John Currin

 

In 1919 a decommissioned battleship best known for firing the first shot in the Battle of Santiago de Cuba more than 20 years prior was given the opportunity for a second life. The ex-battleship Iowa (BB-4), whose design quickly fell out of fashion in the first quarter of the 20th century, was the first U.S. Navy ship to be converted into a radio-controlled target ship after World War I. Without a single person on board, she was now tasked to outmaneuver bomb-dropping American pilots.

In mid-1919, the Iowa, renamed Coast Battleship No. 4 that April, was sent to the Philadelphia Navy Yard where all of her guns were removed, remote-control equipment was installed, and her boilers were fitted to burn oil. Many of her compartments were sealed to ensure watertight integrity, and automatic pumps were put in to control water that might pour in when she was struck by gunfire or aerial bombs.1

In her new guise, the Iowa ran trials off the Chesapeake Bay in October 1920 with the old battleship Ohio (BB-12) serving as control ship. After getting under way and sailing to the operations area, her crew left in boats. An officer on board the Ohio was put in charge of maneuvering the remote-control target. He could steer the ship to port or starboard or set the ship’s gyrocompass to maintain a steady course by sending radio signals to the receiver on board the Iowa that was connected to the remote-control gear used to control her steaming and maneuvering. If he wanted to stop the ship, he could send a long signal to activate a special relay that opened the circuit on an electrically controlled pneumatic valve, shutting off the various fuel-oil and feed water pumps.2

The following year the Iowa joined a fleet of ex-German ships assembled to take part in an extensive series of bombing tests conducted off the Virginia Capes. The former battleship was sent to sea on 29 June 1921 to serve as the target ship in an experiment designed to test whether or not U.S. Navy planes—equipped with a full load of fuel and weapons—cold locate and bomb her before she got within gun range of the coast. The patrol planes, Curtiss F-5L flying boats, had to first locate the Iowa, which was steaming in company with and under radio control of the Ohio somewhere between Cape Hatteras and Cape Henlopen, 50 to 100 miles offshore. Because of the long flight over water required to reach the target, Brigadier General William “Billy” Mitchell, in command of the Army air units involved in the tests, declined to permit his planes to take part in the search and attack, but allowed a few Army blimps to participate in the search.3

The exercise to seek out and bomb the Iowa began at 0800 when 13 Navy flying boats and three Army blimps took off from temporary bases that had been established at Cape May, Cape Hatteras, and Hampton Roads, then formed scouting lines to search for her. The first aircraft to sight the 6-knot target was Army blimp D-2, which located the remote-control ship at approximately 0957. A second blimp, the D-4, appears to have spotted the Iowa a few minutes later. One or both of these airships attempted to radio the vessel’s position, but was unable to contact the command ship Shawmut (CM-4) or any of the shore stations. The first sighting report received by the Shawmut, which had 20 destroyers strategically stationed nearby to act as rescue ships in the event any of the aircrafts had to ditch, was transmitted from an F-5L piloted by Ensign Edward T. Garvey. Three quarters of an hour later a three-plane division of F-5Ls led by Lieutenant William D. Thomas flying at an altitude of 4,000 feet toggled the first of 85 100-pound sand-filled practice bombs that would be dropped by the 23 Navy and Marine Corps planes that participated in the bombing phase of the exercise.

This phase took three hours and 19 minutes starting from the time Thomas’ division reached the scene and ending when the final salvo of ten 500-pound bombs was released by five Martin bombers flying in formation. But the results fell short of expectations and were disappointing to the spectators—especially the reporters, who had peppered the newspapers with articles proclaiming the demise of the battleship. “Airplanes Fail to ‘Sink’ the Iowa,” The New York Times reported the day after the attack.4

There were many near misses—only two bombs actually struck the target ship—and no big explosions, no sinking, and no crashes. The Times attributed the lack of hits to the remote-control maneuvering of the Iowa, which handicapped the airman, while failing to note that only dummy bombs were dropped. Also missing from the article was the lack of a viable bombsight that could be used against a moving target. The most spectacular feature of the day, according to the Times article, was that the Iowa was controlled wholly by radio. “This was made possible,” wrote the correspondent, “by the development of electrical devices furnished by John Hays Hammond Jr., pioneer in the control of torpedoes and ships by radio.”5

The Iowa’s fame as a remote-control target was short-lived, however. Although she played an important part in bombing trials off the Virginia Capes, her role was soon overshadowed by the dramatic sinking of the ex-German light cruiser Frankfurt and the even more spectacular sinking of the battleship Ostfriesland that took place in July.

