Aboard the USS Indiana
Brooklyn Navy Yard
March 1903
As Lieutenant William Sims walked across the officers’ brow onto the large battleship, he paused at the summit, faced the ship’s stern, and rendered a smart salute to the national ensign. Walking to the Officer of the Deck, dressed in his service dress blues with a telescope under his left arm, Sims approached and in a firm voice said, “Request permission to come aboard,” as he saluted. The Officer of the Deck returned his salute, replying, “Permission granted. Can I assist you, sir?” he inquired.
“Yes, young man, you most certainly can. I have an appointment with the CO, Captain Robinson.”
“I’ll have an escort take you to his cabin, sir,” the OOD offered and summoned an escort. The ship’s secretary, an earnest young man who tended to the CO’s daily schedule, informed Sims that the captain would be ready for him in about fifteen minutes and invited him to take a seat. Sims sat in one of the comfortable chairs in the CO’s outer office and looked at the photographs of the Indiana that covered all of the bulkheads. Sims remembered that this very ship was another example of the innovation and creativity of his patron, Theodore Roosevelt. He recalled that, as assistant secretary of the navy, Roosevelt had pushed for funding of three battleships as his first step toward transforming the U. S. Navy into a blue-water sea power. The isolationist sentiment in the United States Congress was very strong at that time, and representatives opposed funding for long-range battleships, fearing they would be provocative to foreign powers. Roosevelt cleverly obtained the funding by assuring Congress that the new class of ships would be called “sea-going coast-line battleships,” implying that their only role would be coastal defense.
As he sat patiently, Sims reviewed the events of the past year that had radically changed his life. The catalyst was his relationship with President Roosevelt. Interestingly, they had first met face-to-face only weeks before. Throughout the past year, his writings continued to be distributed navy-wide, all as a result of Roosevelt’s endorsement. Although his name did not appear on any of these documents, all officers in the navy knew that William S. Sims was the author. Then, in September 1902, Sims had received orders to detach from the Monterey and proceed to the Navy Department in Washington, D.C. where his new job was to be “Inspector of Target Practice.” Theodore Roosevelt had handed him the keys to the kingdom.
Shortly after his arrival in Washington, Sims had his first meeting with Roosevelt. The two men took an immediate liking to each other. The president’s confidence in Sims was further reinforced by the plan that Sims proposed to him. With typical Sims flair, the young officer proposed that he demonstrate his ideas in a headline-capturing fashion that would change gunnery practices overnight. After presenting his plan, the president authorized the new Inspector of Target Practice to proceed with presidential approval and arranged to have orders cut that, in essence, gave Lieutenant Sims complete authority over the project. Roosevelt also ordered all other officers, regardless of seniority, to cooperate with him.
Now, as Sims sat waiting to talk with the CO of the Indiana, he smiled, knowing that this ship would be perfect for his purposes. The Indiana had fought in the Battle of Santiago during the war and had generated a dismal record for marksmanship. It also had a reputation for being a difficult ship for gunners to fire from due to design flaws. The main gun mountings had not been constructed directly over the ship’s keel. This lack of central stability caused the side of the ship where the guns were aimed to dip lower than the opposite side, thereby limiting the elevation that would be required for the guns to hit the target. The last advantage was the ship’s mission itself. She was a training ship that performed training exercises and fleet maneuvers, as well as providing practice cruises for the midshipmen, as they now were called at the United States Naval Academy. The Indiana could effectively disappear, while Sims put his experiment into practice. The ship wouldn’t be missed.
“Captain Robinson will see you now,” announced the ship’s secretary, opening the door for the visitor. Sims thanked him and entered as Captain William Robinson greeted him with a firm handshake. He invited his guest to sit and rang for his mess steward. “Please bring the lieutenant and me some coffee,” he ordered, as Sims opened his attaché case and began removing papers.
“Captain, thank you so much for this preliminary meeting. Are the arrangements still for us to get underway in a week, sir?”
“That is correct, Mr. Sims. Let me say that, for a lieutenant, you have an incredible amount of clout,” he remarked with a touch of resentment in his tone. “Admiral Nixon contacted me and told me only that we are to make preparations to get underway for at least four weeks. Our destination and our mission would be brought to us by a Lieutenant William Sims, acting with full authority of the president of the United States. To date, I’ve received only one piece of communication from you. I sure as hell hope you are going to enlighten me now, Lieutenant.”
“Yes, sir, that is why I’m here today.” Pulling the operational orders from his case, Sims continued. “We will be proceeding down to the Caribbean operating area. There we will link up with some targeting drones that I’ve arranged for. Captain, we are going to revolutionize naval gunnery, and the Indiana is going to make history accomplishing this feat.”
