Admiral W S Benson (AP 120) - Naval Cruise Book

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intuition about such things. Scores oi thenn were waiting at the gate for the first liberty party, and the rest hunted uptown. Only two days here, and off again for Bombay where we arrived eleven days later for a stay of one week. The same smells, confusion, and haggling with merchants. Prices up about twenty percent this time due to mounting inflation and free spending Americans. Another beer party at the beach, this time at a private mansion taken over by the Army. 31 March, and homeward bound, loaded with troops, civilians and gruesome casualties of war. We by-passed Melbourne this time (loud screams of anguish from the the crew) and pro- ceeded to Brisbane. Friday, the thirteenth, and an unlucky day indeed, for over the air came the announcement of President Roosevelt ' s death. A stunned and sorrowing ship as we put into Brisbane that morning, our flag at half-mast. We did not like Brisbane. Nothing like Mel- bourne. Smaller, not so hospitable and too crowded with military personnel. Here we took on more passengers, army and navy, headed out for New Caledonia. Everything aboard from a pregnant missionary to a Chinese movie actress. Several days later we arrived off New Caledonia, and felt our way cautiously through a great barrier reef thrown around the Island like a magical protective ring; a ring of thunder- ing breakers as far as the eye could see, filling the air with rainbow studded foam resembling an endless row of sparkling jewels wrapped in filmy gossamer. Then into the placid land-locked harbor of Noumea, a charming old French village populated by colonials, husky natives, and thousands of American marines and sailors. Here was the crossroads of the Pacific, where one met buddies from other ships over endless quantities of beer and hamburgers at the Stockade, a military canteen supreme. We took on about a hundred Seabees here and weighed anchor for Espiritu Santa. After wending our way through the countless bright green Islands of the New Hebrides, we arrived at our naval base on Espiritu Santa, a tropical place of great beauty, with sandy beaches slid- ing into limpid emerald water, which mirrored the lush and waving cocoanut palms. (This in- spired description will no doubt be met with a disgusted Nuts from such of our personnel who were marooned there for several years). Near the entrance to the harbor Is seen the watery grave of the transport Coolidge ' marked with a square of buoys. Our stay here was only a matter of hours, and then off for the States once more. At sunrise on the morning of 3 May, the breakwater of San Pedro hove into sight. We were met at the pier with the inevitable bands and crowds of shouting people. Somehow one ex- pects to become inured to these homecomings, but the bright overjoyed faces of our passen- gers, some with tears streaming unashamed down their faces, the cheers drowning out stirring music from the band, never ceased to move us with that feeling of pride in being a part of all this. We brought ' em back alive. TRIP NO. 3 Again we were moored alongside the embarkation pier at San Pedro, but no passengers came aboard. Scuttlebutt flew thick and fast like autumn leaves. Something different this time, we knew, for the Mighty B slipped out from her mooring quietly this morning of 17 May with only our crew, but fully provisioned for a long voyage. Hardly had we cleared the breakwater than the announcement we had been waiting for sounded over the PA system, This ship is bound for the Panama Canal. Then we knew we must be headed for some European port. Six days we sailed down the coast of Central America and then Balboa, the western entrance of the Canal hove into view, with the red tiled roofs of the city of Panama nestled into the hills off our starboard bow. We docked for the night at Balboa and enjoyed an amazing lib- erty in Panama. This city is an ancient one indeed, and existed when the first Spanish invaders came to plunder, leaving ruin and devastation in their wake. Burned and sacked many times over a period of three centuries, it still remains, timeless and colorful. Here the inhabitants whitewashed a gold-plated altar in their cathedral to hide its magnificence from the last in- vader, the pirate Morgan, in the eighteenth century, and it still exists to this day for all to see. The following morning, we took on our pilot and began the trip through the canal. This day we count as one of the most interesting In our repertoire. After only a mile up the Big Ditch we were warped into the first of a series of great locks. Massive gates closed noiselessly behind us, the hiss of rushing waters, the insistent clanging of the busv little donkey engines, and we were gradually lifted ninety feet above sea level, then to continue under our own power along a narrow waterway winding through mountains and thick jungle. Here and there 21 ' ■y yyf

