Naval History Blog

A Marine Sea Stallion helicopter with a magnetic orange pipe in tow sweeps the Bay in Hon Gay, North Vietnam during Operation End Sweep.

This article was originally published in the March 1974 issue of Proceedings magazine by Rear Admiral Brian McCauley, U. S. Navy

Western strategists of every stripe had grown hoarse calling for the mining of Haiphong Harbor and, at last, it was done. Now, with the ceasefire signed, the mines had to be retrieved or destroyed and, as surface ships of Task Force 58 trailed a sweeping heli­copter into Haiphong on 17 June 1973, the end of “End Sweep”—a tedious, lengthy, and totally unglamorous job—was in sight. Read the rest of this entry »

A Dog Team Trail Party leaves the unloading area at McMurdo Sound for a reconnaissance trip.

 

This article was written by Rear Admiral George J. Dufek, USN (retired) with Joseph E. Oglesby, JOC, USN. It was originally published as “Operation Deepfreeze Fits Out” in the March 1956 issue of Proceedings magazine.

When President Eisenhower an­nounced a renewal of American in­terest in the Antarctic early last year, he gave the Department of Defense the responsibility for supporting American sci­entists in the greatest American undertaking in the barren history of the Antarctic.

Considering the complexities involved, it immediately became apparent that the Navy would draw the bid as the Defense agency best qualified to undertake the four-year task. At a point some eleven thousand miles south of Boston, the Navy had to build three permanent bases (one of them by air­drop at the South Pole) and an air operating facility big enough to handle four-engine planes. It had to ferry thousands of tons of scientific supplies, countless gallons of gaso­line and other fuels, plus construction equip­ment including thirty-ton tractors, and a bewildering variety of equipment and pro­visions to aid the scientists during the Inter­national Geophysical Year (IGY) from July, 1957, through December, 1958.

The Navy had to begin moving early in 1955 to be prepared for the great scientific venture. Task Force 43 was formed under the Commander in Chief, U. S. Atlantic Fleet, as the support force for American participation in the year of science.

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 “The Wilkes Exploring Expedition: Its Progress Through Half a Century” was originally published in the September/October 1914 issue of Proceedings magazine by Louis N. Feipel:

Portrait of Charles Wilkes by Thomas Sully

The important expedition known as the Wilkes, or South Sea, Exploring Expedition, fitted out in 1838 by national munificence, was the first that ever left our shores, and the first to be com­manded by an officer of the United States Navy. But although organized on a most stupendous scale, and shrouded in a most in­teresting history, this expedition is to-day comparatively unknown.

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Following the seizure of the USS Pueblo, Admiral Thomas H. Moorer, USN, Chief of Naval Operations and President of the Naval Institute, gave these remarks in an address to the American Bar Foundation on January 25, 1969. This address was published in the March 1969 issue of Proceedings magazine.

“You, as lawyers, will understand why I, as Chief of Naval Operations, and thus in the reviewing chain of command, cannot make comments on the substantive aspects of testimony given during the Inquiry. I will be ready to do this at the appropriate time.

I can, however, put the nature of the Inquiry in proper perspective and, hopefully, reassure the American people that the Court of Inquiry is being conducted in a straightforward, legal and objective manner.

First: What is a Court of Inquiry? It is a fact-finding body—that and nothing more. It is not a court-martial. Witnesses at a Court of Inquiry are not on trial. A Court of Inquiry cannot even prefer charges. It simply records the facts and makes recommendations to the convening authority—in this case the Commander-in-Chief of The Pacific Fleet. These recommendations may cover such things as operational procedures, material improvements, communications, training of personnel, international law—and many other subjects—and, if warranted, the recommendation for further legal proceedings.

Next: Why are we having a Court of Inquiry? A ship has been lost. We always have a Court of Inquiry when this happens—whatever the cause.

Particular emphasis is being placed on protecting the rights of the individuals, and on lessons learned. These lessons will be of great assistance in the future.

When the Inquiry opened its initial session, the first witness was Commander Bucher. He was given the legally required advice concerning his rights as a party to the Inquiry. Counsel for the court made it clear that Commander Bucher was not at that time suspected of having committed any offense under the Uniform Code of Military Justice.

Later, when Commander Bucher, in his testimony, indicated that the North Koreans had boarded his ship, the counsel for the court—as required by the law you know so well—told Commander Bucher it was possible that he had violated U. S. Navy Regulations, Article 0730 which reads: ‘The commanding officer shall not permit his command to be searched by any person representing a foreign state nor permit any of the personnel under his command to be removed from the command by such persons, so long as he has the power to resist.’ He explained to Commander Bucher his right to testify no further and gave him the routine, required warning that, if he did so, the information could be used against him later.

