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Warship Wednesday, May 7, 2025: Ray of Hope

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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 7, 2025: Ray of Hope

Photo by CDR Gerald Durbin of Shangri-La (CVA-38) via Bob Canchola, via Navsource.

Above we see the Gato-class fleet boat turned submarine radar-picket USS Ray (SSR-271) in Hong Kong Harbor while on her way home from her 1956 6th Fleet deployment. During WWII, she was a menace to the emperor’s fleet, running up a tally of 155,171 tons across eight war patrols.

However, she was also one of the most impressive lifesavers of the conflict.

The Gatos

The 77 Gatos were cranked out by four shipyards from 1940 to 1944 for the U.S. Navy. They were impressive 311-foot-long fleet boats, diesel-electric submarines capable of extended operations in the far reaches of the Pacific. Able to swim an impressive 11,000 nautical miles on their economical power plant while still having room for 24 (often cranky) torpedoes.

A 3-inch deck gun served for surface action in poking holes in vessels deemed not worth a torpedo while a few .50 and .30-cal machine guns provided the illusion of an anti-aircraft armament. Developed from the Tambor-class submarines, they were the first fleet boats able to plumb to 300 feet test depth, then the deepest that U.S. Navy submersibles were rated.

Meet Ray

Our subject is the first U.S. Navy warship named for the flat-bodied, whip-tailed marine cousin of the shark. She was one of the “Manitowoc 28” submarines (10 “thin-skinned” Gatos with a test depth of 300 feet and 18 thicker follow-on Balaos) constructed by the Manitowoc Shipbuilding Company of (wait for it) Manitowoc, Wisconsin between 1942 and 1945.

With all 28, initial sea trials were done in Lake Michigan then the boats were sent down the Mississippi River (via the Chicago Sanitary and Ship Canal, then the Des Plaines and Illinois Rivers to the “Mighty Miss”) to New Orleans, a freshwater trip of just over 2,000 miles, for completion and fitting out.

Gato-class submarine USS Peto (SS-265) side launched at Manitowoc

Laid down 20 July 1942, Ray launched 28 February 1943, just a month after sister USS Raton (SS-270) and a month before USS Redfin (SS-272). Ray’s sponsor was the wife of Capt. Sam Colby Loomis, Sr. (USNA ’02) and mother of then LCDR Sam Loomis, Jr. (USNA ’35), the latter one of the most decorated sub skippers of WWII.

Ray commissioned 27 July 1943 and her plank owner skipper was CDR Brooks Jared Harral (USNA ’32), a New Yorker by way of New Orleans who had learned his trade on the cramped “Sugar Boat” USS S-17 (SS-122) earlier in the war, carrying out seven short war patrols in the Panama and Caribbean area.

Ray on Great Lakes sea trials

After six weeks motoring around Lake Michigan in light conditions in the summer of 1943, she departed the Lakes on 15 August, bound for the Big Easy, where she arrived a short week later, propelled by the Mississippi. Loading stores and torpedoes there, she left for Coco Solo, Panama, on 26 August, then spent five weeks training in those tropical waters for her war in the Pacific.

Deemed ready for combat, she left Baltra Island in the Galapagos on 9 October, bound on a 7,800-mile direct trip for Brisbane.

War!

Arriving in Australia on 30 October 1943– just three months after her Manitowoc commissioning– a fortnight later, Ray departed from Milne Bay, New Guinea for her 1st War Patrol, ordered to stalk Japanese shipping north of the Bismarck Archipelago. For 60 percent of her crew, it was their first war patrol on any submarine.

On the early morning of 26 November, she sank the Japanese army Shinkyo Maru-class auxiliary transport Nikkai Maru (2562 GRT) south-west of Truk, with the vessel breaking apart into three pieces and sinking. For this, Ray suffered her first depth charging in return.

A few hours later, she pressed an attack on a ship of some 10,000 tons and reported a sinking. This could be the 2,700-ton auxiliary water carrier Wayo Maru, which was sailing with Nikkai Maru but arrived at Truk on 28 November with no damage.

In her attacks, Ray expended 10 torpedoes for seven claimed hits, which is rather good for American fish at this stage of the war. Recalled for operational reasons, Ray completed her 1st patrol on 7 December 1943, returning to Milne Bay after covering 7,479 miles in 24 days. She was credited with sinking two freighters of 9,800 tons and 4,500 tons, respectively.

Ray departed Milne Bay on her 2nd War Patrol on 11 December after a three-day turnaround alongside the tender USS Fulton, ordered to patrol in the Banda Sea.

On the overnight of 26/27 December, she stalked, then torpedoed and sank the Japanese fleet tanker Kyoko Maru (5800 GRT, former Dutch Semiramis) in the Tioro Strait 14 miles northwest of Kabaena Island. She broke in two and sank, carrying 41 passengers and crew to the bottom along with 7,500 tons of crude oil cargo.

The six-torpedo attack left a “huge billowing column of orange flames” some 75 feet wide that “mushroomed out like a thunderhead as it rose hundreds of feet in the air.”

From Ray’s patrol report:

On New Year’s Day 1944, Ray celebrated by sinking the Japanese auxiliary gunboat Okuyo Maru (2904 GRT), towing a landing craft some five miles from the mouth of Ambon Bay, with three torpedoes, killing 135 passengers and crew.

Three days later, she attacked two Japanese cargo ships in the Savu Sea just off Timor with four torpedoes, reportedly damaging one of them.

On 12 January, Ray ended her 2nd war patrol at the big Allied sub base at Fremantle, completing 7,007 miles in 46 days. She was given credit for sinking a 10,020-ton AO (Sinkoku type) and a 7,886-ton auxiliary.

Having steamed over 25,000 miles since leaving her builders six months prior, Ray was allowed a full three-week turnaround time before she left on her 3rd War Patrol on 6 February 1944.

Ordered to patrol in the Java and South China Seas, she also carried a cargo of mines to sow off Japanese-occupied Saigon, French Indochina.

Working close to shore, she grounded in the shallows on 17 February but was able to float free with the tide and the next day shrugged off two near-miss bombs dropped from a Japanese Rufe (Nakajima A6M2-N) floatplane. She dodged three more on 24 February.

Coming across a nine-ship convoy on the night of 2/3 March in the South China Sea, she fired four torpedoes, claiming a damaging hit on a 10,000-ton tanker and suffering a “severe” depth-charging in the process.

She ended her patrol back at Fremantle on 27 March after 51 days, covering 10,688 miles.

Her 4th War Patrol started on 23 April, ordered to range south off the Davao Gulf in the Philippines.

Haunted by Japanese land-based Betty bombers (Ray logged 71 aircraft contacts on the patrol), she birddogged several small enemy convoys but couldn’t line up an attack– that was until she found a “well disciplined” large convoy (Convoy H-26) of six escorts (with some emitting radar signals) covering eight Marus and a tanker on the afternoon of 21 May. Just after midnight on 22 May, she had lined up on the largest targets, the Japanese army tanker Kenwa Maru (6384 GRT) and the cargo ship Tempei Maru (6097 GRT), firing six torpedoes that damaged the former and sank the latter. Tempei Maru blew up and went to the bottom with a cargo of rice and gasoline, along with 35 crew and passengers.

The next day, teaming up with sister USS Cero, she sank the freighter Taijun Maru (2825 GRT) carrying a cargo of Daihatsu landing barges.

She made four radar-assisted night attacks on the convoy in all, firing 18 torpedoes in two successful runs, and claimed six kills.

Then she came across a Japanese cruiser task force on the afternoon of 31 May that she continued to track but could not attack for the next two days. However, she did get ineffectively strafed by one of the cruiser’s floatplanes for her efforts.

Wrapping up her 4th War Patrol at Fremantle on 14 June, she was credited with 42,000 tons of shipping, roughly three times what she bagged, but hey, it’s war.

With that, LCDR Harral was pulled from Ray and bumped upstairs to COMSUBPAC staff. In his four patrols on our boat, he had earned the Navy Cross, two Silver Stars, and two Bronze Stars, so it’s safe to say he deserved the promotion.

His replacement was Keystone stater LCDR William Thomas Kinsella (USNA 1935), late of the old (had been laid up in 1931) USS O-8 (SS-69), a training boat out of New London.

Kinsella took the repaired Ray out on her 5th War Patrol (his first) from Fremantle on 9 July, headed to patrol in the South China Sea.

He proved a fast study and sank three Japanese tankers– Jambi Maru (a.k.a. Janbi Maru and Jinbi Maru) (5244 GRT, former Dutch Djambi), Nansei Maru (5878 GRT, former British Pleiodon), and Taketoyo Maru (6964 GRT)– as well as two cargo ships– Koshu Maru (2812 GRT) and Zuisho Maru (5286 GRT) over the next month. The Koshu Maru was a particularly sad footnote, as she was packed with 1,500 Javanese laborers destined to repair the Japanese airfield at Makassar, and 540 other passengers, with most perishing as she disappeared below the surface in just two minutes.

The chase for the unescorted Jambi Maru was almost pyrrhic, with Ray firing 22 torpedoes (!) in six attacks to get eight hits on the tanker– a move that forced the sub to return to Australia mid-patrol to quickly grab more fish and head out for more havoc.

She ended her extraordinarily successful 5th War Patrol at Fremantle on 31 August 1944, completely out of torpedoes (going through 46!), capping 14,237 miles underway in 67 days.

She was credited with four “kills” totaling 36,400 tons.

On 23 September 1944, Ray departed Fremantle to begin her 6th War Patrol, ordered again to the South China Sea where she had been so busy the month before. Setting off for the waters around the Japanese-occupied Philippines with 16 Mk 14-3A torpedoes loaded forward and eight newer Mk 18 electric fish loaded aft, it would be one of her most historic sorties.

On 12 October, she sank the Japanese troop transport Toko Maru (4180 GRT) near Cape Cavalite, Mindoro, and ate 30 depth charges in return.

Two days later, a hatch inadvertently left open while submerging ended up flooding two-thirds of the control room. While she suffered mechanically from this– and was forced to call on the services of the tender USS Orion at Mios Woendi for five days of emergency repairs– she had no casualties.

On 1 November, Ray sank the Japanese coastal tanker Horai Maru No.7 (834 GRT) west of Mindoro, then completed a “special mission,” typically code for landing agents or supplies to resistance groups. Post-war, it was known that this mission saw a landing party sent ashore on the west coast of Mindoro to recover two Naval Aviators that had been shot down during carrier raids and rescued by Filipino insurgents, along with two U.S. Army officers that had been fighting with the guerillas since 1942, and a local escaped political prisoner.

Three days later, operating in a Yankee wolf pack with USS Bream, Guitarro, and Raton, the pack came across Convoy TAMA-31A and shared in sending the big Japanese transport ship Kagu Maru (6806 GRT) to the bottom off Dasol Bay, Philippines, with Ray delivering the coup de grace by blowing off the damaged ship’s bow with two torpedoes.

On 5 November, lookouts from the submarine USS Batfish spotted Japanese Convoy MATA-31, some 15 ships with air cover, heading from Manila to Formosa. The convoy included six freighters, two kaibokan frigates, and five subchasers, while the heavy cruiser Aoba and famed Mogami-class heavy cruiser Kumano were riding along for good measure. Batfish tried to get in an attack on Aoba but came up short. She nonetheless passed on the contact, and Ray’s wolfpack made ready to receive.

Cruiser Kumano, circa Oct 1938, as seen in the U.S. Navy Division of Naval Intelligence’s A503 FM30-50 booklet for identification of ships

The next day, while off Cape Bolinao, Luzon, the four waiting American submarines concentrated on Kumano and would fire an amazing 23 fish at the big 14,000-ton bruiser.

Two hits– one blowing off her bow section and the second flooding her engine rooms– left Kumano dead in the water with an 11-degree list. However, with the swarm of aircraft keeping Ray deep during daylight hours, and the swarm of escorts too tight once she surfaced after dark, Kinsella found himself presented with a dream target– but one he could not claim. Kumano, towed to Dasol Bay by the freighter Doryo Maru, would be finished off in Santa Cruz harbor less than three weeks later by carrier aircraft from USS Ticonderoga.

Operating independently, on 14 November, Ray sank the Japanese corvette Kaibokan CD-7 (745 tons) about 65 nautical miles north-west of Cape Bolinao while the vessel was escorting Convoy MATA-32. She was sent to the bottom with 156 men. The sub followed up on this by sinking the transport Unkai Maru No. 5 (2,841 GRT) from the convoy seven minutes later.

On 19 November, Ray performed lifeguard missions, scooping up Lt. James Arthur Bryce, USNR, of VF-22, from the drink off Cape Bolinao. A young fighter pilot flying from USS Cowpens (CVL-25), his F6F-5 was damaged by anti-aircraft fire while attacking a Japanese convoy. Bryce would pick up a DFC for his actions that day, adding a second one to his salad bar in January 1945 for downing three enemy aircraft in the same sortie. Sadly, this ace (he ended up with 5.25 victories) was killed in an accident soon after.

Ending her 6th War Patrol on 8 December at Pearl Harbor via Midway with a waterlogged Lt. Bryce aboard, Ray covered a lucky 17,777 miles in an exceedingly long 98 days, firing all 16 of her Mk 14-3A torpedoes. She was given credit for 6.5 kills (sharing Kumano) for a total of 35,100 tons.

This brought her running tally sheet to 20.5 kills for 146,206 tons.

Following a much-needed refit and overhaul at Mare Island Navy Yard– which allowed her crew to spend Christmas stateside, Ray only made it back to “the line” in April 1945, at which point she was in a quite different war.

USS Ray, Mare Island 9 March 1945

With Japanese convoys no longer abundant on the high seas, her 7th War Patrol, off Kyushu in Japanese home waters and in the Yellow Sea, would be one of surface engagements against small craft that didn’t rate a torpedo.

Departing Guam on 30 April 1945, she capped this patrol at Midway on 16 June, having traveled 14,463 miles. In that interval, she had made 46 surface contacts in the Yellow Sea, with about a quarter of those being other American submarines patrolling the same area.

The rest were small coasters and trawlers– which she was determined to destroy.

Throughout 21 gun attacks, most at night, she expended 815 rounds of 40mm and 137 rounds of 5-inch, accounting for 19 small craft (two sea trucks, two small patrol boats, 15 four-masted rice schooners) carrying supplies between Japan and Korea for a total of 6,000 tons. She also encountered 24 mines, exploding or sinking most via gunfire.

However, her most important piece of work during this patrol was in two large rescues while spending 11 days on a lifeguard station off Japan. In one week, she pulled aboard 20 aviators, 10 from an Army B-29 and 10 from a Navy PBM Mariner. As noted by COMSUBDIV 141, “This second rescue was a particularly beautiful piece of work, being conducted at night in heavy seas and in close proximity to rocks and shoals.” Ray transferred the rescued crews to USS Lionfish and Pompon and continued her patrol.

In all, 86 American submarines spent 3,272 days on life guard duty during the war, with the bulk of that time (2,739 days) in 1945 when the conflict moved to the Japanese home islands. They rescued 504 men from the sea. Ray was the second most prolific life guard sub with 23 recoveries, just behind USS Tigrone, which had an impressive 52, the latter largely due to spending most of two patrols on such duty.

Ray’s 8th War Patrol, beginning on 11 July 1945, saw the boat leave Subic Bay headed south to the Gulf of Siam, one of the few areas that still had enemy shipping traffic, albeit of the shallow draft kind.

Arriving in the patrol zone, by 2 August, she fought her first surface action in the region– against two junks– with Kinsella noting in his log, “We now have 3 fathoms of water under us. This is indeed poor employment for as valuable a fighting unit as a U.S. submarine, but this is the way we must get our targets nowadays.”

She continued her rampage against the lilliputian shipping on an epic scale. It was a necessary war, as the craft, under Japanese orders, were carrying salt, fish, rice, and sugar to enemy units, all inside the 10-fathom curve.

Case in point: On the morning of 7 August, while patrolling off Lem Chong Pra, she encountered a coaster and, stopping it by ramming, found the vessel with contraband and sank it via boarding party.

Pursuing another small coaster, which beached itself, Ray spotted seven two-masted cargo junks in a hidden cove as well as masts for another 16 vessels (six 250-ton schooners, a 180-ton schooner, 5 75-ton junks, a 50-ton junk, and three 30-ton junks) further down the anchorage. At 1950, on all four engines running on the surface and all deck guns loaded, “With range 2,000 yards and 1 fathom of water under keel, turned right to bring 5-inch gun to bear.” An hour later, after 64 rounds of 5-inch, all 16 of the vessels at the anchorage were sunk or sinking.

To destroy the junks in the hidden cove, just after dusk, a boarding party consisting of a JG and two gunners mates in the sub’s No. 1 rubber boat, loaded with small arms, covered No. 2 rubber boat with the ship’s XO and two torpedo mates with demo gear.

By midnight, all seven junks, floating in just four feet of water, were “burning furiously,” and the away team had been recovered with no casualties, with 40 rounds of 40mm pumped into the illuminated targets for good measure. The sub had destroyed 24 vessels in 24 hours.

On 9 August, having expended almost all of her 5-inch rounds in sinking 35 small craft (totaling 2,915 tons), she was ordered back to Subic Bay.

She covered 12,165 miles in what turned out to be her final war patrol. Ordered stateside with the outbreak of peace, she made Pearl Harbor on 15 September 1945, celebrating VJ Day underway, and left for New London five days later, arriving in Connecticut on 5 October.

She ended the war with an unofficial tally of 75.5 enemy ships sunk (including all the coastal vessels) for a sum of 155,171 claimed tons, later adjusted post-war to a more correct 49,185. She also rescued no less than 23 aviators, laid at least one minefield with unknown results, and conducted two special missions.

USS Ray earned eight Battle Stars across her WWII patrols, along with the Navy Unit Citation and the Philippine Republic Presidential Citation.

Her Jolly Roger, complete with eight battle stars under the submarine insignia, dozens of warships and maru tallies and parachutes for her 13 Naval aviators and 10 Army aircrew rescued

Ray served in a training capacity at New London until 12 February 1947, when she was placed out of commission in reserve.

SSR conversion

The Navy embarked on a series of radar picket conversions to fleet submarines starting just after WWII. This carried across three Project “Migraine” series conversions that saw 10 veteran boats land their guns and torpedoes in exchange for large surface search and height-finding radars.

Of course, this kneecapped the subs for operations as…subs… since they had to lock their radar arrays parallel with the axis of the boat before diving, and they were relegated to 6 knots or less while submerged.

Migraine I: (pre-SCB number) two Tench-class submarines, USS Requin (SS-481) and USS Spinax (SS-489), in which radar panels and electronics took up the space of the rear torpedo room, originally intended to serve in the invasion of Japan in 1946. They still had their forward torpedo room, and the stern tubes could be loaded/reloaded externally and retained their forward deck guns.

Migraine II (SCB 12): belowdecks radar equipment moved to aft battery room, radars moved to masts, and rear torpedo room and two forward torpedo tubes converted to berthing for operators. This limited these boats to just four forward tubes and eight torpedoes. Four subs were converted: Balao-class boat USS Burrfish (SS-312), Tench class USS Tigrone (SS-419), while Spinax and Requin were upgraded. These boats were all redesignated SSR (submarine, radar).

Migraine III (SCB 12A): All six of the boats in this program were “stretched” Manitowoc-built Gatos: USS Pompon (SSR-267), Rasher (SSR-269), Raton (SSR-270), Ray (SSR-271), Redfin (SSR-272), and Rock (SSR-274), with each given a 29-foot hull insert amidships ahead of the main control room to allow a dedicated CIC compartment for the radars. This grew these 312-footers to 341 feet oal and saw the entire sail replaced with an enlarged, more streamlined version. It was also the first SSR conversion to delete all installed deck guns. However, the addition of the CIC “plug” allowed these boats to retain all six of their forward torpedo tubes. They carried a sail-mounted BPS-2 search radar mounted aft of the periscopes, a BPS-3 height finding radar on a pedestal behind the sail, and an AN/URN-3 TACAN beacon on the afterdeck.

The profiles of the three Migraine project generations from the Navy’s ONI 31 sighting guide from 1955:

Redfin (SSR-272) as a radar picket submarine, Migraine III (aka SCB 12A)

In December 1950, Ray was towed from mothballs to the Philadelphia Navy Yard for her Migraine III conversion, and she was recommissioned on 13 August 1952.

She was one of ultimately eight SSR/SSRNs in the Atlantic fleet in the 1950s and made two deployments (1 March to 26 May 1954 and 5 March to 4 June 1956) to the Med under 6th Fleet orders, the rest of her short second career was occupied in a series of fleet exercises and type training.

30 April 1954. USS Ray (SSR-271) acting as a radar picket submarine for USS Randolph (CV-15) during operation “Italic Sky One” in the Mediterranean. 80-G-639551

The SSR was made obsolete by the one-two deployment of the new land-based EC-121 Warning Star in 1954 and the carrier-borne E-1 Tracer in 1958, which could operate from even older Essex-class flattops. 

USS Mauna Kea (AE-22) highlines ammunition to the USS Bennington (CVS-20) in the Gulf of Tonkin the 10 September 1968. Our carrier has nine S-2E Trackers, two E-1B Tracer “Stoof with a Roof” models, and at least four SH-3A Sea Kings on deck. This would be Bennington’s final deployment and would end on 9 November. USN 1137061

With the nature of their conversion rendering them less than ideal for retention as traditional fleet subs, the end of the road was reached.

Ray departed Norfolk on 30 June 1958 and entered the Charleston Navy Yard for inactivation. Placed out of commission in reserve on 30 September 1958, she was struck from the Navy list on 1 April 1960, stripped of anything useful to keep her sisters in service, and her hulk was sold for scrap.

Her unconverted sisters lingered on for a few more years as USNR training boats.

Gato-class submarines Jane’s, 1960

The salvage price for most of the WWII fleet subs sold for scrap during this period was about $35,000 per hull, versus a $4.6 million construction cost.

Epilogue

Ray has a detailed marker as part of the Manitowoc “28 Boat Memorial Walk” at USS Cobia.

U.S.S. Ray (SS 271) Marker

She also has her war history, war patrols, and 1950s deck logs in the National Archives.

