were constructed of native timber, and the inlet of limestone blocks.

Chapter VII

82. The population ofLos Angeles in the 1890 census was 50,395 and in 1900 was 102,249.

83. Although there had been intermittent naval basing activities in the Los Angeles area since

1846, no major bases were established there until after the First World War. San Pedro became the principal port for the U.S. battle force as the U.S. Navy turned its attention to Japan. In 1938, a naval air facility was built at Terminal island, San Pedro, which became U.S. Naval Base, Terminal

454
Endnotes

Island, San Pedro, during the war. The base was closed after the war but reopened during the

Korean crisis. 84. The Hotel del Coronado was built in 1888 and was quickly hailed as one of the great

hotels of the world. Its main building has been supplemented and, with renovations, provides

world-class lodging.

85. In 1 895 four ladies (with the given names ofZulette, Lena, Agnes, and Caroline) founded

this women's rowing club at San Diego. In 1932 Zlacs moved to Pacific Beach where it remains as California's only all-female rowing club. 86. On 7 July 1846, United States Navy Commodore John D. Sloat landed a force at Monterey, Mexico and proclaimed California to be part of the United states by virtue of

conquest. On 23 July the ailing Sloat was replaced by Commodore Robert F. Stockton, who

declared himself to be governor of the newest U.S. territory. Soon after the war with Mexico

ended and Sloat's conquest was confirmed by the Treaty of Guadalupe-Hidalgo, gold was

discovered in the Sierra Nevadas, leading to a massive influx of American settlers. Two years

later, California became a state (1850). See K.Jack Bauer, The Mexican War, 1846-1848 (New

York: Macmillan, 1974).

87. The USS Independence was authorized in 1813 and commissioned a ship of the line in

1815, on a revised 1799 design. She was razeed [upper deck was cut away] in 1846 and served as a receiving ship at Mare Island from 1857 until she was sold in 1914.

Chapter VIII

88. The Oregon, third ship of the Indiana class, was authorized in 1890 and commissioned in

1896. At 10,288 tons (11,688 full load), Oregon was capable of 15 knots.

89. The Marion was a Swatara-chss steam sloop commissioned in 1876 at 1,900 tons, with

compound engines and one screw, as well as a set of bark-rigging. She served as a training vessel from 1898 until she was sold in 1907.

Chapter IX

90. European-Americans had been settling in Hawaii ever since Captain James Cook first visited the Sandwich Islands. By the late nineteenth century, Americans in Hawaii controlled the

plantation economy. In 1893, they overthrew Queen Liliuokalani and formed the Republic of

Hawaii with the help of the United States Navy's cruiser Boston. U.S. President Grover Cleveland

rejected Hawaii's petition for admission to the union. His successor, William McKinley, endorsed

it during the war with Spain (1898), and in 1959 Hawaii became a state. In 1897, Laning and the crew of the Marion were visiting a republic of Polynesians and Asians dominated by a white

minority. Sugar and fresh fruit were the main export.

91. Ensign Clarence England, U.S. Navy.

92. The population of Honolulu in 1890 was 22,907 and in 1900 was 39,306, according to the United States Census of 1900, Abstract.

93. Nuuanu Pali, a cliff and mountain pass at the head of Nuuanu Valley, six miles from

Honolulu.

94. As a youth, Burton Holmes (1870-1958) travelled with his family and later photographed and made slides of his extensive travels. He enlisted artists to tint his slides and

eventually made the first travel films. Holmes thus created the idea and coined the term

"travelogue." In his adventures, which brought him to Europe fifty-six times, he traversed the

globe six times and covered two million miles.

455
An Admiral's Yarn

95. The United States Weather Bureau was founded in 1890 when the "weather Service of

the Army Signal Corp was transferred to the Department of Agriculture by Congress (26 Stat. 653).

96. The Executive Officer of the Marion was Lieutenant Commander James K. Cogswell.

Chapter X

97. The USS Mohican was a 1900-ton steam sloop with compound engines and a set ofbark

rigging. Although laid down in 1872, she was not completed until 1885 due to corruption and

changing plans. She served until 1920.

98. The apprentice system was started by Rear Admiral Stephen B. Luce in 1875. By the

early 1880s, the program was training 750 fourteen and fifteen-year-old boys to become

sailors—although few continued in the service, even in the depression-era nineties. 99. The USS Maine was a 6,315-ton battleship authorized in 1886 and commissioned in 1895—by which time she was designated a "battleship second-rate." She was visiting a tempestuous Havana to protect American interests during a revolution against the corrupt and

brutal Spanish rule. At the time ofthe explosion (which left 266 dead), most Americans believed it to be an act of Spanish treachery, and it proved to be the trigger for war. Later investigations have

shown that the explosion originated from within the ship's coal bunkers.

100. Major James A. Connally, member of Congress, arranged for the ensign's transfer from

the Mohican to the Monadnock, according to Laning's "Journal of Cruise of U.S.S. Monadnock'' (3

July 1898) p. 2. 101. The USS Monadnock was an iron-hulled monitor laid down in 1875 as a "rebuilding" ofa Civil War vessel ofsimilar design. Its construction, and that ofits three classmates, was put on hold

from 1877 to 1882, but then restarted. The ship's pieces were shipped from Brooklyn to Mare

Island where they were assembled. The monitor was commissioned in 1896. At 3,990 tons, with

two triple-expansion engines, four ten-inch guns and nine-inch armor, Monadnock was a formidable coastal defense ship. With an extremely low freeboard and virtually no habitable

quarters for her complement of 171, she was hell at sea. The Monadnock served until 1921.

Chapter XI

102. On 1 May 1898, the United States opened effective hostilities against Spain when

Commodore George Dewey's Asiatic Squadron sank the inferior Spanish fleet at Manila Bay. For

weeks, however, the Americans could not locate the Spanish squadron of Admiral Marivel de la Camara, which had departed Spain either to reinforce Admiral Pascual Cervera y Topete in Cuba

or to fight Dewey. On 9 July Camara was recalled to defend Spain.

