Going Deep

by Lawrence Goldstone

  Despite the detail in which Lake recounted this exchange, there is no independent confirmation that his design was ever seriously considered. In fact, the evidence strongly indicates that his was the only entry eliminated. For one thing, there was no “Mathews” on the review board, which consisted of three, not five, men. In addition, two weeks after the competition closed, the New York Times ran an article whose headline read, “Plans for Submarine Boats: A New York Inventor Likely to Build the First Vessel,” referring to Holland, and that the other boat that had been under consideration was Baker’s. But the Times indicated that the review board had ultimately rejected Baker’s design because his sole means of undersea propulsion was battery power, a system that at the time was “considered insufficient,” which is odd since Holland’s boat was powered similarly.11 But in every account except Lake’s, the Holland boat, larger, faster, and more sturdily built, was considered the superior design.

  But despite the board’s finding no flaw in Holland’s design, expressing no hesitation as to whether the boat would function as described, agreeing that Holland’s “porpoise” method of diving was more speedy and efficient than either Baker’s or Lake’s, and submitting in its report that the Holland boat “meets every requirement of the service ‘fairly well’” and that “the inventor’s experience with submarines also counts in his favor,” Holland was not quickly declared the winner.

  From the “ominous silence,” Holland and Frost knew problems were afoot. When word did finally arrive from the board, it was not what the Holland forces had hoped to hear. It was rather “a request from [board member] Lieutenant Commander C. S. Sperry for further descriptions and calculations to support Holland’s drawings.” Holland and Frost knew that “such an inquiry could only mean that pressure was being placed on the Board to postpone a final decision.”12

  Baker had indeed pulled the right strings. It was revealed later that the board had recommended that Holland be awarded the contract but had been overruled by Commodore Sampson. E. B. Frost had tried to pull some strings of his own, of course—Baker’s supporters were not the only lobbyists Simon Lake saw in the anteroom—but Baker had simply done a better job.

  Once Sampson had deferred the contract, Baker claimed that he was “fully prepared to demonstrate [his boat] on Lake Michigan for the benefit of the Navy. Senator William B. Allison of Iowa and General C. M. Shelley, Baker’s lawyer, persuaded the Secretary of the Navy that the Board on Submarine Torpedo Boats should put Baker’s little vessel through her paces. The Board, in fairness to Holland, Baker’s major competitor, offered him the opportunity to present a boat of his own.”13

  At that point, of course, Holland didn’t have a boat of his own. He hadn’t thought he needed one. Frost then “set out to counteract the Baker lobby. He requested Holland to find a shipbuilder for the submarine should he, Frost, be able to negotiate a contract with the Navy.”

  In the meantime, Holland responded to the board’s offer. He wrote to them noting that “The Fenian Ram still existed, but vandals had stripped her of gauges and other machinery; and she lay in a state of neglect in the yard of James Reynolds in New Haven. The cost of refitting her would be considerable; and his company, already financially embarrassed as a result of the design competition, should not have to bear the expense.” He then pointed out that the official circular advertised for designs only and that a July 28 editorial in the New York Times stated categorically that the Holland design had been accepted by the board without need of further testing. “Did the Board now intend to change the tenor of its report?” he asked.14 Having heard that the board members were to be inside Baker’s boat during its test run, Holland could not resist an acerbic jab at his wooden competitor and its creator. “If the newspaper description of Mr. Baker’s boat is anywhere near accurate, I entreat you to examine the structure carefully before you submerge below 20 to 25 feet. My motive for this request is, I admit, a very selfish one—of objecting to the risk of having to wait for a decision until a new Board can be appointed.”15

  Captain Sampson was none too thrilled with suggestions of chicanery or favoritism in the awards process, likely even more so because he was guilty of one or both. He replied through the board that “the New York Times, or any newspaper in the country for that matter, was not the official organ of the Navy Department. The Board also asserted that, when a boat such as Baker’s existed, it was quite proper to desire to test her. The case rested there as far as the Navy was concerned.”16

  The three board members traveled to Chicago and the Baker boat was tested on September 6, 1893, with all the members aboard. Although they did emerge alive, the submarine’s performance was apparently inauspicious. The board members returned immediately to Washington, and three days later, newspapers reported that they had again recommended that Secretary Herbert award the contract to Holland rather than George Baker. This time, Sampson did not object. Five weeks later, the New York Times reported that the “Holland Submarine Boat, practically indestructible” had been “unanimously approved,” awaiting only Secretary Herbert’s approval to disburse the funds.17

  But despite the poor performance of his boat, Baker refused to give up. If Sampson could no longer be relied on, he would move up the line to Sampson’s boss. Through Senator Allison and other surrogates, Baker lodged another protest, this time to Hilary Herbert. And so, “in spite of the optimism among the officials of the John P. Holland Torpedo Boat Company over the decision,” when the board’s report reached Secretary Herbert’s desk, he refused to approve it, claiming for the moment that “the appropriation should be diverted to other naval construction.”18

  With no money coming in and the possibility looming of having to actually build a boat before the contract was awarded, Frost cast about for a solution. His father had witnessed the test in Chicago, so E. B. knew that Baker wasn’t close to building anything that would satisfy the navy’s specifications. To try to break the stalemate, hoping it was simply a matter of money, Frost offered Baker $200,000 in Holland company stock to sign over his patents and allow the process to go forward, but Baker turned him down. With Secretary Herbert at the least vacillating and at the most trying to steer the contract his way, Baker saw no need to accept $200,000 when a contract with the navy, already upped to $250,000, could ultimately be worth millions.

