Lost Submarines – November

USS ALBACORE (SS -218)

By the time USS ALBACORE (SS-218) departed on her eleventh war patrol, she was already an

accomplished warship. She was the recipient of nine battle stars and Presidential Unit Citations

for her second, third, eighth, and ninth patrols. In fact, perhaps her greatest success was one of

which the crew was unaware until months after it happened.

In June of 1944, just as the United States was invading Saipan in the Mariana Islands,

ALBACORE was shifted to a position nearby in the hope of intercepting a Japanese convoy that

was thought to be on its way. On the nineteenth, the sub found her target. ALBACORE loosed

six torpedoes at an aircraft carrier that was in the midst of launching planes, hearing one hit

before 25 depth charges forced her deep. ALBACORE had, in fact, hit Taihō, Admiral Jisaburo

Ozawa's flagship and the Japanese navy's newest and largest carrier, weighing in at 31,000 tons.

The torpedo damaged the vessel, but the flight deck was untouched; Ozawa, unfazed, continued

to launch planes. But elsewhere in the ship, a young crewmember made a decision that would

prove fatal: in order to disperse gasoline fumes, he opened the ship's ventilation system. Instead

of solving the problem, he turned his vessel into a giant bomb. At 1530, a wayward spark caught

the fumes and an explosion rocked Taihō, bowing the flight deck upward and blasting holes in

the hull. ALBACORE's torpedo, with a little help from the ship's own crew, had finally sent the

carrier to the bottom. Ozawa, who wished to go down with his ship, was convinced by his

officers to move to a cruiser and survive; the only object he saved from Taihō was a portrait of

his emperor. More than 1,600 of his men were not so fortunate. Because seven hours had passed

since she launched the fateful torpedo, ALBACORE was nowhere near the carrier when it went

down; the commanding officer was angry with himself for letting such a plum target get away.

Only months later would a rescued prisoner of war reveal ALBACORE's triumph.

But the sub's good luck would not last. On 24 October 1944, she left Pearl Harbor; four days

later, after fueling up at Midway, she set out on her eleventh war patrol. She was never heard

from again. Japanese records which became available after the war's end indicate that on 7

November a Japanese patrol aircraft witnessed ALBACORE, running submerged, hitting a mine.

The plane stayed in the area long enough to see bubbles, oil, bedding, and other detritus rising to

the surface.

Eighty-five men went down with ALBACORE, the forty-second U.S. submarine loss of World

War II.

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USS GROWLER (SS-215)

On 20 October 1944, three American submarines-USS GROWLER (SS-215), USS HAKE (SS-

256), and USS HARDHEAD (SS-365)-stood out from Fremantle, Australia. Their mission was

to prowl the waters west of the Philippines in search of enemy vessels. Commander T.B. Oakley,

Jr., served as both commanding officer of GROWLER, which was commencing her eleventh war

patrol, and commander of the wolfpack.

On 7 November, USS BREAM (SS-243) made contact with another U.S. sub on her SJ radar.

"Transmitted recognition signal and also asked 'Who are you.' 'Who are you first,' was the gem

that came back," BREAM's C.O. wrote in his patrol report. The unidentified sub may well have

been GROWLER, which was having trouble with her SJ radar. The following day, BREAM was

directed to meet up with GROWLER to provide spare parts to fix the radar.

At the moment the message was sent to BREAM, however, GROWLER was in no position to

rendezvous-she had made contact with an enemy convoy of about six ships. Just after 0200,

HARDHEAD made contact with both the convoy ahead and GROWLER astern; Commander

Oakley relayed a message instructing HARDHEAD to attack from the enemy ships' port bow. At

0400, HARDHEAD loosed four torpedoes; she and HAKE both watched as at least three of them

smashed into a tanker, causing it to burst into flames and sink within 20 seconds. The tankers'

escorts immediately began pinging, searching for the sub that had just claimed their ship.

Between 0410 and 1832, HAKE was depth charged 134 times by three different escorts,

miraculously suffering only minor damage. HARDHEAD heard close to 100 explosions, but all

were far astern. (Many were probably part of the 134 directed at HAKE.)

