| |
N7KTP > NAVNET 19.08.04 12:31l 222 Lines 13951 Bytes #999 (0) @ WW
BID : 19166_N7FSP
Read: GUEST
Subj: USS YMS-74 (Part 4/5)
Path: DB0FHN<DB0RGB<DB0FSG<I4UKI<IK5CKL<IW2ESA<KP4IG<LU1FES<EB8BBM<ON4HU<
7M3TJZ<ON0AR<WB0TAX<N7FSP
Sent: 040818/2053z @:N7FSP.#SEA.#WWA.WA.USA.NOAM West Seattle, WA. on 145.010
The following article is the fourth of 5 parts depicting life aboard a
minesweeper during WW II. Written by Shippen Willing, a descendant of
the first XO of the YMS 74, they were published in the Naval Undersea
Museum newsletter "Undersea Quarterly".
Bob, N7KTP
------------------------------------------------------------------------
The Summer Quarter issue of the Newsletter contained Part III of
this story. It ended with YMS 74 facing the reality that our gear was
not cutting the chain moorings successfully. The problem quickly became
clear. We did not control the inevitable slack with adequate care and
dropped live explosive cutters onto their own slack wires, cutting them
into short bits. The solution was simple. Let the gear stream out,
taking its slack with it before easing a cutter into the water. We were
in too big a hurry. We carefully perfected our timing, and had no
further problems. All we had to do was ease the gear out correctly.
Every man on the sweep crew learned every job. Streaming went
beautifully. The result was great.
Picture the gear rigged, checked and held outboard of everything,
ready to arm and drop smartly. The float is two-blocked at the head of
the davit. As the ship is coming into position to begin the run, the
order to stand by comes by voice direct from the bridge:
Bridge: "Stand By-Ready"
Mine Sweeping Officer: "Ready"
Bridge: "Commence streaming"
Mine Sweeping Officer "Stream, Aye"
The rest of the maneuver is carried out by the Bosun's Mate
("Boats") and the Mine Sweeping Officer (MSO). Every man in the sweep
crew is alert. "Boats" keeps it all in order. The Winch man takes
enough strain on the sweep wire to hold the paravane and bridle snug on
the A frame with the brake. Two sailors disconnect the Klein grip. A
Klein grip is an ingenious piece of gear designed to grasp a sweep wire
and hold it longitudinally without slipping. It does not mar, bend or
cripple the wire in any way. One end of the grip is chained to a strong
pad eye in the deck in front of the winch. When the pulling force is
brought to bear by the wire, the closing force of the grip increases
the squeeze. The grip can be quickly removed from the wire by taking
the load on the winch. A longitudinal tap on one jaw of the-grip
loosens it and the grip falls on the deck with no tools involved.
"Boats" watches the approaching seas and the roll of the ship to choose
a suitable spot to drop the float. He yanks the lanyard, releasing the
float, which drops astern as the ship steams away from it at about
three knots. When all the slack has been taken out of the pendant and
the float begins to follow the ship, the Motor Mac on the winch eases
the paravane gently into the water and gives slack to let it move down
below the effect of surface factors (wind waves and waves caused by the
hull). At this point the paravane can be thrown into some wild
gyrations. Best to get it down where it will pull firmly as quickly as
possible. When "Boats" is satisfied that everything so far is drawing
properly, he signals for more slack and holds the sweep wire when the
stop nearest the paravane has jumped the head block of the A frame. Two
sailors waiting at the rail (properly secured with tethers and wearing
Mae Wests-the then-current state-of-the-art life vests) clip on the
first cutter and pull the pin, saving it for tally check and possible
replacement on a cutter which might return on recovery without having
fired. More sweep wire is veered to the next stop to place the next
cutter and repeat until the wire is fully armed. Usually a wire will
carry about ten cutters.
After all cutters are in place, when the final cutter, the one
nearest the depressor, has properly disappeared under the water, the
snatch block on the depressor can be placed on the sweep wire on the
depressor side. The sweep wire is veered to sweeping length. The
depressor wire is held on the winch brake while the Klein stop is
removed. The depressor is then streamed to its proper depth, taking the
sweep wire with it. Both Klein grips are then replaced on the wires to
take the strain of towing off the winch.