Since this simple act of legal procedure—basic to our legal system—caused so much controversy, was so misinterpreted and has caused so many to prejudge the outcome of this Inquiry, let me emphasize three points:

First: Such a warning was not unexpected by Commander Bucher or his counsel­—here are the words of Commander Bucher’s counsel addressed to the counsel for the court: ‘We have discussed this matter with Commander Bucher in some detail. As you know, we had some preliminary conversations with you before this Court of Inquiry convened as to the procedures that would be followed and the manner by which Commander Bucher’s story and the story of the USS Pueblo could be presented to this Court. We obviously anticipated the situation that we find ourselves in at the present moment. We have discussed this in detail with Commander Bucher. In view of your warning, Commander Bucher persists in his desire to fully and completely tell this Court of Inquiry the details of the 23rd of January and the events subsequent thereto. Based on that, Commander Bucher, with the Court’s permission, requests that he be permitted to testify, and complete this phase of the story. Commander Bucher, am I correctly reciting your wishes in this matter? And do I correctly recite that you have been adequately and fully apprised of all your legal rights which include the right to remain silent on this portion?’ Commander Bucher answered in the affirmative.

Second: I would like to emphasize that a Court of Inquiry must begin with a blank record. Newspaper accounts, rumors, second-hand reports or prejudgments cannot be considered. The official record of the Pueblo‘s capture and the treatment of her crew must come from testimony and evidence presented to this Court of Inquiry. For the Court, what has appeared and will appear in public accounts simply does not exist.

Third: Whether the Navy—or anyone in the Navy—was pleased or displeased with Commander Bucher’s testimony could have nothing whatever to do with that warning. I realize I am ‘preaching to the choir’ when I tell you that. However, the requirement to warn Commander Bucher is obviously not so well understood by some.

Ladies and Gentlemen—I am deeply troubled—that what was a routine and totally correct legal procedure has been widely misinterpreted.

As Chief of Naval Operations—I intend to ensure—and the Court itself will ensure—that Commander Bucher’s rights—as well as all others appearing before the Court—are fully protected. Possibly there will be similar warnings concerning self-incrimination as additional witnesses testify. The point to keep in mind is that the Navy is searching for facts—not scapegoats. We are doing so—within limits imposed by national security—in open hearings, because I believe that this is the way the American people would want it done. And we are taking well-tested and legally prescribed steps to protect the rights of all concerned.

I earnestly request you, who are so well-qualified, to assist me in explaining the legal aspects of the Pueblo Inquiry to the American people. And, I earnestly request the American people to be patient, not to prejudge, and to have full trust and confidence that the procedures used in developing the facts surrounding the piracy against the Pueblo are being carried out by experienced men of great integrity who have only the welfare of our country at heart.”

 July 19, 1909

After reaching the North Pole, Robert E. Peary began his return south on the steamer Roosevelt.

“His journey north and his dynamic activity in the 30 hours spent near the pole form a tour de force with few if any parallels in the annals of exploration.”

The April 1959 issue of Proceedings included an article by Hugh C. Mitchell which described the public controversy over Peary’s success and emphasized the importance of his detailed observations in validating the recognition he received for reaching the North pole:

        On September 5, 1909, the steamer Roosevelt reached Indian Harbor in Labrador, and Robert E. Peary, a commander in the Civil Engineer Corps of the U. S. Navy, wired the secretary of the Peary Arctic Club in New York City a cipher message which, being decoded, read, ” Pole reached.  Roosevelt Safe.”  And at the same time a message went to Mrs. Peary: “Have made good.  I have the pole.  Am well.  Love.”

        These messages announced the success of Peary, after many years of tireless effort, in reaching the north geographic pole of the earth, the goal of many intrepid explorers in years gone by, possibly the greatest and most sought for geographic prize of all time, and also the most difficult of attainment. Read the rest of this entry »

USS Essex (CV-9) comes into Norfolk Navy Yard for her commissioning on 31 Dec 1942 as officers and men line the sides.

This article was originally published as “Essex: More than a Ship, More than a Class” by Richard F. Cross III in the September 1975 issue of Proceedings magazine.

The Essex-class aircraft carriers are subject to superlatives, and justly so. For some 35 years, they have made a greater contribution to the present state of carrier art, both operational and technological, than any other design, U. S. or foreign.