As for her two wartime skippers, plank owner Brooks Harral was a submarine division and squadron commander in Panama, Key West, and San Diego before returning to Annapolis, where he served as head of English, history, and government until 1957. Retiring as a rear admiral in 1959, he later penned “Service Etiquette” for all military academies.

He passed in 1999 and is buried in the Naval Academy Cemetery.

Ray’s second wartime skipper, Bill Kinsella, also retired from the Navy as a rear admiral after a stint teaching at the Naval Academy. During his time on SS-271, he earned two Navy Crosses and the Legion of Merit. He passed in 2003 at age 89.

In the early 1980s, he wrote a pamphlet about the boat, “The History of a Fighting Ship U.S.S. RAY (SS271)” by Rear Admiral William T. Kinsella, USN (Ret.), which is long since out of publication.

The Navy soon recycled Ray’s fine name for a Sturgeon-class submarine (SSN-653) commissioned in 1967. Notably, she was the first of her class to become Tomahawk certified in 1985, capable of shooting both TLAM and TLAM-N cruise missiles through her torpedo tubes, a game changer for SSN ops.

A port bow view of the nuclear-powered attack submarine USS Ray (SSN-653) underway near Naval Station, Norfolk, Virginia, February 1991. DNST9105698

This latter Ray earned five Navy Unit Commendations, six Meritorious Unit Commendations, six Navy Expeditionary Medals, and at least three Arctic Service ribbons across her 26-year career.

USS Ray (SSN-653), USS Hawkbill (SSN-666) USS Archerfish (SSN-678) surfaced at geographic North Pole, 6 May 1986 330-CFD-DN-SC-86-07408

Tell me again why we aren’t recycling these great old submarine names?

Meminisse est ad Vivificandum – To Remember is to Keep Alive

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Warship Wednesday, April 30, 2025: Pride of Puget Sound

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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, April 30, 2025: Pride of Puget Sound

Official U.S. Navy Photograph, from the Naval History and Heritage Command collections. Catalog: L45-35.04.01

Above we see the Baltimore-class heavy cruiser USS Bremerton (CA-130) all aglow in Sydney, in town to celebrate the 17th anniversary of the historic Battle of the Coral Sea in December 1959. While she didn’t get any licks during WWII, Bremerton was nonetheless a “war baby,” commissioned some 80 years ago this week. And she did manage to get some serious combat time during another conflict.

The Baltimores

When the early shitstorm of 1939 World War II broke out, the U.S. Navy, realized that in the likely coming involvement with Germany in said war– and that country’s huge new 18,000-ton, 8x8inch gunned, 4.1-inches of armor Hipper-class super cruisers– it was outclassed in the big assed heavy cruiser department. When you add to the fire the fact that the Japanese had left all of the Washington and London Naval treaties behind and were building giant Mogami-class vessels (15,000 tons, 3.9 inches of armor), the writing was on the wall. That’s where the Baltimore class came in.

These 24 envisioned ships of the class looked like an Iowa-class battleship in miniature with three triple turrets, twin stacks, a high central bridge, and two masts– and they were (almost) as powerful. Sheathed in a hefty 6 inches of armor belt (and 3 inches of deck armor), they could take a beating if they had to.

They were fast, capable of over 30 knots, which meant they could keep pace with the fast new battlewagons they looked so much like, as well as the new fleet carriers that were on the drawing board.

Baltimore class ONI2 listing

While they were more heavily armored than Hipper and Mogami, they also had an extra 8-inch tube, mounting nine new model 8-inch/55 caliber guns, whereas the German and Japanese only had 155mm guns (though the Mogamis later picked up 10×8-inchers). A larger suite of AAA guns that included a dozen 5-inch/38 caliber guns in twin mounts and 70+ 40mm and 20mm guns rounded this out.

In short, these ships were deadly to incoming aircraft, could close to the shore as long as there were at least 27 feet of seawater for them to float in and hammer coastal beaches and emplacements for amphibious landings, then take out any enemy surface combatant short of a modern battleship in a one-on-one fight.

They were tough nuts to crack, and of the 14 hulls that took to the sea, none were lost in combat.

Meet Bremerton

Our subject is the first warship named for the Washington city home to Puget Sound Navy Yard, which dates back to 1891. As explained by the Puget Sound Navy Museum, the Navy held a war bond competition in 1943 between the workers at Puget and those at California’s Mare Island NSY with the winner earning the naming rights to a new heavy cruiser whose keel had been laid on 1 February (as Yard No. 449) at New York Shipbuilding Corps. in Camden, New Jersey.

Puget won the competition– with the yard’s workers pledging an amazing 15 percent of their wages for six months– and earned the right to send a delegate to the East Coast to sponsor the vessel. The worker sent had been with the yard since 1917. As detailed by the museum:

Betty McGowan, representing the Rigger and Shipwright Shop, was chosen to christen the cruiser in New Jersey on July 2, 1944. She broke the ceremonial bottle of champagne across the ship’s bow with a single swing. In Bremerton, residents marked the occasion with a baseball game, a flag raising ceremony, and the sale of more than $11,000 in war bonds.

Bremerton was commissioned on 29 April 1945, with her first of 15 skippers being Capt. (later RADM) John Boyd Mallard (USNA 1920) of Savannah, Georgia. Mallard had seen the elephant previously as skipper of the oiler USS Rapidan (AO 18), dodging U-boats in the Atlantic, and earned the Legion of Merit as commander of a task group of LSTs during the assaults on Lae and Finschhafen in September 1943.

USS Bremerton (CA-130) off Portland, Maine, 6 August 1945, just nine days before the Empire of Japan would signal that they were quitting the war. 80-G-332946

Bremerton’s WWII service was brief, with her Official War History encompassing a half-dozen short paragraphs. The new cruiser left Norfolk for her shakedown cruise in the waters off  Cuba on 29 May 1945.

Three weeks later, having wrapped up gunnery trials off Culebra Island, she sailed for Rio de Janeiro to serve as flagship for Admiral Jonas Ingram, Commander-in-Chief of the Atlantic Fleet, during his South American inspection tour. Bremerton returned to the States and engaged in early July, arriving at Boston Navy Yard on 18 July, then became part of TF 69 for experimental work at Casco Bay, Maine, until 2 October.

Spending the next five weeks in post-shakedown overhauls at Philadelphia, she cleared that port on 7 November for Guantanamo and, after passing inspection, sailed through the Panama Canal to join the Pacific Fleet on 29 November 1945 with orders to report to Shanghai via Pearl Harbor under the 7th Fleet for occupation duties.

Arriving at Inchon, Korea on 4 January 1946, she would spend the next 11 months in the Far East– earning an Occupation Medal and China Service Medal– before making for San Pedro, California.

Homeported there, Bremerton managed to get in a training cruise along the West Coast in 1947 before her discharge papers hit.

13 February 1948. “USS Bremerton (CA-130) (foreground) and USS Los Angeles (CA-135) are towed from the Nation’s largest drydock, at San Francisco Naval Shipyard, while being prepared for inactivation and addition to the Pacific Reserve Fleet. Constructed during the war, the 1100-foot drydock is capable of handling the largest ships afloat. Besides handling these two cruisers at one time, the huge dock has accommodated four attack transports in one operation. World’s largest crane at right.” Note that many other laid-up ships are in the area. Among them, on the right, are USS Rockwall (APA-230) and USS Bottineau (APA-235). NH 97453

Bremerton was placed out of commission, in reserve, at San Francisco on 9 April 1948, capping just under three years of service.

No less than nine of 14 Baltimore-class heavy cruisers were mothballed after WWII as the Navy’s budget nosedived. With each needing a 1,100+ member crew (not counting the Marine det), they had an almost prohibitive cost to keep them in service even if they were pierside. A deployment, requiring 2,250 tons of fuel oil and a trainload of provisions just to get started, could be better spent on a half-squadron of 3-4 destroyers that could make triple the port calls– and in more diverse locations.

The Baltimores were seen as quaint in the new Atomic Age, and, with a couple of battlewagons and newer heavy cruisers (of the Oregon City and Des Moines class) on tap for fire support missions should they ever be needed (and nobody thought they would), the six remaining class members on active service were mostly used as flagships and high-profile training vessels for midshipmen’s and reservist cruises.

War!

With the Soviet-backed North Korean Army rushing over the 38th Parallel to invade their neighbors to the south on 25 June 1950, the Navy rushed units from Japan to the embattled peninsula and things soon got very old school in a conflict heavy with minefields, amphibious landings and raids, and an active naval gunline just off shore.

This, naturally, led to a call for more naval fire support. Ultimately, 10 of 14 Baltimores (all except USS Boston, Canberra, Chicago, and Fall River) were in commission or reactivated for the Korean War.

Bremerton was pulled from mothballs at San Francisco and, after a short overhaul at Hunters Point and giving her crew some refresher training, she was bound for the gunline, arriving in theatre under 7th Fleet command on 7 May 1952.

USS Bremerton (CA-130) at Hunters Point Naval Shipyard, San Francisco, California, on 21 November 1951. She was recommissioned for Korean War service on 23 November after having been in reserve since April 1948. 80-G-436084

USS Bremerton (CA-130) underway on 14 February 1952. 80-G-439986

Same as the above, 80-G-439985

Her first tour off Korea, which wrapped up in September 1952, and she let her 8-inchers sing at Wonsan, Kojo, Chongjin, and Changjon Hang.

USS Bremerton (CA-130) loading ammunition at Mare Island Ammunition Depot. October 1952

USS Bremerton (CA-130) in San Diego harbor, California, circa 1951-52, with her crew manning the rails. NH 97454

After an overhaul, she returned to Korea in April 1953, remaining through November.

Forecastle of the heavy cruiser USS Bremerton (CA-130) in heavy seas, in 1953, likely during her second Korean tour. Note the awash gun tub forward.

On this second tour, she repeatedly dueled with Nork/ChiCom coastal artillery batteries.

From Korean War: Chronology of U.S. Pacific Fleet Operations: 

  • 5 May 1953: During a heavy gun strike in the Wonsan Harbor area, USS Bremerton (CA 130) was fired upon by 18 rounds of 76 to 105 mm shells. One near miss caused two minor personnel casualties and superficial top-side damage.
  • 24 May 1953: During a heavy gun strike in Wonsan Harbor, USS Bremerton (CA 130) received 10 rounds of well-directed enemy artillery fire. Although all shells landed close aboard, Bremerton escaped unscathed.
  • 14 June 1953: USS Bremerton (CA 130) received four rounds of 90 mm counterbattery fire while blasting the enemy shore gun positions on the Wonsan perimeter. The enemy fire was ineffective.
  • 19 June 1953: In Wonsan Harbor, USS Bremerton (CA 130) was the target for four rounds of 90 mm shore fire but was not hit.

USS Bremerton (CA-130) under fire from North Korean shore batteries, in 1953

Besides Bremerton, the Navy deployed no less than six Baltimores for escort missions and coastal bombardment in Korea.

Heavy cruisers USS Saint Paul (CA-73) and USS Bremerton (CA-130) and the light cruiser USS Manchester (CL-83) are underway off Korea. Saint Paul and Bremerton were deployed to Korea and the Western Pacific between April and September 1953.

While I cannot find how many shells our girl let fly off Korea, all told, the Navy expended over 414,000 rounds and 24,000 missions against shore targets between just May 1951 and March 1952. While most of those rounds (381,750) were from 5-inch guns, at least 22,538 came from 8-inch pipes on heavy cruisers, so distill from that what you will.

In all, Bremerton was authorized two (of a possible 10) Korean Service Medals (battle stars), with the breaks in dates often due to leaving the gun line to get more shells:

  • K8 – Korean Defense Summer-Fall 1952: 12-28 May 52, 11-26 Jun 52, 9 Jul-6 Aug 52, and 20 Aug-6 Sep 52.
  • K10 – Korea, Summer-Fall 1953: 1-30 May 53, 13 Jun-8 Jul 53, 23-27 Jul 53.

She also served in Korean waters post-cease fire on two stints, 26 Sep-8 Nov 53 and 8 Jun-27 Jul 54, the latter on a May-October West Pac cruise. On top of her two battle stars, she also earned a Republic of Korea Presidential Unit Citation, the United Nations Korea Service Medal, and the Republic of Korea War Service Medal.

USS Bremerton (CA-130) In Drydock Number 5 at Yokosuka Naval Base, Japan, in July 1954 during a West Pac deployment. Note her side armor, and men painting her hull. 80-G-644556

Cold War swan song

She would spend the first half of 1955 at Mare Island undergoing an overhaul and modernization. Her armament and fire control were updated. Importantly, she shipped her 40mm guns ashore for 10 twin 3″/50 (7.62 cm) Mark 33 Mounts and new Mk 56 FC radar fits.

April 1955. San Francisco. Port bow view of the heavy cruiser USS Bremerton (CA 130). Her original close-range armament of 20 mm and 40 mm guns has been replaced by twin 3-inch/50 Mark 26 guns controlled by Mark 56 directors, two of which may be seen abreast the forward superstructure. Her catapults have been removed, although the crane for handling aircraft remains for use with the boats now stowed in the former aircraft hangar under the quarterdeck. Note the Golden Gate Bridge in the background. Period caption: “The USS Bremerton, heavy cruiser, which will be berthed at Pier 46-B Saturday, April 21 and 22, will be open for public inspection from 1 to 4 p. m. each day, as a part of the civic observance of the 50th anniversary of the 1906 fire. The U. S. Navy played a vitally important role in bringing aid to the stricken city.” (Naval Historical Collection)

Then came a second post-Korea West Pac cruise, from July 1955 to February 1956, during which she earned a second China Service Medal for operations off Chinese-threatened Formosa/Taiwan.

Great period Kodachrome by of USS Bremerton by Charles W. Cushman showing the cruiser steaming into San Francisco Bay under the Golden Gate Bridge, 8 May 1956. Bloomington – University Archives P08766

Her third post-Korea West Pac deployment, from November 1956 to May 1957, saw her make port calls from Vancouver to Yokosuka to Manila, Hong Kong, and Melbourne, where her crew was on hand to support the XVI Olympiad.

USS Bremerton (CA-130) photographed on 4 November 1957 while at Puget Sound before heading to Bangor. 80-G-1027859

Same as the above 80-G-1027857

Same as the above 80-G-1027858

USS Bremerton (CA-130) at Pearl Harbor while en route to Asia, circa 1957. The original photograph bears the rubber-stamp date 3 December 1957. NH 97455

Around this time, the Navy decided to reconstruct Bremerton into an Albany-class guided missile cruiser.

This extensive (three-to-four year) SCB 172 conversion involved removing almost everything topside including all armament and superstructure, then installing a huge SPS-48 3D air search radar, a twin Mk 12 Talos launcher (with its magazine, Mk 77 missile fire-control system, and SPG-49 fire control radars), a twin Mk 11 Tartar launcher (along with its magazine, Mk 74 missile fire-control system, and SPG-51 fire control radars), a huge CIC and tall navigation bridge, a bow mounted sonar, a helicopter deck, etc. et. al.

Only three CAs (USS Albany, Chicago, and Columbus) completed the conversion, and it left them unrecognizable from their original form.

Two views of the U.S. Navy cruiser USS Chicago, as built and after her conversion to a guided missile cruiser. Upper view: USS Chicago (CA-136) as a Baltimore-class heavy cruiser off the Philadelphia Naval Shipyard, Pennsylvania (USA), on 7 May 1945. Between 1959 and 1964, Chicago was rebuilt at the San Francisco Naval Shipyard, California (USA), leaving virtually only the hull. The complete superstructure and armament were replaced. Lower view: USS Chicago (CG-11) as an Albany-class guided missile cruiser underway in the Pacific Ocean during exercise “Valiant Heritage” on 2 February 1976. NH 95867 and K-112891

However, as the Albany class conversion still required a massive nearly 1,300 man crew to run the 17,000 ton CG with 180 assorted missiles aboard, and the bean counters realized the new 8,000-ton Leahy-class DLGs (later re-rated as cruisers in 1975) could carry 80 missiles on a hull optimized to run with a 400-man crew, the choice was clear.

With that, Bremerton never did get that conversion, instead being used increasingly to hold the line in the Far East for the next couple of years.

She started 1958 at anchor in Long Beach, preparing for yet another Westpac deployment (from March to August) under TF 77 orders that would take her to the Philippines, Singapore, New Zealand, Hong Kong, and the like.

From her log:

She repeated another Westpac cruise from January to May 1959 and yet another abbreviated sortie from November 1959 to February 1960. It was on New Year’s Day 1960, while deployed, that her mournful log entry told her looming fate– that of an early (second) decommissioning at the ripe old age of 15, bound once again for mothballs.

Assigned to the Pacific Reserve Fleet, while moored at Naval Station Long Beach’s Pier 15, at 0900 on 29 July 1960, USS Bremerton was decommissioned and then towed to the reserve basin first at Mare Island and then, fittingly, at Puget Sound.

1960 Jane’s entry for the Baltimore class.

USS Bremerton (CA-130) and USS Baltimore (CA-68) lay up at the Puget Sound Naval Shipyard, early 1970s. Photograph by Melvin Fredeen of Seattle. This picture was likely taken shortly before the two cruisers were sold for scrap in 1973. At the right of the picture, one will note several civilians on the pier, next to the gangplank leading to USS Missouri (BB-63), which is moored just outside the frame. During the three decades the battleship spent laid up at Bremerton before her 1980s reactivation, she would often be opened to the public for walking tours of her weather decks, particularly of the spot where the surrender of Japan took place. Several other decommissioned ships are visible, including a destroyer, a carrier, and in the far background, a third Baltimore-class heavy cruiser out in Sinclair Inlet. NH89317

Bremerton languished for 13 years in mothballs, and, once the war in Vietnam had drawn down, was stricken from the Naval List on 1 October 1973. She was subsequently sold for scrap to the Zidell Explorations Corporation of Portland, Oregon, and broken up.

Epilogue

Several relics of the cruiser remain in the Kitsap area.

Her bell, presented to the city of Bremerton in 1974, is on display at the Norm Dicks Government Center building downtown.

Her anchor and part of her mast are also preserved in the region, with the hook at Hal’s Corner (guarded by 40mm guns from the old battlewagon USS West Virginia) and the yardarm at Miller-Woodlawn Memorial Park.

Both are often visited by Navy working parties to keep them in good shape.

The Navy recycled the name for an early Los Angeles-class hunter-killer, SSN-698, which was in commission from 1981 to 2021.

Los Angeles-class hunter-killer USS Bremerton (SSN-698) underway 1 February 1991. DN-ST-91-05712

A veterans’ group for the latter Bremerton, which also keeps CA-130’s memory alive, is active. 

x

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, April 23, 2025: The Seas are Alive…with the sound of Torpedoes

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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, April 23, 2025: The Seas are Alive…with the sound of Torpedoes

Above we see le croiseur cuirasse Leon Gambetta.

She was a beautifully obsolete ship that intersected history in several unusual ways and was lost to an infamous Austrian submarine skipper some 110 years ago this week.

French armored cruiser Amore

The French invented the concept of the true armored cruiser when Dupuy de Lome was ordered in 1888. A 6,300-ton steel-clad iron-hulled steamer, Dupuy de Lome could make 20 knots on her 11 Amirauté fire-tube boilers and three engines and had no auxiliary sail scheme.

The French armored cruiser Dupuy de Lome

Swathed in as much as 5 inches of plate armor, she carried eight large (7.6 and 6.4-inch guns) as well as 18 smaller pieces (37mm, 47mm, and 65mm) while also carrying four small (17.7-inch) torpedo tubes.

Able to operate alone and far from home if needed (Dupuy de Lome could steam at 12.5 knots for 4,000 nm), she was capable of defeating anything smaller than a genuine battleship, which she could outrun.

The concept ship was followed by the four-ship Amiral Charner class, the one-off cruisers Pothuau and Jeanne d’Arc, the trio of Gueydon-class cruisers, the three ships of the Dupleix class, and the five-unit Gloire-class. In all, in the 13 years between 1888 and 1901, the French had ordered 18 armored cruisers, with each class learning from the preceding one.

The result, the Gloire and her sisters, ran 9,996 tons, had an amazing 28 boilers (!) to drive three engines to obtain a 21-knot speed, and could steam 6,500 miles ecumenically. They carried 10 large guns (2x 7.64″/40, 8x 6.5″/45) as well as six 3.9″/50s, 18 x 45mm guns, and 4 x 37mm guns, plus five 17.7-inch torpedo tubes. All of this was protected by as much as 6.9 inches of armor.

Gloire-class armored cruiser Conde is pictured at Arsenal de Brest, c1918. A true floating castle with four funnels and a curious mix of armor and armament.

The three follow-on Gambetta class armored cruisers (class leader Leon Gambetta and Jules Ferry, followed by half-sister Victor Hugo) were up-sized Gloires, displacing 11,959 tons on a hull some 30 feet longer (489 feet vs 458 feet) and four feet beamier.

All three ships used different boiler arrangements (Gambetta 28 Niclausse boilers, Ferry 20 Guyot du Temple boilers, and Hugo 28 Belleville boilers) with triple engines that produced roughly 28,500 shp to make about 22 knots and steam 6,600nm at 10 knots.

Armament on the Gambettas was a repeat of the Gloires, albeit with two fewer 6.5-inch guns and a third more 47mm mounts (24 up from 18). Likewise, they only had two torpedo tubes. The armor plan was also similar to that of the Gloire.

To speed things up, the trio was laid down at three different naval yards, with Gambetta constructed at Brest, Ferry at Cherbourg, and Hugo at Lorient, with all constructed between January 1901 and April 1907.

A heavier update to the class with more guns and armor, the 13,000-ton Jules Michelet, was constructed soon after joining the fleet in 1908.

French cruiser Jules Michilet, American cruiser USS Huron, and Japanese Cruiser Yakumo in the Whangpoo River, Shanghai, 1925

Naval architect Emile Bertin kept tinkering with the Gambetta design to produce the 13,644-ton cruiser Ernest Renan in 1909 and her half-sisters Edgar Quinet and Waldeck-Rousseau, which were the most powerful (and last) armored cruisers built in France, commissioned in 1911.