“Yes, I’ve read your writings, Mr. Sims. To be blunt, your proposal seems like a lot of theory to me. Can you really pull this off, whatever it is that you plan to do? Also, I assume this whole mission is top secret.”
“Yes to both questions, sir. We will accomplish our mission. I guarantee it. And that, sir, leads me to my next question. You just mentioned my prior communication. Regarding the request in that communication, do you have the candidate for me?”
“Oh, that,” replied Robinson. “That was easy. You asked me to select the smartest, most talented, and most respected junior officer on the ship. Piece of cake.” The Captain smiled as he walked over to his desk and picked up a brown folder. Walking back to the table, he dropped the officer’s service record onto the table directly in front of Lieutenant Sims. The name on the front of the service record read, “Lieutenant Junior Grade Stephen L. Morrison.”
* * *
The following day, Lieutenant Stephen Morrison reported to William Sims’ stateroom as he had been ordered. He had no idea with whom he would be meeting or why he had been ordered there. After he knocked on the door, a voice from inside ordered him to enter. Closing the door behind him, Morrison saw the tall lieutenant standing by the porthole, gazing out. The man turned to him and extended his hand. “Hello, Lieutenant Morrison, I’m Lieutenant William Sims. Thank you for arriving so promptly,” he said as he shook the younger man’s hand.
Startled, Morrison stared at the bearded, handsome officer, finally replying, “Yes. Yes, sir. I’ve read a lot of your writings. It’s a pleasure, no, an honor to meet you. I had no idea you were aboard the Indiana.”
“Well, it’s a somewhat secretive mission that I’m on. Please, sit down. We have a lot to discuss. First off, let’s dispense with the formalities. You are to call me William in private, and I’ll call you Stephen. Understood? You see, Stephen, we don’t have a lot of time to do what I’m here to do, and that is to alter the future of naval warfare. You and I are going to bring the United States Navy into the twentieth century, kicking and screaming if necessary!”
Morrison sat there, stunned to be hearing this statement from a man whose writings he so admired. But what did he have to do with Sims’ plans? “Sir, I mean William, I’m confused. What is it exactly that you need me for?”
“In due time, Stephen,” replied the energetic Sims. He had Morrison’s service jacket in his hands. Thumbing through it for a few seconds, he looked up at the younger man. “I read through this last night. Very impressive. You’ve had excellent fitness reports, but I want to know a little more about you. Tell me about yourself, Stephen.”
“Well, there’s not really much to tell. I mean, I suppose I’m just a typical Naval Academy grad, Class of 1893. This is my third ship, and I love sea duty. Ever since I was a little boy, I’ve wanted to be a naval officer and to travel. That’s really all there is to it.”
“Stephen, where are you from originally?”
“I was raised in New York City”
“Were you born there?”
“No, sir, I was born in Russia. My family came to the United States when I was a youngster. I was orphaned, and my adoptive parents were New Yorkers.”
“Interesting.” Sims flipped a page in the service jacket and then spoke again. “They say you are quite an athlete. It says that you were the boxing champion on every ship you’ve served on.” Looking up at Morrison, he quipped, “You certainly look fit! Where did you learn to fight so well? Are you aggressive by nature?”
“Well, I learned to fight growing up in New York City. It’s almost a way of life there. Am I aggressive, you ask? I would say no, but I believe in standing up for principles, and I believe there is a line between right and wrong that I won’t cross, and I won’t allow others to cross it when that line affects me. I’m not sure if that answers your question or not.”
“No, that’s fine. Tell me, Stephen, it also says here that you’re quite a linguist. You speak Russian fluently? I don’t know if you know it, but I spent several months as the naval attaché to the American embassy in St. Petersburg. I wish I had your fluency for the language. Have you ever been back to Russia?”
“Yes, I have. I was there for several months in 1888. I hope to go back someday. It’s a fascinating country.”
“Lastly, Stephen, it says that on every ship you served on you volunteered to be the ship’s historian and that you started a regular lecture series at sea. That’s quite ingenious. Can I ask why you do this work? I mean, you have a reputation as a technical expert. Why history?”
