by Robert S. Parkin
The USS Peary (DD-226) honors Rear Admiral Robert E. Peary (1856-1920). Well known for his outstanding achievements in Polar expeditions, the pinnacle of Admiral Peary’s career was attained on 6 April 1909 with his discovery of the North Pole. Earlier in his naval career, he had served in Nicaragua as a surveyor for the proposed Nicaragua Canal and invented a rolling lock gate, intended for the canal. He authored several books which depicted his experiences and findings during his Arctic explorations and was the recipient of numerous awards from scientific societies both in Europe and the United States. He was promoted to rear admiral and given thanks by Congress by a special act on 30 March 1911. Rear Admiral Peary died at Washington, D.C., on 20 February 1920.
The USS Peary (DD-226) was in the Wickes/Clemson class. Built by William Cramp and Sons, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, the keel was laid on 9 September 1919. The ship was launched on 6 April 1920, under the sponsorship of Mrs. Edward Stafford, daughter of Rear Adm. Peary. Commissioned on 22 October 1920, with Lt. H. W. Barnes as commanding officer. The ship was lost at Darwin Harbor, Australia, on 19 February 1942, while under the command of Lt. Comdr. J. M. Bermingham. She received one battle star.
After serving two years with the Atlantic Fleet, Peary was assigned to the Asiatic Fleet and conducted her operations in the Far East until her demise in Darwin Harbor, Australia, on 19 February 1942. Throughout her career during those turbulent years on the China Station, she had been dispatched on many occasions to protect American lives and interests as well as other nationals who were threatened by civil unrest, rampaging bandits, Nationalist armies, including Communists, and later in the 1930s, the Japanese. Other deployments included diplomatic visits to various ports in China, Japan, Singapore and throughout the Dutch East Indies (now Indonesia).
When the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor, Peary was undergoing repairs at the Cavite Navy Yard and she came very close to ending her days here as a rusted, burned-out hulk had it not been for the courageous action taken by the skipper of the minesweeper Whippoorwill.
On the afternoon of 10 December, a flight of over fifty high-altitude bombers droned over the Navy Yard, well out of range of the anti-aircraft batteries and leisurely unloaded their deadly cargo, virtually pulverizing the entire base. In the heat of the holocaust lay the immobile and helpless Peary. As the bombs rained down, one of them smashed into the destroyer, forward of her galley. Flying shards of shrapnel ripped into her forward stacks and killed eight of her men. The torpedo workshop on the pier was a raging inferno, with the intense heat causing the air flasks to explode. Firebrands and jagged chunks of metal and debris flayed the ship, cutting down several more personnel and starting a number of small fires. Without power, she could not fight the flames nor escape from the deluge of flying hot metal or the scorching heat.
As far as the eye could see, the base was enveloped in a sea of fire, blanketed in a pall of eye-smarting and lung-searing smoke, as thunderous explosions rent the air. The submarine Sealion had taken a devastating bomb hit and was sinking. Ahead of the Peary two barges were ablaze with the minesweeper Pigeon alongside, attempting to douse the flames. Easing cautiously through the smoky haze came the tiny Whippoorwill to assist. However, when her captain, Lt. Comdr. C. A. Feriter, saw that the Peary was in trouble he radioed the Pigeon that the “Whip” was going in and “take that destroyer out.”
A motorboat manned by an ensign and a small crew had been vainly trying to approach the stricken vessel, but the violent explosions and searing heat had made the task difficult. With the Whippoorwill now upon the scene, the officer took a line from the minesweeper in an effort to pass it to the men on the destroyer, but again, the fiery blasts prevented the boat from reaching the now-burning Peary.
