Going Deep

by Lawrence Goldstone

  On December 21, Morton offered to extend the deadline to exhibit the Lake X until May 5, 1905, but again only if Lake agreed to accept the results of the test as final. Lake did not reply.

  At that point, Morton contacted Electric Boat and offered them a contract for two of the four boats to be built under the $850,000 appropriation. The remainder he held in abeyance, still unwilling to completely shut Lake out. On January 3, 1905, he again wrote to Lake, “Did you receive my letter of December 21? Formal acknowledgement requested.” Lake did not reply. Morton sent a similar telegram the next day. Lake replied that he wanted to schedule a personal interview for January 5. Whether a face-to-face meeting ever took place is unclear, but Lake did not back off from his refusal to conform to the navy’s requirements.

  Only then, on January 6, did Morton write to Electric Boat. “Referring to your telegram requesting information as to whether ‘the Lake Company has made the required stipulation, and if not if you have awarded the two additional submarines to us,’ I beg to advise you that the Lake Company did not make the required stipulation, and that the Department is now prepared to enter into contract with the Electric Boat Company for the construction of two additional submarines, which will be the same in all respects as the smaller of the two submarines previously provided for. In this connection, the Department begs to advise you that it will not consider a price in excess of $185,000, for each additional boat.”

  Two days later, Simon Lake announced to the press that he was leaving the country because he was playing against “stacked cards.” He returned to Russia to supervise construction of the five boats he had sold to the tsar.

  But the drama had not quite ended. In early April, with Lake still out of the country, Lake’s father sent an open letter to Theodore Roosevelt “calling on the President to order that certain contracts be cancelled for Holland submarine boats because said contracts were unlawfully made, and also to cause the statutory and criminal laws of the United States to be strictly enforced.” The elder Lake “charges that the Navy Department has eliminated the competitive tests which were to be made between the Holland and Lake types of submarines, and this in the face of the fact that Congress refused to eliminate competition from the 1905 submarine law.”

  The language could not have been more inflammatory. “For certain officials to withhold from Simon Lake lawful competitive trials, drive him from America, steal his submarine features, seize his lawful property, and defy his lawful rights for competition, is a most censurable proceeding, and it demands your earnest and immediate attention and minute investigation.” He did not stop there. “The complete clearing of the submarine affairs of the United States demands the enforcement of unquestioned criminal law as to perjury, and a telegraphic order for Philip Doblin’s immediate arrest is necessary to prevent his escape from justice.” He closed, “I call upon you as the only person powerful enough to call a halt on the manifest violation of plain law and common decency, and I hope you will use every means in your power to investigate this entire transaction and suspend Holland contracts during an investigation, if necessary, by special United States attorneys, and then give Simon Lake—an American inventor—‘a square deal for competition,’ nothing more, nothing less.”4

  Neither Roosevelt nor the Navy Department either acknowledged the letter or took any action on the charges. Lake himself made no comment from Russia.

  But that did not mean he had given up.

  CHAPTER 27

  THE NEW CLASS

  In the summer of 1905, with American newspapers reporting the soon-to-be debunked tale of submarines’ decisive role in the Battle of Tsushima Strait, Electric Boat’s demeaning lawsuit against John Holland and Holland’s bitter countersuit to get his patents back proceeding through the courts, and Simon Lake living in Europe, openly stewing over the perfidy of his own government, the American submarine program suddenly came of age during one memorable voyage.

  In mid-August, the navy was planning to sea test a refitted Plunger from the Brooklyn Navy Yard.* Part of the work done on the boat in dry-dock was the addition of “shackles”—six steel eyebolts fastened to the deck so that the Plunger could be “hoisted out conveniently” if it was disabled in relatively shallow water. A French submarine, Fafardet, had sunk in mud off Algiers the previous month with many of the crew dying of asphyxiation, because chains could not be passed underneath the vessel to raise it.1 A similar accident had befallen a British submarine a few months before that, and all hands were lost.