Morrison couldn’t understand why Sims asked all of these questions about his background, but he tried to answer as honestly as he could. Perhaps this was a test that had something to do with Morrison’s fitness to work with Sims on his quest to — how had Sims put it? — bring the United States Navy kicking and screaming into the twentieth century. He looked Sims straight in the eye and spoke. “Why history? I would counter, William, why not history? Without a background in where we’ve been, we have no rudder to steer us, no chart to guide our way into the future. We have to learn the mistakes of the past so we don’t repeat them over and over and over. Without knowledge and a sense of our American tradition, how can we know what we in the military are truly about? How can those of us in the military do our jobs if we don’t know what George Washington, Thomas Jefferson, and Abraham Lincoln faced and what they stood for?” Morrison paused for a minute, seeing that Sims was staring at him almost transfixed. “I’m sorry, sir; it’s a subject about which I am passionate.”
“No, Stephen, that’s fine, really excellent,” he said as he closed the service jacket. I’ve found the right man, Sims thought to himself. Folding his hands on the table in front of them, Sims spoke again. “Stephen, let me tell you what the mission is, what we will accomplish on this cruise. Are you familiar with my writings on continuous-aim firing? I assume you are. Well, my new job in the Navy Department is Inspector of Target Practice. I have been given a mandate and a free hand by President Roosevelt himself for this venture upon which we are about to embark.
“We will be going to sea in six days. We will be steaming to the Caribbean operating area, and we will be maintaining strict emissions control — no messages to or from the ship. There we will be training continuously in the technique of continuous-aim firing, using the forward turret initially. If the training goes as I anticipate, we will also train the aft turret. I need someone to lead the turret teams, to train those men to act as a team and to perform their duties both expertly and expeditiously. Stephen, you will lead this team. I will, of course, oversee the project, but you will be the team leader. After all, I can’t realistically expect that as an outsider, I can just come aboard a ship and win the respect and loyalty that you have achieved by your year aboard. Are you following me?”
“Yes, sir. And after we master the technique, what then?”
“Ah, yes, I was coming to that.” A large grin spread across Sims' face. “I have scheduled a gunnery exercise off the Atlantic coast in the Philadelphia operating area. The Indiana will be one of five ships competing in this exercise. Here’s the whole point of this project of ours. The other ships will manage their usual mediocre to dismal performance, which the senior admirals seem to be content with, while we will achieve a perfect score. Do you understand what I’m saying, Stephen? Not a good or great score, but a perfect score! That will change things overnight for the navy. And here’s the beautiful part. You, Lieutenant Junior Grade Stephen Morrison, will have trained and supervised the gunnery team, not me. This will no longer be Sims’ pet project that only he wants or understands. A very junior officer will have demonstrated it to the world! Pretty damn exciting, don’t you think?”
“Yes, it is. I must admit I’m intrigued. And this whole at-sea period is some big secret?”
“It is. The CO has been instructed to accommodate all of my directives to complete this mission. That comes straight from President Roosevelt. You see, Stephen, we cannot afford to fail. We will not fail. There is too much at stake here.”
Morrison current job aboard the Indiana was that of assistant navigator. He brought that up to Sims, who countered “Not a problem. That has already been taken care of by the CO. As of this moment, you are the gunnery officer. Any other thoughts, problems, or issues, young man?”
“Well, yes. I’ve read about continuous-aim firing, but there really hasn’t been anything published that I’ve seen with enough detail on the process. I know that you’ll teach me over these next few weeks, but it a nutshell, how does it work?”
Sims smiled at his protégé and laughed. “How does it work? Stephen, that’s the beautiful part. It’s really not that complicated, either the principle or the process. I know you worked for the gunner aboard the Brooklyn for a while, so I know you understand the current principles of targeting and fire control. Currently, all of our guns have those antiquated, worthless notched sights. As a result, our gunners only aim to fire at the target when the ship's rocking motion brings the target right into the notched sight.
“I was with Captain Percy Scott aboard the HMS Terrible in the China Sea and saw him deliver ordinance on target continuously. And here’s how he did it. He had his gunners keep the gun pointed at the target at all times, regardless of the rocking motion of the ship. In addition, Captain Scott disposed of those worthless notched gun sights and replaced them with a modified telescope that he attached to the top of the gun. This scope really magnified the targets. Also, Scott had cross hairs installed into the telescope lenses. This modification made the targeting more precise. That's basically it, Stephen. It’s that simple.
“Of course, when I first reported on this, the powers that be were unimpressed. Even the Chief of the Bureau of Ordinance opposed my concept. Do you know what that unimaginative idiot did? He claimed that he tried to duplicate the process, and it didn’t work. Of course, what he did was use a gun that was mounted to one of the seawalls at the Washington Navy Yard. He claimed that the gunner, when targeting, had no way to overcome the resistance involved in raising and lowering the gun to simulate a ship’s rolling motion. Case closed! You see Stephen, in the United States Navy, everyone thinks that continuous-aim firing is pure theory and will not work. I include your CO, Captain Robinson, in this group, by the way.” Sims stopped and took a drink of water from the glass on his desk. “Now, Stephen, that is our mission. We will begin in the morning, after I unpack the new telescopes I mentioned. I had them custom-made in Washington. Any further questions before we break?”
