laststandonzombieisland

Some 80 years ago today, one of the longest-serving yet oft-forgotten vessels in American maritime service was finally retired.

On 10 October 1945, the 190-foot Miami-class cruising cutter Unalga (WPG-53) was decommissioned, capping 33 years of unbroken service that began in 1912 with the old Revenue Cutter Service.

Serving with the Navy directly during the Great War, she went back to walking the beat and rejoined the Navy for WWII, first in conducting antisubmarine patrols under the auspices of the Commandant, 10th Naval District, then as a floating target ship for the Motor Torpedo Boat Squadron Training Center in Melville, Rhode Island.

Former crewman Merle L. Harbourt, in a 15 May 1992 letter to the USCG Historian’s Office, wrote about Unalga during the cutter’s second world war:

She never sank a submarine nor shot down a plane, but there is one old ship that I served in that should get some mention simply because she survived. The former Revenue Cutter Unalga, or ‘Mighty U’ as she was not too affectionately referred to by her crew, is a case study in unpreparedness.

As memory serves, the Unalga was commissioned in 1912 as a vessel of the U.S. Revenue Cutter Service. I joined her in June of 1941 when she was home ported in San Juan, P.R. She was powered by a four-cylinder triple expansion reciprocating steam engine, which Lt. L. M. Thayer (later to be RADM Thayer), our engineering officer, was intent upon her maintenance since she was forever snapping piston rings.

Shortly before the outbreak of WWII, we painted her gray and limbered up our armament, one three-inch twenty-three caliber mount on the fore deck. We were tied up in San Juan, at the still-existing buoy depot, when December 7th became a day of infamy.

We served as Harbor Entrance Control Vessel for San Juan for a period and then were pressed into service to haul aviation gasoline from Puerto Rico (Ponce) to Charlotte Amalie, Virgin Islands, in 55-gallon drums stacked all over the main deck, to provide fuel for the Marine air station. The small tanker that had formerly provided that service was shelled and sunk by a sub earlier. Later, without the benefit of radar or sonar, we assisted in the escort of ships between Trinidad and Cuba, convoys that sometimes got away from us during darkness or heavy rains.

My humorous tales of life on that old ship are endless. Like the time when we thought we might be facing a German Q boat, or raider, and .30 caliber rifles were issued to a few crewmembers. And us with one snub-nose three-inch cannon! Or the time when, after sonar installation, we thought we had a sub contact, dropped a pattern of depth charges, and the main engine stopped. The vacuum had been lost. If we were in the vicinity of a sub, he probably thought we wouldn’t make it back to port anyway and didn’t waste a fish.”

She wasn’t quite finished, though.

Sold on 19 July 1946 for her value as floating scrap, she was renamed Ulua and then participated in the immigration of Jewish refugees to Palestine, past the British naval blockade.