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Rairden spotted a spare jacket, pulled it carefully on the wounded sailor, and then helped him over the rail and into the water below. Meanwhile, Beebe and Crommelin picked their way along the mangled catwalk toward the stern. As they advanced, Beebe also encountered Wiltsie, who fell in beside him. By now the ¤re engul¤ng Liscome Bay seemed to be spreading even faster, and the search for a route off the ship was becoming more desperate. Beebe, however, hesitated to enter the water without a life jacket or raft. He knew that, true to doctrine, their screening ships had likely scattered at the ¤rst recognition of a torpedo attack. There was no telling when they would return to pick up survivors . As he pondered his predicament amid the rising heat, Beebe recalled that there was a rubber life raft stowed on each corner of the ®ight deck. He turned and headed for the bow, calling for Wiltsie to join him and Crommelin. There was no response. Beebe didn’t realize it at the time, but he was likely the last person to see the ship’s captain alive. Moments later, Beebe located the unin®ated life raft near the bow, but the ®aming oil in the water prevented an escape from that point. Avoiding the ®ight deck with its bursting rounds of ammunition, the squadron commander carefully pulled his precious raft back toward the aft section of the ship along a slope of twisted beams. Working his way along the slope, he lost his footing and tumbled downward, still clutching the raft. He smacked into Ensign Daniel Mack, A-V(N), USNR, almost knocking the young of¤cer off the ship and into the ®aming water below. “Excuse me,” Beebe said. “This is no time for excuses, sir,” Mack responded.25 Mack was right. By now the ¤re along the ®ight deck above the men was getting so hot that Beebe felt his face searing. He shielded his face with his left hand as he dragged the raft with his right. Slowly, the of¤cers made it to a point where they were almost abreast of the forward part of the ship’s island. At that point, however, they could go no further . Fire was raging ahead and above, and hot ®ames on the water below licked menacingly along the carrier’s port side. They were trapped. In desperation, Beebe looked into the water for an opening in the®ames. His eyes were rewarded with a welcome sight—a light breeze had Abandon Ship! / 161 sprung up along the port quarter and was pushing the ®aming oil forward . In a moment, they would be able to slip into the water. Beebe turned to point out the opening to Crommelin. “We’ve got to go over here, Captain Crommelin,” he called. There was no response.26 Beebe whipped his head around. Crommelin had disappeared. Beebe backtracked, looking for the wounded of¤cer in the ¤re-kissed darkness, but he was nowhere to be found. Reluctantly, Beebe rejoined Mack and some other sailors who had found the opening in the ®ames. One by one, they began to clamber down a line hanging from the catwalk into the water. By now, the heat from the deck had become truly unbearable. As soon as the last sailor and Mack began their descent, Beebe swung out onto the line with his right arm, lugging the life raft with him. As he reached for the line with his left hand, he realized for the ¤rst time that his left arm was torn and bleeding from a ®ying piece of metal shrapnel. There was simply no strength left in it, and no hope that it could hold him on the rope. Beebe fell awkwardly away from the line and into the water below, hitting it hard with a heavy splash. The impact knocked the raft from Beebe’s hand, but he was able to grab it as he emerged sputtering on the water’s oily surface. Lieutenant Piegari, VC-39’s executive of¤cer, had also made it into the water, and he swam over to join his commander. The two men decided against in®ating the raft for fear they would be blown into the ®ames to their right. Kicking vigorously in the dark water, they pushed the heavy raft in front of them, trying to put more distance between themselves and the burning oil. Mack soon joined them, and the three of¤cers pushed...

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