“No, sir. I can’t think of any at the moment.”
“Then you’re dismissed. We’ll get together at 1000 tomorrow.” The two men shook hands. Sims was delighted that Morrison appeared to be just as enthused about the whole project as he was. As Morrison walked out the door, he turned and said, “William, thanks for selecting me for this duty. I really am honored.”
Sims’ face beamed with a broad smile when he replied, “Remember, Stephen, we will be making history!” As the young man shut the door behind him, Sims thought to himself, I have found the right man. He is an extraordinary individual.
* * *
Sims knew he had to change the entire procedure of target practice, and he had prepared well for the exercise. He knew that resentment had grown among junior officers over the farce that gunnery practice had become. The results of the Spanish-American war still resonated in his mind as he developed his plan. He envisioned a new way of conducting gunnery competition that would shock the navy into the modern era.
Before the Indiana departed on its history-making cruise, Sims gloomily recounted to Morrison the current state of the art. Gunnery practice consisted of a ship firing from a prescribed distance of a thousand yards to an area between two buoys. Aligned with the buoys would be a boat containing the judges, who estimated where the ordinance landed and where it would have struck a ship had there been one between the buoys. The judges drew intricate diagrams to record their findings. The ship’s gunnery proficiency was then evaluated on these drawings. It also galled Sims that the ship could take as much time as it wished before firing. That entire system was about to end.
Sims had brought aboard two twenty-foot by twenty-foot square wooden rafts, each with fifteen-foot high posts on either side. A thin wooden target featuring a large red solid circle would be installed between the poles. Sims intended to have these target rafts towed by a small surface craft and for the Indiana to practice its gunfire on these targets. He had arranged for small boats from San Juan to rendezvous with the battleship off the coast of Puerto Rico to perform the towing duties. The ship would drill daily in secrecy until Sims felt the results he desired had been achieved. Only then would the Indiana proceed to the Atlantic coast for her final examination: the next gunnery competition for the North Atlantic Squadron.
* * *
On the transit down to the Caribbean, Sims and Morrison installed the telescopic sights on the two thirteen-inch guns in the forward turret and attached two small caliber rifles with telescopic sights to the two thirteen-inch guns in the aft turret. Shortly after the installations, Morrison mustered both of the turrets’ gun crews. After introducing Sims to his men, Morrison explained their assignment. He would personally oversee the operations in the forward turret, and Ensign Jack Harramore would be his assistant supervising the aft turret operations. He began describing the basics of continuous-aim firing and concluded by informing the men of the upcoming gunnery competition. He summed up by announcing, “Men, we will be firing ordinance every fifteen to twenty seconds while we are running at full speed, and we will achieve one-hundred-percent accuracy. Make no mistake about it, we will hit the target with every round!”
The stunned gun crews just looked at each other in disbelief. The Leading Chief Petty Officer of the gunnery department, Chief Thad McFadden, finally broke the silence. “Sir,” he said cautiously, “that ain’t possible!”
Sharply, Morrison replied, “Yes, it is possible, and we will achieve this goal! Am I clear on this to all of you? Now, let’s muster on the enlisted mess decks for some didactic lecturing on the technique by Lieutenant Sims. Dismissed!” Grumbling, the men fell out and headed for the mess decks.
Each turret on the Indiana had two gun crews. Each gun crew consisted of a gun pointer who actually aimed the gun, the gun captain in charge of the overall operation of the gun, a loader who opened and shut the breech of the gun, and the rammer who rammed the powder and ordinance into the breech. Morrison explained that they would work solely with the forward turret initially. Chief McFadden would be his assistant. Sims used a chalkboard to explain the principles of continuous-aim firing. “To give the pointers the feel of what we are trying to achieve, Mr. Morrison and I installed small rifles parallel to the guns of the rear turrets. The triggers of the thirteen-inch guns have been modified so that when you sight your target through the telescopic lens and fire the thirteen-incher, it will fire the small rifle. That way, we can sight your guns by checking the results of the rifle hits on target and, at the same time, introduce you to the technique. Men, from now on, Mr. Morrison is in charge. Tomorrow, we do our first drills. Good luck and remember, we are going to change history with our efforts!”
