I cheerfully gave him permission. He went up on the forecastle, climbed down the vertical iron ladder into the paint locker and remained there with the objector for about fifteen minutes. When he emerged he assured me, “That kid wants to be vaccinated now. In fact, he insists on it.” I gave the necessary orders, and we were able to land our passengers in Galveston without trouble.
Returning to Tampico, while yet a good way away, we could see the flotilla of destroyers, twenty of them, in the open roadstead. The town was still burning, and we could hear shots and cries coming from it. There were heavy swells so we were pitching and rolling constantly. Apart from its effect on our constitutions, it was impossible to take on fuel oil as any attempt to go alongside a tanker would have smashed the lighter vessel. This necessitated another base and Lobos Island was selected. Lobos Island is sixty miles down the coast. A slight protection is given here by a short reef and after several anxious moments, we were able to get alongside a tanker and start taking fuel.
Before returning to the pitching agony of Tampico roadstead, we decided to have a swim. Luckily, we launched a dinghy to watch over the swimmers although as the sea was dead calm, this seemed an unnecessary precaution.
I was swimming about fifty feet from the ship and with me was one of the young officers, Ensign Jeans. Jeans left me to swim to a circular life buoy which had been tossed overboard. He grabbed it and rested while talking to some members of the crew on the Warrington’s deck.
Suddenly I heard a petty officer call to Jeans in a quiet, conversational tone: “Mr. Jeans, there is a great big shark sniffing at your legs.” I had seen a shadow flickering back and forth in the water around Jeans but had thought it was the shadow of a cloud.
Jeans splashed with his hands and kicked at the shark and it backed away. Then it returned. Jeans splashed still more vigorously and again the shark retreated but not so far this time. Then it came in a third time and looked as though it meant business, but now the dinghy ran alongside the buoy and Jeans was hauled on board. One of the men on deck threw a baited line over the side and at once the shark, obviously excited by the smell of meat, seized it and was hauled on board. He was about twenty feet long.
There were all sorts of strange creatures in the waters around Lobos. We secured the dinghy by a line astern and shortly afterward, for no apparent reason, a great manta ray — a fish like a gigantic skate — broke water and landed with a crash on the dinghy, smashing it to bits and scattering the oars, boathooks, and other equipment in every direction. The thing was so big that it completely enveloped the boat. That was the last time any of us went swimming near Lobos.
We were still trying to retrieve our gear from the wrecked dinghy when the radio operator came running aft to tell me, “Captain, the Henley is receiving orders to go to Vera Cruz and to take one other destroyer with her.”
The Henley was our flagship and Vera Cruz was where the fighting was reported to be going on. I ran up on the bridge and told the quartermaster of the watch to call the Henley and send the message, “Warrington volunteers to accompany you to Vera Cruz.” I could see the Drayton, another destroyer in our flotilla, was also making frantic efforts to signal the Henley. By a curious coincidence, just then we started to swing so we blocked her signalman and he couldn’t get his message through before ours had been completed and acknowledged. As a result, the Henley sent us orders to get underway and follow her.
We made Vera Cruz Harbor before sunrise and at dawn went into the outer harbor which was crowded with an immense fleet, fourteen battleships and a great number of smaller vessels. The battleships were moored in a semicircle and, had the necessity arisen, could have directed a converging fire on the city that would have razed it.
As soon as we had reported to the commander in chief on board the Arkansas we went ashore. There were corpses everywhere and plenty of signs of destruction. Particularly hard hit was the Mexican Naval Academy, which occupied a commanding position above the town, which is built on the slope of a hill.
A landing party under Capt. E. A. Anderson had gone ashore and been caught in a murderous fire from the cadets in the Naval Academy. Capt. Anderson’s party was brought to a halt and he and his men were forced to lie down in the street to escape the storm of bullets. Anderson sent back word of his predicament and one of our scout cruisers, the Chester, moved in to his support. The water is very deep here and the Chester was able to come almost alongside the wharfs. As the street was straight, she could train her guns right up to it. She fired a number of five inch shells into the windows of the Academy while Anderson led a bayonet charge, the men forcing their way into the lower rooms as the shells were still exploding in the upper stories. After that, the occupation of the city was comparatively easy.
We saw the famous old fortress of San Juan de Ullos which our forces had captured. The castle had been used as a political prison for many years and all those confined within were released. The doors, when thrown open disclosed many insane and blind prisoners who had been in the place for years, they themselves could not say how many. Some of the lower dungeons could be reached only through tunnels leading out under the harbor. Many of these cells were half-filled with water, and scattered through the place were instruments of torture such as “the iron maiden”, racks, and so on. It reminded me of Dumas’ description of the Chateau d’If.
All the Americans we met carried arms. Fighting was still going on in parts of the town. Practically every house roof was surrounded by a thick stone or brick wall about four feet high forming a natural barricade and making each housetop a little fortress. It is here that the people go in the cool of the evening and it was from here that most of our losses were inflicted, not always by soldiers in uniform but frequently by civilians who dropped their arms and fled the moment their positions were rushed, appearing later as “friendlies”, an old trick practiced hundreds of times in the Philippines. In the first three days of fighting we had lost seventeen men killed and seventy-three wounded.
