Built by the New York Shipbuilding Corporation and launched November 7, 1931, the USS Indianapolis was a Portland-class heavy cruiser of the United States Navy.
The warship had a distinguished, meritorious record during both peace time and WWII. Sadly, the remembrance of that record has been overshadowed in history, with the Indianapolis best recalled for the deadliest single US naval loss of life at sea ever, dating all the way back to the creation of the Continental Navy, predecessor of the US Navy, in 1775.
Furthermore, recollection of the Indianapolis draws a line to the ship’s captain, Rear Admiral Charles Butler McVay III, and his shameful and unjust court-martial and conviction, an undeserved dark stain on an otherwise exemplary record in time of peace as well as war. A stain the
survivors of the Indianapolis, and others, fought 56 long years to rectify.
On December 7, 1941, the Empire of Japan made it’s deadly surprise attack on Pearl Harbor Naval Base in Hawaii. The following day, at 12:30 pm, United States President Franklin D. Roosevelt delivered his short but famous speech pronouncing the previous day as “a date that will live in infamy”. In less than an hour following his speech Congress passed a formal declaration of war against Japan, officially bringing the United States into WWII.
Taking command of the Indianapolis in November, 1944, Captain McVay led his ship through the invasion of Iwo Jima and several other battles and skirmishes, before entering the Battle of Okinawa in early spring 1945. During this furiously fought battle, Indianapolis antiaircraft guns blasted 7 Japanese planes out of the sky before being struck by a kamikaze on March 31, which penetrated the ship’s hull. Suffering severe damages and 13 dead, McVay managed to limp the ship back safely to Mare Island Naval Shipyard in California for repairs.
With reparations, refitting and refurbishing completed, Captain McVay received top secret orders for the USS Indianapolis to deliver critical components for the world’s first operational atomic bomb to US forces in Tinian, a small island just southwest of Saipan in the Northern
Mariana Islands, and did on July 26, 1945. In so doing, although there was no way to be sure of it at the time, the Indianapolis had played a vital role in the official ending of WWII only 39 days later.
With war-ending constituents delivered, Captain McVay now reported to CINCPAC (Commander-In-Chief, Pacific) Headquarters in Guam for further orders, and was directed to join with the USS Idaho at Leyte Gulf in the Philippines to prepare for the invasion of Japan. Captain McVay requested a destroyer escort which was denied in spite of the fact no capital ship lacking anti-submarine detection equipment, as was the case
with the Indianapolis, had made this particular passage across the Philippine Sea without an escort during the entire war.
There were two things in particular that McVay should have been made aware of, but was not told by the naval authorities at Guam: Four days before the Indianapolis departed for Leyte on July 26, 1945, the USS Underhill, a destroyer escort, had been sunk by a Japanese submarine within range of his path; US intelligence, using a top secret operation labeled ULTRA, had broken the Japanese code and learned that two Japanese submarines, including the one named “I-58″ that ultimately sank the Indianapolis, was operating in his path as the Indianapolis sailed on toward Leyte from Guam at roughly 17 knots on a course of 262 degrees.
The Navy brass at Guam had no real excuse for what happened on the first hour of July 30, 1945, but they did manage a few flimsy ones, claiming that hostilities in this particular part of the Pacific had long since ceased, that the Japanese surface fleet was no longer a threat, and that the Japanese interest and activity at the time lay 1,000 miles to the north in preparation for the expected US invasion of Japan’s mainland. This, the
Navy claimed, gave reason for a relaxed state of alert by those who routed the Indianapolis across the Philippine Sea. . .toward a Leyte never reached. The ship had been sent into harm’s way, into threats and dangers the naval personnel at CINCPAC knew were in its path, dangers of which its captain was unaware.
McVay had been given orders to “zigzag at your discretion”, a naval maneuver to avoid torpedo attack, most effective once torpedos have been launched by the enemy sub. No Navy directives in force at that time or since recommend, much less order, zigzagging at night or anytime when visibility is poor, much less practically non-existent. “Zigzag at your discretion, Captain McVay”.
On a Sunday night around 11pm, July 29, the Indianapolis, alone in transit, was about halfway across the Philippine Sea. Heavy cloud cover had severely limited visibility, so much so that survivors have said they couldn’t even see another sailor a few yards away on the deck. Captain
McVay, after a long day, turned the helm over to his 2nd in command, with orders to cease zigzagging, and retired to his cabin for some much needed sleep.