At 0430 on 9 November, HARDHEAD's C.O. wrote, "Having reached northern limit of area

without contact attempted to send position to GROWLER and request instructions but could not

contact on area frequency. At 0900 HARDHEAD intercepted a message from HAKE to

GROWLER. "GROWLER was not heard to answer call or receipt for message." On 10

November at 1434, BREAM arrived at the rendezvous spot, ready to transfer spare parts to

GROWLER, but the latter never showed. It appears that the message GROWLER sent to

HARDHEAD at 0232 on the morning of 8 November was the last word anyone ever received

from the sub. Although the cause of GROWLER's loss is listed as "unknown," it is probable that

one or more of the many depth charges dropped by the tanker's escorts sent her to the bottom.

Eighty-six men remain on eternal patrol with GROWLER, the forty-third U.S. submarine loss of

World War II.

The boat received eight battle stars for her wartime service.

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USS SCAMP (SS-277)

On 16 October 1944, USS SCAMP (SS-277) stood out from Pearl Harbor. After topping off with

fuel at Midway, she ventured out on her eighth war patrol in the Bonin Islands, an archipelago

south of Tokyo. On 9 November, the sub's C.O., Commander J.C. Hollingsworth, acknowledged

a message ordering him to stay clear of a certain area while a B-29 attack was underway. He

reported that he was about 150 miles to the north of the Bonins and had a full load of 24

torpedoes and nearly 80,000 gallons of fuel.

Five days later, SCAMP was ordered to take up a lifeguard position in case B-29s flying from

Saipan to drop bombs on Tokyo were shot down and their crews required rescue. The boat's

chain of command continued to send her messages until 26 November but received no response.

No response had been required, however, so there was no reason to believe she had been lost.

Unfortunately, that hope would prove to be unfounded. Japanese records examined after the war

indicate that on 11 November a patrol aircraft sighted tendrils of oil that appeared to be trailing

behind a submerged submarine. The plane guided a coast defense vessel to the area; it

subsequently dropped 70 depth charges and observed a glut of oil bubbling to the surface. The

location of attack coincides with SCAMP's patrol area.

Amazingly, it seems that that attack may not have sunk the submarine. On 13 November, USS

GREENLING (SS-213) made radar contact with a vessel she believed to be SCAMP, "based on

interference and position," although no communications were exchanged or visual sightings

made. Three days later, a Japanese attack at a location within SCAMP's area of operations

yielded "great explosive sounds." "It would seem then," according to the book United States

Submarine Losses in World War II, "that SCAMP was attacked several times.. Whether she was

badly damaged and withdrawing from the Japanese coast at the time of the last two attacks, is

impossible to say. No attack cited here ties in with any anti-submarine attacks reported by

submarines returning from patrol. It is probable that damage to SCAMP became progressively

more serious as she absorbed each successive attack, and she may have been withdrawing from

the Empire without transmission facilities when the end came."

Whatever the circumstances of her loss, SCAMP, which received seven battle stars for her

wartime service, took eighty-three men to the bottom with her.

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USS CORVINA (SS-226)

Built at Electric Boat Company in Groton, Connecticut, USS CORVINA (SS-226) was

commissioned on 6 August 1943. In the middle of September she began the month-long trip to

Pearl Harbor, arriving on 14 October. On 4 November she left Hawaii to fill her fuel tanks at

Johnston Atoll, in the North Pacific. She was never seen or heard from again.

CORVINA had been assigned a difficult and dangerous task for her maiden mission. The United

States was about to invade the Gilbert Islands, part of the Republic of Kiribati that lies to the

north and east of Australia, and authorities wanted to ensure that no enemy forces arrived to

thwart the attempt. Accordingly, CORVINA was ordered to patrol as closely as possible to Truk,

an island in the Federated States of Micronesia that lay more than 1,000 miles farther west, so

that she could intercept any Japanese forces heading for the Gilberts.

On 20 November 1943, American forces invaded with the largest force ever assembled for a

single Pacific operation: 17 aircraft carriers, 12 battleships, 8 heavy cruisers, 4 light cruisers, 66

destroyers, 36 transport ships, and 35,000 soldiers from the 2nd

Marine Division and the army's

27th

Infantry Division. Within three days, the islands had fallen. A week later CORVINA was

ordered to transfer to the command of Commander Task Force 72; she did not acknowledge the

message. Then she was directed to make her way to Tulagi in the Solomon Islands to meet up

with a surface escort; once again, the message went unanswered. CORVINA was finally

presumed lost on 23 December 1943.

Records examined after the war indicate that on 16 November, the Japanese submarine I-176

reported loosing three torpedoes at a submarine that was running on the surface; two hit and

exploded. Because CORVINA was the only submarine in the area at the time, it is presumed that

she was the target. This was the only instance during World War II in which a Japanese sub sank

an American counterpart.

