From The
Independent, Elizabeth City, N.C., Feb. 13, 1920. Images from https://coastguard.dodlive.mil/2018/08/tlbl-mirlo-rescue/,
“The Long Blue Line: Mirlo Rescue—the Coast Guard’s baptism of fire!"
Sea In Flames
Didn’t Stop ‘Em. . . Heroism of North Carolina Surfmen Told in Thrilling
Episode of the World War
The following account of the saving of the
crew of the British steamer Mirlo by Keeper John A. Midgett and his surfmen of
the U.S. Coast Guard Station No. 179 is taken from the December number of Our
Navy, the standard publication of the United States Navy. It is a tale of
heroism unexcelled in the annals of the world war, and it shows unforgettably
the courage and disregard for their own safety which characterizes the surfmen
in their work of saving lives. The Mirlo was a big British tanker which was
torpedoed by a Hun U-boat off the North Carolina coast in August 1918. Here is
the story:
Down on the coast of North Carolina, where a
narrow chain of “shoe-string” islands throws its protecting cordon far out to
sea, one may, after careful search on any complete map of the Carolinas, find a
little place named Rodanthe. Rodanthe is situated on the Northern end of one of
the ”shoe-string” islands, where the waters of Pamlico Sound go out through
Loggerhead Inlet and join forces with the mighty Atlantic.
Rodanthe is inhabited by Midgetts. But these
Midgetts are not midgets. They are real he-men, red-blooded and steel nerved,
for they form the crew of the U.S. Coast Guard Station Number 179.
It will be recalled that in the month of
August 1918, a more or less powerful fleet of Teuton submarines operated along
the coast of North Carolina, causing great excitement and unrest among the
inhabitants of that State in general and Hatteras Banks in particular. Heavy
gunfire was often heard far out at sea and many times defenseless passenger
ships were pursued into the very coast ports. On several occasions ships were
shelled and sunk by the twentieth century pirates.
While the Navy was out trying to run down the
deep-sea Huns, the Coast Guard, a part of the war-time Navy, was standing
silently, vigilantly at its post. Through the long watches of the night Coast
Guard Station 179 kept its trained eyes out upon the Atlantic, hoping that
their work would not be found necessary. For the work of the Coast Guard is to
SAVE life; not to take it.
On the morning of August 16th, the lookout
reported a large steamer heading to the Northward. A few minutes later he added
that a large sheet of water had shot up high into the air, completely
enveloping the stern of the ship. Immediately the vessel, the British steamer
Mirlo, swung about and headed straight for the beach. The deep-sea Hun had
found another victim. The Mirlo, had, without warning been struck by two
torpedoes. The Teuton aim was good that morning in August, both torpedoes doing
heavy damage. Bulkheads and cofferdams were carried away. The entire ship was
enveloped in a mass of flames and heavy explosions could be heard at Rodanthe
10 miles away.
The submarine dropped back out of possible range of such
guns as might perchance be brought to bear. In characteristic Hun style the
U-boat laid to, gloating over what appeared to be an appalling loss of life,
for the Mirlo had been carrying a cargo of gasoline and refined oil and she was
not a mass of flames. The explosions threw the burning oil far out upon the
angry waters and the sea around the Mirlo was a seething mass of flaming oil
and burning wreckage. The chances for escape form the Mirlo were small indeed
for in addition to the danger from fire and flame, a heavy sea was running. It
looked as though there would be fine gloating for the hirelings of Von Tirpitz.
But “Gott” was not “mit” the Kaiser that morning. They had reckoned without the U.S. Coast
Guard and its crew of “Midgetts” at Station No. 179. Keeper John A. Midgett
called his crew, including the liberty men, to their stations, and they started
out into the turbulent waters by power surfboat. A heavy Northeaster was
blowing and the sea was breaking heavily. Again and again the boat was tossed
back upon the beach. She was like a cockle-shell in the mighty hands of King
Neptune. Time and again the drew was washed away from the oars but again and
yet again, with the bull dog determination, they returned to what ordinary men
would have abandoned as a hopeless task. But the Coast Guard is the Coast Guard
and, like Kipling’s Crew of the Bolivar “They euchred God Almighty’s Storm and
bluffed the Eternal Sea.” Oblivious of their own danger, obsessed by the Coast
Guard’s motto to “save the lives of the men who go down to the sea in ships”
the boar, with the Stars and Stripes defiantly whipping in the storm, finally
managed to clear the beach and with engines thrumming and propellers racing at
full speed, headed for the burning mass that had once been the good ship Mirlo.
