While Hartley on the bridge battled the tide and kept his propeller from fouling in the towlines, I watched the single wire line leading over our bow to the submarine’s stern. With the tide beating against the flat ends of the pontoons, pulling on the submarine, that wire, taut as a bowstring, was under a terrific strain. Michels and Eiben, working in the-mud at the bottom of the sea, had shackled that line round the tail of the S-51; now it was taking a heavier pull than had ever been expected of it.
If the wire parted or slipped free, the submarine would go shooting downstream, snapping all the airhoses like threads. Soon she would fill and sink, perhaps at Governors Island, perhaps off Staten Island, and once more we would have the job of salvaging the S-51 from the bottom. We were worn, we were tired, we were overwrought. Surrounded by divers, I looked out in the blackness where the searchlights played over the bubbles rising through the water from the pontoons. We saw how, inch by inch, the Falcon was losing ground against the tide; for nearly an hour we watched the taut towline to the S-51. Would it hold?
We had been through much of danger, much of heartbreaking disappointment, but as we stood there, practically at the entrance to the Navy Yard which we had always looked forward to as the goal of our struggles, waiting every second to see the submarine tear free and sink, it seemed like the darkest hour of all.
At last the Sagamore freed her propeller from the tangled hawser we had cut loose and was able again to maneuver. Cregan brought his boat to our assistance, threw Hartley another hawser, added his power to the tug of war against the tide. We stopped losing; we held our own; then inch by inch the four straining vessels made headway against the current towards the Navy Yard. The tension in the S-51’s solitary towline increased, but it held; amid a din of puffing tugs, hoarse voices shouting orders across the water, and the swirl of the tide as the river raced by, the S-51 was slowly dragged back up the river and pulled into the quiet water of the Navy Yard basin.
It was 11 P.M.,—two hours past high water. The tide had dropped too much for the wreck to be hauled over the sill into the waiting drydock; besides, the docking crew, never expecting that we would refloat the wreck, had gone home hours before.
The Falcon drew the submarine alongside a pier near the drydock; heaving lines flew through the air and shortly we were secured to the dock. All night long we kept watch over our waterlogged wreck, incessantly pumping air to keep her afloat.
In the early dawn, we prepared her for docking, ran new airhoses from the yard mains to the drydock. The submarine, bow first, was dragged to the entrance of the dock, a hauling line tied to the bow pontoons, centering lines secured on both sides. When high tide came at 10 A.M., the Falcon hurriedly let go her hoses, cast loose the stern line, and we dragged the submarine across the sill into the largest drydock in New York. Slowly she floated through the gate, the caisson was swung into place behind her, the S-51 could no longer get away from us!
The pontoons were already sinking forward. Riggers scrambled aboard, connected the new airhoses, and blew out the water which had leaked in.
An all-day struggle followed to land the submarine on the keel blocks in the dock and straighten her up. As a result of her stranding, she was lying far over on her starboard side as she finished her journey. Heavy tackles were secured by the divers to her gun and to the mast; with these we attempted to pull her upright, after lowering the water in the dock enough to let her just rest on the blocks. Three times we heaved and had the S-51 practically vertical; three times the lines or blocks broke under the strain and let her roll back.
Under the broiling July sun, I directed the work from the top of the starboard midship pontoon; riggers, divers, and shipwrights heaving on the blocks, setting up shores, wrestled with the S-51. Late in the day, on our fourth attempt, after ransacking the Navy Yard for the heaviest lines and blocks on hand, we finally held the submarine practically erect while the divers rammed shores under her bilge keels to keep her that way. And so that night the S-51 rested, still submerged, in the dock.
Next morning we returned. Quickly the water was pumped from the dock. As it fell, the S-51 was at last exposed to the light of day. Covered with fine seaweed, draped in a tangled net of manila lines that had gradually gathered over her hull as we worked, she lay in the dock,—a huge hole in her port side where the City of Rome had cut through.
We opened the hatches. Clad in gas masks, the medical party entered to remove the bodies of eighteen officers and men still inside the hull.
XXXVIII
THE BELL
The expedition was over.
During the following days, hundreds of thousands of people passed slowly round the drydock, gazing at the submarine. And lost in the crowd, gazing with them, might have been seen the various members of the salvage crew, looking for the hundredth time at the S-51, trying to convince themselves that it was actually so, that the S-51 was really there, that it was not merely a dream.