(In the spring of 1944, a U.S. patrol plane spotted I-176 as she was heading for the Solomon

Islands to pick up supplies. The plane called three American destroyers to the scene. At 2145 on

May 16, USS HAGGARD (DD-555) made a sonar contact and began dropping depth charges;

the following morning she observed floating debris that indicated the sub had been destroyed.)

Eighty-two men went down with CORVINA, the twenty-third American submarine loss of the

war.

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USS SCULPIN (SS-191)

USS SCULPIN (SS-191) began her ninth war patrol on 7 November 1943, departing Johnston

Atoll, where she had stopped to fill up on fuel after leaving Pearl Harbor, for the Caroline Islands

in the western Pacific Ocean. The United States was about to mount a massive attack on the

Gilbert Islands and SCULPIN was charged with intercepting any Japanese naval forces that

might be on their way to oppose the invasion. She was supposed to remain on station until 14

December and then return to Pearl Harbor. But after leaving Johnston Atoll she was never heard

from again.

Although Commander Fred Connaway was the commanding officer of SCULPIN, the boat was

also carrying Commander (soon to be Captain) John Cromwell on his first war patrol. His job

was to take over command of a wolfpack of four subs, including SCULPIN, if superiors directed

that the group be formed-there was a chance that such a confederacy would not be needed, in

which case Captain Cromwell would remain aboard as just another member of the crew until

SCULPIN completed the patrol. But orders came through on 29 November and the three other

subs waited for close to two days for further instructions from Cromwell. None came. On 1

December, COMSUBPAC sent new orders to Cromwell, hoping to raise a response. Once again,

there was silence. SCULPIN was finally presumed lost four weeks later. For nearly two years no

one knew what had happened to the sub. But after the war ended, several SCULPIN

crewmembers were released from Japanese POW camps and came forward to tell their story.

On 18 November 1943, SCULPIN came across a convoy of enemy vessels and prepared to

attack. A high-stakes game of cat-and-mouse ensued as the sub several times reached a firing

position only to be discovered and chased away by the ships and their escorts. As the fight wore

on, things began to go poorly for SCULPIN. A string of depth charges destroyed her depth

gauge, so in attempting to come to periscope depth her crew miscalculated and broached the

boat, bringing her exact location to the ships' attention. SCULPIN dove once more, but the

Japanese were able to place about twenty depth charges almost directly overhead. The sub lost

depth control and was driven deep; leaks began opening up and water poured in. More depth

charges took out her sonar, rendering the boat unable to "see."

CDR Connaway knew that the game was up, but he didn't want his crew to die along with their

boat. He took SCULPIN back to the surface and ordered the deck guns manned. Within minutes,

Connaway, the bridge watch standers, and the entire gun crew were dead, killed by enemy fire.

The senior surviving officer made sure the rest of the men had a chance to abandon ship, then

gave the order to scuttle the boat.

Cromwell, uninjured, must have been thinking fast. He knew a great deal about the plans for the

upcoming invasion of the Gilberts, as well as information about other military operations. He

also knew that he would be questioned if he was captured and he wasn't sure how long he could

stand up under torture. So while the last of SCULPIN's Sailors opened the seacocks and escaped,

Cromwell remained aboard, choosing to go down with the sub.

The survivors had a long road ahead of them. A Japanese destroyer picked up 42 men; one, badly

injured, was thrown back into the water. After a week and a half of questioning at a base on the

island of Truk, part of the Federated States of Micronesia, the group was split in half and loaded

onto two aircraft carriers to be sent to Japan. On 2 December, USS SAILFISH (SS-192) ran

across one of the carriers and sank it, killing all but one of the American POWs (the final man

managed to clamber up the side of a passing Japanese ship and survive); she had no way of

knowing that her fellow countrymen were on board. It was a terrible twist of fate given that over

a year before SCULPIN had helped to bring SAILFISH, then called SQUALUS, back to the

surface after she sank off the coast of Portsmouth, New Hampshire.

Based on information provided by the twenty-one SCULPIN survivors, the Navy awarded

Captain Cromwell the Medal of Honor. It was presented to his widow.

Sixty-two men died either the day SCULPIN went down or onboard the Japanese carrier.

SCULPIN, the recipient of eight battle stars and the Philippine Presidential Unit Citation, was

the twenty-fourth American submarine lost in World War II.