After the exercise, the Iowa was reclassified as the experimental radio-controlled target ship IX-6. She did not go to sea again until February 1923, when she went to the Pacific by way of the Panama Canal to serve as a target for the battleship Mississippi (BB-41). The Mississippi, one of three new ships of the New Mexico class armed with longer 14-inch/50-caliber guns in improved triple turrets, had taken the lead in testing new weapons and firing systems that had been installed on these ships. During the first of these gunnery practices, IX-6 was subjected to a bombardment from the Mississippi’s secondary battery of 5-inch guns at ranges greater than 8,000 yards. Two further exercises at longer range placed her on the receiving end of more than 300 14-inch shells. She sank on 22 March 1923 in a much publicized test attended by many members of Congress, numerous other officials, and a number of reporters after being hit by nearly three-dozen of these three-quarter-ton projectiles.6

The Stoddert‘s Radio-Control Career

The Fleet’s need for a remote-control target ship resurfaced in 1930 when high-ranking officers became concerned about dive-bombing and the danger it posed to the Navy’s destroyers. These lightly plated ships were extremely vulnerable to small bombs or machine-gun fire and could easily be disabled by one or two well-placed hits. Those in charge of training wanted a high-speed target that could be used in the Fleet gunnery exercises to accurately determine the effectiveness of the Navy’s aerial tactics.

The Stoddert (DD-302) was subsequently converted by the Mare Island Navy Yard into a radio-controlled target ship for use in realistic high-speed combat exercises. While this was carried out, her name was changed to Light Target Number 1 bearing hull number IX-35. (She was recommissioned on 6 April 1931 but was reclassified as AG-18 under her old name on 30 June 1931. She returned to destroyer status the following year under her original hull number, DD-302.7)

The Stoddert added a new wrinkle to the gunnery exercises conducted off the coast of California that summer. For the first time dive-bombers could practice their attacks on a high-speed maneuvering ship without fear of injuring the ship’s personnel. The old destroyer was guided by radio control (by an officer on the bridge of the destroyer Perry [DD-340] that was steaming in company at a distance), and she executed maneuvers never attempted before with a crewless ship.

The remotely controlled ship responded to instructions entered into a portable control box by punching typewriter-like keys. In response to these signals, the Stoddert could accelerate to top speed and be made to maneuver wildly at 30 knots to attempt to avoid the practice bombs aimed at her. Fitted to the ship’s smokestacks were special metal “hats” designed to prevent a dummy bomb from inadvertently dropping down one of her funnels and damaging a boiler.8

The radio-controlled destroyer proved to be a difficult target for the airmen to hit. Her small size and high degree of maneuverability left little margin of error for the attacking pilots. The Stoddert had another advantage: The officer conning her from the Perry knew exactly when the attack would take place, the direction from whence it would come, and the number of aircraft involved. Since the officer in control had no other mission than to avoid being hit, he was free to maneuver the ship at will.9

Unfortunately the first bombing exercises involving the Stoddert were marred by a tragic accident. On 30 July 1931, pilot Lieutenant Thomas G. Fisher was killed while attempting to drop a water-filled practice bomb in a simulated dive-bombing attack on the moving ship. As he entered the dive, the Stoddert began a high-speed turn to port. Fisher twisted his Boeing F4B with ailerons, trying to keep the Stoddert in his sights, dropped the bomb at release altitude, and pulled back on the stick. The flotation gear under his biplane’s upper wing somehow inflated as he began his pullout, ripping the top wing off. The rest of the airplane plunged to the sea with Fisher still in it.10

Although short-lived as a radio-controlled target—the Stoddert was decommissioned for the last time in January 1933—she paved the way for the Boggs (DD-136), which was also turned into a radio-controlled target ship, bearing hull number AG-19, and the battleship Utah (BB-31), saved from the scrapyard so that she too could be converted into a radio-controlled vessel. The Boggs would serve with Mobile Target Division 1 for almost nine years conducting high-speed tests, sweeping mines, and towing gunnery targets. The Navy also announced plans to equip the Kilty (DD-137) with radio-control gear, but it appears that the Lamberton (DD-119) was selected instead.11

The Utah’s Conversion

After the Navy decided to convert the Utah, which had been condemned under the terms of the 1922 Washington Naval Treaty, the obsolete battleship was sent to the Norfolk Naval Shipyard. In addition to installing the radio-control apparatus, the yard removed her catapult, range clocks, range finders, the top of her forward cage mast, and guns (although her five armored turrets were left in place). After having been decommissioned for the duration of the conversion, the Utah, redesignated AG-16, was recommissioned at Norfolk, Virginia, on 1 April 1932.12

The ship departed Norfolk on 7 April for a 14-day cruise in local waters to train her engineers on using the new radio-control gear. By the beginning of June she was conducting four-hour trial runs. No piece of machinery was touched by human hands, although observers were stationed at critical engineering stations for safety and to record data.

After completing her trials and finishing tests of her new gear, the Utah sailed for the Pacific via the Panama Canal, reaching San Pedro, California, on 30 June, where she reported for duty with Training Squadron 1, Base Force, U.S. Fleet. She conducted her first target practice with cruisers on 25 July. This was followed on 2 August by rehearsal runs for the Nevada (BB-36) with control parties stationed on the destroyers Hovey (DD-208) and Talbot (DD-114) to provide remote control. On 25 October 1932, the Utah served as a radio-controlled target for the advanced battle practice conducted by the squadrons assigned to the aircraft carrier Saratoga (CV-3).

