A Brother’s Name, A Sailor’s Sacrifice

In 1917, with war stretching across the Atlantic and recruitment offices busy with volunteers, a teenager from Allentown, Pennsylvania made a decision that would echo through the rest of his life. His name was Henry Mummey but that’s not the name he used.

At just 15, Henry enlisted in the United States Navy. Too young by regulation, but old enough to know what he wanted. So he used the birth certificate of his older brother, Charles I. Mummey. There were plenty of stories like this during World War I. Some young men lied about their age. A few, like Henry, took a family member’s name. Henry joined a long line of underage boys who traded comfort for courage.

What sets Henry’s story apart is not the false name, but the long road that followed it.

By 1920, census records place him on the USS New Jersey, then docked in Boston. That was two years after that war officially ended, but the Navy didn’t stop moving. The USS New Jersey had been part of the Atlantic Fleet, escorting convoys and patrolling during the final year of the war. Whether Henry joined her before the Armistice or just after, one thing’s clear: his wartime service turned into a career.

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A Navy Career Forged at Sea

The teenager who slipped into service under his brother’s name stayed and rose. Over the years, Henry became a Chief Machinist’s Mate and Chief Petty Officer. That rank didn’t come easy.

A Chief aboard the USS Langley was one of maybe two men trusted with the ship’s most complex mechanical systems. As Chief Machinist’s Mate, Henry wasn’t just another sailor. He would have been the lead enlisted man in charge of Langley’s entire propulsion system. He oversaw the boilers, turbines, and auxiliary machinery that kept her moving through calm seas and combat zones alike.

The Langley was no battleship, but her mission was every bit as critical. She was to deliver aircraft and supplies across the Pacific. And when equipment failed or new recruits needed training under pressure, it fell to the Chief. Henry didn’t just keep the engine room running. He trained green sailors, troubleshot failures mid-mission, and ensured that the ship stayed ready even as the Pacific grew more dangerous by the day.

July 31, 1931, was the day that Henry Mummey was officially received onboard the USS Langley. He would spend the next decade aboard her, through a period of rising tension in the Pacific.

The Langley and Her Place in the Asiatic Fleet

The USS Langley wasn’t like the others. She had been the Navy’s first aircraft carrier (CV-1) before being converted into a seaplane tender, reclassified as AV-3. By the 1930s, she served in the Asiatic Fleet, a modest but strategically placed naval force based in the Philippines. The Langley became a workhorse in a region teetering toward conflict.

She ferried supplies, aircraft, and men to remote Pacific outposts. She trained with allies and patrolled in growing shadows. Her presence signaled resolve more than strength. The Navy knew what was coming. So did the men.

For Henry, that meant years in the Far East, years of routine that could turn urgent in an instant. Aboard the Langley, he would have seen the buildup to war. He might’ve felt the unease when Japan invaded China in 1937. He would’ve known, as many sailors did, that peace was temporary.

An Outpost Fleet on the Edge of War

Before the U.S. had ramped up for total war, the Asiatic Fleet stood in a tough spot. Scattered across the Philippines and Dutch East Indies, its ships were older, fewer, and far from help. The mission wasn’t to win, but to hold out long enough to delay the Japanese and buy time for defenses farther south.

It wasn’t glamorous. But it mattered. That’s the job Henry Mummey walked into aboard the Langley. Not a headline role, but one that kept the wheels turning in a theater stretched thin.

War Finds the Langley

When war finally reached the Pacific in December 1941, the Langley was no longer just ferrying supplies. She became a lifeline, carrying P-40 fighters and pilots bound for the island of Java. On February 27, 1942, while attempting to deliver 32 planes, the Langley was attacked by Japanese bombers south of Java.

She took multiple hits. Fires spread. Steering failed. The engine room flooded, leaving her dead in the water. As a Chief Machinist Mate, Henry was almost certainly below deck, doing everything he could to keep the ship afloat and moving.

The crew couldn’t save the aging, battered ship. The order was given to abandon ship. The destroyers USS Whipple and USS Edsall rescued the survivors and sunk the Langley so that it would not fall into enemy hands.

Chief Petty Officer Mummey wasn’t among the dead that day. He was one of over 400 survivors rescued by the Whipple and Edsall. The surviving Langley crew, including Henry, was transferred to the USS Pecos the next day.

The following videos were obtained from the National Archives. They show the USS Langley and USS Princeton under attack by Japanese aircraft. They do not have audio.

The Pecos and the Final Blow

As a fleet replenishment oiler, the Pecos had its own mission: refuel ships and keep operations going. Now, with hundreds more men from the Langley. The very next day after receiving the survivors from the Langley, .n March 1, 1942, the Pecos was attacked by Japanese aircraft. The ship was overwhelmed.

The USS Pecos changed course and dismissed it’s escorting destroyer when it received orders to receive the survivors of the Langley. The Edsall and Whipple had returned to their course as well. With no escorting destroyer nearby and no supporting aircraft of its own, the Pecos was a sitting duck. She was attacked four times by Japanese bombers over a span of a few hours. She sank, leaving hundreds of men floating in oil-covered water.

Henry was listed as Missing in Action after the Pecos went down. However, his name remained, officially, that of his older brother, Charles I. Mummey.

Exemplary Courage

The war diary of the Pecos lauded all of the men onboard including those from the Langley. It states “The conduct of the crews of the Pecos and Langley throughout the action was exemplary and followed the best traditions of the Navy.” It then goes on to say “Many of the survivors of the Langley assisted in reforming gun crews after the regular gun crews were killed or wounded and otherwise assisted in any way that they could. Practically the entire allowance of antiaircraft ammunition had been expended before the ship sank and only a very few rounds went down with the ship.”

For further reading about the events surrounding the attacks on the USS Langley and the USS Pecos, check out Pawns of War by Dwight R. Messimer.

The Fate of the Destroyers Edsall and Whipple

The Edsall also met it’s tragic fate on March 1, 1942. Only five men aboard the Edsall survived that attack. However, those men later perished as Prisoners of War. Their remains were discovered in Indonesia in 1952.

After transferring the survivors from the Langley and returning to it’s course, the USS Whipple received the distress calls from the Pecos and turned around. She arrived later that night and rescued 232 of the stranded men, who had been floating there for quite awhile. However, during this rescue mission, a Japanese submarine was spotted and engaged. Due to the continuous threat of torpedos, the Whipple had to make the heart-wrenching decision to leave the remaining men.

What Remains After the Wake

No grave marks where Henry Mummey fell. No stone bears his name in the waters south of Java. The name that does survive him on the memorial in Manila isn’t even his own.

His brother, the real Charles I. Mummey, died in 1936 after an accident on steel stairs at the Bethlehem Steel plant in Pennsylvania. Henry would die just six years later. One man’s life lost early at the age of 36. Another, lived in that name until he vanished beneath oil-dark waves in the Java Sea at 39.

But names and waves don’t hold the whole story. What endures is the courage carried beneath the surface. The steady hands in the engine room. The quiet resolve to keep the ship moving and the fight going when all else failed. Henry’s service, though hidden in a borrowed name, sails on in the legacy of duty, sacrifice, and unyielding grit.

This story is part of my family’s history. The real Charles I. Mummey was my great grandfather. Henry Mummey was my grandfather’s “Uncle Hank”. For some suggestions on researching your own family history, check out my 5 Step Guide on how to get started.

Carry the Legacy Forward