The Mine Sweeping Officer reports that the gear is in the water
and drawing properly. The big trick is to ease everything out without
allowing any loops or kinks to develop. This procedure can be stopped
if anything fouls up.
Things were looking up as the sweep crew became more efficient
with the cutters. The rows of little black silhouettes of Mark 6 mines
stenciled on the stack began to grow. There was plenty to do on I the
fantail-stream the gear-get tangled up-try to rescue as much gear as
possible; recover and re-rig. During such times there wasn't too much
the Bridge could do but wait for the fantail to re-rig, and this was
very hard on OTC. The Officer in Tactical Command is in charge of
operations of all ships under his command. Each skipper is responsible
for his own ship but must follow OTC's orders. Often OTC would come to
his favorite look-out spot-the thwart-ships strip of deck between and
including the two Oerlikons. From here he had an unobstructed view of
the entire aft spread of the main deck. It was especially trying for
the men working to get back to sweeping to be incessantly coached from
there, frequently with sarcasm.
This deck was OTC's favorite spot when the Submarine Chaser (SC)
was approaching to come alongside on the morning stop to deliver mail
and supplies from Section Base. One morning there was a bit of slop
going with wind and tide moving in all directions at once. The skipper
of the SC was a very capable ship handler. He was making a very good
approach watching the surface of the water, the roll and pitch of the
two hulls, waiting for that instant when he could bring his little
craft alongside with minimum trauma. OTC was in his favorite spot,
irritated, impatient, displeased. Giving a loud bellow, "Bring her on
in! What you got there? A god damn yacht?" The Skipper continued his
approach as planned. His vessel kissed the waiting fender rigged on the
74 at the moment of zero relative motion between the two hulls. Loosely
packed bags of goods flew from deck to deck. The spread of open water
between widened on the next wave. The SC slid off for a hard day's work
with the buoy boats, dropping and picking up buoys, firing on drifters,
always in the right place to be of maximum use to the overall
operation.
July ran into August; a tinge of monotony prevailed but there was
a good deal of progress to show for it. That was encouraging to all of
us, making it easier to anticipate what was still to do. One morning at
sunrise we were lying with anchor at short stay, awaiting the call of
the SC alongside. It was a beautiful day, but it looked hot, which was
nothing new. Our spring line on the foredeck was ready to pass over,
the fender was in place, the sweep crew on deck beginning to break out
the gear and rig it, enjoying the morning "cool" while it lasted. The
Captain and OTC were glumly eating breakfast in the wardroom. There was
something about the SC, which didn't look usual. There was a Navy
Captain in full uniform standing on deck just aft of the open port in
the pilothouse, which framed the face of the SC's skipper. The two men
were talking quietly. The officer on deck outside held a small canvas
bag in one hand. With the other hand he had a firm grip on the handrail
attached to the bulkhead below the port. The sailor on the bow of the
74 heaved his line. It followed the monkey's fist over the foredeck of
the SC where it settled across the arm of a waiting sailor who deftly
had the spring line in hand in no time with a turn on a cleat. The two
ships came gently together on the fender. Our visitor flipped his
canvas bag onto our deck and stepped lightly on board the 74. As we
exchanged salutes, I noticed a very slight tinge of corrosion on his
cap. He had obviously spent a lot of time at sea. He introduced himself
as the Commanding Officer of Sec. Base, Okra coke and asked to be shown
to OTC. The look on OTC's face cannot be described. He was not
accustomed to having superior officers appear this way and all of a
sudden was on his best behavior. Our visitor was on an inspection tour.
He wanted to see for himself how things were going out there on the
Bank. He remained on board all day, returning to the Section Base
aboard the SC when she went back in at the end of the day. While on
board he saw everything. He missed nothing. Everyone on board had ~
personal contact with him. Ship's morale went zooming up. OTC was a
whole lot easier to get along with. Things were a whole lot easier to
do right.
About this time interesting news broke on board. It can be taken
in several ways, all true. It came in the form of a terse transmission
in code by radio from Sec. Base, Okracoke. It said "Your ship's cook
died last night." Our Captain stuffed it in my hand with the order
"Find out what happened." In due time the reply came back from Sec.