But we are getting ahead of ourselves.

Meet Gambetta

Our subject is the first French warship named after the 1870s political and cultural juggernaut, Leon Gambetta, who was key to the formation of the Third Republic and served at various times as the country’s minister of the interior, Président du Conseil, and Président de la Chambre des deputes before his young death at age 44 in 1882. Something like 200 towns have a Rue Gambetta in France to this day, and his likeness remains borne in numerous statues throughout the Republic.

Odds are, if you have been to France in the past 140 years, you have either walked upon a street named for Leon Gambetta or gazed on his face. He is right up there with Leclerc, Ferry, Foch, and Clemenceau.

The armored cruiser ordered in his honor was laid down at Arsenal de Brest on 15 January 1901.

Lead ship, Armoured Cruiser Léon Gambetta, construction at Arsenal de Brest, 1901

She was launched into the waters of the Bay of Biscay on 26 October 1902.

Brest. Launching of the armoured cruiser Leon Gambetta.

Lancement du croiseur cuirassé Léon Gambetta Petit Journal 10 novembre 1901

While on sea trials in February 1904, she ran aground in the fog and required dry docking for another six months, then promptly ran aground a second time, sending her back to the yard for further repair.

Gambetta, Brassey’s Naval Annual 1905

She finally finished her trials and was accepted and commissioned on 21 July 1905, with her cumulative construction cost hitting 29,248,500 francs.

Made the flagship of VADM Camille Gigon’s (later VADM Horace Jaureguiberry’s) 1re Division de croiseur as part of the Northern Squadron, she immediately sailed to Portsmouth in August 1905 for the Anglo-French naval review to celebrate the historic Entente Cordiale, which ended centuries of tension between London and Paris and helped set the stage for the Great War.

Entente Cordiale: The French squadron in Portsmouth Harbor – from the French magazine Le Petit Journal, August 13, 1905.

The French ships were reviewed by King Edward VII and hosted in a variety of events ashore for the Gallic visitors throughout the week, including a garden party in Victoria Park.

Remaining a ship of state, she carried President Clement Armand Fallieres to England in May 1908 for an official visit and, later that summer, represented France at the Quebec Tercentenary.

French cruiser Léon Gambetta at the Quebec Tercentenary 1908 LAC 336185

Gambetta and HMS Minotaur at the Quebec Tercentenary 1908 LAC

Quebec Tercentenary, HMS Minotaur, Leon Gambetta, Don de Dieu, and HMS Indomitable

Quebec Tercentenary Illumination of Indomitable, Minotaur, Leon Gambetta and the Chateau Frontenac

By 1911, the three Gambetta sisters would make up the 1re Division legere in the French Mediterranean fleet with RADM Louis Dartige du Fournet hoisting his flag on our subject.

War!

Carrying the flag of RADM Victor-Baptistin Senes, Gambetta entered the Great War at the head of the 2e Division legere out of Toulon and was soon busy escorting troopships moving colonial troops from French North Africa to the Republic proper.

Then came orders to join the force of ADM Augustin Boue de Lapeyrere’s fleet of two dozen battlewagons and cruisers blockading the Austro-Hungarian coast along the Adriatic. This included several sharp skirmishes with Austrian ships, tracking the neutral Italians, supporting the Serbian and Montenegrin armies ashore, and escorting troop ships through U-boat-infested waters.

Speaking of the latter, on 26 April 1915, she was found at sea by SM U-5 of the k.u.k. Kriegsmarine. A humble 105-foot gasoline-electric submarine designed by Electric Boat of Connecticut to the same plans as used by the U.S. Navy’s C-class, U-5 only carried four 17.7-inch Whitehead torpedoes to be fired from her two forward tubes.

Kuk S.M. U 5 

The tiny boat, good only for 10 knots under the best sea conditions, her new skipper, Linienschiffsleutnant Georg Ludwig Ritter von Trapp, had only assumed command nine days prior. Von Trapp, from a noble family and husband to Agathe Whitehead, granddaughter of the torpedo godfather, had joined the Austrian fleet at age 14 in 1894 and had served in China during the Boxer Rebellion with the surface fleet before switching to submarines in 1908.

SM U-5 of the k.u.k. Kriegsmarine and her commander, Linienschiffsleutnant Georg Ludwig Ritter von Trapp, at the joint Austro-German U-Boat base in the northern Adriatic in the Brioni (Brijuni) islands off Pula in Croatia during the War.

Von Trapp, in his tiny a risky little boat, continued to stalk Gambetta in the Ionian Sea off Italy’s Cape Santa Maria di Leuca into the night and, closing to within 500 yards, fired both tubes at point blank range just after midnight on 27 April.

With hits against the massive target inevitable, both fish exploded and created havoc on Gambetta, which soon began settling in the water, her boilers knocked out. Ten minutes later, it was all over, and the proud cruiser was on the bottom, taking every single one of her officers and the bulk of her 800-man crew with her.

Escorted by Italian destroyers who had only entered the war that week, they rescued 137 waterlogged survivors from the lost French cruisers.

Von Trapp made history that pre-dawn morning, conducting the first-ever underwater nighttime (and only the second) submarine attack on a vessel in the region. Gambetta remained one of the largest ships hit by a U-boat during the war.

For the feat, he would eventually earn the coveted Militär-Maria-Theresien-Orden, the highest military honor of the old Habsburg monarchy, and he would become a household name in both Austria and Germany.

Propagandists on both sides took advantage of the loss to show how brave French sailors met Poseidon without fear and how, for the Central Powers, the U-boat was a modern marvel of war, commanded by a brave modern-day knight of the sea

Engraving from the Petit Journal of May 5, 1915: “How French sailors know how to die.” Source gallica.bnf.fr / Bibliothèque nationale de France

French armoured cruiser Leon Gambetta, sinking SMS U-5. 2

German propaganda art of Gambetta sinking by Alexander Kircher

Sinking of the French armoured cruiser Léon Gambetta on 27 April 1915, by German artist August von Ramberg

Torpedoed and sunk by the Austro-Hungarian Submarine U-5 on 27 April 1915. Austrian War Art painting. NH 60194

As for Von Trapp, just three months after sending Gambetta to the bottom, he sank the Italian submarine Nereide on 5 August 1915, just off Pelagosa (Palagruza) Island. He followed that up with capturing the Greek steamer Cefalonia three weeks later. Before the end of the war, Von Trapp would add 11 more steamers to his tally sheet, surviving 19 war patrols.

Epilogue

Little remains of Gambetta topside that I can find.

Her sisters, Jules Ferry and Victor Hugo, survived the war and, after overseas service policing French colonies in the Far East, were retired and scrapped in the late 1920s.

French armored cruiser Jules Ferry at sea, around 1905-1911, Gambetta class

Léon Gambetta-class cruiser Victor Hugo Melbourne 1923

Von Trapp, left without either a navy or a sovereign when Austrian Emperor Karl left the throne in November 1918, had to fall back on his personal inherited fortune. Left a widower with seven children in 1922 upon the passing of his wife due to scarlet fever, he hired one Maria Augusta Kutschera, a young novice from the nearby nunnery, as a live-in tutor, and the old sea dog later married her in 1927 despite the 25-year age difference, and had three further children.

The Von Trapp family then drifted into a singing career, and the rest is history.

Von Trapp, exiled from Austria in 1938, later settled in the U.S., where he passed in 1947, aged 67. He is buried in Stowe, Vermont.

Christopher Plummer portrayed him in the 1965 movie, The Sound of Music, which was very loosely based on the family’s story in the 1920s and 30s.

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 you should belong.

I’m a member, so should you be!

Warship Wednesday, April 16, 2025: Missile Can Number One

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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, April 16, 2025: Missile Can Number One

Original Kodachrome by Hank Walker, Life Magazine Archives

Above we see the world’s first guided missile destroyer, USS Gyatt (DD-712), launching one of her precious 14 stern-carried Convair SAM-N-7 Terrier two-stage medium-range naval surface-to-air missiles to port, circa early 1957 during her trials. Gyatt, the only Gearing-class tin can to pick up this budget DDG conversion, blazed a path now well-traveled.

The Gearings

In July 1942, the U.S. Navy, fighting a U-boat horde in the Atlantic and the Combined Fleet in the Pacific, was losing ships faster than any admiral ever feared in his worst nightmare. With that in mind, the Navy needed a lot of destroyers. While the Fletcher and Allen M. Sumner classes were being built en masse, the go-ahead for some 156 new and improved Sumners— stretched some 14 feet to allow for more fuel and thus longer legs to get to those far-off battlegrounds– was given. This simple mod led to these ships originally being considered “long hull Sumners.”

These hardy 3,500-ton/390-foot-long tin cans, the Gearing class, were soon being laid down in nine different yards across the country.

Designed to carry three twin 5-inch/38 cal DP mounts, two dozen 40mm and 20mm AAA guns, depth charge racks and projectors for submarine work, and an impressive battery of 10 21-inch torpedo tubes (downgraded to just 5 tubes) capable of blowing the bottom out of a battleship provided they could get close enough, they were well-armed. Fast at over 36 knots, they could race into and away from danger when needed.

Meet Gyatt

Our subject is the only warship commissioned into the U.S. Navy in honor of Pvt. Edward Earl Gyatt, a 21-year-old Marine who earned a posthumous Silver Star with the 1st Marine Raider Battalion during the Guadalcanal campaign in 1942. The Navy remembered nearly two dozen Raiders in similar ways. The future USS Gyatt (DD-712) was laid down on 7 September 1944 by the Federal Shipbuilding & Drydock Co., Kearney, New Jersey. She was launched on 15 April 1945, sponsored by Mrs. Hilda Morrell, the mother of the late Private Gyatt. The festivities were muted due to FDR’s recent passing. Gyatt was commissioned on 2 July 1945 at the New York Navy Yard. The total time required to build the new destroyer was nine months, three weeks, and four days.

The cost in 1945 dollars was $8,947,809. USS Gyatt’s first skipper was CDR Albert David Kaplan (USNA ’32), the former XO and skipper of the destroyer USS Mayo (DD 422).

Her WWII history was brief, covering just an abbreviated page in the National Archives.

After a shakedown in the Caribbean and post-shakedown availability back in New York, Gyatt was visited by over 5,000 sightseers in Baltimore for Navy Day 1945 in October.

She then reported to Pensacola for plane guard duties and was then shifted to Norfolk as part of the peacetime Navy. She became part of DesRon 4, an outfit she would call home for the next 14 years alongside sisters USS Gearing, Greene, Bailey, Vogelsang, Steinaker, Ellison, and Ware.

As described by her Veterans’ association, she was a speedy girl.

It is understood that the Gyatt in late 1945 set a long-distance speed record for destroyers of its class. The Gyatt maintained, for an extended period, a speed of 31.8 knots per hour. In 1946, on a run from Norfolk to Boston, the Gyatt was the only ship in Destroyer Squadron Four (DesRon 4) to sustain a speed of 38 knots that had been reached by the Gearing (DD 710), Greene (DD 711), and Bailey (DD 713).

A three-month goodwill trip to Latin America in early 1947 saw her represent the U.S. at the inauguration of Uruguayan President Tomas Berreta at Montevideo and call on a variety of other ports.

Gearing (DD-710) and Gyatt moored at Montevideo, Uruguay, January 1947. Marcus Hill via Navsource

She then began a series of five lengthy deployments with the 6th Fleet in the Mediterranean and Europe at a time when the region was adrift in post-war intrigue as part of the general cool down into the Cold War.

This included spending New Years 1948 at Salonika among sunken ships sent to the bottom during the war, marking the 5th anniversary of the Normandy Landings off Omaha Beach in 1949, assisting the old USS Twiggs in the filming of the tin can movie Gift Horse at Plymouth (released in the U.S. as Glory at Sea) in 1951, escorting the carrier USS Wright (CVL-49) in the Med in 1952, and attending the coronation of Queen Elizabeth II in 1953.

Gyatt, 1954, escorting an Essex-class carrier

Stateside, she participated in two-week naval reserve cruises and annual trips to the Caribbean for exercises and gunnery practice.

In October-November 1949, Gyatt escorted the super carrier USS Midway to the frigid waters of the Davis Strait for appropriately named Operation Frostbite, her crew earning Blue Noses in the process.

By this phase of her career, in a refit at Boston Navy Yard in the summer of 1950, she landed her 20mm guns and picked up Hedgehog ASW rockets in their place. She also had her single mast replaced with a tripod mast and her starboard motor whaleboat deleted.

Gyatt (DD-712) 27 September 1950, NARA 24743163

USS Gyatt (DD-712) at anchor on 10 June 1953 with her glad rags aloft. Courtesy of Donald M. McPherson, 1969. NH 67696

Cold War Missile Slinger

Gyatt entered the Boston Naval Shipyard on 26 September 1955 and was decommissioned on Halloween. The Navy had plans to make her the third operational U.S. warship– and the first destroyer– to carry guided missiles.

The Terrier program, an offshoot of Operation Bumblebee going back to 1948, was moving fast.

A big 27-foot 1.5-ton beam-riding SAM that could hit Mach 1.8 and engage targets as high as 80,000 feet, Terrier had been successfully fired from the converted seaplane tender USS Norton Sound (AV-11/AVM-1) in 1951, then the old battlewagon USS Mississippi in January 1953.

USS Mississippi (EAG-128). Fires a “Terrier” surface-to-air missile from early Mk 1 GMLS launchers during at-sea tests, circa 1953-55. 80-G-K-17878 (Color) and 80-G-659359 (B&W)

The missiles were first deployed on the converted cruisers USS Boston (CA-69/CAG-1) and Canberra (CA-70/CAG-2) in 1956. The cruisers used massive twin-arm Mark 4 GMLS missile launchers fed by bottom-loaded 72-round magazine houses, with the vertically loaded Terriers launched and guided by a pair of Mark 25 Mod 7 (later SPQ-5) radars. To make room, the after 8-inch turret (Turret III) was deleted on each.

USS Boston (CAG-1) fires a Terrier guided missile from her after launcher, during a training cruise in August 1956. Note that she and her sister Canberra carried two launchers over the stern, directed by big Mk 25 radars, in place of their third 8″/55 mount. It was originally planned to extend the conversion to the front of the cruisers as well, but this never happened. NH 98281

For Gyatt, which had a compact 390-foot-long hull compared to the cruisers’ 673 feet oal, she would receive the one-off Mk 8 launcher, which used two rings that held seven missiles each, contained inside a small deckhouse just forward of the launcher. The system was only about a fifth the weight of the larger Mk 9 launchers that would go on to be used on the Providence-class cruisers.

This required the removal of Gyatt’s aft armament to allow for the addition of Terrier missiles, a move that coincided with the landing of most of her WWII-era AAA guns and ASW gear, replaced with more contemporary systems. This saw her billets reduced from 360 officers and men to just 272. As detailed by her Veterans’ association, spanning her 13-month conversion:

The weaponry aft of the number one stack was removed including all depth charges, the number three five-inch gun mount, three quad 40mm guns and the two twin 40 mm guns aft of the bridge and the torpedoes. The Terrier Missile Battery consisted of two missiles, each approximately 27 feet in length, 13.5 inches in diameter, and weighing 2,760 pounds. The magazine that stored fourteen additional missiles was located directly forward of the missile battery. The missiles had a speed in excess of Mach 2. and a range in the order of 20 miles. The missiles had an altitude sufficient enough to engage jet aircraft, and the warhead was of sufficient size that it could destroy other planes flying in the same formation. The missiles’ guidance system was called ‘Radar Beamrider.” Missile targets were tracked by a modified Mark 25 Model 8 gunfire-control radar located atop the original gun battery director forward; the Mark 72 weapons control system provided only a single fire-control channel for both the missile system and 5-inch gun mounts. The ship retained the two forward 5-inch twin gun mounts. Four 3-inch 50-caliber twin mounts replaced the 40 millimeter guns, and the five-tube torpedo spread was replaced by two stacked triple-tube groupings. The Mark 56 fire-control system was set up abaft the stacks for the 3-inch weapons. In addition, there were radar improvements to the SPS-6 air search and the SPS-10 surface search radars. The radar at high altitude had a range of 220 miles, and at low altitude the range was twenty miles. The AN/SPS-6C radar handled the location of aerial targets,; there was no height finding radar, and given the constant changes and alterations in the earlier Terrier system, only the most cooperative targets were in danger. Two Mark 2 Hedgehog Spigot Mortars and two Mark 2 Torpedo Launchers were available to deal with submarines. The ship was also the first warship in the Navy to have a stabilization system added to the hull. The Denny-Brown Stabilization System, pioneered in Great Britain, had been installed to eliminate much of the rolling that is characteristic of destroyers and other small ships. The system had two retractable fins, each with an area of approximately 45 square feet; the fins extended amidships and were well below the waterline. In addition to all this hi-tech equipment the Gyatt was one of the first Navy ships to use solar power when the after emergency diesel generator was replaced with a Solar Gas Turbine Generator, On many occasions, especially in rough weather, this stabilization allowed the Gyatt to stay on station during plane guard detail and refueling operations.

She emerged much different, recommissioned 3 December 1956 at Boston NSY, and reclassified as DDG-1, although she was spotted with her DD-712 hull number for a while. From her deck log:

USS Gyatt (DDG-712) 3 December 1956. NH 67687

USS Gyatt (DDG-1) underway at sea, circa the late 1950s or early 1960s. NH 106723

USS Gyatt (DDG-1) launching Terrier missile, photograph released April 9, 1958. Following her conversion, she was the first Guided-Missile Destroyer. 330-PS-8876 (USN 1015613)

She was widely celebrated, and the Old Man himself, ADM Arleigh “33 Knot” Burke, at the time the CNO, visited Gyatt in March 1959 to personally observe Terrier tests. Transferring to DesRon 6, Gyatt was then sent to Europe on a deployment with the 6th Fleet for a sixth time, 28 January 1960, and as such was the first guided missile destroyer to deploy overseas fleet. Returning to Charleston, her new home port, on 31 August 1960, she had “participated in fleet readiness and training operations throughout the Mediterranean.” It was during this deployment, while on the Riveria, that she hosted Prince Rainer and Princess Grace of Monaco, escorted by 6th Fleet commander, VADM GW Anderson, for a demonstration.

The U.S. Navy guided missile destroyer USS Gyatt (DDG-1) comes alongside of the guided missile cruiser USS Boston (CAG-1), in 1960. Gyatt had sailed to join the U.S. 6th Fleet on 28 January 1960 and was the first guided missile destroyer to deploy with an overseas fleet. Note the Radioplane BTT target drone in the foreground.

In 1960, the rest of the world rushed their DDGs into service, with the Soviets building the Kanin-class (Project 57A), the British ordering the County class, and the French moving forward with the Suffren class. The fix was in.

On stateside operations, Gyatt was on loan to NASA for Mercury Program unmanned nosecone recovery details off the East Coast on at least two occasions (5-10 November 1960 for Mercury-Redstone 1 and 24-26 April 1961 for Mercury Atlas-3).

USS Gyatt (DDG-1) on 30 June 1961. USN 1056266

Gyatt as DDG, 1960 Janes

USS Gyatt (DDG-1) approaching USS Waccamaw (AO-109) from USS Boston (CAG-1) June 1961, Atlantic, via Navsource

She would return to the Med for a seventh deployment from 3 August 1961 to  3 March 1962, spanning 213 days and 39,197 miles.

When she came back home, she was already obsolete.

While the possible Gyatt-style conversion was wishful thinking to turn still-young all-gun Gearings into DDGs– and one that freed up funds for more Big Navy ideas like nuclear-powered submarines and giant aircraft carriers– tests with our subject’s Mk 8 launcher proved less than ideal, and it was decided in 1957, only a year after Gyatt recommissioned, to order a purpose-built class of 16 (eventually 29) new Adams class DDGs, which were 47 feet longer, seven feet wider, and 1,100 tons heavier. Adams (DDG-2) would carry a pair of Mk 11 twin-armed launchers for the new General Dynamics RIM-24 Tartar, which, although it was only 15.5 feet long and weighed half as much as Terrier, offered arguably better performance than the early models of that missile.

Adams class, DDG 1960 Janes

Technologically arcane, just six years after she had been the tip of the spear, Gyatt entered the Charleston Naval Shipyard on 29 June 1962 for an overhaul that removed her short-lived missile system. Installed in its place was equipment for “specialized service” with the Operational Test and Evaluation Force (OPTEVOR). As such, her hull number reverted to DD-712.

USS Gyatt (DD-712) underway in Hampton Roads, Virginia, on 21 November 1966, while serving as an experimental test ship. Note the large mast installed atop her former guided missile magazine and the large object carried on her after main deck. Photographer: PH2 M.L. Ritter. NH 107008

She would spend the next three years in a series of tests and training evolutions between the Caribbean and Maine, typically running evaluations on prototype radio and radar-jamming and anti-jamming (ECM/EW) equipment.

Although she was included on regular refresher training each year and even scheduled to go to the gun line off Vietnam in 1968, her primary job was to set out with a dozen or so subject matter experts from Westinghouse, the NRF, the NSRDC, or the NRL aboard to see how some new gee-whiz black box worked while underway.

At one point, an elaborate water wash-down system was installed topside to experiment with heat-seeking missiles and diversionary flares, a forerunner of SRBOC.

Keeping the memory of her namesake alive, the ship’s sponsor, the mother of the late Pvt Gyatt, visited our destroyer while on a port call to New York City in September 1965.

Worse, surveys had found that Gyatt’s hull began to crack from stress caused by the missile launches.

In October 1968, her work with OPTEVOR finished, she was sent to Key West and then the Washington Navy Yard, relegated to the Select Reserve with her crew reduced to just 120, tasked with training 20-40 USNR personnel, two weeks at a time.

In September 1969, following a material inspection and survey, it was recommended that Gyatt be decommissioned and disposed of as the cost to modernize her was estimated to be $9.8 million, and even a less extensive repair and refit for further service was estimated to run $3.7 million.

On 22 October 1969, she was decommissioned for the second and final time, with the Navy estimating her scrap value to be just $105,000.

From her log that day: 

Stricken shortly after, all useable equipment was removed, and she was expended as a target ship off Virginia on 11 June 1970, capping a 25-year career.

