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Warship Wednesday, July 16, 2025: Flat Iron Warrior

Here at LSOZI, we take off every Wednesday for a look at the old steam/diesel navies of the 1833-1954 period and will profile a different ship each week. These ships have a life, a tale all their own, which sometimes takes them to the strangest places.- Christopher Eger

If you enjoy my always ad-free Warship Wednesday content, you can support it by buying me a cup of joe at https://buymeacoffee.com/lsozi As Henk says: “Warship Coffee – no sugar, just a pinch of salt!”

Warship Wednesday, July 16, 2025: Flat Iron Warrior

Above we see the Norwegian Gor-class gunboat-turned-minelayer KNM Tyr, all 102 feet long with a 4.7″/40 EOC gun forward and mines stowed aft. Downright ancient when the Germans came in 1940, she nonetheless proved a serious thorn in their side.

Norwegian Rendels

Starting in the 1870s, the Norwegians embarked on a program of modern warship construction, including steam engines and iron/steel hulls. Constructed locally at Carl JohansVærns Værft, Horten, they ordered eight 2nd class gunboats (Kanonbåt 2. kl) running between 250 and 420 tons, three first class gunboats of between 720 and 1,280 tons, a 1,045-ton steam corvette, an armed 350-ton minelaying “crane vessel” (Kranfartøy), and 14 assorted (45 ton-to-107 ton) 2nd class torpedo boats by 1902. Meanwhile, four 4,000-ton coastal battleships (Panserskibe) with 8.2-inch guns and up to 8 inches of armor would be ordered from Armstrong in the 1890s.

The eight 2nd class gunboats were all of the “flat iron” or Rendel type, a common format introduced by Armstrong in 1867 and built under contract for or copied by over a dozen fleets around the globe, including Norway’s neighbors Denmark and Sweden. Short and stubby, typically about 100 feet long with a 30-foot beam, they were flat-bottomed and drew a fathom or less, even under a full load. This hull form and their anemic compound steam engines only allowed for a speed in the 8-10 knot region, leaving these as defensive vessels ideal for guarding strongpoints and key harbors.

Armament was typically a single large (8-to-15-inch!) gun that could be lowered and elevated inside a shielded battery but not traversed, with the gunboat coming about to aim the horizonal.

The Norwegian Rendels included KNM Vale and Uller (1874, 1876, 250t); Nor, Brage, and Vidar (1897-1882, 270t); Gor and Tyr (1884, 1887, 289-294t); and Æger (1893, 420t). The first five carried a single Armstrong 26.67 cm (10.5-inch) RML forward and two 1-pounder Hotchkiss guns amidships.

Kanonbåt 2 kl Brage’s crew with her Armstrong 26,7cm RML.

Æger toted a more modern 8.3-inch Armstrong breechloader and three small (one 10-pdr and two 4-pdrs).

Æger. This 109-foot 420-tonner was the pinnacle of Rendel development. A one-off design, she was decommissioned in 1932 and her name recycled for a new Sleipner-class destroyer. NSM.000460

Gor and Tyr each carried a single breechloading Krupp 26 cm (10.2 inch) L/30 gun (606-pound shell, 192-pound charge, m/v 1805 ft/secs), the same model gun used on the 3,700-ton Japanese Armstrong-built protected cruisers Naniwa and Takachiho, backed up, like most of the other Norwegian Rendels, by two 1-pounder Hotchkiss guns.

Kanonbåt 2. kl. Gor (b. 1884, Karljohansvern Verft, Horten), note the large Krupp gun forward. NSM.000459

Japanese officers of the protected cruiser Naniwa posing near one of her 26 cm (10.2″) Krupp guns, 1885

Meet Tyr

Constructed as Yard No. 67 at Horten, Tyr was named for the one-handed Norse god of war who sacrificed his other hand to trap the wolf Fenrir. Laid down in 1884, she launched on 16 March 1887 and, fitting out rapidly, joined the Norwegian fleet shortly after.

Norwegian gunboat KNM Tyr from 1887

After 1900, with the looming formal separation from Sweden on the horizon and the prospect of a possible fight on their hands, the Norwegians upped their torpedo boat numbers rapidly to nearly 30 boats as their four new bathtub battleships arrived on hand from Britain. With that, the Rendels transitioned to more static support roles around this time, such as minefield tenders at strategic coastal fortifications and depot ships.

Around this time, most landed their obsolete main gun in exchange for something more contemporary, with most picking up a trainable QF 4.7″/40 Elswick 20-pounder behind a shield. This allowed the removal of their armored bow bulwark. Gor and Tyr also picked up a high-angle 76mm mount, while some of the older boats received a 47mm mount.

Gor as minelegger with mines aft. 

After Norway got into the submarine business in 1909 with the small (128-foot, kerosine-engined) German-built KNM Kobben, Tyr became her tender until 1914.

K/B 2 kl Tyr as tender with Norwegian submarine Kobben alongside. MMU.944062

Tyr plan 1913, slick-decked as tender.

With the mine warfare lessons reverberating around the globe after the Russo-Japanese War, it became obvious how easy these broad-beamed shallow-draft craft could be converted to minelayers. This typically meant installing twin port and starboard rail tracks on deck running about 65 feet to the stern for easy planting either via boom over rail drop. On the Gor and Tyr, this allowed for as many as 55 mines stowed on deck.

Tyr as mine planter with her 4″/40 forward and two 37mm 1-pounders on her amidships bridge deck. Model in the Horten Marinemuseet.

Same model, note the mine arrangement. The model omits her 6-pounder 76mm gun.

mines on converted Norwegian 2c gunboat, pre-1940

Same as above

Same as above

1929 Jane’s abbreviated listing of seven of the old Rendel gunboats, including Tyr. Note that Gor is still listed with her old 10-inch Armstrong. The larger Aegir was listed separately and was disposed of in 1932.

War!

September 1939 brought an uneasy time to Scandinavia. The remaining seven Norwegian Rendals, all by this time working as minelayers, bided their time and clocked in on the country’s Nøytralitetsvakt (Neutrality Watch).

Tyr was placed under the command of Orlogskaptein (LCDR) Johan Friederich Andreas Thaulow “Fritz” Ulstrup and stationed at the outer ring Lerøy Fortress overlooking the narrow Lerøyosen south of Bergen. Ulstrup, 43, was a career naval officer who was minted in the Great War and, having studied in France from 1922 to 1924, was serving as an instructor at the Naval Academy in Bergen when the war started.

Ulstrup, who doubled as fortress commander at Lerøy, also had a flotilla of five small armed auxiliary guard boats– Haus (135grt), Lindaas (138grt), Alversund (178grt), Manger (153grt), and Oygar (128grt)– and an old (circa 1898) torpedo boat, Storm, under his control. However, the fort itself, slated in 1939 to receive a 120mm gun battery with four old L/40 French-built Schneider weapons from the decommissioned border forts of Vardasen and Gullbekkasen pointing toward Sweden, instead only had a couple of 65mm Cockerill guns and searchlights.

On the early morning of 9 April 1940, just after midnight, two cruisers appeared off Bergen and flashed that they were the RN’s HMS Cairo and Calcutta, when in fact they were the German Kriegmarine’s light cruiser sisters Koln and Konigsberg, each with nine 15 cm SK C/25 (5.9-inch) guns, as the Gruppe 3 invasion force under RADM Hubert Schmundt. The cruisers were followed by 600 troops of the Wehrmacht’s 69th Infantry Division on the 1,800-ton gunnery training ship (Artillerieschulschiff) Bremse with four 12.8 cm SK C/34s, the torpedo boats Wolf and Leopard, and the E-boat tender Carl Peters shepherding S19, S21, S22, S23, S24, and naval trawlers Schiff 9 and Schiff 18.

Tyr, loaded with live and armed mines picked up at Laksevåg, was at the ocean-front fishing village of Klokkarvik, directly in the path of the Germans.

Klokkarvik harbor during the neutrality watch in 1939/40. In the picture, you can see a mine-armed KNM Tyr at anchor with a Draug-class destroyer at the quay. Note the Royal Norwegian Navy’s Hover M.F.11 floatplane in the foreground. (Source: Naval Museum Horten)

When the Germans began to creep into the fjord and with word of other sets of foreign warships in the Oslofjord, Ulstrup, who had been arguing with Bergan’s overall commander, RADM Carsten Tank-Nielsen all day on the 8th to be able to sow his mines, finally obtained clearance at 0030 for Tyr to hurriedly drop eight mines between Sotra and Lerøy, closing Lerøyosen. However, the 10-14-hour time-delay safety features on the magnetic contacts of the mines meant they were still dormant when the German cruisers passed harmlessly over them. Storm, meanwhile, fired a torpedo at Carl Peters at 0220 but missed.

Ulstrup closed to shore so he could place a quick phone call to Tank-Nielsen to apprise him of the situation, then returned to his minelayer to beat feet toward Bjørnefjord, playing a cat and mouse game with German E-boats and reportedly landing a hit from her 4.7-inch gun on one, receiving several 20mm hits from the Schnellbooten in exchange.

Further up the fjord, batteries at the now-alerted Norwegian inner ring Forts Kvarven (3 x 210mm St. Chamond M.98s) and Sandviken (3 x 240mm St. Chamond  L/13s) opened up on the passing Germans at 0358 and soon landed hits on both Konigsberg and Bremse in the darkness of pre-dawn, leaving the former adrift with flooded boiler rooms. While Tyr, Ulstrup, and company managed to withdraw further into the fjords– laying another 16 mines in the Vatlestraumen approaches north of Bergen–  Bergen itself fell to the German seaborne force just hours later.

However, the crippled Konigsberg would be hammered by a strike of RNAS Sea Skuas out of Orkney once the sun came up and caught five 500-pound bombs, sinking her in the harbor on 10 April.

Meanwhile, Tyr’s mines near Vatlestraumen sank the packed German HSDG freighter Sao Paulo (4977grt) on the evening of the 9th, sending her to the bottom in 260 feet of water.

The 361-foot Hamburg-Südamerikanische Dampschiffahrts-Gesellschaft steamer Sao Paulo was lost to one of Tyr’s mines.

In trying to sweep the mines, the German naval auxiliary Schiff 9 (trawler Koblenz, 437grt), and the auxiliary patrol boat Vp.105 (trawler Cremon, 268grt), along with two launches from Carl Peters, were lost on the 11th. Some sources also credit the German steamer Johann Wessels (4601grt), damaged on 5 May, and the German-controlled Danish steamer Gerda (1151grt), sunk on 8 May, as falling to Tyr’s eggs.

Withdrawing down the 114-mile-long Hardangerfjord, Ulstrup was appointed the commander of this new sector on 17 April and, moving ashore to Uskedal, left Tyr to her XO, the 47-year-old Fenrik (ensign) Karl Sandnes. Ulstrup, stripping the 37mm guns from Tyr and two 65mm guns from auxiliary gunboats, mounted them on flatbed trucks as improvised mobile artillery.

A 1937 Chevy flatbed with a 65mm L35 Hotchkiss under Ulstrup’s dirt sailors, April 1940

The next two days saw a series of skirmishes around Uskedal, in which Tyr closed to shore to use her 4.7-inch gun against German positions in improvised NGFS, coming close enough to get riddled by German 8mm rifle fire in return.

A naval clash on the 20th involving the advancing Germans in the Hardangerfjord saw Tyr, under the command of Sandnes, shell the German auxiliary Schiff 18, which beached at Uskedal to avoid sinking. The same battle saw the Norwegian Trygg-class torpedo boat Stegg sunk by Schiff 221 while the Norwegian armed auxiliary Smart was sunk by Bremse. The German minesweeper M.1 went on to capture five Norwegian-flagged steamers that were hiding in the fjord.

With Ulstrup and his force ashore getting ready to displace inland under fire, and Tyr trapped in the fjord, Sandnes brought his command to the shallows and, attempting to camouflage her, hid the breechblock for her 4.7 and evacuated the old minelayer. By forced march, they made it to Matre, some 14 miles on the other side of the mountain, and soon rejoined Allied lines.

Meanwhile, Tyr was soon discovered by the Germans, who towed her back to Bergen and, along with her fellow Rendel gunboat-turned-minelayer cousin, Uller, were soon pressed into service with the Kriegsmarine.

On 30 April, Tyr and Uller left occupied Bergen with German crews on a mission to mine the entrance to Sognefjord, barring it to British ships. This service would be short-lived as a Royal Norwegian Navy Heinkel He 115 seaplane spotted the pair, now under new management, and bombed Uller seriously enough to have her crew beach on a reef and evacuate on Tyr. Uller later lifted off the reef and sank near Gulen, becoming a popular dive spot.

As for Tyr, she saw no further direct combat, although the Germans likely continued to use her in some form of coastal service for the rest of the war.

Post-war

Tyr was still afloat in 1945 when the Germans were run out, and was subsequently sold on the commercial market. Her old hull still in good shape, she was converted to an economical diesel plant and sailed for a time as a heavy lift steamship.

By 1951, she had been converted to the car ferry Bjorn West, a task she fulfilled for three decades. Further converted for service in a salmon farming operation.

Found in poor condition ten years ago, she recently passed to a consortium of Vestfold county municipality, the KNM Narvik Foundation in Horten, and the Bredalsholmen Shipyard and Preservation Centre, who, with Tyr safely in drydock in Kristiansand, plan on restoring her to her 1940 condition. At this point, she is believed to be the last Rendel-type gunboat.

They plan to make her sailable, which isn’t that far-fetched.

Epilogue

The Norwegian Navy has recycled our gunboat/minelayer’s name at least twice.

The first was an Auk-class minesweeper, ex-USS Sustain (AM-119), which was transferred in 1959 and served as KNM Tyr (N47). Three Auk-class sisters transferred with her (ex-USS Strive, Triumph, and Seer) were named Gor, Brage, and Uller, in a nod to the old Rendel boats that saw WWII service.

Ex-USS Sustain (AM-119) as KNM Tyr (N47). Commissioned 9 November 1942, she earned eight battle stars for her World War II service from North Africa to France to Okinawa, helping to sink at least one U-boat in the process. She served the Norwegians from 1959 to 1984.

The third KNM Tyr in Norwegian service, N50, was bought commercially in 1995 and spent two decades mapping and filming dozens of historic wrecks in the country’s waters with her ROVs, including Scharnhorst and HMS Hunter (H35).

The intrepid LCDR Ulstrup continued to resist the Germans after leaving Tyr in April 1940. He crafted a makeshift shoreside torpedo battery, the only torpedo available being salvaged from the wreck of an old torpedo boat, and managed to caravan mines from a storage facility in Sogn to Ulvik to surprise the occupation forces. Once the Allies pulled out in mid-June, he was left to his own devices with a resistance group that became known, logically, as the Ulstrup Organisasjon.

With the heat getting too close for comfort, Ulstrup and a dozen other patriots crowded on the sailing trawler MK Måken (M 366 B) on 19 September 1940 and set out from Alesund for the Shetlands, arriving at Baltasound 11 days later. Welcomed as a hero in London, he was soon in command of the old four-piper HMS Mansfield (G76) (former USS Evans, DD-78), which in April 1941 carried commandos for a raid on Oksfjord, Norway, where the herring oil factory was destroyed.

“HNMS Mansfield, Norwegian Town-class destroyer. She is an ex-U.S. destroyer (USS Evans) and is manned entirely by the Norwegian Navy.” Circa 1941. Note her Norwegian flag. Photo by Harold William John Tomlin, IWM A2725

Once Mansfield was passed on to the Canadians in March 1942 after the Norwegians rode shotgun on 17 Atlantic, Ulstrup, promoted to Kommandørkaptein, was given command of the 11th Department in the Ministry of Defense in London, then subsequently placed in command of the Norwegian forces in Iceland, where he spent the rest of the war.

Returning to Norway with a War Cross with Swords, Ulstrup was promoted to rear admiral in August 1952. After escorting Ethiopian Emperor Haile Selassie on his tour of Norwegian naval bases, including the Horten shipyards in November 1954, he was made a Grand Officer of the Order of the Ethiopian Emperor Menelik II, rounding out his international awards.

Kontradmiral Johan Fredrik Andreas Thaulow Ulstrup, retired, passed in 1956, age 60, having wrapped up a 41-year career.

Tyr’s best-known “kill” of the war, the HSDG steamer Sao Paulo, packed with German military vehicles and stores that never made it to shore, is a favorite of wreck divers.

Meanwhile, in Klokkarvik, a memorial, complete with a mine and a seagull, was dedicated in 2021.

As noted in the town:

The seagull that takes off from the mine is a symbol of optimism. We should be aware of what war brings, but be most concerned with how we can secure peace. We should learn from history, – because it tends to repeat itself. The seagull draws our attention to the sea, the source of everything, our future.

Meminisse est ad Vivificandum – To Remember is to Keep Alive

***

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Warship Wednesday, July 9, 2025: Gravity Boat

Here at LSOZI, we take off every Wednesday for a look at the old steam/diesel navies of the 1833-1954 period and will profile a different ship each week. These ships have a life, a tale all their own, which sometimes takes them to the strangest places.- Christopher Eger

If you enjoy my always ad-free Warship Wednesday content, you can support it by buying me a cup of joe at https://buymeacoffee.com/lsozi As Henk says: “Warship Coffee – no sugar, just a pinch of salt!”

Warship Wednesday, July 9, 2025: Gravity Boat

Koninklijke Marine image via the Netherlands Institute of Military History (NIMH) file no. 2173-223-109

Above we see the Dutch Navy’s fully-dressed K XIV-class colonial submarine Hr.Ms. K XVIII arriving in Surabaya, Java in what was then the Dutch East Indies, some 90 years ago this week, on 11 July 1935, to a welcome from several Dutch warships, including the destroyer Hr.Ms. Van Galen in the background. Our subject submarine had left Den Helder some eight months and 22,710 miles prior. For reference, the circumference of the Earth around the Equator is approximately 24,901 miles.

At the time, it was the longest unescorted journey by a submarine, just besting a 1926 cruise by another Dutch sub. Shipping aboard the boat was one Prof. Felix Andries Vening Meinesz– a Dutch geophysicist and geodesist known for his work in the field of gravimetry– packing his “Golden Calf,” which was beloved by the crew for reasons we will cover.

Don’t let her bookish origins fool you, K XVIII proved to have teeth when the war started in the Pacific just seven short years later.

The K XIV-class

Paid for by the oil-rich government of the Dutch East Indies in 1930 to serve as “colonial” submarines with the “K” for “Koloniën,” the five K XIV-class boats were designed by Dutch Navy engineer J. J. van der Struyff, who already had the smaller 0 9 and K XI-classes under his belt. A bit larger and more modern than previous Dutch classes, they leveraged input from across Europe. Using a pair of 1,600 hp German-made MAN diesel engines and two 430 kW domestically built Smit Slikkerveer electric motors lined up on two shafts, these 1,045-ton vessels could push their 241-foot welded steel hulls at speeds approaching 17 knots on the surface (they made 19 on trials) and nine while submerged. The plant enabled them to cruise at an impressive 10,000nm at 12 knots, ideal for West Pacific patrols.

Using double hulls with a test depth of 250 feet, they carried both search and attack periscopes provided by Stroud and a periscopic radio antenna that could be used while submerged. Ideally, for their intended use around the 18,000-island East Indies archipelago, they could float in just 13 feet of water and submerge in anything over 50.

When it came to armament, they were outfitted with help from the British, including tubes for a batch of 200 Weymouth-built dialed-down Mark VIII torpedoes (dubbed II53 in Dutch service) that could hit 42 knots and carry a 660-pound warhead– not bad performance for the era.

A British-made II53 torpedo on board the destroyer Hr.Ms. Evertsen in 1929. The Dutch used these on both surface ships and subs. NIMH 2173-224-077

The torpedo tube layout in the class was interesting and not repeated in another Dutch class. They mounted eight 21-inch torpedo tubes–four bows (two on each side of the hull), two in the stern, and a twin external trainable mount forward of the conning tower– with room for 14 fish.

Hr.Ms. K XIV, seen in a Colombo drydock in December 1942, shows a good view of her bow tubes and the inset cavity forward of the fairwater for her trainable twin tubes.

A good view of the twin tubes mounted outside of the hull under the deck, prior to installation in 1931.

Besides their torpedoes, they were armed with a Swedish 88mm/42cal Bofors No.2 deck gun and two British Vickers 2-pdr QF Mark II (40mm/39cal) large-bore AAA machine guns, the latter contained in neat disappearing installations, a novel idea for guns that weighed over 500-pounds including a water-cooled jacket.

The crew of the Dutch submarine Hr.Ms. K XV with her 40mm Vickers “ack-ack” machine gun in position and 88mm Bofors gun pointing over the bow. Note the mixed crew, common for boats in the colonies. Circa late 1930s. NIMH 2158_005757

The first three boats– K XIV, K XV, and K XVI— were ordered from Rotterdamsche Droogdok Maatschappij on the same day in 1930 as Yard Nos. 167-169. The final two– K XVII and K XVIII— were ordered in 1931 as Yard Nos. 322 and 322 from neighboring Wilton-Fijenoord, Schiedam. All five were complete and ready to deploy by early 1934.

Dutch submarine Hr.Ms. K XV central control 1935 NIMH 2158_005759

Dutch submarine K XV at Rotterdamsche Droogdok Maatschappij Jan 1931 NIMH 2158_008934

Dutch submarine K XV at Rotterdamsche Droogdok Maatschappij Feb 22 1934 NIMH 2158_008935

With the class complete, they typically self-deployed some 9,000 miles to the East Indies, stopping along the way at Lisbon, Cadiz, Palermo, Port Said, Suez, Aden, and Colombo. In theory, they could have done this on one tank of diesel oil without having to refuel.

The departure of the submarine Hr.Ms. K XIV and sister Hr.Ms. K XV from Den Helder, Holland, for the Dutch East Indies, 7 February 1934. In the background can be seen sisters K XVI and K XVII, waiting offshore. NIMH 2158_008920

Dutch submarine K XV on the Tagus River, Lisbon, likely on her way to East Asia. Photo via the Direcção-Geral de Arquivos of Portugal.

The arrival of Hr.Ms. K XV in Surabaya, April 1934. In the background is the destroyer Hr.Ms. Van Nes, which would be lost in February 1942, was sunk by Japanese aircraft. The white ship in the distance is Hr.Ms. Koning der Nederlanden, a 70-year-old 5,300-ton ramtorenschip ironclad that had been disarmed and turned into a barracks ship in 1920. NIMH 2173-223-089.

DOZ 3 (Divisie Onderzeeboten), consisting at this time of the colonial submarines Hr.Ms. K-XIV, Hr.Ms. K-XV and Hr.Ms. K-XVI, seen here in anti-aircraft exercises ca 1938. Note, you can see both Vickers 40mm being extended from the sail. You have a good view of the trainable twin external torpedo mounts via the opening just under the deck forward of the 88mm gun and the large escape hatches (drägervests) near the bow and aft of the sail. NIMH 2158_019998

Dutch submarines, including sisters K XVI, K XIV, K XII, and K XV (1933-1946,) along with the older (circa 1925) and smaller (216-feet/688 tons) Hr.Ms. K XI, alongside the supply ship Hr.Ms. Zuiderkruis, circa 1936. Of note, the obsolete little K XI, armed with more primitive Italian-made I53 torpedoes, would complete seven war patrols in WWII. Meanwhile, the 2,600-ton Zuiderkruis would escape from Java in February 1942 and spend the rest of WWII in Ceylon, operating as a depot ship and transport for the British Eastern Fleet. She would return home in 1945 and go on in 1950 after Indonesia’s independence to become the flagship of the Indonesian Navy (as Bimasakti) and President Soekarno’s yacht. NIMH 2158_019986

Circa 1931 scale model of Hr.Ms. K XVIII,  a K XIV-class submarine. Note her main deck gun before the fairwater with her AAA gun atop, hull mounted diving planes, net cutters on the bow, extensive running lines, forward trunk, upside down ship’s dingy aft near its crane, and twin screws on either side of a centerline rudder. 2158_054141

A similar model endures today in the collection of the Dutch Marine Elektronisch en Optisch Bedrijf. Note the arrangement of the four periscopes and aerials, but no AAA mount and a torpedo on deck over her external tubes. 0075_15_N0007294-01

A cutaway model gives a better look at her twin stowed AAA guns on either side of the conning tower, and her external tubes are shown forward between two trunks, placed between the deck and pressure hull. NIMH_2024-033_0003

K XVIII’s forward four-pack of torpedo tubes before installation in 1932. 2158_009163

Meet K XVIII

Ordered at the Wilton-Fijenoord shipyard in Rotterdam, the future K XVIII was laid down on 10 June 1931.

Construction of the K XVIII at the NV Dock and Yard Company Wilton-Fijenoord. 2158_009140

Launched 27 September 1932, by the next July, she had completed fitting out and was conducting her first of two months of trials.

