It is a busy day on a cargo transport in San Diego late in January and the deck winches are swinging out cargo a merry rate.
Outside the Captain’s cabin are heard footsteps slowly approaching and a snatch a song that sounds like “A Long Long Trail a Winding,” but as the hum grows volume it is distinctly heard to be “A Long Long Trail to Hawaii.”
The Exec enters with some papers in his hand. “Will you look at this Captain? Now I’ve been reading about this trailer craze sweeping the country and I’ve been looking them up, for when I go ashore next summer the wife and boys . . . .”
“Well, Pete, what have trailers got to do with the morning mail, the transportation service, or this particular Navy?” is the interruption, for it is well known that the Exec has had long service in this type of ship, getting to see his family about once every six months, and we are too busy this morning to listen to plans for investigating the progress of trailer evolution. The Exec can hardly wait, and he warms to his subject.
“Darned if the Navy isn’t going into the trailer business too—I guess we’ll sweep the seas with them like they infest the tourist highways, and have one parked at every navy yard. It says here that we are to tow an Army dredge from New York to Honolulu and believe me that’s a long, long trail. When I was in command of a mine sweeper we were 24 days towing a sub from . . .
“Let’s see that paper! What kind of a dredge? When? How big is it? Why don’t they assign that to a tug or mine sweeper? That’s a major towing operation! We’re no tow boat!”
The paper is surrendered and a finger points to a single sentence at the end of a voyage schedule: “It is expected that the Sirius will tow the Army dredge Hell Gate to Pearl Harbor, departing from New York about May 1.”
We are in for it and plans must be made!
We wonder what the dredge is like and what we can do to prepare for it. The first thing to do is to write a letter to the Department asking for information of the tow, the gear necessary, and perhaps to explain how poorly equipped we are for towing, without letting anyone get the opinion that we are not ready for any job that can be assigned us. So we hurriedly rough out a letter, as we are sailing the following morning for Panama. We describe how small the poop deck is, how we have no deck space or winches for handling towlines, and try to give the impression that some other ship perhaps is better equipped than we. Adding that, if definitely assigned the task, we must have a towing engine, and some extra personnel, etc., we put the letter in the mail, secretly hoping the Department will consider that, after all, a tug or mine sweeper should be given the job.
After port is cleared and we settle into monotonous routine on the long voyage to Panama, we have time to make an estimate of the situation, read Knight’s and Riesenberg’s seamanship works, and discuss what gear we will want, how to prepare for emergencies, what to do about food and fresh water, how long it will take us, etc., etc. One day while we are streaking along a placid sea at the magnificent top speed of 11 knots, the officer of the deck is trying to identify a passing steamer. In thumbing through the Merchant Ship Register he sees “Vessels—U.S. Army, Corps of Engineers” and there the name Hell Gate. Our future trailer is described as a dipper dredge, built in 1922, 140X48X15 feet. At the Canal our education in regard to dredges really begins.
The Army has several dredges in the Canal and we are fortunate in meeting a charming Major, Corps of Engineers, U.S. Army (“Major for the last 20 years”) who is Assistant Chief Engineer of the Canal.
Surrounded by well-kept tropical vegetation on the green slopes of Balboa Heights, we sit on the spacious screened veranda of a government house in the cool of the evening, with a tall glass of iced refreshment before us. The Major expands on the subject. It is easy to discourse on something you know all about, and from the Major’s easy manner and fund of information it is thought that any subject would be well-handled by him. He begins:
So you are going to tow the Hell Gate to Honolulu? I know her well—in fact I built her and she was one of the best dippers we had. She’s hard luck, though! I remember when we put her out in New York Bay for her trials. She did her stuff and the contractor and board of inspection were well pleased. We went ashore late in the afternoon with an agreement to meet the next day to sign the acceptance papers. When we assembled the following morning we were confronted with the news that the Hell Gate was on the bottom of the bay.