The end page, from her Veterans’ group:

On the 11th day of June, the ex-Gyatt, as the decommissioned hull was referred, was towed to her final resting-place in the Virginia Capes Operating Area. The ship rendezvoused with surface units under the command of Commander Naval Reserve Destroyer Division Third Naval District, who was embarked in the USS John R. Pierce (DD-753). The ex-Gyatt was the designated target ship for surface gunnery exercises for the division, consisting of the Pierce and three other destroyers. After several hours of five-inch salvos, the Gyatt was listing badly, but still afloat. Air units from the Oceana Naval Air Station joined the exercise with air-to-surface missiles, and shortly thereafter, the Gyatt slid beneath the surface to her final resting place at the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean. The coordinates of the USS Gyatt’s final resting-place are as follows: Latitude. 37 Degrees 20 Minutes North and Longitude, 73 Degrees 52 Minutes West.

Epilogue

Little remains of Gyatt that I can find.

Her logs and some footage are in the National Archives.

Some additional Terrier footage is in the University of South Carolina archives.

Her Veterans organization doesn’t seem to have been updated online since about 2015, and most of its content has slipped away. However, a good bit of history is archived. 

She has a memorial at the National Museum of the Pacific War in Texas. 

As far as legacy is concerned, missile-armed destroyers are the backbone of the fleet these days, with no less than 73 active Arleigh Burke-class DDGs in the Navy.

The future USS Harvey C. Barnum Jr. (DDG-124), named after Medal of Honor recipient Col. Harvey C. Barnum Jr., USMC Ret., is set to commission in the coming months, bringing that number to 74. 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, April 9, 2025: First of a Long Line

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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, April 9, 2025: First of a Long Line

Naval History and Heritage Command photo NH 310

Above, we see the unique U.S. Revenue Cutter Windom circa 1900. She had already fought in one war under Navy orders, would go on to carry a “USS” during WWI, bust rum-runners, and chart a course for the modern Coast Guard.

Not bad for a 170-foot ship.

A New Era

In 1890, the Revenue Cutter Service– the forerunner of the USCG– was celebrating its centennial, having been authorized as part of the Treasury Department in 1790. Having fought during the Quasi War, the War of 1812, the Mexican War, and the Civil War, the USRCS had a long history of suiting up for combat when needed.

It was a busy force.

In 1890, the 36 assorted cutters of the service had cruised a total of 301,416 nautical miles, boarded and examined 26,962 vessels for revenue purposes, and assisted 123 distressed vessels, saving a value of $2,806,056 in ships and cargoes on the sea. They did everything that year from chasing down seal poachers in the Bering Sea to breaking up smuggling rings along the Florida Keys and arresting murderers on the high seas.

However, it was stuck in the 19th century while pointing towards the 20th and was obsolete. Most of the 36 cutters were small (under 100 foot) sloops, luggers, and tugs, capable of harbor and coastal patrols at best. The more blue water of the fleet were typically iron-hulled topsail steam schooners (USRC Gallatin, Hamilton, Boutwell, Dallas, Dexter, Rush, Corwin, and Forward) of about 140 feet in length. Two big steamers with auxiliary rigs, the 165-foot USRC Perry and the 198-foot USRC Bear, were dedicated to the far-off Alaska patrol. A couple of more modern twin-screwed steam cutters, the 145-foot USRC Morrill and the 190-foot USRC Galveston, were just coming online.

Armament in many cases was simply whatever could be scrounged from the Navy’ that was small enough to carry and service without lifts, typically 3-pounder 47mm or 6-pounder 57mm breechloading mounts, while smaller cutters usually just carried small arms. Speaking of which, trapdoor Springfield conversions and S&W cartridge revolvers were the norm. Some older cutters carried breechloading 3-inch Ordnance conversions of Civil War-era cannon.

USRC Corwin departing for Alaska in 1887. She was a 140-foot topsail schooner-rigged iron-hulled steamer that exemplified the cutter service in 1890. She carried a single 6-pounder.

As noted by the SECNAV at the time, Benjamin Franklin Tracy, “At present this large fleet of small vessels is constructed without any reference to the necessities of modern warfare.”

Pioneering a new age of steel cruising cutters for the service, capable of serving as a gunboat for the Navy in times of war, would be our USRC Windom.

Modern for her era, she was the first cutter constructed with a fully watertight hull, longitudinal and transverse bulkheads, and a triple expansion steam plant capable of 15 knots sustained speed.

She would carry a twin schooner auxiliary rig, at least at first

Designed to service Chesapeake Bay, Windom would displace 412 tons, have a length of 170 feet, eight inches overall, and an extreme beam of 27 feet. Her normal draught, carrying 50 tons of coal aboard, would be 6.5 fee,t while her hold was 13.5 deep.

Her twin inverted cylinder, direct-acting, triple-expansion steam engines (11 3-4, 16 1-2, and 26 1-2  cylinders with a 24-inch stroke) were designed by the Navy’s Bureau of Steam Engineering under orders of Commodore George Melville and were “regarded in engineering circles as more advanced in type than any in the Revenue Cutter Service. They drove twin cast-iron propellers and could generate 800 hp at 175 rpm. They drew steam via a single tubular double-ended horizontal 16×12 foot boiler.

Her battery was one installed 6-pounder RF Hotchkiss with weight and space for a 3-inch or 4-inch BL and a second 6-pounder as well. Small arms of a “modern type” would be provided for the 45-member crew.

Revenue Cutter Windom, Port Arthur, Texas

The design of Windom would lead the service to order five so-called Propeller class cutters, which were larger and faster (as well as costing about twice as much per hull) at 18 knots. These vessels, to the same overall concept but each slightly different in design, were built to carry a bow-mounted torpedo tube for 15-inch Bliss-Whitehead type torpedoes (although they appeared to have not been fitted with the weapons) and as many as four modern quick-firing 3-inch guns (though they typically used just two 6-pounder, 57mm popguns in peacetime).

These ships included:

–McCulloch, a barquentine-rigged, composite-hulled, 219-foot, 1,280-ton steamer ordered from William Cramp and Sons of Philadelphia for $196,000. She was the longest of the type as she was intended for Pacific service and so was designed with larger coal bunkers.

–Gresham, a brigantine-rigged 206-foot, 1,090-ton steel-hulled steamer built by the Globe Iron Works Company of Cleveland, OH for $147,800.

–Manning, a brigantine-rigged 205-foot, 1,150-ton steamer ordered from the Atlantic Works Company of East Boston, MA, for a cost of $159,951.

–Algonquin, brigantine-rigged 205.5-foot, 1,180-ton steel-hulled steamer ordered from the Globe Iron Works Company of Cleveland, OH for $193,000.

–Onondaga, brigantine-rigged 206-foot, 1,190-ton steel-hulled steamer ordered from the Globe Iron Works Company of Cleveland, OH for $193,800.

But we are getting ahead of ourselves.

Meet Windom

Our subject, in frequent USRC/USCG practice, was named for a past secretary of the U.S. Treasury, in this case, William Windom. A long-term U.S. Congressman (1859-1869) and Senator (1870-1881, 81-83) from Minnesota, he served as the Treasury boss under James A. Garfield for nine months in 1881 and then again under Benjamin Harrison from 1889 through 1891, passing in office at age 63. He successfully helped defeat a push to transfer the Cutter Service to the Navy

The Honorable William Windom, of Minnesota, left, while in Congress compared to his official portrait as Secretary of the Treasury in the Garfield administration. NARA 165-A-3716 & LOC LC-DIG-cwpbh-03920

Honoring the late Mr. Windom, the Treasury Department carried his engraved portrait on the $2 U.S. Silver Certificate from 1891 to 1896, while the USRCS named its groundbreaking new cutter after him.

Ordered from the Iowa Iron Works, Dubuque, for $98,500, with delivery to be made down the Mississippi River to the Gulf of Mexico and then to Key West. The plates, frames, angle irons, and castings employed in the hull were furnished by the West Superior Steel Works of Wisconsin, while William Cramp built her engines.

Accepted by the Treasury Department on 11 May 1896, she was moved to Baltimore, Maryland, where she completed fitting out and was placed in commission on 30 June 1896.

Her initial skipper was Capt. Samuel Edmondson Maguire, a 54-year-old Marylander who had joined the Revenue Cutter Service in 1871 as a third lieutenant after carpetbagging in Louisiana during Reconstruction. Maguire had volunteered during the Civil War as a private in Company C of the 114th Pennsylvania Infantry Regiment, the famed Zouaves d ‘Afrique, and was wounded at Fredericksburg.

In October 1896, Windom was tasked with keeping guard over the notorious gun-running steamer Dauntless.

Impounded at sea by the cruiser USS Raleigh off Florida after a run to arm rebels fighting against the Spanish in Cuba, Windom guarded the filibuster mothership until the Collector of Customs released the libeled Dauntless, after paying a $200 fine for lying to off the coast with no lights, to resume her illicit activities. Windom joined the cutters, Boutwell and Colfax, through the end of the year in Florida waters, based on the St. John River, to run interference against other filibuster boats headed for Cuba, impounding the steamers Kate Spencer and Three Friends in November.

Besides filibuster-busting, Windom spent the first 17 months of her career in quiet operations on the Chesapeake and patrolling the fishing grounds between the Virginia capes and Cape Hatteras.

Then came…

War with Spain!

On 24 March 1898, with the drums of war beating with Spain, President McKinley ordered the cutters Gresham, Manning, Windom, Woodbury, Hamilton, Morrill, Hudson, Guthrie, and Calumet, “with their officers and crews, be placed under the direction of the Secretary of the Navy.” This was later augmented by the Corwin, Grant, Perry, McCulloch, and Rush in the Pacific, as well as the McLane, Onondaga, and Winona, with at least 20 cutters on Navy and Army (Coastal Artillery) orders during the short conflict.

As noted by the Secretary of the Treasury after the conflict from the USRCS’s thin volume on the war:

There were in cooperation with the Navy 13 revenue cutters, carrying 61 guns, 98 officers, and 562 enlisted men. Of these, 8 cutters (43 guns), 58 officers, and 339 men were in Admiral Sampson’s fleet and on the Havana blockade; 1 cutter (6 guns), 10 officers, and 95 men were in Admiral Dewey’s fleet at Manila, and 4 cutters (12 guns), 30 officers, and 128 men cooperated with the Navy on the Pacific coast.

In addition to services rendered by vessels with the naval forces, there were 7 others, carrying 10 guns, 33 officers, and 163 men, with the Army, engaged in patrolling and guarding mine fields in various harbors, from Boston to Mobile and New Orleans.

Two days after the transfer order from McKinley, Windom, at Hampton Roads at the time, received orders to report at Norfolk and was there on 25 April when Congress passed the resolution recognizing that a state of war existed between the United States and Spain. She was painted gray and fitted with a four-inch main gun and a second 6-pounder.

USRC Windom in drydock at the Norfolk Navy Yard, Portsmouth, Virginia, 9 April 1898. Photograph from the Bureau of Ships Collection in the U.S. National Archives. 19-N-19-21-12

Windom’s wardroom during the war, in addition to Maguire, included:

  • First Lieutenant F. G. F. Wadsworth, executive officer
  • Second Lieutenant Richard Owens Crisp, navigator
  • Second Lieutenant S. P. Edmunds
  • Third Lieutenant J. V. Wild
  • Chief Engineer C. F. Coffin
  • First Assistant Engineer C. W. Zastrow
  • Second Assistant Engineer Edwin W. Davis
  • Surgeon John C. Travis (March 29 to August 1, 1898)
  • Surgeon W. E. Handy (August 2 to August 29, 1898)

On 30 April, Windom departed Hampton Roads on her way to the blockade off Cuba, stopping at  Key West briefly before arriving off Cuba on 8 May.

Assigned to Commodore Howell’s 1st Squadron, she patrolled the southern coast of Cuba near Cienfuegos until the 13 May, cutting the two Cienfuegos cables. She also helped cover the withdrawal of the Navy small boat raid to the cable house ashore (the Battle at Punta de la Colorados), closing with a Spanish battery and plastering it with 4-inch fire, scattering assembled local infantry. She also reportedly destroyed the lighthouse there, which was being used as an observation post by the Spanish, with her 6-pounders.

In all, Windom’s battery fired 85 rounds that day.

Her efforts helped allow 51 of the 53 Sailors and Marines dispatched from the cruiser USS Marblehead and gunboat USS Nashville to return to their vessels alive, and the cutter afterward evacuated several of the more seriously wounded bluejackets to Key West.

From her official report of the incident:

Windom then, after a respite at Key West, assumed station off Havana on 28 May, holding the line through August, chasing four Spanish blockade runners in June.

Hostilities ended on 13 August, and Windom reverted to Treasury Department control four days later. Arriving at Norfolk, she soon transferred newly installed guns to the USRC Gresham, returning to her pre-war appearance by October.

Maguire, the former Pennsylvania Zouave, remained in the service until 1906, when he retired as a senior captain, closing out 35 years of service to the Treasury Department. He passed in Patchogue, New York, in 1916, aged 73.

Return to Peace

Following the end of the Spanish-American War, Windom was soon back on her normal beat along the Chesapeake, including patrolling the America’s Cup Races in 1903.

In 1906, she transferred to Galveston to replace the cutter of the same name.

January 27, 1908. Photograph of the canal in Port Arthur, Texas. People stand along the shore. Boats are pulled over to the shore. The Revenue Cutter Windom is in the background. Heritage House Museum Local Control No: hhm_01293.

Working the length of the Gulf of Mexico from Key West to Brownsville, she returned to Maryland in September 1911 for a refit that saw her placed in ordinary for six weeks.

Back in Galveston, she was the first vessel to transit the newly opened Houston Ship Channel on 10 November 1914. President Wilson fired a cannon via remote control to officially mark the channel as open for operations. A band played the National Anthem from a barge in the center of the Turning Basin while Sue Campbell, daughter of Houston Mayor Ben Campbell, sprinkled white roses into the water from Windom’s top deck and decreed, “I christen thee Port of Houston; hither the boats of all nations may come and receive hearty welcome.”

USRC Windom in the Houston Ship Channel

In January 1915, Windom again entered ordinary in Maryland for an extensive one-year rebuild that saw her coal-fired boilers replaced by more efficient Babcock & Wilcox oil-fired models and her bunkers converted. This mid-life service extension saw her emerge with a new name: the USRC Comanche, soon to be the USCGC Comanche.

Recommissioned on 8 January 1916, Windom/Comanche returned to the Gulf and was deemed the Krewe of Rex’s royal yacht for Mardi Gras in New Orleans.

Windom as USCGC Comanche

View of the royal yacht “Comanche” as it prepares to dock at the foot of Canal Street on the Monday before Mardi Gras 1916

War with Germany!

With the U.S. entry into the Great War, Comanche was transferred from the Coast Guard to the Navy on 6 April 1917. She soon picked up another large deck gun, this time a 3″/50 Mk II. Her crew was bumped from 49 to 76 to allow for more watch standers and gun crew.

Commissioned as USS Comanche on 11 April 1917, she performed patrol duties in the New Orleans area under the command of LT Robert Ferriday Spangenberg, USNRF, until the summer of 1919.

Comanche was stricken from the Navy List on 1 August 1919 and returned to the Treasury Department on 28 August 1919.

Twilight

Wearing her white scheme once again, Comanche continued her patrols of the Gulf for another seven months and then headed for Key West where she was decommissioned on 17 April 1920 for repairs.

USRC Windom Gulf of Mexico NARA 56-AR-049

Recommissioned in July 1920, the ship relieved the USCGC Tallapoosa at Mobile and rejoined the Gulf Division. There, she was active in the campaign against bootleggers bringing contraband liquor up from the Caribbean during Prohibition.

Comanche Commonwealth Lib 2002-013-002-029

Comanche Commonwealth Lib 2002-013-002-048

Arthur S. Graham – Ralph A. Dett – Albert T. Chase – Brady S. Lindsay with barrels of confiscated 195% liquor while serving on the U.S. Revenue Cutter Comanche off Texas, circa 1920. Digital Commonwealth 2002.013.002.039.

Serving successively at Mobile, Key West, and Galveston, she patrolled coastal waters constantly until June of 1930. During that period, she left the Gulf of Mexico only once, in 1923, for repairs at Baltimore and Norfolk.

In July 1927, while at sea 170 miles southeast of Galveston, she suffered a blaze in her fireroom that left her adrift and her radio room silent, the ship’s generators offline. Towed into port by a tug a week later, she was apparently never restored to her pre-blaze condition.

On 2 June 1930, she was detached from the Gulf Division and was ordered back to Arundel Cove for the final time.

She arrived at her destination on 1 July and was placed out of commission on the 31st. She was sold to Weiss Motor Lines of Baltimore on 13 November 1930 for a paltry $4,501.

While Weiss possibly kept her in service for a time longer, I cannot find her mentioned in Lloyds from the era. Odds are, with the downturn in the economy in the early 1930s leading to the Depression, and the aftermath of the 1927 fire never addressed, she was probably just scrapped.

Epilogue

Little remains of Winston/Comanche that I can find.

Some of her plans and papers are digitized in the National Archives.

The Coast Guard recycled the name “Comanche” for two subsequent cutters (served 1934-48 and 1959-1980) that we have profiled in the past.

Comanche seen on 26 November 1934, post-delivery but before commissioning in a rare period color photo. Note she does not have her Navy-owned main and secondary batteries fitted yet but does have her gleaming white hull, buff stack and masts, and black cap.

During WWII, a Maritime Commission Liberty ship (MC hull no. 516, 7194 GRT) was named SS William Windom. Entering service in early 1943, she dodged Scharnhorst on Arctic convoys, landed cargo at Normandy, and survived the war to be scrapped in 1964.

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, you should belong.

I’m a member, so you should be!

Warship Wednesday, April 2, 2025: Jeezy Breezy, We Hit Em!

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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, April 2, 2025: Jeezy Breezy, We Hit Em!

Naval History and Heritage Command photo NH 90825

Above, we see the Balao-class fleet boat USS Charr (SS-328), off Mare Island Naval Shipyard, Mare Island, California, 16 September 1946, just after the war.

Although she got into the war late, only starting her first war patrol in December 1944, Charr has the distinction of sinking the last enemy cruiser sent to the bottom by a U.S. submarine, a feat accomplished after a four-day chase some 80 years ago this week.

The Balao Class

A member of the 180+-ship Balao class, she was one of the most mature U.S. Navy diesel designs of the World War Two era, constructed with knowledge gained from the earlier Gato class. Unlike those of many navies of the day, U.S. subs were “fleet” boats, capable of unsupported operations in deep water far from home. The Balao class was deeper diving (400 ft. test depth) than the Gato class (300 feet) due to the use of high-yield strength steel in the pressure hull.

Able to range 11,000 nautical miles on their reliable diesel engines, they could undertake 75-day patrols that could span the immensity of the Pacific. Carrying 24 (often unreliable) Mk14 Torpedoes, these subs often sank anything short of a 5,000-ton Maru or warship by surfacing and using their deck guns. They also served as the firetrucks of the fleet, rescuing downed naval aviators from right under the noses of Japanese warships.

Some 311 feet long overall, they were all-welded construction to facilitate rapid building. Best yet, they could be made for the bargain price of about $7 million in 1944 dollars (just $100 million when adjusted for today’s inflation) and completed from keel laying to commissioning in about nine months.

An amazing 121 Balaos were completed through five yards at the same time, with the following pennant numbers completed by each:

  • Cramp: SS-292, 293, 295-303, 425, 426 (12 boats)
  • Electric Boat: 308-313, 315, 317-331, 332-352 (42)
  • Manitowoc on the Great Lakes: 362-368, 370, 372-378 (15)
  • Mare Island on the West Coast: 304, 305, 307, 411-416 (9)
  • Portsmouth Navy Yard: 285-288, 291, 381-410, 417-424 (43)

We have covered a number of this class before, such as the sub-killing USS Greenfish, the UDT-10 carrying USS Burrfish, the rocket mail slinger USS Barbero, the carrier-slaying USS Archerfish, the long-serving USS Catfish, the U-boat scuttling USS Atule, Spain’s “30-one-and-only,” and the frogman Cadillac USS Perch —but don’t complain, they have lots of great stories

Meet Charr

Originally to be the first warship named after the Bocaccio, a type of West Coast rock fish, our subject was laid down, 26 August 1943, at Electric Boat in Groton. The powers that be swapped this tough to spell marine creature for the much easier Charr, a type of trout common to the Pacific Northwest, a month later.

As such, the future USS Charr- the only warship to carry the name-  was launched on 28 May 1944, sponsored by the wife of a no doubt upstanding citizen of Groton, and commissioned on 23 September 1944, her construction spanning a scant 394 days. At the time, EB was building them so fast that it was a dual commissioning ceremony– the first at New London- with sistership USS Boarfish (SS-327), who had been laid down just a fortnight before Charr.

Charr’s plank owner skipper was CDR Francis Dennis Boyle (USNA ’34). It was his first command, having gone out as a junior officer and XO on three previous war patrols on other fleet boats.

Sailing for the West Pac on 5 November to join the Big Show after six weeks of shakedowns, she arrived at Pearl Harbor via the Ditch in early December and spent Christmas of 1944 at Pearl Harbor.

She had a fairly green crew, with her wardroom averaging out to about two patrols per officer (although her two most junior ensigns were mustangs with 14 patrols between them). Meanwhile, her goat locker had a similar average with three of her chiefs counting zero patrols between them. Overall, only 43 of her 80 men aboard had earned their dolphins.

War!

On 30 December 1944, Charr was escorted out of Pearl Harbor along with the veteran boat, USS Batfish, to begin her first war patrol, ordered to roam the South China Sea by way of Saipan. Clearing that occupied former Japanese possession on 13 January 1945 with a full load of diesel oil and provisions topped off from the sub-tender USS Fulton, Charr made for her patrol area and spent the next several weeks fighting heavy seas while hiding from Japanese patrol aircraft.

Carr in the distinctive late-war fleet “gunboat submarine” configuration with forward and aft 5″/25s augmented with matching 40mm and 20mm mounts. Photo by Lt. Herb Hanson via Navsource.