K XVIII’s Langroom. Note the ornate brass fan on the bulkhead and wooden cabinetry. 2158_009184

The officers’ quarters. Note the rugs. 2158_009181

The non-commissioned officers’ quarters are seen forward, complete with padlocked lockers, with the firing installation of the deck tubes and one of the four periscopes, probably the antenna array, in the middle. 2158_009186

Construction of the K XVIII  at the NV Dok en Werf Maatschappij Wilton-Fijenoord, July-August 1933. The K XVIII is undergoing a sea trial on the Nieuwe Maas. Note her telescoping radio mast and DF gear. 2158_012445

23 March 1933. Her plankowners assembled on deck in winter dress uniforms. Note the main deck gun is not fitted yet, but the forward submergible AAA is stowed with its hatch closed and the wheel on the flying bridge. 2158_009187

Construction of the K XVIII  at the NV Dok en Werf Maatschappij Wilton-Fijenoord, July-August 1933. The K XVIII is undergoing a sea trial on the Nieuwe Maas. Note that her main gun has not been fitted. 2158_012442

Having been accepted and delivered, she was commissioned into service on 23 March 1934.

Hr.Ms. Submarine K XVIII, cruising in the North Sea shortly after completion. 2158_005746

Beginning on 20 June 1934, she underwent a six-week summer voyage with a squadron from Nieuwediep through the Baltic and back. The squadron included her sistership, Hr.Ms. K XVII, the old coastal battleship (pantserschip) Hertog Hendrik, and the destroyers Evertsen and Z 5. They called at several ports including Danzig, Konigsberg in East Prussia, Riga, and Copenhagen.

Crew of the submarine Hr.Ms. K XVIII at Königsberg during the squadron voyage to the Baltic Sea in 1934. The old (circa 1917) destroyer Hr.Ms. Z 5 is moored behind the K XVIII. 2158_012382

Arrival of submarine Hr.Ms. K XVIII in Danzig during the voyage to the Baltic Sea in the summer of 1934. Behind K XVIII, the destroyer Hr.Ms. Z 5. 2158_012405

20.000 Mijlen over Zee!

Returning home in the tail end of August 1934, our brand spanking new submarine was ordered to her intended duty station, with the fleet in the Dutch East Indies.

However, it was determined that this outbound sortie would be a bit more of a slow boat to (Indo)china so to speak, as she was tasked with a series of international port calls and put at the disposal of Prof. Vening Meinesz, who taught geodesy, cartography and geophysics part time at Utrecht University.

Why part-time?

Well, that’s because the good professor, under the auspices of the KNMI (Royal Dutch Meteorological Institute), had been tagging along on Dutch submarines for over a decade on a mission to measure the gravity field of the Earth. You see, it was in the subsurface dives that he could get the best readings, and almost every existing gravity reading up to that time had been done on dry land.

Before arriving on K XVIII, the professor had already shipped out several times on at least five other Dutch subs. The longest of these had been a six-month (27 May-13 December 1926) outward-bound cruise on the older K XI class boat Hr. Ms K XIII, when she deployed from Den Helder for the Dutch East Indies, via the Panama Canal and Hawaii.

Vening Meinesz’s primary instrument was one of his designs, a bronze-cased, wool-packed pendulum apparatus termed a gravimeter for obvious reasons. While the workings of his machine are beyond the scope of this post, the story goes that, to isolate its readings from the activities of working submariners, the best solution was to halt the work of said bluejackets, sending them to their racks, and halting the motors.

Rig for silence indeed.

As compensation for having to put up with the yo-yo work cycle when the professor was doing his thing, the Dutch admiralty authorized an extra guilder per man per dive when the gravimeter required them to secure stations. Thus, the machine became known to the submarine crews as Het Gouden Kalf (the Golden Calf).

The pendulum apparatus of Vening Meinesz, “Slingerapparaat van Vening Meinesz,” also known as “the Golden Calf. Positioned on the left side is the protective casing with the recording instrument on top. On the right side is the pendulum apparatus with the three pendulums at the back. Built in 1923, the instrument has been in the collection of the Delft University of Technology since 1966 and, in its time, had made over 500 submarine dives

The route from Holland to Java would be accomplished in 12 legs, the shortest just 1,200 miles, and the longest running 3,520 miles.

The end of each leg would be rewarded with a liberal port call (sometimes as long as three weeks) to show the flag, refresh supplies, and interact with the locals– with the side benefit of allowing the professor ashore to confer with regional scientific types and take gravimeter measurements in strange new places.

The port calls would include Funchal (Madeira), Saint Vincent (Cape Verde), Dakar, Pernambuco (Suriname), Rio de Janeiro, Montevideo/Buenos Aires/Mar del Plata, Tristan da Cunha, Cape Town (Kaapstad) and Durban in South Africa, Port Louis (Mauritius), and Fremantle in Western Australia before heading north to Surabaya.

NIMH_2024-033_0002

Under 43-year-old Luitenant ter zee 1e klasse (LCDR) Dirk Christiaan Marie Hetterschij, a career officer who joined the Dutch navy as a midshipman in 1910 and held his first seagoing command in 1922, K XVIII made ready for her epic voyage to East Asia. He knew the vessel well, having previously supervised the construction of the submarine.

With a wardroom of five junior officers led by 30-year-old Penang-born LTZ2 Max Samuel Wytema and Officer Marinestoomvaartdienst C. van der Linden (both of whom had sailed with Vening Meinesz previously on K XIII in 1926), a goat locker of eight petty officers, and 20 enlisted, the boat had an all-up complement of 34, skipper included.

The ship’s officers on the eve of leaving Den Helder, with Professor Vening Meinesz dutifully attired in white tropical mufti to match.

And with the whole crew. 2158_012351

13 November 1934. Submarine Hr.Ms. K XVIII  before departure for the world voyage of 1934-35. Prof. Vening Meinesz foreground. 2158_012349

Submarine Hr.Ms. K XVIII leaves the port of Den Helder for her world voyage, 14 November 1934, before an assembled crowd of well-wishers. 2158_012347

The submarine Hr.Ms. K XVIII stands out, moored in the harbor of Funchal, Madeira, on 24 November 1934, some 1,680nm down on the initial leg of her 1934-35 cruise. 2158_012354

However, before leaving the Atlantic, she had a side quest.

The Snip

Dutch airline KLM in 1934 was the only operator of a precious group of five triple-engine Fokker F.XVIIIs. With an 80-foot wingspan and 9-ton maximum takeoff weight, they could carry a crew of three and a dozen passengers on convertible sleeping berths on long-range flights, able to span 950 miles in six hours before needing to refuel. They were put into service on epic 7,000-mile Amsterdam-to-Batavia (now Jakarta) runs, once making it in just 73 flying hours.

One of the five KLM Fokker XVIIIs, PH-AIS “Snip” 2161_026829

Named after birds, in December 1934, one of the five F.XVIIIs, PH-AIS “Snip” (Snipe), set out on a history-making flight, KLM’s first transatlantic service to colonial Suriname and the Antilles from Holland.

Unable to make the flight non-stop, it accomplished legs from Amsterdam to Marseille, Marseille to Alicante, Spain; Alicante to Casablanca, and Casablanca to Porto Praia in the Cape Verde Islands. Waiting for the weather to clear to hop the Atlantic and packed with extra fuel, Snip and her four-man crew set out for Paramaribo in Suriname from Praia on 19 December, making the South American strip 17 hours and 35 minutes later, by far the longest leg.

Refueling once again, it went on to Curacao, where it landed on 22 December before a crowd of thousands at Hato airport, covering the 6,516nm from Amsterdam in just under 56 flying hours. While the extra fuel tanks had taken up the normal passenger space, she had carried a cargo of 233 pounds of Christmas mail containing 26,521 airmail letters and at least one bottle of beer.

It was midway on its 2,236nm Atlantic crossing from Praia that K XVIII was waiting, surfaced, lit up, and broadcasting weather conditions and forecasts as a beacon to point Snip in the right direction and be the first on the search should she not make it. While the Dutch KNSM merchant steamships Stuyvesant and Van Rensselaer were nearby, K XVIII was the only naval vessel tasked with support, and her crew heard the plane cross over on the night of the 21st in thick cloud cover.

Snip’s 1934 flight

On December 12, 1934, the Fokker F.XVIII “Snip” departed for KLM’s first transatlantic flight to Suriname and the Antilles. The plane arrived in Curacao 10 days and 6,500 air miles later without an issue, spotted along the way by K XVIII. 2161_026836

K XVIII underway on the surface in rough seas of the Atlantic. Note the barrel of her deck gun. 2158_012391

Anyway, back to our trip

On the way to Dakar in West Africa, the crew and the professor celebrated a somber Christmas on board before a paper tree while three musically inclined crew members formed an ersatz jazz band with a couple of horns and an accordion. They would cross the Equator just after New Year’s 1935 and hold the traditional crossing the line ceremony, dubbed Neptunusfeest in Dutch parlance.

Groot Feest means “big party.” 2158_012387

At each port, K XVIII picked up staged mail and supplies, dropped off beforehand by Dutch merchant vessels. Note the “Por  K XVIII, Dakar” stencil on these boxes.

Hr.Ms. K XVIII at Mar del Plata, Argentina, 22 February 1935, a port call that would last until 7 March. Note the newly delivered Argentine Italian-built S-class (Tarantino type) submarine alongside. 2158_012379

The shortest stop would be an overnight anchor on 22 March 1935 at the lonely island of Tristan da Cunha, a romantic harbor for Dutch mariners as it was where Pieter Groen from Katwijk had famously lived as an uncrowned king for years, becoming the paterfamilias of the largest family on the remote South Atlantic colony. Rarely visited, the crew passed on food and medical supplies to the colony.

Arriving in Cape Town (Kaapstad) on 2 April 1935. Note the deck awning and table forward, as well as the well-mixed uniforms of the crew, all veteran subjects of Neptune Rex (and almost blue noses), some 13,190 nm into her world cruise. 2158_012377

Twin stops in South Africa at Cape Town and Durban brought extensive interaction with the colony’s Dutch expatriates, and the ship’s officers made a pilgrimage to the statue of Jan van Riebeek to adorn it with a wreath. During her call, she was the first submarine to enter False Bay and the first to use the RN dry dock at Simon’s Town, where she was hurriedly scraped and repainted in five days, with her crew pitching in to meet the scheduled ship’s movement.

Then came the longest, 27-day stint across the Indian Ocean from Mauritius to Fremantle. Three dozen men in a 261-foot tin can for 3,520 nautical miles. Importantly, they would skirt a gravitational feature known today as the Indian Ocean Geoid Low (IOGL), a gravity “hole” that formed around 20 million years ago and is the deepest one known to man. Professor Vening Meinesz would only identify the IOGL in 1948 when looking at past data.

The home stretch arrival off Java coincided with the 339th anniversary celebration of the July 1596 arrival of Dutch merchant mariner Cornelis de Houtman in his VOC ship Mauritius after a 15-month voyage from Amsterdam, an expedition that began Dutch influence in the region.

Over the course of the voyage, Vening Meinesz had made 240 measurements while submerged.

Hr.Ms. Submarine K XVIII  arriving in Surabaya after her “world voyage,” July 1935. She is being escorted in by a flight of three big Dornier Do J Wal seaplanes while her crew is assembled on deck. Do you have any idea how hard it would have been to keep those whites, white after eight months on a “pig boat?” 2158_005745

The Dutch Marineluchtvaartdienst, or Naval Aviation Service, bought five distinctive twin-engine push/pull Do J Wals from Dornier’s Italian factory in Marina di Pisa in 1926, then purchased a license to assemble a further 41 domestically at Aviolanda’s facility. Able to carry two machine guns and 2,200 pounds of bombs to 500nm, the “Whales” served in the Far East in rescue, reconnaissance, transport, and patrol roles for over a decade. They were replaced in MLD service by 1941 by 34 Dornier Do 24K flying boats and 25 Consolidated PBY Catalina flying boats.

Submarine Hr.Ms. K XVIII in the Dutch East Indies, decorated and on parade duty, 11 July 1935. 2158_012424

K XVIII settles into the sheltered submarine docks in Surabaya, Dutch East Indies, after arriving. The Dutch would operate over a dozen subs from the port in the 1930s and early 1940s. Sadly, these were not hardened pens. 2158_012434

Crew members of the submarine Hr.Ms. K XVIII gathered for a welcome speech during Alle Hens, after arriving in Surabaya, Dutch East Indies, 11 July 1935. The suited Professor Vening Meinesz stands out, literally, between grinning skipper LTZ1 Hetterschij and his XO, LTZ2 Wytema. Note the white gloves and (usually German-made) Model of 1882 swords of the Dutch officers. For those curious, Dutch ships carried a very functional Model of 1911 Klewang profile naval cutlass through the 1950s, for enlisted use. 2158_012429

All the crew were presented with a special silver medal (the Draagpenning van de Rijkscommissie voor graadmeting en waterpassing) for the occasion, with Wytema and engineering officer Van der Linden earning a second award as they had earned one previously in 1926 on K XIII.

Skipper Dirk Hetterschij also picked up the Gold De Ruyter medal and was knighted, made an Officer in the Order of Orange-Nassau. He would similarly be made an Officer in the Belgian Ordre de Léopold II in 1936.

The chapels at the submarine barracks in both Surabaya and Den Helder received a stained-glass window with a tribute to the cruise of K XVIII. Painted by Willem Mengelberg in Zeist, it was paid for by the Stichting Algemeen Nederlandsch Comité “Onze Marine” association and includes a panel with Houtman’s circa 1596 VOC ship Mauritius. I believe they were both lost during WWII. 2158_012437

K XVIII’s XO during her 1934-35 cruise, LTZ2 Max Wytema, would go on to write two different submarine works, Klaar voor onderwater (“Clear for diving”) and, with Van der Linden, Met Hr. Ms. K XIII naar Nederlandsch-Indie (“With Hr. Ms. K XIII to the Dutch East Indies”) about their 1926 cruise. Wytema also shot several hours of amateur film footage during the cruise, which would later be edited by Brand D. Ochse, founder of Filmfabriek Polygoon, into an exotic 96-minute travel documentary, 20.000 mijlen over zee De wereldreis van onderzeeboot K XVIII (“20,000 Leagues of the Sea, The World Voyage of the Submarine K XVIII”).

Carrying a music arrangement by Max Tak, it showed many the first known moving images from such far-off locations as Tristan da Cunha, in addition to stirring sea shots of diving operations of a submarine underway, accompanied by dolphins.

Released in Dutch cinemas with the admiralty’s blessing and approval, the film was well-received and shown in several European countries, reportedly doing well for months in England and Spain.

I managed to find the first reel, which covers up to March 1935, leaving Argentina, in the NIMH, and have uploaded it, below.

Her film and book-worthy cruise behind her, K XVIII got to work as a normal Dutch fleet boat. She spent the next four years in a series of peacetime exercises and maneuvers, the highlight of which was the 23-ship September 1938 fleet review off Surabaya for (but not attended by) Queen Wilhelmina to celebrate her 40th anniversary.

War!

September 1939 brought an uneasy time to the Dutch East Indies. With Japan openly pressuring the colony, the local governor and his forces stepped up preparations to repel what was felt to be a looming invasion. Once metropolitan Holland was occupied in May 1940 by Germany, the DEI, still loyal to Queen Wilhelmina’s government in exile, sent its naval forces on patrol for Axis vessels in the region.

When the Pacific War with Japan kicked off in December 1941, K XVIII was in refit at Surabaya. One of 15 Dutch boats in the Pacific at the time (along with O-16, O-19, O-20, K-VII, K-VIII, K-IX, K-X, K-XI, K-XII, K-XIII, K-XIV, K-XV, K-XVI, and K-XVII), K-XVIII was soon back in the water, making war patrols and pumping torpedoes in the Emperor’s ships, one of the brighter moments in a campaign that was otherwise dark for the doomed ABDA Allies.

Her wartime skipper, LTZ1 Carel Adrianus Johannes van Well Groeneveld, had taken her sister, Hr. Ms K XIV, whose c/o was sick, on two short patrols while K XVIII was in refit in December. During which he torpedoed four Japanese steamers, sinking three for some 23,000 tons, a great start to the war!

With K XVIII back in the water in early January 1942, Van Well Groeneveld rejoined his command and departed Surabaya on his boat’s 1st war patrol on the 14th. After scuttling the evacuated Balikpapan light vessel Orion with gunfire so that it could not function as a beacon to the expected Japanese landing force, K XVIII spent the night of 22/23 January on a series of attacks on said force.

Narrowly missing the Japanese Sendai-class light cruiser Naka with four torpedoes, he sent the transport Tsuruga Maru (7289 GRT), carrying elements of the Sakaguchi Detachment (56th Regimental Group), to the bottom with a second load of four fish.

Tsuruga Maru was built down at Mitsubishi Shipyard as Yard No. 250, a 7,289-ton cargo ship for Nippon Yusen Kaisha (NYK), K.K. (Japan Mail Steamship Co.) in 1916. K XVIII sent her to the bottom in January 1942.

It was while avoiding depth charges from the responding Japanese submarine chaser Ch-12 that K XVIII bottomed and was extremely damaged, cutting her war patrol short. Returning to Surabaya by the 27th, she was still in repair when the Japanese neared the strategic port in March and was ordered scuttled along with 120 assorted Allied vessels in the area.

Before she was set ablaze, her deck gun was used to scuttle the unseaworthy Dutch Admiralen-class destroyer Hr. Ms Banckert.

K XVIII’s wartime boss, the budding sub ace Van Well Groeneveld, while in charge of the Torpedo Works at Surabaya in March 1942, went missing and was believed killed while inspecting faulty demolition charges with two other men during the destruction of the port, just shy of his 36th birthday. Besides a Dutch MWO.4, he earned the British DSO, although he was never able to receive it.

Ignoble service under the Setting Sun

With Surabaya under new management for the next five years, the Japanese had a chance to raise and repair several of the ships that were hastily scuttled there. One of these was K XVIII. Patched up to a degree, she was put into service as an unnamed and lightly armed air warning picket hulk in the shallows of the Madoera Strait in 1944. She was sent to the bottom a final time by HM Submarine Taciturn (P334) on 16 June 1945 alongside the Japanese auxiliary submarine chaser Cha 105 (130 tons). Taciturn described the action with the former pride of the Dutch submarine service as

“A K-16 class Dutch submarine covered with yellow lead and rust, she was very high in the water…Several hits were obtained and the hulk was seen listing shortly afterwards..” Before turning to sink Cha 160. Then, “target was now shifted to the rusty submarine hulk whose machine gun fire became annoying as the range closed. A considerable number of 4″ rounds were fired against her before she was seen to be sinking in position 06°52’S, 112°48’E. One of the hits was a direct hit on her gun.”

Of her four sisters, all gave hard service in East Asia in WWII, opposing the Japanese invasion of the Dutch East Indies. Two were lost during the conflict.

Hr.Ms. K XVI sank the Japanese Fubuki-class destroyer Sagiri on Christmas Eve 1941, then was, in turn, sunk by the Japanese submarine I-66 on Christmas Day, lost with all hands.

Hr.Ms. K XVII was believed lost in a newly laid Japanese minefield on or about 21 December 1941 in the Gulf of Siam and is still on patrol with 38 crewmembers. There are wild rumors she was lost in the “cover-up” in the Pearl Harbor advance-knowledge conspiracy theory, but they are, most assuredly, groundless.

Hr.Ms. K XV, commanded for the duration by the intrepid LTZ1 Carel Wessel Theodorus, Baron van Boetzelaer, made 13 cloak-and-dagger commando missions behind Japanese lines in as many war patrols, survived 67 depth charges, and sank three of the Emperor’s vessels.

Class leader Hr.Ms. K XIV (N 22), as we touched on above, was the most successful when it came to chalking up “kills,” is credited with three Japanese troopships — SS Katori Maru (9,848 tons), SS Ninchinan Maru (6,503 tons), and SS Hiyoshi Maru (4,943 tons)– sunk along with a fourth — MS Hokkai Maru (8,416 tons)– damaged in late December 1941 alone. Updated in America, she spent the rest of the war in Fremantle and would damage the 4,410-ton Japanese minelayer Tsugaru and bag numerous small vessels. She was retired in 1946, having completed nine war patrols. Also, like K XV, she languished in Soerabaja during the Dutch war against Soekarno, then was towed out and sunk in deep water following independence.

Hr.Ms. onderzeeboot K XIV (1933-1946) z.g.n. getrimd dieselen. NIMH 2158_005756

The K XIV class Bloedvlaggen, with K XVIII on the far right.

In all, wily “Free Dutch” submarines with nothing to lose accounted for at least 168,183 tons of enemy shipping and warships between May 1940 and August 1945, sinking no less than 69 ships– a figure that doesn’t count the myriad of small craft they also sent to the bottom. They also lost 16 boats, with seven still on eternal patrol.

In an ode to these old K boats, Indonesian rice (Indische rijsttafel) is a staple meal on Dutch submarines today, especially for service in the wardroom as a Blauwe hap (Blue Snack).

Epilogue

Little tangible remains of K XVIII. Her hulk was later raised (again) and scrapped in the 1950s after the Dutch had left. With so much war wreckage around Surabaya post-war, and with an active civil war going on in the islands until Indonesia’s independence in 1949, there was little appetite to set aside the relics of the once-famous submarine.

She is remembered in maritime art, such as on a recently released stamp from Tristan da Cunha.

Incidentally, when 20.000 mijlen over zee hit the theatres, it sparked a shoe drive in Holland for the island’s moccasin-wearing population, which ultimately received 760 assorted new pairs of wooden clogs for its 200 inhabitants. Unsuited for use in the rocky islands, the locals instead appreciated them as they kept the islanders in firewood for six months. K XVIII’s circa 1934-35 skipper, Dirk Hetterschij, after the legendary voyage to East Asia, became commander of the Dutch submarine service in Surabaya for two years, then returned home just in time for the German invasion. During WWII, he remained in the occupied Netherlands, where he played a key role in the Dutch resistance and was later arrested by the Germans for a time, but was released for health reasons. Placed in command of the Loodswezen, the Dutch Pilotage Service, post-war, he was made a rear admiral in 1947, but died in poor health the following year, just 57 years old.

RADM Dirk Hetterschij completed 38 years of honorable service to the Dutch Navy, most of it in submarines, with a dash of science and espionage behind enemy lines when needed. He is buried in Rhenen, with his wife joining him in 1974. As a side note, she had been the third wife of the swashbuckling late Dutch RADM Kaarel Doorman of Java Sea fame.

K XVIII’s multimedia talented XO during her 1934-35 cruise, LTZ2 Max Wytema, likewise continued to serve. The Dutch Naval Control Officer in San Francisco during WWII, he was recognized with a Legion of Merit by the U.S. Navy in 1942. While in California, he settled down and retired there, with his wife Annette passing in 1979. He joined her at age 78 in 1982.

In 2016, Dutch TV network VPRO released a digital version of 20.000 mijlen over zee in two parts. The website is kind of funky and takes a while to build, but it’s interesting to view once you get it going.

And finally, Professor Vening Meinesz, who became akin in his time to a Dutch Neil deGrasse Tyson after 20.000 mijlen over zee, continued his gravitational quest. He shipped out on four further Dutch subs in the late 1930s, including a three-month trip on Hr. Ms. O 16 in 1937. Teaching part-time both at the University of Utrecht and the Delft University of Technology, like his old pal Dirk Hetterschij, he rolled up his sleeves during the German occupation and helped organize the Resistance movement. Post-war, he took students and his instruments aboard a further six Dutch submarines, sailing as late as 1959.

Professor Vering Meinsez passed in 1966, aged 79. Utrecht University has the Vening Meinesz Research School for Geodynamics in his honor, while a crater on the moon also carries his name. Though he never wore a uniform, he earned his dolphins for sure.

His research trip on KXVIII, his longest, is seen today as the “Origin of Flexure Modelling.”  Meminisse est ad Vivificandum – To Remember is to Keep Alive

***

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Warship Wednesday, July 2, 2025: Lost Bird of the Baltic

Here at LSOZI, we take off every Wednesday for a look at the old steam/diesel navies of the 1833-1954 period and will profile a different ship each week. These ships have a life, a tale all their own, which sometimes takes them to the strangest places.- Christopher Eger

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Warship Wednesday, July 2, 2025: Lost Bird of the Baltic

Image via the Farenthold Collection, Naval History and Heritage Command NH 65783

Above we see the Nautilus-class minenkreuzer SMS Albatross in port, likely in Wilhelmshaven or Kiel, just prior to the Great War. A slight cruiser by any measure, she was perhaps better described as a heavily armed minelayer with a profile approaching that of an elegant turn-of-the-century steam yacht.

Put in an impossible situation some 110 years ago today, she was run aground in neutral waters– and that’s where the story really starts.

The Kaiser’s Mine Cruisers

The Albatross and her half-sister ship Nautilus sprang from the lessons learned during the Russo-Japanese War of 1904-05, which saw the aggressive use of mine warfare in fleet operations. The two ships were the size (322 feet oal/2,345 tons displacement on Nautilus, 331 ft./2,500-ton Albatross) and speed (20.8 knots) of light cruisers.

They had two stacks to vent their quartet of marine boilers and a pair of 3-cylinder compound engines. Twin military masts with mounted searchlights could accommodate an auxiliary sail rig if needed, but they don’t seem to have ever carried any canvas. They had a 1:10 length-to-beam ratio and looked fast sitting still.