Lost Submarines – December

USS CAPELIN (SS-289)

USS CAPELIN (SS-289) was built at Portsmouth Navy Yard in Kittery, ME, and commissioned

on 4 June 1943. Unlike the many American subs that headed for Pearl Harbor after sea trials,

CAPELIN made her way to Brisbane, Australia, to join the Southwest Pacific arm of the fleet.

Her first war patrol, which lasted from 30 October through 15 November, took her to the waters

around Indonesia, the Philippines, and Malaysia. On 11 November, she came upon a cargo

vessel. The commanding officer noted that the ship was hugging the coastline of an island

"despite currents the Pilot warns of there." He observed that he "would like to capture a Jap

merchant skipper and keep him with us as official crystal ball gazer in all situations involving

estimates of probable movements of Jap ships." But such knowledge would only have been

useful if CAPELIN's torpedoes were working well, which they were not: a total of four were

launched at the target, but it remained on the surface, although damaged. As the vessel began to

ride low in the stern, the crew ran it towards a nearby beach in the hope that it would not sink too

deeply in the shallow waters and could therefore be repaired. At 1741, CAPELIN dashed that

hope: a torpedo from the #10 tube "hit squarely in her center with a soul satisfying wallop."

After a second, frustratingly fruitless attack, CAPELIN turned towards Darwin, Australia,

because several things were going wrong: the conning-tower hatch mechanism had jammed

several times during the patrol, the radar seemed to have what the C.O. termed "gremlins," and

the bow planes "had developed a bad rumble" when they were moved. Repairs were made

quickly and the boat headed out again on 17 November, only two days after pulling in. She was

supposed to make her way to roughly the same area she had just left and remain there until dark

on 6 December. On 9 December naval authorities tried to contact the boat, but CAPELIN was

never heard from again.

Japanese records examined after the war detailed an attack that the minelayer Wakataka had

supposedly made against an American submarine on 23 November. The location, off the

Indonesian island of Halmahera, was right, but the records also claimed that the attack had been

broken off and the crew was ultimately unsure about whether contact with a submarine had been

made at all. In addition, at 1753 on 2 December, USS BONEFISH (SS-223) "sighted a U.S.

Submarine to seaward on an opposite course at a range of about four (4) miles." Although the

sub was never identified, the way the entry was phrased in the patrol report indicated that

BONEFISH's commanding officer was positive that what he saw was a U.S. sub; CAPELIN

would have been the only other boat in the area at the time. If one assumes the C.O. was correct,

Japanese records provide one other possible explanation for CAPELIN's loss: various portions of

the boat's area had been mined, unbeknownst to U.S. naval authorities. Ultimately, the reasons

for the demise of CAPELIN, as well as the location of her final resting place, remain unknown.

CAPELIN, the 25th

American submarine loss of World War II, received a single battle star for

her accomplishments on her first patrol. Seventy-six men were lost with her.

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USS S-4 (SS-109)

On 17 December 1927, USS S-4 (SS-109), an eight-year-old S-class submarine, was running

submerged just off the coast of Provincetown, MA, conducting speed and maneuverability tests

between the two white buoys that marked the beginning and end of a measured nautical mile.

Meanwhile, on the surface, the Coast Guard destroyer USCGC PAULDING (CG-17) was

headed southeast, making 18 knots as she searched for rumrunners carrying their illegal product

across the bay to thirsty buyers in Boston. At 3:37 in the afternoon, as S-4 began to surface, the

officer of the deck aboard PAULDING, scanning the surrounding seas through his binoculars,

spotted the telltale wake of a periscope close aboard on the port bow. "Hard astern! Full right

rudder!" came the order, but not fast enough. PAULDING rammed the sub, a section of her bow

telescoping into S-4's hull and punching two holes, one in a ballast tank and one in the pressure

hull. Freezing water flooded into the boat, causing her to heel to port and begin to sink by the

bow. PAULDING's crew immediately marked their position on a chart and radioed their

superiors. When the destroyer came to a halt, one of her lifeboats was lowered over the side. All

it found was a small oil slick, which the men aboard marked with a buoy.

On the bottom, 110 feet down, S-4's crew was scrambling to bring the situation under control.

