Jack Kennedy - Chris Matthews [22]
Pappy McMahon, the chief engineer, now in the separated stern of the plywood boat, found himself in far worse trouble. The flaming gasoline all around him had burned his face and hands, scorched his shins. Burning fuel continued to collect as he sank deeper into the water, the orange glare now above him.
Jack, having taken a place with the five others in the bow, realized what was happening and instantly headed to Pappy’s rescue. Removing his shoes, shirt, and revolver, he dived into the water, wearing his rubber life belt, to search for the rest of his crew. Finding McMahon, he saw at once that his engineer was unable to use his badly burned arms. “Go on, Skipper,” McMahon mumbled. “You go on. I’ve had it.”
Jack grabbed McMahon’s life jacket and began towing him to the floating bow, which had by this point drifted a fair distance away. Another crewman, Harris, was also losing heart. His leg was badly injured, making it difficult to swim. He wanted to stop trying, but Jack kept rallying him. “Come on! Where are you, Harris?” The crewman swore at his skipper, finally all but giving up. “I can’t go any farther.”
“For a guy from Boston, you’re certainly putting up a great exhibition out here, Harris.” Jack was not going to leave him behind. “Well, come on!” he kept at him, purposely ignoring Harris’s bad leg. He then helped him take off the sodden sweater that was weighing him down, and that made a big difference. Harris could now move through the water.
When the two reached the part of the boat that was still afloat, Jack took roll. Ten answered this time, all but Harold Marney and Andrew Kirksey. Could anyone spot them? For the rest of the night the crew called out the two names, to no avail.
When dawn came, the hull flipped over on its back, becoming turtlelike. Slowly, it began to sink in the water, making it clear it wasn’t going to last through another night. By midday, Jack announced they’d soon have to abandon what was left of PT 109 and try to make it to land before too late in the day. He didn’t want the hull to sink in the middle of the night, and knew it would if they stayed. By two o’clock in the afternoon, they were ready to go.
Each man was well aware of the gruesome stories about Japanese treatment of prisoners, which included horrific torture. The problem was, many of the islands around them were known to be occupied by the enemy.
“There’s nothing in the book about a situation like this,” Kennedy had told his crew that morning at daybreak. “A lot of you men have families and some of you have children. What do you want to do? I have nothing to lose.” Jim Maguire, a fellow Catholic who’d gone to church regularly with Jack, found this hard to believe. The skipper, he felt sure, had a lot to live for.
There was also the question of Pappy McMahon, with his terribly seared flesh. And half the crew members couldn’t swim. Their skipper’s solution was to order nine of them to hang on to a floating eight-foot plank they luckily found nearby. Not only would this keep them together, but it would increase the nonswimmers’ chances.
Lieutenant Kennedy then calmly pulled out his knife, cutting loose a strap of McMahon’s life jacket and taking it between his teeth. He intended to tow him that way. The engineer never forgot his matter-of-fact manner. To him, the skipper seemed almost casual, as if he did it all the time. “I’ll take McMahon with me,” Jack told them. Next, he issued the order “The rest of you can swim together on this plank.” Lenny Thom was put in charge.
When one seaman expressed aloud the fear that they’d never get out of this, Kennedy disagreed. “It can be done!”
For four hours they were out there in the water, their skipper pulling his engineer by his teeth and all the while keeping watch on his crew. Fortunately, the Pacific water was warm. For four hours Jack Kennedy plowed on, halting his breaststroke only occasionally to rest.