The Major calls for a little ice for his drink and continues:
Our board went out to make an investigation and found that the dredge had capsized and sunk during the night. That didn’t bother us much, for we had gotten used to dredges sinking and I had pad eyes and clips put on this one so she could be raised easily. When the crew went ashore the evening before, they had left a spud locked, and as the tide went out the dredge canted over, filled, and sank.
“Wait a minute Major,” we ask excitedly, “what is a spud and how does locking it cause the dredge to capsize?
The Major takes a small sip as if to cool his anger and keep from speaking t°_° hastily, for it is evident that in his estimation a seagoing man should know something about dredges and not be ignorant of such common things as spuds. He starts a primary lesson:
When a dredge is in position for work, it is held there by large vertical beams, pointed at the lower end, and “spudded” into the bottom. The beams are raised and lowered by machinery and are called spuds. They are about 96 feet long and 4 feet square. By hoisting certain ones and working the dipper against the bottom, the dredge can swing or advance to cover her assigned area without other exterior aids.
“Hasn’t she any propeller or means of getting about without a tug?” we ask, and the reply is promptly given:
Oh, no, she stays in one locality for weeks of months. She is not designed for movement, so she is rectangular in shape, has no bow or stern or slope to the sides. She has heavy rubbing strakes all around to take mud barges alongside, and to withstand collision with other craft. She’s hard luck all right—when we put her out in the Hell Gate Channel she was hit twelve times in the first month by various tugs and ships.
Already we have heard how difficult dredges are to tow and, from the description the Major has given, we can see that this unwieldy bulk on our towline is going to force us to go “slow and easy.” The Major informs us that we should have the dredge housed in above the hull with a steel bulkhead or heavy wooden one to keep out the seas, as the dredge is not designed for seagoing and ordinarily works in protected waters. Also he warns us to remove the dipper, “A” frame, and as much top hamper as we can, taking it on our deck, and to tow very slowly, as the dredge will dive if we go over 6 knots. He estimated we could average 4 knots, making 6 in good conditions, and would heave to in stormy weather. We know we have the best time of the year to make the voyage, but in 6,800 miles one is bound to get some nasty weather. It does look like a long, long trail to Hawaii!
Upon arrival at Norfolk we take a trip to Washington and convince the officers in the Department of the necessity for a lowing engine, and one is located for us at the Boston Navy Yard. The engine was formerly from the mine-sweeper Teal and had been taken to the Antarctic by the Byrd Expedition.
The engine cylinders were 16X16 inches, and a 5-ton towing cable, 2-inch wire, 300 fathoms, is supplied with it. The gear looks husky enough to tow anything afloat. However, in an old file we read of a tow in 1917 from Norfolk to Guantanamo where three colliers were towing flattie rafts. The report is very brief: “Cyclops successful, Kanawha lost her tow, Neptune failed.” These deep-sea tows don’t seem to be very attractive. We talk to pilots, naval officers, and others, and no one seems to be envious of our job.
Our next port of call is Philadelphia and here we find an Army dredge just returned from Puerto Rico. The Captain has been on the dredge for seven years and he does hot care for towing.
“All towing,” he says, “is a series, of yerks. Sometimes, in a seavay ve cannot stand oop, and the yerks rake the dishes off the table and knock everything over. Ve are so vorn out after a few days ve always arrange for stops for rest. Cooming oop here ve stopped at Miami, Charleston, and Norfolk. Vere are you going to stop?”
We tell him we are going to try to stop only at the Canal as we are in a hurry and ]nust arrive at Seattle as early as possible hi order to make the trip to Bering Sea for sealskins before the season is too far advanced.
The Captain cocks an eye at our 12,000 ton ship across the dock and gives us some more suggestions:
“Ay alvays like a small tug to tow me, because ven a sea hits us and ve stop, the tug stops too, or even ve can pull her backward. With a big ship like dot you have you better have a big strong towline or else use your towing engine a lot. How much horsepower you got?”
We tell him 2,500 horsepower, single screw, and he volunteers: “Dots not so much. Ay generally get a 1,000 horsepower tug.” The interview with the Captain hasn’t made us any more cheerful about our task.