Men in the battery compartment stuffed clothing into the two-foot-long gash in the pressure hull,

but it was soon clear that the water would not be denied. So the men evacuated the space, joining

other survivors in the control room. At this point, the men were probably concerned, but not

hopeless: seven years before, the entire crew of USS S-5 (SS-110) had been rescued after their

boat sank to a depth of nearly 200 feet and they managed to elevate the stern above water. S-4

was not nearly that deep and still capable of blowing her aft ballast tanks. Better yet, thirty-four

of the 40 men on board were alive and well in control, the engine room, and the motor room.

Only six men who had been stationed in the torpedo room were unaccounted for.

But the situation deteriorated quickly. The saltwater flooding the battery compartment mixed

with battery acid and formed toxic chlorine gas, which quickly filled any space not yet occupied

by water. A ventilation duct running between the battery room and control remained open and

soon the pressure of the water forced the deadly gas into the compartment full of survivors; the

gas was followed by a flood of water. Crewmembers rushed to close the valve that would sever

the connection, but to no avail; investigators would later determine that a section of curtain had

become wedged in the valve, preventing it from closing. As control filled with thousands of

gallons of freezing seawater, the men retreated aft into the engine room and smaller motor room

beyond. Soon the water in control shorted out several of the switchboards, plunging the boat into

darkness.

As the ocean filled all the spaces it could reach aboard S-4, the sound of rushing water died away

and the 34 men crammed into the engine and motor rooms were left in cold, dark silence,

wondering if their six comrades in the torpedo room were already dead. It had probably dawned

on all of them by this point that when they had abandoned control they had also abandoned any

chance of getting to the surface on their own-the controls that blew compressed air into the

ballast tanks were in that now-flooded space. They could only hope that help from the world

above was on its way.

At 8:00 the following morning, the rescue ship USS FALCON (AM-28) arrived in Provincetown

to pick up ten Navy divers who had been rushed to Cape Cod to assist with the rescue effort; the

vessel arrived on scene at 11:00 AM. Just fifteen minutes before, Boatswain Gracie, the man in

charge of the local Coast Guard station, had managed to hook the sunken sub with a grappling

hook, providing the critical linkage that needed to be made before divers could go down; he had

been at the task, alone in a small boat on rolling seas and in frigid weather, since late the

previous afternoon. At 1:45, veteran diver Thomas Eadie splashed into the water. Five minutes

later he located the sub and began tapping on the hull, searching for survivors. When he rapped

on the torpedo loading hatch he was met with six slow taps in reply, indicating six men were still

alive in the space. But as he continued aft, his taps were met with silence. The 34 men in the

engine and motor rooms had not survived the night.

After the sub was raised the following year, divers found the aft spaces to be practically dry-it

was the air that had gotten the men, not the water. According to an article in the New York

Herald Tribune written on 19 March 1928, the body of Lieutenant Commander Roy H. Jones,

commander of S-4, "was found at the foot of the stairway, indicating he stood alert until

overcome." Divers also "found a spectacle that moved them, hardy and inured as they are to

horror, to deep emotion. Near the motors, arms clasped tightly about each other in protecting

embrace, were two enlisted men, apparently 'buddies.' The divers tried to send them up thus

locked together, but the hatch was not wide enough and they had to be separated." Some of the

men had lived long enough to grow hungry-two had half-eaten potatoes in their pockets. Divers

also noticed that "the walls were battered and scarred by many heavy blows and one spot

indicated that an attempt had been made to cut through with a cold chisel."

By the time Eadie returned to the surface, 25-year-old Lieutenant (j.g.) Graham Fitch and five

enlisted men had been at the bottom of the ocean for nearly 24 hours. All had spent most of that

time wrapped in blankets and lying in the bunks set up between torpedoes, barely moving and

breathing slowly to conserve oxygen. But the contact with the diver gave them hope, as did the

arrival of a sister sub, USS S-8 (SS-113), which used her oscillator to ping a question to the men

down below using Morse code.

"Is there any [chlorine] gas down there?"

"No, but the air is very bad. How long will you be?" came the reply.

"How many are you?"

"Six. Please hurry."

Late in the afternoon on the 18th

, a second diver, Fred Michels, went over the side with a hose

that would connect the men aboard S-4 to the world above and bring lifesaving fresh air. But the

weather and visibility were terrible and at 8:45 Michels reported that his own air line was fouled.

Eadie, still exhausted from his first dive, went down again to save his friend but could not find

the air hose that was supposed to be attached to the sub. With the weather getting even worse,

FALCON turned for Boston with the nearly-dead Michels within her decompression chamber.