103. The USS Charleston was authorized in 1885 as a "semi-armored" cruiser of 3,730 tons, with 3-inch shielded, ten 6-inch and two 8-inch guns. Two horizontal compound engines

produced eighteen knots. The ship was wrecked on Camiguin Island in the Philippines in late 1899.

Chapter XII

104. Because of the fluid ships' complements at this point, there are several possible identities for "Dickey," but the editor has not been able to ascertain it for sure.

456
Endnotes

Chapter XIII

105. Henry Ware Lawton (1843-1900) joined the 9th Indiana Volunteers in 1861, rising from

sergeant to captain, taking part in twenty battles, and receiving the Medal of Honor in the course of the Civil War. In 1866 he was appointed lieutenant in the regular army (41st

Infantry—Colored), taking part in the Indian Wars and rising through the ranks. In 1898 he was

the brigadier general in charge of the U.S. volunteers in Cuba, and then military governor of

Santiago. Lawton took charge of the regular army forces in Manila and was killed during the

suppression of the Philippines. "Citizens of America" raised $98,000 for his widow.

Chapter XIV

106. The Panay was a small gunboat of 162 tons, capable of 8 knots, launched by the Spanish in

1885 to patrol Philippine waters. She carried one six-pdr. and 2 four-pdrs. The boat's successor-namesake was attacked by Japanese fighters in China in December, 1937. The captured

gunboats ranged from Callao, Panpanga and Samar, all built in 1888, weighing 243 tons and capable of

a little more than 10 knots, to the Eclano built in 1885, weighing 620 tons, and capable of 11 knots.

107. The USS Wheeling was authorized in 1895 at 990 tons with six 4-inch guns. She had two

vertical triple-expansion engines and two screws and was capable of 12 knots. Commissioned in

1897, the Wheeling served until 1946.

108. The USS Concord was authorized in 1885 as a gunboat of 1,700 tons and commissioned

in 1889. With two triple-expansion engines and two screws, she was capable of sixteen knots.

Having six 6-inch and six 5-inch guns, she was the lightest seaworthy fighting ship in the fleet. She

was struck in 1915.

Chapter XV

109. A small boat found in Pacific water. 110. A long, single-edged, heavy knife. 111. A long, straight-bladed dagger.

1 12. Emilio Aguinaldo was born to a Chinese-Philippine family in 1869, and as a young man

was a political leader who, by 1896, led the Philippine independence movement. In 1897 he was bought off and exiled by the Spanish, only to be returned the next year by Americans hoping to over-throw Spanish rule. When the United States annexed the Philippine Islands as part of the

December 1898 Paris Peace, Aguinaldo again started revolution against the colonial power. When

he was finally captured in 1901 through an army ruse, the Philippine Insurrection was declared

over. Aguinaldo lived to declare the creation of a Philippine Republic in 1946 and to have his sword returned by the American ambassador in 1960.

113. The USS Castine was authorized in 1889 2X\,\11 tons as a gunboat and commissioned in

1894. With two vertical expansion engines, she was capable of 15.5 knots. She had eight 4-inch

guns and two 6-pdrs. serving as a gunboat until 1907 and then for two years as a training ship. In her final decade, she was employed as a submarine tender.

Chapter XVI

114. The two ensigns assigned to the Monadnock were Fred Payne andJames P. Morten—each

acting as lieutenants junior grade. Giving the similar spelling, Payne seems the likely candidate.

457
An Admiral's Yarn

115. In the spring of 1898, the Monadnock was given two assistant surgeons in the rank of

lieutenant junior grade: Eugene Grow and Frederick Benton.

116. The Isla de Cuba was launched in the Spanish navy in 1886 as a small cruiser. Raised from

Manila Bay and reconditioned in Hong Kong, the Cuba, 1,030 tons, capable of 13 knots, for a dozen years served as a gunboat. In 1900 it carried four 4-inch guns and three 14-inch torpedo

tubes.

Chapter XVII

117. The senior officers, other than the captain, included Commander Fernando Gilmore, Lt. Chester Knepper and Lt.(j.g) John Morris.

118. On 24 July 1900 Laning married Mabel Claire Nixon, daughter of Thomas Nixon—

a

Santa Barbara architect. 119. See George Ade, (1866-1944) Fables in Slang (New York: Grosset & Dunlap, 1899)

illustrated by Clyde J. Newman.

120. Officers of the Bennington included Ensign William Reynolds and Lieutenant John A.

Bell.121. The Solace was an ambulance ship of 4,700 tons under Commander Herbert Winslow,

with Lt. William V. Pratt among his officers. The China ReliefExpedition was a multi-lateral great

power intervention to put down the Boxer Rebellion—a millennialist and nationalist struggle to

free China of colonial influence in 1900. It also precipitated U.S. Secretary of State John Hay's

proclamation of an "Open Door" policy which would not allow any nation unilaterally to close the door to world trade in China.

Chapter XVIII

122. Richard Wainwright (1849—1926) entered the navy in 1864, taking his commission in 1868. As Executive Officer of the Maine, he assumed charge of its wreck before being given

command of the Gloucester. His place in history was secured when he took the Gloucester under

heavy fire to destroy the Pluton and the Furor (3 July 1898). Advanced ten numbers (and soon after promoted to commander) for eminent and conspicuous conduct in battle, Wainwright was given

command of the Naval Academy. He was promoted to captain in 1903, later serving as the first Aide for Operations (1909-1911).

123. The Chesapeake (renamed Severn in 1905), a three-masted, sheathed bark with auxiliary

steam power, was commissioned in 1900 and became a station and practice ship at the Naval

Academy.

Chapter XIX

124. The Dolphin, a dispatch vessel of 1,486 tons, was authorized among the ABCD's of the "New Navy" in 1883 and commissioned in 1885. A comfortable ship, the Dolphin was the Secretary of the Navy's launch, used for entertaining guests of the navy. 125. Moody (1853-1917) was Theodore Roosevelt's choice to succeed John D. Long as Secretary of the Navy in May 1902. He served until elevated to the position of U.S. Attorney

General in July 1904.

126. Hale (1836-1918) was a Republican from Maine who dominated naval affairs committees in the House (1869-1879) and Senate (1881-1911).

