Hawkins and L. A. Martin* were the worst off. Martin, with suspected peritonitis, had spent a terrible day in the bunk up in the Division Commander’s Cabin, moaning in agony all day and night. Water and food were denied him due to his abdominal condition and the ship had no facilities for an abdominal operation. Nyce would have done his utmost with equipment at hand had the Solace or a shore hospital not been available in a short time. Upon arrival at Santo, these two men were sent over to the shore hospital for emergency treatment—the others were in good enough condition to wait for the Solace.
The beautiful Solace steamed in and anchored in the afternoon, and had a boat for our wounded alongside our gangway almost as soon as her anchor hit the water. Before the officers’ bunks were cleared of the wounded, Rhodes asked to see me; he was rather discouraged over losing his leg and his broken arm but, as the others, was otherwise in good spirits. He talked to me about better days—the time when my family and I were on our way back to Texas after graduation and we had run into him by coincidence—on his way back to the Sterett from an emergency leave . . . about how my Dad danced a jig in the aisle of the train when we received a paper announcing that the first well of the Lake Creek Oil Field had been brought in as a producer . . . and about how we all celebrated that momentous event together on beer at the Union Station in Houston, while he was waiting for his train to pull out.
Rhodes, Shrieves and Hawkins were all rated Torpedomen Second Class before they left the ship . . . so much less than they deserved but the best we could do nevertheless. That had been Jackson’s last request from me before the battle, and from his seat in Valhalla he would approve.
With our troubles and the realization that we had done our utmost for winning Guadalcanal, we had lost track temporarily on what was happening on Guadalcanal; the news that began trickling in on the 15th brought back our broader Interest. On the day of our retirement, all of the planes from our only operative carrier, the Enterprise, had been flown to Henderson Field to help stem the tide—it was our only immediately available air replacement. On that day, the Enterprise filers had gone to work on the Japanese troop transports in grand style—sinking or setting ablaze most of the convoy. The night of 14–15 November was to be the Japanese D-Day, and in characteristic Jap style they intended to go through with it regardless of the changed tactical situation and regardless of losses. It was to be their supreme effort in the Solomons and a plan, to their inflexible minds, once made must be carried out in exactly that way. The carrier planes played havoc with them but did not stop them. Admiral Halsey had only two more major ships left with which to stop the Japanese tide—the new battleships Washington and South Dakota; the latter had sustained bomb damage a few days before but she was still in almost top fighting trim. If these failed to finish the job that Task Group 67.4 had started, then nothing more could be done. So he sent them in with an escort of four destroyers, Walke, Benham, Preston and Gwin—with Rear Admiral W. A. (“Ching Chong”) Lee as Task Force Commander. After intercepting a Japanese air patrol report which reported the battleships as cruisers, Admiral Halsey sent this message to Admiral Lee: “GIVE THEM SOME SIXTEEN INCH SURPRISES!” And this was exactly what the Japs got from these, our “clean-up” batters. The Jap battleship Kirishima—apparently the one that got away from our cruisers—was sunk along with some assorted cruisers, destroyers and the remaining transports.
The battleship action concluded a weekend of some of the most desperately fought naval warfare in the history of the world—and perhaps the most decisive surface battle since Trafalgar. (A British Captain later expressed this same opinion to me.) It was one of the turning points of the Pacific War; Guadalcanal was ours, and it spelled disaster to the Japanese.
The Sterett was somewhat more livable when we shoved off for Nouméa; human flesh had been removed from obscure corners back in the damaged parts of the ship and the ship had been cleaned up as best we could; the stench of battle was now less pungent. Some of our shell holes now had metal plates welded over them.
In Nouméa, we were greeted first by a group of repair officers from a destroyer tender who were sent out to see if they could get us ready for more action without a Navy Yard overhaul. Regardless of the critical need for us in the South Pacific, the idea was quickly given up as hopeless as we needed two new guns, two new torpedo mounts and extensive structural repairs.
Close on the heels of the repairmen came the “Old Man” himself—a “Bull” Halsey. He was wearing for the first time the four stars of a full Admiral, quickly given him in recognition of his masterful direction of the Battle of Guadalcanal. After meeting all of the officers we took him on an inspection of our battle damage which drew the comment from him, “It is incredible the amount of damage these little ships can take,”
When the Admiral noticed that we had painted the silhouette of a Japanese battleship and a destroyer on our bridge to signify our destruction of the latter and our “assist” on the former, he suggested that we also paint our damaged cruiser up there. This we never did, however, as it would seem too fantastic to a person unfamiliar with the facts.
Admiral Halsey throughout the inspection was extremely quiet and pensive; his manner almost humble. And when he turned to us as he was leaving and said, “God bless you,” we knew that he meant it from the bottom of his heart. As for us, we had this day seen greatness.
The entire ship’s company was assembled on the forecastle for a word from the Captain. For several days congratulatory messages had poured in from all quarters; the Captain stepped to the center and read them to the crew. He ended with some remarks of his own that were as expressive as the messages.
Some of these messages are quoted below in paraphrased form:
“PROM HALSEY TO THE SUPERB OFFICERS AND MEN ON SEA, ON LAND, UNDER THE SEA AND IN THE AIR WHO HAVE PERFORMED SUCH MAGNIFICENT FEATS FOR OUR COUNTRY IN THE PAST FEW DAYS. MAGNIFICENTLY DONE. MY PRIDE IN YOU IS BEYOND EXPRESSION—NO HONOR FOR YOU COULD BE TOO GREAT. YOU HAVE WRITTEN YOUR NAMES IN GOLDEN LETTERS ON THE PAGES OF HISTORY AND WON THE UNDYING GRATITUDE OF YOUR COUNTRYMEN. GOD BLESS EACH AND EVERY ONE OF YOU. TO THE GLORIOUS DEAD—HAIL HEROES—REST WITH GOD.”
“FROM REAR ADMIRAL TURNER. I HAVE DISSOLVED THE TEMPORARY TASK FORCE SIXTY SEVEN THIS DATE WITH THE EXPRESSED WISH THAT THE NUMBER SIXTY SEVEN BE IN THE FUTURE RESERVED FOR GROUPS OF SHIPS AS READY FOR HIGH PATRIOTIC ENDEAVOR AS YOU HAVE BEEN. MY MOST GRATEFUL THANKS FOR YOUR MAGNIFICENT SUPPORT OF THE PROJECT OF REENFORCING OUR COURAGEOUS TROOPS ON GUADALCANAL AND FOR YOUR EAGERNESS TO BE THE KEEN EDGE OF THE SWORD THAT IS CUTTING THE THROAT OF THE ENEMY. I WAS FULLY COGNIZANT OF THE ODDS WHICH MIGHT HAVE BEEN. AGAINST YOU IN YOUR NIGHT ATTACK OF NOVEMBER TWELFTH BUT FELT THAT THIS WAS THE TIME WHEN BRAVE MEN AND FINE SHIPS SHOULD BE CALLED UPON FOR THEIR UTMOST.
YOU HAVE GREATLY JUSTIFIED MY EXPECTATIONS IN TAKING FROM THE ENEMY A TOLL OF STRENGTH FAR GREATER THAN THAT WHICH YOU HAVE EXPENDED. WITH YOU I GRIEVE FOR THE LONG CHERISHED COMRADES WHO WILL BE WITH US NO MORE AND FOR OUR LOST SHIPS WHOSE NAMES WILL BE ENSHRINED IN HISTORY. NO AWARDS HOWEVER HIGH CAN POSSIBLY GIVE YOU THE HONOR YOU DESERVE. WITH ALL MY HEART I SAY GOD BLESS THE COURAGEOUS MEN, DEAD AND ALIVE, OF TASK FORCE SIXTY SEVEN.”
“FROM THE COMMANDER OF UNITED STATES NAVAL FORCES IN EUROPE TO THE SOUTH PACIFIC FORCES. MY HEARTIEST CONGRATULATIONS TO YOU AND ALL CONCERNED FOR THE SPLENDID SUCCESS OFF GUADALCANAL. SIGNED ADMIRAL STARK.”
A message from General Vandergrift to Admiral Halsey read: “WE LIFT OUR BATTERED HELMETS IN ADMIRATION OF THOSE WHO FOUGHT AGAINST OVERWHELMING ODDS AND DROVE THE ENEMY TO CRUSHING DEFEAT.” This message was sent to the San Francisco, Helena, Fletcher, and Sterett by Rear Admiral Tisdale, who was in liaison with General Vandergrift of the 1st Marines: “IF WORDS COULD ADD TO THE TRIBUTE PAID YOU BY THESE MEN OF GUADALCANAL, MY STAFF AND I WOULD JOIN ALL AMERICANS IN SAYING THIS: WE ARE PROUD TO BELONG TO THE SAME SERVICE WITH YOU.”
And from the USS Pensacola: “THE OFFICERS AND CREW OF THE PENSACOLA WISH TO EXPRESS TO YOU THEIR HEARTFELT ADMIRATION FOR YOUR HEROIC ACTION.”
All of these messages gave us a great and humble feeling of pride, but important though they were to us they were only secondary to the feeling of satisfaction deep inside on the realization that we had done our job well—and that our shipmates had not died in vain. (continued)
* Note: Hawkins and Martin were returned to the Mare Island Hospital in the latter part of December—both recovering nicely. Martin’s leg was set perfectly and did not require re-setting; he did not have peritonitis.
