Robert Kolker | Atavist Magazine | August 2023 | 1,183 words (5 minutes)
This is an excerpt from the issue. 142, “Dead Reckoning”
This noise will occur. To a Navy captain, that might be the worst sound imaginable. It could be worse than the sound of artillery fire, the whistle of a missile, or the whoosh of a torpedo. The noise is like metal being hammered into rock for a long time. That, simply put, is the sound of everything going wrong.
Edward Howe Watson was sitting in the cabin just below the bridge of a U.S. Navy destroyer when he heard the noise at 9:05 p.m. on September 8, 1923. Delphi. Watson was a 49-year-old naval commander, born in Kentucky and trained in Annapolis, the privileged and pedigree son of an admiral. He took command a year ago. Delphi”The entire squadron consisted of 19 destroyers. This was a promotion and a welcome sign of forward momentum in a long and varied naval career. Watson told his wife in private that she preferred Battleship. But he’s only one step away from being promoted, and then he might become an admiral like his father before him.
of Delphi He left San Francisco that morning and spent the day hurtling south along the California coast. Thirteen more of Watson’s ships followed. The destination was the home port of San Diego. It was a training exercise, a speed trial, of a kind that the Navy, under considerable budget pressures, had not attempted after the war. The destroyer maintained her top speed throughout the day, even under difficult conditions, including bad weather, large waves, and civilian vessels needing rescue. By late afternoon, no one on any boat could see the coastline through the fog. Watson didn’t care. He had one of the best navigators in the Navy. Delphi”He was the ship’s captain, using dead reckoning (a proven technique for calculating position from a ship’s compass heading, estimated speed, and travel time) to ensure the ship was where it needed to be. Most importantly, a rival destroyer squadron participating in the same exercise had improved its time. Watson was winning the race.
By night, Delphi The ship was approaching the Santa Barbara Channel and expected to reach San Diego by dawn. A few minutes before 9:00 p.m., Watson gave the order to turn east toward the coast for a final approach to the Channel. The entrance was a dangerous place for the squadron, traveling at 20 knots, with rocks, reefs, and shipwrecks dotted just below the surface. However, it was the shortest route, and Watson’s victory was almost certain if he took advantage of it. Other ships will follow suit, bringing everyone home in record time.
When Watson heard the noise, he heard first a scraping sound, then a thunderous thud. In that split second, Watson realized. They were stranded. Careers can be destroyed, reputations and legacies wiped out, and in the worst case scenario, lives can be lost. But he could not have predicted that what happened next would become the greatest peacetime disaster in U.S. Navy history. This resulted in a court martial of 11 officers, the largest court martial of its kind in history. And in the aftermath, he will be forced to reconsider everything he believed about the price of honor and the true meaning of leadership.
And even now, 100 years later, there is still debate over who is responsible.
subordinate destroyer Watson’s command was known as a four-stacker and featured four tall, identical cylinders arranged in a neat row down the center of the ship like the bristles on a toothbrush. Each ship was 314 feet long and 32 feet wide and was agile and powerful enough to target German submarines during World War I. However, by the time Watson took command of No. 11 Squadron in 1922, the war had ended, fuel had been rationed, and military funding had been cut across the board. The four-tier ship could carry up to 131 people, but budget cuts reduced the crew to about 100. It was an unlucky time to advance in the ranks of the Navy. America may have just won the war, but the country’s reputation was fragile. Washington was a hotbed of corruption. President Warren Harding’s Teapot Dome bribery scandal implicated Secretary of the Navy Edwin Denby. Now more than ever, the Navy needed to project confidence and authority. And Watson, in his own way, needed the Navy.
Watson grew up in privilege, and perhaps his only concern was the burden of expectation. He was the eldest son of a powerful Kentucky family and a member of the American aristocracy. One of his great-grandfathers served as a governor, served five terms in the U.S. Senate, and advised two presidents. The family superstar was his father, John Crittenden Watson, who made history as a lieutenant in the Union Navy at the Battle of Mobile Bay in the Civil War. 1864, Battleship Captain James Farragut hartford He shocked those around him when he led a convoy into Confederate waters and ordered his fleet into mine-strewn waterways, shouting, “Damn torpedoes, full steam ahead!” Watson’s father was a loyal lieutenant to Farragut. He heard the captain’s words and used them to quote and codify the legend for years to come.
Watson grew up with that story, and it was becoming the story of the Navy, too — of a brave squadron commander who defied all odds, cheated death, and earned his place in the world. He joined the Navy in the shadow of his father. The older Watson became an admiral and often said that he was the one who whipped Farragut into fitting out the Hartford. under. Among young Watson’s many posts, Amphitrite, of maine of Brooklyn, of baltimore, of richmond, of grassland, of west virginia of detroit, of iris— his father stepped in and offered Ume a job. Watson also accompanied King Edward to his coronation in London as his father’s aide. He married St. Louis socialite Hermine Gratz, whose sister married a Rockefeller, and a comfortable life awaited him after his time in the Navy. However, during World War I, Watson was only given command of a battleship until late in the war, and he never saw action. Therefore, when the destroyers of his squadron were given the opportunity to prove their worth, the opportunity could not come quickly enough.
On Friday, September 7, 1923, Watson called the commanders of No. 11 Squadron to a meeting. The ship was docked in San Francisco, and the crew was on shore leave. Watson announced that he would lead them to their home port in San Diego in a combination of artillery and tactical training. Their orders were to sail at 20 knots, which is faster than the ship has been allowed in recent years, Watson said.
For the first time since the war, these destroyers will carry out the mission they were built for, albeit at some risk. It was not known what kind of strain it would place on the ship’s turbines if such extreme speeds were sustained over her 453 nautical miles. Watson dismissed such concerns. That was the purpose of this exercise. Additionally, the 11th Squadron was not the only destroyer squadron heading to San Diego that day. The 12th Squadron was also sortieing. This was a competition, and Watson was going to win it.