On board the Falcon, the divers were packing up, preparing to take the leave they had so well deserved.
I went back to the Vestal, dragged out from under my berth the bell of the S-51. A coveted trophy. I had hoped to give it to the Naval Academy, but I must forgo that honor.
I wrapped up the bell, strolled down the pier to where the Falcon lay, just outside the drydock in which rested the S-51. On the Falcon’s quarterdeck, a group of divers lazily sunned themselves. Yes, there he was.
“Oh, Smith, come out here a minute. I’ve got something for you!”
Smith jumped from the low rail of the ship to the dock, walked over. I unwrapped the bell, gave it to him.
“Here’s the bell, Smith. It’s yours. You earned it!”
A happy smile lighted his face. Without a word he took it, ran back aboard the Falcon, exhibited his trophy proudly to the other divers. I looked at him, looked at the Falcon, in memory saw myself once more in the middle of the heaving ocean, leaning over that rail, looking into the sea, clutching feverishly a diver’s telephone, while far below in the blackness and the mud, Francis Smith struggled for his life, buried in the tunnel beneath the S-51. Beyond all human aid, Smith had almost by a miracle wrought his own escape; with a courage undreamed of, he had crawled back into the tunnel to help raise the S-51. It was the faith of men like Smith, not the pontoons, which had lifted the submarine.
That vision passed. I found myself once more on the sun-baked pier looking across at the group of sailors gathered round the bell. The group broke up, Smith leaped the rail, came to where I stood. He shook my hand.
“Good-bye. I’m going back to Pittsburgh and in a few months I’ll be out of the Navy for keeps. I don’t suppose I’ll ever see you again, but,” he added, pointing to the group of men on the Falcon’s quarterdeck, “there isn’t one of that bunch of divers, Mr. Ellsberg, who wouldn’t go to hell for you!” A squeeze of the hand, Francis Smith was gone. My eyes grew indistinct as I looked after him. Not the acclaim of the press, not the receipt of the Distinguished Service Medal at the hands of the Navy, not even the feeling of having achieved the impossible, could ever mean so much to me as those heartfelt words spoken by Francis Smith.
XXXIX
THE END
It is over. The task is done, the divers have dispersed, the S-51 is a memory. But to the families of the men who formed her crew, we have brought back the bodies of their loved ones, heroically dead at their posts on the S-51. To the Navy, we brought back its ship. And to the Nation, we brought back a story of victory over the sea, wrought by the quiet courage of men who could face death in solitude, disregard failure, and still fight on till they had wrested from the ocean the tomb of their shipmates.
Image Gallery
Commander Edward Ellsberg
USS S-51
SS City of Rome
The derricks were finally towed to the wreck and heaved down. Nothing budged.
The Falcon moored over the S-51.
Chief Torpedoman Smith being hoisted over the side.
I
lifted Wilson’s transmitter to my lips.
Soon another flag-draped body passed down the quarterdeck.
The S-50 coming alongside for a diver’s rehearsal.
I asked Kelley to dress, got dressed myself.
I grasped the bails and was swung over the side.
“The iron doctor.” Outside the recompression tank.
Chief Torpedoman Kelley with Ellsberg cutting torch.
Waldren’s special balanced hose nozzle.
Bow pontoons driven out of alignment by the sea, June 22, 1926.
Wickwire dug his fingernails into the slippery sheathing, climbed aboard.
“The bow is up!”
On the Falcon: Boatswains Hawes and Burnett, Mr. Niedermair, Lieutenant Kelly, Commander Ellsberg, and Lieutenant Hartley.
We went safely through Hell Gate.
Arrangement of pontoons.
The submarine suddenly stopped, the pontoons bobbed violently.
Bow pontoons below the surface at Man of War Rock. Crew opening valves.
S-51 entering the drydock.
S-51 on blocks. Deck about one foot above water.
S-51 in drydock. Dock pumped down and bilge shores in place.
“Well, Mr. Ellsberg, have you decided to give back that bell you stole?”
A huge hole in her port side.
