Like the men aboard the stern section of the Pendleton, the crew of the CG 36500 also prayed this would not be their last night on earth. Although Webber wouldn’t admit it to his men, his hope was fading. Again, he thought of Miriam sick in bed at home. Who would be the one to tell her that her husband was not ever to return? Bernie tried to shake the image and refocused his attention on the angry seas ahead. He peered through the broken glass of the windshield and felt his heart jump. Webber could see a mysterious dark shape rising menacingly out of the surf. He slowed the lifeboat almost to a stop. There’s something there, he told himself.
“Andy! Go to the bow and turn on the searchlight!” Webber hollered. Fitzgerald moved carefully toward the forward cabin and flicked on the searchlight switch. A small beam of light was cast, illuminating the huge object that was now less than 50 feet away. Had Webber gone any farther, he would have collided with it. The steel hulk was dark and ominous, with no apparent signs of life.
My God, we’re too late, Bernie thought. It’s a ghost ship.
* * *
Raymond Sybert fought back his darkest thoughts as he and 32 other men sat helplessly inside the stern section of the Pendleton. There was nothing left for the men to do but ride out the storm and wait for help to arrive. If it arrived. Just then, the man on watch noticed something—a small light, headed their way.
Frank Fauteux and Charles Bridges also saw the light. “It was the most glorious sight,” said Fauteux, “this single light bobbing up and down in the rolling seas. No one cheered. We just watched, spellbound.” Bridges recalled that the light looked no bigger than a pinprick in the inky blackness, mesmerizing as it went up and over the huge seas, slowly inching closer.
* * *
Bernie Webber motored the CG 36500 in for a better look as Andy Fitzgerald continued to run the searchlight up and across the wide girth of the tanker. The beam of light flashed on the name Pendleton painted high up along the side of the hulk. The giant ship looked enormous and indestructible. How could it have split in two? Webber thought as he maneuvered his tiny lifeboat down the portside of the stern.
A sense of guilt came over Bernie Webber as he came to realize that he had jeopardized the lives of his men for a lost cause. This is a useless trip. The seamen aboard the Pendleton didn’t have a chance, Bernie thought. And now my men have little chance of returning home alive.
An eerie silence hung over the ship as the wide-eyed lifeboat crew inspected the wreckage. The silence was broken by eerie groaning sounds as they arrived at the gaping hole that was once connected to the bow. The men looked inside the intestines of the ship with its shredded compartments and its loose steel beams and plates swaying back and forth in the frothing surf. Webber steered away from the giant tunnel leading to the bowels of the ship and guided the lifeboat around the stern, where the crew was startled by something else now. A string of lights glowed high up on the ship’s decks—the fractured stern had not lost power after all. In the twinkle of the lights, they could also see a small figure! A man was waving his arms wildly!
They had not come for nothing.
But how would they get this man off the high deck? The survivor would have to jump, and there was a strong possibility he would be engulfed by the waves. As the CG 36500 crew contemplated the next course of action, the man on the high decks disappeared. Where did he go? Bernie asked himself.
Suddenly, the figure returned, and this time he was not alone. Three additional men were with him, then four or five more appeared, and new figures kept coming. Within a minute’s time, more than two dozen survivors in orange life jackets lined the rails! All of them looked directly down at the diminutive lifeboat trying to maintain position in the tumultuous seas.
Fred Brown and Tiny Myers were standing side by side on the rail. Tiny turned to Fred and, pulling his wallet out of his trousers, said, “Take my wallet. I don’t think I’ll get through this one.” Fred was taken aback by the comment but retorted, “You’ve got just as good a chance as I have.” Brown took the wallet and stuck it right back in Tiny’s hip pocket.
Bernie, looking at the shadowy figures above, was first overjoyed at seeing so many sailors alive, but he quickly came to a frightening realization. It might be impossible to fit all those men on the 36-foot lifeboat. The responsibility hit Webber like a tidal wave. How are we going to save all these men? If I fail, what a tragedy this will be.
Still gazing up at the deck, Bernie saw a rope ladder with wooden steps, called a Jacob’s ladder, drop over the side of the Pendleton. And in the next instant, the stranded seamen started coming down the ladder as fast as they could.