  Herbert did not disappoint him. Purely of his own volition, “In November, he ordered the Navy Department to conduct tests to determine if the crew of a submarine could survive an underwater explosion. The tests were conducted in December at the Naval Torpedo Station in Newport, Rhode Island. The tests consisted of submerging a tank containing a cat, a rabbit, a rooster and a dove, then setting off a series of explosions progressively closer to the tank. The cat and the rooster survived, but the rabbit and dove did not. The decision to award a contract for the construction of a submarine boat was further delayed as the Secretary mulled over the results of these tests.”19

  Secretary Herbert continued to mull for three months. Even Baker grew frustrated with the wait—total recalcitrance was not what he had had in mind. In March 1894, he traveled to Washington to meet with Herbert in the hopes of prodding him to a favorable decision, although how he could assert that wood construction would protect a crew more than iron is a mystery. Before he could even meet with the secretary, however, he was rushed to the hospital with appendicitis, a far from routine ailment in the 1890s. The surgery to save him was unsuccessful and on March 23, 1894, George Baker died. He was fifty years old. Any chance of a government contract for the Baker submarine died with him.

  Unfortunately, the absence of a competitor did mean a good result for Frost and Holland. Hilary Herbert, it seemed, despite congressional authorization and numerous recommendations from naval officers, had no intention of spending any money on submarines. He gave no reason for his obstinacy, which many found puzzling. “Secretary Herbert’s disinclination to build a submarine torpedo boat has been a matter of wonderment. The experts have ge
nerally agreed that subaquatic navigation is feasible and, applied to naval warfare, advisable,” wrote the New York Times.20

  But, freed from the Baker threat, E. B. Frost found some creative ways to motivate the navy secretary. Hilary Herbert might not have seen the promise of submarines as both a means of coastal defense and of surprise attack, but others most surely did. The Times had also noted, “The foreigners who have pretended to a progression in the art have readily experimented with submarine boats, and some of the European navies, notably that of France, have adopted the idea.” And so the company took out patent applications everywhere from Italy to Germany to Japan to Chile, and appointed agents—one of whom was Edmund Zalinski, another the now-retired Francis Barber—to represent its interests in foreign capitals. Frost made it known that no arrangement with another nation would be finalized until one year after a contract had been signed with the United States Navy, but of course if no such contract were signed, he and Holland would have no choice but to seek another buyer for their invention.

  Herbert protracted the process as much as he could—for one thing, the economy was deeply in recession and spending money on an untried invention that turned out to be a frivolity would be an enormous embarrassment—but allowing an effective and deadly new weapon of naval warfare to fall into the hands of other nations while the United States dithered was equally unpalatable. In August 1894, Herbert moved the process forward by passing the buck. As reported in the newspapers, “The Secretary of the Navy has referred to the Construction Board of Bureau Chiefs the submarine boat project for their opinion as to whether it would be advisable to build a vessel of that type during the present depressed condition of the Treasury, when the necessity for economy is so urgent.” Herbert also asked their opinion on whether the Holland boat should be accepted if they agreed to move ahead. Within weeks, the construction board issued an enthusiastic approval of both the project and Holland’s design.

  Still, the process dragged on. Other bureaus were required to sign off on the design, each meeting taking place weeks after the one before. All the while John Holland, now married with two children, had no income save the $100 per month salary the company could afford to pay him. At the end of November, newspapers reported the Holland submarine had finally been given the go-ahead to be built, and at the end of December that Secretary Herbert had given his official sanction to the project, but those reports turned out to be premature as well. It was not until March 1895 that Hilary Herbert finally agreed to add submarines to the United States naval fleet and awarded a construction contract for $200,000 to the Holland Torpedo Boat Company.

  _____________

  *In addition to being one of the submarine’s most notable pioneers, Lake was also its most prolific chronicler. He produced at least three books and more than a dozen articles or monographs on submarine technology and development. While his insights are often invaluable, he devoted a substantial portion of his writings to his frustrations over injustices that were seemingly foisted on him consistently throughout his career. He had a wide range of antagonists, which included naval officers, financiers, government officials both elected and appointed, and sundry bureaucrats and opportunists. In many cases, fortunately, Lake’s recollections can be either verified or refuted independently, and while his immense contribution to submarine development is beyond question, the unique position he claims for himself does not always hold up under scrutiny.

  CHAPTER 12

  UNEASY NEIGHBORS

  George Baker may no longer have been around to bedevil Holland and Frost, nor Tuck nor Nordenfelt, but in their place was an adversary more talented, more committed, and more sensitive to perceived injustice than any of them.

  Whether or not Simon Lake had actually been told that his design had been looked on favorably by the review board, he was certain that any submarine based on Holland’s “porpoise diving” principles would fail and that only he, Lake, had designed a workable boat. As the months dragged on, Lake’s resentment grew, as did his conviction that he had lost not on merit, but only because of politics.

  Lake did realize that, not yet thirty, with no capital, no track record, no investors, and no friends in Washington, he faced challenges that his competitors did not. Also, he had submitted only a design, without a construction bid. Rather than continue to try to penetrate the armor-plated government bureaucracy, Lake decided to instead simply build his own boat.

  He lacked the money to build a full-size submarine, which was to be called Argonaut, so as an interim step, he chose to build a small, crude prototype he would dub Argonaut Junior. The experimental craft would “demonstrate the two principal features over which almost every one seemed to be skeptical. These were the ability to navigate over the bottom of the ocean and the ability to enter and leave the boat while submerged without any water coming in and foundering her.”1 After successfully sailing his model, Lake was certain that he would have no difficulty attracting private investors.

  Argonaut, Jr.

  To describe the Argonaut Junior as built on a shoestring would be an understatement. Only fourteen feet long, four wide, five high, and displacing a mere seven tons, it was essentially a large wooden box shaped like a flatiron, with ballast chambers that could be blown with compressed air. Compressed air would also pressurize the inside of the craft so that water did not flood in when a trapdoor was opened at the bottom. A set of wooden wheels was attached to the underside, powered by a foot treadle. As Lake described, “She was built of yellow pine planking, double thick, lined with canvas laid between the double layers of planking, the outer seams caulked. She was a flat-sided affair and would not stand great external pressure. She was propelled when on the bottom by a man turning a crank on the inside. Our compressed-air reservoir was a soda-water fountain tank. The compressed-air pump was a plumber’s hand-pump, by which means we were able to compress the air in the tanks to a pressure of about one hundred pounds per square inch.”2

  Lake designed a means to exit and enter the submerged vessel as well. “My diving suit I built myself by shaping iron in the form of an open helmet, which extended down as far as my breast; this I covered with painted canvas. I used the dead-light from a yacht’s cabin as my eyeglass in front of the helmet. I tied sash weights to my legs to hold me down on the bottom when walking in the vicinity of the boat.”

  Lake began tests of his vessel in December 1894, with the help of his cousin, Bart Champion. Their first test voyage turned out not to be what Lake, and especially Champion, were expecting. “The first time we went under water a stream of water came through a bolt-hole which had not been plugged and struck Bart on the back of the neck. He said, ‘Ugh!’ and made a dive. The Argonaut had a little port-hole in one end about six inches in diameter, and Bart said afterward, ‘I made a dive for that port-hole, but came to the conclusion that I could not get through, so I stopped.’” Lake quickly plugged the hole and he and a shaken but relieved Champion navigated the wooden boat across the Shrewsbury River and back.

  From there, Lake and Champion became regular fixtures along the riverfront and their voyages almost always included trips outside. At one point, “we took the boat up to Atlantic Highlands and had a lot of fun running around on the bottom of New York Bay picking up clams and oysters, etc.”3

  Lake reported that his little wooden boat was receiving “no little newspaper notoriety,” although he could not help but notice “a vein of skepticism and sarcasm running through most of these early accounts.” In early January 1895, for example, the Argonaut Junior received a glowing, albeit somewhat tongue-in-cheek write-up in the New York Herald. “This Boat Crawls Along the Bottom,” read the lead to the piece. “At Least That’s What It Was To Do, but It Escapes and Astonishes Folks in Oceanic, N. J.” Just underneath, it read, “It Will Crawl Five Miles Without Coming Up to Breathe When Inventor Lake Completes It. Fun for Merry Mermen.”4

  The body of the piece maintained the tone. “Strange things come in with the tide in the ungodly hou
rs of the night, and in the stillness of the night strange things follow them, but the strange thing which came up the North Shrewsbury a day or two ago, and which lies high and dry on Barley Point, is a new one on the good folk of Oceanic. Now that they have fairly discovered it, they are sorry that it didn’t wobble ashore in the summer, when Normandie-by-the-Sea below the Point is crowded with curious persons from the city. Any enterprising Oceanic man might have fenced in the queer thing and charged every one a quarter to see it.”

  For serious followers of submarine research, of course, the reaction was far different. Any success in navigating underwater served to at least prod the skeptics. Still, Lake’s Argonaut Junior did not change anyone’s mind in Washington, DC. It did, however, allow him to attract sufficient investment capital to undertake construct of a full-size version of his submarine. Although he wanted to build the boat to correspond to the plans he had drawn up for the navy competition, to control costs he was forced to scale down some of his more ambitious accessories.