458
Endnotes

127. Penrose (1860-1921), like Hale, was an anti-Progressive Republican and a Senator from

Pennsylvania (1 897-1 92 1)

.

128. Cannon (1836-1926), a Republican from Ohio, served in the House (1873-1891,

1893-1913, 1915-1923) and led it as Chair of the Appropriations Committee or as Speaker

throughout the first decade of the twentieth century. He lost influence in a split with the

Progressive Republicans.

129. Alfred Thayer Mahan (1840-1914) graduated from the Naval Academy in 1861 and

served with minor distinction, rising to the rank of captain. In the mid-1 880s, Mahan wrote Tlie Influence of Sea Power upon History, 1660-1783 while preparing his lectures on history for the new

Naval War College, of which he was the second president. Mahan published this work in 1890

(Boston: Little, Brown & Co.,) and soon became the worlds preeminent navalist philosopher and

historian, with numerous publications and widespread influence in the years succeeding. His

lessons centered on a blue water fleet concentrated to control the seas and to bring decisive

victories and greatness to its nation.

130. William Sowden Sims (1858-1936), who graduated from the Naval Academy in 1880, was a controversial leader of the "Young Turks," who introduced modern technology and

methodology to the New Navy. He served as an eager naval attache in Europe, introduced the

"Morris Tube" for sighting guns, and has been called the "Father of Target Practice." Sims

commanded U.S. Naval Forces in European waters in 1918-1919 and soon after caused a great stir by criticizing Navy Secretary Josephus Daniels for his allegedly inept prosecution ofthe war effort. Sims served as President of the Naval War College, 1921-1922, and published Victory at Sea in

collaboration with Burton J. Hendrick (Garden City: Doubleday, Page & Co., 1920), which

received a Pulitzer Prize.

Chapter XXI

131

.

Paul Morton served as Roosevelt's second offive Secretaries ofthe Navy, from 1 July 1904 to 30

June 1905, at which point he was succeeded by Charles Bonaparte. Laning appears to have confused the

various secretaries or dates, as the passage otherwise recounts the summer of 1903.

132. There were two other officers on the Dolphin at this point: Lieutenants Frank Brumby

and Newton S. McCully. The latter eventually attained flag rank. McCully soon left for a tour as a special representative ofthe Office ofNaval Intelligence to cover the Russo-Japanese War. See The

McCully Report: The Russo-Japanese War, 1904—1905, edited by Richard Von Doenhoff(Annapolis:

Naval Institute Press, 1977)

133. Bonaparte served from 1 July 1905 to 16 December 1906. See note 131 on Laning's

confusion.

134. The Mayflower was a luxurious steam yacht (2,690 tons) built in 1896 and brought into

service against Spain. From 1904 to 1929, the Mayflower served as the presidential yacht.

Chapter XXII

135. Riflery instructors at the Naval Academy in 1905 included Lieutenants A. Buchanan and

P. Babin.

Chapter XXIV

136. USNA 1871, Nicholson retired as a rear admiral in 1914 and died in 1939.

459
An Admiral's Yarn

137. The USS Nebraska was authorized in 1899 to reflect lessons from the Spanish War about

the ability to steam great distances and the usefulness of a secondary battery. Commissioned at 14,948 tons and capable of 19 knots, the Nebraska had four 12-inch and eight 8-inch guns as well

as numerous smaller arms. At 441 feet and carrying a complement of over 800, she was

considerably larger and more expensive than any previous American batdeship.

138. In a show of strength to impress and the Japanese the Europeans, President Theodore

Roosevelt sent the Great White Fleet on a cruise around the world between late 1907 and 1909.

Chapter XXV

139. On 28 December 1908, an earthquake destroyed Messina and killed 85,000 people.

Chapter XXVI

140. Nathaniel Bowditch (1773-1838) first published his perennial best-seller, Tlie New American

practical navigator: being an epitome ofnavigation; containing all the tables necessary to be used with the nautical almanac, . . . illustrated by proper rules and examples: the whole exemplified in a journal kept from Boston to Madeira, . . . (Newburyport: Edmund M. Blunt for Cushing and Appleton, Salem) in 1802. Published

privately until 1867, it was then printed by the U.S. Naval Observatory in successive editions. 141. Robert M. Thompson (1849-1930) graduated from Annapolis in 1868, resigning his commission three years later to become a lawyer and industrialist. Always a navy booster,

Thompson founded the Naval Academy Athletic Association and the Naval Academy Alumni

Association of New York. He was President of the Navy League in 1917 when it openly attacked

Secretary ofthe Navyjosephus Daniels for allegedly undermining American preparedness. As well

as Thompson Field, he donated (with his brother) the Thompson Cup which goes to the annual

winner of the Army-Navy football game. He also served as chair of the U.S. Olympic Committee

for the 1912 Stockholm and 1924 Paris Olympiads.

Chapter XXVII

142. In the Military Rifle Team event of 29 June, the Americans scored 1,687 points to Great

Britain's 1,602 and 1,570 for third-place Sweden.

143. In both the 300-meter and 600-meter Individual Military Rifle competitions,

Americans took silver in fields of twelve nations.

144. According to David Wallechinsky, The Complete Book ofthe Olympics (New York: Viking,

1988), the American team placed second in this event; p. 418.

145. According to the Wallechinsky volume, Laning's memory is faulty here. On 4 July 1912,

Frederick Hird won the Small Bore Rifle, Prone event with 194 points, with British competitors

making 193 and 192 points respectively. The next day he was part of the Miniature Rifles Team

which took bronze medals in both the 25-meter and 50-meter events. On the final day of rifle competition, 1 1 July, Hird finished eighth in the Small Bore Rifles competition.

Chapter XXVIII

146. The Cassin was a destroyer of the second line, weighing approximately 1,000 tons, capable of 29 knots, and commissioned in 1913.

460
Endnotes

147. USS Cumtnings, another "thousand-tonner" destroyer designed with a larger steaming

radius and guns as well as with more torpedo tubes, was laid down in 1912 and served the navy

until 1923 when it was transferred to the Coast Guard.

148. Dowries and Duncan were the last two of four Cassin-class destroyers. Doumes was loaned

to the Coast Guard from 1924 to 1931, but both remained on the navy list until 1934 and 1935

respectively.

149. For more on Sims, see above chapter as wellasE.E.Morison,/lim/ra/ Sims and the Modern

American Navy (Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1942).

150. /ly/tWn-class destroyers (four in number) were virtually identical to the Cassins—laid down in 1912 and commissioned in 1914. Aylwin survived until struck in 1935.

151. Vera Cruz Affair—In April 1914, the Dolphin was part of the forces that had for several months been blockading European shipments of war materials for Victoriano Huerta, whom

Woodrow Wilson refused to recognize as president of Mexico. On the 9th, some crew members

landed at Tampico to resupply and were arrested for violating martial law. Although the sailors were released promptly with an apology, the U.S. admiral, Henry T. Mayo, demanded that the port

commander fire a 21 -gun salute and hoist the American flag, threatening an intervention should

he refuse. Under orders from Wilson and with the support of Congress, the Americans

bombarded Vera Cruz and occupied the city on 21 April, bringing the two nations close to war. Mediation by Argentina, Brazil, and Chile proposed that Huerta retire and that Mexico's

constitution change, although the U.S. would not be paid an indemnity for the occupation costs. Although rejected by Huerta, these events soon led to his retirement, leaving Venustiano Carranza

as president with Wilson's support. U.S. occupation of Vera Cruz ended 23 November, but

Mexico's revolution continued, drawing another American invasion in 1916—1917 before most

matters were settled in the spring of 1917. See Jack Sweetman, The Landing at Vera Cruz, 1914: The

First Complete Chronicle ofa Strange Encounter in April, 1914, when the United States Navy Captured

and Occupied the City of Vera Cruz, Mexico (Annapolis: Naval Institute Press, 1968).

152. The Mono Castle was a screw steamer of 6,004 tons gross, measuring 400 by 50 feet, and

built in 1900. She served the New York and Cuba Mail Steam Ship Company out ofNew York.

Chapter XXIX

153. In 1912, Dominicans started to fight a U.S. -imposed customs receivership. A full-blown

rebellion in the spring of 1916 brought a U.S. invasion, which forced the collapse of the

government of the Dominican Republic and imposed an occupation regime that lasted until

1924, secured by the Marine Corps and martial law. 154. The Panther (originally the Austin) was an iron-hulled armed merchant ship weighing

4,260 tons, capable of 13 knots, and commissioned in the U.S. Navy during the war with Spain.

155. William Banks Caperton (1855-1941) graduated from the Naval Academy in 1875 and

rose through the ranks, serving in many positions including as a surveyor, engineer, navigator for

the famous 1898 run ofthe Oregon, and then presiding over the invasion ofHaiti in 1915. The next

year he also commanded the navy's efforts in Santo Domingo. In the years following, Caperton

commanded the Pacific Fleet and retired as a full admiral in 1919.

Chapter XXX

156. William Shepard Benson (1855-1932) graduated from the Naval Academy in 1877 and

served most notably on the Greely Relief Expedition (1884), on the Dolphin for its world cruise

(1888-1889), and three tours at the Naval Academy—the last of which as commandant. Benson

461
An Admiral's Yarn

was Chief of Staff for the Pacific Fleet (1909-1910) and commanded the Utah in 1911. In 1915,

Navy Secretary Josephus Daniels elevated Captain Benson over all admirals and four senior

captains to the new position of Chief of Naval Operations. As expected, Benson served

competently and without controversy until the fall of the Central Powers and his retirement on

25 September 1919. See Mary Klachko with David Trask, Admiral William Shepard Benson: First Chief of Naval Operations (Annapolis: Naval Institute Press, 1987). The new office of the CNO

oversaw all operations and plans, taking these roles from various bureaus and boards. The burden

of planning had previously been shared by the Office of Naval Intelligence, the Naval War

College, and the General Board.

157. The war opened in August 1914 with Britain immediately declaring Germany to be

blockaded. With the German High Seas Fleet bottled up, the Royal Navy had "command of the

seas." Instead, however, of conceding the common highway to the British, the German submarine

fleet started its own counterblockade. Because the British merchant ships were illegally armed and

sinking the fragile U-boats, Germany ceased to warn Allied ships that they were about to be sunk.

In May 1915, the British liner Lusitania was sunk with contraband and over a hundred American

citizens on board. The Wilson administration's outrage forced the Germans to renounce

unrestricted submarine warfare. The military and domestic crises of 1917 encouraged the

Germans to announce unrestricted submarine warfare again in January 1917. By March, several American merchant ships had been sunk, and the nation was further outraged by the release ofthe

Zimmermann Telegram, which proposed a German alliance with Mexico. In April, President

Wilson asked Congress to declare war. For a more sustained account, see Paul Kennedy, "Stalemate and Strain," chapter 9 in The Rise

and Fall ofBritish Naval Mastery (London: Macmillan, 1983) or Barbara , Tlie Zimmermann Telegram

(New York: Macmillan, 1958). For excellent accounts of America's entry into the war from

different perspectives, see Walter Millis, Road to War: America 1914—1917 (Boston: Houghton

Mifflin Co., 1935) and John W Coogan, The End of Neutrality: T\\e United States, Britain, and

Maritime Rights, 1899-1915 (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1981).

158. For the Navy, see: Annual Report of the Secretary of Navy (Washington: U.S. Government

Printing Office, 1918, 1919); William S. Sims, Victory At Sea (New York: Doubleday, 1920;

reprinted with introduction by David Trask (Annapolis: Naval Institute Press, 1984); Paul Halpern,

A Naval History of World War I (Annapolis: Naval Institute Press, 1994) and Robert Love, ed., Trie Chiefs of Naval Operations (Annapolis: Naval Institute Press, 1980).

159. For a detailed account of the 1916-1918 buildup, see Robert Love, A History of the U.S. Navy, volume I (Harrisburg: Stackpole Press, 1992).

160. Leigh Carlyle Palmer (1873-1955) graduated from the Naval Academy in 1896 and

served as Chief of the Bureau of Navigation in late 1916, and as Chief of Staff to Commander

Division 9, Battle Force 2, Atlantic Fleet during the American participation in World War I. As

such, Palmer took part in the German surrender and was awarded the Distinguished Service

Medal.

161

.

For transport services see: Albert Gleaves, A History ofthe Transport Service: Adventures and

Experiences of United States Transports and Cruisers in the World War (New York: Doran, 1921); Lewis

P. Clephane, History of Naval Overseas Transportation Service in World War I (Washington: U.S. Government Printing Office, 1969 edition of 1920 volume), which contains selections from the

Naval Records and Library Manuscript Collections.

162. See Henry Thomas Mayo, "The Adantic Fleet in the Great War," in Edward M. House

and Charles Seymour, editors, Wliat Really Happened at Paris: Tlie Story of the Peace Conference,

1918-1919 (London: Hodder & Toughton, 1921), pp. 348-369 and appendix XV, pp. 490-491.

163. See Clephane, History of the Naval Overseas Transportations Service in World War I.

462
Endnotes

164. Each of these roles is described briefly in Mayo, "Atlantic Fleet" cited above, as well as in Josephus Daniels [Secretary of Navy, 1913-1921], Our Navy at War (New York: Doran, 1922);

William S. Sims [Commander U.S. Naval Forces in European Waters] with Burton Hendrick,

with introduction and notes by David Trask, Victory at Sea (Annapolis: Naval Institute Press, 1984),

reprint of 1920 Doubleday original.

The Navy established the North Sea Mine Barrage between Scotland and Norway, which

covered an area 250 miles long and 15 to 35 across. By the armistice, a joint USN-RN task force

had planted some 70,000 of these mines which could be triggered by contact with their 70-foot

antenna. The effort proved moderately successful, sinking between four and eight U-boats and

complicating operations for the others. See, Allan R. Millett and Peter Maslowski, For the Common

Defense (New York: Free Press, 1984), p. 341.

For the Eagle boats and the close relatives, the "110-Foot Boats" sec, Jane's Fighting Ships of

World War I with a foreword by John Moore (New York: Military Press, 1990 edition of London:

Jane's Publishing Co., 1919 original), pp. 151-152.

165. The House Naval Affairs Committee was chaired by Lemuel Padgett (D-Tenn). For

hearings, see: House Naval Affairs Committee, Public Hearing H211-11 (December 17-18,

1918).

Chapter XXXI

166. The Rochester was originally the New York, authorized in 1888 and commissioned in

1893. Launched at 8,150 tons and 384 feet in length, with six 8-inch and twelve 4-inch guns, capable of 20 knots, and partially protected by four inches of belt and reinforced turrets, she was

the armored cruiser that served as William Sampsons flagship at Santiago in 1898. She was rebuilt

in 1905-09 with new turrets for 8-inch guns. She was renamed Saratoga in 1911 and Rochester in

1917, being decommissioned at Olongapo Naval Station in 1933 and scuttled in Subic Bay in

1942.

167. Compare the account in Richard K. Smith, First Across! The U.S. Navy's Transatlantic Flight

of 1919 (Annapolis: Naval Institute Press, 1973). Smith has the following to say: "The planning for the task force to support the transadantic flight was put in the hands of Captain Harris Laning, a

brilliant staff officer who had been Assistant Chief of the Bureau of Navigation during the war," p. 50. 168. Richard E. Byrd (1888-1957) spent most of his career pushing back the frontiers of

aviation in various roles: on the first dirigible flight across Atlantic (1921); as commander of the

aviation unit of the Navy-MacMillan Polar Expedition (1925); in the first overflight of the

North Pole (1926); leading four expeditions (1929, 1933-35, 1939, and 1946-1947) to Antarctica. The "bubble sextant" allowed navigators to find longitude and latitude by

combining the technology of a sextant with that of a level. Although not theoretically complex,

its use was complicated.

169. See also Paolo E. Coletta, Patrick NL. Bellinger and U.S. Navy Aviation (Lanham, Md.:

Univ. Press of America, 1987).

170. Towers (1885-1955) retired as an admiral in 1947. For an excellent biography, see Clark

G. Reynolds, Admiral John H. Towers: The Struggle for Naval Air Supremacy (Annapolis: Naval

Institute Press, 1991).

171. The crew was received by President Canto y Castro, a former admiral and an avid

aviation fan. 172. Major Waldorf Astor was the son of Viscount Astor; Nancy Astor was later the first woman elected to the British Parliament.

463
An Admiral's Yam

Chapter XXXII

173. Alfred Charles William Harmsworth, Lord Northcliffe (1865-1922), a newspaper

magnate, owned and ran the following London papers: Evening News, Daily Mirror, Daily Mail and,

finally, Die Times. In 1918 he was the government's director of British propaganda in enemy

countries.

Chapter XXXIII

174. When the commander in chief of the German High Seas Fleet (Admiral Reinhard

Scheer) realized that he could not destroy the British Fleet, he ordered his line to turn away from

the British in order to flee. Each German ship having a different turning radius made this an extremely dangerous maneuver, but one less so than having the ships turn in succession (on a specific point) which would have allowed the Royal Navy to get the proper range and sink the

German line in sequence.

For an extended discussion of the most widely replayed battle in naval history, see Arthur J. Murder,Jutland and After, volume III of From the Dreadnought to Scapa Flow: The Royal Navy in the Fisher Era, 1904-1919 (New York: Oxford Univ. Press, 1966), especially pp. 1 10-122 and chart 10, or NJ. Campbell, T\\e Fighting at Jutland (London: Conway's, 1988).

175. During the one-sided Battle of Santiago (3 July 1898) Admiral William Sampson,

Commander-in-Chief of the U.S. North Atlantic Squadron, had briefly steamed away from the

fleet for a meeting with his army equivalent when the Spanish made their desperate effort to flee Santiago Harbor. Commodore Winfield Scott Schley was, consequently, the ranking officer in situ during the brief and successful engagement. After the war these officers became involved in a vituperative struggle for the glory of the day, with charges of cowardice and incompetence soiling

the reputation ofeach. A court of inquiry (1902) eventually vindicated the less popular and dying

Sampson. For a brief discussion, see Hagan, Tliis People's Navy, pp. 223-227. For more, see Record of

Proceedings ofa Court ofInquiry in the Case ofRear Admiral Winfield S. Schley, U.S. Navy (Washington:

U.S. Government Printing Office, 1902).

176. For hearings, see: Senate Committee on Naval Affairs (66-2) public hearing S. 185-Pt.2

(March-April 1920). Testimony was provided by all the leaders of the service. 177. See Eking Morison's account, keeping in mind that Morison married one of Sims'

daughters: Admiral Sims and the Modern American Navy (Boston: Houghton Mifflin Co., 1942), pp. 433-469.

178. The fleets shifted in June 1921. Prior to that, the disposition was as follows: The Atlantic

Fleet had two battleship squadrons each, with two divisions offour ships (save for one of three), for

a total of 1 5 battleships. It also had two destroyer squadrons, number 3 and 1 . Destroyer Squadron 3

had three flotillas each, with three divisions of six ships, for a total of 54 destroyers. Destroyer

Squadron 1 had 38 ships, either in reserve or building. The Pacific Fleet also had two battleship

squadrons, each of these with two divisions of 3-4, for a total of 14 battleships. The Pacific Fleet

also had two destroyer squadrons, numbers 4 and 2. Destroyer Squadron 4 had three flotillas of

three divisions of 5-6 ships each, for a total of 53 destroyers. Destroyer Squadron 2 had 38 ships of

reduced commission.

After the realignment, the Battle Fleet was stationed in the Pacific and the Scouting Fleet in the

Atlantic. By 1923, when the numbers had settled down, they were as follows: the Battle Fleet had

three divisions of the best (most modern, fastest, and most highly armed) battleships, for a total of

eleven. The Scouting Force had two divisions of older battleships totaling six in number.

464
Endnotes

Additionally, it had two divisions ofdestroyers, each with 18 ships. The information cited is from

the Navy Directory (Washington: U.S. Government Printing Office, 1920 and 1923).

179. The class of 1922 convened with forty-five students on 30 June 1921.

Chapter XXXIV

180. The Naval War College was founded in 1884 to provide officers with a forum for

post-graduate study of tactics and strategy. The first President was Stephen B. Luce, who wrote,

"No less a task is proposed than to apply modern scientific methods to the study and raise naval

warfare from the empirical stage to the dignity ofa science." See: Ronald Spector, Professors of War

(Newport: Naval War College Press, 1977);John B. Hattendorf, B. Mitchell Simpson, III, and John

R. Wadleigh, Sailors and Scholars: The Centennial History of the U.S. Naval War College (Newport:

Naval War College Press, 1984); and Shulman, Navalism.

181. The Applicatory System, better known by the officers as the "estimate of the situation,"

consisted of a three-stage exercise: 1) analyzing a situation and determining a plan; 2) generating

orders; 3) acting on same. It was introduced via the Army War College between 1909 and 1912

and would remain a staple of the Naval War College education. See Hattendorf et al., Sailors and

Scholars, pp. 69-72 ff. 182. This was the practice until grading and academic standards were introduced in 1972. The

college was accredited to award the master of arts degree in 1991.

Chapter XXXVI

183. The class of 1923 began on 3 July 1922 with fifty students, including Chester W. Nimitz,

Harold Stark, and Thomas Hart.

184. "The Naval Battle" (3/1/24) is housed in Record Group 4, as is the 1933 revision, "The

Naval Battle." 185. See the Naval War College, Naval Historical Collection, Record Group 4, boxes 16—19,

for strategic, tactical, screening, and scouting problems undertaken by the classes of 1922—1924.

Record Group 4 contains student and faculty publications.

186. Lectures were presented approximately twice, weekly and ranged widely. Policy and

international relations lectures included those by William V. Pratt and George Grafton Wilson on

the Washington Conference, Dr. Lathrop Stoddard on "Present Race Conflicts in World Affairs,"

and Professor E. Huntington on "The Relation ofGeography to the character ofpeople in the Far

East." There were as well lectures by officers on logistics, communication, and also coordination

with the army. See P.B. Whelpley, editor, Outline History ofthe United States Naval War College, 1884

to date (unpublished in the Naval War College Historical Collection, updated through 1937). For

Harvard Law Professor Wilson's lectures, see the annual series International Law Discussions and

Notes (Naval War College, annual). Laning's lectures in this period include: "Major Tactics at Jutland," "The Battle of the Marianas," and "The Batde ofEmerald Bank."

1 87. For more see: Vlahos, The Blue Sword andJohn T. Hanley, "On Wargaming: A Critique of

Strategic Operational Gaming" (Ph.D. dissertation, Yale University, Department of Operations

Research/Management Science, 1991.)

188. For the Washington Conference, see William R. Braisted, The United States Navy in the

Pacific, 1909-1922 (Austin: Univ. of Texas Press, 1971); Thomas H.Buckley, The United States and

the Washington Conference (Knoxville: Univ. of Tennessee Press, 1970); Thomas C. Hone, "The

Effectiveness of the 'Washington Treaty' Navy," Naval War College Review, vol. 32, no. 6

(November-December 1979); and Robert H. Van Meter, "The Washington Conference of

465
An Admiral's Yarn

1921-1922: A New Look," Pacific Historical Review, vol. 46, no. 4 (November 1977). For an

extensive discussion, see Emily O. Goldman, Sunken Treaties: Naval Arms Control between the Wars

(University Park: Pennsylvania State Univ. Press, 1994).

189. The Neutrality Act of 1935 was passed to place an arms embargo on all belligerents, with

the 1936 Act adding loans to the original list of embargoed goods. The 1937 act insisted that all trade with belligerents be "cash and carry" and also prohibited Americans from passage on ships of

belligerent nations. Each of these laws was passed to avoid the entanglements alleged to have

dragged the United States into the First World War.

Chapter XXXVII

190. According to Bauer and Coletta, United States Navy and Marine Corps Bases, Domestic,

there was hardly anything at San Pedro in the 1920s. There was a submarine repair base, and in 1922 it was used to house destroyers. However, Frank Uhlig's introduction (p. xv) said that the area was growing at this time, confirming Laning's report.

191. In 1844 the USS Princeton's great "Peacemaker" gun exploded during a demonstration

for dignitaries, killing the Secretaries ofState and Navy, a senator who was the father offuture first lady Julia Gardner Tyler, as well as a diplomat, a commodore, a servant, and two crew members.

Sixty years later, a turret explosion on the batdeship Missouri killed five officers and thirty-one

crew. In 1987, a similar explosion on the battleship Iowa killed forty-seven.

Chapter XL

192. As part of the reforms spawned by Secretary of war Elihu Root after the poorly

organized 1898 war effort against Spain, the Army War College opened at Fort Leavenworth in 1902. After two years it moved to Washington, D.C. where it remained for nearly half a century at the Washington Barracks. In 1950 it moved back to Fort Leavenworth and the next year to Carlisle Barracks, Penna., where it remains today. See Harry P. Ball, Of Responsible Command: A

History of the U.S. Army War College (Carlisle Barracks: Alumni Association of the U.S. Army War

College, 1983).

193. In June 1923, after six years ofplanning, the U.S. Naval Training Station, San Diego, was opened on the bay near Balboa Park. At that point, the NTS had facilities to train 1,500 men,

either as new recruits or for sixteen-week "boot camp" courses in four fleet schools: Preliminary

Radio, Yeomanry, Bugler and Band. In World War II, the facility trained 40,000 people at a time, was redesignated the Naval Training Center, San Diego, and nicknamed "The Cradle of the

Navy."

194. Charles Dana, Two Year's Before the Mast, a personal narrative of life at sea (New York: A.L. Burt Co., 1840) and Helen Maria Fiske HuntJackson, Ramona:A Story (Boston: Roberts Brothers,

1884).

Chapter XLI

195. As Chief of Staff, Laning had Captain William D. Puleston as his assistant and

Commander H. Kent Hewitt as an aide. The former would soon retire and make his fame as a historian, writing: Mahan: The Life and Work of Captain Alfred Thayer Mahan (New Haven: Yale

University Press, 1939); Annapolis: Gangway to Quarterdeck (New York: D. Appleton-Century,

1942); The Influence of Sea Power in World War II (New Haven: Yale Univ. Press, 1947); The

466
Endnotes

Influence of Force in Foreign Relations (New York: Van Nostrand, 1955). Hewitt would remain in

the service, eventually rising to the rank of vice admiral, commanding the navy's side of the

amphibious landings in North Africa, Sicily, Italy and finally southern France in the Second

World War.

196. The Commander in Chief of the Scouting Fleet was Vice Admiral Montgomery M.

Taylor. Laning succeeded Rear Admiral G. WLaws, and his staffincluded: Lt. M.B. Byington (Aide

and Flag Secretary), Lt. J.L. Holloway (Aide and Flag Lieutenant) and Lt. A.J. Detzer (Aide and

Division Radio Officer). Battleship Division Two's ships and the captains (outgoing/incoming)

were: Arkansas [flagship] (A. Bronson/H. Ellis); Utah (C.R. Train/WL. Littlefield); Florida (P.F. Boyd/WR. Sayles); Oklahoma (T.A. Kearney/J.F. Hellweg); Nevada (H.H. Royall).

Chapter XLII

197. In 1628, John Endicott and others sailed from Weymouth, landing at Naumkeag (now

Salem, Mass.) to establish a colony there. Endicott served as governor of Massachusetts for the

following two years.

Chapter XLIII

198. After the split of the American Episcopalians from the Church of England during the

Revolution, a practice began of the American bishops selecting one, primus inter pares, to preside over the new establishment.

199. Lipton (1850-1931) made his first million pounds in a string of grocery shops by 1880

and then became a serious yachtsman, racing successive Shamrocks in the America's Cup at Newport, but never winning.

200. The new research department, headed by Captain Wilbur R. Van Auken, kept records

and studied all the games played at the War College, later taking on questions of armaments and

effectiveness as well as those of grand strategy. It eventually became the Center for Advanced

Warfare Studies.

Chapter XLIV

201. The Massey case deserves another perspective, such as that provided by Gavan Daws,

Shoal of Time: A History of the Hawaiian Island (New York: Macmillan, 1968).

Chapter XLVT

202. Two ships of the Pensacola class, six of the Northampton class, and two of the Indianapolis

class, built beginning in 1926, were in service by mid- 1933. Four of the Astoria class were nearing

completion; the fifth had been ordered but not yet begun; and the last of the class would be

ordered in August 1933. A great many more heavy cruisers, beginning with the transitional

Wichita, would follow. 203. The House Naval Affairs Committee ofthe 73rd Congress, 1st session, was comprised of

the following Democrats and Republicans, listed by party, then seniority, along with home state. Democrats: Carl Vinson (GA), P.H. Drewry (VA), S.W Gambrill (MD), J.J. Delaney (NY), EC.

Kniffen (OH), J.O. Fernandez (LA), PJ. Boland (PA), L.W Schuetz (IL), WH. Sutpin (NY), J.B. Shannon (MO),WJ.Sears (FL)JJ.McGrath (CA),C.WDarden (VA),WD.McFarland (TX)J.H.

Burke (CA), M.A. Zioncheck (WA), J.M. O'Connell (RI), L.L. McCardless (HI). Republicans:

467
An Admiral's Yarn

Fred A. Britten (IL), G.P. Darrow (PA), A.P. Andrew (MA), N.L. Strong (PA), CD. Millard

(NY), G. Bumham (CA), W.L. Higgins (CT), R.R. Eltse (CA).

204. The Chicago collided with the S.S. Silver Palm of the British Kerr Line (London) on 24

October 1933, some 130 miles south of San Francisco. ChiefPay Clerk John W. Troy and Marine

Lieutenant F.S. Chapelle died. MachinistJoseph Ohlens was seriously injured. For one account, see the New York Times (25 October 1933).

Chapter XLVII

205. Fleet Problem XV (1934) was the first to involve the entire fleet in a canal transit. See Annual Report of the Secretary of the Navy, 1934 (Washington: U.S. Government Printing Office,

1934), pp. 10-11.

Chapter XLVIII

206. The California was a 32,300-ton battleship (BB44) laid down in 1916 and commissioned

in 1921 with twelve 14-inch main guns and an armor belt of 13.5 inches. She was capable of 21

knots and was refitted (1942-1944) after being sunk at Pearl Harbor. California earned seven battle

stars in World War II. 207. Fleet Problem XVI (1935) centered on Pearl Harbor, and it was the first in which the report ofthe Secretary ofNavy mentions submarines and airplanes: Annual Report ofthe Secretary of Navy, 1935 (Washington: U.S. Government Printing Office, 1935), p. 11. 208. Having served a year as Commander, Battle Force, Laning passed the baton to William D. Leahy in April 1936, at which point he reverted to the rank ofrear admiral (upper half), the senior

rank that a naval officer than could permanently hold.

Chapter XLIX

209. On 30 April 1947, a joint resolution of Congress decreed the name of the dam to be

Hoover Dam.

468
Key for photograph (on page 272) of Naval War College staff and

graduating class of May 1923.

Front row: Captain C.S. KempfF, Captain L.R. Sargent, Colonel T.F. Dwyer

(CAC), Colonel L.M. Gulick (USMC), Colonel E. D. Scott (FA), Captain WD.

Brotherton, Captain Harris Laning, Captain D.W Blamer, Rear Admiral WS.

Sims, Captain R.R. Belknap, Colonel W.N. McKelvy (USMC), Captain H.B.

Price, Colonel J.F. Madden, (INF), Captain Ralph Earle, Captain T.C. Hart,

Captain Willis McDowell.

Second row: Lt. Comdr. T.G. Crapster (USCG), Comdr. Ralph Whitman

(CEC), Comdr. R.R. Adams, Comdr. R.F. Dillen, Comdr. R.R Craft, Comdr.

H.A. Baldridge, Captain A.G. Howe, Captain Allen Buchanan, Lt. Comdr. C.E.

Van Hook, Colonel A.S. Williams, Comdr. I.C.Johnson, Captain C.P. Nelson,

Captain E. S.Jackson, Comdr. Leigh Noyes, Comdr. A.C. Read, Captain WN.

Jeffers.

Third row: Comdr. W B. Howe, Comdr. WO. Spears, Captain CM.

Woodward, Captain J.G. Church, Comdr. A.L. Bristol, Comdr. H.R. Stark,

Comdr. R.C. MacFall, Comdr. J.T. Bowers, Comdr. W A. Hall, Comdr. J.A.

Randall (MC), Lt. Comdr. WK. Kilpatrick, Lt. Colonel G.T. Bowman (CAV),

Comdr. J. V. Ogan, Lt. Comdr. P.W Lauriat (USCG), Comdr. J. W Lewis.

Fourth row: Comdr. S.A. Taffinder, Captain H.C. Curl (MC), Comdr. WB.

Woodson, Comdr. WC. Stiles, Lt. Colonel T.H. Brown (USMC), Captain WC.

Watts, Comdr. C. WNimitz, Comdr. L.B. Anderson, Comdr. R.T. Hanson (CC),

Comdr. A.W Sears, Comdr. D.W Nesbit (SC), Comdr. DC. Crowell (SC),

Comdr. J.B. Gay.

Omissions; Colonel MJ. Lenihan and Captain FJ. Home.


Harris Laning on a fishing expedition on the Umpqua River in Oregon (1926).

a ^ <rc
-..:.-

Admiral Harris Laning, USN, Commander, Battle Force, U.S. Fleet, 1935-1936.
Admiral Harris Laning, USN, wearing the ribbons for the Navy Cross, Spanish

Campaign Medal, the Philippine Campaigns Medal, the Mexican Service Medal, the

Dominican Campaign Medal, the China Relief Expeditionary Medal, World War I Victory Medal, and Portugal's Military Order of Aviz.
Admiral Harris Laning, USN, commanding the Battle Force, U.S. Fleet, standing at the

stern of his flagship, the battleship California. Steaming astern in column open order are

the New York (nearest), Oklahoma, and two of the New Mexico class.



Naval War College

Historical JVlomograpli oeries

1

.

The Writings of Stephen B. Luce, edited by John D. Hayes and John B.

Hattendorf(1975).

2. Charleston Blockade: The Journals ofJohn B. Marchand, U.S. Navy,

1861-1862, edited by Craig L. Symonds (1976).

3. Professors of War: The Naval War College and the Development of the

Naval Profession, by Ronald Spector (1977).

4. The Blue Sword: The Naval War College and the American Mission

19 19-1941, by Michael Vlahos (1980).

5. On His Majesty's Service: Observations ofthe British Home Fleetfrom the

Diary, Reports, and Letters ofJoseph H. Wellings, Assistant Naval Attache,

London, 1940-41, edited by John B. Hattendorf (1983).

6. Angel on the Yardarm: The Beginnings of Fleet Radar Defense and the

Kamikaze Threat, by John Monsarrat (1985).

7. A Bibliography ofthe Works ofAlfred Thayer Mahan, compiled byJohn

B. Hattendorf and Lynn C. Hattendorf (1986).

8. The Fraternity of the Blue Uniform: Admiral Richard G. Colbert, U.S.

Navy and Allied Naval Cooperation, by Joel J. Sokolsky (1991).

9. The Influence of History on Mahan: The Proceedings of a Conference

Marking the Centenary ofAlfred Thayer Mahan }s The Influence ofSea Power

upon History 1660-1783, edited by John B. Hattendorf (1991).

10. Mahan Is Not Enough: The Proceedings of a Conference on the Works of

Sir Julian Corbett and Admiral Sir Herbert Richmond, edited by James

Goldrick and John B. Hattendorf (1993).

11. UBI SUMUS? The State of Naval and Maritime History, edited by

John B. Hattendorf (1994).

12. The Queenstown Patrol, 1917: The Journal of Commander Joseph

Knefler Taussig, U.S. Navy, edited by William N. Still, Jr. (1996).

13. Doing Naval History: Essays Toward Improvement, edited by John B.

Hattendorf (1995).
• 5"

, '•y**! ^»T $