The first man down the ladder jumped and landed with a loud crash on the bow of the lifeboat. The others clung tightly to the rope as it swayed dangerously outward while the Pendleton rocked in the seas. Their screams echoed over the swirling winds as they slammed back against the hull when the ship rolled in the opposite direction.
Bernie drove the lifeboat in toward the hull, trying to time the maneuver just right so each survivor would land on the boat and not in the icy water. With the rolling seas, this proved to be an impossible task. Some of the survivors leaped toward the lifeboat only to find themselves plunging into the frigid swells below. The CG 36500 was fitted with a safety line wrapped around the shell of the boat, and the soaked seamen eventually found their way to the surface and held on to the rope for dear life.
Fitzgerald, Maske, and Livesey took hold of the waterlogged men and hoisted them aboard. The crew scrambled quickly for fear the survivors would be swept under the bow of the lifeboat. All the while, Webber kept a steady hand on the wheel, making passes each time a desperate man jumped from the Jacob’s ladder. Once the survivors were safely on board, Andy, Ervin, and Richard led them down to the forward cabin and herded them inside, but that small space was filling up quickly. With the added weight, the CG 36500 was now taking on a lot of water, and as captain of the boat, Bernie had to make a life-and-death decision. Do we stop now and try to get the men we have safely back to shore? Or do we go for broke? Webber decided that no man would be left behind. “We would all live, or we would all die,” he said later.
While the rescue was unfolding, the stern section of the Pendleton rolled deeply and increased its list to port, scraping mightily against the ocean floor. The lifeboat crew continued to take survivors aboard, squeezing them in anywhere they could. The engine compartment was now overflowing with human cargo, as was the area around the wheelman’s shelter. Bernie fought for elbow room as he continued to make passes along the stricken tanker. He had to time his maneuvers perfectly, or the waves would send the lifeboat surging into the tanker hull and they’d all be swallowed by the sea.
* * *
Thirty-one survivors were now on board a vessel designed to carry only 12 men. Two men were still on the tanker’s deck: Raymond Sybert, who as de facto captain of the stern would be the last man off, and Tiny Myers. Fitzgerald kept the searchlight on the beefy man as he made his way slowly down the Jacob’s ladder. Myers was shirtless now, having given much of his own clothing to warm up other members of the Pendleton crew. The swells surrounding the ship had become even more violent at this point, making it a greater challenge for Bernie to steer the lifeboat. Just a couple more, and we can get the hell outta here, he thought.
Myers had made it halfway down the ladder when he suddenly slipped and fell into the ocean. He resurfaced seconds later, and the lifeboat crew tried frantically to pull him on board. “Come this way!” Andy yelled. Myers drifted over to the inboard side of the lifeboat and grabbed hold of the line. Richard Livesey then leaned far over the side of the vessel and reached for Myers’s hand. The move nearly cost Livesey his life. Myers was so heavy and strong that he began to pull Richard down into the water. Ervin and Andy rushed over to help, grabbing hold of Livesey by the legs and waist to prevent him from being pulled overboard.
As they tried in vain to hoist Myers into the boat, the large man was swallowed by an
even larger wave and disappeared from sight. A collective gasp of horror could be heard on the lifeboat as the survivors watched their friend be consumed by the sea. Bernie put the lifeboat in reverse and maneuvered away from the side of the ship. The CG 36500 came around in a circle as Andy kept the spotlight shining on the cresting waves. They finally caught sight of Myers in the darkness.
Due to the angle of the stern, the three propeller blades were now sticking out of the water. The seas were picking up, and Webber knew that he’d have only one chance to save this man. He steered the bow of the lifeboat toward Myers and then eased slowly ahead. At that moment, Webber and crew felt the back of the boat rise up as a huge wave lifted the CG 36500 and threw it against the ship. The lifeboat was now out of control and rushing toward Myers. Webber could see the panicked look in the man’s eyes. Ervin Maske reached out and managed to grab hold of the man once more, but the lifeboat was careering toward the ship. A second later, they felt the sudden impact of a collision as the lifeboat slammed into the tanker, trapping Tiny Myers between them.