She dodged a couple of floating mines and made a rendezvous at sea with her commissioning mate Boarfish on 27 January off Pulo Kambir, some 8,500 miles away from New London. Small world!

The next day, she was dispatched to close with the coast of Japanese-occupied French Indochina to search for downed fliers. Anchoring just 2,700 yards offshore, a landing team recovered the radioman of a downed aircraft in broad daylight on the 29th, then had to return after dark for the rest of the aircrew but found herself in the middle of Japanese convoy HI-88-B (Singapore to Moji).

From Charr’s patrol report:

While Boarfish was lucky enough to sink the Japanese tanker Enki Maru (6968 GRT) and force the tanker Daietsu Maru (6890 GRT) aground, Charr came away from the encounter empty-handed, never able to get close enough to make an attack. Transferring her navy radioman aboard her sistership, which was Fremantle-bound, Charr remained on fruitless patrol, working off and on with the fellow fleet boats USS Tuna and Blackfin.

On 21 February, while Boarfish’s crew was enjoying the bars and beaches of Western Australia, Charr crossed the equator and was ordered to go to the rescue of the imperiled Dutch T-class submarine HrMs Zwaardvisch (P 322), which she did on the 22nd. She would spend the next four days on a risky southbound passage to Lombok Strait on the surface.

Charr ended her 1st patrol at Fremantle on 3 March, having not fired any torpedoes, dodged over 20 enemy air contacts, and only fired her guns (20mm) at enemy mines. Despite the risky rescue of the downed Navy radioman, and boldly escorting Zwaardvisch back to safety, the patrol was not deemed by COMSUBPAC to be successful.

On the bright side, she ran 13,799 miles across 63 days on her first patrol with no casualties, and 75 of 80 men aboard had dolphins at the end of it. She was ready.

Second Patrol

Charr sailed out of Freemantle again on 27 March after refit, ordered, in part, to comb the Flores, Java, and South China Seas in coordination with USS Gabilan (SS-252) and Besugo (SS-321) while HM Submarine Spark was nearby but not attached. Charr celebrated Easter submerged on 1 April entering the Lombok Strait.

Soon, this Yankee wolfpack would sniff out one of the Empire’s last operational cruisers outside of Japan’s home waters.

The Nagara class light cruiser Isuzu had helped seize Hong Kong from the British and survived the Solomons and the hellfire of the Leyte Gulf, but her days had run out.

Nagara Class Light Cruiser Isuzu pictured on completion off Uraga on August 20th, 1923

Nagara Class Light Cruiser Isuzu pictured underway in Tokyo Bay on September 14th, 1944

Tasked with collecting isolated Japanese troops from Kupang and taking them to Sumbawa Island with an escort of a torpedo boat and two minesweepers, Boyle’s wolfpack (he was SOPA) sighted the little convoy off Paternoster Island at 1125 on 4 April but were forced to submerge due to Japanese air cover. Meanwhile, Gabilan sank a small Japanese vessel with gunfire in a surface action.

Besugo got close enough in the predawn of 5 April to fire six torpedoes at Isuzu and one, throat down, at her escorts, all of which missed.

The pursuit continued with RAAF Mosquitos of No. 87 Squadron and FRUMEL intercepts, pointing the way for B-25s of the Free Dutch No. 18 Squadron to attack the force on the morning of 6 April, dropping 60 500-pound bombs without result.

Meanwhile, Isuzu picked up her assigned marooned troops and deposited them that afternoon at Sumbawa, unharmed. A second attack by B-24s of the RAAF’s Nos. 21 and 24 Squadrons later that day left Isuzu limping and on manual steering.

It was in the afternoon of 6th April, between Sumbawa and Komodo islands is the Sape Strait, that Boyle’s wolfpack caught up to the Isuzu group again. Besugo fired another 11 torpedoes in two attacks and bagged the escorting Japanese minesweeper W 12 (630 tons) for her effort, then was forced back to Freemantle as she was out of fish. She surfaced and saw survivors in the water after the Japanese had moved on “but all refused to be picked up.”

At 0255 on 7 April, Charr made radar contact with Isuzu and her two remaining escorts at 14,700 yards, making their way out of Sumbawa’s Bima Bay. “Bingo, this may be the jackpot,” noted Boyle.

Radioing the contact to Gabilan, who was in the path of the Isuzu group, that submarine made an attack on the cruiser with five torpedoes, one of which hit below the bridge, causing flooding forward and cutting her speed to 10 knots.

Meanwhile, Charr moved in for the kill. From her patrol report:

Isuzu was the last of her class in Japanese service remaining and the final Axis cruiser sunk by an American submarine.

The next day, the wolfpack broke up, with Gabilan and Spark heading on their ways as Charr was detailed to complete a Special Mission (planting a minefield off Pulo Island) while sinking a 500-ton Japanese coaster on 10 April via gunfire. On the 13th, they received word of FDR’s death (“All hands are deeply saddened”), then on the 16th fired six torpedoes at two Japanese escorts in the Gulf of Siam without luck.

Stopping in at Subic Bay briefly on 20-24 April, she then headed to Formosa for lifeguard duty, saving USAAF Lt. Hugo Casciola, a Fifth Air Force P-51 pilot (likely of the 3rd Air Commando Group), on 6 May.

Ending her 56-day patrol at Subic on 21 May, Charr sailed 11,688 miles. Her patrol was deemed a success and a Submarine Combat Insignia was authorized, with Charr credited for 5,670 tons of Japanese shipping sunk.

Third Patrol

On 14 June 1945, Charr left Subic Bay for her 3rd war patrol, ordered to the Gulf of Siam, one of the few areas with a significant Japanese presence afloat, even if it was in the form of coastal traffic. By the end of the month, she formed an Allied wolfpack with HMS Selene (P 254) and Sea Scout (P 253), later joined by Supreme (P 252). They chased down a small Japanese convoy not worth the torpedoes to sink but could never get close enough to engage it with gunfire.

On 5 July at 0042 while on the surface alone, Charr’s lookouts spotted an incoming torpedo that only missed them by 25 yards, with Boyle noting “Evidence of the torpedo from its wake is unmistakable” as Charr left the area at flank speed.

With the three luckless British S-boats returning to Freemantle, Boyle, on 11 Jul,y inherited an all-American pack built around USS Hammerhead, Blower, and Bluefish. Four days later, Bluefish, birddogged by reports from Blower, who fired four torpedoes at a Japanese I-class submarine contact, found I-351 on the surface 100 miles out of Natuna Besar, Borneo with a cargo of 42 irreplaceable naval aircrewmen. Bluefish sent I-351 and 110 of her 113 crew and passengers to the bottom with a four-torpedo spread.

Charr ended her 43-day 3rd war patrol at Fremantle on 26 July. Although her group bagged a big Japanese sub, that was Bluefish’s kill, and, thus, the patrol was not deemed worthy of an SCI.

As WWII ended before Charr could begin a fourth patrol, she ended the conflict with just one battle star for her second patrol. She was then dispatched to Guam to join SUBRON5.

Fleet boats USS Sea Cat (SS-399), USS Redfish (SS-395), and USS Charr (SS-328) alongside a tender at Apra Harbor, Guam, in 1945. Photographed by John R. Huggard. NH 93824

Submarine Squadron 5 boats of the squadron nested together in 1945. Photographed by Lieutenant Herb Hanson. Ships are (from left to right): Segundo (SS-398), Sea Cat (SS-399), Blenny (SS-324), Blower (SS-325), Blueback (SS-326), and Charr (SS-328). NH 86621

Charr then returned to the West Coast on 27 January 1946, capping 15 months deployed out of CONUS. A refit at Mare Island and a new skipper followed.

USS Charr (SS-328) off the Mare Island Naval Shipyard, Mare Island, California, 16 September 1946. NH 90826

Cold War Snorkel Days

With the Navy rapidly demobilizing, there still had to be somebody on watch, especially with conflict boiling around the suddenly post-colonial West Pac, and Charr was one of several subs tasked with making what were termed simulated war patrols. One 115-day training patrol, departing San Francisco on the 4 October 1946, included visits to Pearl, Subic Bay, Shanghai, and Tsingtao China, as well as Yokosuka Japan, and was concluded at San Diego on 27 January 1947. A second one followed soon after.

She then fell into a quiet peacetime period of drilling naval reservists on two-week coastal deployments along the California and Mexican coasts with two dozen reservists aboard, serving as a training boat to the Submarine Training Facilities San Diego, participating in exercises, and earning a series of Battle Es including the Marjorie Sterrett Battleship Fund Prize in 1948, the first for a Pacific sub.

TBM-3E Avenger attack planes of VS-25 in flight over USS Charr (SS-328), 15 March 1950, under deployment to Fleet Air Wing Four, Whidbey Island. Note that she is still in her original configuration. 80-G-443900

On 10 July 1951, she entered Mare Island to be converted to a “Four-engine Fleet-type Snorkel” submarine, emerging four months later with a radically different topside appearance.

Caiman, SS-323 and Charr at Mare Island conversion to Guppy IA and Fleet Snork

USS Charr at Mare Island 9 Nov 1951

Would you look at that snorter! USS Charr at Mare Island 9 Nov 1951

Besides the obvious snorkel installation and sensor updates, the conversion gave her a new streamlined sail and removed her deck guns. She also sported a two-tone scheme.

USS Charr (SS-328) off the Mare Island Naval Shipyard, Mare Island, California, November 1951. Following conversion to “fleet-Snorkel” configuration. Note her experimental paint scheme. NH 90830

Same as above. NH 90828

Same as above. NH 90829

Same as above.

Then came the Korean War, which included a six-month war patrol (26 March -2 October 1952) in the region under the orders of Commander Naval Forces, Far East.

Sent to the West Pac again after the cease fire, she left San Diego on 13 June 1954.

USS Charr at speed

She visited Formosa, Taiwan, and met the 7th Fleet boss and the inaugural commander of the U.S. Taiwan Defense Command, VADM Alfred M. Pride, who appeared on hand with exiled Generallisimo Chiang Kei-Shek himself. The 67-year-old first president of the Republic of China toured Charr extensively and got underway briefly on 9 November. Most Americans forget today, but the U.S. had upwards of 20,000 troops deployed at any given time to Taiwan through 1979, when the USTDC was disbanded under the Carter administration.

General Chiang Kai Shek on board USS Charr (SS 328) at Keelung, Formosa. General Shek peers through the periscope as Commander Whitman, Commanding Officer of the submarine, looks on, November 9, 1954. 330-PS-7025 (USN 649238)

General Chiang Kai Shek on board USS Charr (SS 328) at Keelung, Formosa. General Shek with Vice Admiral Alfred H. Pride on the navigation bridge, November 9, 1954. 330-PS-7025 (USN 649236)

General Chiang Kai Shek on board USS Charr (SS 328) at Keelung, Formosa. General Shek with Vice Admiral Alfred H. Pride on the weather deck, November 9, 1954. 330-PS-7025 (USN 649237)

Then followed a decade of West Coast operations, ranging from Vancouver to Acapulco with naval reservists and participating in public events such as the Seattle Sea Fair and supporting Girl Scout Marine Ship 36 of Pasadena with tiger cruises.

She was in 12,000 feet of water off San Diego on 26 September 1961 when, while rigged for deep submergence, a main motor circulating water hose ruptured at 150 feet, flooding the Maneuvering Room, a situation saved after two ratings sealed themselves in the engine room and maintained power to rapidly bring the Charr to the surface. Living to fight another day, she was towed to San Francisco Naval Shipyard for repairs. John McGee, EM1, received the Navy Commendation Medal, while Douglass Webster, EM3, received a Letter of Commendation for their efforts to save their ship that day.

Operationally, she drilled in PACTRAEX and completed active West Pac deployments with Seventh Fleet in 1957, 1959, 1961, and 1963.

USS Tilefish, USS Razorback, and USS Charr moored in Vancouver in 1957. Note the difference in sail types

Balao-class submarine USS Charr (SS-328) in drydock at Yokosuka, Japan, 1963

USS Charr (SS-328) underway, 14 December 1963. USN 1094488

Same as above USN 1094493

USS Charr (SS-328) underway off San Diego, California, 8 January 1965. USN 1110922

Balao class, 1965 Janes, at which point the Navy still had a whopping 80 of these boats on hand

With U.S. involvement in Vietnam ramping up in 1965, Charr was deployed to those waters as a sideshow to SEATO Exercise Sea Horse and, along with a half-dozen other diesel boats, would soon be laying off the North Vietnam littoral on secret observation and lifeguard missions for Rolling Thunder air strikes.

It was during these support operations that Charr recovered CDR Jack H. Harris, commanding officer of VA-155, from the Gulf of Tonkin on 29 March.

Harris, flying from the USS Coral Sea, had ejected from his damaged A-4E Skyhawk (BuNo 150078) after an Alpha strike against North Vietnamese air search radar facilities on Bach Long Vi Island, which is located about 70 miles offshore roughly midway between Haiphong and the Chinese island of Hainan. He was the last pilot to be rescued CSAR style by a lifeguard submarine, almost 20 years to the date from Charr’s WWII lifeguard service. The waterlogged pilot remained on Charr for several days and was eventually high-lined to a destroyer for return to Coral Sea. Sadly, he died in the fire on Oriskany in 1966.

Charr almost got a second rescue from Coral Sea off Bach Long Vi Island as well.

As noted by EM3(SS) Sid Anderson of the old USS Charr Association:

CDR William N. Donnelly, CO of Fighter Squadron 154, flying F-8D BuNo 148642, had his controls shot out while in a dive-bombing run against an AAA site. He ejected while inverted at 450 knots and 1,000 feet altitude, landing about 4 miles from the island. On the night of March 30th, upon becoming aware that transmissions from CDR Donnelly’s emergency radio were being received, the USS Charr surfaced and conducted a grid search but was unsuccessful in finding him. Later that day, during the mid-watch (12 noon to 4 p.m.) CDR Donnelly was sighted floating in his survival raft by aircraft that were en route to another bombing raid. His location was about 14 miles from the Charr, which was submerged at the time. Once in receipt of this information, LCDR John M. Draddy, CO of the Charr, surfaced and proceeded to CDR Donnelly’s location. Upon arrival at the site, a fleet of Chinese junks were already there, with no sight of CDR Donnelly or his raft. With the belief that the junks had gotten to him first, LCDR Draddy quickly assembled an armed boarding party intending to rescue him. However, before any action was taken, LCDR Draddy received word that CDR Donnelly had already been picked up by a U.S. Air Force HU-16 amphibian, and the boarding party was dismissed. In his raft, CDR Donnelly had successfully evaded North Vietnamese patrol boats for some 45 hours.

Entering the twilight of her career, Charr would be redesignated an Auxiliary Submarine (SGSS) in July 1966, and make her seventh West Pac deployment from May to December 1967 that included SEATO Exercise Sea Dog and service as a “tame” Military Assistance Program submarine on loan to the navies of the Philippines, South Korea and China for use in ASW training.

She made her 7,000th dive on 20 July 1968. Not bad work considering most of her constructors were war-hires and “Rosies.”

Charr’s (SS-328) 7000th dive, 20 July 1968. (L to R): TMSN Don McClain (IC Electrician watch), HMC(SS) “Doc” Taft(standing by just in case), TM1(SS) Vince Solari (OOD/Diving Officer), LCDR Jim Callan (port lookout), CS1(SS) Jake Wade (Chief of the Watch), EN1(SS) Harley Rackley (trim manifold watch), EM2(SS) Lin Marvil (starboard lookout).    Photo by J.D. Decrevel EM2(SS), via Navsource.

Spending the rest of her career stateside, Charr was decommissioned on 28 June 1969 in a mass five-way ceremony with the old fleet boats Bream, Tunny, Bluegill, and Raton.

Bream (AGSS-243), Tunny (AGS-282), and Charr (AGSS-328), during the decommissioning ceremony at Mare Island on 28 June 1969. Photo courtesy of the Vallejo Naval and Historical Museum via Darryl L. Baker, via Navsource.

Charr continued “In Service, In Reserve” for another 18 months until 20 December 1971, at which time she was struck from the Navy List. She was sold to Nicolai Joffe, Beverly Hills, for $105,381 on 17 August 1972, then subsequently scrapped in Kearny. New Jersey

Charr earned an Armed Forces Expeditionary Medal for her Vietnam cruise, added to two for Korea, and her sole WWII battle star.

Epilogue

Little remains of Charr.

Her Cold War deck logs, WWII patrol reports, and war history are digitized in the National Archives. 

She had an active veteran’s group that was online until about 2020.

Post-WWII, Charr’s only wartime skipper CDR Boyle, who earned a Navy Cross for sinking Isuzu, did a stint at JPL then got heavily into guided missile research, rising to head White Sands in the late 1950s. He earned his surface warfare badge as commander of the USS Springfield (CLG-7) just after her conversion to a guided missile cruiser and then later broke his flag over Cruiser Destroyer Flotilla 7 as a rear admiral. He retired in 1968 and passed a decade later at age 68. His papers are in the Hoover Institution.

RADM Doyle, Charr’s WWII skipper

Her Vietnam-era skipper, LCDR John Draddy, the man who was ready to fight off a fleet of Chinese junks on the surface with Tommy guns and M1 Carbines to save a downed naval aviator, earned a Bronze Star for that cruise. He retired from the Navy as a captain, 29 years a submariner. He passed in 2005, aged 76, with a host of grandkids, and is buried at Arlington.

The P-51 pilot that Charr plucked from the drink off Formosa in May 1945, Hugo Casciola, survived the war and passed in Pennsylvania in 1976 at age 60. During WWII, U.S. submarines rescued no less than 504 downed airmen from all services.

It would be almost two decades after Chiang Kai-shek rode on Charr that the Republic of China obtained its first submarines, receiving the Balao-class ex-USS Tusk (SS-426) and Tench-class ex-USS Cutlass (SS-478) in 1973, recommissioning them as the “unarmed” training boats Hai Po and Hai Shih respectively. They were later augmented by a pair of Dutch-built SSKs.

Taiwan’s first Indigenous Defense Submarine (IDS), Hai Kun (SS-711), was launched last February at the CSBC shipyard in Kaohsiung. She is set to wrap up sea trials this month.

Taiwan IDS submarine, the future Hai Kun, departing for sea trials. CSBC picture.

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 you should be!

Warship Wednesday, March 26, 2025: First of 65

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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, March 26, 2025: First of 65

Photographed by Noggle. Naval History and Heritage Command Collection: NH 63259

Above we see the USS F-4 (Submarine No. 23) along with her three sisters, USS F-2 (SS-21), USS F-3 (SS-22), and USS F-1 (SS-20), proud and flying their “fish” flags and 13-star “boat” ensigns with their crackerjacks waiting either for a division inspection or shore leave– or both.

Taken in Pearl Harbor in 1914, these early boats were the first based in Hawaii, predating the construction of the submarine base, and as such were simply docked at Pier 5 at the end of Richards Street in Honolulu near where the Aloha Tower is today.

Less than a year later, on 25 March 1915– some 110 years ago this week– F-4 would take her final dive and a lot of those brave young men on her deck would vanish.

The F-class boats

The story of early American submarines was one of John Philip Holland’s Torpedo Boat Company which became the Electric Boat company in 1899.

Holland and his company would provide the Navy’s first steel boat, the 53-foot USS Holland (Submarine Torpedo Boat #1) in 1900, followed by the seven 63-foot USS Plunger (SS-2) or A-class boats, and three 82-foot B-class boats– all very small, basically midget submarines. EB’s five follow-on C-class boats, designed by Lawrence York Spear after Holland’s death, were steadily larger, at 105 feet, and used twin engines and twin motors, giving them a measure of reliability. Nonetheless, all these early boats, and those that immediately followed, were known as “pig boats” due to their downright foul living quarters and unusual and downright unship-like hull shapes, which tended to wallow and hog on the surface.

Then, as now, the U.S. Submarine arm is all-volunteer.

Spear’s D-class boats– the first American boats to run four torpedo tubes, were subcontracted out to Fore River and were the largest yet, at 134 feet. Spindle shaped and single-hulled with short sails, they would become the basis for Navy sub hull forms for the next decade.

“U.S. Submarines awaiting Orders,” halftone reproduction, printed on a postal card, of a photograph of five submarines nested together prior to World War I. The three boats on the right are (from center to right): USS D-2 (Submarine # 18); USS D-1 (Submarine # 17); and USS D-3 (Submarine # 19). The two left are probably (in no order) USS E-1 (Submarine # 24) and USS E-2 (Submarine # 25). Courtesy of Commander Donald J. Robinson, USN (Medical Service Corps), 1973. NH 78926

By 1909, less than a decade after the first Holland boat was bought by the Navy, Fore River began construction of a more modern pair of boats, dubbed the E-class, that were roughly the same size as the D-class that preceded them but, importantly, ditched the dangerous gasoline engines of the previous designs for a pair of NELSECO diesels. Importantly for maneuverability while diving, they were also the first U.S. submarines to have bow planes.

Further, they incorporated both a search and attack periscope along with a narrow-windowed conning tower, complete with deadlights.

USS E-1 (Submarine # 24) underway in New York Harbor during the October 1912 naval review. Note her diving planes and “chariot” style canvas and tubing open sea running platform erected over the narrow conning tower. NH 41946

This gives us the F-class, which are just improved Es, and were only the second group of American designed and built diesel-electric submarines.

F-class boats were the first U.S. Navy submarines built on the West Coast, with the first two, F-1 and F-2, constructed by Union Iron Works in San Francisco as Yard No. 94 and 95 using NELSECO diesels. The second pair, F-3 and F-4, were the first subs launched into Puget Sound, built as Yard No. 55 and 56 by The Moran Company, which soon after became Seattle Construction and Drydock Co. The latter pair used Craig diesels.

The D, E, and F classes were the first American submarines (and some of the first anywhere) to have permanently installed radios, and the latter class used telescoping aerials as well.

An improved version of the E-class subs, Fore River provided the design sheets to Union and Moran, which each respective company used in building their first submarines.