Divers who salvaged S-51: Front row—Davis, Michels, Wickwire, Eiben, Frazer, Bailey, Ellsberg, Eadie, Smith, Carr, Kelley, Frank Anderson; rear row—A. D. Clark, McLagan, Dewberry, Grube, Horan, Boyd, Applegate, McNeil, G. W. Clark, Clemens (in rear), Holden, Henry, Sanders. Absent in picture: Wilson, Ingram, George Anderson, Madden, L’Heureux.
GLOSSARY
BITTS: A pair of steel horns around which a hawser can be belayed or secured.
CHAIN FALL: A mechanism comprising a number of steel gears which is capable of lifting heavy weights when a much smaller pull is exerted on the operating chain.
CLAPPER VALVE: A valve with a hinged disk operated by a lever outside, which swings the valve disk against its seat somewhat like a hinged door.
DOGS: The steel clamps which are swung down over wedges on a watertight door to jam it tightly closed. TO DOG: To jam down the dogs.
KINGSTON VALVE: On a submarine, a valve in the skin of the ship through which water is admitted for submerging the vessel.
MANIFOLD: A casting comprising a number of interconnected valves for distributing oil, water, air, etc., through any combination of the pipes connected to the manifold.
MARLINE: A small line about one-eighth inch in diameter, made of dark colored hemp; much used for wrapping the ends of larger lines.
MOUSE A HOOK: To wrap a number of turns of marline between the point of the hook and the shank of the hook, to prevent the slipping out of the object in the bow of the hook.
PELICAN HOOK: A hook with a hinged bill held in place by a locking link slipped down over its point. When the link is knocked up, the bill flies open on its hinge, releasing the hook.
ROLLING CHOCKS: Bilge keels or flat steel plates secured longitudinally to the underwater shell of the ship. These plates project perpendicularly from the ship’s side a distance of several feet; as the ship rolls they are forced to swing flatwise through the water and the resistance thus created tends to reduce the rolling very markedly.
SHANK (Anchor): The steel shaft to which the flukes of the anchor are secured.
SPILLPIPE: A pipe with its lower open end hung in the lowest part of a compartment; the water is forced overboard through the opening in the spillpipe while the compressed air in the compartment is prevented from escaping till the water level inside falls to the bottom of the spillpipe. A dapper valve, or non-return valve, on the bottom of the spillpipe prevents the water outside from flowing back through the spillpipe.
SQUILGEE HANDLE: A long wood handle on a rubber-edged implement much used aboard ship for drying down the decks.
STRONGBACK: A bar (usually of steel). On the salvage hatches, a bar which straddled the inside of the hatch opening. To this strongback was attached a heavy bolt projecting upward through a hole in the center of the salvage hatch cover. When the outside nut was screwed down the bolt, it jammed the coverplate down tightly, sealing the hatch opening.
TOGGLE PIN: A split pin, similar in design to the locking pins used on automobile bolts. On a pelican hook, a split pin about one-half inch in diameter pushed through a hole in the point of the bill to prevent the locking link from slipping up and allowing the hook to open.
TURNBUCKLE HOOK: A hook with a turnbuckle screwed to its shank. Revolving the turnbuckle tightens up the hook.
WINCH: A windlass; a mechanically rotated drum on which a line can be wound and heaved in.
Index
American Navy torch, 58
Anderson, Frank, 6, 27–28, 33, 36
Anderson, George, 18, 28, 33, 35–37, 39, 58–60, 68–70, 72, 77, 88, 108, 156, 172
Applegate, 27–28, 58
Army Air Service, 9
Ashland, Chief Boatswain’s Mate, 13
Augustine, Chief Boatswain, 13
Badders, William, 93–95, 148–150, 152, 158, 165, 190, 200, 213–215
Bailey, Gunner’s Mate, 18, 72, 82–83, 88, 90, 94, 115, 119–120, 123, 146, 147, 152, 155, 161
Ballast tanks, 64–66, 182
Battery room, 33
Beach, Edward L.
