Around the World Submerged

by Edward Latimer Beach

  1120 We have been carefully, without much luck, searching the south shores of the Bay to determine whether the Magellan monument can be seen. About this time, as I scrutinize the shore, it finally comes into full view. Without any doubt whatever, I announce to the conning tower party, “There it is!” The water is too shallow for us to approach close enough to get a really good photograph, but we take movies of what we can see of it from as many angles as it is possible to get them. It can be seen clearly from only one bearing, probably straight front, where trees and foliage have been cut away.

  The monument is apparently made of masonry, probably recently whitewashed; it gleams white in the sun. There are dark objects in its center which might be one or more bronze tablets or possibly openings into the interior. It is a rectangular pedestal with long dimension vertical, straight sides and a slightly curved top, standing on a set of steps or a base. The impression is that it may at one time have supported a statue or been intended to, but what we see consists, in that case, only of the statue base.

  1125 Sighted aircraft resembling a twin-engine DC-3 making a landing approach near the city.

  There are numerous small boats in Magellan Bay, and we would not be surprised to find they are contestants in a sailboat race. Most of them are brightly colored pleasure craft.

  One of these in particular intrigued me. Occupied by a single relaxed-looking gentleman, dressed in gay clothes and a broad hat, the boat was about fifteen feet long, painted white, with a white mast and white outrigger. The sail was red, with a large blue half-moon design on it, and like all sails of this type was a simple triangle mounted on a single crossed yard near the top of the mast, its pointed foot secured to a single cleat or snap ring at its base. Two “braces”—as Stephen Decatur would have called them—led from the yard-arm ends to the rear or cockpit of the boat, where its comfortably slouched owner handled them with one hand while he operated a rudder with the other.

  At most, the boat had room for only two people, being a faithful replica of the narrow dugout canoe which had been its inspiration. Stability, in face of the lofty pressure center of the sail, was achieved by a narrow pontoonlike float held on outrigger arms half the boat’s own length on the starboard side. The rig was obviously speedy, shallow of draft, and extremely steady in any wind. A particular advantage which would appeal to many a sailboat buff was the untrammeled visibility in all directions.

  She would be a pleasure to sail, I thought, and I wondered why no US boat builders had ever tried a similar model.

  Enthralled, I counted fourteen gaily decorated sails of different hues and patterns, and half as many slatternly ones, which we took to be fishing boats. At the same time, we made frequent observations all around for the many navigation checks demanded by Will and to detect in good time any sailboat approaching too close. Our photographers, led by Joe Roberts and Dick Harris, snapped as many pictures as they could. This was something of a chore, for to take a picture I had to aim the scope, permit it to be defocused to a predetermined setting, then duck my head while the photographer held his camera against the eyepiece and fired away. Demands on periscope time were heavy, and I was conscious that we were leaving it up too long and raising it too often.

  1146 Upon raising the periscope I am looking right into the eyes of a young man in a small dugout, close alongside. Perhaps he has detected the dark bulk of our hull in the relatively clear waters of the Bay, or he may have sighted our periscope earlier. He and I study each other gravely. His boat is a small dugout, perhaps 12 feet long, devoid of any paint and without mast or sail [which is why he got so close in on us]. He has a paddle with which he easily maintains a position abeam of us at our present slow speed. He looks ahead and looks behind, looks down in the water and maintains position about 50 yards abeam with occasional muscular sweeps of his paddle.

  Down goes the periscope. At my startled comment, everyone had pressed in closer to it.

  “Can we get a picture?” Joe Roberts asked.

  “No. We can’t fool around with him.” But the look on Joe’s face would have melted a much harder heart than mine.

  “You ought to let us snap him,” he begged. “Later on you’ll wish you had …”

  “OK,” I yielded. “No time to argue. Up periscope!”

  I fielded the handles as they came out of the periscope well, put my right eye to the eyepiece, rose with it to nearly its full extension, then stopped it with a sudden signal to Beacham.

