To Hell and Out Again

The U.S.S. Marblehead, light cruiser often claimed sunk . . . was bombed to hell and brought out of it by a crew that doesn't know the meaning of the word abandon. Thus the Navy last week began a long delayed tale of heroism about the Battle of Java.

Above the squadron of lurking warships a U.S. reconnaissance plane punctured the sky, screamed warning. Alarm gongs clanged on the decks, crews scrambled to sky guns, and the ships hatched steam for full speed ahead.

Tired, old, the Marblehead throbbed as she gathered speed and the sky spewed Jap bombers. Over & over again they came. On the deck of the Marblehead a bomb smashed home. She heeled, shuddered, spit flames from her shattered deck. Her quartermaster sang out: "Steering gear's gone, sir."

With her rudder jammed hard over, the Marblehead circled like a headless hen, smoke seething fore & aft. Her decks slithered with oil, water, patches of blood. Once more the ship was hit. Sky guns from the cruiser Houston winged a bomber which tried to suicide-dive the Marblehead, crashed into the water only 30 feet away.

Skipper Robinson gave orders to steer by her engines. But she was down by the bow, shipping water fast. Her choked pumps wouldn't drain her. Lining up a bucket brigade, her crew bailed her out like a rowboat, all night and all the next day and night, till she dragged on her belly into the port of Tjilatjap, Java.

From Java she limped to Ceylon, tacking like a sailboat, and from Trincomalee to Capetown, choosing the shorter, safe laps of the long way round the world. Still shipping water, the Marblehead got home last week. This week her Captain, shy, soft-spoken Arthur G. Robinson, watched men swarming over her, dragging pipes, riveting, hammering below decks. Home from hell, the Marblehead was being reconditioned, for she might have to go into hell again.

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