Bell of USS S-51 (hull number SS-162), 106, 167–168, 221–222
“Bends, the,” 7, 14–17, 30, 60, 75–76, 125, 197
Berk, Paul Daniel
Blackwell’s Island, 209, 214
Block Island, 1, 3, 5, 6, 13, 44, 45, 80, 81, 90
“Blowing up,” 85, 86, 125
Boyd, 166, 196, 198, 199, 201
Brenton Reef Lightship, 5
Bridgeport, Connecticut
Bureau of Construction and Repair, 10
Burnett, Chief Boatswain, 6, 152
Buzzards Bay, 62
Camden, 5–7
Carbon dioxide, 16
Carr, Willie, 18, 31, 72, 85, 87, 88, 105–107, 109, 110, 118, 123, 127, 139–144, 159, 162, 164–165, 177–178, 179, 197, 199–202
Cassidy, Ralph Edward
Century derrick, 8
Chariot bridge, 68
City of Rome (steamship)
collision with USS S-51, 1–4, 37, 112
history of
report of accident, 4, 5
rescue efforts by
Clark, 199
Congressional Medal of Honor
Conning tower hatch, 67–69
Control room, 32–43, 47–51, 64, 67, 203–204
Corpses, 22, 23, 36–37, 49, 77, 78, 81, 220
Court of Inquiry, findings of
Crawford, Henry Lee
Cregan, Chief Boatswain, 13, 219
Davis, Torpedoman Third Class, 112, 113, 197–199, 201
Decompression time, 16–17, 80
Deep Sea Diving School, Washington, D.C.
Derricks, 7–8, 12
Diehl, John H., 1
Distinguished Service Medal, 222
Diving (see also Salvage operation of S-51)
“the bends,” 7, 14–17, 30, 60, 75–76, 125, 197
“blowing up,” 85, 86, 125
decompression time, 16–17, 80
equipment, 15, 17, 72
oxygen-intoxication, 27, 75
“squeeze,” 15, 30, 85, 86
Dobson, Rodney H., 3
Eadie, Thomas, 18, 31, 41, 48, 50, 57–58, 60, 64, 72, 74–75, 77, 81–82, 87, 105, 110–111, 116, 123–129, 132, 134, 135, 145, 148, 157, 161–162, 164, 165, 173, 175–176, 178, 190, 195, 197, 199–202, 212–213
Earle, Allan Clifford
East River, 15, 207–208, 211
Egbert, Edmund Webster
Eiben, Joe, 18, 47–51, 64–66, 72–75, 77, 78, 88, 90, 94, 110–111, 117–118, 122–125, 127, 132–134, 157, 162, 176, 192, 193, 197, 199, 201, 202, 216, 218
Ellsberg cutting torch
&nb
sp; Ellsberg jetting nozzle
Elser, Harry Dick
Engine room, 21–31, 139–144, 177, 193
Execution Rocks, 207
Experimental Station, 18
Falcon (see USS Falcon (ASR-2))
Far Shore, The (Ellsberg)
Firm, Rudy
Flotte, Surgeon, 75–76, 84, 124, 129
Ford Island
Fort Adams, 52
Foster, Frederic David
Frazer, James, 6, 18, 21–25, 27, 29–31, 58, 68–72, 85–87, 106–107, 136, 139
Gay Head Lights, 90
Geier, Alfred, 4, 26
Gibson, John Law
Glascock, Turner-Ashby
Great Salt Pond, 45
Grube, Albert, 135, 136, 142, 159, 165, 177, 197–199, 201, 202
Gun access trunk, 33–39, 67–71
Harbor of Refuge, 8, 81, 170, 191, 196
Hartley, Henry, 5, 8, 12, 19, 20, 27, 29, 30, 33, 46, 52, 54, 56, 57, 59, 60, 62, 69, 73, 76, 92, 95, 118, 124, 140, 148–150, 152, 164, 166, 170, 171, 177, 180, 181, 183, 185–187, 193, 194, 200, 208, 209, 218, 219
Haselton, James Dudley, 36–39, 49
Hawes, Richard, 89, 90, 109, 149, 150, 181, 186, 190
Hell Gate, 207
Henry, 140, 198, 199, 201
Hiltbord, Valentine
Honolulu harbor, 96
Horse Neck Beach, Newport, 62, 63
I Like Diving (Eadie)
Ingram, Chief Torpedoman, 7, 18, 31, 41–42, 48, 57, 72, 87, 199–201
International Rules of the Road at Sea, 3
Iuka (tugboat), 13, 53, 79–80, 94, 127, 153–154, 157, 159, 165, 170–172, 178, 198, 199, 203, 206, 207, 209, 216–218
James, Franklin Pierce
On the Bottom: The Raising of the Submarine S-51 Page 26