When within a few miles of the wreck, the coast Guard boat met one of the
ship’s boats emerging from the ring of flame about the Mirlo. This boat
contained the Captain and 16 members of the crew. The skipper reported to
Keeper Midgett that two more boats were inside the burning cordon and that one
of the boats had capsized. The men of the Coast Guard, accustomed to fighting
the heaviest of storms, were about to be introduced to the task of fighting a combination
of sea, wind, smoke and fire. They did not hesitate. Into the seething volcano
they sped. They saw the Mirlo go down to her doom like some gigantic Fourth of
July skyrocket. A roaring hiss, a sheet of spurting flame and the Huns boasted
another addition to their already long list of allied tonnage. But the Coast Guard’s
duty was to prevent them from increasing their list of martyrs of the sea. From
the center of a roaring mass of flame the Coast Guard men heard, mingled with
the roar of the sea, faint cries for help. Burning wreckage floated about the
boat. The heat was terrific. Huge clouds of choking black smoke hung low over
the water. Everything seemed to be against the Coast Guard crew. But they made
straight for the mass of flame. Said one of the men afterwards, “It seemed to
me as though we were steering straight into the mouth of Hell.” The flames
seared and singed them but they kept on. Finally they came upon a capsized
boat. Six exhausted men were clinging to the keel of the tiny craft. Heavy seas
washed over them. Flames lashed about them. They were about to give up the
unequal fight. With no little difficulty the six survivors were hauled into the
surfboat. They reported that there must be others from the Mirlo but that they
were very likely dead, as it had been necessary many times to dive under the water
in order to avoid the burning oil and wreckage. The Coast Guard boat kept up
its search and, after cruising about in the inferno for some time, the third
boat, containing 19 men, was sighted. The boat was overcrowded to the extent
that the men could not row. She was shipping water and rapidly filling. The
boat was drifting with the wind and sea and was fully nine miles south of
Rodanthe when signed by the surf-boat. The surf-boat took the over-loaded
ship’s boat in tow and started for the beach. They soon overhauled the first
boat, containing the Mirlo’s Captain. The Midgett’s crew now had 42 men in tow,
in addition to their own Coast Guard crew. Night was rapidly falling, the last
glaring flares of the burning oil standing out like gigantic candles in the
enveloping darkness. The wind was increasing form the northeast and the sea was
breaking upon the beach. The 42 men were saved but the problem now as to land
them through the boiling surf. Once again the Coast Guard was found on the job.
Keeper Midgett anchored the two ship’s boats about 600 yards off shore and
proceeded to land the shipwrecked crew in the station’s surf-boat. Four round
trips were made, in this work the crew of Station 180 assisting the original
rescuers. Back again and again they went, into the darkness of the sea,
returning with their precious cargoes of human life, until the last of the
Mirlo’s survivors had been safely placed upon the beach, where each was given
medical attention for burns and bruises. America’s sterling benevolent associations
came to the rescue with warm clothing, supper and a place to sleep. The next
day they were sent to Norfolk on the U.S.S. Legonia, while the Captain of the
Mirlo left via seaplane A-765. Great Britain can enter in its great ledger, to
the credit of the U.S. Coast Guard, “42 lives of British sailormen.” The Hun
submarines can enter the same as a loss on the wrong side of profit and loss
sheet.
Keeper John A. Midgett, Number One Surfman, Zion S. Midgett,
Number Three Surfman, Arthur V. Midgett, Number Five Surfman, Prochorus L.
O’Neal, Number Six Surfman, Clarence E. Midgett, and Number Eight Surfman Leroy
S. Midgett received the following commendation: “You are commended for the
rescue of the crew of the British steamer Mirlo, blown up August 16, 1918. The
vessel’s cargo of gasoline and refined oil ignited and spread over the surface
in the vicinity of the vessel with a mass of fire and smoke. The sea was very
heavy and quantities of wreckage contributed to the difficulties of the rescue.
The spirit of dauntless devotion to duty displayed by you and the members of
the crew on this occasion is in keeping with the highest tradition of the Coast
Guard and it is desired to express to you unqualified commendation of your
gallant efforts in the interest of humanity.”
What do you think of the “Midgetts” inhabiting the strip of
islands on the Carolina Coast? Midgets in name, giants in point of service and
value to humanity. Such are the men of the Coast Guard.
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