Base, Okracoke. "Denatured alcohol. Drinking. Dizzy. Daffy. Drunk. Dead
Drunk. Dead. Damn shame. Doc." The person in question had been turned
in to the sick bay at Sec Base, Key West, for treatment for a venereal
infection by our Pharmacist's Mate l/C .He was treated and retained for
further treatment when we left for Norfolk in the spring. In the
interim his problems had responded to treatment. He had been ordered to
Sec. Base, Okracoke, for transfer back to 74. While awaiting transfer,
on the mistaken assumption that denatured alcohol could be safely
consumed if cut with enough fruit juice, he found both and consumed
them. It is safe to say that no one on board cared to have a person
with such a medical background doing the cooking. Our volunteer from
the sweep crew for the position was missed on deck but he stayed with
the galley for a long time and handled the job very well.
By mid-August the atmosphere on the Bank was beginning to hint in a
very subtle way the approach of the annual equinoctial storms of the
Caribbean. We had covered the minefield several times but Washington
was not convinced that the field was safe enough for us to withdraw.
They turned out to be right. We turned to with catenary sweeps to cover
the field once again. There was an awful lot of scrap iron scattered
all over the bottom down there. Some of it was live.
A catenary sweep is done by two ships, working in pairs. One is
called the master of the pair. The other ship is called the slave. No
paravanes, floats, or cutters are used. The two ships steam abreast on
parallel courses, separated by 100, maybe 200, yards. The gear is
simple, easy to stream. To start, the slave closes on the master, takes
the master's sweepwire aboard and couples it together with its own
wire. The two then widen the distance while towing equal lengths of
wire. At a previously-agreed upon distance they shift to Klein grips
while towing. They then steam together on each other's beam and make a
run. This is the most effective way to get rid of all that junk. You
soon run out of wire, but it is safer that way. At best, getting rid of
fouled mines is a nasty lob.
Getting rid of "junk" picked up in a catenary sweep is very
tedious. The "junk" consists of derelict mines, lots of cut mooring
chain usually attached to a mooring; plenty of wrecked and snarled "0"
gear, and lots of cut wire. We designated and buoyed dumps where we
tried to concentrate what we had collected. Sometimes we had to cut it
loose. Sometimes we had to cut a loaded wire and try to pull it out of
its collected load. We were always mindful of how much good wire we
wasted because it was very difficult to get more wire.
The Hague Conference created a mandate to have drifting mines
disarm when they rise to 15 feet. The concept was nice but it did not
always work. Nothing is as safe as a little distance. One day, the 74
was towing along a big wad of junk, headed for the dump. "Boats" and I
were concerned about it. The tension on the sweep wire rose. We were
nearly dead in the water. Not good. We watched the wake closely. If
mines are towed astern in a clump, they behave erratically sometimes
diving, then surfacing, to veer right or left or dive again, to surface
again somewhere else. If you have two or three doing this, bunched up
in a wad of anchors and chain, you have trouble. The Hague said they
should be harmless on the surface. We weren't so sure. Suddenly one of
these drifters appeared in a swirl of water, zigzagged drunkenly, and
towed under. "Boats" saw it first and quickly gave the order "Avast!"
The junk was pretty close in to the transom. This was followed by a
loud bellow from the Bridge. "Heave around. What are you waiting for?"
(Heave around means continue to take in wire.) "Boats" and I looked at
each other. "What in hell?" Just then, the mine fired close beneath the
stem, sending a sheet of water high above us and drenching the deck.
The starboard cowl ventilator supplying air to the engines landed with
a crash on the deck. All power was lost. The engine room watch reset
all the switches on the main board. One generator started. Some of the
sweep crew secured the ventilator, which was rolling around on deck
before anybody got hurt. Some of the bilge pumps started but they were
sucking air. This was a good sign that there was no hole in the hull.
The steering gear began to function. The main engines came back to
life. All hands were ultimately reported present or accounted for.
There were no casualties. We all agreed that that one was close enough.
These YMS's were sturdy little buckets, alright!
To be concluded in the next posting
Read previous mail | Read next mail
| |