* * *
The next day’s initial practice rounds did not go well. Old habits proved hard to break, and the pointers had difficulty with the new concept of using the telescopes continuously. Learning to adjust for the rolling of the ship added to the frustration levels. At the end of the session, Morrison tried not to be overly critical of their performance, but he informed them that each day, he would expect a measure of improvement. This approach did not sit well with Chief McFadden. He had been a gunner’s mate for over twenty years and was very set in his ways. He resented this outsider Lieutenant Sims coming aboard and imposing this new nonsense on his gun crews. This new technique couldn’t possibly work.
At the next morning’s muster, the temperature already exceeded eighty degrees, and the tropical sun brutally beat down on the assembled gunners. As Morrison walked up to them, Ensign Harramore shouted, “Atten-shun!” The two rows of men smartly snapped to attention. Morrison ordered them at ease and began to go over the plan of the day. When he finished, Chief McFadden requested permission to speak before they left to man the turret. Morrison granted permission and McFadden began.
“Mr. Morrison, this new stuff ain’t practical. I’ve been firing these guns for a long time, since you were in toddler’s britches, and I know guns. This is too hard, and it don’t work. I respectfully recommend, sir, that we go back to the way we always done things.” A few murmurs of assent arose from the assembled gunners.
At first, Morrison just stared at the chief. The men could see the anger in his eyes as he began to speak. “Is that so, Chief? Well, consider yourself relieved. Get the hell out of here. You’re no longer involved in this exercise, and I’ll ask the XO to have you transferred out of the gunnery department for the duration.” The stunned sailor started to speak, but Morrison cut him off. “Get the hell out of here now before I have you charged with dereliction of duty and failure to obey a direct order!”
McFadden realized that the conversation had ended and broke ranks to leave. He had already been sweating from the morning sun, and now his face reddened with anger. Over his shoulder, he sent a frosty look of hatred back at the new gunnery officer.
“Any others of you care to comment?” challenged Morrison. The assembled crew remained silent. “Good. Then let’s get to work! Oh, yes, Gunner Trask, you will assume Chief McFadden’s former duties. You are now my assistant.”
Gunner’s Mate First Class Peter Trask, who greatly admired Lieutenant Morrison, replied enthusiastically, “Aye, aye, sir!”
Smiling at the men, Morrison finished relating the plan of the day to them and announced to Ensign Harramore, “Dismiss your troops, and carry out the plan of the day.” Harramore and Morrison exchanged salutes, and as Morrison left, Harramore faced the men and bellowed, “Dismissed! Men, target practice in ten minutes! Let’s go make history!”
A cheer broke out amongst the gunners as they scurried to the turrets.
* * *
After the first week of daily, repetitive drills, the teams in the forward turret learned the rhythm and teamwork that would be necessary for continuous-aim firing. Morrison supervised all of the sessions while Sims remained in the shadows. Each night, he was debriefed by Morrison, and they critiqued the day’s results together. As a courtesy, both men briefed Captain Robinson intermittently. By the end of the second week, Morrison felt that the teams had become very proficient. He could sense their growing confidence. He felt confident that the time was right to shift his attention to the aft turret and its two teams.
For this work, he let Ensign Harramore supervise the two aft teams. Each morning Morrison went over the day’s gunnery plans with Harramore, who would be directing all the turret activities. Although occasionally present in the aft turret during operations, Morrison acted solely as an observer. It was Harramore who was in charge and to whom the men responded in the aft turret. The situation was precisely what Morrison wanted. After three weeks of daily drills, the aft turret had become as proficient as the forward turret.
Their time in the Caribbean rapidly drew to a close. That final evening, Sims and Morrison prepared to debrief the Captain Robinson. Morrison reviewed all of the activities of the previous three weeks. Robinson listened intently, occasionally stroking his Vandyke beard. When Morrison finished, the CO looked at the two younger officers and asked, “Well, gentlemen, are we ready? Are we going to achieve what you claim, or are we going to return to base with our tail between our legs?”
Sims started to respond when Morrison inadvertently interrupted him. “Not only are we ready, sir, we are prepared to teach the United States Navy what naval gunfire is all about. Nothing will ever be the same when we are finished with our shooting demonstration.”
Robinson looked at the young man and sighed. “I’m glad you are confident, Mr. Morrison. How about you, Mr. Sims? Are you as confident as your colleague?”
Without hesitation, Sims replied, “Captain, I not only totally concur with Mr. Morrison, but I guarantee that the results will be perfect.”
The commanding officer of the battleship Indiana smiled at the two young officers. “I suppose we’ll see, won’t we? Gentlemen, tomorrow we head back to the Atlantic Coast. I only hope we can deliver on your promises.”