In 1933 the Navy began using the former battleship to test the effectiveness of both horizontal bombing and dive-bombing against a maneuver target. Bombing exercises and aerial gunnery practices involving the Utah were subsequently scheduled on a regular basis during the interwar period so that by 1941 the Fleet had nine years of experience in attacking a maneuvering target. The exercises showed that dive-bombing consistently outperformed horizontal bombing by a considerable margin. As the years passed, the altitude for horizontal bombing was gradually increased to lesson the danger from antiaircraft fire, which continued to improve as newer directors and better antiaircraft guns were added to the Fleet. Target maneuvering also became more radical. Both factors contributed to a decrease in horizontal bombing accuracy, despite the fact an improved version of the Norden bombsight had been introduced into the Aircraft Squadrons of the Battle Fleet.13

Besides serving as a realistic target for U.S. carrier planes, the Utah towed targets and took part in annual “Fleet Problems,” once-a-year naval exercises that tested training maneuvers in a mock battle. She also played a pivotal role in the joint coastal-defense exercise conducted in the summer of 1937 in response to President Franklin D. Roosevelt’s concern over the effectiveness of the Army Air Corps’ bombers. It was the only time she ever acted as a target for the Army’s planes. The exercise’s objective was to test the Air Corps’ ability to destroy an attacking enemy fleet located by the Navy. Although the original plans called for a radio-controlled destroyer to represent the attacking fleet and be used as the target for the Air Corps bombers, the Joint Planning Committee of the Joint Board recommended that the Utah be substituted for the Navy’s radio-controlled destroyers, none of which had sufficient bunker capacity to meet the exercise’s steaming requirements.14

After consulting with President Roosevelt, Army Chief of Staff General Malin Craig and Chief of Naval Operations Admiral William D. Leahy agreed to hold what became known as Joint Coastal Frontier Defense Air Exercise No. 4. It would be conducted 300 miles off the California coast between San Pedro Bay and Hamilton Field during a 24-hour period beginning at noon on 12 August 1937. The target would be the Utah, which was to be attacked by Boeing YB-17s from the 2nd Bombardment Group and Martin B-10s from the 7th and 19th Bombardment Groups using water-filled bombs supplied by the Navy. The Army, which had been using sand-filled, powder-charged bombs for practice on land targets, balked at the use of the Navy bombs. But they were necessary; the 50-bomb bombs would not penetrate the heavy wooden planking that protected the Utah’s steel deck from damage.15

On the day the exercise began, a heavy bank of fog extending 200 miles from the coast covered the sea, hindering the efforts of the Navy patrol planes assigned to find the Utah. Because of the poor weather conditions, they did not find the ship until 1357 when they located her 275 miles southwest of San Francisco, headed northwest at 15 knots. For some reason the sighting report did not reach the Air Corps’ headquarters until 1603, leaving the Army aviators barely enough time to reach the target ship before nightfall. But they could not find the Utah during their brief search and had to return to the base with darkness approaching.16

When the exercise resumed early the next morning, fog delayed the takeoff of the Navy search planes that were supposed to find the Utah before the Army airmen, anxiously awaiting word of her position, could take off. The exercise was scheduled to end at noon, so they would not be able to reach the target if they did not leave soon. At 0900, before any position report had been received, Brigadier General Delos C. Emmons, commanding the Air Corps defenders, ordered the bombers into the air and out to sea to find the Utah. While they were aloft, the lead aircraft in a flight of seven YB-17s (prototypes of B-17 Flying Fortresses) received a scouting report from the Navy indicating the “enemy’s” position and heading. Lieutenant Curtis E. LeMay, lead navigator for the seven YB-17s of the 2nd Bomb Group, quickly plotted an interception course that would put the four-engine bombers over the target.17

LeMay described in his memoirs that he didn’t think they would reach the Utah’s position before the exercise ended at 1200. As the Army planes approached the estimated target area, the flight dropped below the clouds and formed a search line. To LeMay’s great surprise they stumbled upon the Utah despite the fact that they had been given an erroneous position report for the second time in two days. They were heading south, and the Navy had given them the wrong latitude by one degree. If the Navy scouts had erred in the longitude, the Army planes would have never found her.

The bombers located the Utah with just 13 minutes to spare. LeMay’s flight of YB-17s began bombing at 1147 from an altitude of 600 feet. This was “well within gun range” according to the entry made in the Utah’s diary, which would have made the planes subject to heavy antiaircraft fire. As soon as the bombs started falling, the Utah, which was not under radio control, tried to throw off the bombardier’s aim by making radical changes in course, but the YB-17s managed to hit the ship three times. The last bomb was dropped one minute before noon. By then the observers on board the Utah had counted 50 splashes.

That night the Army aviators, chagrined over the erroneous position reporting and unhappy with the weather conditions under which they had to operate, convinced the Navy to allow them another shot at the Utah the next day. This unscheduled bombing practice began at 0940 when a flight of B-10s with unlimited ceiling and visibility found the Utah 55 miles southwest of the Farallon Islands and commenced bombing from 12,000 feet. The effort was scored by the Utah’s crew, who observed hits from gun turrets and other protected spots.