Destruction of Vera Cruz classroom.
We heard a story about one Mexican who was especially friendly with our men, often being invited to take meals on board the ships, and inviting officers and men to his home in return. One afternoon during an outburst of sniping, our Mexican friend was seen on the porch of his house reading a newspaper, indifferent to the turmoil around him. The sniping fire was especially accurate that day and several of our men were hit. Then someone noticed that every time there was a shot, the Mexican’s newspaper trembled in a curious way. A telescope was trained on him and he was found to have a gun concealed behind the newspaper. If the story was true, I suspect that man didn’t live too long. I saw several men hanging from trees but as far as I know none were hung by us; they were supporters of Carranza and were hanged by the Huerta faction.
Snipers hanged in Vera Cruz.
The plaza was in the center of the town. It was a large open space in the middle of which was a park filled with beautiful palms and other tropical trees and vivid with great red blossoms. There was a hotel here, and it was on the roof of this building that the Mexicans made one of their most determined stands. We climbed the narrow stairs to have a look at it.
As in the case of most of the houses, this roof was surrounded by a very thick wall of brick and plaster, but the high power Springfield rifle bullets of our men had not even hesitated at this obstacle; everywhere it was riddled with clean holes, the bullets passing not only through the walls but through the mattresses, pillows, and other “soft” resistance that the defenders had rigged inside. The roof was covered with torn, bloodstained clothing, discarded rifles, and other equipment. Everywhere on walls and mattresses were great splotches of blood while underfoot was a multitude of empty cartridge cases all of which, it may be mentioned in passing, had been manufactured in the United States. If it wasn’t for us, I don’t know where the Mexicans would get the ammunition to attack us
.
Model ships in the Naval Academy in Vera Cruz after our shelling.
Lastly, we went to the Naval Academy, where most of our casualties had occurred. This building was protected by walls of great strength, but never have I seen such utter ruin. Many shells had passed from room to room leaving jagged holes in the intervening walls and apparently not exploding until they reached the city beyond. One whole corner of the building was knocked off, a hole on the sea side was so large that a locomotive could have passed through it. The floors of the dormitories and recitation rooms were littered with broken furniture, clothes, toilet articles, books — everything in the greatest confusion. The recitation rooms, with mathematical formulae still on the blackboards, were a mass of plaster, bricks, stones, and every kind of debris. Our men had found and buried a large number of the building’s brave young defenders. The Chester herself was struck nearly a hundred times during this bombardment and two men were wounded.
American dead at Vera Cruz.
A few days later, we returned to Tampico. It is not generally known but Mexico had a navy; nothing to alarm our battleships but decidedly formidable when compared to destroyers. Her Navy consisted of a squadron of gunboats, their crews Mexican but the captains belonging to that more or less picturesque type “soldiers of fortune” of various nationalities.
The biggest of these gunboats, the Zaragossa was commanded by a Norwegian. She was armed with 4.7-inch guns, was of very sturdy build, and could have torn a destroyer to pieces; our largest guns were 3-inch. Indeed, had she caught a destroyer at anchor, she could have rammed and sunk the destroyer without firing a shot. Our main anxiety was that these gunboats might stage a raid on the army transports.
On April 24th, Captain Sims, who commanded our destroyers, issued an operations order:
“Three Mexican gunboats are inside the Panuco River at Tampico. Should these gunboats come out of the river they will be kept under close observation. Do not attack unless fired on. Vessels on observation duty be prepared to get underway on a few minutes’ notice.”
The Warrington was one of the observation vessels stationed at the mouth of the Panuco. Early the next morning, we sighted two vertical wooden poles that at first seemed to be the tops of dead trees. Then we saw that they were moving. On they came until they cleared the entrance; they were the topmasts of the Zaragossa and she was heading for us at her utmost speed. General Quarters was sounded and our guns manned, orders being given simultaneously to weigh anchor. Then we discovered, to our horror, that we couldn’t weigh anchor; it was caught in something on the bottom and our anchor engine, always a little weak, was incapable of breaking it out.
On came the Zaragossa heading directly for our broadside, the water foaming around her bow; she evidently intended to ram us. Those of our guns that could bear were trained on her, as she was bow-on it was almost impossible to hit her with a torpedo. Then, just as we were about to let go a salvo, we saw activity on her bridge and a moment later an international signal was run up to her yard arm. Feverishly I grabbed the signal book and fumbled through its pages, my fingers all thumbs. After an eternity of suspense I found and interpreted her signal: “HAVE YOU GOT ANY ICE?”
We gave her our whole supply.