Feriter then nuzzled his bow to the stern of the Peary and passed over a 6 inch line and began to back away, but a flying piece of hot metal severed the line. A second line was passed over, but, in the midst of the conflagration, someone had forgotten to cast off the ship’s mooring lines from the dock, and, as a result, the tow line snapped again. Feriter then shifted his vessel alongside the Peary’s port side and sent a man over to assist in removing the mooring lines. With the destroyer now free, the “Whip” backed down and pulled the burning ship into the harbor, her crew hosing her down in an effort to quell the flames. The destroyer Pillsbury (DD-227) soon was on hand to assist and within fifteen minutes, the flames were snuffed out. Damage control parties then boarded the vessel to clear her decks of wreckage, while pharmacist’s mates and corpsmen attended to the wounded. Amongst them was Peary’s captain, Comdr. Harry F. Keith, who was transferred with the rest of the wounded to the Naval Hospital. Lieutenant John M. Bermingham, the ship’s executive officer assumed overall command and was, shortly afterwards, promoted to lieutenant commander.
The battle-scarred and fire-blackened Peary lay in Manila Harbor; her crew effecting repairs as best they could until she was ordered to Darwin, Australia. On the night of the 26th, she stood out of Manila and was subjected to another air attack, but escaped without damage.
On the following morning she arrived at Campomanes Bay, Negros Island, and after having scrounged up some green paint from an Army detachment, most of the crew “turned to” camouflaging the ship, while a party of men went ashore to gather palm fronds. Thus bedecked, the ruse must have been effective, as several enemy aircraft had swept through the bay without sighting her. That evening after sunset, the Peary weighed anchor and set a course for Ambon Island and the voyage ahead would prove to be a harrowing experience for all hands.
The next morning she was sighted and shadowed by a four-engine flying boat. Realizing that its pilot was radioing Peary’s presence, Bermingham was burning up the air waves calling for assistance from TF-5, but there was no response. Bermingham’s suspicions had proved correct when shortly after 1400 hours, three more aircraft appeared and the fight was on.
During the next two hours, Bermingham employed every trick known in the book in his effort to evade the bombs and torpedoes from his assailants, using his engines tactfully and skillful steering at the same time. A vicious wall of anti-aircraft fire laced the sky, thus keeping the raiders at bay and causing them to drop their bombs and torpedoes prematurely, thereby allowing Bermingham to swerve out of their path in plenty of time. Having spent all their bombs and torpedoes, the aircraft withdrew shortly after 1600 hours. But the Peary was not out of the woods yet, for just before sunset she came under another air assault. Only this time it would be friendly forces.
As darkness closed in, three Lockheed Hudsons were sighted. Their red, white and blue roundels identified them as either British or Australians. Flashing recognition signals, Peary answered in kind and the group leader waggled his wings, indicating that he understood that the Peary was an Allied ship. However, one of the pilots thought otherwise and peeled off from the formation and bored in upon the destroyer in a glide bombing attack.
A fusillade of .50-caliber bullets ripped into the bomber without effect and the bombs came tumbling down out of the bomb bay and exploded some 100 yards to port. In his effort to miss the bombs, Bermingham had made a sharp swing to starboard. As a result, a seaman was thrown off his feet and was flung over the side. Unable to stop and rescue him, someone tossed a life jacket to him and he was last seen swimming toward it and it was hoped that he would make it safely to Bunakang Island, less than a mile away.
Meanwhile, all three Lockheeds were pouncing upon the Peary with a vengeance. Once again, fancy footwork saved the beleaguered destroyer. Unfortunately, near misses had taken their toll in damages, wounds and the death of one man. With the approach of darkness, the planes dispersed and headed for home. It was then realized what they had done. Their only explanation was that, despite Peary’s recognition signals and her odd “paint job,” they had suspected her to be a Japanese destroyer, of which quite a few had been known to be in the area.
Finally, on 1 January 1942, the battered destroyer and her battle-weary crew made it into Darwin. However, owing to her deplorable condition, she was considered unfit for the strenuous operations then heaped on the shoulders of the American–British–Dutch–Australian (ABDA) naval forces. Therefore, at least temporarily, she was assigned to escort duties and patrolling the outer harbor of Darwin.