  “There he is—here!” The picture in the eyepiece blurred out of focus. I drew my head to the side, felt the warmth of Robert’s face near mine, his arm pressing on my shoulder. “Click” went the camera, then “click” again, and a third time.

  Our friend is a dark-complexioned moon-faced young man with a well-fed physique. His clothing is tattered and he wears some kind of a battered hat for protection from the sun. Our photographic party obtains several pictures of him which will be interesting to look at later.

  “Down periscope!” The steel tube slithers down into its well as I describe the scene above to the people in the conning tower. They would all like to get a look at him, but that isn’t too practical.

  I motion for the scope to slide up once more. Sure enough, there is our friend impassively leaning on his gunwales and staring right at the periscope as we raise it barely two inches out of the water. “We’ve played with this gent long enough,” I mumble in-audibly. Spinning the periscope around for one last cut on the now-familiar landmarks and to say aloha to Magellan and his intrepid spirit, I sight a fair course between the nearest set of tree trunks, take a final look at our friend in the dugout canoe, and snap up the periscope handles as a signal for it to start down.

  “All ahead two-thirds…. Right full rudder!” This is something our swarthy friend won’t be able to handle. Triton slips neatly ahead of him and away to the right. Upon slowing for a look a few minutes later, I spot the dugout many hundreds of yards away, being paddled rather strongly in the wrong direction.

  For some reason, the concern I had expected to feel if some unauthorized person saw our periscope did not come. We had, it is true, discussed this possibility at that long-ago conference in the Pentagon. Our entry into Magellan Bay would expose us to detection, but the decision to go ahead had been made nevertheless. Though nothing more had been said, I remember feeling that Admiral Beakley was not too concerned over the possibility.

  Still, there was a risk that some notice would be taken of our presence, and I might have worried more had not some of our more perceptive conning tower crew unconsciously said exactly the right thing:

  In the conning tower, the irrepressible Bill Marshall says aloud, “Wonder what he is going to tell his friends in Cebu tonight.” Quartermaster Second Class Russell K. Savage probably has the right answer: “They won’t believe a word he says.”

  As Triton eases slowly out of the Bay, checking her position every two minutes or so because of the swift currents we have encountered, we are all aware that today will go down as one of the high points of our trip. We have come more than halfway around the world to see this spot.

  While a midshipman at Annapolis, I had a classmate named Carlos J. Albert, a Philippine national, who has had quite a career since our Naval Academy days. He went back to the Philippines upon our graduation in 1939 and was commissioned in the Philippine Navy. During the war he was a thorn in the side of the Japanese, narrowly escaping death on several occasions. More recently, with the rank of Commodore, he was assigned to the post of Armed Forces Attaché at the Philippine Embassy in Washington, D.C. There, I came to know also his lovely wife, Mila, a charming, willowy Filipino girl with a beautiful and expressive face. Carlos is now in Manila—or was. Lately I have not heard what Carlos is doing, and the temptation is strong to write him a note for transmission by hydro bottle, possibly on the hydro paper itself, requesting the finder to communicate with Carlos and receive a reward. I even have the absolute authentication so far as Carlos is concerned, for all I ne
ed to do is write “What about ’39?” and he will know that it is genuine.

  With a sigh, I am forced to the conclusion that this is one of those ideas which will have to be enjoyed only in the imagination. I can write Carlos a letter later on. When well clear of Magellan Bay, we release our second hydro bottle of the day, bearing a paper in no way different from the earlier one except for the serial number.

  1320 Entered Hilutangan Channel headed south. This time we will proceed well below periscope depth at higher speeds than before.

  1324 With the outline of the channel clear as print on our sonar visual repeater, changed depth to 150 feet and ran down the channel at 10 knots.

  1407 More blasting in the distance.

  1434 Clear of Hilutangan Channel, set course down Bohol Strait, increased speed to 15 knots, increased depth to 200 feet.

  1504 Increased depth to 300 feet, increased speed to 20 knots.

  2035 Entered Sulu Sea. Will spend the rest of the night and tomorrow morning crossing the Sulu Sea enroute to the Celebes Sea and departure from the waters of the Philippine Republic.