Minutes later, Japanese submarine I-58 Commander Mochitura Hasimoto spotted a vague blur, the image becoming more and more distinct as it came directly toward him from the east. Hasimoto waited patiently until the Indianapolis was an impossible to miss target before shouting his command, “Kaji! Kaji! Kaji!, Japanese for the English word “Fire!”
At 14 minutes past midnight, July 30, 1945, the USS Indianapolis was struck by two of six torpedoes fired by I-58, the first blowing away, totally disintegrating, the bow. Seconds later, the other hit near midship on the starboard side, striking a fuel tank and a powder magazine, the resulting explosion spliting the ship to the keel and knocking out all electric power, resulting in a scene of absolute chaos as if from hell.
Hundreds of men, including McVay, were below deck asleep in their bunks. The bow began sinking within two minutes, rolling to starboard, the hull completely torn open, allowing the deluge of water to rush in, drowning some men while sweeping others into the sea. Screams and moans filled the air, many still trying to figure out just what had happened. Some parts of the ship, on the port side not yet under water, was burning and many in that area suffered severe burns.
Ever the Captain, and alive, McVay had no way to communicate with survivors throughout the ship without electricity, and he shouted at the top of his lungs to “Abandon Ship!” and directed every man within the sound of his voice to pass the word on. Of the 1,196 aboard, about 900 made it into the water before the USS Indianapolis was completely swallowed by the blue, shark-infested, Philippine Sea in just 12 minutes.
Few life rafts were released from the ship, but most survivors at this point were either wearing the standard kapok life jacket before the ship was attacked, or managed to grab one floating in the sea. Many, however, had to make do without. The life rafts were small, made for three, but those with rafts tried to pick up men without kapoks and some rafts wound up carrying as many as nine. Even so, the men in rafts was a small fraction of those floating in the water, including the men without even life jackets.
The hundreds that had survived the initial sinking of the Indianapolis were scattered over a rather wide area of the sea from where the ship went down. They formed several groups of as many as they could, tying life jackets together, holding hands in a circle so as to not drift apart, and to hold those without life jackets above water.
Several of the survivors had suffered various wounds of one kind or another, including burns by those who had been on the port side of the ship. But there was a lot of talk that first night among the floating groups of sailors, and they expressed confidence that rescue would come the next day since Indianapolis was due at Leyte Gulf in the Philippines at 11:00 am on July 30. “When we don’t show, they’ll know” they said.
But what the survivors apparently didn’t know is that at that time in history, the Navy, at least at the CINCPAC Headquarters in Guam if not elsewhere, had a faulty directive requiring the monitoring and reporting of only non-combatant ships. As a consequence, the failure of the Indianapolis to arrive on schedule went unnoticed, leaving the survivors of the Indianapolis to fend for themselves in shark-infested waters with no food, no fresh water and, obviously, no medical attention. Within days after those still alive were at last rescued, the directive was corrected to include warships as well. But it was too late for all but 317 brave men of the Indianapolis.
The first night passed by, and it was cold, very, very cold, and some of the men prayed for the sun to come warm them up. It was a prayer they shouldn’t have prayed. Thoughout their entire ordeal, the nights were freezing, and every day unbearably, scorchingly hot. It was usually late in the afternoon when the sharks would show up, hundreds of them, always hungry, at night too but less than in the sweltering heat of day.
Bloodcurdling screams would sound out at various intervals, and others knew at once their number had been further reduced. This, too, continued as long as they remained in the water.
Day two came, and by afternoon if not before, sunburns had been added to their agony. Still the chat remained mostly positive, surely today would be the day the Navy would pick them up. It was just a matter of time, but there was little doubt it would be today. It was not to be, and yet another freezing night of floating in in the sea among sharks led into yet another day of sultry, oppressive heat.
By the third day the men’s throats were so parched and dry, their body dehydrated to the extent they would do anything for a drink of water, and some did just that. Unable to resist the lure of the salty seawater in plentiful supply, some began drinking it regularly. It goes without saying it was a terrible mistake, resulting in painful saltwater throat ulcers, dementia, even death. For the first time since the sinking, a few, in a demented
state of mind, began to pick arguments and fights.
Day four, and there they were, still floating in the Philippine Sea, although in numbers steadily dwindling, primarily from constant shark attacks. But this was to be a day the 317 survivors would recall happily the rest of their lives.