On 15 February, Peary set sail for Timor Island, approximately 500 miles north of Australia, escorting a supply convoy en route. The ship train was soon spotted and shadowed by enemy aircraft and on the following day all hell broke loose as the enemy attempted to wipe it out. The cruiser Houston and the escorts flayed the skies with a lethal umbrella of anti-aircraft fire, splashing the attackers by the score. Not one ship in the convoy was hit as a result. Then, right after the remnants of the raiders had dispersed, a message was received that a carrier force had been sighted within striking distance of the convoy and Capt. A. H. Rooks in the Houston was ordered to return his charges back to Darwin.
Upon the convoy’s arrival on the 18th, Houston and Peary refueled and made preparations to join up with the ABDA forces in the Java Sea. As the ships were leaving port, Peary made an underwater contact upon what was believed to be a submarine. The cruiser proceeded on independently, while Peary carried out her search. After an unsuccessful hunt, the destroyer returned to port the following morning to “top off” her fuel tanks.
Then at 0930, a flight of eighteen heavy bombers roared over the horizon and with little opposition, leveled the dock facilities into rubble. Two ammunition ships moored alongside the piers were hit and vanished in a ball of fire and smoke. The concussion leveled buildings flat for a mile or so away; shipping in the harbor rolled and swayed from the rock wave and were lashed by flying chunks of metal and debris. Then a second wave of bombers winged in and demolished the anti-aircraft defenses and dropped incendiary bombs on the already devastated town.
Immediately following this assault, dive bombers plummeted down the azure blue skies and attacked the sitting duck transports and cargo vessels. Two bombs sent the Army transport Mauna Loa to the bottom within seconds. The transport Meigs soon joined her after being blown apart by twenty bombs and an aerial torpedo. A coastal steamer was sunk while making an attempt to come to the aid of a Brazilian cargo ship that was burning outside the harbor. Also blown to the bottom were the S.S. Admiral Halstead and two Australian corvettes. Other vessels, too numerous to mention, were severely damaged and afire, with their masters driving them into shallow waters in an effort to prevent their sinking.
For the second time, Peary found herself swept up in another fiery whirlwind. Both she and the ex-destroyer William B. Preston (AVD-7), fought their hearts out in an effort to reach the open sea. With their anti-aircraft batteries lashing the skies with hot lead, the ships side-stepped falling bombs, while at the same time their skippers were hard-pressed to avoid colliding with the shipping in the heavily congested and smoke-filled harbor.
At 1010, the Preston was struck by three bombs and in quick succession, Peary was pummeled by two bomb hits. One smashed into her stern, mangling her fantail and hurtling her depth charges and several men into the air and into the bay. Her port propeller was sheared off and the after steering engine room was flooded. The second bomb, an incendiary, detonated in her galley, leaving the entire area swathed in a pall of smoke and fire. Despite these devastating blows, Capt. Bermingham succeeded in forging through the maze of shipping, while his crew fought valiantly to ward off enemy aircraft and battling fires and flooding.
Then a third bomb opened up her hull forward, causing her fuel tanks to spill out her life’s blood into the harbor. A fourth bomb crashed into her forward magazine; the explosion felling and mortally wounding her captain and several other personnel close by. A fifth bomb, another incendiary, blew up in her after engine room, and still the destroyer, now engulfed in smoke and flame, her decks a charnel house of flesh and blood, her superstructure a shambles and strewn from bow to stern with wreckage, continued to plod through the din and clangor of the battle. With all steering lost from the bridge, an officer took measures to “conn” the ship from the emergency steering station in the after section of the ship. As soon as a man dropped, another took his place. But the Peary’s hour had come.
At 1300 hours, with the battle still raging, the feisty old four-stacker finally broke up and sank stern-first under a shroud of smoke and clouds of steam. Those of whom had witnessed her sinking, reported that her .30-caliber and .50-caliber guns were still chattering away as her battered hulk slipped beneath the surface.
Lost with the gallant Peary were eighty officers and men, including her commanding officer. A destroyer escort would be named in his honor. The only officer to survive the sinking was her chief engineer, Lt. W. J. Catlet. The Peary was the first destroyer of the U.S. Asiatic Fleet to be lost in World War II.
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