However we do cheer up when we bump into an old friend who was in the dredging business in the boom days. After telling him we expect to make 4 knots he tells us we are silly.
“I sent a dredge to Florida in 1929,” he tells us, “and she made 8 or 9 knots.” “Fine,” we agree, “how long did the voyage take?” Then our spirits droop again for the nonchalant answer comes back, “Oh, she never got there—they lost her off Jupiter.”
Other reports fill us with the same kind of forebodings. The trying experiences narrated in the story “Ocean Tow” in the February, 1937, Naval Institute Proceedings give us no encouragement. Why don’t we hear of some easy, successful, deep-sea tows?
Entering the New York Navy Yard one murky morning we got the first glimpse of our trailer. She has the outlines of a ferryboat, but the square ends of the hull look very, very prominent with the red lead paint on them contrasting with the unpainted wooden bulkhead around her deckhouse. The dipper, dipper arm, spuds, bull wheel, “A” frames, and other heavy parts are on the pier.
We inspected the Hell Gate and decided upon the gear we desired, and got out work requests for a number of items including: life boat, life rafts, 1,000-watt light for illumination of the bridle, line throwing guns, 5-meter radio telephone sets, signal searchlight, tools, wire and manila line, emergency anchor (there were no means of recovering it), coal for the galley and donkey boiler, water, fuel oil, lubricating oil, storm or wave oil, signal rockets, life jackets, and hundreds of small items of equipment. The dredge had been idle for more than a year and little upkeep had been done on her.
We requested a towing bridle of 2-inch wire to be placed around 3 sides of the dredge hull and extend 100 feet forward of the “bow.” These 100-foot legs of the bridle were credited later with the steady position of the tow, as she did not yaw. The wire rested upon the upper rubbing strake and was held there by large “U” bolts, and to keep it from veering around the hull was secured with 4 wire clamps. The ends of the bridle were shackled to a large steel plate which had sufficient thickness to occupy the spans of the shackles and prevent bent shackle pins. On the end of the tow wire was a combination swivel and pelican hook which a third shackle connected to the steel plate.
The Department furnished a crew of 14 men for the dredge, including a chief boatswain’s mate as master, a chief machinist’s mate as chief engineer, five deck ratings, five engineers, one cook, and one signalman. It was necessary for the crew to stand lookout watch and to keep up steam for pumps, generators, etc. Also we were granted an increased ration allowance for the crew in order to buy canned meats, canned vegetables, etc., for them.
Equipping our towing ship was not much of a job after we got the towing engine. We requested and were furnished a few extra ratings to stand watch on the towing gear and to augment our engineer’s force for the long hot trip through tropical waters.
Spare towing cables, both wire and manila, a replacement bridle to fit the bitts of the dredge, a spare pelican hook and shackles, and 500 gallons of storm oil were among the items required. Since had to take about 415 tons of heavy dredge gear on deck we counterbalanced this by loading some 14-in. rifles awaiting shipment west, in a forward hold, and a number of carloads of iron pipe, steel plates, etc. in an after hold. There were nine pieces of equipment on our deck, including lengths up to 90 feet and weight from 30 to 85 tons. In addition we put a 27-foot bull wheel weighing 20 tons into Number 2 hold through a 24'X24' hatch. All this gear was securely shored, the material on deck being braced and welded with 6-inch channels, so as to withstand a roll of 45 degrees with adequate factor of safety.
Having finally gotten all the equipment we could imagine we might require for any condition or emergency, we were ready to sail. We veered the towing cable out of the towing chock and led it along the starboard side through manila stops, with the end on deck abreast Number 4 hatch cargo booms. The tugs brought the dredge alongside with her bow to our stern and her bridle abreast Number 4 hatch. The bridle apex was hoisted aboard by means of a cargo boom and connected to the end of the towline. The gear was then hoisted out, and as the tug pulled the Gate away, the stops on the cable were cut and the tow straightened out astern. The whole operation consumed about 20 minutes.