Much of this record stems from the staying power of the design. It has permitted modifications in equipment and practice to be proven operationally, often in combat. Another reason is sheer numbers. Of 32 ships authorized, 26 were started and 24 ultimately completed. At this writing, three are still in commission even as one of the first, the Yorktown, prepares to become a centerpiece memorial at next month’s dedication of the Naval and Maritime Museum complex in Charleston, S.C. The 24 represent 31% of all fleet carriers (not counting light carriers [CVLs]) which ever reached operational status in the world’s navies. Moreover, of the four nations–Japan, Britain, France, and the United States–which have produced operational carriers during their 60-year existence, only this nation was in a position to support worldwide commitments with them during the post-World War II period. To accomplish this task, the ships of the Essex class had to change, and change they did. There is little resemblance between the Essex (CV-9) of 1942 and the Oriskany (CV-34) of 1975.
 
Design studies of the CV-9 characteristics began in the late 1930s with the end of treaty restrictions on aircraft carrier tonnage. This led in 1939 to considerable discussion within the Navy, involving the bureaus, the General Board, and various senior operational commands. Of particular interest were the comments of the captains of the Yorktown (CV-5) and Enterprise (CV-6) and their division commander, Rear Admiral William F. Halsey, Jr. These two sister ships had been commissioned in 1937 and 1938 and were the Navy’s first truly fleet-capable flattops built from the keel up as carriers. While the Yorktowns had been optimized in 1931 at 20,000 tons standard displacement, this figure grew to an initial 25,000 tons for CV-9, expanding to 26,500 as a result of the discussions. One reason for this increase was the desire to operate four squadrons of aircraft (scout, bomber, torpedo, and fighter), plus spares. Aircraft were growing in size and were expected to reach a maximum gross takeoff weight of 12,000 pounds.
 
The final CV-9 design, approved in early 1940, had 12 5-inch guns, alternate fire and engine rooms for the four screws, room for 220,000 gallons of aviation fuel, and three inboard elevators. The flight deck measured 870 by 109 feet; 83 aircraft would be carried: 27 fighters, 38 scout-bombers, 18 torpedo planes, and 25% spares. Two catapults were installed, one on the flight deck and one in the hangar deck. Design personnel complement was 2,171, including 632 for aviation. Standard displacement rose during 1940 to 27,100 tons, estimated trial displacement to 33,900. Eleven Essex-class carriers were ordered prior to 7 December 1941. One late design change occurred that year after the initial contracts were let. The midship inboard elevator was replaced by the world’s first full deck-edge design, thus clearing the hangar deck and easing aircraft respotting on the flight deck. The first ships of the class, incidentally, were capable of launch and recovery over either end of the flight deck.

With the coming of World War II, design studies of probable Essex successors were curtailed and the construction of additional ships of the class greatly expanded. Ultimately, two civilian shipyards and three Navy yards built the 24 ships actually completed. Following an accelerated construction period, the Essex herself was commissioned 31 December 1942, and 16 more were commissioned by the end of the war. Arriving in the Pacific, starting in August 1943, these new ships created and perfected-in conjunction with the CVLs and new mobile logistic support forces-one of the most impressive weapon systems of all time, the fast carrier task force.

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This selection comes from The Great White Fleet: Its Voyage Arund the World, 1907-1909 by Robert A. Hart, published in 1965.

By late November most of the battleships were at New York, taking in supplies before moving on to Hampton Roads, Virginia, the port of embarkation. Hundreds of young officers came ashore to look at the new Metropolitan Tower, the Brooklyn Bridge, and the notorious suffragette who smoked a cigar each day at noon in Washington Square. New Yorkers gawked, too, gathering around the men in blue, pounding their backs, paying their bills in restaurants, and taking them to the Metropolitan Opera House to hear Enrico Caruso in Rigoletto. They were national heroes and required no fancies from Roosevelt’s publicists to help them look and act the part. Naval popularity since the victory over Spain had drawn some of America’s best men to Annapolis. The United States Navy’s most valuable asset, Britain’s Spectator asserted, was its young officers – keen, ambitious, intellgent, and handsome. Society pages reported their successes in lower Fifth Avenue, where the daughters of the “best families” clustered around them in a lively competion for signatures in velvet-covered dance programs.

Most of the officers took trains to Philadelphia on November 30 for the Army-Navy football game. The crowd of thirty thousand at Franklin Field was loud in its cheers for Admiral Evans and a Navy halfback’s twisting run for a touchdown. The middies won, 6-0, over the heavily favored men from West Point. “Like good soldiers, they fought the sailors hard,” the AP story read, “but it was no use, for it was the Navy’s day.” Fleet personnel returned to New York in a jubilant mood. The next night at a farewell banquet they shouted hip-hip-hurrahs when Admiral Evans announced that his men and ships were ready for anything, “a feast, a frolic or a fight.”