He would survive and Eadie would be awarded the Medal of Honor for saving his life.

Lieutenant Fitch and his men were not so fortunate. Late Monday, as the storm raged overhead,

he tapped a single word to S-8: "Hurry."

Later, he asked, "Is there any hope?"

"There is hope. Everything possible is being done," S-8 replied. But Fitch must have known that

time was running out.

On Monday night the men on S-8 began sending out a message that had been relayed to them by

the Navy Department: "LIEUTENANT FITCH: YOUR WIFE AND MOTHER CONSTANTLY

PRAYING FOR YOU." They sent it out, over and over again. It wasn't until 6:20 on Tuesday

morning, 63 hours into the ordeal, that a reply was received: three short taps, meaning, "I

understand." It was the last communication ever received from S-4.

The weather finally let up on Wednesday and a diver was able to take the air line down once

more and hook it up to the sub. But when he tapped on the hull he received no answer. On the

surface, an officer took a sample when the compressor was reversed and air was sucked back out

of the sub. His analysis found a carbon-dioxide level of seven percent, too high for anyone to

survive. On 23 December, the Navy reported that all the men aboard S-4 were presumed dead.

Almost exactly three months after her loss, on 17 March 1928, S-4 returned to the surface on

huge pontoons. By that time, divers had already removed 32 bodies; two in the engine room and

the six in the torpedo room were the only ones that remained. When the compartment that had

sheltered the boat's last survivors was finally opened, personnel found Lieutenant Fitch "lying

under a workbench just abaft the starboard torpedo tubes. Over him were two black spots.. These

were breaks in the white-painted surface and undoubtedly.were where he had hammered out the

messages for help until the end.." They also found another paint-free section on the underside of

the torpedo-loading hatch, where the metal between the men and the world outside was thinnest.

The wrench that Fitch had used to tap was hanging nearby, two of its sides flattened by

prolonged use. Four of the other men had died in their bunks. "The fifth enlisted man was found

at the foot of the stairway, with his left hand tightly grasping the handrail." One man had had the

presence of mind to leave a note in his pocket with the address to which he wanted his body sent.

He wrote the message on a piece of cardboard in red crayon, probably assuming that the wax

would stand up to any water that might get into the boat after his death.

But the men of S-4 would not die in vain. After the boat was reconditioned and recommissioned,

she became a test platform for experiments with submarine rescue. The Navy created a diving

bell, known as the McCann rescue chamber, out of a small hangar stripped from another

submarine. Taking it and S-4 down to the waters off Key West, Navy personnel practiced

docking the chamber with the submarine at depths that ranged from 60-300 feet. Using it and a

Momsen lung, an emergency-breathing device, divers were able to escape repeatedly from the

sunken sub. These innovations were, tragically, too late for Lieutenant Fitch and the other 39

members of S-4's crew, but they would make life beneath the waves at least a little safer for all

the submariners who came after.

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USS F-1 (SS-20)

On 18 December 1917, the U.S. Navy issued a brief statement revealing that "the American

submarine [USS] F-1 [SS-20] has been rammed and sunk by the submarine [USS] F-3 [SS-22]."

The incident had happened the day before in the waters off San Diego, CA. Given the fact that

the U.S. was at war, "how this accident occurred has not yet been announced," the release

concluded. No more information would be available for a number of years. In the December

1998 issue of The Sub Committee REPORT, Jim Christley pieced together what happened to the

five-year-old submarine.

"The distance from San Pedro Bay to La Jolla in California is roughly 75 nautical miles. .In a

smooth sea the F class submarine could make the trip in about eight hours at just less than ten

knots. Naval Instructions require that ships perform an engineering test to determine both the

stamina of a ship and her capabilities. Both must be known in order to plan strategy. The test for

submarines was to run at a constant speed for 48 hours. The test would see how far the ship

could go in the requisite time. Slowing or stopping for repairs would count against the ship's

performance and reflect poorly on both ship and crew. The best a ship could do, then, was to

maintain a constant, fairly high speed for the entire time. To complete a 48-hour engineering test

would require six trips for an F class submarine, three south from San Pedro toward San Diego

and three back to the north.

"In December 1917, the USS F-1, USS F-3 and USS F-2 [SS-21] found themselves making just

such a test..