As soon as we took a strain on the towline it was seen that, in spite of our precautions to check up on everything, one leg of the bridle was longer than the other. This caused the dredge to ride about 15 degrees on the starboard quarter. The first inclination was to send her back to the navy yard and have the bridle shifted, but a few minutes’ experience demonstrated that she rode very steadily and did not yaw. Since at one time we had considered towing her by a corner to give the effect of a bow we decided to proceed. Except for abnormal right rudder the towing ship there seemed to be no objection to the situation.
We had obtained permission from the Army port officials to use the Ambrose Channel, which ordinarily is barred to tows. All the time we had been engaged in picking up the tow there had not been a, ship in sight. Now, being on the east side of the channel, we desired to cross to west side, and set the course accordingly. Almost immediately one of the largest ships in the world, the Berengaria, overtook us and signaled to pass to our starboard. We were endeavoring to reach starboard side of the channel so as to pass incoming vessels port side to port and to allow overtaking craft to pass on our port side as usual. The pilot informed us that the Berengaria wished to pass to starboard in order to give herself more room in the turn of the channel which we were approaching. Our tow being on our starboard quarter with one tug attached to its quarter and another convoying, we were occupying a large area and were forced to favor the port side of the channel until the Berengaria passed. Then we tried to ease over again, but the largest American ship, the Washington, now desired to pass to starboard, and we were left again on the wrong side of the channel. Meanwhile large steamers were standing in from sea. A third time we tried to get over to our rightful side and the crack French liner Paris overtook us and signaled to pass to starboard. We were approaching the elbow in the channel and the Oriente was heading directly for us. It seemed we had a rendezvous with all the largest liners right at the worst part of the channel. Finally we succeeded in our efforts and straightened out on our course, close to the starboard buoys. We gave the danger signal to several incoming ships which were making considerable speed, as we wanted them to slow and not swamp our tow, but they proceeded without paying much attention to us.
After clearing the channel we dismissed all but one tug for convoy, dropped the pilot, and took up our southerly course.
Although a moderate sea was running we experimented with 150 fathoms of cable and standard speed (9 knots) and were surprised to see how nicely the tow behaved. We directed our convoy tug to steam around us and transmit for radio direction finder calibration as undoubtedly our calibration curves were disturbed considerably by the steel booms, etc. we had on deck. About midnight, after we seemed to be settled into routine with everything going smoothly, we dismissed our convoy.
Our course was laid near the shore, along the line of light ships, for several reasons. We were uncertain of our towing gear, the behavior of the tow, etc., and desired to be able to put into port if we had trouble. The route close to shore, although about 12 or 15 miles longer than a direct line to Watling Island (San Salvador) afforded us a favorable current, which at our slow speed would more than offset the added distance. By keeping inshore to Hatteras we would cross the Gulf Stream at its narrowest part. This was very important as the drift of that current was about one third of our speed. Also, as strong west winds were expected to follow a low barometric area which then was over the Appalachian Mountains, we would be in the lee of the shore. All the way to Cuba we drew daily weather maps in order to judge the best course to follow.
The second day as we got into deeper water we veered the tow cable to 200 fathoms. The tow continued to ride very nicely and we found we could make full power in good weather. However, the revolutions of the screw were more than 15 per cent less than the usual full power and our speed through the water about 36 per cent less. We were pleased to know that we could make more than 6 knots. A scheme to find our speed was rigged up.
It consisted of stationing a man at a certain frame on the forecastle and another man on the poop deck. A chip was thrown over the bow, and each observer signaled when the chip was abeam. Knowing the distance between observers, and obtaining the time with a stop watch, the navigator was able to pick the speed from a diagram he had made.