After securing from bombing quarters at 1108, the crew went on deck, having been told that the bombing would not begin again until 1245. But they had to scurry for cover six minutes later; YB-17s had unexpectedly started bombing again. High above, LeMay could see sailors all over the deck through his binoculars. “It was like scratching open an ant-hill with a stick, and seeing the disorganized insects all going every which way. Decks of the ship were just one mad welter of sailors diving for the hatches,” he recounted in his memoirs.18

The crew quickly retreated to their quarters as the ship began making radical maneuvers to throw off the bombardiers’ aim. LeMay alleged that they got a higher percentage of hits than the Navy’s own bombers had from a lower altitude in 1936, but no records of this unscheduled exercise have been located, throwing doubt on his claim.

The Utah continued to serve as a mobile target and antiaircraft training ship until Japan’s 7 December 1941 attack on Pearl Harbor. The surprise strike lasted nearly two hours, but it took only minutes to incapacitate the Utah. At 0801, soon after sailors began to raise the colors at her fantail, she took a torpedo hit forward and immediately started to list to port. She lasted another 11 minutes before rolling over on her beam ends.

In the time between World Wars I and II, the two obsolete battleships and several destroyers converted into radio-controlled target ships extended their service lives while providing valuable service to the U.S. Navy. Equipped with the latest advances in radio control and automation, they were on the cutting edge of technology for their day. Today, the technology first deployed in these revolutionary ships lives on in the highly sophisticated target drones used by the Navy to test new aerial weapons and train its aviators and shipboard weapons crews on the nuances of air defense.

1. “Coast Battleship No. 4 (ex-USS Iowa, Battleship # 4)—As a Target Ship, 1921–1923,” Naval History and Heritage Command website, www.history.navy.mil/photos/sh-usn/usnsh-i/bb4.htm. Iowa BB-4, Dictionary of American Naval Fighting Ships, Naval History and Heritage Command website, www.history.navy.mil/danfs/i2/iowa-iii.htm.

2. Clifford A. Tinker, “Radio and the Navigator,” The Outlook, 5 July 1922, 417–19. R.S. Griffin, “Radio Ship Control,” Mechanical Engineering, vol. 44 (January–December 1922), 43–44.

3. Alfred W. Johnson, “The Naval Bombing Experiments Off the Virginia Capes: June and July 1921, Their Technological and Psychological Aspects,” including “Minutes of the Pre-Bombing Conference May 10 and May 18, 1921,” Appendix 1, “Bombing Operations,” and “Lessons From the Bombing—A Navy View,” unpublished manuscript, Navy Department Library, Washington, DC.

4. “Airplanes Fail to ‘Sink’ the Iowa,” The New York Times, 30 June 1921.

5. Ibid.

6. “Their Final Service: US Navy Predreadnought Target Ships,” Historic Ships, 8 March 2013, http://historicships.blogspot.com/2013_03_01_archive.html. “Coast Battleship No. 4 (ex-USS Iowa, Battleship # 4)—As a Target Ship, 1921–1923.”

7. USS Stoddert (DD-302), Dictionary of American Naval Fighting Ships.

8. “Crewless Boat, Run By Radio, Performs New Feats,” Popular Science Monthly, October 1931, 29. “U.S. Navy Gets Crewless Ghost Fleet for War and Peace,” Popular Science Monthly, February 1932, 24–25, 130. “USS Stoddert (DD-302; later IX-35, AG-18 & DD-302), 1920–1935. Briefly Renamed Light Target Number 1 in 1930–1931,” Naval History and Heritage Command, www.history.navy.mil/photos/sh-usn/usnsh-s/dd302.htm. Note: Depending on the source, the top speed of the Stoddert under radio control was 26 to 34 knots.

9. Thomas Wildenberg, Destined for Glory (Annapolis, MD: Naval Institute Press, 1998), 94–95.

10. Joseph J. Clark, Carrier Admiral (New York: David McKay Co., 1967), 46. George Van Deurs, “Navy Wings Between the Wars,” 441, unpublished manuscript (microfilm), Aviation History Branch, Naval History and Heritage Command.

11. USS Boggs (DD-136), Dictionary of American Naval Fighting Ships. “U.S. Navy gets Crewless Ghost Fleet for War and Peace,” 25. “Navy to Make Utah a ‘Robot’ Battleship,” The New York Times, 19 August 1931. Evidence that the Lamperton was converted to a radio-control target ship was confirmed by the ship’s postal cover bearing the cancellation stamp “U.S.S. Lambertion 30 May 1935 A.M. Radio Controlled.” My thanks to Allen Knechtmann of the Naval Heritage and History Command for forwarding this piece of information that confirms the ambiguous date found in the Stoddert entry in the Dictionary of American Naval Fighting Ships.

12. USS Utah (BB-31), Dictionary of American Naval Fighting Ships. R. Allen Crane, The Big U (Bloomington: Author House, 2010), 65.

13. Wildenberg, Destined for Glory, 219–29.

14. Secretary of the Navy to The President, draft attached to Joint Planning Committee to Joint Board, 10 June 1937, Joint Army Navy Board Security Classified Correspondence, 1910–1942, Entry 284, RG 165, National Archives and Records Administration, College Park, Maryland.