11
THIRTY-SIX MEN IN A 36-FOOT BOAT
Webber had tried desperately to avoid Tiny Myers as the lifeboat lurched forward. He even tried throwing the CG 36500 in reverse, but that only stalled the engine once more. Ervin Maske was the last man to get ahold of Myers, and he paid a price for it. Maske’s hands had been crushed in the collision, and he could feel the blood pumping in his fingertips, which were now beginning to swell. There would be no way to recover the body now. Webber tried to put the thought out of his mind. He successfully maneuvered the boat back to the ladder, rescuing the last man down, Raymond Sybert.
Andy Fitzgerald crawled back into the engine compartment in hopes of getting the motor going again. The lifeboat took another violent punch from a wave, throwing Andy back on top of the engine at the moment it restarted. Webber heard his comrade scream as the spark plugs burned his back. Bernie was about to send another crewmember into the compartment when Fitzgerald suddenly dragged himself out. Andy could feel the welts growing on his back, but otherwise he was okay. Webber and crew had conquered Chatham Bar, and getting the survivors off the Pendleton’s stern was a huge accomplishment, but making it safely back to shore would have its own set of perils.
Drifting in the darkness and with no compass to guide them, Webber still had no idea exactly where they were. Also, he didn’t know where the other coast guard boats were, but he understood that his vessel must have remained somewhere off Chatham or maybe somewhere to the south of Monomoy Island. If I can just put the sea behind me and jog along, we’ll end up in Nantucket Sound and eventually on the shallow water somewhere on Cape Cod, he tried to convince himself. Bernie then relayed his plans to the rest of the men on board.
“If the boat all of a sudden stops, hit the beach,” he commanded. “Don’t waste any time asking questions. Get off and help those who are hurt. Just get off as fast as you can!”
Webber felt that if he could get the boat’s bow as close as possible to the storm-tossed beach and keep the engine going, the men would have the precious few moments they would need to get safely ashore. The survivors understood the plan perfectly. “We’re with you, coxswain!” a shout came out. It was followed by a loud cheer from the Pendleton crew.
At least one member of the lifeboat crew was not so optimistic, however. “The worst time for me was when we were going back in,” Richard Livesey recalled. His arms were pinned by the crush of men standing in the well deck in front of the broken windshield. They were now back in gigantic seas, without the protection that had been provided by the sheer mass of the Pendleton stern. The CG 36500 was weighed down by its human cargo as powerful waves continued to crash over its crowded deck. Livesey and the others held their breath as each wave hit, engulfing them in a torrent of ice-cold water. When will this end? Livesey wondered. It felt like an eternity. The lifeboat was riding so low it felt like they were all traveling in a submarine. If she doesn’t come up a bit more, I’m gonna drown right here in the boat, Livesey thought.
Webber tried the radio once more and was surprised to get through to the Chatham Lifeboat Station. Station commander Cluff seemed even more surprised to hear from him. Webber informed Cluff that they had 32 men from the Pendleton aboard and that they were now trying to make it back, despite having no navigational tools to assist them. The captain of one of the rescue cutters called in and directed Webber to turn around and proceed out to sea toward his location, thinking this would be safer than recrossing Chatham Bar. Bernie heard more squawking over the radio and yet more ideas on how better to pull off this already improbable rescue. But Webber and crew had made up their minds. They were headed to shore. Bernie put the radio down and returned his attention to the challenge in front of him. There was no talking aboard the lifeboat while Bernie attacked the seas ahead.
As the CG 36500 motored on, the seas began to change. The waves were not as heavy, nor were they spread as far apart, as they had been. The boat moved through shallower waters now. By no means were they out of danger, however. They still had Chatham Bar to navigate. Webber was weighing his options when he noticed what appeared to be a flashing red light in the distance. Could it be a buoy? Could it be the aircraft warning signal from high atop the RCA radio station towers? Bernie rubbed his tired, salt-burned eyes. At one moment, the light seemed to be well over their heads; at another, it appeared to be well below the lifeboat.