After getting into deep water the cable was veered to 250 fathoms and this allowed sufficient spring in the catenary to prevent jerks on the tow in rather rough seas without slowing the speed. Head winds and rough seas cut our speed remarkably. The automatic feature of the towing engine was not used on account of its large steam consumption. Close watch was kept on sea conditions and speed was changed frequently to suit them, always endeavoring to keep going as fast as the gear would stand. The vertical angle of the tow cable, the stretch, the groaning of the towing chock, the amount the bridle came out of the water, the behavior of the dredge, and the pitching and yawing of the towing ship were considered in adjusting speed. In surges the tow wire could be observed to stretch about one-half inch at the towing chock which was about 20 feet from the cable reel. In general, less progress was made at night when all conditions could not be evaluated so well and special precautions were taken to keep a safe speed.
At no time did the dredge yaw to any extent. This steadiness is credited to the long bridle provided. Upon entering the trade winds of the Caribbean the dredge got a little worse motion than formerly. In spite of the cable clamps holding the bridle on the dredge, the bridle veered around the dredge and thereafter she took station 10 degrees on the port quarter, after riding on the starboard quarter for nine days.
Navigation demanded close attention, for the slow cruising speed allowed a 1-knot cross current to offset the course 12 degrees. In crossing the Gulf Stream the course steered was about 35 degrees from the track made good. It was amusing to joke about our progress and have the navigator report we had made an inch and a half on the chart for the day’s run. We soon learned to take the habits of the old sailing-ship days and estimate our runs by the week so as to make an appreciable change on the chart. Our worst day was 99 miles and our best 181. We averaged 6.4 knots from New York to Panama.
Upon approaching the Colon breakwater at the north end of the Canal we wished to delay shortening the towline as long as possible, as it was necessary to slow down to reel in the cable. The navigator reported “three miles to the breakwater” and about 45 minutes later when the distance did not seem to be lessening satisfactorily, he determined we were still 2 miles off. We reeled in the cable quickly and found it showed signs of dragging on the bottom, which had virtually anchored us. About a mile inside the breakwater tugs controlled the dredge while we wound in the tow cable until the pelican hook was on deck and was tripped. The tugs had difficulty handling the unwieldy bulk of the dredge in the Canal locks and the tow bridle was cut on one side of the dredge when it was jammed against a wall.
Four days in port were devoted to liberty and rest. During this time the damaged piece of tow bridle was replaced, and lashings put on to prevent the bridle from veering around the dredge again. Water tanks were washed out and refilled, fuel replenished, and provisions provided for the long voyage to Hawaii. During the trip south it. Had been necessary to send drinking water to the crew of the Hell Gate by boat, as the paint in their water tanks gave the water a bad taste. The crew reported that on two nights, in rough seas, they could not sleep, but none wanted to exchange billets with a member of the crew of the towing ship.
A tug left Balboa with our trailer 30 Minutes before the towing ship got under Way. We expected to clear the channel and ship anchorage before picking up the tow, but one of the tug’s engines broke down left her able to make only about 3 knots. We hauled out of the channel abreast Number 4 buoy and the tug brought the dredge alongside as at New York. Our pilot disembarked after the routine “Good luck and pleasant voyage,” but this time his voice had the ring of sincerity to it as if he were glad to be rid of us and thought we needed a little luck.
Our luck didn’t seem so good at the start, for in spite of the pilot chart showing only one arrow for wind direction in this area, and that for a following north wind, we were meeting a head wind.
We easily made standard speed, with 100 fathoms of cable out, which we veered to 200 fathoms upon reaching deeper water late that night. As we rounded Cape Mala for the long reach to westward the wind veered to keep dead ahead.
We had such good success with our gear and had made so much more speed than expected, we determined to head direct tor Pearl Harbor and not lay the course to keep Acapulco or San Diego within reasonable distance.
That first week was rather uncomfortable. Frequent tropical rain squalls, small windshifts, occasional water spouts, head winds, and quickly pitching seas kept us alert to change speed to suit conditions — alert to keep up all possible speed, but not to put too much strain on our towing gear. We veered to 250 fathoms tow cable. After 7 days of this the grand finale came one night when we had almost a continuous cloudburst, winds shifting from south to west and back again and hitting nearly 40 knots velocity in the gusts. We were down to 3-knot speed in the squalls and made less than 100 miles for the day’s run. We wondered how the trailer crew could keep the pans on the galley stove or dishes on the table.