A few minutes after 11:00 am of the 4th day, LT. (jg) Wilbur Gwinn was piloting his PV-1 Ventura Bomber on routine antisubmarine patrol when he saw an unbelievable sight below and radioed his base at Pelelu “many men in the water”. A PBY (seaplane), piloted by LT. R. Adrian Marks, was dispatched to report the scene and provide whatever assistance he could provide. In a stroke of the first really good luck for the survivors since the sinking, LT. Marks, en route, overflew the destroyer USS Cecil Doyle and alerted her captain of the emergency who, on his own authority, decided to divert to the scene.
Arriving hours ahead of the Cecil Doyle, Marks’ crew began dropping rubber rafts and supplies, all the while observing men being attacked by sharks. Although Marks had standing orders never to land at sea, he disregarded them, landed, and began picking up lone stragglers who were at the greatest risk from sharks.
On learning the men were from the crew of the Indianapolis, Marks radioed the news to the Cecil Doyle and she quickly responded “en route”. Marks, while waiting for the Doyle, in total darkness now, continued to pull nearly dead men from the sea, filling his plane’s fuselage until he had to tie some to the wing using parachute chord. The Doyle arrived on the scene a bit past midnight and began picking up survivors from the sea, in complete darkness, and also transferring survivors loaded on the seaplane to the Doyle.
The captain of the Cecil Doyle, with disregard for the safety of his own ship, then pointed his largest searchlight into the pitch back sky as a beacon for other rescue vessels in the event some sailors were still to be found. It was the first sign to the 317 sailors still alive that they had made it, safe at last after almost 5 days of pure hell.
More than 350 US Navy warships had been lost in combat during WWII, but not one of their captains had been court-martialed. Yet the Navy, with a faulty rush to lay blame for the disaster, hastily convened a court of inquiry in Guam on August 13, three weeks before the formal end of WWII, to determine if McVay should face court-martial charges. Captain William Hilbert, the Judge Advocate (prosecutor) for the inquiry admitted “we’re starting the proceedings without having available all of the necessary data”.
As the first witness, Captain McVay was asked if he had been zigzagging when the ship was sunk, and his reply was simply “No sir”. Little weight, if any, was given by the court that he was given orders to zigzag at his own discretion and only in good visibility. Testimony by survivors, who to a man had made it clear they would gladly serve under Captain McVay again anytime, anywhere, explained to the court that McVay issued orders to cease zigzagging because visibility was practically zero. That testimony might have been heard, but it was never considered again, not during the inquiry nor the subsequent court-martial.
Ultimately, the court of inquiry recommended that Captain McVay be court-martialed, even though both Fleet Admiral Chester Nimitz and Vice Admiral Raymond Spruance, for whom the Indianapolis had served as Fifth Fleet flagship, had voiced strong opposition to it. Never before had a US Navy officer been court-martialed over the objection of his superiors.
The Navy decided to proceed with the court-martial of Captain McVay based on two charges. The first made no sense whatsoever, that he jeapordized the lives of his men by failing to issue timely orders to abandon ship. The Navy was well aware that the ship’s electrical system had been totaly knocked out, and orders to abandon ship could only be shouted from man to man in the ruckus, blare and confusion aboard the rapidly sinking ship. The charge of failing to issue timely orders to abandon ship, you might call a poor joke, was properly dismissed during the
court-martial.
The second charge also had a gaping hole in it, but one not even contested by the inexperienced defense council assigned to Captain McVay, that he had hazarded his ship “by failing to zigzag in good visibility” Statements after statements that visibility was extremely poor, up to and after the time the torpedoes struck, were not made available to the court-martial board, even though such testimony had been heard at the court of inquiry preceding the court-martial.
The war over, the scene of the court-martial was shifted to Washington DC, and began on December 3, 1945, at the Washington Navy Yard. Merely a few days before the start of the court-martial, Captain McVay and his inexperienced legal council learned, for the first time, of the charges that would be brought against McVay.
When the decision was made in November, 1945 to court-martial Captain McVay, the prosecution requested Mochitsura Hashimoto, commander of the Japanese submarine I-58 that sank the Indianapolis, to testify as a witness. Hasimoto agreed and a military plane was
dispatched to Japan, with armed escort, to bring him to Washington. It was a baffled, perplexed and upset prosecution when Hasimoto testified that he had a clear and close up bead on the Indianapolis and would have easily sank it zigzagging or not. But his testimony appeared to have no effect or impact on the court-martial board, which found McVay guilty anyway, and soon after Hasimoto testified he was whisked on a plane back to Japan. During the last years of his life he became a Shinto priest and died in Kyoto, Japan on October 25, 2000 at age 91.