"Fog is a common factor off the California coast in winter. The plan for the engineering run

included the contingency of turning to seaward in case of running into restricted visibility. The

engineering run started on the morning of December 17, 1917. The first leg was a run to the

south with a course reversal to be made when La Jolla light was abeam to port. The three ships

that were participating in the engineering run formed a rough line abreast and started south. The

boats were making about 10 knots with the direct drive engines running smoothly at about 292

rpm. There was a current running to the south of about two knots, so the speed 'over the ground'

was nearer 12 knots. The run south was uneventful throughout the day and as the afternoon wore

on, the line abreast had become slightly ragged. F-2 was to seaward standing to the south on

course 142 degrees True and about ten nautical miles off La Jolla light. F-3 was two points

forward of F-2's port beam at a range of about 7000 yards. F-1 was about 2000 yards astern of F-

3 on a bearing of 007 degrees True from F-3.

"Sunset occurred about 1630 on the evening of December 17, 1917, and it was fully dark by

about 1715. The orders to the flotilla were to maintain speed as per the engineering run plan and

to maintain a course of 142 degrees True until abeam of La Jolla light. They were to stand out to

sea to avoid fog then to come around to such a course that would bring them to San Pedro by

about 1000 the next morning. Even though the ships were together, they were operating

independently and not running in formation. Each ship was to inform the others of course and

speed changes. Each of the ships cruised through the calm sea with running lights on.

"The F class had been designed without a bridge as we see on later submarines. The crews had a

pipe and rail rig made up to which a canvas screen was lashed. This provided some protection

from the wind and occasional spray. The Captain and the Officer of the Deck were on the bridge

in addition to the two lookouts. Another man was in the conning tower. Rudder and engine

orders were shouted down the hatch to the conning tower. Air was being drawn into the ship for

the engines through both the air induction and the conning tower hatch. All seemed routine, but

the Captain was aware of the impending danger of maneuvering near land in the fog and at night.

"About 1830, the ships began to run into a fog that soon became very thick. F-1 changed course

to 165 degrees True to stand away from La Jolla and Point Loma. Being the aft most ship, she

would pass astern of F-3. A radio message was sent to indicate the course change, but it was

evidently not received by either of F-1's companions. The OOD of F-2 was mindful of the two

ships on his port hand. At 1855, he turned F-2 to the west to not only clear the fog but also to

clear the area into which F-1 and F-3 would maneuver. F-2 would stand out to sea until clear of

the fog and then turn north for the return trip along course 322 degrees True. Just after 1900, F-3

put on 10 degree right rudder and began a turn to a reciprocal course of 322 degrees True. The

intention was to reverse course, running to the north to get out of the fog and back toward San

Pedro. The assumption made was that F-1 was still to port and astern. F-3's radio operator started

to try to raise F-1 and F-2 on the radio to inform them of the course change and intentions.

"F-3 was coming slowly about and was crossing 310 degrees True when, at about 1912, her

lookouts and OOD sighted the masthead and port running light of another ship closing at a

combined speed of nearly 20 knots. The OOD screamed for F-3's helmsman to put her rudder

hard over, to try to turn the ship faster to starboard, and for the engines to be reversed. The other

ship was crossing F-3's bow moving from starboard to port. The other ship was F-1 running to

the south on 165 degrees True. Seeing the lights of F-3 looming out of the fog, F-1's skipper tried

to come to starboard. The combination of efforts was too slow to do anything but make the

collision worse by placing the ships at more of a right angle. The resulting collision was deadly.

"F-3 struck F-1 on the port side some 15 feet aft of the periscope shears near the bulkhead

between the control and engine rooms. The stiff stem of F-3 and the rounded torpedo tube bow

cap punched a three-foot wide by ten-foot high hole in the upper hull of F-1, driving all the way

into the superstructure. F-1 rolled to starboard throwing all four men who were on the small

canvas and pipe bridge into the sea. F-3 pulled out of the hole with the screws reversed. Not

being pushed anymore, F-1 rolled back to port and started to flood fast. The man in F-1's conning

tower, seeing the water coming in below him, climbed out and went over the side. No one else

escaped. Someone in the engine room tried to open the hatch to get out, but the ship was sinking

fast and water pressure on the outside kept it shut until it was too late. Those in the forward end

of the boat had no chance. Nineteen men went down with the ship. The five in the water were

picked up by F-3 and she made her way back to San Pedro.