15. Joint Board to Secretary of War, 10 July 1937, JB-SC, Entry 284, RG 165, NA-CP. AG to Commanding General AF, 20 July 1937, File AG 1935–42, Frank M. Andrews Papers, Library of Congress.

16. Maurer Maurer, Aviation in the U.S. Army 1919–1939. (Office of Air Force History, 1987), 405–6.

17. Curtis E. LeMay, Mission with LeMay (New York: Doubleday, 1965), 143–49.

18. Ibid., 150. Note: It appears that LeMay, over the passage of time, thought that he had observed the “sailors diving for the hatches,” on Friday, when it appears that happened on Saturday.

Thomas Wildenberg

Thomas Wildenberg is an award-winning scholar with special interests in aviators, naval aviation, and technological innovation in the military. He is the author of a number of books on a variety on naval topics as well as biographies of Joseph Mason Reeves, Billy Mitchell, and Charles Stark Draper.MORE STORIES FROM THIS AUTHOR VIEW BIOGRAPHY
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Many accounts have been written over the past two centuries of John Paul Jones’ celebrated victory at the Battle of Flamborough Head, the 23 September 1779 engagement fought between Jones’ American-French squadron—the Bonhomme Richard, Alliance, Pallas, and Vengeance—and a pair of Royal Navy ships—HMS Serapis and Countess of Scarborough—escorting a fleet from the Baltic, principally carrying naval stores.

Historians have had access to a handful of well-known shipboard reports. From the Bonhomme Richard come the accounts of Jones (in several slightly different versions written over the years), Midshipman Nathaniel Fanning, Quarter-Gunner John Kilby, and First Lieutenant Richard Dale. From the Alliance come the lengthy defensive declarations of her controversial French captain, Pierre Landais (who had clashed repeatedly with Jones and whose performance in this battle came under scrutiny); from the Pallas, a short statement from her captain, Denis de Cottineau. These were augmented by affidavits written by the crews of the Bonhomme Richard and Alliance as well as by comments included in the logbook of the former vessel, continued after the battle on board the captured Serapis by Second Lieutenant Henry Lunt and another hand (possibly Midshipman Beaumont Groube).

On the British side, however, accounts have been limited to the understandably terse, strictly factual reports of Captains Richard Pearson of the Serapis and Thomas Piercy of the Countess of Scarborough, written that October from captivity at the Texel in the neutral Netherlands, where Jones’ squadron ended its voyage.23 September 1779: With the battle joined and the Americans having suffered initial setbacks, Captain John Paul Jones of the Bonhomme Richard, when asked if he was striking his colors, famously and defiantly responds, “I have not yet begun to fight!” He would proceed to prove those words abundantly accurate. New York Public Library Digital Collections

Now, however, two more British accounts have come to light during the author’s research into the circumstances surrounding the battle. Neither of these accounts has been quoted or referenced in any previous work, leading to the assumption that they have remained forgotten until now.

The longer of the two was written on 14 October 1779 by one of the Serapis’ six midshipmen, David Jordan (1757–91), while imprisoned on board the Alliance. Jordan was a native of the small port of Sandwich in the English county of Kent, and his letter appeared solely in the local paper, the Kentish Gazette, on 20 November 1779, probably submitted by a proud family member. It was not republished subsequently.

The second rediscovered account was written by First Lieutenant Richard Sainthill (1739–1829) of the Countess of Scarborough and published in The United Service Journal and Naval and Military Magazine, 1830, part 1, 32–37, then republished verbatim by Sainthill’s numismatist son in An Olla Podrida; or Scraps, Numismatic, Antiquarian, and Literary (London: Nichols & Son, 1844, 292–339).

Although the narratives do not conflict with the two British captains’ accounts, the unearthed documents do provide much detail, which effectively means that a definitive account of the battle is yet to be written.

Bonhomme Richard vs. Serapis—Midshipman Jordan’s Account

Tight alongside and bow-to-stern, the Bonhomme Richard and HMS Serapis pummel each other mercilessly in one of the most bitterly fought ship-on-ship duels in the annals of naval history. Alamy

On the 23rd of September, at daylight, we made the land, Scarborough Castle very near and Flamborough Head more to the southward of us; under our convoy, at this time, about 45 sail of vessels. . . . The wind being contrary, our convoy stood in there and anchored under Scarborough Castle. We and the Countess of Scarborough (a 20-gun ship in government service) stretched off the land, in order to get to windward of the hindmost of our convoy. . . . At noon came on board a customhouse boat from Scarborough . . . to give us intelligence of American vessels that had much pestered their coast. . . . The boat departed, and we kept a good lookout from the mast head.

I dined with the lieutenants in the ward room; our chief topic was these Americans. As the signal guns were very brisk, and very near, we conceived it must be John Paul (known by the name of Paul Jones) and his squadron, the man that plundered Lord Selkirk’s house about 12 months since, and set fire to Whitehaven, which town he came from, and his father a gardener of Lord Selkirk’s. Before we had drank our toast ’round, we were disturbed with the beat for all hands to quarters as four vessels just hove in sight, three appearing very large; we immediately made the signal for the Countess of Scarborough to close under our stern, and we hoisted English colours.