  President Roosevelt was at his summer home at Sagamore Hill on the north shore of Long Island when he learned of the impending test. Instead of the navy yard, he ordered the Plunger to be put through its paces on Long Island Sound, just outside the entrance to Oyster Bay, so that he and his family could take in the spectacle. The boat was commanded by Lieutenant Charles P. Nelson, seen as one of the navy’s foremost submarine experts since his testimony at the 1902 naval affairs committee hearings.

  When Nelson and his superiors learned they would be undergoing a presidential inspection, precautions were extensive, both because they wanted the Plunger to perform perfectly and also because rumors had already circulated that the notoriously fearless and intrepid TR might not be content merely to watch a submarine voyage. Roosevelt had replied that such speculation was nonsense.

  Before the Plunger could leave the navy yard, however, to Nelson’s “disgust,” an electrical flaw overheated the circuitry and the test had to be postponed. After working through the night, however, the apparatus was repaired and the Plunger was conveyed by tugboat to Long Island Sound on August 22, and there anchored just behind the presidential yacht, Sylph. “I do not know why we have been ordered to Oyster Bay,” Nelson said coyly, “but I imagine the President wants to keep in touch with the improvements being made in this branch of the service.”

  The inspection was set for August 26, but two days before that, the president’s wife and three of her children watched some preliminary maneuvers. The president remained at Sagamore Hill, and when questioned by reporters, he continued to deny that he would be any more than a spectator during the Plunger’s run two days later.

  As almost anyone who knew him even vaguely would have been aware, Roosevelt was lying.

  “President Takes Plunge in Submarine. Remains Below the Surface for Fifty-five Minutes. Once 40 Feet Under Water. He Manoeuvres the Vessel Himself and Is Greatly Pleased. Divers Were at Hand,” read the banner headline in the New York Times. “President Roosevelt Under Water Three Hours in Plunger,” wrote the Evening World. “President Goes to Bottom of Ocean in Plunger,” blared the San Francisco Call. In fact, the president’s venture under the surface was a page-one headline in virtually every newspaper in America, and many in Europe. And TR being TR, he milked every ounce of drama out of the event.

  The New York Times story was typical. “Sheets of rain were falling when the President left Sagamore Hill in the afternoon in an automobile. . . . The President was the last person who was expected on the scene at that time. . . . When he arrived at the pier, a strong northwest wind was blowing and a heavy sea running in the Sound. Few were about at the time as, although a strict eye had been kept on the submarine boat, earlier in the day it had been said that the weather was too severe for any trip to be made. Nevertheless, he appeared all ready for the experiment, clad in khaki apparel . . . [when he arrived] the President donned a suit of oilskins as the seas were breaking over the pier in a way that made it impossible to pass along without being drenched to the skin.”2

  After being ferried out to the Plunger, Roosevelt soon disappeared into the conning tower. The boat submerged and remained stationary as Nelson briefed his insatiable commander in chief on every aspect of the submarine’s machinery and operations. “After that, the Plunger descended to the bottom, a distance of forty feet below the surface . . . a school of porpoises went past the portholes . . . their appearance especially interested the President, who watched their movements for some time.
Lieutenant Nelson caused some manoeuvres to be executed, sending the Plunger forward and backward, to the surface bow foremost, back again, and to the surface stern first. The Slyph’s tender, Dart, caught glimpses of the submarine boat now and then flashing above the waves for a moment, then disappearing into the depths again.”

  Nelson then began to operate the boat at high speed, to which “the President expressed his delight.” Then, in “one of the most thrilling experiments,” Nelson doused the onboard lights while the Plunger was running at full speed, which in wartime would prevent the light coming through the portholes to be seen on the surface. Nelson executed a full set of maneuvers in darkness, after which Roosevelt exclaimed, “I have never seen anything quite so remarkable.” At one point, to Roosevelt’s glee, Nelson allowed him to take the controls.

  When Theodore Roosevelt emerged from the conning tower into the pouring rain on Long Island Sound, submarines had become an integral part of the American fleet. “In well-informed quarters, there is an impression that the President’s experience on board the Plunger will usher in a new era of this important branch of the navy, which up to this time is said to have received rather stepmotherly treatment at the hands of naval authorities.”3 The president also ordered that all officers and enlisted men who served aboard submarines, who to that time only received shore pay, get a raise to full sea duty.

  One of the many headlines announcing Roosevelt’s submarine adventure.

  The swashbuckling American president was a worldwide celebrity and so Roosevelt’s “stunt,” as some phrased it, was also reported in newspapers around the world. Although there is no direct evidence, a number of nations—including Germany—which had previously thought submarines an affectation, began at about this time to initiate serious development programs.

  Frank Cable returned from Japan in September to help with the planning and construction of the four new submarines contracted for by the navy under the 1905 appropriation. He also categorically refuted the story, reported as confirmed fact in the nation’s newspapers, that submarines had sunk Russian battleships at Tsushima Strait. None had even been present. In the blush of President Roosevelt’s undersea adventure, however, this story engendered little or no disenchantment with the new “terrors of the deep.”

  To build the four new vessels, Electric Boat cut the cord with Holland entirely. Rather than Lewis Nixon’s Crescent Shipyard, the company chose Fore River Shipbuilding Works in Quincy, Massachusetts. The decision was a blow to Nixon, who had been professional, diligent, and creative in bringing the Adder-class boats to fruition. Fore River was a competent yard and had recently finished two cruisers for the navy, but none of its personnel had any experience building submarines.

  Lawrence Spear by this time had a good deal of experience, and proved to be a talented second-generation designer. The four boats, to be called Viper, Cuttlefish, Tarantula, and Octopus, would not contain any great leaps over earlier principles—and would in fact be referred to as Holland-types—but would feature some outstanding innovations. In order to improve the design significantly, Spear decided to lay out the first three boats as extensions of the Adder-class, 85 feet long, but design Octopus as a larger, more experimental boat, 105 feet, which, if successful, would initiate a new generation of submarine design.

  One of Spear’s most significant improvements was the weapons system, which he installed in all four boats. Rather than the single, slow-loading torpedo tube of the early Hollands, Spear mounted two tubes side-by-side in the bow and perfected a much faster way to shoot and reload. Two of the four or five Whitehead torpedoes the boat carried would be in the tubes. Just aft of the tubes were “carriages,” movable racks that were operated by compressed air and reloaded the tubes automatically. “The operation requires opening the cap at the mouth of the expulsion tube, discharging one torpedo, closing the cap, blowing out the water, opening the breach, automatically moving second torpedo into the tube, closing breach, re-opening cap, discharging second torpedo.” The arrangement allowed two torpedoes to be fired in six minutes. “This device not only saves time and labour, but regulates the water-ballast in the compensating tanks, and thus prevents any change in the longitudinal trim of the boat.”4

  Interior of a Holland boat

  While for surface running, Viper, Cuttlefish, and Tarantula were powered by single 250-horsepower four-cylinder gasoline motors, the Octopus was fitted with twin screws, each powered by a 250-horsepower motor, which increased its maximum speed from nine to twelve knots. A second 150-horsepower Electro-Dynamic motor was also added to increase the speed from six to nine knots submerged. In addition, “The propeller shafts of the Octopus are placed at a slight angle to the major-axis of the boat . . . with a view to producing a sufficient upward thrust to counteract the natural tendency of submarines to dive by the head.” For all four boats, performance far exceeded the navy’s standards. “In the course of their series of trials the four boats cruised at full speed on the surface 1,150 miles, 900 miles in the open sea and including three trips to Cape Cod in heavy weather. Eighty-five submerged runs were made, amounting to 800 miles and 36 torpedoes were fired, all of them successfully with the exception of three.5 In another open-ocean endurance test, the Viper established a sailing radius of 1,000 miles without coming into port or communicating with any other vessel for four days.

  Octopus

  In diving tests, the boats “reached a depth of 20 feet in 4 minutes and 20 seconds. In the test of the automatic devices for blowing the ballast in order to allow the boat to come to the surface in case of accident, she rose from a depth of 40 feet in 43 seconds. In the twenty-four hours’ submergence test in 30 feet of water, she carried down a crew of sixteen men, and came to the surface next day with the men in good condition. The ‘Octopus’ has been tested as to strength and watertightness by actual submergence to a depth of 200 feet.”6

  With French and British crewmen perishing in disabled boats, the Octopus was “built in five compartments, divided by water-tight bulkheads, and doors. Each of these compartments is fitted with a hatch, which can be opened from the inside in case of emergency.” Each compartment contained safety jackets for the crew. “If an accident happened, in which the hull of the submarine was pierced, the damaged section would be shut off, and the crew would then have time to don their escape dress, fill the compartment with compressed air, emerge through the hatch, and float to the surface. This method is undoubtedly one of the best forms of safety appliances yet invented.”7 As an additional safety test, at one point, “Cuttlefish was submerged 200 feet. She was lowered by a derrick vessel and carried no crew. She developed no reefs or damage to her machinery, although at this depth the water pressure averages 15,000 tons on the whole boat.”8

  Simon Lake’s boats continued to communicate with surface vessels or the shore by telephone, even when submerged, but Spear employed an equally effective wireless apparatus for Octopus. It consisted of “a pneumatic bell weighing 450 lbs, fitted in the stern and operated by compressed air from a special air reservoir. Two transmitters, or sound receiving tanks, have also been fitted inside the hull, one on the port, and the other on the starboard bow. These tanks may be termed the ‘ears’ of the submarine, for they catch, and magnify, the sound of submarine signals, coming from the shore, or from a super-marine vessel. The sound is then conveyed by telephone wires to the conning-tower, from which point the pneumatic bell is also operated.” During the trials, “it was conclusively demonstrated that wireless messages could be exchanged at a distance of 30 miles.”9

  Even before the four boats were completed, Congress, with the president’s wholehearted support, decided to appropriate even more money for submarines. On June 29, 1906, the secretary of the navy was authorized “to contract for or purchase subsurface or submarine torpedo boats to an amount not exceeding $1,000,000, of which sum $500,000 is appropriated.”10

  That sum of money was sufficient to goad Simon Lake to again attempt to break what he was still convinc
ed was Electric Boat’s illegally obtained monopoly. Moreover, despite his earlier conviction that Europeans would be more honorable and more clearheaded than their American counterparts, Lake was not having a great deal of success in selling his designs there. He claimed he was forced to forego a sale to the British because the tsar, angry that Britain had a naval treaty with Japan, threatened to cancel a $750,000 contract if Lake “so much as set foot in England.” Lake also claimed to have been “gypped by the Germans,” because they used his designs—for which he had neglected to obtain German patents—to build Lake boats without paying a royalty. “I am ashamed to look you in the eye,” one German aristocrat supposedly said to him, a similar comment to the one he attributed to an American navy officer.11 He also claimed to have been the one who changed Tirpitz’s mind about submarines, an odd assertion since the German submarine program, about to go into high gear, would employed only the Holland porpoise-diving principle. The only successful contract Lake had concluded was for two boats to Austria-Hungary.

  Mired in Europe, therefore, Lake found the 1906 appropriation irresistible. As he put it, “Prospects in the United States had again become promising, as they had had a habit of doing for years. Again the forward-looking officers of the United States Navy were trying, as one admiral said to me, ‘to break the hold that high finance had on the Navy Department’s throat.’ The Lake Torpedo Boat Company had a very considerable surplus, and I had acquired quite a decent little fortune of my own through my European ventures. When I learned that there was a chance a sentiment had been aroused in Congress in favor of permitting the Navy’s experts to have their own way in the buying of submarines, instead of allowing the congressional clique to continue in control, I determined to return home and try once more.”12