Nautilus, German cruiser minelayer, photographed by Renard of Kiel while passing under the Levensau Bridge of the Kiel Canal in 1907, soon after entering fleet service on 19 March 1907. Note the rakish clipper bow and bowsprit, which Albatross did not share. While 322 feet oal, the waterline length was just 296 feet at the waterline (316 on Albatross). NH 46829

While largely unarmored, they could duke it out against smaller vessels or serve as commerce raiders due to their all-up main battery of eight 8.8 cm/35 (3.46″) SK L/35 C/01 guns in single low-angle shielded mounts. Nautilus originally carried two guns in casemate and six on upper decks, but all were later consolidated on deck, while Albatross always had hers on deck, arranged two forward, two aft, and four amidships in broadside. Magazines held a total of 2,000 15-pound shells for these guns, which had a range of 9,600 yards.

However, rather than torpedoes and secondary batteries as found on other cruisers, these twins had weight and space to accommodate a serious deck cargo of sea mines on a rail system dropping over the stern, with Nautilus rigged for 391 such “eggs” while Albatross could stow 288. With a shallow draft of just 15 feet for both sisters, they could operate in the littorals of the North, Baltic, and Mediterranean Seas, sowing their enemy seaports and strategic roadsteads shut with their mines. Alternatively, they could drop fields quickly in the path of enemy squadrons during fleet actions, covering retreats, or isolating opponents.

The German Elektrische Minen A (EMA), with a charge of 330 pounds of wet gun cotton, was the standard contact (Hertz horn) mine of the Kaiserliche Marine headed into the Great War.

Besides their dual use as mine layers and scout cruisers, both ships were given reinforced bows for service as light icebreakers or “boom chargers” as needed. The simplification of mission between the efficient mine-laying system and the single battery meant these ships had comparatively small crews of just ten officers and 191 men.

Termed Minendampfschiffe A und B on contract, both ships were built at Aktien-Gesellschaft Weser in Bremen with Nautilus (Baunummer 152) and Albatross (No. 162), sandwiched between the future Jutland veteran Nassau class battleship SMS Westfalen and the elegant NDL Reichspostdampfer liner Lutzow. Both cruisers ran 2,879,000 marks each despite the moderate differences in design. While most naval journals consider these to be one class of ship, Jane’s at the time listed each separately.

Nautilus 1914 Janes

Albatross 1914 Janes, note the different hull form.

Meet Albatross

Ordered under the 1906 program, our subject was laid down in Bremen on 24 May 1907. She was at least the second SMS Albatross in the Kaiserliche Marine, following in the path of a Kaiserliche Werft Danzig-built steam gunboat that entered service in 1871 and roamed the world on a series of exotic cruises until she was decommissioned in 1898.

The first SMS Albatross, a 4-gun steamer with a three-masted barque rig, served as a gunboat and later as a station ship and survey vessel. Disposed of in 1899, she was wrecked in commercial service in 1906.

Our Albatross took to the water on 23 October 1907, began sea trials on 19 May 1908, and was accepted and commissioned shortly after. As such, she entered service just 14 months after Nautilus.

She spent her pre-war period in a sleepy series of fleet maneuvers, mine warfare training (as a Minenschulschiff), and the like, based at Cuxhaven. The most notable incident from this time was a minor collision in 1911 with the 5,448 GRT NDL steamer Wartburg (which was later seized in 1917 and used by the Navy in the Great War as the cargo ship USS Wabash on a series of round trips between the U.S. and Saint-Nazaire).

During her antebellum service, Albatross served as a stopover for bright young officers bound for flag rank. Her first three skippers– Korvettenkapitäns Titus Turk, Karl Wedding, and Wilhelm Adelung– all went on to become admirals.

War!

When the Great War kicked off in 1914, Albatross, accompanied by the light cruiser SMS Stuttgart and half a squadron of destroyers on 25/26 August, laid an offensive barrage of 200 mines in the Tyne Estuary, a 13-mile-long field that gave the British a good bit of heartburn.

The same sortie was accompanied by Nautilus, escorted by SMS Mainz and the other half squadron of destroyers, to lay her field of 200 off the Humber.

On the way back to Germany in the fog, according to Corbett, a total of 16 British fishing craft were deep sixed by the destroyers of the two mine laying groups (six by the Albatross group and 10 by the Nautilus group) after first taking the crews prisoner then landing them in Germany for the duration.

The Tyne field laid by Albatross soon claimed the Danish coaster Skeatti Sogeli and the fishing drifter Barley Rig, the latter with the loss of five of her nine crew. Two of the four Admiralty trawlers– HMT Crathie (No.106) and HMT Thomas W Irvin (No.61)— that went to sweep the mines on 27 August were also lost. Five ratings rode the ersatz minesweepers to the bottom. The remaining Admiralty trawlers under CDR R W Dalgety, RN, managed to gingerly clear the rest of the field.

Further tasked with mine operations in the North Sea and Baltic until they froze in the winter of 1914, Albatross went back to it after the thaw in the spring of 1915.

It was on one such mission under Kommodore Johannes August Karl Franz von Karpf, to sow an offensive minefield off the Russian-occupied Aland Islands between Finland and Sweden, saw Albatross screened by armored cruiser SMS Roon (10200t, 4×8.3″,10×5.9″ guns) along with the light cruisers SMS Augsburg (4800 t, 12x 10.5 cm L45s) and SMS Lubeck (3200t, 10×4.1″) and seven torpedo boats (S 126, S 131, G 135, G 141, S 142, G 147, and S 149) assigned in July 1915.

After laying 180 mines north of Bogskar on 1 July and turning back to Germany, Albatross and her screen on the next morning, at 0615, spied Russian RADM Mikhail Bakhirev’s cruiser squadron comprised of the massive British-built armored cruiser Rurik (15000t, 4×10″, 8×8″, 20×4.7″), the French-built armored cruiser sisters Admiral Makarov and Bayan (each 8400 t and carrying two 8″ and eight 6″) and the German-designed protected cruisers Bogatyr and Oleg (each 6700 t and carrying 12×6″). This put the Germans at just 42 guns, none larger than 8-inch, versus 76 Russian guns of comparable bore or larger.

Unknown to Von Karpf, his wireless communications were intercepted and decoded by the Russian admiralty, who cued Bakhirev, originally on a mission to bombard Memel, to intercept. (The Russians were able to listen in on these communications because they had obtained Signalbuch der Kaiserliche Marine nr 151 after the light cruiser SMS Magdeburg ran aground off Odensholm the previous August.)

The running battle ensued with Von Karpf’s dispersed squadron already split in two, with Roon and Lubeck headed toward Libau, while Augsburg, Albatross, and three torpedo boats were closer to Swedish waters. The Russian cruisers Bogatyr and Oleg caught up to the humble Albatross alone, and, with 24 6-inch guns against eight 88mm pieces, it was one-sided.

SMS Albatross is attacked by Russian cruisers in Swedish waters, 2 July 1915, by Wilhelm Malchin. Der Krieg 1914/19 in Wort und Bild, 39. Heft

Oil painting by J Hägg. “Albatross under fire” Swedish Marinmuseum B1397

In the end, it was only the decision of FKpt Georg West to run Albatross inland to the shallows near the Swedish island of Ostergarnsholm that saved his ship. Remember, Albatross only had a 14-foot draft, whereas the heavily armored Bogatyr and Oleg drew 21. Beached just 500 feet offshore, aflame, and riddled with Russian shrapnel, Albatross was left alone by 0830 as Bogatyr and Oleg withdrew to the east to catch up to Roon and Lubeck, with whom they engaged in an ineffective artillery duel, later joined by Rurik.

When the smoke cleared, with the other cruisers on both sides only suffering negligible damage, it was Albatross that was wrecked.

Not only that, but she was also in Swedish territorial waters.

Internment

Sweden was neutral from 1814 to 2024, but during the Great War was for sure more aligned to the Kaiser’s sphere of influence than that of any other.

A traditional enemy of Tsarist Russia, the Swedish and German general staff had met for several loose planning sessions on how best to fight the Russians before 1914, and, once the “lights went out across Europe” in August, exports to Germany, primarily of much-needed iron ore, jumped almost 800 percent. While thousands of Swedish expatriates wore the uniforms of the Allied armies, thousands more volunteered to serve under German flags, especially when it came to fighting Russia in the hope of liberating neighboring Finland– a land that had been part of Sweden for almost 700 years.

This sets the stage for the reception that the wounded FKpt West and his crew received.

Almost immediately after the Russian cruisers left over the horizon, locals began assisting the Albatross, shuttling wounded to shore.

A field hospital was established in the sugar mill at Romakloster for the 49 wounded German sailors. Soon, a detachment of the Gotland Infantry Regiment (I/27) arrived to stand quiet guard on the beach over a grim collection of 26 men who had been killed. One crew member had fallen overboard during the shelling and could not be found.

Recovered German sailors on the beach at Gotland, covered by the naval ensign of SMS Albatross. Note the blue-uniformed Swedish troops standing guard. The fallen sailors were later interred in a mass grave just east of Östergarn Church.

Two of the crew members who died during transportation to Roma were buried at Bjorke cemetery.

Crew of the German minelayer Albatross. Swedish Marinmuseum D 14988:1

Relieved of their ship, some ~210 assorted German internees from Albatross were left in the sugar mill at Romakloster for a period.

Then, with the mill needed for the upcoming beet harvest, they were shuffled about 20 miles away to the naval shooting range at Blahall on the Tofta coast of the Swedish island of Gotland.

Finally, the internees were moved to a military camp in Skillingaryd on the mainland in the autumn of 1917.

There, they were kept under loose guard but allowed to take local employment and generally enjoyed the rest of their war.

The crew crafted a large, tabletop-sized scale model of their lost cruiser and donated it to their captors.

It later found its way into the Swedish Marinmuseum. MM11315

Grey painted model of the German warship Albatross, mounted on an oak board, and in addition, a glass stand. On the stand, a nickel silver plate engraved: “To my friend Ivar Uggla from his albatross friends Christmas 1918”.

As for Albatross, the ship was righted by the Swedish Navy and towed by the Neptunbolaget salvage company, first to the island of Faro on 23 July, then to Karlskrona. Stockholm rebuffed numerous and regular requests from the Russian government to turn her over as an earned war trophy. The Swedish government just as often cited their note of protest over the fact that the battle was largely conducted in their neutral waters.

Albatross being salvaged with Swedish torpedo boats alongside. This image was made into a popular postcard. Swedish Marinmuseum MM10668

Albatross salvaged and afloat in Gotland. She was escorted in by the Swedish destroyers HSwMS Wale and Magne. Swedish Marinmuseum MM11394

As the war wore on, the relationship between Germany and Sweden became more strained. The country suffered more than 900 civilian mariners killed during the conflict, most at the hands of U-boats and German raiders, who sank at least 132 Swedish-flagged vessels at sea. Further, the Swedish navy had lost men and ships while sweeping German mines (the gunboat Gunhild was lost to a mine in the Skagerrak with a loss of 19 lives) while the Swedish submarine Hvalen was shot up by a German armed trawler who thought she was British, leading to the death of yet another sailor.

Still, the Swedish and German military cooperated in the joint occupation of the Åland Islands off Finland in 1918 (including landing a battalion of the famed Göta Life Guards, I/2, ashore), teaming up to fight the local Reds and disarm miserable Russian garrisons on the archipelago.

Post-war, the disarmed Albatross was sailed to Danzig on her own power, arriving on 31 December 1918, and was returned to German custody. Following the Versailles Treaty and the resulting limitations placed on the then-Weimar Republic’s Reichsmarine, Albatross was deemed surplus and sold for 900,000 marks to a firm in Hamburg to be broken up for scrap in 1921.

While I cannot find out what became of the good FKpt West, the leader of the squadron when she was lost, Johannes von Karpf, went on to fight another day. Commanding the battlecruiser SMS Moltke at Jutland and later the BCs SMS Lutzow and Hindenburg, he ended the Great War as a rear admiral and retired from the Reichsmarine on 5 November 1919. He passed in Hamburg in 1941 after serving on the board of several shipping companies in that port city. The Russian squadron commander, RADM Bachirev, was shot by the Reds in 1920.

Von Karpf, seen left as the last skipper of the Kaiser’s yacht, Hohenzollern.

As for the sister of Albatross, Nautilus continued to see service in the Baltic in the latter part of the war, meeting the Russians on several occasions– including fighting with field guns, mortars, and flamethrowers while supporting German landings in Moon Sound (it pays to be able to float in 15 feet of water!). Still steaming in 1918, she was disarmed and hulked.

Retained for another decade, she was sold to a Danish firm for 180,000 marks and scrapped in 1928.

Epilogue

Albatross forever changed a piece of Sweden’s coast, where July 2 is remembered annually as “Albatrossdagen” or Albatross Day. A small museum was constructed in 1977 near where she grounded, and today it holds more than 700 images, the cruiser’s ensign, two models, uniform items, and numerous relics.

A monument is maintained on the beach near where she grounded back in 1915.

Östergarn cemetery still holds her war dead in a place of honor, complete with a memorial.

It is often visited on Albatrossdagen by the German military attaché from Stockholm. This year, German Defense Attaché Markur Bruggemeier will lay a wreath from Germany at the sailor’s grave.

A detailed 1:100 model crafted by Heinz Zimmermann of Albatross in her wartime livery is in the Marinemuseum in Wilhelmshaven

Modell (von Heinz Zimmermann) im Maßstab 1:100 des Minenkreuzers SMS Albatross im deutschen Marinemuseum in Wilhelmshaven. (Wiki Commons)

Meminisse est ad Vivificandum – To Remember is to Keep Alive

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Warship Wednesday, June 25, 2025: Rozhestvensky’s Pirates

Here at LSOZI, we take off every Wednesday for a look at the old steam/diesel navies of the 1833-1954 period and will profile a different ship each week. These ships have a life, a tale all their own, which sometimes takes them to the strangest places.- Christopher Eger

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Warship Wednesday, June 25, 2025: Rozhestvensky’s Pirates

Above we see the Imperial Russian Navy’s auxiliary cruiser (vspomogatel’nyy kreyser) Terek, formerly the Royal Spanish Navy’s cruiser Rapido, formerly the Hamburg America Line steamer SS Columbia,

Terek just narrowly avoided combat in 1898 under the yellow and red Pabellon de la Armada, but some 120 years ago this week, she would land the final Tsarist Russian blows against the Empire of Japan at sea.

Kinda

The Tsar’s auxiliary cruisers

When war broke out with Japan in February 1904, the Russian admiralty activated its long-standing plans to cough up a series of armed merchant cruisers. Originally intended in the 1880s and 1890s to chase down British merchantmen should the “Great Game” turn hot, the Russians were able to activate nine large rakish steamers, all capable of making over 18.5 knots. Almost all (six of nine) were three-funnel liners, and all had been built as fine 1st class ships in the best German and British yards. In peacetime, they were operated by Dobroflot, the Russian state-controlled “Volunteer Fleet,” then switched to Navy crews during war.

These nine AMCs activated were generally named after rivers or Cossack hosts that lived along their banks, including: Angara (12,050 tons), Lena (10,675 t), Kuban (12,000 t), Don (10,500 t), Ural (10,500 t), Dnepr (9,500 t), Rion (14,614 t), Rus (8,600 t) and our Terek (10,000 t).

The main batteries typically consisted of a few 120mm/45 (4.7″) Pattern 1892 Canet guns augmented by a secondary of 75mm/50 (2.9″) Pattern 1892 Canet guns and a tertiary of 57mm/6-pdr, 47mm/3-pdr, or 37mm/1-pdr Hotchkiss counter-boat guns. Dedicated magazine space was set aside and rigged for emergency flooding if needed. As their promenade decks didn’t lend well to gun emplacements, most were arranged on the fore and aft well decks, with smaller guns on the poop and forecastle.

4.7-inch guns on auxiliary cruiser Lena

As the cruisers had at least two military masts complete with lookout tops, they would typically carry at least a 1-pounder in each. Two to four large searchlights were fitted as well.

The Illustrated London News on October 8, 1904, details the “Russian Menace to Neutral Shipping” during the Russo-Japanese War, focusing on converted cruisers in neutral waters, including Lena (Kherson), Terek, Peterburg (Dnepr), and Smolensk (Rion).

The presence of these Russian cruisers in neutral ports, particularly the well-armed Lena (35 guns in four diverse batteries), which called at San Francisco in late 1904, caused a huge surge in war risk insurances for vessels of all flags bound for Japan, threatening a general halt in shipments.

Fresno Bee, Sept 14, 1904

Russian auxiliary cruiser Lena in San Francisco, November 1904. Built in 1896 by Hawthorn Leslie, Newcastle– at the time the largest ship built on the Tyne– she sailed with the Volunteer Fleet in peacetime as Kherson. Activated in late 1903 as tensions with Japan grew, she operated out of Vladivostok until she arrived at San Francisco for repairs in September 1904 and was eventually interned for the rest of the war. She later served as Naval Transport N73 in the Black Sea Fleet, then, evacuating Russia with Wrangel’s White navy in 1920, had a short career with the London Steamship & Trading Co, then was broken up in Venice in 1925.

Besides acting as scouts and raiders, a role well-suited to the force due to their large ocean-crossing coal bunkers, they also had lots of spare room in their peacetime passenger cabins to accommodate troops for use as a fast transport, or captured enemy mariners. One, Rus, was used as a balloon aircraft carrier, toting nine Parseval-Sigsfeld kite balloons and making 186 controlled ascents from her deck.

Sailing as a scouting unit with Russian ADM Rozhestvensky’s 2nd Pacific Squadron on its way to its destiny at Tsushima, several also bagged some prizes.

But we are getting ahead of ourselves here. Let’s turn this story back a bit.

Meet Columbia

Ordered in 1888, an express steamer of the Hamburg-Amerikanische Packetfahrt-Actien-Gesellschaft (HAPAG) line, the Doppelschrauben-Schnelldampfer Columbia was intended to compete with the fastest liners of the British shipping companies. Built to the same plans as her AG Vulcan-built sister, SS Augusta Victoria, who claimed the fastest maiden voyage across the Atlantic in an east-west direction in May 1889, Columbia was fast.

Some 480 feet overall with a narrow 55-foot beam and knife-like bow, she was HAPAG’s second twin-screw express steamer on the North Atlantic. Equipped with twin VTR engines fed by nine boilers good for 13,300 shp, she made 20.5 knots on trials.

From The Engineer, 8 Nov 1889:

Some 7,300 GRT, she had accommodations for 1,100 passengers (400 first-class, 120 second-class, and 580 third-class).

German maritime artist Alexander Kircher penned several illustrations aboard the Columbia for the publication Die Rudermaschine in 1890.

A series of interior and exterior views upon delivery is in the collection of the DeGolyer Library at Southern Methodist University.

However, she and her sister were ready for war if needed. Following the government subsidy provided by the Imperial Postal Steamer agreement (Reichspostdampfervertrages), the Reich could use these steamers in the event of mobilization, and ships built for the service had to pass a Kaiserliche Marine inspection, including weight and space for deck guns and magazines. We saw how this played out with a host of German auxiliary cruisers in 1914 in past Warship Wednesdays. 

Columbia was delivered to HAPAG in June 1889 and began her maiden voyage from Hamburg via Southampton to New York on 18 July. Importantly, in July 1895, Columbia and Augusta Victoria transported the guests of honor at the opening of the Kiel Canal.

Besides the American runs, the sisters would cruise in winter to the Mediterranean, in midsummer north to Spitsbergen, and from 1896 also to the West Indies.

It was postcard and poster worthy.

War! (under a Spanish banner)

With Madrid in dire need of modern ships for their looming clash with the U.S., three weeks before war was declared, on 8 April 1898, HAPAG sold the proud Columbia and the slightly larger Normannia to Spain. Normannia became the Spanish auxiliary cruiser Patriota, armed with four 12 cm/L40 Skoda rapid-firing guns and ten 47 mm/L44 QF guns, while the speedy Columbia would enter Spanish service as the auxiliary cruiser Rapido. Her skipper was Capt. Federico Campaño y Rosset.

In Spanish service, Columbia/Rapido would carry four 16.2cm/35s, two 14cm/35s, and six 47 mm/L44s. The conversion, no doubt easy due to the weight and space reserved for guns and shells in her design, only took 12 days.

Originally part of Gruppo E of the Reserve Squadron, intended for action against American lines of communication along the Atlantic coast, both Columbia/Rapido and Normannia/Patriota were reassigned to RADM Manuel de la Camara’s relief squadron for the Philippines six weeks after Dewey had destroyed RADM Patricio Montojo’s Spanish Pacific Squadron.

Sailing in line with the strongest Spanish ship in the fleet, the 11,000-ton 12-inch gunned battlewagon Pelayo; the armored cruiser Emperador Carlos V, destroyers Audaz, Osado, and Proserpina; and the troop-packed transports Buenos Aires and Panay, the force left Cadiz on 16 June 1898 and made Egypt ten days later, only to fight for coal with the English there for a week.

RADM Manuel de la Camara’s fleet under steam. Columbia/Rapido, with three masts and three stacks, is to the far left with Normannia/Patriota ahead of her. Original Location: Stanley Cohen, Images of the Spanish-American War (Missoula, MT: Pictorial Histories Pub. Co., 1997). Via NHHC.

Rapido, Spanish auxiliary cruiser, at Port Said, Egypt, 26 June – 4 July 1898, while serving with Rear Admiral Manuel de la Camara’s squadron, which had been sent to relieve the Philippines. Copied from the Office of Naval Intelligence Album of Foreign Warships. U.S. Naval History and Heritage Command Photograph. NH 88730

Camara’s squadron in the Suez Canal in 1898. Pelayo is in the foreground, with the rest of his fleet, Columbia/Rapido (visible between Pelayo’s masts) and Normannia/Patriota included. NHHC WHI.2014.36x

However, with Spanish VADM Pascual Cervera’s squadron’s defeat at the Battle of Santiago de Cuba on 3 July, and the fear that metropolitan Spain was left defenseless, Camara’s squadron was recalled home just as it made the Red Sea. Spending the rest of the war in European waters, Columbia/Rapido and Normannia/Patriota were later used as troop transport to help bring the defeated Spanish forces home from the lost colonies of Cuba and Puerto Rico, shepherding (often towing) eight smaller, often derelict, vessels behind them back to Cadiz with stops in Martinique and the Canary Islands.

The Spanish admiralty having no further use for Columbia/Rapido, she was disarmed and sold back to HAPAG on 6 July 1899 for a nominal fee. Her career in Spanish service spanned just under 15 months and, as far as I can tell, she never fired a shot in anger during this period.

Meanwhile, Normannia/Patriota was given to the French government to resolve war debts. Renamed L’ Aquitaine, the former Normannia entered service with the Compagnie Générale Transatlantique (CGT) line in December 1899, and, in poor condition, was scrapped in 1906.

Under a Russian flag

Following a refit and a fresh coat of paint, Columbia spent the next four years in a shuffle of commercial runs from Hamburg via Southampton and Cherbourg to New York.

It was while on a run to the Big Apple in May 1904 that HAPAG unceremoniously sold Columbia, along with her sister Auguste Victoria and the liner Furst Bismarck, for 7.5 million rubles to the Russian Navy, in need of hulls to take the fight to the Japanese. At the same time, NDL sold the Russians the fast little (6963 BRT) liner Kaiserin Maria Theresia.

Auguste Victoria became the Russian auxiliary cruiser Kuban, Furst Bismarck became the cruiser Don, and Kaiserin Maria Theresia the cruiser Ural.

Columbia departed New York after discharging her passengers for the Russian naval base at Libau (now Liepaja, Latvia) in the Baltic, joining Auguste Victoria, Furst Bismarck, and Kaiserin Maria Theresia, who had arrived earlier.

Terek in Libau 1904. Note that the other auxiliary cruisers are in dark military livery

At Libau, Columbia’s German civil crew took trains for the frontier while dock workers began the conversion process. Her deck was additionally reinforced, magazines for ammunition and devices for feeding shells to the upper deck were equipped. Some of the rooms in the emigrant class cabins were adapted to accommodate additional supplies of coal, fresh water, and food. Hatches were cut out for coaling at sea, a task rarely performed by ocean liners. To protect the engines and boilers from enemy shells, additional steel sheets were installed. Columbia was also equipped with additional equipment: two combat searchlights, a powerful wireless telegraph station, etc.

Columbia’s armament was lighter than in Spanish service, consisting of just two 12 cm L/45s, four 7.5 cm L/50s, eight 5.7 cm Hotchkiss guns, and two Maxim machine guns. The Russian naval staff had initially intended for each of the three new-to-them German-made auxiliary cruisers to carry fourteen 6-inch guns, but the ordnance just wasn’t available.

Our subject was named Terek after the fierce Cossack host on the river of the same name in the Caucasus region.

Terek Cossacks

Terek’s inaugural Russian skipper was Capt. (2nd rank) Konstantin Aleksandrovich Panferov, a 44-year-old career officer who had joined the fleet as a 14-year-old midshipman and had earned sea legs on everything from schooners to armored cruisers. His father, Aleksandr Konstantinovich, was friends with Nakhimov, took part in the Siege of Sevastopol as a battery commander, and retired as a rear admiral.

The rest of the wardroom was light, just four lieutenants and a dozen or so warrant officers and midshipmen rushed into service. Her sole surgeon was seconded from a teaching position at a Petersburg university. The new (again) cruiser’s crew of just over 400 was drawn from depots all over Russia.