At one time it looked as though an advance might be made on Mexico City. We had a machine gun detachment on board the Warrington and I wrote to Captain Sims suggesting that, if the Army did advance, the Machine Gun Detachment, with me in command of it, go with them. Captain Sims replied that he “appreciated the spirit of the request” but that the Navy’s work was on the sea. There was no advance beyond Vera Cruz and shortly afterward, orders came to return to the States. I received the Mexican Campaign Medal for “Services performed on the USS Warrington” I requested and was assigned a position at the Philadelphia Navy Yard, where I could be reunited with my wife and young son.
The First World War had begun in Europe and like all military men I was hoping the United States would join in the fray, but we had a president who was an ardent pacifist. In fact, for his second term in office the Democrats ran on the slogan, “He kept us out of war.” So I was forced to content myself with routine duties at the Yard. I little thought that these duties would come very near to forcing me to resign from the service.
I had been promoted to Lieutenant Commander, and Polly and I moved into a pleasant little house in the Yard with a garden containing a large sandbox where young Dan liked to play. We did not see much of the “Navy Yard set” as Polly preferred her old friends in Philadelphia, and for my part I found parties on the big estates, evenings at the Academy of Music, and trips to the country more interesting than the stale gossip and constant “shop” talk that were typical of the Yard affairs. The Navy wives of my friends had a tendency to feel that our indifference constituted an insult. It was true that Polly, quite unconsciously, often behaved as though she were slumming when attending Yard dinners, even with the families of my superior officers. This naturally concerned me although I did not realize how dangerous it could be.
I did become alarmed when one afternoon Polly, who had been shopping at the Yard commissary in an unusual burst of domestic zeal, came bursting into our living room screaming with laughter to announce, “Pratt, did you know we have been put in Coventry?”
It transpired that while shopping Polly had been approached by the fluttery new wife of a junior officer who asked her some questions about the commissary. The two young women entered into a conversation during which the new wife explained, “I want to be so careful what I do for George’s sake. It would be just terrible if what happened to the Mannixes happened to us!”
“What happened to the Mannixes?” asked my astonished wife.
“Why don’t you know? I thought everyone knew. They are so snobbish and stuck-up that now no one will speak to them. Oh, I would simply die if that happened to George and me!”
Polly thought this was screamingly funny. I did not. I made a few discreet inquiries and found that, yes, we had been ostracized. This was a serious matter. I had a heart-to-heart talk with Polly, and although I could not impress her with the importance of the situation and the damage it could easily do to my career, she did promise to be more careful in the future. We planned a dinner to which we would ask what few friends we had left and then try gradually to win over the others.
Before this could be done, disaster struck.
Like me, Dan had learned to read at an early age. I regretted that his favorite books were a series of fairy tales dealing with the magical land of Oz. I would much have preferred him to be reading Henty, Frank on a Gunboat, or Dumas as I had done but I took comfort in the fact that he was still very young and his taste would doubtless improve.
One afternoon, Dan was playing in the sandbox with the son of Captain Moses, commandant of the Yard. Dan was at his favorite game, conducting Dorothy, the Scarecrow, the Tin Woodman and the Cowardly Lion on their way to the Emerald City. Young Moses snatched at the little wooden dolls Dan was using as characters and Dan called him a “pig”, the worst epithet he knew. Moses stared unbelievingly at this “lèse majeste” and then jumping up, ran to his father’s office where Captain Moses was holding a conference with his staff. Bursting in on them, the boy blurted out, “Danny Mannix called me a pig!”
Captain Moses instantly rose, buckled on his sword, got out his cocked hat and followed by his staff marched down to the sandbox where Dan was still playing. Captain Moses stood towering over him in terrible silence while Dan, all unconscious, was busy shepherding Dorothy down the Yellow Brick Road. Finally Captain Moses said in an awful voice, “Did you call my son a pig?”
“Yes I did,” replied Dan without looking up. “And you’re another pig.”
Captain Moses turned on his heel and strode back to his office trailed by his staff. Here he ordered, “Tell Mannix to report to me immediately.” Then he started dictating
to his yeoman. I received the message and all unsuspecting reported to his office. Captain Moses handed me a paper saying grimly, “This is your fitness report. According to Naval Regulations I must allow you to read it before putting it on file.”
I read it and knew I was finished in the Navy. With a report like that on my record, there was no longer any hope for me.
I am glad to say that I never mentioned this matter to Dan nor showed him by any word or act how dearly he had cost me. I have seen too often men take out their own frustrations on anything weaker than they are. Dan learned about the incident many years later from his mother. Meanwhile, I went about stunned. A few brave souls openly came up to offer me consolation; most avoided me like a leper and I could hardly blame them. I thought of resigning but what would I do? I was trained for nothing but a naval officer’s life. The future seemed hopeless.
Looking back, I believe I can understand Moses’ actions. He was a Jew and the Navy didn’t like Jews. As a young officer, he had undoubtedly been constantly subjected to sneers about his race which he had endured in silence but which had embittered him. Now that he had reached command rank, he was savagely determined to pay back anyone who insulted him. As to a Jew, a pig is an unclean animal, he took for granted that Dan’s remark to his son was in the nature of a religious insult. He may have thought that I put Dan up to it.
The Old Navy Page 25
