Out of the Depths by Edgar USMC Harrell & David Harrell

Author:Edgar USMC Harrell & David Harrell [ Harrell, Edgar with David Harrell]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: REL012040, HIS027100, BIO008000, Indianapolis (Cruiser), World War (1939–1945)—Personal narratives (American), Shipwreck survival—Pacific Ocean, Sailors—United States—Biography, Marines—United States—Biography, United States. Marine Corps—Biography, World War (1939–1945)—Naval operations (American), Christian biography—United States
ISBN: 9781441264558
Publisher: Baker Publishing Group
Published: 2014-03-21T04:00:00+00:00

A Makeshift Raft

The prayer meeting was emotionally exhausting. As things got quiet among us, we once again surrendered to the sea in an almost catatonic stupor. Silently we floated, back and forth. Up and down. Curious sharks would periodically make their way through our ranks, slowly and deliberately, only to disappear without incident.

While I have no way of knowing the minds of my comrades, certainly for me there still remained a glimmer of hope hidden away in some secret recess of my heart. The indwelling Spirit of God, my resident Comforter, continued to give me the perfect measure of grace to bear up under the weight of despair. I frequently obeyed the admonition to “come boldly unto the throne of grace, that we may obtain mercy, and find grace to help in time of need” (Hebrews 4:16 KJV).

Within minutes after our prayer time concluded, we ascended a large swell, and to our amazement we could see in the distance what appeared to be a makeshift raft surrounded by a few men. Before then we had figured there must be others out there somewhere, but we had no way of knowing for sure. We could faintly hear some chatter and knew that it had to be some of ours. After making contact, both of our little groups gradually made our way toward a central rendezvous. As we got closer to them, I could see that there was no one on the raft, but five sailors were swimming and pulling the little raft ever so slowly in our direction. We were elated to know that at least there were a few others who had survived.

After exchanging some very warm greetings, we learned that they were trying to swim to the Philippines, thinking that if they could get a little closer to the islands they would be more likely to be spotted. As they came alongside our group, we could see that the raft was actually two 40 mm ammunition cans and four wood-slatted potato or orange crates all lashed together with strips of cloth. Tied to the top was a real answer to our prayers—several kapok life jackets that had been removed from deceased boys and placed atop the little flotilla to dry out. This meant that we had spare jackets for when ours played out—an immediate concern. Due to logistics and sheer lack of energy, no one could possibly hoist themselves onto the raft, but I accepted this situation of meeting other survivors as a gift from God.

The sailors with the raft were quite adamant that no one was looking for us, otherwise we would already have been rescued. Although none of us wanted to admit it, down deep we all agreed. In light of this stark reality, they had decided to swim toward the Philippines—five hundred miles to the west, though we didn’t know the distance or exact direction at the time. Their logic was simple: The closer they got to the Philippines, the greater their chance of being spotted and rescued.

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