The machine guns at close range were bad enough, but the PT crews “pulled 20 Gs” when a heavy battery began firing from the mouth of the bay. The PTs, already deep inside the bay, would have to pass close to the heavy guns to escape from the harbor. The worst was that the gunners were obviously crack artillerymen, for the first shell hit so close to the port bow of the 337 that water from the spout sluiced down the decks and shrapnel whizzed overhead. The sharpshooting gunners of the shore battery put a shell from the next salvo into the tank compartment below the port turret. All engines went dead and the boat burst into flame. The skipper, Ensign Henry W. Cutter, pulled the CO₂ release valve but it was too late—the boat was doomed. Francis C. Watson, Motor Machinist Mate, Third Class, who had been blown from the port turret by the shell blast, got to his feet and started forward, away from the searing flames, but he turned back into the fire to help William Daley, Jr., who was crawling painfully out of the burning engine room. Daley had been badly wounded in the neck and jaw. Watson pulled Daley from the flames and with Morgan J. Canterbury, Torpedomen’s Mate, Second Class, carried him forward. Ensign Cutter put a life raft into the water on the side away from the big guns, and Daley, dazed but obedient, tried to get into the raft, but slipped overboard. The skipper and Ensign Robert W. Hyde jumped after him and towed him to the raft. The crew paddled and pushed the raft away from the burning boat and out to sea, but a strong current worked against them and in two hours they made only 700 yards. When their boat exploded, the concussion hurt. Searchlights swept the bay and guns fired all night at the 338, which had escaped behind smoke and was now trying to get back _into_ the death-trap to find out what had happened to their comrades of the 337. The crack gunners ashore were too good, however, and repeated brackets from heavy salvos kept the 338 outside until the rising sun drove the worried sailors home. Daley died before sunrise, and—in the formal language of the Navy report—“was committed to the sea.” Survivors clinging to the three-by-seven-foot balsa oval were the skipper and Ensign Hyde, Watson, Canterbury; Ensign Bruce S. Bales; Allen B. Gregory, QM2c; Harry E. Barnett, RM2c; Henry S. Timmons, Y2c; Edgar L. Schmidt, TM3c; Evo A. Fucili, MoMM3c; and James P. Mitchell, SC3c. The raft was not built for an 11-man load, so the sailors took turns riding in the slat-bottom craft and swimming alongside. Currents nagged them, and at dawn the raft was still less than a mile off the entrance to the bay, within easy reach of Japanese patrol boats. During the morning the currents set the boat toward Manam Island, six miles away, and Ensign Cutter decided to make for the island, with the idea that he and his crew would hide in the woods. Maybe they would find food, water, shelter—who knows, just possibly a native canoe or sailboat.