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This article was written by Thomas C. Hone for the December 1977 issue of Proceedings magazine.

When aircraft of the Imperial Japanese Navy attacked elements of the U.S. Pacific Fleet in Pearl Harbor on 7 December 1941, their primary targets were the seven battleships berthed alongside the large mooring quays which ran parallel to the southeast side of Ford Island. The Japanese aircraft attacked the stationary battleships with aerial torpedoes, 40-centimeter (15 1/2-inch) armor-piercing shells converted to bombs, and 250-kilogram (550­pound) high-explosive bombs. The battleships Oklahoma (BB-37, launched 1914) and West Virginia (BB­48, launched 1921) sank during the attack, and the Arizona (BB-39, launched 1915) was destroyed when an armor-piercing bomb set off an explosion in her forward main magazines. The Nevada (BB-3 6, launched 1914) and California (BB-44, launched 1919), both of which sustained serious underwater damage during the Japanese raid , gradually filled with water and sank, the latter staying afloat until 11 December. The Tennessee (BB-43, launched 1919) and Maryland (BB-46, launched 1920), moored inboard of the West Virginia and Oklahoma respectively and thus sheltered from the torpedo attack, suffered minor damage from armor-piercing bombs. The fleet flagship Pennsylvania (BB-38, launched 1915), which was in drydock number 1, sustained only superficial injuries.

Of the five battleships which the attacking aircraft could reach with bombs and torpedoes, all were sunk. The available documentary evidence suggests that, of those five, the Oklahoma and Nevada were lost because of design defects , the West Virginia was simply overwhelmed by force her defenses were not meant to thwart, and the California was sunk because of the performance of her officers and crew. The Arizona‘s destruction is difficult to explain conclusively because the detonation of the ship’s forward magazines so thoroughly wrecked the vessel that no attempt was made to raise her. As a result, no detailed examination of the Arizona‘s hull was ever undertaken, and the physical evidence needed to demonstrate conclusively any weakness (or lack of it) in her armored decks has never been gathered.

The five battleships attacked by torpedoes in the first stage of the assault had two different forms of underwater defense. The first, worked into the Oklahoma, Nevada, and Arizona during modernizations between 1928 and 1931, consisted of an external bulge or blister and internal compartments backed by a longitudinal torpedo bulkhead of 40-pound nickel steel armor and 20-pound medium steel plates for a combined thickness of 1 1/2 inches. The bulge, or outer defensive layer, was empty. Behind the original shell of the ship was a layer of fuel tanks, and behind that layer was yet another, then the inner, armored bulkhead which stretched vertically from the double bottom to the third deck. The maximum thickness of the protective layer was 14 feet, and the two void layers inboard of the bulge were filled with fuel oil to absorb the blast and pressure of an exploding torpedo.

The second system, originally built into the Tennessee and Maryland classes, covered the center two­-thirds of each ship with a layer of five compartments with a total protective depth of 17 1/2 feet on each side. Immediately behind the shell was a void space 4 feet wide, while the next three compartments–­each 3 feet wide–were wing fuel tanks. The bulkheads of these compartments were designed to be stiff enough to resist compression but resilient enough to bend under the pressure of an underwater explosion. Behind the liquid-filled layers was a void 4 1/2 feet wide; its inner boundary was an unpierced longitudinal bulkhead of special treatment (armor) steel with a maximum thickness of 1 inch. The empty and oil-filled protective compartments were strengthened and subdivided by transverse bulkheads, and the spaces behind the torpedo defense system could be rendered watertight in the event of an attack. Both systems of defense used voids and liquid layers together, but the system designed originally for the Maryland and Tennessee classes was superior because of its greater depth and because it held sudden flooding to a minimum after an explosion.

The evidence suggests that the torpedo defense systems of the Nevada and Pennsylvania classes, even as modernized, were inadequate. On the other hand, the system designed for the Tennessee and Maryland classes–which were not modernized in the 1930s–was far superior; it kept the West Virginia from capsizing and should have kept the California afloat. The Nevada‘s underwater damage resulted from one torpedo and two bomb hits. While still in her berth, the ship was torpedoed

…on the port side between the two forward turrets at about frame 41, approximately 14 feet above the keel . . . . The innermost torpedo bulkhead was opened at seams and butts and compartments below the first platform deck between frames 30 and 43 (on the port side only) began to flood. [See Figure 1]

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