As described by a Russian Tsushima veteran, Capt. Vladimir Ivanovich Semenov, of this force, “The naivety is almost touching…”

While Auguste Victoria/Kuban and Furst Bismarck/Don were repainted from their commercial livery to a heavy grey/green scheme, there wasn’t either enough time or paint left to do the same for Terek, and she sailed as-is.

War (against Japan, kinda)

Sent out from Libau on 12 August 1904 to hunt for Japanese merchant ships (or those of other flags carrying Japan-related contraband), Terek sortied out into the Atlantic before making Las Palmas, Vigo, and Lisbon for resupply then haunted the approaches to Gibraltar before she arrived back in the Baltic on 8 October, covering 9,190nm and inspecting 15 suspect vessels with no prizes. She earned enough attention from harassing ships with Red Dusters to be shadowed by the British cruisers HMS St. George and Brilliant.

Terek overhauling the British merchant ship Derwen off Cape St. Vincent (Cabo de San Vicente) off southern Portugal, August 1904.

As noted by Patrick J. Rollins in the 1994 Naval War College Review: “In August 1904, the three largest shipping firms in England, including the great P&O Line, suspended service to Japan. By the end of August, insurance rates on British ships bound for the Far East stood at 20 shillings per hundred, or four times the rate charged to the French and Germans.”

Terek was selected, along with her sister Auguste Victoria/Kuban and the auxiliary cruiser Kaiserin Maria Theresia/Ural, to join VADM Zinoy Rozhestvensky’s “2nd” Pacific Squadron, which was just the Russian Baltic Fleet, on its ill-fated mission to relieve besieged Port Arthur in the Pacific.

However, due to the nature of Rozhestvensky’s straggling fleet, Terek was not released to join the squadron until 18 November, following Ural, which had left four days earlier, and Kuban, which had sailed a full three weeks prior. Sailing around the Cape of Good Hope via Dakar, Terek only managed to link up with Kuban and Ural off Madagascar in January 1905. Dnepr (ex-Petersburg) and Rion (ex-Smolensk), who had spent the summer harassing British shipping off the East Coast of Africa, joined them. The five ersatz cruisers formed the fleet’s Reconnaissance Detachment.

By that time, Port Arthur had fallen and, much like Camara’s squadron in 1898, you would expect Rozhestvensky to be recalled back home. However, this was not to be, and the force, after weeks in Madagascar, was ordered to attempt to run past the Japanese to Vladivostok.

Another of the nine Russian auxiliary cruisers, Angara, was lost in the fall of Port Arthur, pounded into the mud by Japanese heavy artillery.

Once in the Pacific, Rion and Dnepr were detailed to escort a group of transports to Shanghai, then break off for commerce raiding along Japan’s sea lanes in the southern part of the Yellow Sea.

Ural would accompany the main force and would soon end up on the bottom.

According to Rozhestvensky’s order No. 380 of 21 May, the Kuban and Terek were to sail ahead and feint around the east of Japan and work in the area between the island of Shikoku and Yokohama. The cruisers were ordered to “without hesitation sink” all steamships on which military contraband would be noticed, a plan surely designed to draw Japanese Admiral Togo’s forces away from the Tsushima straits.

As noted by Semenov at the time back with the main fleet on 22 May, five days before the run through Tsushima, “Yesterday, the Kuban, and today the Terek, separated from the squadron to cruise off the eastern shores of Japan. May God grant them more noise.”

Kuban spent three weeks off Japan, in terrible weather, and only managed to close with two freighters, the German steamer Surabaya, carrying a cargo of flour from Hamburg to Vladivostok of all places, and the unladen Austrian freighter Ladroma. Down to her last 1,800 tons of coal, and finding out about the destruction of the 2nd Pacific Squadron from the latest issue of the Singapore Free Press newspaper aboard Ladroma, Kuban’s skipper called it quits and sailed for Saigon for coal, then made it back to Libau alone on 3 August.

Rion was able to break a few eggs, so to speak, after the battle. On 30 May, some 60 miles from Cape Shantung, she detained the German steamship Tetartos (2409 GRT), heading from Otaru to Tianjin with railway sleepers and fish, and sank it the next morning. Four days later, while 80 miles from Wusung, she stopped the English steamship Cilurnum (2123 GRT), heading from Shanghai to Moji. The steamship was released after its cargo of beans and cotton was thrown over the side. Her war over, Rion sailed for home, arriving in Kronstadt on 30 July.

Dnepr came across the British steamer St Kilda (3519 GRT) off Hong Kong on 5 June with a cargo that included rice, sugar, and gunnies bound for Yokohama. She then sent said steamer to Davy Jones and landed the crew back in Hong Kong before heading back home.

This left our Terek to strike the last blows. She did so against the British-flagged Ikhona (5252 GRT) of the Indian Steam Navigation Company on 5 June while north of Hong Kong in the Philippine Sea, during the latter’s voyage from Rangoon to Yokohama with a cargo of rice and mail. Taking off the crew, the shipwrecked mariners were transferred to the passing Dutch steamer Periak at sea two weeks later and eventually landed at Singapore. The ship’s skipper, one Capt. Stone reported that the capture and sinking had taken six long hours, with dynamite charges failing to scuttle the steamer before Terek opened up with “quick-firers.”

Ikhona was the fourth British ship lost to the Russians during the conflict after SS Knight Commander, St. Kilda, and the schooner Hip Sang. His majesty’s government later pursued a claim of £250,000 against Russia for the value of the ships and their cargoes, with Ikhona being the most expensive at £100,000.

Continuing in the South China Sea, on 22 June 1905, Terek came across the unlikely victim that was the Kiel-built Danish East Asiatic Company steamer Prinsesse Marie (5416 tons), bound with cargo for Japan, and sank the same. Another bloodless kill by old school “cruiser rules,” her crew was taken off and brought to Batavia in the Dutch East Indies a week later. With the Dutch refusing Terek coal, the Russian cruiser ended her sortie there and was interned for three months until the Treaty of Portsmouth ended the war. Capt. Panferov dutifully offered his flag and sword to the local Dutch naval commander, who refused them.

Det Østasiatiske Kompagni Prinsesse Marie

Ironically, the Danish EAC protested the sinking of Prinsesse Marie under the pretext that, while her cargo was bound for a Japanese port, it was manifested to go to a European concern. It’s possible the Tsar, his mother being a Danish princess, made that one right in the end.

Returning home to Russia, on 10 December 1905, an order was received to Kuban, Terek, and Don of “all weapons and things related to naval affairs,” and investigate the possibility of selling the ships.

On 18 November 1906, by order of the fleet and the Naval Department No. 300, the Terek and her sister Kuban were excluded from the naval lists and were handed over to the port of Libau pending auction. The following February, Vosidlo and Co. paid 442,150 rubles for both vessels and sent them to Stettin to be cut up for scrap metal.

Epilogue

Terek could arguably be listed as one of the most successful ships on the Tsarist side of the Russo-Japanese War. A huge 1:48 scale model of the ship was crafted for the Russian Naval Museum in St. Petersburg following the campaign. Although damaged by fire during German bombs in WWII, it remains on display.

Terek’s only wartime Russian skipper, Panferov, earned both the Order of St. Anne, 2nd degree, and the Order of St. Vladimir, 4th degree for his service on the cruiser. Promoted to Capt. 1st Rank in 1908, then, switching to a shoreside non-line duty, by 1913, rose to the rank of major general. During the Great War, as chief quartermaster of Kronstadt, he earned the St. Anne 1st degree in 1916. One of the rare senior officers retained by the Red Navy post-revolution, he retired in 1919.

Russian Navy MG Konstantin Aleksandrovich Panferov. His son, Georgy Konstantinovich Panferov, went on to become a surgeon colonel during WWII and a professor at the Naval Medical Academy (VMMA). His grandson, Yuri Georgievich Panferov, followed in his footsteps and became an officer in the Red Banner fleet.

Meminisse est ad Vivificandum – To Remember is to Keep Alive

***

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The International Naval Research Organization is a non-profit corporation dedicated to the encouragement of the study of naval vessels and their histories, principally in the era of iron and steel warships (about 1860 to date). Its purpose is to provide information and a means of contact for those interested in warships.

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Warship Wednesday, June 18, 2025: Death of a Destroyer

Here at LSOZI, we take off every Wednesday for a look at the old steam/diesel navies of the 1833-1954 period and will profile a different ship each week. These ships have a life, a tale all their own, which sometimes takes them to the strangest places.- Christopher Eger

If you enjoy my always ad-free Warship Wednesday content, you can support it by buying me a cup of joe at https://buymeacoffee.com/lsozi As Henk says, “Warship Coffee – no sugar, just a pinch of salt!”

Warship Wednesday, June 18, 2025: Death of a Destroyer

Naval History and Heritage Command photograph 80-G-309163

Above we see a Fletcher-class destroyer, almost certainly USS Twiggs (DD-591), resplendent in her late war Camouflage Measure 32, Design 6D, as she plasters Iwo Jima’s West Beach with 5-inch Willy Pete shells at 1600, 17 February 1945, during the pre-invasion bombardment of the island. Screening UDT Team 14 divers clearing obstacles in the water, the effect was dramatic, and she fired a mix of over 700 5-inch shells ashore that day, closing to within just 300 yards of the beach.

As detailed by Twigg’s report of the action: A fast ship sent in harm’s way, Twiggs‘ career from commissioning to loss– some 80 years ago this week– was a scant 620 days.

The Fletchers

The Fletchers were the WWII equivalent of the Burke class, constructed in a massive 175-strong class from 11 builders that proved the backbone of the fleet for generations. Coming after the interwar “treaty” destroyers such as the Benson- and Gleaves classes, they were good-sized (376 feet oal, 2,500 tons full load, 5×5″ guns, 10 torpedo tubes) and could have passed as unprotected cruisers in 1914.

Destroyer evolution, 1920-1944: USS HATFIELD (DD-231), USS MAHAN (DD-364), USS FLETCHER (DD-445). NH 109593

Powered by a quartet of oil-fired Babcock & Wilcox boilers and two Westinghouse or GE steam turbines, they had 60,000 shp on tap– half of what today’s Burkes have on a hull 25 percent as heavy– enabling them to reach 38 knots, a speed that is still fast for destroyers today.

USS John Rodgers (DD 574) at Charleston, 28 April 1943. A great example of the Fletcher class in their wartime configuration. Note the five 5″/38 mounts and twin sets of 5-pack torpedo tubes.

LCDR Fred Edwards, Destroyer Type Desk, Bureau of Ships, famously said of the class, “I always felt it was the Fletcher class that won the war… they were the heart and soul of the small-ship Navy.”

Meet Twiggs

Our subject was the second warship to carry the name of Georgia-born Major Levi Twiggs, USMC. The son of Major General John Twiggs, the “Savior of Georgia” of Revolutionary War fame, the younger Twiggs was commissioned a Marine second louie at the ripe old age of 19 on 10 November 1813, the young Corps’ 38th birthday. He fought against the British and was captured on the 44-gun heavy frigate USS President in 1815 after a fantastic sea battle against the frigate HMS Endymion.

Returning to American service after the Treaty of Ghent, he continued to serve for another 32 years until he fell in combat– along with almost every other officer and NCO of the Marine Battalion– whilst leading a storming party in the assault on Chapultepec Castle before Mexico City on 13 September 1847.

Twiggs perished in battle at age 54, having spent most of his life leading Marines against all comers. The Chapultepec battle led to the “Halls of Montezuma” in the Marine Corps hymn and the “blood stripe” worn on the service’s dress blue trousers. Photos: NH 119304/Yale University Library/ Library of Congress photo digital ID: cph 3g06207.

The first USS Twiggs was a Wickes-class four-piper destroyer laid down but not completed during the Great War. The hardy warship (Destroyer No. 127) was mothballed on the West Coast from 1922-1930, and 1937-39, but was eagerly accepted by the Admiralty in 1940 as part of the “destroyers for bases” agreement with Britain.

USS Twiggs Description: (DD-127) circa the 1930s. Courtesy of Donald M. McPherson, 1969. NH 67822

Put into RN service as the Town-class destroyer HMS Leamington (G 19), she helped scratch at least two German submarines (U-207 and U-587) while on convoy duty in the Atlantic. Later loaned to the Canadians as HMCS Leamington (G49)she was used in a decent war film and further loaned to the Soviets as the destroyer Zhguchi. She was only scrapped in 1950, ironically outliving the second USS Twiggs.

Speaking of which, our subject, USS Twiggs (DD-591), was built side by side at the Charleston Navy Yard with her sister, the future USS Paul Hamilton (DD-590), laid down on 20 January 1943. The keels were officially laid by striking three arcs simultaneously on the keel of each vessel by the wives of the crews’ junior officers, assisted by their husbands.

205-43 US Navy Yard, SC, January 20, 1943. USS Paul Hamilton (DD 589) & USS Twiggs (DD 591) Keel Laying Ceremonies. DD591 striking the arc and officially laying the keel. Left to right: front row: Mrs. R. G. Odiorne, Mrs. A. A. Rimmer, Mrs. J. W. Clayton, Mrs. T. H. Dwyer. File 14783.” Via Patriots Point Naval and Maritime Museum.

With resplendent red and haze grey hulls, the two sisters launched side-by-side on 7 April 1943. Twiggs was sponsored by Mrs. Roland S. Morris (Augusta Twiggs Shippen West), the great-granddaughter of the late Maj. Twiggs, whose husband had served as a diplomat under Woodrow Wilson.

Original Kodachrome. USS Paul Hamilton (DD-590) and USS Twiggs (DD-591) are ready for launching at the Charleston Navy Yard, South Carolina, 7 April 1943. 80-G-K-13833

Commissioned on 4 November 1943, Twiggs was built in just 288 days. Her plank owner crew was led by CDR John Benjamin Fellows, Jr. (USNA 1931).

A career surface warfare man, he had learned his trade on the old cruiser USS Chester, then served on the cruiser USS Chicago. His first XO stint was on the humble “Old Bird” minesweeper USS Sandpiper doing survey work in the Aleutians. Then came work on a string of tin cans, earning his first command on the Gleaves-class destroyer USS Gwin (DD-433) from whose deck he picked up both a Navy Cross and a Silver Star off Savo Island and in the Kula Gulf, respectively.

The young CDR Fellows led Twiggs on her shakedown cruise to Bermuda in December 1943. On her way down the East Coast, she was photographed by a Navy blimp from Naval Air Station Weeksville in North Carolina.

USS Twiggs (DD-591), 7 December 1943. Position: 36°54′, 75°13′; Course: 265; Time: 1414; Altitude: 300′; Camera: K-20; F.L. 4.5″; Shutter speed: f/250. 80-G-215535

She had post-shakedown availability in January 1944 back in Charleston. In April 1944, CDR Fellows was pulled from his command. Bumped upstairs to a crash course at the Army-Navy Staff College in D.C., she was then sent on to the CBI command in India and soon after assigned to the G3 shop in the U.S. 10th Army.

Twigg’s second and final skipper would be CDR George “Geordie” Philip, Jr. (USNA 1935). A former student of the South Dakota School of Mines in Rapid City before going to Annapolis, Philip had served on the battlewagons Mississippi and California as well as the destroyer USS Ellet (DD-398) before the war. Once the big show started, he served as the XO and navigator on the early Fletcher-class tin can O’Bannon (DD 450)— the Navy’s most decorated destroyer during the war– off Guadalcanal, earning a Silver Star. Twiggs would be his first command.

She then escorted “Big Ben,” the new (and ill-fated) Essex-class carrier USS Franklin (CV-13) to Hawaii via the Panama Canal and San Diego, arriving at Pearl Harbor on 6 June 1944.

War!

After exercises and drills in Hawaiian waters and escorted convoys operating between Oahu and Eniwetok, Twiggs was added to DESRON 49, which was busy rehearsing with TF 79 for the liberation of the Philippines. Her baptism of fire would be in support of the amphibious assault on Leyte Island in October 1944, providing antiaircraft protection for the transports during the landings.

This included popping star shells every 30 minutes at night over target areas, delivering fire support ashore, sinking floating mines, and engaging numerous air contacts. In doing so, our destroyer expended 345 5-inch, 800 40mm, and 1,600 20mm shells in just five days.

While off Leyte, she also plucked two downed FM-2 Wildcat pilots of Taffy 2’s jeep carriers from the drink: Ensign A.F. Uthoff of VC-27 from USS Savo Island (CVE-78) and LT Abe Forsythe of VC-76 from USS Petrof Bay (CVE-80).

Next, following escort duty back and forth between the PI and Papua New Guinea, came the Mindoro operation in mid-December. This time, she sailed with 14 other destroyers of DESRON 54 as a screen for RADM Ruddock’s TG 77.12 (battleships USS West Virginia, New Mexico, and Colorado; cruisers Montpelier and Minneapolis, escort carriers Natoma Bay (CVE-62), Kadashan Bay (CVE-76), Marcus Island (CVE-77), Savo Island (CVE-78), Ommaney Bay (CVE-79), and Manila Bay (CVE-61) which was to provide heavy cover and air support for Operation Love III, the invasion of Mindoro Island.

Twiggs stood by her Boston-built sistership USS Haraden (DD-585) after that destroyer had been hit by a suicide plane on 13 December and picked up two survivors from the ship that had been tossed into the sea. Notably, one of those waterlogged bluejackets had already survived a hit from a Japanese Kate torpedo plane on the destroyer USS Smith (DD-378) during the Battle of the Santa Cruz Islands and rated the impact on Haraden to be more violent. Due to the proximity of other ships, Twiggs had only been able to get off 96 rounds of AAA fire at the enemy planes, mostly 40mm.

As Haraden lay dead in the water, Twiggs came alongside to help with DC and casualty care. Haraden was soon underway on her own power, making 20 knots, after suffering 14 killed and 24 wounded, with seven men transferred to Twiggs for treatment, one of whom later expired from multiple wounds. With the damaged ship having no radio, Twiggs escorted her back out of the area until Haraden linked up with a tow convoy, then returned to the TF.

Mindoro Operation, December 1944. USS Haraden (DD-585) after being hit by a Kamikaze in the Sulu Sea on 13 December 1944, while en route to the Mindoro invasion. USS Twiggs (DD-591) is alongside, rendering assistance. Photographed from USS Kadashan Bay (CVE-76). 80-G-273000

Then came the Luzon/Lingayen operation in early January 1945, with Twiggs acting as an escort for VADM Oldendorf’s TG 77.2 as it sortied toward the PI from Kossol Roads.

Entering the Mindanao Sea on 3 January, late on the afternoon of the next day, she was standing by the jeep carrier Ommaney Bay at 1714 when the latter was zapped by a kamikaze that sparked uncontrollable fires and an order to abandon ship, with all survivors in the water picked up by 1834.

USS Ommaney Bay (CVE-79) exploding after being hit by a kamikaze attack, in the Sulu Sea off Luzon, during the Lingayen Operation, 4 January 1944. Two destroyers are standing by. NH 43063

Twiggs, accompanied by Charleston-built sisters USS Bell (DD-587) and Burns (DD-588), stood by while Ommaney Bay slipped below the waves and transferred the survivors they collected later that night to the battlewagon West Virginia. Twiggs had picked up 26 officers and 185 enlisted from the carrier and its air group, VC-75.

Twiggs continued fighting the Divine Wind off and on during the operation, and also clocked in as a lifeguard once more, picking up a group of downed American aviators just before sunset on 13 January, the crews of a Navy PBY and an Army F-6 (photo P-51 Mustang).

The next morning, she grabbed three more when the crew of an Avenger off another jeep carrier crashed near them, bringing her lifeguard count to a full 224 in less than a fortnight. Twiggs then chopped to TF 54, which sortied from Ulithi on 10 February for rehearsals that brought them as a fighting force off Iwo Jima by 16 February. Using the callsign “Gabriel,” Twiggs was ready to deliver fire ashore as needed.

While supporting the invasion of Iwo with NGFS in the three weeks between 16 February and 10 March 1945, she expended almost 5,000 5-inch shells as well as another 5,000 40mm. Past the initial beach landings, during much of the gunfire support work, she was heaving two 5-inch salvos a minute at targets unseen by the ship, 5,000-6,000 yards inland, spotted by aircraft in real time.

After a short break to rest and restock her magazines, she popped up two weeks later off Okinawa to take part in the preinvasion bombardment, alternating with anti-air picket duty and ASW patrols.

This work grew even more deadly serious on 28 April when a downed kamikaze crashed just feet abreast of Twiggs and exploded, delivering a “glancing lick.” The force carried away much of the destroyer’s running lines and radio antennas, blew in her hull plating along the starboard side from frames 46 to 60, wrecked most of “officer’s country,” and curled back her starboard prop.

This required her to fall out of the operation and retire to Kerama Retto, a safer harbor (though still subject to near continuous air attacks) in the forward area, where she could tie up next to the LST-turned-repair ship USS Nestor (ARB-6) for two weeks in “the boneyard” and get back in the fight.

Filled with a shipload of self-titled “Old Men” of experienced craftsmen drawn from shipyards across the country, many well past draft age, USS Nestor (ARB 6) completed 1,760 rush repair jobs on 47 warships and auxiliaries in her eight months at Kerama Retto, mostly kamikaze-induced. Ironically, besides Twiggs, they helped patch up the battered carrier Franklin, which Twiggs had escorted into the theatre from the East Coast. 80-G-236726

Just 20 days after her destructive near-miss, Twiggs was back on radar picket duties in the western fire support area off Okinawa, providing NGFS on Iheya Shima and Iheya-Aguni.

The end came on 16 June, while, on radar picket duty some 5,000 yards off Senaga Shima, Okinawa’s southern tip, that observers on Twiggs around 2030 observed a single, low-flying enemy aircraft moments before it dropped a torpedo into her port side, adjacent to the destroyer’s number 2 magazine.

Very few men stationed forward survived, in particular, most of the destroyer’s bridge crew, including CDR Philip, were lost in the conflagration.

As told by the ship’s assistant communications officer, LT Oscar N. Pederson. He was one of just three officers to live– all wounded– to tell his story: Not content with just hitting Twiggs with a fish and living to fight another day, the same torpedo bomber circled back around sharply and onto the starboard side of the stricken destroyer, then crashed between her No. 3 and No. 4 guns, starting a whole new set of fires and secondary explosions.

As illustrated in a press release by the Navy entitled “Death of a Destroyer.” The senior NCO still alive, CMM Charles F. Schmidt, one of just five surviving chiefs, led the fire-fighting efforts as best he could, but the hoses had no pressure, and the hand pumps just weren’t making headway. Arriving on deck to find fuel oil spread over the water on both sides of the ship and on fire, and 40mm ready ammo cooking off in all directions, it was Chief Schmidt who ordered Twiggs abandoned.

Directing the efforts to offload the crew astern safely, the last five men trying to get off confessed they couldn’t swim.

Schmidt did what chiefs do: give up his lifejacket, help them as best he could, and then later attribute any lives saved to two other chiefs who were working amidships: Most of those recovered from the water, including Lt Pedersen and Chief Schmidt, were picked up by the destroyer USS Putnam (DD 757), which reported:

Twiggs was burning furiously, particularly around the bridge structure and forward torpedo tubes, midship machine guns, and after deck house, including 5″ mounts three and four. Almost continuous minor explosions were observed, which were believed to be 40mm, 20mm, and 5″ ammunition. Burning fragments were thrown short distances about the ship, around the rescue boats, and further igniting the thick, heavy oil layer on the water. Attempts to close the surface oil fires with the ship at this time to extinguish flames were prevented by the survivors in the water and about the stern, and propellers. At 2129, there was a tremendous explosion on the Twiggs, followed by a momentary inferno of fire throughout the ship, and she sank in less than a minute, leaving a large burning oil fire on the surface, which gradually disappeared.

Speaking of burning fragments, as noted by Navsource, the only known surviving piece of the exploding Twiggs was later found by Earl Bauer, a signalman aboard Putnam who observed this jagged piece of the exploding destroyer land red hot into the Putnam’s flag bag.

He retrieved it the next morning. This blackened, twisted, 2″ long artifact was donated to the National Museum of the Pacific War in November 2022.

Today, Twiggs is believed to rest in deep water near 26º08’N, 127º35’E, while 193 of her crew of 314 lost with the ship remain on duty.

Also lost with the ship was Jeanie, the destroyer’s mascot, along with all five of her pups.

As noted by the NHHC, Twiggs was one of five American destroyers to have more than half their crew killed and wounded in suicide attacks during the battle for Okinawa– the others being Halligan (DD-584), Luce (DD-522), Morrison (DD-560), and Drexler (DD-741).

Epilogue

Twiggs was officially struck from the Navy list on 11 July 1945. She earned four battle stars for her war.

In 1957, her wreck was donated to the government of the Ryukyu Islands.

Twiggs has a memorial plaque at the National Museum of the Pacific War (the Nimitz Museum) in Texas.

As you may surmise, NARA has most of her deck logs and reports digitized.

A few of her crew who survived managed to leave behind oral history interviews. CDR Philip’s family was presented a posthumous Navy Cross. One of 57 members of the Annapolis Class of 1935 in Memorial Hall, the Navy in 1978 named a frigate in his honor, USS George Philip (FFG 12). The greyhound was sponsored by his daughter, Margaret.

