As far as McVay knew, the Indianapolis was alone in the dark waters of the western Pacific, hundreds of miles from the closest land. Days earlier, at the island of Tinian, it had delivered components for the atomic bomb that would soon level Hiroshima. Now, McVay left orders that the Indianapolis resume zigzagging should the weather improve. And he went to bed.

Shortly after midnight, two Japanese torpedoes tore into the ship: A 610-foot floating city, the Indianapolis sunk in 12 minutes. McVay was among some 900 men (out of 1,196) to live through the initial blasts and abandon ship. And he was one of 316 to live for five days awaiting rescue in the oil-slicked Pacific, while more than 500 of his men drowned, succumbed to thirst, hunger and injuries, or were eaten by sharks.

But McVay, then 46, did not ultimately survive the ordeal, professionally or personally. Three months after the torpedo attack, he was tried for "hazarding his ship by failing to zigzag." The Japanese submarine commander testified that zigzagging would have made no difference; he still would have sunk the Indianapolis. But McVay was convicted.

 Video: Captain McVay and Japanese sub commander Mochitsura Hashimoto at McVay's court-martial.

His sentence was remitted in 1946 by Adm. Chester Nimitz, who restored McVay to active duty. And upon retirement in 1949, McVay received a "tombstone promotion" to rear admiral, which increased his pension allotment. But the conviction stood.

Many of the survivors believed then — and continue to maintain — that McVay was the Navy's scapegoat, court-martialed to divert questions, namely: Why did hundreds of men struggle to survive in shark-infested waters for five days while the Navy failed to launch a search? And why is McVay the only captain in U.S. Naval history prosecuted for losing his ship during combat?

Twenty-four years after the court-martial, McVay shot himself to death with a Navy-issue .38-caliber revolver.

As a group, the aging survivors long sought to clear McVay's name. Four years ago, they were joined by an unlikely assistant: 12-year-old Hunter Scott of Pensacola, Fla., who became interested in the Indianapolis after seeing a reference to it in the movie, Jaws. He began researching the story and interviewed survivors for a history fair project, then contacted Rep. Joe Scarborough, a Florida Republican.

The result of the survivors' long quest, the schoolboy's project and recently declassified military records raising questions about the Navy's own culpability was a sense of Congress resolution passed in 2000, and signed by President Clinton, expressing the belief that McVay was innocent. And finally, in July 2001, Navy Secretary Gordon R. England ordered that McVay's naval record be officially amended to exonerate him of any wrongdoing in the loss of the Indianapolis.