For Those In Peril on the Sea

Eternal Father, strong to save; whose arm doth bind the restless wave, who bidst the mighty ocean deep, its own appointed limits keep. Oh, hear us when we cry to Thee for those in peril on the sea. (Whiting)

The USS TWEEDY, a destroyer escort, was serving for one year’s active duty with the Atlantic fleet out of Norfolk, Virginia. By midyear of 1962 she had played cat and mouse games with our own and with Soviet submarines. She had patrolled sea lanes from the harbor at Guantanamo Bay, Cuba. The Ash Wednesday Storm, the ninth worst storm for the United States in the Twentieth Century, had tried her seams and power plants and the nerves and strengths of her officers and men.

Pensacola was ready to celebrate its annual Fiesta of Five Flags, and had requested a U. S. Navy warship to attend as guest of the City. The Navy sent TWEEDY for a three day visit. This was great! Pensacola was our Reserve home port and almost all of us were from those environs. We arrived, moored our ship to Allegheny Pier near the LEXINGTON, held open house and declared liberty for three fourths of the officers and men. For many of us this was our first time home since our activation the previous September.

I set up my department’s watch bill and departed by bus for my parent’s home in Chattahoochee. Upon arrival I said hello to my folks and borrowed my dad’s automobile for the evening. Before being activated I had dated a very charming young lady, and she had been much on my mind while I was at sea. I called her folk’s home and found that she was working in Pensacola for the summer. I called her and made a date for the coming Sunday evening, the day before we were to get underway for the Atlantic Ocean. She was scheduled to work until midnight, but that could not be helped.

On Sunday evening I caught a ride to her place of employment, and we got into her sports car and began looking for excitement in Pensacola. There was none, so we went out to the ship. The Officer of the Deck saluted me, ogled my girl friend and we began touring the main deck. Gun mounts, K guns, depth charges and torpedoes seemed to intrigue her. Then we got to the dark and silent pilot house, or bridge, and she was even more intrigued. I have never spent a more enjoyable time on a ship’s bridge. Soon it was time for her to leave me, and I walked her to her car and kissed her good bye. For a fleeting moment I considered going with her, but I knew the admiral would frown on that move.

At 8:00 the next morning we took in all lines, backed the good ship TWEEDY down and turned and departed Pensacola Bay. I am certain that almost everyone on her felt as I did. There was almost no talking as we sank deep into thought and perhaps some despair. We knew we were getting closer to a showdown with Castro’s Cuba and possibly with the Soviet Union. We felt the uncertainty that all service folk feel in times like these.

Our ship turned her bow to the east and soon we were transiting the Florida Straits. We stood out into the broad Atlantic Ocean and reached that river of water known as the Gulf Stream. The Stream comes out of the Gulf of Mexico, warm and swift, and moves northward, bearing away from our eastern shore. Almost all ships northbound seek to enter its waters to take advantage of its force so that their speeds can increase. We had done the same.

As we steamed along, with most of us thinking of those we left behind, a lookout on the starboard (right) side sighted an object low in the water. We were well out of range of land. Our radar had not picked it up and we soon discovered why. As we turned to investigate we saw a small open fishing boat, made entirely of wood, drifting about on the swells. We approached and saw two men and one woman in nondescript garments in it. Across the forward part of the boat was a square of canvas. When the man at the tiller recognized us as American he began waving and calling out.

The Captain sent me aft to be certain that the boat was no danger to us, and to secure it to our side. When we took the painter the woman pulled the canvas to one side and revealed two small children, one only a baby. We had no one aboard that could speak Spanish and the refugees did not understand English very well. We secured the boat and assisted them onto our deck and into the shade.

This is what we found: the boat had departed Cuba several days earlier, bound for the Keys. The engine quit and the Gulf Stream had swept them away from land. All their food had been eaten, and their water would have been gone that day if we had not arrived. A couple of days’ delay would probably have meant death for the infants, followed soon for all three of the adults.

The sailors took the refugees in and gave them clean clothes. They were fed and allowed to shower. Our captain gave orders to turn and make for Miami. The owner of the boat had begged me, with signs, to hoist his boat aboard. We did so, because it was all he had left in the world. I did not tell him, though, that he would not be able to use it in American waters because of its condition. A Coast Guard boat met us at the harbor entrance and we transferred them, with the boat, to its deck. They waved to us and cried, and I am certain that there were tears in our eyes, too.

Our spirits changed and we felt renewed. We realized that our country must be something special for a mother to take her two children to sea in a boat that was unsafe in any waters, just for the possibility of an opportunity for freedom.

On occasion I will be watching a television show from the Miami area, and I will spot a couple of old men sitting in a park playing a spirited game of checkers, or I will see some fifty-somethings, obviously Cubans, working or talking and enjoying life. And sometimes I ask myself, could this be the folks that brought the officers and crew back on course to reality, to an understanding of our purpose? And I answer, quietly, “Yes, they may well be”.



Oh Trinity of Love and Power, our brethren shield in danger’s hour; from rock and tempest, fire and foe, Protect them whereso’ere they go; Thus evermore shall rise to Thee, glad hymns of praise on land and sea. (from “Eternal Father, Strong to Save“ also known as “The Navy Hymn“, by William Whiting)