USS George Philip (FFG 12) served until 2004, her motto, “Intrepide Impelle” (To Go Boldly)

Twiggs’ first skipper, CDR Fellows, was on Okinawa on joint service with the Army when his old ship went down. He continued to serve, surviving the war, and retired from the Navy as a rear admiral. He passed in 1974.

I can’t find out anything post-war about Chief Schmidt. It seems time has done what the Japanese never could.

Meminisse est ad Vivificandum – To Remember is to Keep Alive

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Warship Wednesday, June 11, 2025: Germans to the front!

Here at LSOZI, we take off every Wednesday for a look at the old steam/diesel navies of the 1833-1954 period and will profile a different ship each week. These ships have a life, a tale all their own, which sometimes takes them to the strangest places.- Christopher Eger

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Warship Wednesday, June 11, 2025: Germans to the front!

Naval History and Heritage Command photograph NH 48215

Above we see S.M. kleiner kreuzer Gefion, part of the German Imperial Navy’s East Asia Squadron in 1899, anchored off Hankou (now Wuhan) after her nearly 600-mile voyage up the Yangtze River to protect the Kaiser’s interests in China– with Willy’s brother aboard.

The unique little cruiser would play a gunboat role in Chinese diplomacy some 125 yeas ago this month before shipping back home for the rest of her career.

Meet Gefion

Our subject was the second warship to carry the name of a Nordic sea goddess (the fourth goddess of Æsir following Frigg, the wife of Odin) to serve in the German Navy. The first was a 48-gun sail frigate (segelfregatte) built for the Royal Danish Navy in 1843 and captured during the war with her southern neighbors in 1849.

The former Danish frigate Gefion under German service. The Germans used the trophy ship as a training ship under her original name until 1880 and then as a coal hulk until 1891. Her bell, figurehead, anchors, and many other relics dot Eckernförde and Kiel.

The second Gefion was originally deemed a Kreuzerkorvette (cruiser corvette) J when designed in the early 1890s, an early attempt by the Kaiserliche Marine to create a cruiser suitable for both reconnaissance and fleet duties, as well as an overseas colonial service ship on independent duty.

Some 362 feet overall with a 43-foot beam, she sported a dagger-like 8.4:1 length-to-beam ratio. Lightly built, she had 0.98 inches of nickel-steel armor over her deck and equivalent armor on her conning tower. A second 0.6-inch steel plate cap was over her engine cylinder heads, backed by 5.9 inches of wood. She had a 4-inch cellulose belt at the waterline.

Steel hulled and using both transverse and longitudinal steel frames, she was sheathed below the water line with wood and copper, held with brass fittings, to help with fouling, especially when in colonial service.

Originally to carry six new 15 cm/35 (5.9″) SK L/35 guns in single mounts, with 810 shells in her magazine, this was later changed to 10 equally new but lighter 10.5 cm/40 (4.1″) SK L/40 mounts with as many as 1,500 shells at the ready. They were arranged two forward, two aft, and eight amidships in broadside, all protected by a thin armored shield. Her secondary battery was a half dozen 5 cm/40 (1.97″) SK L/40 rapid-fire (10 rounds per minute) torpedo boat guns with another 1,500 rounds in the magazine.

She also had a pair of 17-inch above-deck torpedo tubes (down from a planned six). Eight Maxim guns were arranged in her two spotting/fighting tops, they could be dismounted for use ashore. Likewise, almost a third of a 300-man crew could be issued small arms carried aboard and sent ashore. A small 6cm boat gun could back them up.

Gefion, Janes 1914

With six cylindrical two-sided boilers exhausting through a trio of stacks, driving two VTE engines, her plant was good for 9,800 shp. Extensively fitted for electric lights and hoists, she carried three 67-volt, 40-kW dynamos. Designed for 19 knots, on trials she made 20.53 knots at full power on forced draft. Loaded with 900 tons of good coal, she could theoretically steam 6,850nm at 11 knots, or 2,730nm at 18 knots on natural draft, the first German cruiser capable of such a range. This could be extended by rigging a cruising canvas from her two masts and rigging. It turned out that her decks vibrated extensively at full power, she struggled in tough seas, and she had insufficient ventilation below decks.

How she stacked up against contemporary cruisers, from the circa 1900 Professional Notes in the United States Naval Institute Proceedings:

Built for a cost of 5.171 million marks, she was ordered from Ferdinand Schichau’s new Danzig yard, as hull No. 486, and laid down on 28 March 1892. Launched 31 May 1893, she commissioned 27 June 1894.

This made her the forerunner of the 41 later kleiner kreuzers of the Gazelle, Bremen, Konigsberg, Dresden, Kolberg, Magdeburg, Karlsruhe, Graudenz, Pillau, Wiesbaden, Brummer, and Coln classes constructed between 1897 and 1918, all of which carried 4.1 inch guns on similar hulls along with torpedo tubes. The first four classes even carried the same model 4.1-inch SK L/40s as Gefion.

Geifon with her glad rags flying about 1895 IWM (Q 22323)

SMS Gefion was photographed sometime early in her career, between her commissioning date, 27 June 1894, and the receipt of this photo by the U.S. Navy Office of Naval Intelligence, 28 June 1895. NH 88636

Her first skipper was Korvettenkapitän Hans Oelrichs, an 1860s veteran of the old Norddeutsche Marine. Gefion’s first assignments were to escort the Royal yacht Hohenzollern to Norway in the autumn of 1894 and attend the inauguration ceremony of the Kaiser Wilhelm Canal (Nord-Ostsee-Kanal) the following year when the double locks at Brunsbüttel and Holtenau were opened.

A white-liveried SMS Gefion photographed early in her career, possibly during her 1894-1897 service in home waters. The Levensau Bridge over the Kiel Canal appears in the background; the Canal opened in 1895. NH 88634

Gefion spent the next couple of years as a guardship at Wilhelmshaven while the larger second-class cruiser Kaiserin Augusta did the same at Kiel. During the winter and spring, they served as training grounds for the fleet’s new stokers and artificers. During the summer and fall, they clocked in on fleet maneuvers, performing scouting services for the main battle line, taking breaks to escort Hohenzollern.

In April 1897, Gefion escorted the Swedish passenger ship Rex on the inaugural voyage of the mail steamer line from Sassnitz to Trelleborg. She counted among her wardroom Prince Henry (Heinrich) of Prussia, the Kaiser’s younger brother and a career naval officer, who on at least one occasion hosted Willy and his sons aboard.

Sent abroad

With Gefion’s newness wearing off and new light cruisers joining the German fleet, she was put in overhaul in the summer of 1897, made ready for overseas service, upgrading her smaller generators with a trio of 110-volt, 58-kW sets.

Her new skipper was FKpt Max Heinrich Ludwig Rollmann, a career sailor who joined the German Navy in 1873 as a cadet. A skilled officer and torpedo expert, he was part of the so-called “Torpedobande” (torpedo gang) which influenced Tirpitz and others to warm to the weapons.

Originally to be sent to intervene in the ongoing dispute between Haiti and Germany, Gefion was instead selected to strengthen the Ostasiatischen Kreuzerdivision in the Far East.

Gefion, NH 48216

In December 1897, just ahead of the first winter ice, she left in company with the old 7,000-ton armored cruiser Deutschland and Kaiserin Augusta in a squadron commanded by Prince Henry. When Deutschland broke down in Hong Kong in April 1898 while heading to China, Henry switched his flag to Gefion and proceeded to the German fleet’s Pacific treaty homeport at Tsingtao.

It was with the German East Asian Squadron that Gefion kept tabs on Dewey’s squadron as it smashed the Spanish in Manila later that summer, steamed to Samoa to serve as a station ship in early 1899, and then steam nearly 600 miles up the Yangtze to Hankou (now Wuhan) where she landed 130 armed crew on 28 April to guard the new 103-acre German Concession (Deutsche Konzession) in that river city and escort Prince Henry, then head of the squadron.

Henry was received by the Governor-General of Huguang, Zhang Zhidong, along with the assorted foreign expatriates, and even the British and French Concessions in the city flew the German flag.

Zhang Zhidong entertains Prince Heinrich. The VanDyke-clad FKpt Max Rollman, Gefion’s skipper, is to the far left. After the reception, the Germans toured the local military academy and watched the drills of the Hubei New Army, which included several German officers as instructors, notably Lieutenants Carl Fuchs and Albrecht Welzel, a Sergeant A. Seydel, and a Rittmaster (cavalry master) named Behrensdorf.

Henry laid the cornerstone for the new German bund in Hankou on 30 April, flanked by Gefion’s officers and crew.

War!

After a second tour in Samoa in early 1900, Gefion, now reclassified as a Kreuzer III. Klasse, and the rest of the German Far East Squadron, now under VADM Felix von Bendemann, massed at Tsingtao as trouble rumbled with the anti-Western Boxers in China, who were mounting attacks on churches.

The German force at the time, besides Gefion, included two new 6,700-ton Victoria Louise-class protected cruisers (with 477-member crews), SMS Hansa and SMS Hertha, the Kaiserin Augusta, the light cruisers SMS Irene, Geier, Seeadler, Bussard, and Schwalbe, along with the gunboat Itis.

Die Gartenlaube, by Willy Stower, showing the German cruisers in the Far East, circa 1898. These include Arkona. Prinzeß Wilhelm. Kaiserin Augusta, Kaiser, (Flaggschiff der I. Division) along with. Kormoran, Irene, Gefion, and Deutschland, (Flaggschiff der II. Division)

On 30 May, the Chinese government allowed a force of 400 assorted troops from eight Western nations to land at Tientsin and head to Peking to protect the Legation Quarter there. However, the situation continued to deteriorate as the Boxers cut the rail line between the two cities on 5 June, and a week later, a Japanese diplomat was killed by Chinese regulars.

Cruiser SMS Gefion at Tsingtao, circa 1900

Joining an international task force that included British, Russian, French, and Japanese warships, the combined squadron on 17 June moved to seize the five Chinese forts at Taku (Dagukou) at the mouth of the Hai (Pei-Ho) River, which barred the way to Tientsin (Tianjin), some 40 miles downstream, and Peking (Beijing), 110 miles inland.

The combat was sharp but one-sided, with the forts falling after a six-hour bombardment and short action ashore by naval landing parties.

S.M. Kanonenboot ILTIS im Gefecht mit den Takuforts am 17. Juni 1900 Willy Stöwer, DMM 2000-014-001

Ersturmung von taku by Fritz Neumann, Anne S. K. Brown Military Collection

The Taku forts would remain garrisoned by the Eight Nations through 1902. Looking down the Peiho River toward North Port and Bay, from Northwest Fort, Taku, China. Underwood & Underwood, Publishers, 1901. LC-DIG-stereo-1s48075

The allied fleet also captured the Chinese government’s Dagu shipyard, complete with a gunboat that went to the Japanese and four new German-built Hai Lung class torpedo boats that were split between the British, Russian, French, and Germans.

Chinese Hai-Lung class torpedo boats captured at Taku, June 1900. Some 193 feet oal, these four German-made boats could make 32 knots and carried six Sk 4.7 cm L/35s while two 17-inch torpedo tubes weren’t fitted. Hai-Lung, yard number 608, became the German SMS Taku and was decommissioned after grounding on 30 December 1913. Hai-Ch’ing, yard number 609, became the French Takou and was written off after being grounded on the coast of Vietnam. Hai-Hoa, hull number 610, became the Russian Таку (Taku), and was sunk on 26 July 1904 off Port Arthur by Japanese forces. Hai-Hsi, yard number 611, became HMS Taku and was sold for scrap on 26 October 1916.

A Chinese second-class cruiser (Hai-Chi?) flying an Admiral’s flag was detained outside Taku by Gefion, who was ordered to release the vessel.

This triggered the start of the outright 55-day siege of the Legation Quarter in Peking, with some 900 Western troops and civilians, along with 2,800 Chinese Christians, holding out until relieved. The German minister, Baron von Ketteler, was killed by a Manchu officer escorted by Chinese lancers the same day while on his way to negotiate a solution to the incident, which was rapidly spiraling out of control.

A force that had tried to reinforce Peking before the siege was led by British VADM Sir Edward Hobart Seymour, who took the lead and scratched together a column of some 2,127 men drawn from the assorted ships crowding under the Taku forts, with the idea to force the way to Peking via Tientsin. His chief of staff was the young future admiral, Capt. John Jellicoe.

Seymour was able to muster 915 straw-hatted jack-tars and Royal Marines to spearhead the detachment. The Germans chipped in 511. Smaller contingents from allied fleets included 312 Russians, 158 French, 112 Americans, 54 Japanese, 40 Italians, and 25 Austrians.

Seymour Expedition, 1900, USN 901030

As detailed in Die Kaiserliche Marine während der Wirren in China, 1900-1901. Berlin: Mittler und Sohn, 1903. The German force was seriously ad hoc.

The German contingent, which consisted of 22 officers, two surgeons, and 487 enlisted men, was organized into two companies and two large platoons, armed with Gewehr 88 bolt-action rifles, single-action M1879 Reichsrevolvers, and four Maxim machine guns. Commanded overall by Kapitän zur See Guido von Usedom, the skipper of the Hertha, the four ships that coughed up landing forces contributed the following, each in turn led by the respective ship’s executive officer:

  • Hertha: 7 officers, 175 men under KL (CDR) Hecht
  • Hansa: 7 officers, 153 men, under KKpt (LCDR) Paul Schlieser
  • Kaiserin Augusta: 5 officers, 85 men, 1 doctor under KKpt Oltmann Buchholz
  • Gefion: 3 officers, 74 men, 1 doctor under KKpt Otto Weniger

Of course, Seymour thought he was just opposing a rabble of Boxer bandits, not 30,000 Imperial Qing Army regulars (Kansu Braves) who ultimately came out against him. These units consisted of Muslims from the remote Gansu Province, situated between the Qilian Mountains and the Gobi Desert, men renowned for their discipline and loyalty to the empire.

Flying long scarlet and black banners, the Gansu Army wore traditional uniforms but was well-trained and armed with Mauser M.71 repeater rifles and modern breechloading field artillery.

Chinese soldiers in 1899–1901. Left: three infantrymen of the New Imperial Army. Front: drum major of the regular army. Seated on the trunk: field artilleryman. Right: Boxers. Via Leipziger illustrirte Zeitung 1900

With this, the so-called Seymour Expedition was seriously outnumbered and fighting in a foreign land.

They left out for Peking from Tientsin on 10 June– a week before the Taku forts were seized– via five commandeered trains and by 14 June had suffered their first losses, among the Italian contingent. By the 18th, a pitched battle was fought against a key Western position, held by men largely drawn from Gefion.

As detailed in “The Boxer Rebellion: Bluejackets and Marines in China, 1900–1901” by Emily Abdow (NHHC, 2023):

A German garrison was at a coal depot near Langfang, christened “Fort Gefion” for their ship. Chinese Colonel Yao Wang [of Gen. Dong Fuxiang’s Gansu Army] and Boxer leader Ni Zanqing determined Fort Gefion was the weak point and amassed about 3,000 Qing soldiers and 2,000 Boxers for an attack. On 18 June, Boxers charged at Fort Gefion, teenagers and old men alike barreling into heavy allied fire in never-ending waves. When the Boxers fell, Colonel Yao’s soldiers attacked. Armed with modern weapons, they nearly forced the Germans’ right flank to retreat. British and French sailors reinforced the Germans, driving back the Chinese forces. At the end of the battle, the allied casualties were 10 dead and 50 wounded. The Chinese death toll was 400, over half of the casualties Qing soldiers.

With no hope of reaching Peking, Seymour’s force burned their trains and fought a slow, foot-borne retreat back to Tientsin for the next four days.

Coming upon the Chinese government’s Fort Xigu, the Great Hsi-Ku Arsenal (also seen in Western sources as Fort Hsiku/Osiku), eight miles northwest of Tientsin in the pre-dawn of 22 June, it made sense to occupy the works and wait for relief from the sea.

The problem was that the local Chinese garrison approached 1,500 troops, and the fort, with 16-foot-high mud walls protected by Krupp field guns, was a tough nut to crack.

With the Royal Marines tasked with an attempt to take the complex from the rear, Seymour passed the order, “Germans to the front.”

Leading the German column into the attack was KKpt Oltmann Buchholz, XO of the Kaiserin Augusta, with the men from the Hansa, Hertha, and Gefion behind him. The assault was quick and sharp, with the Germans battering down the front doors, then sweeping through and clearing the complex, turning the good Krupp guns around on their former owners. Inside were found, besides munitions, enough rations and supplies to revitalize the force along with a well-stocked medical clinic.

Buchholz was killed in the effort.

German artist Carl Röchling celebrated the event with his painting “Die Deutschen an der Front” (“The Germans to the front”).

The attack occurred at 0222. Roechling takes a bit of liberty with the amount of sunlight.

Seymour Expedition, 1900, likely at the Great Hsi-Ku Arsenal. USN 901028

A relief column of 2,000 fresh Western troops under Capt. (later RADM of Battle of Coronel fame) Christopher Cradock, RN, and Major (later MG) Littleton Tazewell “Tony” Waller, USMC, relieved Seymour near Fort Hsiku on 25 June, allowing his column to fully withdraw back to Tientsin. Seymour’s international column suffered at least 62 dead and 232 wounded, a casualty rate of about 1:6, during its fortnight in the Chinese countryside.

The German sailors and marines on the Seymour expedition ashore in June 1900 lost 16 killed and 60 wounded, including two young officers from Gefion (LT z. S. Hane v. Krohn from Wilhelmähoven and Frang Bustig from Hanover, both on 22 June in the assault on Fort Hsiku). The bombardment of the Taku forts on 17 June cost the Germans seven killed and 11 wounded, all on the gunboat SMS Itis (including her skipper, who caught 25 shrapnel wounds yet remained on the bridge, earning the Blue Max). Subsequent fighting in and around Tientsin cost the German force another 12 dead and 41 wounded, including three sailors from Gefion’s naval infantry (Wilhelm Wachsmund from Goblenz, on 27 June, along with Heinrich Hamm from Grünendeich and Emil Bonk from Raschang on 13 July). Of note, Hansa’s company suffered the greatest casualties of the German naval contingents during the Boxer rebellion (13 dead and 24 wounded).

Besieged Peking would ultimately be relieved in mid-August by the 20,000-strong force under British Maj. Gen. Alfred Gaselee (although fully half of the force were Japanese troops under Lt. Gen. Yamaguchi Motomi, a general senior in both grade and experience to Gaselee).

The 51 German marines (the fourth largest contingent in the Quarter) of III. Seebataillon under Oberleutnant Graf von Soden, holding out at Peking in the Legation, suffered 12 killed and 14 wounded during the siege, holding their line along the Quarter’s old Tartar Wall shoulder-to-shoulder with the 53 U.S. Marines and bluejackets landed from the USS Oregon and Newark.

German marines Peking 1900, AWM A05904

Peace

Following the arrival of more ships and troops rushed to China from Germany, Gefion was recalled home in September 1901.

Arriving back in German waters in time for Christmas, she was placed in ordinary and sent to Kaiserliche Werft in Wilhelmshaven for a drawn-out three-year overhaul. This saw her armament retained but relocated for both stability and protection purposes.

Emerging from overhaul in 1905, she was placed in reserve, the German fleet having much better cruisers to choose from at that point.

It was from these mothballs that she was recalled in 1914, but, with no crews available to man her, she was moved to Danzig for use as a barracks ship, her usable equipment and weapons cannibalized for other uses.

At the end of the war, the victorious allies elected not to claim the hulked Gefion as a war trophy, and she was stricken from the German naval list on 5 November 1919.

Ex-Gefion was purchased by the salvage concern of Norddeutsche Tiefbaugesellschaft along with her old Far East buddy Kaiserin Augusta, the cruiser Victoria Louise, several incomplete submarines, and the obsolete (circa 1890) battlewagon Brandenburg. While most of the company’s new assets were soon scrapped in Danzig, Gefion and Victoria Louise were sold to the shipping firm of Danziger Hoch- und Tiefbau GmbH (Behnke & Sieg), along with the four still-crated 1,200 hp MAN four-stroke diesel engines for the unfinished SM U-115 and U-116.

Most of the superstructure and the machinery from Gefion and Victoria Louise were removed, and two cranes and their associated stowage space were installed. Their old coal-fired boilers and VTE engines removed, each picked up a pair of former U-boat diesels. They entered service with DHT in 1920 as the cargo vessels (frachtdampfer) SS Adolf Sommerfeld and Flora Sommerfeld, respectively.

Seen in the 1922 Lloyds Steamers list as SS Adolf Summerfeld (sic). The ex-SMS Victoria Louise is listed in the same volume correctly as Flora Sommerfeld.

However, the Baltic timber route they served had shallow draft harbors, and the thin-waisted former cruisers drew too much water to make the venture successful. By 1923, both were scrapped in Danzig, and their still-young diesels were sold to an electric company.

Epilogue

The German Navy never used the name Gefion again, however, her bell has been spotted a few times since WWII and may be in circulation in private collections.

Several pieces of period maritime art, primarily German postcards, endure.

1902 lithograph of Gefion by Hugo Graf

An exquisite 1:100 scale model of the cruiser in her white overseas livery is on display under glass at the Internationales Maritimes Museum in Hamburg.

Speaking of models, Combrig has a 1:700 scale kit available. 

As for Gefion’s China-era (1898-1901) skipper, FKpt Max Rollmann returned to Germany, became the captain of the battleship SMS Kaiser Wilhelm der Grosse, and commanded the 1st Squadron of the High Seas Fleet as a commodore, then the III Squadron as a vice admiral in 1910. Retiring in 1913 after 40 years with the colors, he was made a full admiral on the retired list, decorated with both the Prussian Order of the Red Eagle and the Order of the Crown. Eschewing his pension and returning to work in the admiralty as a civilian during the Great War, he passed in 1942 in Berlin, aged 85. His son, KKpt Max Rollmann, had passed the previous year while serving as the duty officer (Rollenoffizier) aboard the Bismarck.

Charakterisierter Admiral Max Rollmann. As part of his service in China, he carried top-level decorations and honors, including the Russian Order of Saint Stanislaus, the Grand Officer’s Cross of the Order of the Crown of Thailand, and the Commander’s Cross of the Japanese Order of the Sacred Treasure.

Kapitan zur See Guido von Usedom, the skipper of the cruiser Hertha that led the overall German naval infantry battalion under Seymour, was given a Blue Max and made an ADC to the Kaiser following the campaign. Quick with exotic anecdotes from the Orient to entertain Willy’s guests, he was given command of the imperial yacht Hohenzollern for a couple of years, followed by comfortable desk jobs until he retired in 1910 as a vice admiral after 39 years in the service, promoted to full Admiral on the retirement rolls.

Like Rollman, Von Usedom volunteered his services to the Kaiser once again in 1914 and soon found himself wearing a fez as an admiral in the Ottoman Navy in command of Sonderkommando Türkei. He strengthened the Dardanelles Straits until they became virtually impregnable from the sea in 1915, forcing the disastrous land Gallipoli campaign and earning a set of oak leaves for his 1900 Blue Max. He remained in Turkish service until 1918, when he retired a second time on the outbreak of peace.

Charakterisierter Admiral Guido von Usedom passed in 1925, aged 70. And yes, the center image is him showing a Mameluke-carrying Willy around the Dardanelles in 1915.

Albert Wilhelm Heinrich, Prinz von Preußen, was very much seen as the “Sailor Prince” of the Hohenzollern dynasty. Entering the German Navy at the age of 16 in 1878, he was a professional officer and earned his Großadmiral shoulder boards for sure, having spent decades on sea-going duty. During the Great War, he ably commanded the Imperial German Baltic Sea Fleet (Oberbefehlshaber der Ostseestreitkräfte) in operations against the Russians. He passed in 1929, aged 66.

The German treaty port at Tsingtao fell to an Anglo-Japanese force in 1914, and the Hankou Concession was retrograded by the Chinese in 1917, with the remaining German merchants closing up shop altogether in 1945. The old baroque German consulate in the Hankou Bund, where Prince Henry laid the cornerstone after a trip on Gefion in 1899, survives today on Yanjing Avenue as a Wuhan municipal office building, a red banner flying from its mast.

Meminisse est ad Vivificandum – To Remember is to Keep Alive

***

Ships are more than steel
and wood
And heart of burning coal,
For those who sail upon
them know
That some ships have a
soul.

***

If you liked this column, please consider joining the International Naval Research Organization (INRO), Publishers of Warship International

They are possibly one of the best sources of naval study, images, and fellowship you can find. http://www.warship.org/membership.htm

The International Naval Research Organization is a non-profit corporation dedicated to the encouragement of the study of naval vessels and their histories, principally in the era of iron and steel warships (about 1860 to date). Its purpose is to provide information and a means of contact for those interested in warships.

With more than 50 years of scholarship, Warship International, the written tome of the INRO, has published hundreds of articles, most of which are unique in their sweep and subject.

PRINT still has its place. If you LOVE warships, you should belong.

I’m a member, so should you be!