We soon perceived they had all the sail they could crowd, coming right down to us; and, then by squareness of their yards, were certain they were men of war, but of what nation could not form any judgment. There being but little wind they came up very slow. Just after sun set, their fastest sailing ship (this very frigate I write from) came within random shot, and perceiving our force lay to for the other vessels. . . . About half past seven, their ships being all near us, the largest, Paul Jones’s ship, bore close to us, and hoisted American colours; but it being so dark, we thought them St. George’s. . . . Our captain, to be certain, hailed her. . . . We hailed again and told him, if he did not tell us from whence he came we would fire into him (at this time we were very close, within half pistol shot, but being so dark could not distinguish his colours); immediately we saw the flash of one of his lower-deckers; by that flash I saw he was an American, the first I ever saw.Kelly Oaks

No sooner was the flash from his gun, but we gave him a broadside instantaneously, and he as soon. He was so close that every shot told; only a few yards distance; no time to be lost; we hauled the dead and wounded from the guns and fired as fast as we could load for some time.

We at this time were laying to; but perceiving Jones’s intention was to lay us on board our bow, the guns being all loaded at this time, we filled on our ship, clapped the helm hard a-port, and threw him with his bow on our beam, and raked him fore and aft a long time.

He then dropt on our quarter; our great guns not being able to bear upon him, there was great execution done with the musquetry on both sides. We then fell off from him, and up close alongside, his yardarms just touching and short ahead; but as he passed, there was bloody work on both sides; as we were [so close he attempted to run his ship into our] bow; and so very near effecting it, that he carried away our jib-boom.

Our best men (the boatswain and one midshipman including with them) kept up an incessant fire on Jones’s ship, whose bow touched ours; their forecastle men being all killed, wounded, or deserted from their guns, we had the play in our own hands for more than 15 minutes, till at last poor fellows, but fine fellows, they were all killed, except one man, 13 in number. As soon as the ships cleared forward, we shot close alongside each other, the ships touching all the way; and as fast as we, or they, could bring guns to bear we fired and had every advantage we could wish.Jones’ sharpshooting Marines in the tops of the Bonhomme Richard rain deadly musket fire and hand grenades down onto the crowded, burning deck of the Serapis. “We lost many bold fellows by it,” recounted David Jordan. Charles Waterhouse, Fighting Tops; U.S. Marine Corps Art Collection

I must tell you, when Jones carried away our jib-boom for fear we should get too far off, he took a turn with our jib-stay round his mizzenmast. Their ships being a number of feet higher than ours, and three of their lower-deckers bursting, and the rest silenced, their upper deck guns just raked our boats, booms, &c., the men on our upper-deck guns (being most part killed and wounded by the hand-grenades and musquetry from their tops which were lined with people) did but little execution, two or three excepted, which kept up a constant fire on her stern post and rudder; our lower-deckers playing through and through, every shot taking between wind and water on the upper side, and the two foremost eighteens, with the two foremost nine-pounders, knocked her stern post, rudder and transom entirely away, and the wads, sticking in her side, set her on fire in many places.

Her upper-deck guns being close to our barricado of hammocks, &c, set them all on fire, they communicated to our shrouds, so that both ships at times were on fire fore and aft, and it was enough to do to extinguish it, as they played on us from their tops as we hove in sight. We lost many bold fellows by it. Our first lieutenant I saw fired at from all parts of Jones’s ship as he was putting the fire out in the main shrouds; not one shot hurt him; they shot every part of his clothes, cap &c.

About three quarters of an hour before we struck, the fire from one of their guns came in at one of our lower deck ports at the same time as a man was putting a cartridge into the gun, which blew up, and communicated to many more on the same deck, which blew up also, with about 40 seamen. The flame went into our cockpit and blew up the two surgeon’s mates, from whence the fire went into the magazine-passage and fortunately no further (or I should never have told you the story).

This was a terrible stroke on us, losing so many men at once. Some people . . . who thought the ship was on fire and . . . would blow up, jumped overboard. . . .  Jones’s ship . . . was sinking alongside of us, and the people coming on board to save themselves; we not knowing the meaning of this, being very deaf, piked them as fast as they came on our gunwale, and they dropped overboard; they that were on board immediately cried, “We have struck [colors], the ship’s a’sinking.” We took no notice, as they had not ceased firing—for Jones would have sunk ship, men, and himself before he would have struck. When they told him his ship was sinking, [Jones said] “Let her sink and be damn’d, she cannot [sink] in a better place than alongside an English man-of-war.”With the ships locked to each other, the Battle of Flamborough Head turns into a knockdown, drag-out deck melee. When “I took a large cutlass and jumped on the gunwale” of the Bonhomme Richard’s quarterdeck, Jordan recalled, “I was received with pikes and fixed bayonets at my breast.” Alamy

. . . The boatswain went on board [the Bonhomme Richard] to take possession of her; he was received with a Frenchman’s smallsword in his groin and another lunge in his breast; he came on board again and died instantly.