General plans prepared by the Fore River Shipbuilding Company, Quincy, Massachusetts, 18 June 1910. This sheet features inboard and outboard profile drawings. These submarines were constructed by the Union Iron Works, San Francisco, California. Initially named Carp (Submarine # 20), Barracuda (Submarine # 21), Pickerel (Submarine # 22), and Skate (Submarine # 23), they were renamed F-1 through F-4 in November 1911 while under construction. NH 84383

Same as the above. Note the three divided sections, fore, middle, and stern. NH 84382

Running some 142 feet overall and able to float on the surface in just 12 feet of water, the F-class were still designed more for coastal and harbor defense than blue water patrols. Just 330 tons when surfaced, they used two small 390 hp NELSECO or Craig diesels to make 13.5 knots on trials. Submerged, at 400 tons, they used a pair of 120 kW Electro Dynamic electric motors fed by two 60-cell steel-jar batteries to make 11.5 knots, a speed they could only maintain for about an hour or so before the batteries were drained.

Overall, they were designed for patrols lasting no more than a week and only carried 33 tons of diesel oil- enough to allow for a 2,300nm range at 11 knots.

Constructed of mild steel, riveted in place and depermed, they had a test dept of 200 feet and could submerge in just 45 feet– although the aerials would still betray them. While on trials in 1913, F-1 dived to 283 feet in tests, but after her hull groaned and she started taking on water within ten minutes, she quickly made it to the surface.

Armament was a four-pack of 18-inch torpedo tubes in the bow behind a rotating torpedo tube muzzle cap– a main battery pioneered just a few years earlier in the D-class– with one set of reloads, allowing for eight fish maximum if all spots were filled. There was no provision for a deck gun and the fairwater or conning tower was short and thin, prone to spray and wash while underway.

The F-class were, to be blunt, just an evolutionary step for the Navy, who soon after would order larger and more sophisticated G, H, K, L, and M-class boats– all before entering the Great War, accumulating 51 commissioned submarines by 1917.

American submarines, 1914 Janes

Meet F-4

Laid down on 21 August 1909 at Moran as the future USS Skate (Submarine No. 23)– the first American warship to carry that later storied name- our subject was renamed a more generic USS F-4 on 17 November 1911. Launched on 6 January 1912, sponsored by the wife of a shipyard executive, she was commissioned 3on  May 1913.

F-4. Note the tiny conning tower with the trunk between the two periscopes. It was thought the conning tower was the most likely part of the boat to be struck during a collision while submerged or carried away by a wave on the surface, so it was made as a separate watertight compartment that could, at least in theory, be wrenched off without breaking the integrity of the hull, provided the hatch was dogged tight. However, it was so small that it could not be used for much, and the skipper and XO had their duty stations, even in an attack run, standing by the diving controls and steering stations. First periscope for the skipper, the second for a lookout. NH 108789

USS F-4 (SS-23) Photographed between 1913-15. Courtesy of Donald M. McPherson, 1972. NH 74736

F4 via Bowfin museum. Note her diving planes

The four F-boats were assigned to the First Submarine Group, Pacific Torpedo Flotilla, based at San Pedro and operated on the West Coast as such until August 1914.

F-Class Submarines at the Mare Island Navy Yard, California, before World War I. This view shows the bows of USS F-1 (Submarine # 20), USS F-2 (Submarine # 21), and USS F-3 (Submarine # 22). Collection of Thomas P. Naughton, 1973. NH 92187

F Class Submarines and tender USS Alert (AS 4) in Dry Dock 2 at Mare Island, California 21 January 1913. Note the extensive awnings erected on the conning towers and the open torpedo cap on F1 to the right

Tender USS Alert and four F boats, San Diego, 1914. Alert, an iron-hulled steam sloop that entered the fleet in 1875, had been decommissioned in 1907 and lent to the California Naval Militia. The Navy recalled her in 1912 specifically for use as a submarine tender for the F-class. 

Then, with war in Europe and a German cruiser squadron roaming the Pacific pursued by British and Japanese fleets, our little F-boats were towed to Hawaii behind armored cruisers to provide presence in the islands.

The Final Dive

The early days of submarining were highlighted by the tendency for these submersibles to claim the lives of their crews. After all, the infamous Hunley sank three times during her seven-month career, on each occasion with a total loss of her complement.

The U.S. Navy was lucky for a time, while European powers and Japan suffered no less than 21 fatal submarine losses between 1903 and 1914, claiming over 200 lives. That luck ran out on the morning of 25 March 1915 when an accident occurred on F-4 while she was off Oahu on maneuvers, sinking to the sea floor 306 feet below with two officers and 19 enlisted aboard.

She had left her tender, the old gunboat USS Alert, at 0900 for a submerged run at a maximum depth of 30 fathoms (180 feet) for target runs but failed to return to the surface by noon. While her emergency buoy was not seen, a sheen of diesel oil appeared on the surface some 1.5 miles off Fort Armstrong between Diamond Head and Barber’s Point, about a mile and a quarter from the channel entrance.

As described by the Submarine Force Museum:

When the F-4 was at a depth of something less than 60 feet, chlorine gas began seeping into the middle, or control, compartment of the boat, indicating that somehow salt water had reached the batteries. F-4’s commanding officer, LT(JG) Alfred Ede, ordered the boat to return to the surface but soon the engines, straining to lift the weight of the sub plus tons of added seawater from what was obviously a substantial leak, overheated and quit. Before the Sailors in the control section retreated to the engine room—several already having passed out after breathing too much of the chlorine gas—they tripped the system that blew air from the high-pressure tank into the main ballast tanks.

But it was too late; water was pouring into the boat faster than the air could blow it out and soon the F-4 came to rest on the bottom, 300 feet below the surface, about 100 feet greater than her test depth. The pressure of the surrounding water soon overcame the rivets that held the torpedo hatch in place and the two forward compartments flooded quickly. Although the crew had secured the hatch behind them when they moved back to the engine room, the bulkhead around it couldn’t hold out against the weight of water and collapsed.

Rescue…turns to recovery

For two days, the Navy combed the waters near where F-4 had been lost and, using drags followed up by divers, was able to approximate her position on the sea bottom. Two Navy hard hat salvage divers attached from the submarine flotilla, GMCs John “Jack” Agraz and John Evans, descended rapidly to 190 feet without seeing the sub. Agraz attempted again and made it to 215 feet- a record at the time for open ocean work- in an unsuccessful attempt to reach the bubbling sub.

A hairy-chested hero, Agraz did the bounce under helmet only with no suit to save time, and somehow never suffered from the bends.

Divers working over the wreck of F-4 in March 1915

An experimental 54-inch diving bell owned by the Hawaiian Dredging Company was sent for, to be rented for $750 per diem.

On 27 March, two days after F4’s dive to the bottom, as the Alert stood by some 500 feet from the lost submarine in water just 160 feet deep, the tugs USS Navajo and Intrepid, accompanied by the 150-ton derrick dredge California, the latter towed by the steamer SS Claudine, arrived on scene with a plan to use a cable loop to lift F-4 and shift her close enough to the tender for divers to attach chains to her and bring her slowly to the surface via crane. The equipment involved amounted to two 110-fathom wire hawsers, with 45 fathoms of chain in the middle.

Heartache came as the clock ticked past 55 hours with F-4 submerged and the cable loop, which had reportedly managed to lift the boat from the bottom, slipped and the submarine careened back to the floor, bow first. The sweep brought to the surface a piece of brass from the submarine’s fairwater, believed to be a section of one of her periscopes.

With the desperate rescue making headlines across the country, SECNAV Josephus Daniels ordered a Navy-wide task force to head to Hawaii and join the effort. From the New York (Brooklyn) Navy Yard, one of the first dive medicine experts, Passed Asst. Surgeon George Reuben Williamson French, USN, (UPenn ’08) was dispatched by express train to Mare Island. French brought five of the Navy’s most experienced divers: Warrant Gunner George D. Stillson and GMCs Stephen J. Drellishak, Frank Crilley, Frederick Nielson, and William Loughman.

The men had spent the past 28 months in a program to evaluate diving tables based on English Dr. John S. Haldane’s theories on staged decompression. The divers had previously reached the amazing depth of 274 feet in experimental tests from the destroyer USS Walke (DD 34) in the relatively sheltered waters of Long Island Sound, developing the first U.S. Navy Diving Manual (the 252-page “Report on Deep Diving Tests”) in the process.

The team had developed a three-wire telephone connection for the divers to remain in constant contact topside the entire dive. It was dubbed the Stillson Phone for years.

USS Walke (Destroyer # 34) Diving support activities on the ship’s deck, while Gunner George D. Stillson, USN, was on the bottom, during deep diving tests conducted in Long Island Sound in late October and early November 1914. This photo may have been taken during Stillson’s 23 October dive, in which he reached the bottom in 88 1/2 feet of water. Note Chief Petty Officer holding diver’s air line, Passed Assistant Surgeon George R.W. French (wearing communications headset and microphone) talking to the diver by telephone, and recompression chamber (with hatch closed) in the background. GMC Frank Crilley is hatless to the left, looking at the camera. Courtesy of Jim Kazalis, 1981. NH 99832

Oh, yeah, and they also helped vet and design the iconic Mark V diving rig, adopted in 1916, based on the British Siebe-Gorman 6-bolt diving helmet but with significant improvements. Air was supplied to the divers from charged torpedo flasks, with pressure controlled through a reducing valve and by throttling.

Chief Gunner’s Mate Stephen J. Drellishak on the deck of USS Walke (DD 34) after making a record dive to 274 feet on November 3, 1914. U.S. Naval Undersea Museum photo

Crew members of the destroyer USS Walke (DD 34) pose with a diving helmet, diving boots, and a recompression chamber installed on the ship’s deck to support deep diving tests in Long Island Sound in the fall of 1914. U.S. Naval Undersea Museum photo

Diver preparing to go over the side of Walke on 3 March 1914. Note the airline attached to the back of his helmet. NH 99836, courtesy of Jim Kazalis, 1981. Chief Gunner’s Mate Stephen J. Drellishak ascending unassisted from a ten-foot stage at the end of his record 274-foot dive from Walke to the sea floor on 3 November 1914. His ascent from the bottom occupied 1 hour and 20 minutes. This dive was one of a series of deep diving tests conducted in Long Island Sound in late October and early November 1914. NH 99838

The dive team traveled with 10,756 pounds of specialized equipment in 27 crates, including a large recompression tank and 1,450 feet of air hose. Another 700 feet of hose was rushed from Norfolk. Mare Island was able to scrounge an additional 500 feet. Daniels dutifully told the press in Washington that, using “special appliances,” he was confident they could reach F-4. This would be their first practical test of their experimental diving techniques and what could be accomplished under service conditions.

Still, Daniels noted, “The Department fears there is not room to hope for the lives of the crew but is determined to do all that is humanly possible to raise the vessel and is undertaking to send the Navy divers to an unprecedented depth if necessary to accomplish this.”

Arriving at Mare Island, they boarded the armored cruiser USS Maryland (ACR-8), which in the meantime had been filled with six lifting pontoons- capable of lifting 520 tons- to be used in the salvage attempt.

New York Navy Yard’s Recompression Chamber No. 1 used during the salvage of F-4 (SS-23). The chamber was shipped to Mare Island and then put aboard Maryland (ACR-8) for the trip to Pearl Harbor. Photo courtesy of Darryl L. Baker via Navsource.

View of the stern of Maryland (ACR-8) with salvage pontoons loaded at Mare Island Navy Yard. Maryland was in dry dock at the time. Photo courtesy of Darryl L. Baker via Navsource.

The cruiser, the experimental dive team, and their accumulation of gear arrived in Hawaii on 12 April, sadly 18 days after F-4 was lost.

In the meantime, back at Pearl, RADM Charles B. T. Moore (commandant of the naval station), LT. Charles E. Smith (1st SubGrp skipper) and Naval Constructor Julius “Dutchie” Furer had been working on a series of mechanical lifts and sweeps to try to secure F-4, with the tugs Navajo and Intrepid joined by the dredge Gaylord.

On 7 April, with the experimental dive team still a week away, dragging continued with the tugs Navajo and Intrepid.

Furer acquired two mud scows from the Hawaiian Dredging Company, each some 104 feet long by 36 feet beam by 13 feet deep, and rigged them with four slings “made from the heaviest cables procurable” attached to purpose-built windlasses on each vessel. The windlass drums were made from 16-inch diameter sugar mill shafts and spooled with 2.5-inch galvanized steel cables obtained from the Pacific Mail Steamship Company with the 10-inch by 14-inch steam engine, geared to 6 drums, on the dredge used to reel.

With the dive team from Brooklyn arriving on the scene on 14 April, GMC Frank Crilley was the first diver to reach the submarine, dropping to a new record of 288 feet of seawater, and walked along the boat’s upper deck. He found F-4 on a smooth sandy bottom with no coral growth to impede hoisting operations, and her bow pointed shoreward. He noted two parted lines from previous snagging and recovery efforts attached to the craft. The dive took two hours, with a five-minute descent, 12 minutes on the bottom, and the balance on the slow rise to the surface to decompress.

Stillson, following immediately after, reported the superstructure was caved in, and the hull under it was filled with water.

Salvage of USS F-4 (SS-23), April-August 1915. A hard hat diver descending to the sunken submarine. Purportedly photographed 90 feet below the surface via a sealed glass bottomed box. F-4 had sunk on 25 March 1915 off Honolulu, Hawaii, in over 300 feet of water. Courtesy of Donald M. McPherson, 1972. NH 74731

The salvage equipment devised and employed by Furer to lift F-4 to the surface was slowly attached to the vessel over the next several days, with the divers only able to work 15-20 minutes per dive due to the exertion of working at such depth and the prerequisite decompression time. At least 13 dives went past 275 feet in depth, with five reaching the sea floor at 306 feet, struggling with 10 atmospheres of pressure (130-140 pounds per sq. inch).

To say this was dangerous for the divers was an understatement.

On 17 April, one of the men, Loughman, almost perished, adding his soul to the 21 already lost on the submarine. Entangled in lines on his ascent, he was trapped more than 250 feet down and helpless. Chief Crilley, who had already dived that day, volunteered to don a helmet and return to the deep to help his shipmate return to the surface.

Loughman, who spent more four hours at depths over 200 feet, was brought to the surface in semi-conscious conditions and had to spend nine hours in the recompression chamber, then was waylaid for two weeks with severe pneumonia and Caisson’s disease (the Bends). He was only released from Mare Island Naval Hospital at the end of June.

Dr. French on Loughman, via the 1916 Naval Medical Bulletin:

Crilley would later (in 1929!) receive a rare peacetime MoH for his actions.

Medal of Honor citation of Chief Gunner’s Mate Frank W. Crilley (as printed in the official publication “Medal of Honor, 1861-1949, The Navy”, page 106):

“For display of extraordinary heroism in the line of his profession above and beyond the call of duty during the diving operations in connection with the sinking in a depth of water 304 feet, of the U.S.S. F-4 with all on board, as a result of loss of depth control, which occurred off Honolulu, T.H., on 25 March 1915. On 17 April 1915, William F. Loughman, chief gunner’s mate, United States Navy, who had descended to the wreck and had examined one of the wire hawsers attached to it, upon starting his ascent, and when at a depth of 250 feet beneath the surface of the water, had his life line and air hose so badly fouled by this hawser that he was unable to free himself; he could neither ascend nor descend. On account of the length of time that Loughman had already been subjected to the great pressure due to the depth of water, and the uncertainty of the additional time he would have to be subjected to this pressure before he could be brought to the surface, it was imperative that steps be taken at once to clear him. Instantly, realizing the desperate case of his comrade, Crilley volunteered to go to his aid, immediately donned a diving suit, and descended. After a lapse of time of 2 hours and 11 minutes, Crilley was brought to the surface, having by a superb exhibition of skill, coolness, endurance and fortitude, untangled the snarl of lines and cleared his imperiled comrade, so that he was brought, still alive, to the surface.”

Slowly, using manila reeving line, by 18 April, all four lifting hawsers had been placed and transferred to the scows, but F-4 remained stubbornly on the bottom, drawn closer to shore into a shallower 275 feet depth.

Re-rigging the lifting hawsers with lengths of Maryland’s 2⅝-inch stud-link anchor chain for extra strength and reinstalling them, the next lift was tried on 20 May. Over the next four days, through a complicated series of lifts and tows, with the tugs, scows, pontoons, and dredge all working together day and night, F-4 had been lifted to a depth of just 84 feet by 24 May and 50 feet by 25 May. The plan was to bring her into a flooded dry dock that allowed a depth of 25.5 feet.

Then came a three-day storm that buffeted the lifting vessels and translated down the hawsers to the suspended water-filled submarine below as diving and salvage operations were suspended. When Furer sent divers down on 29 May after the waters calmed, it was found that the top of the sub was caved in and torn almost halfway through to the keel.

With F-4 upside down, suspended 46 feet under the water by hawsers, it was decided to transfer the rest of the lift to the six submergible pontoons and bring the submarine to the surface before transfer to a dry dock. Twenty charged torpedo air flasks were installed on a coal barge, then linked by pipe and a dozen 150-foot lengths of hose to the pontoons to bring them to the surface, with F-4 along for the ride. This took until 29 August to set up.

Valve manifold and hose leads to submerged pontoons, on board a salvage vessel off Honolulu, Hawaii, in August 1915. Halftone photograph, copied from Transactions of the Society of Naval Architects and Marine Engineers, Volume 24, 1916, Figure 11. The tug in the left distance is probably the USS Navajo. NH 43497

Then the lift started, with the flasks charging the pontoons and F-4 rising slowly. Importantly for diving history, this segment saw one of the first uses of several divers connected to the surface via telephone line for communication to coordinate the careful rise as one pontoon, rising too slow or too fast or at the wrong angle, could upend the whole operation.

Bow salvage pontoons emerging from the depths, off Honolulu, Hawaii, circa 29 August 1915, during the final lifting of the sunken submarine. Halftone photograph, copied from Transactions of the Society of Naval Architects and Marine Engineers, Volume 24, 1916, Figure 12. NH 43498

All salvage pontoons on the surface, off Honolulu, Hawaii, circa 29 August 1915, with preparations under way to tow the sunken submarine into Honolulu Harbor. Halftone photograph, copied from Transactions of the Society of Naval Architects and Marine Engineers, Volume 24, 1916, Figure 13. The tug in the center is probably the USS Navajo. NH 43499

Salvage pontoons on the surface, off Honolulu, Hawaii, circa 29 August 1915, after the final lifting of the sunken submarine in preparation for towing her into Honolulu harbor. Note the wooden protective sheathing around the pontoons. The tug on the right is probably the USS Navajo. Courtesy of Donald M. McPherson, 1972. NH 74732

Towed into port with the pontoons surfaced, F-4 was finally transferred to the dry dock of the Island Steam Navigation Company at the Quarantine Station dock.

From Beneath the Surface: World War I Submarines Built in Seattle and Vancouver by Bill Lightfoot. Photo from Kerrick, Military & Naval America, via Navsource.

F-4 in drydock at Honolulu, Hawaii, on 1 September 1915, after she had been raised from over 300 feet of water and towed into port. Note the large implosion hole in her port side and the salvage pontoons used to support her during the final lift. This view shows the F-4’s port bow. She is upside down, rolled to starboard approximately 120 degrees from the vertical. Photographed by Kodagraph, Honolulu. Courtesy of Donald M. McPherson, 1972. NH 74733

Naval personnel examine the large implosion hole in F-4’s port side, in drydock at Honolulu, Hawaii, circa late August or early September 1915. She had been raised from over 300 feet of water and towed into port. This view was taken from off the port bow, showing the submarine’s port side diving plane in the center. She is upside down, rolled to starboard approximately 120 degrees from the vertical. Courtesy of Donald M. McPherson, 1972. NH 74734

View of F-4’s port side name plate, taken in drydock at Honolulu, Hawaii, circa late August or early September 1915, after she had been raised from over 300 feet of water and towed into port. These figures are mounted on the submarine’s port bow and are shown upside down, as she was drydocked rolled to starboard approximately 120 degrees from the vertical. Courtesy of Donald M. McPherson, 1972. NH 74735

It was determined that the loss occurred due to leaking battery acid that corroded F-4’s hull rivets in the port wall of the battery steel tank at Frame 51, which allowed progressive flooding, chlorine off gassing due to salt water interaction with the battery jars, loss of depth control, and eventual catastrophic hull failure. This led to design changes in future submarine classes.

The salvage of F-4 is well covered in more detail at PigBoats.com. 

Epilogue

Of the 21 members of F-4’s crew that went on her last dive, 18 were recovered from her wreckage.

A team of physicians assembled from the Maryland’s medical department led by Surgeon H. Curl and Asst. Dental Surgeon Halleck, joined by Asst Surgeon WW Cress of the Alert, and Surgeons Trotter and Seaman of the Marine Hospital in Honolulu combed through the wreckage for remains.

The interior of the submarine, having been submerged for six months in the tropics, was in bad shape.

Detailed by Seaman in the 1916 Naval Medical Bulletin:

Four sets of remains were found in the middle compartment of F-4, while the rest were found in the stern engine compartment. Of the four recovered that were identifiable, two, Ashcroft and Herzog, were identified due to dental records, while the other two, Wells and Mahan, were identified due to the contents of their pockets. The remains were wrapped in cotton, surrounded by oakum, and placed in caskets.

The four who were able to be identified were repatriated to their families for interment, sent to California, Utah, and Virginia.

The 14 unidentified sets of remains were arranged in four sealed metal coffins, marched in a somber funeral parade through Honolulu to the California-bound USS Supply, and were eventually buried with honors at Arlington.

The modern marker for the F-4 crew includes the 14 men buried and three missing

Her crew is remembered as the first of the American submarines listed on Eternal Patrol and appear on markers and monuments as such across the country.

She is the first of 65 still on Eternal Patrol. (Photo: Chris Eger)

Following the investigation of her doom and the removal of remains, the wreckage of F-4 was refloated on 15 September 1915– the dry dock was rented after all– and towed under the pontoons by Navajo into Magazine Loch until she grounded in the shallow inlet. There she sat in the shallows until 1940 when the area was turned into the Sierra submarine piers. She was rolled into a trench by the pier and buried.