Warship Wednesday, June 4, 2025: Tiny Hull, Heart of Oak

Here at LSOZI, we take off every Wednesday for a look at the old steam/diesel navies of the 1833-1954 period and will profile a different ship each week. These ships have a life, a tale all their own, which sometimes takes them to the strangest places.- Christopher Eger

If you enjoy my always ad-free Warship Wednesday content, you can support it by buying me a cup of joe at https://buymeacoffee.com/lsozi As Henk says: “Warship Coffee – no sugar, just a pinch of salt!”

Warship Wednesday, June 4, 2025: Tiny Hull, Heart of Oak

“Goliath Wins,” painting by former RN FAA veteran and well-known marine and aviation artist, the late Jim Rae.

Above we see the Tree-class Admiralty type minesweeping trawler, HMT Juniper (T123), as she engages in a one-sided artillery duel with the German heavy cruiser Admiral Hipper in the Norwegian Sea on 8 June 1940, some 85 years ago this week.

The Trees

The British, with thousands of hardy blue water fishing boats and generations of crews along their coast in the 20th Century, were quickly able to mobilize these home-grown assets as sort of a “pirate fleet” with little effort, much akin to how the USCG almost overnight was able to deploy their 2,000-boat so-called Hooligan Navy or Corsair Fleet during WWII.

The Brits already had volumes of experience with such transformation in the Great War, ordering 609 “Admiralty” military type steel hulled trawlers specifically for naval use, along with another 1,400 boats taken up from trade. 

Trawlers on patrol at Halifax, 1918, CWM

The concept in the Great War was simple: take a boat, add a deck gun, radio set, and searchlight; crew it largely with experienced trawlermen in uniform led by a reserve officer or two, and then specialize it into either anti-submarine work with listening gear and depth charges or minesweeping with sweep gear, sort said “battle trawlers” into flotillas, and turn them loose.

When 1935’s Italian invasion of Ethiopia, followed by Hitler’s abrogation of the terms of the Treaty of Versailles with the reoccupation of the Rhineland by German troops and rearmament to include U-boats, signaled a new war on the horizon, the Royal Navy dusted off its trawler plan as a quick way to boost coastal forces.

This led to the prototype for the British ASW/minesweeping trawlers of the next decade, with HMT Basset (T68) built by Robb in Leith, being launched before the end of 1935.

Coal-burning with a single boiler and VTE engine good for a humble 12.5 knots, Basset ran 160 feet oal, could float in just 10 feet of seawater, and displaced 521 tons. Armament was a 3″/40 12pdr 12cwt QF Mk I/II/V taken from a WWI-era destroyer and mounted on a “bandstand” on the bow, along with weight and space saved for as many as 30 depth charges and mechanical minesweeping gear.

Basset led to a series of nearly two dozen vessels for the Royal Indian Navy and a few for the Canadians, while the design was tweaked for the follow-on Gem and Tree classes.

The first WWII-era Admiralty standard minesweeping trawler type was the 20-member Tree class, so dubbed as all its members were named after trees. These were just barely larger than the Basset (Dog) class, hitting 545 tons standard (770 full) and running some 164 feet long.

Armament, like Basset, relied on a single old 12-pounder forward, a twin 50-cal Vickers rear (sometimes replaced with a second 12-pounder) a pair of Vickers .303s, two depth charge throwers and two depth charge racks with provision for 30 ash cans, along with the novel new Oropesa Mk II mechanical mine sweep or LL-type magnetic mine sweep.

A trawler’s gun crew manning the 12-pounder on the fo’castle. Photographer LT FA Hudson IWM (A 17176)

A trawler’s crew manning a 12-pounder. Photographer LT FA Davies IWM (A 12317)

Ordered from nine small yards around Britain, all were laid down on the eve of the war, augmented by 67 other trawlers purchased from trade.

HMT Birch, a Tree-class trawler

British Tree class naval trawler HMT Rowan, Pennant No T119 FL18332

British Tree-class naval trawler HMT Walnut, Pennant No T103

British Tree class naval trawler HMT Acacia, Pennant No T02, IWM FL 46

HMT Bay, Tree class Trawler, IWM A 6694

HM Trawler Pine – a “Tree” class minesweeper, she was torpedoed and sunk off Beachy Head by a Kriegsmarine Schnellboot with the loss of 10 of her crew.

HMT Walnut, Tree tree-class trawler

Crews were up to 40 souls, but typically more like 35, relying on a skipper and two junior officers, a couple of ratings from the RN or RNR, and the rest members of the newly stood up Royal Naval Patrol Service (RNPS).

Trained at the “stone frigate” HMS Europa, the commandeered Sparrows Nest Gardens in Lowestoft, Suffolk, the ad-hoc nature of the enterprise soon led to the force being known as “Harry Tate’s Navy” after a popular comedian of the era who had problems getting his car started and soon found it falling apart all around him but carried on with confidence nonetheless. In short, something akin to the “Rodney Dangerfield Navy.”

Meet Juniper

Our subject was the second warship to carry the name in the Royal Navy, with the first being an 8-gun Napoleonic-era Shamrock-class schooner that distinguished herself on Sir Arthur Wellesley’s campaigns in Portugal and Spain.

Ordered along with her future sister, HMT Mangrove from Ferguson Brothers (now Ferguson Marine) in Glasgow, Juniper was laid down as Yard No. 344 in August 1939 while Mangrove, built side-by-side, was No. 345. Their hull numbers would be T123 and T112, characteristically out of sequence, a class trait.

Juniper launched on 15 December 1939, as the Germans were digesting newly conquered western Poland, and commissioned in March 1940, as they prepped to turn West. She was modified while under construction and fitted with a more comprehensive AAA suite: three 20mm Oerlikons in place of the twin .50 cal Vickers.

20mm Oerlikon mounting on a British trawler. LT FA Davies IWM (A 12318)

Juniper’s first (and only) skipper was 42-year-old LCDR (Emergency) Geoffrey Seymour Grenfell, RN. An 18-year-old midshipman of impeccable background during the Great War (grandson of ADM John Pascoe Grenfell, grandnephew of Field Marshal Francis Grenfell, and the nephew of a VC holder killed with the 9th Lancers in 1914) he fought at Jutland on the famous HMS Warspite, a vessel holed 150 times in the sea clash by five German battleships. Leaving active service in 1920 as a lieutenant, after nine years with the colors, he was moved to the Emergency List, where he was made a LCDR in 1928 and remained there until activated in 1939.

Grenfell was a little bit famous at the time, having married the high-profile Countess of Carnarvon in 1938, an American heiress and descendant of the Lee Family of Virginia who had just divorced the 6th Earl of Carnarvon, leaving her son to inherit the title. Of note, the family home was the real Victorian Highclere Castle, the setting of the fictional Downton Abbey. Grenfell and the Countess’s marriage was important enough to be carried across the Atlantic in the NYT’s society pages.

The rest of Juniper’s tiny wardroom was made up of Probationary Temporary (Acting) Sub-Lieutenant Neville L. Smith, RNVR, and Probationary Temporary Lieutenant Ronald Campbell Blair Arnold Daniel, RNVR. Daniel, 40, was an architect in the Richmond practice of Partridge and a proud member of the Petersham Horticultural Society, having just joined the colors in April 1940.

War!

Rushed northward in June 1940 to take part in Operation Alphabet, the Allied evacuation of Norway, on the morning of 8 June, having departed Tromso the day before as the sole escort for the Aberdeen-bound 5,600-ton tanker SS Oil Pioneer, Juniper spotted a large cruiser on the horizon off Harstad.

It turned out to be the 14,000-ton Admiral Hipper, which at the time flew the signals of the British cruiser HMS Southampton.

Hipper off Norway, 1940

Realizing the ruse too late and being too slow to make a getaway, Juniper put the “battle” in battle trawler and made ready for a surface action. Signaling her merchantmen to evade as best they could, she began a cat-and-mouse artillery action with Hipper.

Some reports state that it took 90 minutes. Others are just 15. No matter how long it took to play out, the outcome was certain, and Juniper was smashed below the waves by Hipper’s secondary 4.1-inch SK C/33 battery, the bruiser saving its big 8-inch guns for more worthy prey. Any of Hipper’s four escorting destroyers, Z7 Hermann Schoemann, Z10 Hans Lody, Z15 Erich Steinbrinck, and Z20 Karl Galster, would have been more than a match for our trawler.

An on-board camera crew captured the event.

Shortly after, the nearby KM Gneisenau caught Oil Pioneer and sank her with a combination of gunfire and a torpedo from the destroyer Schoemann, leaving one reported survivor.

The bulk of Juniper’s crew were listed simply as missing or “Missing Presumed Killed” (MPK).

ALEXANDER, Ivor, Ordinary Seaman, LT/JX 179311, MPK
AUSTWICK, Clarence H, Engineman, RNR (PS), LT/X 59952 ES, missing
BARGEWELL, Arthur, Stoker, RNPS, LT/KX 106123, missing
BROWNJOHN, Denis E, Telegraphist, C/WRX 1246, missing
CHAPMAN, Charles, Seaman, RNR (PS), LT/X 20188 A, missing
COOPER, Robert, Ordinary Seaman, RNPS, LT/JX 183134, MPK
DANIEL, Ronald C B A, Py/Ty/Lieutenant, RNVR, MPK
GEORGE, William, Stoker 2c, RNPS, LT/KX 104599, MPK
GRENFELL, Geoffrey S, Lieutenant Commander, MPK
HIND, Wilson K, Leading Seaman, RNR, D/X 10320 B, missing
JILLINGS, Henry A, Seaman, RNPS, LT/JX 177687, missing
MARSHALL, William D, Stoker, RNPS, LT/KX 104048, missing
NEWELL, George W, Ordinary Seaman, RNPS, LT/JX 172789, MPK
PENTON, Thomas S, Ordinary Seaman, RNPS, LT/JX 176379, missing
PERKINS, James K, Seaman, RNPS, LT/JX 177711, missing
PHILLIPS, Peter R S, Ordinary Seaman, RNPS, LT/JX 183136, MPK
SAWKINS, Eric W, Ordinary Signalman, RNVR, P/SDX 1535, missing
SEABROOK, William H, Telegraphist, RNW(W)R, C/WRX 124, missing
SMITH, Neville L, Py/Ty/Act/Sub Lieutenant, RNVR, MPK
SUMMERS, George, Engineman, RNR (PS), LT/X 318 EU, missing
TIMMS, Ernest S, Seaman, RNPS, LT/JX 180470, missing
VENTRY, Vincent, Seaman Cook, RNPS, LT/JX 185635, missing
WEAVER, Edgar A, 2nd Hand, RNPS, LT/KX 181715, missing

Those survivors picked up by the Germans were taken to Trondheim and eventually made their way to the Stalag IID Stargard in Pomerania. One of these survivors, Telegraphist Charles Roy Batchelor (499/X4624), though grievously wounded, survived the war and left a detailed account of his post-Juniper experience. He was repatriated home in October 1943 due to his wounds and would endure a series of skin and bone grafts for another 18 months. He went on to make a life for himself in to the 1980s and had a family, but walked with a limp, carried facial scars, and had difficulty chewing until the very end.

Soon after sending Juniper and Oil Pioneer to the bottom, Hipper found the empty troopship SS Orama (19,840 GRT) and made it a hat-trick.

German destroyer Z10 Hans Lody picking up survivors from British troop transport SS Orama, June 8, 1940

On the same afternoon as Juniper was lost and only a few miles away, the German battleships Gneisenau and Scharnhorst would meet up and sink the carrier HMS Glorious, including her defending destroyers HMS Acasta and Ardent, with the loss of over 1,500 lives. That much larger disaster overshadowed our trawler’s ride to Valhalla.

Epilogue

Despite the heroic charge of Juniper, I cannot find where the vessel or her crew were decorated. British LCDR Gerard Broadmead Roope, skipper of the G-class destroyer, HMS Glowworm, sunk by Hipper under very similar circumstances in April 1940, earned a VC.

The only post-war mention I can find of the good LCDR Grenfell is a notice of the settlement of his estate, published in October 1941.

His wife, the former Countess of Carnarvon, mourned for a decade before taking her third husband in 1950, and passed in 1977.

The Trees had a tough war. Besides Juniper, five of her 19 sisters were lost in action: HMT Almond (T 14), Ash (T 39), Chestnut (T 110), Hickory (T 116), and Pine (T 101).

The British lost an amazing 122 minesweeping trawlers during the war.

The Royal Naval Patrol Service numbered some 66,000 men during WWII, manning 6,000 assorted small vessels. At least 14,500 of these “Sparrows” lost their lives, and no less than 2,385 RNPS seamen “have no known grave but the sea.”

Today, the Lowestoft War Memorial Museum at Sparrow’s Nest remembers their sacrifices. Bronze panels at the Museum hold the names of the 2,385 MPK, including those lost on Juniper, recorded on Panels No. 1 and No. 2.

“Harry Tate’s Navy” echoes into eternity. 

Meminisse est ad Vivificandum – To Remember is to Keep Alive

***

Ships are more than steel
and wood
And heart of burning coal,
For those who sail upon
them know
That some ships have a
soul.

***

If you liked this column, please consider joining the International Naval Research Organization (INRO), Publishers of Warship International

They are possibly one of the best sources of naval study, images, and fellowship you can find. http://www.warship.org/membership.htm

The International Naval Research Organization is a non-profit corporation dedicated to the encouragement of the study of naval vessels and their histories, principally in the era of iron and steel warships (about 1860 to date). Its purpose is to provide information and a means of contact for those interested in warships.

With more than 50 years of scholarship, Warship International, the written tome of the INRO, has published hundreds of articles, most of which are unique in their sweep and subject.

PRINT still has its place. If you LOVE warships, you should belong.

I’m a member, so should you be!

Warship Wednesday, May 28, 2025: Part Eagle, Part Phoenix

Here at LSOZI, we take off every Wednesday for a look at the old steam/diesel navies of the 1833-1954 period and will profile a different ship each week. These ships have a life, a tale all their own, which sometimes takes them to the strangest places.- Christopher Eger

If you enjoy my always ad-free Warship Wednesday content, you can support it by buying me a cup of joe at https://buymeacoffee.com/lsozi As Henk says: “Warship Coffee – no sugar, just a pinch of salt!”

Warship Wednesday, May 28, 2025: Part Eagle, Part Phoenix

Photo received from the U.S. Office of Naval Intelligence. Naval History and Heritage Command Catalog #: NH 45853

Above we see a port bow view of the Tsar’s brand-new Borodino-class squadron battleship Orel (also seen transliterated in some Western sources as “Oryol” and “Ariol”), taken in the Baltic soon after her completion in September 1904.

She had a curious history that saw her rushed to the losing side of one of the worst naval defeats of the 20th Century, some 120 years ago this week, after an 18,000-mile shakedown cruise. She would then be reborn to fight the Germans in China (!) while under a Japanese flag, return to her homeland under very different circumstances, and meet her ultimate fate at the hands of budding technology that would echo into another Pacific war.

The Borodinos

In the 1900s, the Imperial Russian Navy was full speed ahead to create three top-notch fleets: one in the Baltic to defend against the Germans (or attack Swedes, who knows); a second in the Black Sea to take on the Turks who were rapidly rearming with new vessels from America and Britain; and a third in the Pacific to be able to hold on to its Manchurian possessions which had been essentially stolen from Japan after the latter’s cakewalk victory against China in 1895.

A key acquisition during this period was the one-off 388-foot tumblehome hulled battleship Tsesarevich, which had been built in France at Forges et Chantiers de la Méditerranée, La Seyne-sur-Mer. The same yard had produced a series of 12,000-ton leviathans for the French Navy (Jauréguiberry et. al.) and patterned the new Russian ship along those lines.

Tsesarevich. Forges et Chantiers de la Méditerranée, La Seyne-Sur-Mer brochure published by the society for its fiftieth anniversary, Imprimerie Chaix, Paris, July 1906, p. 40.

Weighing in at 13,000 tons due to her thicker armor (up to 10 inches of good German Krupp plate), Tsarevich was powered by 20 Belleville water-tube boilers that ate coal like it was going out of style. Armament was in two pairs of impressive Russian-built (Obukhov) French-designed (Canet) 12″/40 (30.5 cm) Pattern 1895 guns mounted in double turrets fore and aft, with six French-made Canet Model 1892 6-inch guns in double turrets arrayed along the hull of the ship. Capable of 18 knots and able to steam over 6,000nm before needing more coal, she was capable of deploying to the Pacific, which was to be her homeport at Port Arthur.

With Tsesarevich as a cue, the Russians embarked on a campaign to build at least five (with potential for up to ten) new ships in the St. Petersburg area for their Baltic fleet. Just nine feet longer than their inspiration but with heavier engines, thicker armor, and larger turrets (but with the same general armament), the Russian admiralty packed another 1,400 tons onto essentially the same hull. This gave them a draft pushing 30 feet– on a hull just 397 feet long!

profile Borodino class

The new ships, the Borodino class, would have significantly less coal bunkerage, cutting their range in half, which was not seen as a hindrance, as their Baltic role would ensure they never operated very far from a Russian port. When loaded with more coal than designed, their protective armor belt submerged, and their 6-inch guns rode so low and close to the waves as to be useless at all but point-blank range.

armor plan Borodino class, with thickness in mm

Equipped with old-style (1880s-designed) French Lugeol stadiametric rangefinders, which typically maxed out after 4,000m, their guns were handicapped when it came to fire control. The Russians made a move to change these out for more modern British Barr and Stroud coincidence rangefinders, but training in their use was minimal before the class was rushed to war with Japan.

The five ships of the class were all ordered within months of each other from yards around Saint Petersburg, with Borodino constructed at the New Admiralty Shipyard; Imperator Aleksandr III, Knyaz Suvorov, and Slava contracted at the Baltic Works (now OJSC Baltic); and our subject, Orel, ordered from the Galernyi Island Shipyard (now JSC Admiralty Yard). The cost for each ran between 13.4 and 14.5 million rubles, with Orel being the cheapest.

Meet Orel

Our subject was at least the fifth ship to carry the Russian name for “Eagle” in the history of the Imperial Navy. The first was the first sea-going warship of the Russian Empire, a Dutch-style three-mast pinnace ordered by Tsar Alexei Mikhailovich in 1667 to protect Russian merchant ships on the Caspian Sea from pirates. Of note, the ship’s crew consisted of 20 Dutch sailors and officers and 35 Russian musketeers.

The original three-master Orel, a frigate in Russian parlance, was the first sea-going Russian warship. Today, the ship’s profile is the emblem of St. Petersburg. Likewise, her contracting date, 29 June, is celebrated annually as “Shipbuilder’s Day” (Den’ sudostroitelya) in Russia.

Our Orel was laid down on 20 May 1900, launched 6 July 1902, and– despite sinking to the bottom of Kronstadt during a storm while fitting out on 7 May 1904 and settling with a 24-degree list– was commissioned on 1 October 1904 following three weeks of builder’s trials.

Orel under construction, c. 1903

Her construction was overseen by Russian Maj. Gen. Mikhail Karlovich Yakovlev, the senior shipbuilder of the Admiralty.

Those who are savvy with military history will realize that Orel entered the fleet eight months into the Russo-Japanese War, at a time when the bulk of the Russian Pacific Fleet was bottled up by the Japanese in their besieged homeport at Port Arthur.

Orel was photographed in 1904. NH 92419

The bad news for Orel was that, with her three other finished sisters (Slava was still under construction), and almost everything in the Baltic fleet that could float, would be rushed to the Pacific to clock in against the Japanese, changing the course of the war.

At least that was the plan.

War!

Covering the nightmarish 7-month, 18,000-mile voyage of the Russian Baltic Fleet (renamed the 2nd Pacific Squadron) to reach the Tsushima Straits from St. Petersburg is a bit beyond the scope of this post. We will be more narrow in our focus, relying on Orel’s part in the trip– which she began on 15 October, just two weeks after she was commissioned.

Not a misprint. She sailed to war a fortnight after hoisting her colors for the first time, and just six months after she sank pierside while fitting out.

Borodino class battleship of the 2nd Pacific Squadron getting ready to leave the Baltic in 1904.

With so many battleships rushed to completion in a country without a huge maritime tradition, the Russians were scraping the barrel to crew Orel. Many were pulled from shoreside assignments and the far-away Caspian Sea flotilla and Black Sea fleet. As the standard term of service for new Russian recruits was seven years active and four reserve, many of the men aboard were of the latter category and less than enthusiastic when it came to returning to the colors amid a war they did not understand.

Her skipper, Capt. (1st rate) Nikolay Viktorovich Jung (Naval Cadet Corps 1876), had dallied with the Narodnaya Volya revolutionary movement as a young officer, for which he had been arrested and blackballed for a time. Despite nearly 30 years of service, his largest command before Orel was a 4,600-ton cruiser, having spent most of his career on training ships.

Her XO, Capt. (2nd rate) Konstantin Leopoldovich Shvede, had entered the Navy in 1884 but had never held a seagoing command and had spent most of his career in shoreside service as a functionary. His last assignment before Orel was as the officer in charge of the mess hall at the Kryukov barracks.

A few capable young officers, such as LT (future RADM and polar explorer) Nikolay Nikolaevich Zubov, quickly sought transfer to other vessels. Zubov, reassigned to the destroyer Blestyashchy, fought his ship at Tsushima until it sank under his feet and made it to internment in Shanghai for the rest of the war.

47mm Hotchkiss with gunnery officer, LT Fedor Petrovich Shamshev on Orel, headed to the Far East in 1904. After graduating from the Naval Corps in 1891, he served in several posts until joining Orel in 1903. Wounded at his post in the ship’s burning conning tower, he spent much of his time as a POW in Japan in 1905 in the hospital. After the war, he returned to service, commanded the gunboat Gilyak, and the destroyer Storozhevoy. During the Great War, he was the skipper of the old monitor training ship Pyotr Velikiy and commanded the coastal artillery on Nargen Island off Tallinn. After the Revolution, he left Russia for exile in Denmark, where he died in 1959, aged 90.

Some among her enlisted only narrowly missed the brig, or worse. This included one of her senior sailors, Alexey Silych Novikov-Priboy, who had been cashiered as an “unreliable person” for spreading revolutionary propaganda while on the old cruiser Minin, but, with the fleet in need of bodies, was reassigned to Orel. Soon, with the help of a like-minded engineering officer, he maintained a full-blown revolutionary library aboard. As he was paymaster steward, Novikov-Priboy had contact with every member of the crew.

Orel suffered from numerous incidents of sabotage on the way to the Pacific, with steel shavings found in her engines, a propeller shaft nearly ruined on the outbound cruise, a grounding, a rudder cable incident that forced her to stop briefly at Tangier, and one good-sized fire reported. Still, she pressed on to meet her destiny, albeit punctuated by breakdowns.

Orel and her three sisters formed the Russian First Division, with Squadron commander, VADM Zinovy Rozhestvensky, flying his flag from Orel’s sister, Knyaz Suvorov. The Second and Third Divisions, respectively, were formed of increasingly older battlewagons. Of note, the Second Division commander, RADM Baron Dmitry Gustavovich von Folkersahm, who had previously been the naval gunnery school commander, was ill with cancer. He was pulled out of convalescence for his seagoing billet and would perish in his cabin while on the cruise, well before the force met the Japanese.

The morning of 27 May 1905, the end came as the Russian battleline was crossed by that of ADM Togo’s Japanese Combined Fleet. The revolutionary Novikov-Priboy recalled that, with the straits approaching, Orel’s crew held a mass on deck just before the battle, “crossing themselves furiously as if swatting away flies.”

Our subject fired the first shots of the battle at 11:42, hurling 30 12-inch shells unsuccessfully at a distant Japanese cruiser that was shadowing on the horizon some 9,000 yards out. Rozhestvensky’s flagship, Knyaz Suvorov, the lead ship in the Russian battle line, later opened fire at the Japanese battleship Mikasa, Togo’s flagship, at 14:05. Over the next five hours, the battle went very badly for the Borodino class.

Imperator Aleksandr III turned turtle and sank at 18:50, leaving but four survivors.

Knyaz Suvorov, with Rozhestvensky switching his flag to a destroyer, sank with all hands at 19:20.

Borodino went up in a flash when a shell from the battleship Fuji ignited her magazine at 19:30, leaving just one survivor. Gunlayer Semyon Semyonovich Yushchin swam out of a flooded casemate, held onto a floating debris, and was picked up by the Japanese destroyer Oboro later that night.

Orel was the only battleship of the First Division to survive the maelstrom; her three other sisters were sent to the bottom with just five men living to tell the tale. She limped off into the night, riddled with holes and her decks filled with mangled bodies. Her skipper was mortally wounded.

“Broken hell” Russian Battleship Orel leading 2nd Pacific Squadron last daylight hours during the battle of Tsushima by Alexander Zyakin.

The next morning, falling in with RADM Nebogatov’s Third Division, including the old battleship Imperator Nikolai I (his flag) and the two small coastal battleships General-Admiral Apraksin and Admiral Seniavin, the badly damaged Orel, under the command of her XO, surrendered to the Japanese just after 1300 on 28 May, the group’s withdrawal to Vladivostok cut off by the Japanese.

Capt. Jung, who succumbed to his wounds, was buried at sea as the group sailed toward captivity.

Fortunio Matanya. Drawing 1905. Burial at sea of the commander of the battleship Orel

Taken under escort by the battleship Asahi and the armored cruiser Asama to Maizuru Navy Yard in Japan, Orel’s crew was moved ashore, politely, and would spend the rest of the war under a very gentlemanly confinement, a stark contrast to how enemy POWs were treated by the Emperor’s forces in WWII. They were repatriated in February 1906.