. . . Immediately I took a large cutlass and jumped on the gunwale of [the Bonhomme Richard’s] quarterdeck, I was received with pikes and fixed bayonets at my breast, but perceiving them before they lunged, . . . [I] jumped off her gunwale backwards, and then sprang into our waste among some steering sails that were on fire, never hurting myself but a little in my arms and legs.

Full of spleen, I immediately went to the captain on the quarterdeck and informed him of my repulse, which surprised him much; we then fired our lower-deckers, the ships being so close. . . . After engaging this ship about two hours and a half, the Alliance had worked up under our stern, and began to rake us very hot, so much, that the men on our upper deck at the after guns, were obliged to lie on their faces.

Seeing this, and considering the number of men blown up, with the number killed and wounded . . . and [that] our yardarms [were] locked in with the Bonhomme Richard’s [and] could not bring one gun to bear on her, Pearson struck [our colours]—like a Captain Pearson—not a Jones who would have suffered himself and crew to have gone in one grave; no, Pearson loved his men too well to sacrifice them to obstinacy.

Pearson, as soon as struck, went on board of Jones and gave himself up as prisoner of war, with this salute to Jones, “I hope you will use us as well as we have fought you well.” He answered he would.

I went into the cockpit of our ship, and such a scene I never beheld or conceived; the dead all lying on the living, and the contrary; some without arms, and some without legs, bleeding to death for want of dressing, there being many, and two doctors out of three blown up, could not be served fast enough. The terrible appearance the blown-up men had, I never shall forget.

I went to the doctor’s cabin and got a drink of grog, for I was almost famished, and then went to my berth in the main hatchway. . . .  My best companion and friend, [Midshipman William] Brown, shook his head and held out his hand . . .; curiosity led me to look at his wound. I saw it was mortal; his insides hung out of a shot hole in his belly. He shook hands again, and I put a pillow under his head, which was an old jacket. He’s gone, with many more, and if anyone has right to hope for happiness, I conceive he has, for he was what I wish to be.

I took out of my trunk what trifles I had, with my watch, and went up on deck, there I saw young [George Edward] Roby, [second lieutenant of marines]. He informed me he had just parted with my messmate, [Midshipman] George Ludwig, who had received a ball in his breast; he took Roby by the hand, wished he might not come to that, and died. I looked a little about me, and there I saw my own boy (for so I must call him, he used always to call me father), the sweetest child I ever beheld, lie dead with a shot through his heart. This child was a midshipman, and in my berth and mess, put in by Captain Pearson, and under my care. His name was [William] Bunting.

. . . Our engagement lasted about three hours, or three and a quarter. We lost no captain or lieutenants, nay not one wounded. . . . My berth mate [Midshipman William Popplewell], who was stationed on the upper deck with me, is shot through one arm, and through his back, I am in hopes he will live. [He subsequently died of his wounds.] Every man was killed or wounded at the five guns I was stationed at, except two and myself. . . .

Captain Jones has shifted his American colours on board the Serapis. Good God, I have forgot to inform you of the Bonhomme Richard’s fate. You remember I told you she was shot through and through to a degree (though all her pumps was going, which was but three, for we shot one through) that they could scarce keep her above water.

The next day, being little wind and no sea, the Serapis was towed off by this ship [the Alliance], and the Bonhomme Richard had all the assistance possible from her fleet. Notwithstanding all their carpenters and mechanics of all sorts, assisted by calm weather, to the great joy of all us prisoners, down she went.

Alas, Poor Richard! For she was named from an almanack of [Benjamin] Franklin’s called the Poor Richard, and then altered to the Bonhomme Richard, the “Good Man Richard.” I have since conversed with the carpenter of this ship concerning her, an old experienced man. He said never did he see or hear of a ship shot in such a manner. Her decks were shot through and through so much that her midshipman [Nathaniel Fanning, who used the same phraseology in his memoir] told me “you might drive a coach and six through.” There were whole planks knocked out of her sides. We passed very near as she was sinking. I never beheld anything so battered.Having moved his flag to the damaged but still-floating Serapis, Jones (center) and his defeated adversary, Captain Richard Pearson, watch the Bonhomme Richard sink to her final resting place. Witnessing the ship go down, Jordan observed, “I never beheld anything so battered.” J. L. G. Ferris, The Ship That Sunk In Victory; Alamy

Pallas vs. Countess of Scarborough—Lieutenant Sainthill’s Account

In addition to the main ship-on-ship fight between the Bonhomme Richard and Serapis, the Battle of Flamborough Head also included the engagement fought between the Serapis’ smaller consort, HMS Countess of Scarborough, and the French frigate Pallas, a converted merchantman in Jones’ squadron. Apart from the short post-battle report by the Countess of Scarborough’s captain, the newly rediscovered letter written by First Lieutenant Richard Sainthill is the only account surviving from a member of her crew.