In 1999, a magnetometer survey near pier Sierra 13/14 detected a large object, some 80 feet from the pier, under some 20 feet of sediment. A sign has since been erected to note this resting place.

Meanwhile, the small original headstone for her 17 crew members buried at Arlington was installed at the USS Bowfin Museum at Pearl.

USS Bowfin Executive Director Jerry Hofwolt and Richard Mendelson (Submarine Veterans) during F4 Headstone dedication to USS Bowfin Submarine Museum and Park, 2000.

Some of her construction notes endure in the National Archives. 

In November 1915, Dutchie Furer, who directed the recovery of F-4, largely with improvised equipment, submitted an extremely detailed article on the salvage operation to Proceedings. A 1901 Annapolis grad who fought against the Spanish in 1898 while still a midshipman, he was a proponent of small craft operations and campaigned successfully for the 110-foot subchasers in the Great War. Earning a Navy Cross, he later helped supervise the modernization of the battleships USS Pennsylvania and New Mexico in the 1930s and, still on duty in 1941, became Chief of Navy Research and helped coordinate new technology into the fleet in WWII. He retired in November 1945.

RADM Julius Augustus Furer, USNA ’01, passed in 1963, aged 82, and is buried at Arlington.

Likewise, Dr. French would publish “Diving Operations in Connection with the Salvage of the USS ‘F-4″ in the Naval Medical Bulletin in 1916. He retired from the navy as a commander in 1937, then returned to the colors during WWII, later passing at the Oakland Navy Hospital in May 1955. He is regarded as the Navy’s first Diving Medical Officer. 

The hard hat divers of the experimental team that set and repeatedly broke their own deep-sea records also kept at it.

When there was another accident in 1927, when the USS S-4 (SS-109) became disabled and was lost with all hands, a familiar face hit the news again, with now-Ensign Grilley again earning a peacetime decoration for bravery.

“Naval divers who worked hard and faithfully at the difficult task of raising the submarine S-4” (quoted from the original 1928 caption). Probably photographed at the Boston Navy Yard, Charlestown, Massachusetts, circa 19-20 March 1928, shortly after the salvaged S-4 entered dry dock there. Those present are identified in the original caption as (standing, left to right): Michaels, Eadie, Wilson, Carr, and Eissn. (Kneeling, left to right): Grilley, Mattox and Doherty. Michaels may be Chief Torpedoman Michels. Eadie is Chief Gunner’s Mate. Thomas Eadie, who was awarded the Medal of Honor for rescuing Michaels during salvage work. Grilley is probably Ensign Frank W. Crilley. NH 41836

Navy Cross citation of Ensign Frank W. Crilley (as printed in his official biography):

“For extraordinary heroism and fearless devotion to duty during the diving operations in connection with the salvage of the USS S-4, sunk as a result of a collision off Provincetown, Massachusetts, 17 December 1927. During the period 17 December 1927 to 17 March 1928, on which latter date the ill-fated vessel was raised, Crilley, under the most adverse weather conditions, at the risk of his life, descended many times into the icy waters and displayed throughout that period fortitude, skill, determination and courage which characterizes conduct above and beyond the call of duty.”

Ensign Frank William Crilley, who earned both the Navy Cross and MoH, the latter only presented in 1929 by Coolidge some 14 years after the fact, retired from the service at least twice and was called back to help salvage lost subs. He passed in 1947, aged 64, on dry land. He is buried at Arlington.

The current Navy Experimental Diving Unit was formally established in 1927 at the Washington Navy Yard and the equipment and procedures developed at NEDU, including the McCann Rescue Chamber and mixed gas diving, were essential to the rescue of the crewmen who survived the initial sinking of the submarine USS Squalus on the bottom off the Isle of Shoals near Portsmouth in 1939.

The disabled Squalus was located on the sea floor at a depth of 240 feet in 29°F water, and a rescue ship with a diving chamber came to the site. The 33 crew in the non-flooded compartments were transferred to the surface within 40 hours via four trips of the diving chamber.

Now moving towards its 100th year in operation, the NEDU, still under SUPSALV, continues its research to save lives in the worst-case scenario.

They retain the Mark V on their insignia.

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, March 19, 2025: Bucoup Malchanceuse

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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, March 19, 2025: Bucoup Malchanceuse

Naval History and Heritage Command, NH 64442

Above, we see the unique cuirasse d’escadre Bouvet of the French Marine Nationale sitting quietly at anchor, likely in the Mediterranean in the 1900s. More a floating castle than a man-o-war, this tumblehome-hulled battlewagon would find herself very unlucky in the Dardanelles some 110 years ago this week.

The “Sample Fleet”

While France and Britain were at peace since 1815, there was still enough lingering animosity between the two traditional enemies that, when the Royal Navy began work on a series of eight new 1st rate warships that would become the Royal Sovereign-class battleship in 1888– vessels that hit 14,000 tons, carried four 13.5-inch guns, and were clad in as much as 18 inches of armor but could still make 17 knots or better– the French knew they needed a response.

This led the French naval ministry to order four, and later a fifth, new and experimental battleship around a series of mandatory specs: 14,000 tons or less, a “diamond” gun arrangement with turreted 12-inch guns fore and aft and 10.8-inch guns amidships, an armor plate topping out at 18 inches, and a speed of at least 17 knots. Dubbed the “flotte d’échantillons” (sample fleet), the idea would be that the ministry would pick and choose what worked best from these one-off prototypes and come up with the best design moving forward.

The first four ships were all designed by four different esteemed French naval architects and built at four different domestic yards at roughly the same time to cut down on the suspense:

  • Charles Martel, designed by Charles Ernest Huin, built at Arsenal de Brest 1891-1896
  • Jauréguiberry, designed by Amable Lagane, built by F et C de la Méditerranée, La Seyne-sur-Mer 1891-96
  • Carnot, designed by Victor Saglio, built at Arsenal de Toulon 1891-1896
  • Masséna, designed by Louis de Bussy, built at A et C de la Loire, Saint-Nazaire 1891-1897

French pre-dreadnought battleship Masséna, alongside one of her sisters

Before any of the above Echantillons had entered service, Charles Ernest Huin received the singular honor of drafting a fifth design that would begin construction at Arsenal de Lorient in January 1893. Regarded as a bit of a genius by the French, the 57-year-old Huin had graduated from the École Polytechnique during the Crimean War, sat on the Gavres Commission on artillery development, and became general director of the Gironde Shipyards in Lorient in 1881 where he designed the early battleships Hoche, Brennus, and Marceau before his Charles Martel design, picked as first of the Echantillons to be laid down, drew interest.

Hoche, seen operating in relatively flat waters along France’s Atlantic coast in 1890, was one of Huin’s babies

Huin’s swansong is our subject.

Meet Bouvet

Although a continuation of the sample fleet concept, our Bouvet would be a testbed for several new technologies. Whereas the other four Echantillons used Lagreafel d’Allest boilers, Bouvet would carry 32 (!) more modern Indret-Bellville boilers arranged on three engines driving three shafts (three of the four sample ships were twin shafters). She went a bit heavier than the preceding battleships, but with 15,000 shp available, she was designed to make 18 knots in theory and could steam 4,000nm on 10 knots with 980 tons of good coal in her bunkers.

While she carried a similar armor plan, Bouvet’s was improved Harvey nickel steel face-hardened armor with a higher tensile strength against incoming projectiles than that used on previous French ships. Further, while she had roughly the same hull type, it was not cut down to the main deck at the stem, and she carried a downsized superstructure with a pair of smaller military masts compared to the previous Echantillons, all of which suffered from dramatic stability issues in any sort of seas.

Her drawings on paper seem elegant.

She also had more modern guns, albeit of the same caliber as the four prior sample ships. Rather than two single Canon de 305 mm/45 (12″) Model 1887s as on Charles Martel, she had updated 305 mm/40 (12″) Model 1893s as her main armament. Capable of firing 770-pound AP shells to 13,000 yards at about one round per minute, these guns would later be mounted in two twin-gun turrets on the follow on the Gaulois, Iena, Suffren, Republique, and Liberte battleship classes.

Bouvet, bow shot, showing off her forward 12-inch gun

Note all the light guns in her superstructure

The secondary battery was a pair of 274 mm/45 (10.8″) Model 1887/1893s in amidship single gun turrets, an experimental model only carried on Bouvet and the sample ship Massena. Her sloping tumblehome hull form was largely to allow these “wing” guns a wider field of fire.

Battleship Bouvet beam turrets.

The tertiary armament was downright wild, with eight single 5.5″/45 M1891s, another eight 3.9″/45 M1891s, a dozen single 47mm/40 M1885 3-pounders, five single 37mm/20 M1885 1-pounders, and a pair of Hotchkiss 37mm 5-barreled Gatling-style guns. This was deemed more than enough to tackle incoming waves of enemy torpedo boats.

Bouvet, Janes 1914

Speaking of torpedoes, she maintained four separate 17.7-inch torpedo stations, two amidships above water with single tubes on trainable turnstiles, and another two submerged forward with fixed tubes that simply fired 90 degrees outward from the beam. Each station had its own magazine, and Bouvet could carry a dozen M1892 Whitehead-type fish, which had a 1,100-yard range and carried 220 pounds of guncotton.

Modern, she carried four dynamos that allowed for force ventilation belowdecks, electrical lighting, and six high-output searchlights. Heady stuff for 1892.

The Salad Days

Bouvet was ordered 8 April 1892 from Lorient Arsenal at a cost of £1.2 million, or 21 million French francs. Laid down to a completed design by Huin on 16 January 1893, she was launched 27 April 1896, her hull decorated with trees.

Named for the trio of famed 18th/19th century French navigator/admirals Bouvet, our battleship was at least the third to carry the name under the Tricolor, preceded by a steam aviso famously sunk off Haiti in 1871 in a storm just after she fought the German gunboat SMS Meteor off Havana (see: Warship Wednesday, Nov. 4, 2020: A German and a Frenchman walk into a Cuban bar…).

Bouvet fitting out

Bouvet was completed and was commissioned in June 1898, amid the spectacular naval developments of the Spanish-American War.

Bouvet circa 1900, Symond & Co photograph, IWM Q 22256

She joined the Mediterranean squadron and visited the Italian sovereigns in 1900, before becoming flagship of the entire French fleet for a couple of years. She then participated in several diplomatic voyages to Spain, Italy, Greece, the exotic Ottoman ports, and other spots in the region before taking part in numerous maneuvers and exercises in the Med.

For a time, she was a favorite subject of naval postcards.

Notably, she participated in the large French naval review at Cherbourg in July 1900, suffered a minor collision with the battleship Gaulois in 1903, and assisted in the international response to the 1906 eruption of Mount Vesuvius in Italy.

It was a quiet life.

By 1907, she was given an overhaul that included deleting her above-deck torpedo tubes and other minor efforts to help trim her top-heavy design. By the summer of 1908, with better battleships taking their place in the fleet’s 1st and 2nd Battleship Divisions, Bouvet was downgraded an assignment in the 3rd.

In and out of ordinary, her roles increasingly took on a more auxiliary tasking outside of the spotlight, no longer the proud flagship of her early career.

Battleship Bouvet in Toulon harbour 1912, BNF image

By 1913, the French Navy had a surplus of steel-sheathed, steel-hulled battlewagons, each class generally better than the last in an evolutionary sense, and all more advanced than Bouvet. Going past the Echantillons, they had three 11,000 ton Charlemagnes, the one-off 9,000-ton Henri IV, the 12,725-ton Suffren, two 15,000-ton Republiques, three 14,000-ton Democraties, six 18,000-ton “semi-dreadnought” Dantons, four modern 23,000-ton Courbets mounting a full dozen 12″/50 guns, three brand-new 24,000-ton Bretagnes with ten 13.5″/45s, and a class of five 25,000-ton Normandie class dreadnoughts under construction. With all that– including 13 legit dreadnoughts and six semi-dreadnoughts for the battle line and 10 still functional pre-dreadnoughts for expeditionary use– the need to keep the cranky and grossly obsolete Echantillons on the Navy List any longer was fading.

The four earlier sample ships were soon withdrawn. Charles Martel was placed in reserve in 1912 before being decommissioned outright in early 1914, permanently disarmed to become a floating barracks hulk at Brest. Carnot was placed in reserve in January 1913 and, disarmed, was used as an accommodation ship at Toulon. Massena, suffering an explosion in 1913, was withdrawn from service and hulked, pending scrapping.

Jaureguiberry and Bouvet were transferred to the Division de complément (Supplementary Division) and assigned to fire control development and gunnery training, respectively, surely the last stop before being laid up. These two ships were reportedly left in poor condition, with maintenance funds diverted to newer and more capable battleforce elements. After all, why waste money on ships earmarked for disposal?

War!

The Great War saved Bouvet and fellow sample battleship Jaureguiberry from the scrappers. Ordered to arm up and make ready for combat– with German and Austrian ally Italy thought ready to enter the conflict at any moment and German RADM Souchon’s Mediterranean Squadron at large– the two dated but still useful warships were soon escorting troopships in the Med. These included both French colonial troops heading to the Metropolitan Republic and British/Indian troops likewise headed to the Western Front.

Bouvet, May 1914, BNF

Once Souchon’s squadron, the battlecruiser SMS Goeben and the cruiser Breslau, had fled to the Dardanelles under the protection of Ottoman guns, and Italy gave assurances they had no immediate intention of honoring their pact with Berlin and Vienna, Bouvet soon shifted to Greek waters to join the force gathering there should the German ships attempt to break back out into the Med.

This force soon made the logical transition to supporting the doomed Franco-British Gallipoli campaign in 1915 once the Turks found themselves in the war. By late February 1915, a force of 16 British battleships under VADM John de Robeck and four French ones (Suffren, Bouvet, Charlemagne, and Gaulors) under RADM Emile Guepratte, augmented by a host of cruisers (including a random Russian) and destroyers, began to try to force the straits.

Among the 230 artillery pieces that supported the Dardanelles, defenses were at least 10 aging Krupp 24 cm (9.4-inch) K L/35 fortress guns from a batch of 30 pieces shipped to the country in 1889. They could heave a 474-pound shell via bagged charges out to a range of 8.1 miles.

Ottoman 24 cm artillery at the Rumeli Medjidieh battery Bouvet. That shell hoist would dramatically fail on 18 March 1915

Relatively obsolete by the Great War, they could still be deadly should an enemy ship obligingly get close enough to find out. Four of these were installed in the masonry fort at Rumeli Mecidiye Tabyası (Fort No. 13) on the European shore of the peninsula, backing up a pair of larger but less capable 28cm L/22s.

Ottoman 24 cm artillery at the Rumeli Medjidieh battery, 1915. Shown are the battery commander, Captain Mehmet Hilmi (Şanlıtop) Bey, and 2LT Fahri Bey.

Beyond the guns, the Turks had sown almost 400 mines in 10 fields, most laid by the humble little Ottoman minelayer Nusret.

Turkish Minelayer Nusrat

On the morning of 18 March 1915, a three-part attack was launched to reduce the Ottoman’s central forts, with the four most powerful British battlewagons (HMS Queen Elizabeth, Lord Nelson, Agamemnon, and Inflexible) kicking off the assault with a heavy two-hour bombardment from 8 miles out, followed by a second prong– the four French ships– boldly sailing to within just 5,000 yards to destroy the fortifications at point blank range, relying on their heavy armor to shrug off any remaining Turkish guns. Meanwhile, the 12 remaining British battleships would line up in a third division in three groups to provide covering fire and then follow the French in.

The problem with that plan was that the first bombardment was nowhere near as effective as the British thought it would be, and Nusret had crept in to sow an 11th minefield that the British and French didn’t know about.

The day would prove very bad for the Allied forces.

Inflexible, Queen Elizabeth, and Agamemnon in the British first line, along with Irresistible and Ocean in the second line, started taking hits, most from the little Rumeli Mecidiye battery but also other guns at Dardanos and Sogandare.

The French, drawn point blank with the forts, got the worst of it, with Suffren, flagship of RADM Guepratte, receiving 14 hits in 14 minutes and set ablaze, effectively out of the fight. Gaulois was hit twice, with one lucky shell plunging and penetrating her hull under the waterline, forcing her to retreat and beach on Tavsan in the Rabbit Islands to keep from sinking, the wounded Charlemagne at her side.

Bouvet received at least eight hits from Rumeli Medjidieh’s 9.4-inch guns, riddling her masts and funnels and putting her forward turret out of action. Not grievously injured, she answered the signal to withdraw and promptly stumbled into one of Nusret’s mines at 13:58 just under her starboard 10.8-inch mount.

Never having an abundance of stability, she quickly started to roll and, with water pouring down her funnels, turned turtle and sank in less than a minute, taking a stunning 660 of her 710 crew down with her.

Bouvet sinking after being mined 18 March 1915. Note how close to shore she is. Photo via the Surgeon Parkes collection. IWM SP 682A

A handful of waterlogged and shocked survivors were plucked from the water by the battle-damaged Agamemnon.

Survivors from the French battleship Bouvet coming on board the battleship HMS Agamemnon on 18 March 1915 during the Anglo-French naval attempt to force the Dardanelles. The Bouvet struck a Turkish mine and sank with the loss of over 600 of her crew. IWM HU 103301

With Roebuck ordering his ships to withdraw from the failed effort to reduce the forts, Irresistible and Ocean likewise struck Turkish mines and quickly sank within sight of Bouvet’s watery grave. Irresistible sank with the loss of only 12 of her 780 crew and had her survivors rescued by Ocean then, following the holing by that ship, she slowly sank and the combined crews were taken off by the destroyers HMS Jed, Colne, and Chelmer which were able to come alongside. Of note, the British battleships, while similarly dated, were not tumblehome designs, and Ocean only lost a single crewman in the battle.

Epilogue

Both at the time of the sinking and in modern Turkey, the loss of Bouvet was widely celebrated and remembered.

Le Bouvet aux Dardanelles

Illustrated First World War, Sinking of Bouvet

German wartime postcard depicting the sinking of Bouvet

Sinking of Bouvet

“Bouvet’nin Çanakkale’de Batışı (The Sinking of Battleship Bouvet at the Dardanelles)” by Turkish maritime artist Diyarbakırlı Tahsin Bey

“Bouvet’nin Çanakkale’de Batışı (The Sinking of Battleship Bouvet at the Dardanelles)” by Turkish maritime artist Diyarbakırlı Tahsin Bey

Charles Huin didn’t live long enough to see his penultimate battleship fail so spectacularly. Retiring from the French navy in 1902 after almost 50 years of service as a Commandeur de la Légion d’Honneur, he was struck by a car and killed on a Paris street at age 76 in December 1912 while on his way to collect his pension from the Ministry.

Charles Ernest Huin

RADM Guepratte, who commanded the French force on the fateful day that Bouvet was lost, was relegated to a desk job at Bizerte for the rest of the war and then retired. He passed in November 1939, gratefully missing out on the twin humiliations of Mers-el-Kebir in July 1940 and Toulon in November 1942. Post-war, historians rehabilitated his record and came to the conclusion he got a bad rap, and he is generally seen as a naval hero of sorts today in France, with a destroyer (D632) and frigate (F714) named after him. After all, he was ordered by Roebuck and Carden to take his four obsolete battleships right down the Turks’ throat and by all means should have lost all four.

The French Navy went on to recycle the Bouvet name twice- for a Free French auxiliary in WWII and a Cold War era Surcouf-class destroyer (D624) in operation between 1952 and 1981.

For years, it was believed that Bouvet sank only due to the 9.4-inch coastal artillery hits.

The Ottoman battery commander who landed the hits on Bouvet and several of the other ships, Capt. Mehmet Hilmi Şanlıtop, despite winning a series of decorations, including the Iron Cross, was cashiered post-war in the aftermath of the end of the empire. Welcomed into the ranks of the newly formed Turkish Army in 1920, he eventually retired as a colonel of artillery. He wrote a book about his service and passed in 1946. A statue of him stands near the location of the battery today, which is now a museum.

The Rumeli Medjidieh site, disarmed in 1919, today contains a single 9.4-inch Krupp fortress gun, albeit one moved from another fort. The site has bronze statues of Capt. Şanlıtop and his XO, along with Corporal Seyit Ali Cabuk, who famously hand-carried three 474-pound shells up to one of the 9.4s from the magazine to the breech after the shell hoist failed during the latter stages of the Allied attempt to force the Dardanelles on 18 March 1915, the rounds credited with hitting Ocean.

The story of Bouvet’s ultimate loss by mine strike caught up to the public.

The Ottoman minelayer Nusret, retired from naval service in 1955, was sold to commercial concerns and, derelict, sank in 1989.

Raised in 2002, she has been reconstructed on land at the Tarsus Çanakkale Park.

Nusrat Tarsus Çanakkale Park wiki commons

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, March 12, 2025: Spymaster Farm

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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, March 12, 2025: Spymaster Farm

“Received from Office of Naval Intelligence,” U.S. Naval History and Heritage Command, NH 64250

Above we see the beautiful new kleiner kreuzer SMS Dresden as she transits the Kiel Canal under the Levensau High Bridge in early 1908. Caught at sea in August 1914 in bad repair and already on her way back to Germany, she would end up being the last of the Kaiser’s cruisers at large on the high seas, sent to the bottom some 110 years ago this week.

The Dresden Class

The two Dresden-class light cruisers– our subject and the infamous SMS Emden— were ordered as part of the Kaiserliche Marine’s 1905-06 program to a modification of the earlier Königsberg class design and used the same hull form, armament, and armor plan but carried slightly different machinery. Some 388 feet long, they had a 44-foot beam and drew 18 feet of water under their hull.

Armament consisted of ten 4.1-inch SK L/40 naval guns— the standard weapon of almost all of Germany’s smaller cruisers and large colonial gunboats– in six single shielded pedestal mounts and four casemated, with 1,500 shells for these guns held in the magazine.

The German light cruiser SMS Dresden in a harbor. Note her forward 4.1-inch guns. IWM (Q 53072)

The secondary armament consisted of eight 2″/52 SK55 popguns with 4,000 rounds between them, backed up by a pair of submerged bow-mounted 17.7-inch torpedo tubes with space in the magazine for five fish. Landing party equipment included four Maxim machine guns and enough rifles, revolvers, and packs to outfit a company-sized force drawn from the 343-member crew. A light 6cm L/21 boat gun on a carriage along with 241 shells was also part of the ship’s bill.