Russian battleship Orel officers on Asahi, 28 May 1905, after Tshumia

Orel lost 43 killed in addition to Jung and had over 80 seriously wounded, casualties that amounted to about 15 percent of her complement.

One of those nursing a life-changing injury was LT Leonid Vasilyevich Larionov, the battleship’s junior navigator. Entering the service in 1901 and cutting his teeth on the cruisers Africa and Abrek, Larionov was at his battle station in the conning tower of Orel during the fight. Wounded seriously in the head, he persevered. He had managed to destroy the battleship’s sensitive papers before reaching Japan, keeping one of her logbooks hidden on his person. In captivity, he carefully began the task of reconstructing the ship’s brief history.

Knocked out by Japanese shrapnel while in command of the left bow 6-inch turret, LT Konstantin Petrovich Slavinsky later reported:

At about 3 o’clock I felt a strong blow to the tower, my eyes were blinded by the explosion on the roof, I was thrown from the command platform and lost consciousness. When I came to, I saw that I was lying on the floor of the tower, there was blood all around, a stream of which was flowing from my forehead, the gunners were trying to lift me up and arguing whether I was killed or just wounded. Having forbidden them to see me off, I got to the operations point with the help of the porters, where they bandaged two deep wounds to my head and a knocked out left eye, after which I was placed in a room in front of the operations point, where I again lost consciousness from severe pain.

Slavinsky recovered enough to help lead firefighting efforts until knocked unconscious by another shell. He spent three months in a Japanese hospital in Maizuru, wearing an eyepatch for the rest of his life.

Orel survived some serious damage. Some reports contend she had 76 hits (five from 12-inch shells, two from 10-inch, nine from 8-inch, 39 from 6-inch, and 21 from smaller shells). Russian sources, namely from engineer Vladimir Polievktovich Kostenko of Orel (who helped Novikov-Priboy store his library), cited that the ship suffered more than 140 hits.

New Jersey-born Lloyd Carpenter Griscom, the 33-year-old U.S. Minister to Japan, was able to almost immediately obtain several very detailed images of the captured Russian battlewagon, a vessel considered well-protected at the time. It is known that he passed them on to Teddy Roosevelt personally.

As they showed Russian/German armor (on ships largely designed with help by the French) under the effects of Japanese/British weapons (especally the Shimose powder/cordite filled shells and the new Barr and Stroud FA3 coincidence rangefinders and the Dumaresq, the latter an early mechanical fire control computer), the snaps were surely of great interest to the man who was readying his “Great White Fleet” to circle the globe.

Orel, shortly after her capture by the Japanese in the Battle of Tsushima, 28 May 1905. Japanese photograph, inscribed: “To the Honorable Theodore Roosevelt, from Lloyd C. Griscom.” Farenholt Collection. NH 66272

Orel photographed at Maizuru Navy Yard Japan, on 3 June 1905, following her surrender at the Battle of Tsushima on 28 May 1905. Courtesy of J. Meister collection, 1976. NH 84789

Same as above, NH 84788.

The Russian battleship Orel, shortly after her capture by the Japanese in the Battle of Tsushima, 28 May 1905. Fragment of ship’s forward left twelve-inch gun, which lodged in a signal locker on the starboard side of the bridge. Japanese photograph, inscribed: “To the Honorable Theodore Roosevelt, from Lloyd C. Griscom.” Farenholt Collection. NH 66267

Orel shortly after her capture by the Japanese in the Battle of Tsushima, 28 May 1905. Damages to the shelter deck and boats (overhead). Japanese photograph, inscribed: “To the honorable Theodore Roosevelt, from Lloyd C. Griscom.” Farenholt Collection. NH 66263

Orel, view of port side, looking forward from the after bridge, showing damage to superstructure and boats. Japanese photograph, inscribed: “To the Honorable Theodore Roosevelt, from Lloyd C. Griscom.” Farenholt Collection. NH 66264

Orel, view taken looking into a damaged searchlight on the after bridge. The reflector reverses the view. Notice that the photographer has photographed himself and a Japanese officer. Japanese photograph, inscribed: “To the Honorable Theodore Roosevelt, from Lloyd C. Griscom.” Farenholt Collection. NH 66261

Orel, damage near the port center six-inch turret. Looks like a shell exploded immediately upon impact with this bulkhead. Japanese photograph, inscribed: “To the Honorable Theodore Roosevelt, from Lloyd C. Griscom.” Farenholt Collection. NH 66262

Orel, note the shot holes around the 6-inch gun turret. Japanese photograph, inscribed: “To the Honorable Theodore Roosevelt, from Lloyd C. Griscom.” Farenholt Collection. NH 66270

Orel, damage near 47mm (3-pounder) quick-firing gun, port side of the fore bridge. Japanese photograph, inscribed: “To the Honorable Theodore Roosevelt, from Lloyd C. Griscom.” Farenholt Collection. NH 66265

Orel, fore 12-inch turret of the Russian battleship OREL, shortly after she was captured by the Japanese in the Battle of Tsushima, 28 May 1905. The muzzle of the damaged twelve-inch gun was carried bodily to the starboard side of the bridge, and lodged in a signal locker. A Japanese sailor is in the foreground, standing guard. Japanese photograph, inscribed: “To the Honorable Theodore Roosevelt, from Lloyd C. Griscom.” Farenholt Collection. NH 66269

Orel, damaged 12-inch gun of the fore turret of the Russian battleship OREL, shortly after she was captured by the Japanese in the Battle of Tsushima, 28 May 1905. This photograph graphically illustrates the construction of a “built up” gun. Japanese photograph, inscribed: “To the Honorable Theodore Roosevelt, from Lloyd C. Griscom.” Farenholt Collection. NH 66268

Orel, damage to fore port 6-inch turret and the deck. A 12-inch shell exploded on impact at the turret base. Notice the immense force of this Japanese shell, which exploded on impact, without penetration. The downward explosive force burst in the deck, and the upward force cut a wide piece out of the turret from top to bottom. Japanese photograph, inscribed: “To the Honorable Theodore Roosevelt, from Lloyd C. Griscom.” Farenholt Collection. NH 66266

The photos were likely widespread in Japan at the time, as one of Orel’s senior signalmen, one V.P. Zefirov, who filled at least three journals with drawings during his captivity in Japan (preserved in Russian archives), depicted several in his work.

Rebirth

By far the most powerful Russian warship captured at Tsushima, Orel was an important trophy. Further, unlike the Tsar’s ships salvaged from the mud of Port Arthur, her crew did not have extensive opportunity (and will) to wreck her.

Renamed Iwami on 6 June 1905 after a traditional feudal province, now the western part of Shimane Prefecture, the former Russian battlewagon was presented a statue of Umashimachi as the guardian deity of the ship by Mononobe Shrine in Oda City. The Japanese also renamed the other four captured Russian warships from Tsushima on the same day, with Imperator Nikolai I renamed the battleship Iki, Admiral Senyavin renamed the coastal defense ship Mishima, General Admiral Apraksin dubbed the coastal defense ship Okishima, and the destroyer Bedovy renamed the destroyer Satsuki.

This set up Orel for an extensive 29-month reconstruction which saw her French Bellville boilers replaced by Japanese-built Miyabara boilers, her superstructure and funnels rebuilt lower to help change her overloading, and her armament greatly modified. Retaining her Russian 12-inchers (the Japanese had a quantity of shells and replacement guns captured at Port Arthur), new gun tubes were later ordered from the Muroran Works of the Japan Steel Works.

Her heavy twin 6-inch turrets were placed by single 8″/45 Armstrong guns in deck mounts as used in the cruiser Takasago, further saving weight. Her 3″/48 Canet guns were landed, replaced by fewer Japanese Type 41 guns of the same caliber. Likewise, her 47/40 Hotchkiss and 37/20 Hotchkiss light guns were removed, replaced by a smaller number of Yamauchi-type 47mm guns. Even two of her four torpedo tubes were removed, saving only her twin submerged beam tubes, which were upgraded from 381mm to 450mm. The above-water torpedo tubes at the bow and stern were eliminated.

Emerging from the Kure Naval Arsenal on 26 November 1907, at the time, Iwami was the newest battleship in the Imperial Japanese Navy’s fleet at the time, excluding the two new Vickers-built Katori-class battleships, which were only slightly larger and only delivered in May 1906.

Battleship Iwami, 2 November 190,7 Kure via Kure Maritime Museum

Assigned to the 1st Fleet, Iwami was rated a first-class battleship and saw serious service with the Japanese fleet for the next five years, only re-rated to a second-class coastal defense ship in 1912 after the two 20,000-ton Satsuma-class and two 21,000-ton Kawachi-class dreadnoughts were completed under the 1907 Warship Supplement Program.

The U.S. Navy, keeping tabs on the Emperors’ increasingly suspect fleet from 1905 onward, dutifully photographed every Japanese warship when encountered in the region. Cataloged by the Office of Naval Intelligence, this left a ton of photos in the NHHC’s files.

Iwami. Starboard beam view taken between 1907 and 1914. Received in archives from ONI, 1935. NH 45832

Iwami photographed in a Japanese port, probably shortly before 1914. The battleship Settsu (1911-1947) is partly visible in left background. Courtesy of Mr. Tom Stribling, 1987. NH 101762

Another War

When the Great War began, Japan, an ally of Britain, jumped at the chance to gobble up German colonies in the Pacific. Iwami helped in this task, joining in the reduction and capture of the Kaiser’s treaty port in China.

Added to the VADM Kato Sadakichi’s Second Fleet, from September to November 1914, Iwami was exclusively engaged in bombardment of the artillery batteries in the Tsingtao (Qingdao) area, adding her 12- and 8-inch shells to the more than 43,000 fired into the German positions during the siege. As Sadakichi’s force was made up primarily of cruisers (Tokiwa, Tone, Chitose, Akashi, Niitaka, Otoha, Kasagi, and Yakumo) and destroyers, Iwami was an important asset.

British Major-General Nathaniel Barnardiston next to a wrecked gun at Fort C, Tsingtao, November 1914. Barnardiston commanded the 1,500 British troops (2nd Battalion The South Wales Borderers and a detachment of the 36th Sikhs) sent to assist the 20,000 Japanese soldiers under General Kamio Mitsuomi in capturing Germany’s naval base at Tsingtao (Qingdao) in China. The port fell to the Allies on 7 November 1914. NAM. 1969-06-31-53

Allied troops inside one of Tsingtao’s forts, November 1914. The German naval base of Tsingtao (Qingdao) in China was captured by the Allies on 7 November 1914 following a two-month siege. Around 4,700 Germans were captured and sent to Japan for internment. NAM. 1992-08-139-21

Battleship Iwami, December 26 1915, Kure Arsenal

Spending the rest of the war on duty in Japanese home waters, Iwami was tapped for an ironic mission on 9 January 1918 when she received orders to leave Kure as part of the 5th Squadron, with the battleship Ashai under RADM Kato Kanji, bound for Vladivostok, where the newly-formed Bolshevik government was in charge.

Her marines and armed naval infantry spearheaded the seizure of the port on 6 April, and Iwami would remain in Russian waters for most of the next four years until the final Japanese withdrawal.

Japanese marines in a parade of Allied forces in Vladivostok before French and American sailors 1918

Japanese marines in a parade of Allied forces in Vladivostok before French and American sailors, 1918

Vladivostok, circa 1918-1919, during the Russian Intervention Operations. Ships in harbor include Suffolk (British cruiser, 1903); Iwami (Japanese Battleship, 1902); and Ashai (Japanese Battleship, 1902); NH 50290

Iwami Saihaku Incident 1918, with American officers aboard Iwami. National Diet Image 966644_0019

Battleship IJN Iwami anchored in Vladivostok, winter of 1921 22

With the Japanese evacuation from Russia, Iwami was removed from the fleet list in September 1922.

The following May, she was ordered disarmed and prepped, along with the old battleships Aki and Satsuma, the unfinished Tosa, and the Hizen (former Russian battleship Retvizan, salvaged from Port Arthur) for use as target ships in line with the naval limits of the Washington Conference of 1921–22.

Former Russian battleship Orel as Iwami floating target with a Tikuma-class light cruiser

In July 1924, the ships were used for the Japanese equivalent of Billy Mitchell’s Virginia Capes experiment in airpower, subjected to bomb runs from aircraft from the carrier Hosho, Navy H-450 and F-5 flying boats, and land-based Army T2 bombers. Heavily damaged over two days, Iwami slipped under the waves near Jogashima on 9 July.

Epilogue

Iwami’s armament outlived her, with her Armstrong guns emplaced in the coastal defenses around Tokyo Bay and on Iki Island in the Strait of Tsushima (what irony).

One of her Russian 12-inch guns was installed vertically in the schoolyard of Iwataki Elementary School in Yosano, Kyoto, in 1927, where it remains, surrounded by inert shells.

The statue of Umashimachi carried by Iwami from 1905 through 1922 was returned to the Mononobe Shrine in Oda City, where it remains today.

bronze statue of Umashide no Mikoto Mononobe Shrine Oda City. Photo by Professor Jun Kuno.

In Japanese service, her skippers included several officers who went on to lead the fleet in the 1920s and 30s, including Admiral Baron Sadakichi Kato, and vice admirals Kumazo Shirane, Ishibashi Hajime, and Yoshita Masaki. Kato had an outsized influence on Japanese naval thinking, advocating a “big-ship, big-gun doctrine” that ultimately led to the construction of the super battleships of the Yamato class.

As for Orel’s Russian crew that rode her into captivity, Capt. Shvede, the XO who was in command when she surrendered, was court-martialled when he returned to Russia in 1906. Acquitted as he was following RADM Nebogatov’s orders, he never did command another ship at sea, although he did continue in shoreside service until 1917. He passed in 1933.

The revolutionary Novikov-Priboy would become a noted writer under Soviet rule– after penning scathing essays on the loss of his ship and the Russian fleet at Tsushima, which sent him into exile in Western Europe until 1913. Serving on hospital trains along the Eastern Front during the Great War, his fame grew under Stalin with the publication of the rather spicy novel “Tsushima,” which saw seven printings. During WWII, he wrote numerous patriotic articles about the Red Banner fleet, having found his patriotism. He passed in 1944, aged 67.

The good LT Larionov, who saved Orel’s logs, recovered from his wounds while in Japanese custody, then returned home and served on the Naval Staff. Commanding the minelayer Neva during the Great War, he fell in with the Reds post-Revolution, then worked as a historian in the Central Naval Museum in Leningrad, compiling the official history of Tsushima and Orel. His shoulder straps that he wore in the battle are on display in the Peter the Great Naval History Museum.

Larionov died during the siege of Leningrad in WWII, aged 59, but his shoulder straps and compiled history of the Russo-Japanese War endure.

LT Slavinsky, who gave his eye to the service, returned to naval service and by early 1918 was a captain in the Volga-Caspian Flotilla. Post-war, he was tossed into a Red prison for three years. Released in 1923, he worked as an engineer in Soviet shipyard concerns until 1930, when he was arrested on charges of “espionage” during the Gulag Archipelago phase of Soviet history. Sentenced to 10 years at hard labor, he was released in 1940 and died in exile in remote Syktyvkar, some 500 miles north of Moscow.

Since 1905, the Russians have recycled the name Orel several times. This included an auxiliary cruiser in the Siberian Flotilla during the Great War and being attached to at least two CVN projects (Project 1153 and 1160) in the late 1960s – early 1970s that never left the drawing board.

Since 1993, a Project 949A Antey-class (NATO “Oscar II”) SSBN, (K-266) has carried the name Orel as part of the 11th Submarine Division of the Northern Fleet of the Russian Navy.

Orel, Murmansk, April 2017

Meminisse est ad Vivificandum – To Remember is to Keep Alive

***

Ships are more than steel
and wood
And heart of burning coal,
For those who sail upon
them know
That some ships have a
soul.

***

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Warship Wednesday, May 21, 2025:  Mess with the Goat, You Get the Horns

Here at LSOZI, we take off every Wednesday for a look at the old steam/diesel navies of the 1833-1954 period and will profile a different ship each week. These ships have a life, a tale all their own, which sometimes takes them to the strangest places.- Christopher Eger

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Warship Wednesday, May 21, 2025:  Mess with the Goat, You Get the Horns

Swedish Marinmuseum photo MM01624

Above, we see a trio of happy ratings (Besättningsmen) aboard the unique Flygplanskryssare (aircraft cruiser) HSwMS Gotland, likely in the late 1930s. One of the warship’s Bofors 6″/55 guns makes a cameo in the upper left corner. Behind the Swedish bluejackets are at least four Hawker Osprey S9 scout floatplanes with room on the rails to spare, showing that Gotland was no ordinary cruiser.

While Sweden often gets written off for its impact during WWII, the country, particularly this ship, made a key difference that made history some 84 years ago this week.

Meet Gotland

Our subject came about following the increased use of aircraft by the Swedish Navy in their summer maneuvers in 1925, which pointed to the dire need for a persistent seagoing aircraft carrier/tender of sorts.

From the 1926 report (mechanically translated):

The air forces assigned to an operating naval force now appear to be an indispensable, fully integrated part of the naval force, and numerous experiences from our fleet’s annually recurring exercises show that the air force’s participation in naval operations cannot be limited to sporadic engagements, but must be permanent and immediate.

As a stopgap, the old 3,600-ton coastal battleship Dristigheten was refitted as a seaplane carrier (flygmoderfaryget). With this conversion, she lost her big guns (two 210mm/44cal. Bofors M/1898s and six 152mm/44cal. Bofors M/98s) as well as her two torpedo tubes, trading them in for a few smaller caliber AAAs and the capability to handle as many as four floatplanes as well as tend small craft such as patrol boats and coastal gunboats. Her magazine space was largely converted to avgas bunkerage.

Dristigheten as seaplane tender

Dristigheten as seaplane tender

The Swedish Navy’s Marinens Flygväsende (MFV) at the time flew a host of early Friedrichshafen and Hansa models with Dristigheten lifting these reconnaissance seaplanes from her deck to take off on the water and retrieving them from the drink on their return. In her later years, she carried Heinkel HD 16/19s.

A more permanent fix would be preferable for two ships intended from the keel up to support aircraft. That’s where Gotland and her unrealized sister came in.

Gotland was designed to be a Swiss Army knife of sorts, carrying both a decent main battery, torpedo tubes, extensive aviation facilities meant to support a squadron of up to a dozen aircraft, as well as both minesweeping and minelaying gear. Her original plan was of a 5,600-ton, 460-foot hybrid aviation cruiser that included six 6-inch guns in three twin turrets, two forward and one rear, as well as two catapults and a rear hangar/aviation deck. It was also thought she would be able to run at up to 29 knots.

The original Gotland concept, as depicted in the 1929 Jane’s.

However, money being tight, the design was shortchanged, still with a six-gun main battery but with two of those carried in antiquated casemate mounts (this in the 1930s!). Also, she would not have a hangar, would only carry one catapult, and while able to carry 12 aircraft in theory, the government only allotted enough funds for six. She also shrank some 34 feet in length and lost a corresponding 340 tons in weight.

Correspondingly, using an upgraded form of the 24,000 shp machinery used by the Swedish 36-knot Ehrenskold-class destroyers (four oil-fired Penhoet boilers up from three Thornycroft boilers, in both cases supplying steam to two De Laval steam turbines), Gotland could make 27.5 knots on her 33,000 shp plant. Armor was just a slight smear over the machinery, turrets, and conning tower, generally just at or over 1 inch of steel.

Jane’s 1931. What a difference two years make.

A postcard of the new Gotland is seen in exceptionally clean condition with a single Osprey on her flight deck. D 14983:38

Postcard showing the new aircraft cruiser in fleet operations with a bone in her teeth. The three aircraft in tight formation look to be added to the photo. B132:8

Gotland showing off her Bofors 6″/55 with two guns shown left foreground in one of her high-angle turrets and one of her two casemated variants seen to the right background. She was the only non-American ship (Omaha class cruisers) of the age to have some of her main guns in casemates, with every other navy relegating the secondary guns to such use. Also note the paravane, one of at least four carried. I669

Her stern 6″/55 Bofors gun house. The crew is gathered on deck to celebrate the ship’s champion rowing team. D 15044:111

One of her twin 75mm /60 Bofors M/28 luftvärnskanon. She carried two such mounts in addition to a light battery of six 25mm Ivakan M/32 guns and four 8mm machine guns. D 15123:4

Like most cruisers of her era, she also carried a decent torpedo battery consisting of two trainable triple M/34 533mm tubes on turnstiles.

A set of Gotland’s torpedo tubes being fired during her long 1937-38 voyage. MM11659:28

She had a smoke generator (Dimbildning) equipment of the sort traditionally seen on smaller craft such as torpedo boats, seen her in action off her stern. MM01622

She was also equipped with extensive minesweeping gear, including four large paravanes, stored on the deck forward of the superstructure.

The crew of the aircraft cruiser Gotland runs around a windlass to pull up the ship’s anchors the old-fashioned way. Note a large paravane on deck. D 15044_70

When it came to her aviation operations, her aircraft were launched via an onboard catapult firing process (katapultskjutning) and recovered via crane. While her initial theory was that she would carry 12 aircraft in a hangar, this was deleted for cost reasons, and all storage and maintenance were done on an open deck, although a complicated canvas awning system could be installed if needed. It soon proved that she could only store five aircraft and use her catapult at the same time, which ironically made six aircraft the magic number anyway.

The aircraft of choice was a special version of the Hawker Osprey floatplane (the British Fleet Air Arm used 124 of the type), termed the Spaningsflygplan (reconnaissance aircraft) 9 in Swedish service. This made sense as the Swedes already had 42 Hawker Harts, which were essentially the same plane but without floats, used as light bombers. Sent to Stockholm in kits, they were outfitted with Swedish NOHAB (licensed-built Bristol Pegasus IM2) My VI 9-cylinder 600 hp engines rather than the standard 630 hp Rolls-Royce Kestrel.

Similarly, while British variants carried a synchronized forward-firing Vickers and a flexible Lewis gun for the observer, the S9 had a Swedish 8mm Flygplankulspruta ksp m/22Fh (Carl Gustaf made FN-licensed air-cooled M1919 Browning) fixed with 500 rounds while the back seater had a flex variant of the same gun, the ksp m/22R. Speed was about 140 knots while range was only about 400nm. In a pinch, 500 pounds of bombs could be carried underwing.

The Swedish Air Force ordered a grand total of six S9 Hawker Osprey, which were given reg no. 401 to 406; the picture shows machine no. 403 ashore on float dollies with her wings folded. The planes were delivered from 1934 and were mainly stationed at Hägernäs when not aboard the aircraft cruiser Gotland. Land-based after 1942, S9s served until 1947 when they were retired, seeing late life service as target tugs. Fo220033

Gotland in the summer of 1938, showing her deck full of Hawker Osprey S9s. MM01503

A Hawker Osprey S 9 seaplane aboard Gotland with its wings stowed, summer 1935. D 15044:62

An S9 ready to go on a crossbeam catapult (katapulten) in the summer of 1935. Note the stern 6″/55 guns are raised at the maximum elevation to allow a clear path. D 15044:63

Another great Hawker Osprey S 9 motif, showing one aircraft on the catapult with crew aboard, ready to go while a second aircraft is stowed to the left. D 15123:3

An engineering petty officer on Gotland’s catapult (katapulten) control stand. MM01623

Catapult in action with an S9 humming off for a sortie. MM01626

Boom! D 15044:66

Recovering an S9 via crane. Note the large ensign on her bow and her open second deck, which had rails and chutes for 100 sea mines. B133:3

The aircraft could be shuttled around the handling deck via a rail system that interfaced with the floats.

A good view in the summer of 1935 showing an S-9 being readied to catapult off Gotland, with the rail system on display in the foreground. D 15044:61

Gotland at quay with her crew’s hammocks (hängmattor) drying in the breeze, summer 1935. You also get an unobstructed view of her forward casemated 6″/55 Bofors. Of note, her enlisted and petty officers were housed in the aft of the ship while officers were housed in single and double cabins forward, the reverse of most warships. D 15044:58

The aircraft cruiser Gotland at the Mobiliseringskajen (mobilization quay) at the Karlskrona naval base. I668

Laid down at Lindholmen, Göteborg/Götaverken, in 1930, our subject launched on 14 September 1933, christened by Crown Prince Gustav Adolf (later King Gustav VI). She was only the second Swedish warship to carry the name, with the first being a circa 1682 50-gun ship of the line that fought at Rügen in 1715.

Swedish aviation cruiser Gotland launched on 14th September 1933

After fitting out and trials, she was commissioned on 14 December 1934.

Her wartime assignment was to lead the modern destroyers of the Kustflottans, or Coastal Fleet, a job well suited as her draft was 18 feet at maximum load but could go as shallow as 15 when light. She would drill with these forces each summer.

Swedish warships in color, 1937 Stockholm Sverige is lead, Drottning Victoria second, then Gotland

Gotland dressed for inspection, summer 1938 Fo87354C

Meanwhile, during peacetime, she was an envoy for the country and a training tool for its fleet, deploying on an annual winter cruise between December and April, to warmer climes down south while the rest of the Swedish Navy was locked into the Baltic by ice.