"In October 1975, the USNS DE STEIGUER (T-AGOS-12) was using some new equipment to

search for an F-J4 aircraft known to have crashed in the sea off Point Loma. Her side scan sonar

spotted what appeared to be a submarine in 635 feet of water. The hull was photographed by

CURV II and again on October 24, 1975 by DSRV-2. It was positively identified as the F-1. The

boat is lying on its starboard side with the hole made by F-3 clearly visible. The hull is in

amazingly good shape and serves as a deep grave site for the US Naval Submarine Force's first

wartime submarine loss."

______________

USS SEALION (SS-195)

December of 1941 found USS SEALION (SS-195), commissioned in 1939 and the veteran of

one war patrol, in the midst of a routine overhaul at Cavite Navy Yard in the Philippines. She

would never make it back to sea. On 10 December the Japanese struck, pounding the facility

with bombs dropped by waves of aircraft. SEALION was hit twice. The first bomb landed on the

aft section of the conning tower, exploding just over the control room but outside the hull. The

second hit was far worse. The bomb sliced through a ballast tank and the pressure hull and blew

up in the aft engine room. The four men who were working there-Chief Electrician's Mate

Sterling C. Foster, Chief Electrician's Mate Melvin D. O'Connell, Machinist's Mate First Class

Ernest E. Ogilvie, and Electrician's Mate Third Class Vallentyne L. Paul-were killed. (Another

crewmember, Chief Machinist's Mate Howard Firth, would end up being captured by the

Japanese after they occupied the facility the following month; he would die in a POW camp.)

Water poured in through the gash in the sub's side, submerging nearly half her main deck and

causing her to list to starboard. The yard, devastated as it was by the attack, could do nothing to

fix her, so workers stripped the sub of all useable equipment and set up explosive charges. On

Christmas Day, SEALION was destroyed.

On 31 October 1944, exactly a year to the day after her launching, the new USS SEALION (SS-

315) stood out from Pearl Harbor to begin her third war patrol. The boat's commanding officer

was Lieutenant Commander Eli Reich, who had been an officer aboard SS-195 and was in the

yards with the boat when she was bombed. SS-315 was his first command and he had already

earned a reputation as an aggressive and successful leader: his boat had sent 19,700 tons of

Japanese shipping to the bottom on her first patrol and 51,700 on her second, during which she

had to put in at Saipan to load more torpedoes, having exhausted her initial supply.

Just after midnight on the morning of 21 November, SEALION made radar contact with several

ships in the Taiwan Strait; within half an hour it became clear that she had stumbled upon a

formidable Japanese fleet comprised of two battleships, one battlecruiser, one light cruiser, and

three destroyer escorts. The ships were making a steady sixteen knots and were not zig-zagging-

Reich must have felt like Christmas had come early. He pulled ahead of the convoy and, at 0256,

loosed six torpedoes. Three minutes later, three more followed. "Saw and heard three hits on first

battleship-several small mushrooms of explosions noted in the darkness," Reich wrote in his

patrol report. He had hit Kongō, the battlecruiser, sending water gushing into her boiler rooms.

The battleship Nagato, now painfully aware of the sub's presence, turned away and so

SEALION's second set of torpedoes hit Urakaze, a destroyer, sending her to the bottom with all

hands. As the remaining Japanese ships began dropping depth charges, SEALION peeled off to

the west. The convoy split in two and the sub resumed tracking, following the slower group. At

0524: "Tremendous explosion dead ahead-sky brilliantly illuminated, it looked like a sunset at

midnight. Radar reports battleship pip getting smaller-that it has disappeared-leaving only the

two smaller pips of the destroyers. Destroyers seem to be milling around vicinity of target.

Battleship sunk-the sun set."

During World War II, torpedoes carried by American subs were often launched with a name,

often that of a Sailor's wife or girlfriend, painted on the side. But on 21 November, four of

SEALION's torpedoes carried the names of the crewmen who died aboard SS-195, giving these

lost Sailors a measure of revenge.

The attack was also notable for another reason. For a time SEALION had carried as a passenger

a war correspondent from CBS. When the man departed, he left behind an audio recorder and the

crew decided to take advantage of this unexpected gift. When the men were ordered to battle

stations for the attack on the convoy, one of them hung the microphone next to the intercom in

the conning tower. The crew made another, similar recording during the boat's fifth patrol. They

are believed to be the only extant audio recordings of a World War II submarine's attacks. They

were preserved by the Navy's Underwater Sound Laboratory and can be heard at the following

website: http://www.hnsa.org/sound/#sealion.