The storm broke the next morning and ideal tropical weather was enjoyed for a week. Light airs, clear skies, and calm sea made the ocean true to its name—Pacific —and we were skipping along with wide open throttle. Even so, we had a 4,685- mile leg to Hawaii, and with our maximum 7-knot speed, a week’s run had to be put on the chart to make it appear that we had got anywhere. We were on a great circle course, but it was unnecessary to change our heading very often as we changed longitude so slowly. We steered course 285 seven whole days, but a current from the north helped to keep us on our line without changing course. “Metal Mike” did a marvelous job for us.
The third week we picked up the trade winds. Luckily for us they were northeast instead of north or northwest which we expected to encounter at first. Being abeam they did not cause us to pitch and slow us; in fact they afforded a favorable component of current which gave us our longest day’s run—185 miles. The weather was continuously overcast, and we were fortunate in finding a few holes in the clouds to observe the solar eclipse of June 8. The eclipse started at about 11:45 a.m. and continued until 2:30 p.m. At the maximum, only about 70 per cent of the sun’s disk was blotted out by the moon, as we were 600 miles north of the path of totality. During this week we sent a load of drinking water and some provisions to the trailer, and got reports of the loss of their monkey overboard. However, the monkey’s keeper may have had something to do with this event for his mates reported he no longer complained of fleas in his bunk.
The overcast condition lasted 9 days and during this time the navigator had a little rest as no star sights were available.
Nevertheless, by constant watching he could get an occasional shot of the sun during midday when the sun had almost burned through the blanket of clouds and a few holes appeared in them.
The monotony for the crew was hard to fight. Even our one-eyed bulldog, mascot of the “Dog Star” ship, got so he would not bark at the flying fish. Men and officers were given jigsaw and crossword puzzles, games, magazines, and books. It was noted that stories of long sailing voyages and sea stories were much in demand. Trap shooting was quite popular and along the sea bottom some 5,000 clay pigeons, mostly whole, mark the 5,000-mile track of the lonely wastes. For three weeks we did not sight a sail. The only interesting event of the day was the movie show in the evening. Even a fairly good rain would not diminish the audience. What price a little rain in the tropics when an undershirt, if one was worn, dried in a few minutes?
The last few days of the voyage the trade winds were from dead aft and our next astern kept a large bone in her teeth as she lunged into the swell, maintaining her 500-yard standard distance precisely. The clouds broke up and the sun favored us more each day. Everybody cheered up and commenced to glance longingly to the westward. Men at work would shout “Away liberty party” and “Land Ho” to their mates. Finally we made a most remarkable landfall. At 3:00 a.m. of the 29th day the island of Maui was sighted at a distance of 75 miles. A three-quarter Hawaiian moon was setting and the large golden disc on the clear horizon silhouetted the island. With daylight we could see the island of Hawaii 85 miles to the south of us.
The next morning it was not difficult to turn out the crew at reveille. Eager to get into port and to be ready to go on liberty they were quickly on deck for a view of the scenery of Oahu. Two miles abeam, Diamond Head with its craters presented an eerie appearance in the early light.
Soon a tug was sighted headed for us, and one-third speed was ordered. Our ardent fisherman, the Surgeon, hauled in his troll line to finish a 6,700-mile troll without a strike. The towing engine wound in the hawser until the pelican hook came to the stern and was tripped. The man at the throttle in the engine-room got the first stop bell in 30 days. Being very efficient he opened the astern throttle momentarily to be certain it was not stuck in position from long disuse. After 47 days our tow was finished.
We didn’t have to keep a watch on Bell Gate any more. We had reached the end of the trail. Six thousand seven hundred nautical miles is a long, long trail, and the most pleasant part of it was the end.