Equipped with four generators (two diesel and two running off the steam turbines), Gotland had a saltwater evaporator and extensive reefers to allow for overseas cruises. Her endurance at 12 knots was well over 4,000nm.

She completed seven winter cruises before WWII halted such operations.

Gotland visiting Hamburg, December 1935. MM01621

The aircraft cruiser Gotland in Dartmouth in 1936. Perkins, Richard. Maritime Museum Archives/SMTM

Gotland in Bordeaux, late 1930s. Note the S9 on her deck. MM01635

Gotland in glasslike coastal waters, likely in the Baltic during a summer cruise. D 15120:2

War!

When Germany invaded Poland and France and Britain soon joined in what became WWII in September 1939, Gotland was undergoing an overhaul between her summer maneuvers and a planned winter overseas cruise. Rushed to completion, she made ready for war and joined the Kustflottan instead.

It was while serving on Swedish neutrality patrol (neutralitetsvakten) that, just after noon on 20 May 1941, Gotland’s aircraft spotted the new German battlewagon KMS Bismarck and her consort the cruiser Prinz Eugen and a destroyer screen in the Kattegat between Sweden and Norway. Closing to within visual distance an hour later, Gotland shadowed the Teutonic force for two hours and transmitted a report to naval headquarters, stating: “Two large ships, three destroyers, five escort vessels, and 10–12 aircraft passed Marstrand, course 205/20′.”

This report soon made its way to one Captain Henry Mangles Denham, RN, the British naval attaché in Stockholm, who duly transmitted the information to the Admiralty, and thus kicked off the great Hunt for Bismarck. Denham, a gentleman of the first sort who saw service on the battlewagon HMS Agamemnon as a midshipman of 16 in the Dardanelles in the Great War, had been seconded to Naval Intelligence in 1940 and, as you can see, was soon able to establish very good relations with the Swedish secret service. Just a week later, Bismarck was sunk– as was HMS Hood in the process.

The intelligence tip was the highlight of Gotland’s wartime service.

By the winter of 1943-44, it was decided that Gotland would be better suited to continue service as an anti-aircraft cruiser (Luftvärnskryssare) due to the fact that her aircraft were considered obsolete and anything heavier, such as the Saab 17 dive bomber, would need a more advanced catapult as they weighed over 9,000 pounds, over twice as much as the S9 Osprey Hawker.

Removed was all the aviation gear. She then packed on the Bofors AAA guns to include eight 40mm/56 K/60 M32s (6 of them in advanced power-controlled gyrostabilized mounts) and four (2×2) 20mm/63 K/66 M40s.

Postcard of Gotland, post Luftvärnskryssare conversion. B132:10

Looking over Gotland’s stern, post AAA conversion. MM04940

Gotland seen post-AAA conversion in her warpaint. Note the white identifying band to keep Swedish coastal artillery or submarines from lighting her up. Friendly fire isn’t. D 11085:4:64

And another great late war camo shot, circa 1944, this time in profile. IV857

Cold War, and another rebuild

In 1946, Sweden flirted with the idea of a more full-fledged light aircraft carrier/cruiser (hangarkryssare) with a hangar and a flight deck. Running some 8,100 tons (full), the 465-foot craft would be able to carry 20 Vampires backed up by a gun armament of eight 120mm guns in four turrets, 16 40mm guns in eight twin mounts, and 26 20mm guns.

The Swedish 1946 aircraft carrier hangarkryssare concept never got off the drawing board

This never came to pass, and, in the meantime, with the Swedes building two new cruisers, Gotland was relegated to use as the command ship of the Swedish naval academy (Sjostridsskolan) during the summer and returned to her traditional long winter voyages, completing 10 additional cruises after the war.

Gotland pier side in Rotterdam 13 March 1949. Dutch Nationaal Archief Bestanddeelnummer 903-2666

“HM Kr. Gotland, which was my home during the trip around Africa in the winter of 1948-49,” as noted by the photographer, crewman, Ernst Holger Laarson. The picture shows three launches racing while the ship’s crew stands at the railing and watches. On the port side, a steamer is moored. D 15075:2

Crossing the Line, winter 1948-49 cruise. The crew has gathered on deck to await the arrival of King Neptune’s envoy – the running elf (löparnisse) – for the christening of the line aboard the cruiser Gotland. By Ernst Holger Laarson. D 15075:12

Crossing the Line ceremony MM01689

The entire court of King Neptune has gathered for a group photo aboard the cruiser Gotland, winter 1948-49 cruise. By Ernst Holger Laarson. D 15075:16

Crossing Line December 1948 Löjtnant E.B.V. Tornérhjelm MM 14924

Swedish cruiser Gotland, on a visit to Rotterdam in June 1950, in AAA cruiser layout. Dutch Nationaal Archief Bestanddeelnummer 934-7038

Period Kodachrome by David Ingvar. “At sea off Morocco in 1951 with the cruiser Gotland.” Note the casemated guns are still aboard, probably one of the last warships with such an installation. B 1664:90

Looking over her stern, with the ensign flying, circa 1951. Note the ship’s band. Period Kodachrome by David Ingvar. B 1664:63

Ship’s band (Militärmusiker) assembled aft while in port, 1951. Note the heavy winter blues and the snow present on the roofs ashore. Period Kodachrome by David Ingvar. B 1664:67

Armed quarterdeck guard while in Casablanca, 1951. Note the blue winter jumper and cap, white gaiters, and distinctive four-cell SMG magazine pouch for the Husqvarna m/37-39 9mm sub gun. Period Kodachrome by David Ingvar. B 1664:94

Over the winter of 1953-54, she was overhauled and rebuilt for the second time in her career. The refit included radar (a British-supplied Type 293 short-range aerial-search) and triple racks (raketstall) for 103mm Bofors illumination rockets on each side of the 6″/55 gun houses. She also finally lost her casemate guns.

Her 1955 layout, showing clearly her radar fit and 103mm rocket racks on her main gun turrets. KR 3003

Gotland at sea, circa 1955-56. D 15093:4

Gotland’s 1955-56 cruise. D 15093:2

Seen on the pier side, ablaze in electric lights, circa 1955-56. D 15093:50

With the new cruisers added to the fleet and the Swedish Navy strapped for cash and manpower to keep three such vessels active, Gotland, even though she was just overhauled, was laid up in material reserve (materielberedadstand) as the winter of 1956 approached.

Jane’s 1960 entry on the old girl.

On 1 July 1960, she was marked for disposal and sold for scrap two years later.

Epilogue

She is well remembered in her home country. While she was in commission, she carried an extensive art collection and accumulated a series of goodwill relics from overseas port calls during her 17 winter training cruises. These, along with a tremendous number of logs and informal cruise books and ship’s papers, are retained by the Swedish Marinmuseum.

The Marinmuseum also has a wooden 26-inch scale model (Fartygsmodell) of Gotland in her flight cruiser arrangement that was constructed by Arne Åkermark at Europafilm in the 1940s.

MM 20681

They also have a larger 34-inch model made in the 1960s.

MM 25196

Swedish maritime artist Carl Gustaf Ahremark created a great image of the S9 Osprey in domestic service.

The third HSwMS Gotland is the class leader (A19) of a series of advanced AIP diesel-electric subs that joined the fleet in 1996.

Her motto, borrowing from the province of Gotland’s goat coat of arms, is the Latin “Gothus sum, cave cornua, (I’m a Goth, beware of the horns.) Photo: Saab.

As for Captain Henry Mangles Denham, RN, the British naval attaché who passed along Gotland’s report on Bismarck leading to the “release of the hounds,” he remained at his post in Stockholm until 1947, when he retired, capping 32 years of service to the crown. His cloak-and-dagger work in Scandinavia earned him one of the very few CMGs (Companion of the Most Distinguished Order of St Michael and St George) given to naval officers and was also decorated by numerous Allied governments.

After leaving the service, Sir Henry, a keen member of the Royal Cruising Club and the Royal Yacht Squadron, cruised the Mediterranean in his yacht and during this period wrote his many guides to the seas and coasts of the region as well as volumes covering his military service. He passed in 1993, aged 96, leaving behind one son and two daughters.

Meminisse est ad Vivificandum – To Remember is to Keep Alive

 

***

Ships are more than steel
and wood
And heart of burning coal,
For those who sail upon
them know
That some ships have a
soul.

***

If you like this column, please consider joining the International Naval Research Organization (INRO), Publishers of Warship International

They are possibly one of the best sources of naval study, images, and fellowship you can find. http://www.warship.org/membership.htm

The International Naval Research Organization is a non-profit corporation dedicated to the encouragement of the study of naval vessels and their histories, principally in the era of iron and steel warships (about 1860 to date). Its purpose is to provide information and a means of contact for those interested in warships.

With more than 50 years of scholarship, Warship International, the written tome of the INRO, has published hundreds of articles, most of which are unique in their sweep and subject.

PRINT still has its place. If you LOVE warships, you should belong.

I’m a member, so should you be!

Warship Wednesday, May 14, 2025: Apogee

Here at LSOZI, we take off every Wednesday for a look at the old steam/diesel navies of the 1833-1954 period and will profile a different ship each week. These ships have a life, a tale all their own, which sometimes takes them to the strangest places.- Christopher Eger

If you enjoy my always ad-free Warship Wednesday content, you can support it by buying me a cup of joe at https://buymeacoffee.com/lsozi As Henk says: “Warship Coffee – no sugar, just a pinch of salt!”

Warship Wednesday, May 14, 2025: Apogee

Department of the Navy Bureau of Ships photograph, National Archives Identifier 7577927

Above we see the brand new Worcester-class light cruiser USS Roanoke (CL-145) off the Philadelphia Navy Yard on 6 January 1950, the day she left for her first Mediterranean deployment.

Laid down some 80 years ago this week, she was the last American light cruiser commissioned, capping a legacy that started in 1908, and went on to be the next to last all-gun light cruiser decommissioned.

The Worcesters

The Worcester class stemmed from a May 1941 project for BuShips to develop a fast (33 knot) cruiser capable of keeping up with the new classes of fast battleships and aircraft carriers. Designed specifically to splash high-flying enemy bombers, they were to have little in the way of side armor in place of heavily armored decks to withstand bombs while carrying a dozen high-angle 6″/47 DP guns.

However, the long gestation period and wartime experience tweaked this concept a bit.

As detailed by Friedman: 

The Worcester class was designed almost as a platform for the 6-in/47 gun. BuOrd applied the same design concept to an 8-in/55 gun, and the Des Moines class resulted. Both types competed for the tail end of the wartime cruiser program, hull numbers originally scheduled for construction as Clevelands being reordered. Both designs also showed a degree of tactical obsolescence since the missions for which they had been designed were no longer valid at the time of their completion. The Worcester arose from a 1941 demand for a ship capable of defending the fleet against heavy bombers, a role that died as soon as it became obvious that conventional heavy bombers could not hit maneuvering ships from high altitude. The records are far from clear on this point, but it appears that the continuing 6-in/47-gun project kept the cruiser project alive in 1941-43. Ultimately, BuShips justified the very heavy antiaircraft gun as a counter to guided missiles, which the Germans introduced at Salerno in 1943; the old 5-in/25 gun was already obsolete, the 5-in/38 gun barely sufficient; surely something more would be needed for the future.

The Mark 16DP 6″/47s used on the Worcesters were unique.

Whereas the Mark 16 6″/47 was by no means a new gun– the 37 assorted Brooklyn, Cleveland, and Fargo class light cruisers carried them in a variety of triple turrets– the twin high-angle (+78 degree elevation) turrets on our subject class had faster training and elevation rates which, coupled with a 12 round per minute per gun rate of fire, could prove a real threat to high-flying aircraft of the 1940s at anything under 35,000 feet. Plus, there were plans afoot to double that rate of fire to 20-25 rounds per minute per gun by making their loading fully automatic.

The inner workings of the 6″/47 Mk 16 DP mount.

The 6″/47 Mk 16 DP was trialed on the old battlewagon USS Mississippi (AG-128) prior to installation on the Worcesters.

Worcester-class light cruiser USS Roanoke in 1954. Here the after 6″/47 Mk 16 DP main guns and the Mark 27 gun fire control are visible.

With 40mm and 20mm guns seen as outdated with jets on the horizon (the original plan was for 11 quadruple and two twin Bofors for a total of 48 guns, as well as 20 twin 20mm guns), the Worcesters were given 12 dual 3″/50 twin Mark 22 guns in Mark 33 mounts (with a tertiary battery of eight twin Oerlikons). Trainable to 85 degrees elevation, they were good for up to 30,000 feet and could fire 40-50 rounds per minute per gun, allowing the Worcesters to fill the air with 1,200 rounds of 24-pound 3-inch AA VT every 60 seconds.

Bluejackets on USS Roanoke (CL-145) cooling their heels on the starboard 3-inch 50 Mk 33 gun mount blister.

Fire control was via four Mk 56/35 GFCS and six Mk 27s, while they had a quartet of radars (SR-2, SPS-6 2-D air search, SG-6 surface search, and SP-2).

Mark 56 gun fire control system aboard the U.S. Navy light cruiser USS Roanoke (CL-145), in 1956

While the original plan was to concentrate the armor over the decks, this later morphed to a more comprehensive arrangement that ranged from a 1-inch armored box over the deck, 2 inches on the rear of the gun houses and 3 inches on the belt taper to 6.5 inches on the turret sides and 5 inch on the barbettes and the engineering belt. In all, they carried a massive 2,119.7 tons of armor. Compare this to the preceding Cleveland-class light cruisers that only had 1,199 tons of protection.

Although a “light” cruiser class, the Worcesters went 679 feet overall length and hit the scales at 18,300 tons when fully loaded. Compare that to the brooding and infamous Admiral Hipper-class cruisers of the Kriegsmarine that went 665 feet oal and 18,200 tons.

Rather than the 100,000 shp plant on the preceding Cleveland and Fargos, the Worcesters, using four high-pressure (620 psi) Westinghouse boilers and four General Electric geared steam turbines, was able to wring 120,000 shp, which still surpasses the 105,000 shp seen on today’s speedy Arleigh Burke-class destroyers on four gas turbines. The speed was 33 knots, and the range was 8,000 nm at 15.

Originally planned to carry 4 seaplanes with two catapults, this didn’t happen, as we shall see.

Ten Worcesters were planned (to start) with the first four (Worcester-Roanoke-Vallejo-Gary) ordered from New York Shipbuilding Corporation as Yard Nos. 465, 466, 467, and 468, respectively.

Meet Roanoke

Our subject is at least the fifth U.S. Navy warship named after the Virginia city and river system.

The first was a circa 1855 steam frigate that was converted to an oddball triple turret ironclad during the Civil War.

Steam frigate USS Roanoke, brig of war USS Dolphin, and new buildings at Charlestown Navy Yard, Massachusetts, possibly 1861. 80-G-424917

USS Roanoke (1857-1883). Lithograph depicting the ship during the final stages of her conversion from a steam frigate to a triple-turret ironclad, at Novelty Iron Works, New York City, circa the first half of 1863. The original drawing of the scene was done by G. Hayward for “Valentine’s Manual”, 1863. Note the large derrick on the left and the Novelty Works’ building on the right. LC-USZ62-24408

The second USS Roanoke (ID # 1695) was a civilian vessel taken up for service as a dazzle-painted mine layer in the Great War and disposed of shortly after.

U.S. Navy Mine Layers. Steaming in line abreast during the laying of the North Sea mine barrage, September 1918. Analysis of camouflage patterns indicates that these ships are (from front to rear): USS Roanoke (ID # 1695); USS Housatonic (ID # 1697); USS Shawmut (ID # 1255); USS Canandaigua (ID # 1694); USS Canonicus (ID # 1696); with USS Quinnebaug (ID # 1687) and USS Saranac (ID # 1702) in the left and right center distance. A four-stack British cruiser is in the distance. NHHC Photograph Collection: NH 61101.

The third and fourth Roanokes, a frigate (PF-93) and light cruiser (CL-114) respectively, never sailed under the name, with the escort joining the fleet briefly as USS Lorain while the cruiser was canceled before her first steel was cut.

Whereas late-war Cleveland-class light cruisers were constructed in as little as 16 months, it was immediately evident that the Worcesters were not going to be finished before Berlin and Tokyo fell, and their construction stretched out.

Worcester Class Light AA Cruiser USS Roanoke New York Shipbuilding Corp Shipyard July 1, 1948

Worcester Class Light AA Cruiser USS Roanoke New York Shipbuilding Corp July 1, 1948

USS Roanoke (CL-145) nearing completion, January 1949

Roanoke was laid down on 15 May 1945, just a week after VE-Day. She only launched on 16 June 1947 and, at the time, was NYSB’s last wartime vessel under construction, with sisters Vallejo and Gary canceled in 1945.

“The USS Roanoke, last naval vessel presently under contract at the New York Shipbuilding Corporation, was launched today. The 14,700-ton light cruiser went down the ways of the Camden yard at 12:18 P.M., after being christened by Miss Julia Ann Henebry, daughter of Leo P. Henebry, former mayor of Roanoke Va. Miss Henebry’s maid of honor was Miss Margaret Donnell Smith, daughter of R. H. Smith, president of the Norfolk & Western Railway.” Temple University Libraries, Special Collections Research Center P563088B

“Down the ways and into the Delaware River goes the USS Roanoke at the launching yesterday at the New York Shipbuilding Corp., Camden. Workmen watch as the cruiser nears the water.” George D. McDowell, Philadelphia Evening Bulletin Photographs. Temple University P563087B

Roanoke only completed fitting out and was commissioned on 4 April 1949, capping just under four years of construction. As it was, the brand new NYSB-built Fargo-class cruisers USS Fargo (CL-106) and Huntington (CL-107) were decommissioned just weeks after to balance the scales of the new Worcesters joining the fleet.

The future USS Roanoke (CL-145) “off the bow” at Philadelphia Naval Shipyard 29 March 1949, just prior to commissioning. NARA 19-NN-CL 145 Roanoke-1354877

Jane’s 1960 Worcester class listing. Some of the specifics are incorrect.

Cold War!

Following shakedown in the Caribbean, Roanoke conducted maneuvers in the Atlantic as a unit of the shrinking Battleship-Cruiser Force before she got underway to join the 6th Fleet in the Mediterranean for her first deployment on 6 January 1950.

USS Roanoke (CL 145) January 6, 1950 NARA 19-NN-CL 145 Roanoke-1354889

USS Roanoke (CL 145) January 6, 1950 NARA 19-NN-CL 145 Roanoke-1354894

USS Roanoke (CL 145) January 6, 1950 NARA 19-NN-CL 145 Roanoke-1354890

USS Roanoke (CL-145) underway at slow speed, circa the early 1950s. Note the ship’s crew at quarters, her call sign NIQE flying at the port yardarm, a motor whaleboat off her port side amidships, and the lighthouse on the tip of the jetty in the background. NH 106501

USS Roanoke (CL-145) underway off the Philadelphia Naval Shipyard, January 6, 1950. Note the automobiles and the Sikorsky HO3S helicopter on the fantail.

The U.S. Navy light cruiser USS Roanoke (CL-145) at anchor off Famagusta, Cyprus, on 22 February 1950. The ship is dressed for Washington’s Birthday.

She would continue this tempo, conducting six Med deployments with the 6th Fleet over the next five years.

USS Newport News (CA 148); USS Roanoke (CL 145), and USS Columbus (CA 74) at Naples, Italy. Mt. Vesuvius is in the background. Photograph released February 9, 1951. 80-G-426897

Same as above 80-G-426898

Same as above 80-G-426896

When not cruising the Med, Roanoke would continue to drill in exercises in the Western Atlantic and carry midshipmen on training cruises to the Caribbean.

Mids on USS Roanoke (CL-145) stand in formation, 1949-1958. Marquette University MUA_013485

An unidentified Navy ROTC student pets a cheetah, presumably while on a summer cruise with the USS Roanoke (CL-145), 1949-1958. Marquette University MUA_013496

In the fall of 1955, she landed her 20mm guns and older SG-6 and SP-2 radars, replaced by SPS-10 and SPS-8. They were also fitted for more extensive helicopter operations.

Her rigging arrangement post-refit:

On 22 September 1955, Roanoke departed Norfolk for her new homeport in Long Beach, via the Panama Canal. While in California, she conducted nine Naval Reserve cruises and deployed to the WestPac twice (May to December 1956 and September to October 1958).

Naval Reservists undergoing inspection with on active duty on deck of USS Roanoke (CL-145), 2 August 1956. Note the helicopter silhouette. 80-G-692014

A U.S. Navy Piasecki HUP Retriever landing aboard the light cruiser USS Roanoke (CL-145), in 1956.

USS Roanoke (CL-145) at Sasebo, Japan, circa 1956.

With the battleships gone and the cruisers going, the writing was on the wall for these obsolete all-gunned warships in the atomic era.

Roanoke was decommissioned on Halloween 1958. Her active career lasted just 9 years, 6 months, and 27 days.

Still new enough to be reactivated if needed, she was assigned to the Pacific Reserve Fleet at Mare Island, where, along with her sister, she was preserved and placed in mothballs.

It should be noted that she was only outlived by seven all-gun heavy cruisers: USS Des Moines, Salem, Newport News, Saint Paul, Toledo, Macon, and Bremerton, although it should be noted that the latter three were decommissioned shortly after the Worcesters in 1960-61.

USS Worcester (CL 144) arrives at Pier 23, Mare Island Naval Shipyard on 26 May 1959 for inactivation. The stern of the USS Roanoke (CL 145) is to the right. YTB 268 Red Cloud is on the cruiser’s starboard bow.

Sisters USS Worcester (CL-144) and USS Roanoke (CL-145) at Pier 23, Mare Island Naval Shipyard, 26 May 1959, with guns covered for mothball preservation.

Mare Island Naval Shipyard, California, view of Berths 21 through 24, looking northwest, 12 July 1960, showing Pacific Reserve Fleet and other ships. Those present include (from bottom): Two Cleveland-class light cruisers, USS Roanoke (CL-145), USS Worcester (CL-144), another Cleveland-class light cruiser, USS Lyman K. Swenson (DD-729) undergoing FRAM II modernization, two auxiliaries, and a destroyer receiving a FRAM I modernization. Courtesy of Stephen S. Roberts, 1978. NH 88082

Puget Sound Naval Shipyard. Ships laid up in reserve at Bremerton, 19 March 1970. They are, from left to right: USS Fort Marion (LSD-22), USS Missouri (BB-63), USS Roanoke (CL-145), and USS Worcester (CL-144). USN 1143678

Stricken 1 December 1970 after 12 years in reserve (a period longer than her active career), Roanoke was sold for scrap to Levin Metals Corporation of San Jose, California, on 22 February 1972.

Roanoke didn’t get to fire a shot in anger, coming too late for WWII and deployed to Europe to hold the line against the Russkis during Korea, but she did serve as the breeding ground for the Navy’s future admirals. Of her 11 skippers, seven would earn stars, including two who would reach VADM rank- John Louis Chew (USNA ’31) and Harold Thomas Deutermann (USNA ’27).

Epilogue

She is remembered in maritime art by Wayne Scarpaci.

A painting of USS Roanoke (CL 145) entering San Francisco Bay in 1957 by artist Wayne Scarpaci. The title of the painting is “Summer Fog,” via Navsource.

A surprising amount of Roanoke is preserved.

Her bell can be seen on display outside Elmwood Park at the Roanoke Public Library.

A large scale model of Roanoke is on display in the Virginia Museum of Transportation, Roanoke, Virginia

The National Archives holds an extensive collection of photographs as well as her deck logs.

As part of their scrapping process, at least 200 tons of armor plate from both Worcester and Roanoke were put to use at the Fermi National Accelerator Laboratory, where some no doubt is still catching particles.

The Navy recycled her name for a 40,000-ton Wichita-class replenishment oiler, (AOR-7), which joined the fleet in 1976 and served for 19 years then was laid up at Suisun Bay with the thawing of the Cold War. She was scrapped in 2012.

A port bow view of the replenishment oiler USS Roanoke (AOR-7) participating in an underway replenishment operation with the nuclear-powered aircraft carrier USS Carl Vinson (CVN-70) during RIMPAC ’86, 17 June 1986. The Australian frigate HMAS Darwin (F-04) is on the starboard side of the Roanoke. PH2 Galaviz. NARA DN-SC-87-02027

It’s probably time that the Navy commissioned a seventh Roanoke.

Meminisse est ad Vivificandum – To Remember is to Keep Alive

***

Ships are more than steel

and wood

And heart of burning coal,

For those who sail upon

them know

That some ships have a

soul.

***

If you liked this column, please consider joining the International Naval Research Organization (INRO), Publishers of Warship International.

They are one of the best sources of naval study, images, and fellowship you can find. http://www.warship.org/membership.htm

The International Naval Research Organization is a non-profit corporation dedicated to the encouragement of the study of naval vessels and their histories, principally in the era of iron and steel warships (about 1860 to date). Its purpose is to provide information and a means of contact for those interested in warships.

With more than 50 years of scholarship, Warship International, the written tome of the INRO has published hundreds of articles, most of which are unique in their sweep and subject.

PRINT still has its place. If you LOVE warships y,ou should belong.

I’m a member, so should you be!

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