  I have in a way also fulfilled a personal mission in this trip to the waters of the Philippine Republic. In 1898, my father was a Lieutenant in the Baltimore when Admiral Dewey defeated the Spanish Fleet at the Battle of Manila Bay. Subsequently, Dad spent several years campaigning against the Filipinos in their hopeless and heroic insurrection. From their point of view, they were fighting an American imperialistic scheme to take over where the Spanish had been forced to leave off, and although he fought against them, Father’s personal sympathies were always with the embattled Filipino farmers and their high-minded leaders. He became, in fact, acquainted with the head of the Philippine insurrection, Emilio Aguinaldo. As a boy, I remember the arrival of occasional letters to Father from this quondam national hero.

  Although I am not very sure of the details, my recollection of the story is that during the initial confused stages of the insurrection, Father in some manner had arrested or captured a party of Filipinos, among whom was a young woman who turned out to be the wife of Emilio Aguinaldo. The rest of the party were apparently her protectors and servants. I am sure the United States government has long since forgiven Father [if indeed it ever knew of it] for the manner in which he handled this gratuitous “prize-of-war.” He escorted the entire party to the nearest Filipino post and bade Señora Aguinaldo a sweeping and courtly good-bye. Sometime later, Father was captured by Filipino guerrillas and detained for several hours, until peremptory orders arrived from some highly placed official that he be restored immediately to the American lines, which was done.

  It should not be inferred from this yarn that the Filipino insurrection was a comic-opera war, for it was not. The Filipinos had been fighting the Spanish colonial government [a direct relic of Magellan’s landing] for several years before we got into the fight. They welcomed us with great joy, thinking our plans were the same for them as for Cuba, and that their independence was but a short time away. When they discovered that this was not our intention, at least, not at this time, with grief by some and fanatic fury by others, they commenced to fight against their erstwhile comrades. And yet, the Filipinos—most of their educated leaders anyway—knew that they were fighting the best friend their country ever had. If either war was a comic opera, it was the Spanish War, with its fake “assault” on the fortifications of Manila, not the Philippine insurrection, which was in deadly, pathetic earnest.

  Saturday, 2 April 1960 0047 There is severe oscillation in our gyro repeaters, probably caused by something wrong with one or more synchro amplifiers. Shifted to direct gyro input to the helmsman and began to check out the synchro amplifiers. After some moments, the oscillations ceased and the situation reverted to normal. This may be a warning of trouble to come. With the oscillation gone, we are for the moment unable to determine what is the precise cause of the difficulty.

  0135 Sonar contact on the starboard bow. A large ship, from the heavy beat of his propeller. Left him astern and lost contact after tracking him for some thirty minutes. He faded out as though a thermal sound layer had come between us.

  0859 At periscope depth to fix our position prior to passing through the Pearl Bank Passage and then through Sibutu Passage into the Celebes Sea. Locating and passing through Pearl Bank Passage is somewhat like threading a needle. There is a difference, however. Should we miss the deep water hole between reefs, we have an excellent chance of digging a groove in the coral with our bow. The land is very low-lying hereabouts and it is difficult to detect by periscope or radar. A complication develops when a ship is sighted hull down on bearing 076° true, approximately 8 miles away. From course and speed it is quite possible that this fellow may be the one we detected on sonar seven hours ago. If so, we have run right past him. Very likely Triton and he are trying to thread the same needle. Proximity of the ship prevents us from raising our periscope as high as we might like, or using our retractable radar to fix our position accurately. The sea is nearly glassy; any unusual activity in the water would attract notice. Went deep, increased speed and headed for the presumed position of Pearl Bank Passage.

  1130 Periscope depth again, land in sight more clearly, and we are now obtaining a rough position. Changed course to head for the presumed location of Pearl Bank Passage when again we sight the same ship, range now only seven miles, bearing 030° true.

  1245 This ship is going to give us trouble. He is much higher out of the water than we, therefore can see better, and very likely he knows this area thoroughly. Although we have the speed on him, we must proceed slowly and with extreme caution, to be sure of our position before we try to run through the narrow Pearl Bank Passage. With no such problems, he has been overhauling us for the past several hours.

  We believe we have Pearl Bank Passage pretty well defined now, bearing due south; and we have been steering south for about 45 minutes. We should, however, remain at periscope depth as we pass through the channel because of variable currents which the Sailing Directions say we may expect. Besides, Will says he still is not fully satisfied with the accuracy of our position. After thinking things over, it is apparent that our best bet is to let the ship precede us.

  We therefore reverse course to the north to let him go first, exercising extreme caution with our periscope and swinging wide. Commander Joe Roberts and photographer Ray Meadows are in the conning tower ready to take pictures should any opportunities develop. The merchantman, a Victory freighter of World War II with black hull, white superstructure and a black-and-red shape on his funnel, goes by at range 3300 yards. We are able to take a few pictures as he passes.

  1311 Changed course to 180° true to follow behind the freighter. This makes it easy.

  1417 Sighted Pearl Bank Light bearing 234° true and obtained the first really good fix of the day.

  1436 Commenced transit of Pearl Bank Passage.

  1450 We are inside Pearl Bank Passage, taking occasional checks on our position by bearings of the lighthouse on the right and a point of land on the left. We are well behind the freighter and can use our periscope with relative freedom.

  The first indication of trouble came when Chief Quartermaster Marshall suggests the situation may be propitious for obtaining a sun azimuth. Will has been doing this every day he can. It is good business to check the accuracy of our gyros and determine their errors as often as possible. The error can vary and there goes your dead-reckoning capability.

  A low whistle from Marshall. “This can’t be right,” he comments. “This shows the azimuth is 6° off.” Calling to the navigator in the forward end of the conning tower. “Mr. Adams, are you sure you read the bearing right on the bearing repeater?”

  “I think I did,” calls back Adams. “Maybe it is not following freely. Helmsman, mark your head!”

  The helmsman, one of our new men, answers immediately, “Mark! One nine one, sir.” With the periscope aimed dead ahead, the bearing repeater should read exactly the same—and it does. Sud
denly the pieces fall into place. I shoot a quick look at the rudder angle indicator alongside the helmsman. He has 20° right rudder on, but the ship’s course has not changed!

  “Our gyro has gone out,” I call out.

  Lt. George Sawyer happens to be officer of the deck. He has reached the same conclusion. “Up periscope!” he shouts.

  The handles at the base of the steel tube come up; he grasps them; shouts “Lighthouse—bearing, mark! Left full rudder!”

  There is no need for me to look through the periscope to know what George is seeing. When he called “Mark!” he was looking dead ahead. We are at least 90° off our course already, in a narrow channel. George is understandably startled by seeing the lighthouse in front when it should have been on the beam. The urgency in his voice tightens us all up in the conning tower.

  With the ship once more on approximately the right heading, we shift steering control to the control room where the helmsman can use the master repeater, the only remote gyro indication we can trust right now.

  It is a good lesson to all hands, one which I take pains to expand on in night orders later that same day. It is our normal practice to check our gyro repeaters against the master and auxiliary compasses every 30 minutes. Yet the rapidity with which the situation developed shows us how much trouble we could have gotten into even with this procedure. We were fortunate that we caught the difficulty so quickly, but it was strictly accidental that Marshall thought of taking a sun azimuth at the time he did. Apparently he caught the incipient error when we had only gone six degrees off our course.

  The real error was on the part of the helmsman, who should have realized that the ship cannot help turning if 20° rudder is put on. If you have 20° rudder on and you are not changing course, either your rudder or your gyro compass is not working, or something else very unusual is happening. The helmsman must become accustomed to seeing the ship respond ever so slightly to a tiny amount of rudder one way or the other; and if she does not, he should immediately initiate a check to see if anything is wrong.