Word: morro
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...hysterical day last week the municipality of Asbury Park, N. J. laid plans to acquire the beached and blackened hulk of T. E. L. Morro Castle for a side show. Editors boomed out their alarm over the failure of men and machinery in a marine disaster that had taken 127 lives. President Roosevelt at Hyde Park talked hopefully of new fireproof construction laws at the next Congress which would prevent a repetition of such a holocaust. And in Manhattan the Department of Commerce's Steamboat Inspection service tried to get at the cause and circumstances of the wreck...
Though the Morro Castle was smaller than most transatlantic liners, her 21-knot speed and sumptuous appointments put her in the deluxe class on the New York-Havana run. Her master, Robert R. Willmott, 31 years in service, was Commodore of the Ward Line fleet...
...Rogers then sent out his station call, KGVO. He next sent his QRT "Clear the air!'' Then CQ "Attention, please!" Then "All stations please stand by!" Meanwhile the operator in a little stucco Radio Marine Station at Tuckerton, N. J. had relayed a query from a ship in the Morro Castle's neighborhood: "Was a nearby ship afire?" A pillar of flame could be seen. But it was not until 3:25 that Alagna could fight his way back through the flames with authority from Captain Warms, desperate on the bridge, to send out the dread...
...bridge signalled the engine room to stand by. A few minutes later came an order to search the engine room for signs of fire. At 3:10 full speed ahead on the starboard engine was ordered. The steering gear had burned away and Captain Warms wanted to swing the Morro Castle around for a swing toward the shore. At 3 :30 came the order to stop the engines. Engineers groped through smoke and darkness to reach the valves and controls to shut off the big boilers...
...dawn the blazing Morro Castle was surrounded by rescue ships, the great three-funnelled Monarch of Bermuda, the coastwise steamer City of Savannah and the freighter Andrea F. Luckenbach, one of whose officers in a small boat grabbed young Phelps, dragged him to safety. Contorted faces appeared at cabin portholes, trapped, staring out from the red-hot plates. Some cursed and raved. In his own little private hell, one man seemed to smile and wave his hand in farewell...