The letter, most likely written to his future father-in-law, was composed during Sainthill’s short captivity (probably on board the Pallas) at the Texel. His correspondence adds valuable details on the prelude to the battle, the ships involved, and the aftermath to the sinking of the Bonhomme Richard:

Dear Sir,—I have no doubt of your having heard long before this of our misfortune in being taken, the particulars of which are as follows. On the 23d ult., being then in company with his Majesty’s Ship Serapis and the convoy from Elsineur, about four o’clock in the afternoon, several of the merchant ships to windward hoisted their colours at the masthead and fired guns; and soon after we spoke with one of them, who acquainted us that a boat had been aboard of him, and informed him that the ships which were then in sight off Flamborough Head, were a French squadron, consisting of two ships of 40 guns, one of 36, and a snow [a vessel with a square-rigged foremast and mainmast and a third small “snow-mast” carrying a fore-and-aft gaff sail].

The Serapis being then about four miles to leeward, we immediately bore away, made the signal to speak with her, and cleared the ship for action. About half past five, our captain went on board to receive directions from Captain Pearson, and soon returned with orders to keep in a close line of battle astern of the Serapis. We then backed our main-topsail and laid by for the enemy’s ships, which were coming down with all their sail set, there being little wind.

We afterwards found them to be the Bonhomme Richard, of 40 guns, commanded by Paul Jones, who was the commodore; the Alliance, of 36 guns, an American frigate commanded by a Frenchman; the Pallas, a French frigate under American colours; and a snow, of 12 guns.

About half-past seven, the Bonhomme Richard began the engagement with the Serapis; at the same time the Alliance fired her broadside into us, which we returned, and continued engaging her about half an hour, when she got so far astern, that our guns could not be brought to bear on her, nor did she seem desirous of again coming up.

By this time the Pallas, which sailed heavily and had not yet been able to come up, was near us, and in a few minutes came under our stern and gave us her broadside. We then continued to engage her nearly one hour and a half, when our ship—being much damaged in her hull, mast, and rigging, the braces, bowlings, &c. being shot away, seven of our guns dismounted, and 25 men killed and wounded—we struck to this ship, which had behaved nobly.

The Alliance, which had all this time kept astern, now came up and hailed our ship, and then stood under an easy sail towards the Serapis, which had from the beginning been literally yardarm-engaged with Jones, the ships being lashed alongside each other so that the lower-deck guns of each could not be run out, and both ships were several times on fire.

In this situation, the Serapis, having engaged both ships for some time, was also under the necessity of striking, and soon after her mainmast went overboard. The Bonhomme Richard was almost torn to pieces, had seven feet of water in her hold, and was on fire near the magazine at this time. Captain Pearson was in this dreadful situation a great part of the night, in danger of being blown up or sinking, which certainly would have happened if the weather had not been very fine.

The following day they got out the powder and all the men, except a few of the wounded; and we had the satisfaction to see the Bonhomme Richard go down. The number of killed and wounded it is impossible to give you any account of at present, but you must suppose it is very considerable; perhaps, near 300 in this ship; and upwards of 100 in the Serapis; in the Pallas 16 or 18, who are all dead.

Trevor Brigham

Mr. Brigham is a longtime London- and East Yorkshire–based archaeologist currently researching the Battle of Flamborough Head.MORE STORIES FROM THIS AUTHOR VIEW BIOGRAPHY
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In a previous life as HMNZS KahuBy Simon Hacker | 9th January 2024

A pleasure cruiser that sailed into stormy headlines after it was confiscated during a busted £160m drug run has rocked up for repairs and a refurb at a boatyard in the heart of Gloucester.

The 120ft expedition yacht Kahu was used to smuggle a massive cocaine haul from south America but was intercepted near Guernsey and subsequently sold at auction for £473,500 in 2022. 

The funds from the confiscated vessel then went back into the national coffers.

Sent for rehab in Gloucester: the MY Kahu – though its stay may be shorter than anticipated.

In a crime overseen by 33-year-old Stockton-on-Tees man Andrew Cole, who subsequently was handed an 18-year jail sentence, officers from the Border Force and National Crime Agency successfully acted on intel to intercept and board the Kahu before Cole was able to jettison a mobile phone which spilled all the details of the plan. Five other Nicaraguan crew members, also arrested, were later cleared of smuggling charges.

Seized under the Proceeds of Crime Act, the National Crime Agency then instructed Wilsons Auctions to sell MY Kahu on 27 April for an unreserved price, in 2022. 

Built in 1979 for the Royal New Zealand Navy, the motor yacht had been converted in 2010 into a pleasure craft and had since made several voyages across the Pacific and Atlantic.

But judging by the sorry state of the vessel now in Gloucester Docks, it has not been kept shipshape. Enquiries with the shipyard from Punchline-Gloucester.com indicated that the vessel was sent to Gloucester for TLC, having been berthed in Torquay Marina after its initial auction.

However, it is understood that the owner may now have a ready buyer for Kahu, so its stay for rehab work in Gloucester may be shorter than anticipated.

● T Nielson and Company was established in 1988 by Tommi Nielsen and Sarah White, both experienced sailors, and has become a recognised specialist in traditional shipbuilding, rigging and restoration, not least for its worldwide reputation for working with historic timber ships
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