Captain Charles Butler McVay III was shamefully and unjustly convicted and court-martialed, found guilty of hazarding his ship and crew by “failure to zigzag in good visibility” thus ruining his stellar naval career and, for some at least, his good name. The court’s decision stripped McVay of 100 numbers in his temporary rank as Captain, as well as 100 numbers in his permanent rank of Commander.
Admiral Nimitz, who had become Chief of Naval Operations, in 1946 directed Secretary Forrestal to restore McVay to duty, and McVay served out his time in the New Orleans Naval District. He retired with the rank of Rear Admiral in 1949.
The Indianapolis survivors, Hasimoto, various politicians, and others, were then and, those living, still convinced today that McVay was made a scapegoat by the Navy, that the decision to convict him was made before his court-martial even began. The Navy, not McVay, had made the mistakes that resulted in loss of life of 879 men, and serious wounds and long-lasting trauma of many survivors. Mistakes such as sending the
Indianapolis into harm’s way without warning or escort, knowing that danger lurked in her path. Mistakes such as failing to even notice Indianapolis didn’t arrive at Leyte Gulf on schedule. The court-martial was a classic setup to absolve the Navy of the blame it deserved.
As for McVay, he was simply following procedures set forth by Navy directives when he ceased zigzagging.
In October, 2000, Congress passed and President William Jefferson “Bill” Clinton signed legislation declaring Captain McVay’s military record to reflect that he is exonerated for the loss of the Indianapolis and the lives of the men who died in the largest ever US Navy disaster at sea. The Navy strongly opposed this legislation citing rules in both the House and Senate that prevent any alteration of a military record.
Thus, the only way possible to completely exonerate Rear Admiral Charles Butler McVay III was to have a joint resolution introduced, passed by Congress, and signed into law, which is exactly what happened as part of the National Defense Authorization Act of 2001. Senator Bob Smith of New Hampshire worked diligently to see that McVay’s military record was wiped clean, 100% exonerated, and persuaded the Secretary of the
Navy to amend Captain McVay’s record to agree with the Congressional legislation.
Sadly, the clearing of Captain McVay’s military record and good name came 33 years too late for him to realize it. McVay was a career naval officer from a proud Navy family, the Navy was his life, the blood in his veins wasn’t just blue, it was Navy Blue. His father, Admiral Charles Butler
McVay II, had commanded the US Navy’s Asiatic Fleet in the early 1900’s.
On November 6, 1968, at age 70, Captain Charles Butler McVay III held his service revolver to his head and pulled the trigger. It has been said he had some mental problems in his later life. Were they a direct result of some humiliated feelings because of treatment by the Navy he served
and loved so well? Maybe, maybe not. We’ll never know.
Thank you for your service, Captain McVay. Well done, rest in peace.
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Poet’s Note : Following is just a small sampling of direct quotes
from survivors of the USS Indianapolis and others. There are
many, many more like ones.
“I would not have hesitated to serve under him again. His
treatment by the Navy was unforgivable and shameful”.
- Florian Stamm, USS Indianapolis survivor
“The charge upon which he was convicted for failing to zigzag
contained a phrase ‘in good visibility’. The visibility that
night was not good as all of us know who were there that night”.
- Paul J. Murphy, USS Indianapolis survivor
“The Navy’s failure to note us missing when we were long
overdue in port and then making Captain McVay the
scapegoat are the real crimes”.
- Joseph Kiselica, USS Indianapolis survivor
“. . .my firm belief, shared by all of us who survived, is that
he was wrongly court-martialed. We believe there were many
mistakes which contributed to the sinking, but they were not
made by Captain McVay”.
- Woody Eugene James, USS Indianapolis survivor
“Captain McVay was unjustly accused and should never have
been court-martialed”
- Cleatus A. Lebow, USS Indianapolis survivor
“Perhaps it is time your peoples forgave Captain McVay
for the humiliation of his unjust conviction”.
- Mochitsura Hashimoto, commander of Japanese
submarine I-58 which sank the USS Indianapolis
“Unless a way is found to exonerate Captain McVay. . .
a black mark could stain the honor of the Navy long after
his name is engraved in naval lore as a victim not only of
the Navy’s worst sea disaster, but possibly its worst
moral disaster as well”.
- Dan Kurzman, author of “Fatal Voyage” (1990), at
September 1999 Senate hearing
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