When it came to armor, they carried a 3.1-inch belt of Krupp nickel steel along with 3.9 inches of protection over their conning towers and engines and about an inch over the deck. Meanwhile, the gun shields on the 4.1″/40s were two inches thick. Damage control was built into the design with 14 watertight compartments and a double-hulled bottom.

Dresden class cruiser diagrams Janes 1914

When it came to engineering, both used 12 coal-fired Schulz-Thornycroft marine boilers with Dresden using four Parson’s steam turbines generating 15,000shp while Emden had two reciprocating VTE engines that produced a less powerful 13,500shp. Likewise, Dresden carried more coal bunkerage (860 tons) while Emden could only stow 790 under normal conditions. Speed was virtually the same (23.5 Emden, 24 Dresden) as was cruising range with Emden having a longer (3,760nm) endurance at 12 knots while Dresden could only steam 3,600 but at 14 knots. Äpfel zu Organen.

Meet Dresden

While sister Emden was constructed at KW in Danzig, Dresden was laid down at the same time as Yard No. 195 (Ersatz Comet as she was originally to be named to replace the 19th-century sloop of that name) at Blohm & Voss, Hamburg. Launched on 5 October 1907 with Lord Mayor of Dresden, Otto Beutler, as a sponsor, she was commissioned on 14 November 1908, beating Emden to the fleet by eight months.

Outfitting Dresden class cruiser in Stettin

Meeting some early disaster, while on her shakedown on 28 November, Dresden was involved in a collision with the two-masted Swedish sailing ship Cacilie, sinking the Swede and sending the cruiser back to Hamburg for six months of repair, which was followed by a turbine explosion on follow-up trails.

Dresden at Wilhelmshaven in 1909. Farenholt Collection NH 65782

Finally emerging ready to serve, Dresden set sail under Kapitän zur See Eduard Varrentrapp in a three-ship task force along with the 6,500-ton training cruisers Victoria Louise and Hertha, bound for New York, where they would join the 3,700-ton Ostamerikanischen station cruiser (stationskreuzer) Bremen. Of note on Bremen during this period was a young ensign, one multilingual Wilhelm Canaris, who at the time was planning to spend his career in torpedo boats.

Peacetime ship of intrigue

The four German ships, Dresden included, arrived in New York in late September 1909 to attend the international naval review as part of the 300th Hudson-Fulton Exhibition. The force, under the command of the white-bearded and well-mustached 65-year-old Grossadmiral Hans von Koester– the first German naval officer to hold the rank– would take in the sites and become one of the more celebrated contingents, with thousands of ethnic Teutons and recent emigres from the region in NYC at the time.

Dresden was extensively photographed in the fortnight she spent on the Hudson.

German cruiser SMS Dresden. Picture taken between 24.September and 9.October 1909 during the Hudson Fulton fleet parade in New York. Note protected cruisers Victoria Louise and Hertha, other units of the German Squadron, in the background. Bain News Service collection, LOC 04281.

Dresden during Hudson-Fulton. H. C. White Co. image. LC-DIG-stereo-1s43331

Dresden during Hudson Fulton with her glad rags flying. Detroit Publishing postcard. LOC LC-D4-22624

Dresden during Hudson Fulton. Detroit Publishing postcard. LC-D4-39223

Photographed before World War I, probably at New York. NH 43303

Returning to Germany, Dresden suffered another collision, this time with the light cruiser Konigsberg, and spent some time in the training division in the Baltic.

She was beautiful in all respects, as shown off in period postcards.

She was then along with the cruiser Strassburg, dispatched to join the Mittelmeer-division in the Med between April and September 1913 under the command of FKpt Fritz Ludecke, where she kept tabs on the Balkans as the region descended first into war with the Ottomans and then among themselves, giving birth to the new nation of Albania.

SMS Dresden at Swinemunde

In December 1913, with Ludecke swapped out for FKpt Erich Kohler so that Ludecke could take command of the new light cruiser SMS Karlsruhe, Dresden skipped a much-needed overhaul to hold down the Ostamerikanischen station for six months as Bremen returned home after spending nearly 10 years in the Americas. The plan would be that Karlsruhe, her shakedown finished, would arrive in the summer of 1914 to tap Dresden out and take over the station. Joining Dresden for this deployment, fresh off a year in the Baltic on torpedo boat duties, was a now Lt. Canaris, who had proven very capable when on the old Bremen of making and utilizing local contents across Latin America.

Bremen, fresh from evacuating 1,200 European civilians during the Mexican revolution along with the HAPAG steamers Kronprinzessin Cecilie and Bolivia, was relieved on 21 January 1914 and returned home to Germany, via Port-au-Prince, on 13 February, leaving the station in Dresden’s hands.

With Germany backing Mexican dictator Victoriano Huerta, Dresden got involved with the local affairs at a ground level. Besides continuing to evacuate nearly 2,000 American and European non-combatants to HAPAG liners alongside British and U.S. warships during the occupation of Veracruz, the cruiser sent a detachment of armed sailors to guard the German embassy in Mexico City and helped the HAPAG steamer SS Ypiranga escape U.S. custody in April 1918, the latter filled with 30 train car loads of German-made Mauser rifles and cartridges bound for Huerta in violation of the American weapons embargo on the dictator. The German-flagged steamer SS Bavaria likewise arrived with another load of guns in May.

Canaris’ contacts and agents in the region, cultivated during his time on Bremen, often proved invaluable. The young officer had a reputation as a “fixer.”

Vera Cruz, Mexico, warships off Fort San Juan de Ulua near the time of the U.S. landing in April 1914. The three ships in the foreground from left to right are the German cruiser Dresden, the Mexican gunboat Nicolas Bravo, and the Spanish cruiser Carlos V. The ship behind the bow of Carlos V may be the Mexican Zaragoza as Bravo’s sister Morales was probably in the Pacific at this time. NH 42501

However, no matter how many guns the Germans sent, they arrived too late to help Huerta turn the tide against the Constitutionalists of Carranza, Obregon, and Villa in the north and the Zapatistas in the south. “El Chacal,” with his Federal Army soundly defeated at the Battle of Zacatecas in July 1914, resigned his office. His ride out of the country? Dresden, with Canaris as the general’s interpreter and handler, took him into exile as far as Kingston, Jamaica along with his vice president, Aureliano Blanquet, and their families.

The deposed dictator would later work with German naval spymaster Kapt. Franz von Rintelen during WWI on a series of anti-American and anti-Mexican for that matter initiatives until he passed under sketchy circumstances in Fort Bliss, Texas, with Von Rintelen writing after the war that, perhaps, Huerta was poisoned.

This brings us to…

War!

The fresh and brand-new Karlsruhe, finally complete and deployed to American waters on her maiden cruise, rendezvoused with the well-worn and homebound Dresden at Port-au-Prince, Haiti on 26 July 1914. The ships respective skippers changed places with Kohler, who was intimately aware of the current situation in the theatre, cross-decked from Dresden to Karlsruhe to take command of the new cruiser while Ludecke, who handled the vessel’s commissioning and shakedown, took up residence in his old cabin on Dresden for what he expected to be a ride back home. Likewise, Dresden transferred ordnance, spare parts, and even part of her small arms locker to Karlsruhe as the latter would need them more.

About that.

With the two cruisers departing Haiti on the evening of 26 July, they intercepted a radio message stating that diplomatic relations between Austria-Hungary and Serbia had been broken off and war in Europe was imminent. Karlsruhe made for Havana to top off her provisions and coal bunkers, then, instead of roaming West into the Caribbean, sortied East towards the Atlantic. Meanwhile, Ludecke in Dresden, heading back to Germany with not enough coal to make it there without stopping to refill her bunkers, was ordered to turn around and engage in independent cruiser warfare (Handelskrieg: commerce raiding) in the event of war– a suicide mission for a ship in Dresden’s condition some 4,800 miles away from home and in waters teaming with British warships.

Topping off at St. Thomas in the Danish Virgin Islands on 31 July, Dresden made ready for war and sailed south in radio silence.

By 3 August war was at hand and Dresden turned wolf. Pairing up with the HAPAG steamer Corrientes out of Pernambuco which was placed at her disposal, the cruiser began stopping passing merchant ships off the coast of Brazil to inspect their papers. Encountering four British vessels, she let two go (SS Drumcliffe and SS Hostilius) on parole after deeming their cargo to be neutral and sank two whose cargo was considered contraband: SS Hyades (3,352 tons) on 14 August and SS Holmwood (4,223 tons) on 26 August.

A fictional depiction of SMS Dresden firing at Mauretania. Zeichnung von Paul Teschinsky, August 1914. Illustrierte Zeitung, 1915

Headed further into the South Atlantic, Dresden was joined by the HAPAG steamers Prussia, Baden, Persia, and Santa Isabel. The Admiralty then dispatched orders for her to proceed into the Pacific with her train to link up with the Bremen-class light cruiser SMS Leipzig which, after an eight-year tour in Chinese waters as part of VADM Maximilian von Spee’s East Asian Squadron (Ostasiengeschwaders zusammentreffen), had been dispatched to relieve the light cruiser SMS Nürnberg on the west coast of Mexico, where the latter had been protecting German residents during the revolution. Picking up coal and provisions at San Francisco in August just after the outbreak of the war, Leipzig melted into the Southeast Pacific, lurking between Baja and the Galapagos Islands, where she, like Dresden, soon picked up a train of coal-carrying German steamers (Anubis, Abyssinia, Amasis, and Karnak of the DDG Kosmos line).

After a stopover to effect repairs before rounding Cape Horn, Dresden transitioned to the Pacific.

Panic ripped through the Western seaboard of Canada as Dresden and Leipzig were believed in the area (they never got within 1,000 miles), with the Canadian government rushing the newly-formed Cobourg Heavy Battery from Quebec and its two new 60-pounder 5-inch BL guns for a transcontinental rail trip to establish an emergency coastal battery (at Point Grey– now the University of British Columbia) to protect Vancouver. Likewise, the Condor-class sloop HMCS Shearwater landed two QF 4-inch naval guns for positioning in Stanley Park, named for Lord Frederick Stanley, Governor General of Canada in 1888. The RCN’s largest warship, the old Apollo-class protected cruiser HMCS Rainbow, missed Leipzig by only a day at San Francisco in mid-August.

Following an invitation from the British Ambassador in Tokyo, the 9,500-ton Japanese armored cruiser Izumo was dispatched to Esquimalt as reinforcement. The Japanese cruiser Asama, battlecruisers Kurama and Tsukuba, and the patchwork battlewagon Hizen (former Russian Retvizan) later joined her in what the IJN referred to as the American Expeditionary Force (Amerika ensei-gun) under RADM Keizaburo Moriyama. A separate Japanese task force built around the battleship Satsuma and cruisers Hirado and Yahagi sailed as the Special Southern Expeditionary Force (Tokubetsu nanken shitai) to search the Philippines, Palau Islands, and East Indies area and after Coronel moved towards the South-Central Pacific with the battlecruiser Ibuki. Had Spee crashed into either of these forces, it would have no doubt been one of the most interesting naval clashes in history.

Linking up with Leipzig off the west coast of Chile on 3 October, the two cruisers and their train of makeshift supply tenders on 12 October joined Von Spee’s primary force– the big, armored cruisers Scharnhorst and Gneisenau and the light cruiser Nürnberg— at Easter Island. The admiral’s squadron had been on the run from their homeport at Japanese-besieged Tsingtao since August and had stopped along the way to plaster French Tahiti (wasting 80 irreplaceable shells to level Papeete) and sweep the Marquesas Islands on the ever-present search for coal.

Besides her guns, Dresden’s very handy fixer, Canaris, was able to provide the admiral with intel, garnered via his carefully cultivated contacts around the continent. He was one of the first to pass the reports of a British cruiser force approaching from the Horn.

From 26–28 October the squadron coaled in Cumberland Bay of the volcanic and sparsely populated Isla Más a Tierra (Robinson Crusoe Island)– it’s as remote as it sounds, situated some 350 west of Chile– and made ready. There, the auxiliary cruiser Prinz Eitel Friedrich, which had been raiding in Australian waters with little luck, arrived and took over reasonability for the collier train.

By 1 November, Von Spee’s force would mix it up in the lopsided sea battle of Coronel against British RADM Craddock’s 4th Cruiser Squadron. While recounting the whole engagement is beyond the scope of this blog post, suffice it to say that Dresden, unscathed, accounted well for herself, landing a reported five hits on the Town-class light cruiser HMS Glasgow and one on the armed merchant cruiser Otranto. However, she expended 102 shells she could not recover from magazines that were already depleted.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the continent, on the evening of 4 November in deep water east of Trinidad, Karlsruhe mysteriously met her end at the hands of an explosion that has yet to be explained. She sank in just 27 minutes, taking two-thirds of her crew to the bottom with her. Until then, she had a successful raiding career, taking 17 prizes.

The same week, in the Indian Ocean, on 9 November, Dresden’s sister, SMS Emden, was defeated in a battle with the Australian cruiser HMAS Sydney near the Cocos Islands, having collected 23 prizes. The number of German cruisers on the high seas was shrinking rapidly.

Back in the Pacific, Von Spee’s squadron sailed triumphantly into Valparaiso to coal and replenish, unafraid of the Royal Navy for a change.

German Vice Admiral Graf Maximilian von Spee’s cruiser squadron, leaving Valparaiso, Chile, on November 3, 1914, following the Battle of Coronel. U.S. Naval Historical Center Photograph NH 59638

Dresden in Valparaiso, Chile, November 1914. Blickrichtung Backbord Richtung Bug

Dresden in Valparaiso, Chile, November, 1914

After replenishing at Valparaiso with the rest of the victorious squadron, Dresden was released to patrol the area and sank the British steamer North Wales (3,691 tons) on 16 November.

Crossing back into the Pacific, Von Spee anchored his force at remote Picton Island on 6 December and called a council of his skippers. Leaving Prinz Eitel Friedrich and the collier train hidden along the south coast of Argentina, he wanted to take his cruisers and raid the British coaling station at Port Stanley in the Falklands. His captains for the most part disagreed with only Capt. Schonberg of the Nürnberg sided with Von Spee and urged to break up the squadron to proceed on independent raiding sorties ending in either internment or a trip back home. The loss of Emden was sobering.

Von Spee, being the boss, went his way and on 8 December crashed headlong into British VADM Doveton Sturdee’s waiting force of two hulking battlecruisers (HMS Invincible and Inflexible along with the cruisers HMS Cornwall, Kent, Carnarvon, Glasgow, and Bristol; and the old battlewagon HMS Canopus.

It was over by late afternoon, with Strudee’s flotilla of bruisers chasing down Von Spee’s smaller cruisers and pounding them one by one beneath the sub-polar waves of the South Atlantic.

A German light cruiser in action, Dresden’s profile, probably at the Battle of the Falkland Islands, 8 December 1914, by William Lionel Wyllie, RMG PV3152

The Splashes of Canopus’s Guns- Scharnhorst and Dresden at the Battle of the Falkland Islands, 8 December 1914, about 13.30, William Lionel Wyllie, RMG PV1022

light cruiser Dresden at the Battle of the Falklands painting by Alexander Kircher

Of Von Spee’s cruisers off the Falklands that day, only the turbine-powered Dresden, with Ludecke pushing his stokers and boilers to the point of breaking– somehow hitting a record 26 knots on cranky engines– managed to gain a few miles on her pursuers and, with darkness falling, slip into the nameless fjords and inlets of Tierra del Fuego

Von Spee and four of his cruisers found themselves in the embrace of Poseidon that day along with 2,200 German sailors– including both of the admiral’s sons.

Sinking of the Scharnhorst painted by Admiral Thomas Jacques Somerscales currently on display at the Royal Museums Greenwich

Endgame

For a time, the world thought Dresden was dead, lost with the rest of Von Spee’s squadron.

However, she was still very much alive. She had suffered no damage in the clash. With the help of one of Canaris’ contacts, the German-Chilean mariner and harbor pilot Albert Pagels, Dresden was able to hide in the Punta Arena region, with Pagels guiding the cruiser into scarcely charted Quintupeu Fjord for safekeeping.

“SMS Dresden of the shores of Chile, 1914”

Eventually, the word got out and the British, along with the rest of the world that could do basic cruiser math, knew Dresden was still at large, a fleet in being if nothing else. Canaris provided constant reports on British fleet movements, and she was able to relocate a few times during this period, keeping one step ahead of the Royal Navy.

On 18 January 1915, Dresden was able to take on 1,600 tons of coal– twice her normal load– from the NDL freighter Sierra Cordoba. Ludecke nursed a plan to strike out across the remote Southern Pacific, skirting Antarctica until rising north to raid the Solomon Islands and, coaling at the Dutch East Indies, head into the Indian Ocean.

On 27 February, she sank the British barque Conway Castle (1,694 tons), her last prize, bringing her total to 12,927 tons of Allied merchant shipping.

German surface raiders– both actual cruisers and hilfkreuzers– captured or sunk an amazing 623,406 tons of Allied shipping in the Great War.

Nearly bumping into the cruiser HMS Kent at 11,000 yards on 8 March, Dresden lit all boilers and cranked almost 25 knots against Kent’s 22 to keep over the horizon successfully. However, this five-hour chase drained her bunkers dry– down to her last 80 tons– and a promised replenishment shipment on the NDL steamer Gotha, coming out of Montevideo with 3,000 tons of coal and spare parts for Dresden’s turbines, was likely not coming. It was clear the time came to end the race.

Ludecke ordered his ship to the closest neutral port, Robinson Crusoe Island, and made ready to intern Dresden under the safety of Chilean supervision, anchoring 500 yards offshore. Informing the Admiralty by coded wireless message of his status, he received “Seine Majestät der Kaiser stellt Ihnen frei, aufzulegen” (“His Majesty the Emperor gives you the freedom to hang up”) in reply.

Last Cruise of Dresden, via Canaris, by Heinz Hohne

On 9 March, Ludecke reported to the local governor at Robinson Crusoe of his intentions, who simply shrugged– he had no police or soldiers to take the cruiser into custody on an island with 45 inhabitants– and said he would send a letter by sail coaster to the mainland for orders how to proceed. In the meantime, Ludecke ordered Dresden’s guns elevated and pointed harmlessly at the island’s dormant volcano, with her steam punt tied to her stern ready to pull her around to face an incoming threat in extremis. With coal so low, shore parties were landed to retrieve wood to burn in the boilers for heat and auxiliary power.

While the Chilean navy three days later dispatched the protected cruisers Esmeralda and Ministro Zenteno to accept Dresden’s passage into internment, it was the British who found her first.

On the foggy morning of 14 March 1915, with many of the German cruiser’s complement ashore, a squadron made up of the cruisers HMS Kent and Glasgow along with the auxiliary cruiser Orama, appeared on the horizon– bird-dogged there by a decrypted wireless signal. Any question of the battle’s outcome was a foregone conclusion. The three British man-o-wars carried a total of 34 6- and 4-inch guns against Dresden’s 10. Nonetheless, as her pinnacle turned Dresden’s scarcely manned battery seaward, her fate was sealed.

SMS Dresden at Juan Fernandez Island, 14 March 1915. The white flag of surrender is flying from the foremast. IWM Q 46021

Capt. John Luce, Glasgow’s skipper, opened fire on Dresden at 3,000 yards despite the fact both ships were inside Chilean territorial waters. He had orders to destroy the German and, having faced off with her unsuccessfully at Coronel and the Falklands, took them seriously. Four minutes into the battle, with Dresden firing all of three rounds, she raised the white flag and struck her colors. Canaris motored out in the pinnacle for parley while Ludecke ordered her scuttled via a mix of open sea valves and torpedo warheads in her magazine.

Within a half hour of Glasgow’s first shot, Dresden capsized to port at 1115 and sank in 230 feet of water. Seven members of her crew were killed, three outright and four from wounds. Another 14 were seriously injured. The British suffered no casualties.

German cruiser Dresden surrendered and on fire after engagement with Royal Navy cruisers at the Battle of Mas a Teierra, March 14, 1915. Library of Congress Lot 9609-20

Sinking off the coast of Chile, 1915. NH 528

Sinking of Dresden, British postcard

Epilogue

Strongly worded notes of protest flew between London, Santiago, and Berlin over the sinking and violation of neutrality.

Most of Dresden’s crew survived the ship’s final battle.

As they were on Chilean territory, they were not picked up by the British as PWs and instead were, awkwardly, interned. After waiting five days on Robinson Caruso Island as guests of the local governor, existing on a cargo of 1,000 lobsters, they were picked up by the tardy Esmeralda and Ministro Zenteno then were deposited on Quinquirina Island, adjacent to Coronel.

The crew from German cruiser Dresden Aboard Chilean Cruiser Esmeralda, German war newspaper, May 1915

Settling into an easy life, funded by the German embassy in Santiago, the men kept chickens and cows, and tended neat gardens. The city of Dresden took up a public subscription for gifts sent to the crew for the Christmas of 1915. Two men died while in exile, one in 1916, and the other in 1917.

Allowed flexible leave periods, many men simply released themselves from their gilded cage, aided by the German naval attaché, KKpt August Moller. Kplts Kurt Nieden and Friedrich Burchardi, along with ObltzS Kurt Hartwig were among the first to leave, the latter arriving in Germany just three months after Dresden’s sinking and, switching to submarine duty, earned a Blue Max as the skipper of SM U-32, sending 44 enemy ships to the bottom including the battleship HMS Cornwallis.

Canaris followed suit. Traveling under a Chilean passport arranged by Moller, “Senior Reed Rosas” arrived in Europe on a Dutch steamer in October 1915, including a stopover at Plymouth. Within a few months, Canaris would be reassigned from the surface fleet to Directorate N, naval intelligence, and, still traveling as Rosas, would proceed to Spain to set up a spy network before joining the U-boat arm himself.

Canaris was a good surface sailor and a better submariner but proved most suited to the role of spymaster, running the Abwehr from 1935-45. Turning against his boss in the end, he perished just before the war was over at the hands of his own countrymen.

Another officer, