The Corsair in the war zone

by Ralph Delahaye Paine

Consideration was given to a port of refuge. The nearest available Allied port was Lisbon which could not be reached until nightfall. As there was no information concerning entrance to this port, nor a code for radio communication, I decided to make Vigo, Spain, and rest there until Lisbon could be made by daylight. Anchored the ship at Vigo at 8 A.M. and communicated with the American Consul and with the Spanish Military, Naval, and Health authorities. Received weather reports and other information.

At 5 P.M. got under way and arrived off Lisbon about 8.30 A.M., December 19th. Took a pilot on board and obtained permission to enter port at Cascaes Bay. Moored to buoy off Lisbon at 10.30 A.M. Got into communication with the Portuguese Naval authorities who viewed the damage and said that repairs could be effected without difficulty. At 3 P.M., December 20th, took berth alongside of dock at Naval Arsenal and started repairs.

In their own diaries and letters home, the men of the Corsair managed to get more excitement out of the hurricane than one might infer from the tabloid narrative of the skipper. There were unusual features, such as the explosion of the depth charges which washed overboard and “functioned perfectly,” blowing up so close astern that many of the crew supposed the yacht had hit a German mine or the boilers had gone up. Other “ash cans” were adrift on deck, thumping about with the drunken motion of the ship or unreeling the cable which detonated them. In the tumult and commotion of wind and sea, petty officers and seamen groped to find these perilous metal kegs, diving after them as though they were so many footballs and trying to hold them fast.

Dave Tibbott, for example, was discovered with a depth charge jammed against his stomach while he clung to it and the rail. E. L. Houtz won a letter of commendation from the Secretary of the Navy for clambering down into the blackness of the lazarette and hoisting out a depth charge which had plunged into this compartment when the hatch cover was washed off. The cable had unwound and he followed it down, hand over hand, so locating the infernal machine. He floundered about with it, managing to get a footing upon some boxes, and so hung on by the eyelids until comrades could help him and his burden up the ladder. One of the quartermasters wrote his own impressions, somehow finding a dry spot in which to use a pencil:

December 16th. Pretty heavy sea, and gale blowing and hitting us hard. At 2 P.M. asked permission of the convoy to leave for Brest before the big storm breaks. Later. This may be the last entry I’ll ever make. We are in a hurricane and a mountainous sea. Unable to proceed without swamping and are now hove to in the teeth of the gale, barely making headway. The water is about four feet deep on the decks.... 17th. A terrible day and none of us expected to live through it. At 2.45 A.M. there was an awful crash and then a flood of water poured below. We all thought she had foundered and fought our way to the topside through water and wreckage.

I had just reached the deck when there was a tremendous explosion and the ship took a bad list. Water poured in everywhere. I heard some one yell, “My God, we’re torpedoed,” but I thought it was one of the boilers. Some of the men were manning the boats, and I had some battle to get to my station on the bridge without being washed off like a chip. I had just climbed to the bridge when there was another explosion, and a flash. My first thought was that we had struck a mine-field and then I heard one of the officers say that our own mines were going off.

Ensign Schanze ran aft to see if our stern was gone and found the watch chasing loose mines all over the deck. As fast as they were caught, the detonators were removed and they were pitched overboard to get rid of them. I stood at my post on the bridge expecting the ship to sink under my feet at any minute. I had made up my mind not to try to go in a lifeboat on account of the size of the sea, but to grab something wooden if I could. At this time a heavy rain squall swept over us. When I saw that the ship was not sinking, I went below to the engine-room to get warm.

I found conditions pretty serious there, with two feet of water around the engines and the engineers and firemen working in water up to their knees. The word was passed that we had turned and were running before the sea, and as long as the waves did not start breaking over the stern we could stay afloat. At 7 A.M. the seas got worse and began coming over. First to go was the engine-room bulkhead. It caved in with a frightful crash. Our radio also went down. Things looked mighty unpleasant, believe me, and after a conference with the executive officer, our commander decided to run straight ahead and try to fetch the coast of Spain. It was our only chance to save our skins, so we plugged ahead at a few knots.

Early in the afternoon the seas rose sixty feet high, at a safe guess, and began combing over our stern again. The after bulkheads were now giving way and it looked like our finish. The skipper had passed the word for all hands to turn to and save ship. We tore down doors, lockers, anything for lumber, and set to work reinforcing bulkheads. As soon as one carried away, we built another. The deck had tons of water on it and was leaking badly. Also the fire-room was filling up. The pumps were set going and we kept about even with the water. It was a flip of a coin whether we would win through and every man was fighting for his life.

At 6 P.M. the wind and sea decreased a little and the water stopped coming over. At 10 o’clock we sighted the lighthouses on the Spanish coast and felt that we had better than an even break of getting into port. It was a tough experience, one that we don’t care to repeat, and the poor old Corsair is all in, pretty much of a wreck barring her hull and engines. The ship’s company are a smashed-up, tired-out lot. There is hardly a man aboard without an assortment of bruises. My back is almost broken.