As they continued on, the blinking red light became clearer. The crew realized it was coming from atop the buoy inside Chatham Bar, leading to the entrance into Old Harbor. Bernie looked at the blinking light once more and then shifted his gaze to the stormy skies above. In his heart, he knew that God was bringing them home.
12
PANDEMONIUM IN CHATHAM
The CG 36500 was now on a course that would return its crew and the 32 survivors of the Pendleton to the Chatham Fish Pier. They still had to make it over Chatham Bar, where the boat had nearly been sunk hours earlier. This time the vessel would be going with the seas, and as they approached the bar, the crew noticed the crashing surf didn’t seem to be as loud as it had been before. Their weak spotlight shined on the breakers, yet they too seemed smaller.
Webber gave the boat a little throttle, punched its nose through the foam, and they were over the bar. He then radioed the Chatham Lifeboat Station and told the operator his position. Stunned that they had actually made it back to Old Harbor, the operator immediately sent a dispatch to the other coast guard vessels:
CG 36500 HAS 32 MEN ABOARD FROM THE STERN SECTION. ALL EXCEPT ONE MAN WHO IS ON THE WATER THAT THEY CANNOT GET. NO OTHER MEN ARE MISSING THAT THEY KNOW OF. THERE SHOULD BE ABOUT SIX MEN ON THE BOW SECTION.…
An avalanche of instructions followed as the operator tried to guide Webber up the harbor. But Bernie didn’t need instructions. “I was very familiar with Old Harbor and had been up and down it many times,” he later wrote in his memoir. “I knew where the shoal spots were and when the turns had to be made. I was in no mood to listen to the chatter on the radio.”
News of the rescue sparked more than chatter on the Fish Pier, where Chatham residents had been waiting anxiously for word. Thunderous applause rippled across the pier as townspeople hugged and cried while waiting for sight of the boat.
Tears were also being shed on board the CG 36500. Bernie heard crying from the men stuffed in the lifeboat’s tiny forward compartment. Despite calmer waters and what must have been intense feelings of claustrophobia, the survivors remained holed up in the cabin, refusing to come out until they had reached port.
The small but sturdy lifeboat was now in sight, and the throngs of people gathered at the Fish Pier struggled for a closer look. Photographer Dick Kelsey positioned his big camera and began photographing what would become some of the most indelible images in Cape Cod history. Kelsey captured the battered vessel on film as it came in, rubbing against the wooden pylons. He could see the faces of the frightened but thankful men
peering through the boat’s shattered windshield and out of every porthole.
At that moment, Bernie gazed up at the Fish Pier and saw well over a hundred local residents. They were the men, women, and children of Chatham, and all appeared to be reaching out their hands to grab the boat’s lines to help. The Ryder children stood close to their father, David, a longtime Chatham fisherman who knew Bernie well, knew that he was a more-than-competent coast guardsman. Yet even he had not given Webber and his crew much of a chance that night. “There was great concern that the crew wouldn’t make it,” Ryder recalled afterward. “There’s no question he [Bernie] was a good man and had experience on the Bar, but none of us had ever seen a storm like this.” Like most people huddled on the pier that night, Ryder couldn’t believe his eyes when he saw the small lifeboat making its way home. “She was coming in very low, and I was amazed at how many people came pouring out of her.”
Once the CG 36500 was safely tied up to the pier, townspeople aided the shaken survivors off the boat. The vessel had been so weighed down that Richard Livesey felt it rise each time a man got off. An exhausted Bernie Webber stood quietly at the vessel’s stern, his elbow resting on top of the cockpit, his forearm supporting his head. His mind was filled with the terrifying images of the past several hours and the bravery of his crew. He thought about Tiny Myers and the look in the doomed man’s eyes just seconds before he was killed. He thought about the 32 survivors on board. And he thought about Miriam, and how he would be returning to her after all. His tired fingers began to tremble, and soon his whole body was shaking. Webber cried openly and thanked God for guiding them home. Dick Kelsey watched in silence and realized how Webber’s private moment could symbolize the ordeal each man had gone through. “It was quite a while before he left,” Kelsey said later. “All of the men had gone off by then, but he just stood there in a daze. What a wonderful thing he’d done.”
The Finest Hours Page 6