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Melbourne, Australia, our first port of call. What a city! Beautiful parks and buildings, the quaint British trains with their first and second class carriages, the winding Yarro river snaking its way through the city under frescoed fairy-book bridges, the tall cathedral spires, congenial buxom bar-maids serving the finest beer in the world, and the national dish of styke and iges ; — oh yes, and men-hungry hoards of gorgeous girls swooping down upon whole liberty parties and picking them off the streets like June-bugs off a bush! December was mid-summer here, and the city was a riot of vivid color from millions of flowers and summer dresses. Balmy nights on moon-drenched beaches. Certainly there never was a sailor ' s heaven like this. At least, we ' ve never found another to compare with it. All too soon we sailed to plunge into storm-tossed waters for the second leg of our journey. Around the Bight into the placid Indian Ocean, where we had our first Christmas at sea. An ingenious Christmas tree built of scrap lumber with twists of wire for evergreen spikes; a tur- key dinner with all the fixings — but all this did not compensate for home and family. We were a lonely and thoughtful bunch that day as we opened our Red Cross boxes. Across the Equator again, where we were picked up by two British destroyers to escort us through the Arabian Sea, and finally on the bright morning of December 31, the mystic domes and spires of Bombay came into view. After being warped into Ballard Pier by panting coal- burning tugs, and discharging our load into the maw of an odorous warehouse, we set out to see and smell the wonders of the Far East. Our first impression of the stronghold of Allah, Brahma, Buddha, and forty-eight other and lesser Deities was a series of strange and almost overwhelming stenches, each one competing for the utter dismay of our olfactory senses. The city itself proved to be a chaos of architecture, as though the incredibly old and the very new had been dumped into a bowl, thoroughly mixed with an eqg-beater and spewed forth all over the landscape. Modern office buildings crowded ancient mosques, while creaky ox-carts vied with the latest in motor cars and double-decked busses. All these wonders we viewed ' midst ear-shattering cries from thousands of almost naked children with the national greeting of Haba Haba , followed by a declaration of the nation ' s foreign policy — Baksheesh, oh Bis- mallah Sahib, Baksheesh for the love of Allah! , then an amazing round of obscene curses when their plaintive cries failed to move us to the point of scattering coins largess among them. The Taj Mahal, Green, and Argentine hotels became Benson hangouts with bad liquor at three rupees a throw. For five exciting days we shopped and took in the sights. Haggling until ex- hausted with well fed merchants who called loudly upon Allah to witness our intention to ruin them with our niggardly offerings for their exquisite wares, and finally emerging from the shops loaded with goods which cost us only three times their worth. — Wandering mendicants everywhere with baskets of cobras and mongooses on leash — A beer party at a nearby beach — Lepers displaying their mutilations — beggars — peddlers — smells everywhere; basking in the cool of the evening on the roof garden of the Green Hotel watching red sails in the sunset and the grotesque skyline of the city fade gracefully into the shadows. Such is India — an aura of mysticism faintly sensed through a babel of confusion and smells. Finally, we shoved off. Homeward bound, loaded to capacity with war-weary troops, mis- sionaries from China, evacuees, and Chinese army and navy cadets. Wonderful Melbourne again, then at long last San Pedro. Bands on the pier and crowds to greet us. Three weeks availability in the shipyard again, with short leaves and Stateside comforts. TRIP NO. 2 26 February, 1945. A cold misty morning. Loaded with troops, army nurses and Red Cross lassies, we slipped our moorings at San Pedro and steamed down the channel, bound for Bom- bay again. Once more across the equator and the Domain of Neptunus Rex. Now did the initiates of two months ago wreak their vengeance upon a handful of hapless pollywogs; the 180th Meri- dian — the unbelievable South Pacific sunsets — afternoon dances on No. 5 hatch for crew and passengers (the peace-time Navy was never like this) — the coast of Australia, and Melbourne, here we come! Our arrival was greeted with astonishment at this time, for we were not expected. It seems that we were supposed to have been diverted to Sydney three days previous by radioed orders, a message we never received. The girls knew we were coming though; they have a strange 20 i

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a filmy waterfall cascaded info fhis man-made wonder hued fhrough solid rock, breaking fhe very backbone of a mountain range. Then into vast Gatun Lake where we anchored to await our turn through the last set of locks, the panorama of the Caribbean in view on the distant horizon. The call for swimming party sounded, and we enjoyed several hours in these warm waters before the red neon arrow on the locks announced it was our turn to enter. By 2000 we cleared the canal and steamed off across the historic Caribbean and into the north Atlantic, where about ten days later we entered the English Channel with Land ' s End faintly visible on our port beam, and anchored at sunset in the Bay of the Seine off Le hHavre, France. The next morning we entered the breakwater and moored at an army pontoon pier amidst an appalling shambles. This once busy French port gave mute testimony of the efficiency of our bombers which had systematically wiped out over half of the city. Those of us who went on liberty that afternoon were touched by the pinched faces of the inhabitants, digging about in the runins of their former homes. But whatever sympathy we felt for them was almost wiped out after we had sampled the national drink of gasoline and bitters labelled Cognac , and dispensed shamelessly from all bars for thirty francs a throw. Everywhere we encountered work parties of German prisoners clearing rubble, or marching in small groups under the watchful guard of American negro troops. This must have been galling to those proud members of the Master Race. Upon our return to the ship, we found her already loading our happy passengers, all of whom had recently been evacuated from German prison camps. By early morning we had a full load and were underway once more, out through the crumbling breakwater and past a sunken Liberty ship, lying there like a silent sentinel, her superstructure awash in the lazy swell, and set our course for the States and New York City! When only six hours out, and in mid-English Channel, we had a very close brush with a float- ing outlaw mine. The shio hove to, and we sunk it with our 40mm. guns. Nothing further oc- curred to break the monotony of six foggy North Atlantic days until we passed the Ambrose Light and anchored off Staten Island at sundown, with the towering spires of lower Manhattan aglow in the distance. Came morning, we dressed ship fore and aft with rows of bright signal flags, weighed an- chor, and proceeded down the crowded bay, and up the hHudson River to our berth at Pier 88. As we glided past The Lady and the skyscrapers of Manhattan, we were greeted by thou- sands of whistles, a boatload of Pulchritude alongside, and a tumultous welcome such as only New York can give to returning heroes. One hectic month in New York. Times Square, Broadway, Radio Center, Greenwich Village, Coney Island, thousands of bars and night-clubs, and all the latest shows. A grand climax was our ship ' s dance at the exclusive Roosevelt Hotel. Our sojourn here left us broken in purse and health, but all agreed that never had we had such a time as this. TRIP NO. 4 6 July, and we slipped out of our berth at Pier 88 quietly. No ringing cheers or a symphony of raucous whistles this time, for we were unloaded, and with the longest cruise yet ahead of us. Our destination — Marseille, France, where we were to load soldiers for transportation to the Philippines via the Panama Canal. We anchored off New York harbor overnight to refill our magazines with shells and powder, then off across the Atlantic for the third time. Another uneventful crossing; nothing to break the monotony of endless water for about six days except for several of the Azores, which we slipped by one night at dusk. We entered the Straits of Gibraltar on a bright sunny morning with the gloomy, rocky coast of Africa on our starboard, and the arid coast of Southern Spain on our port. At one point, the straits narrowed down to seven miles, and we could see the old city of Tangiers clinging to a precipitous hillside, while on the Spanish side, numerous little villages, each with their protect- ing castle, or walled tower sprawled just out of reach of the surf. Then mighty Gibraltar, jut- ting out into the channel — massive, formidable, menacing, her towering steppes bristling with large guns, and challenging us with inquisitive blinkers. Now the bright vivid blue of the Mediterranean creaming under our bows — the continuing coast of Spain and Southern France — the Balleric Isles faintly visible on our starboard. We felt a sort of thrill to be in these waters, the cradle of world history and the battleground of antiquity. Schools of porpoisps frisked about us, and quaint fishing boats dotted the horizon. 22 --v » -x ' ' -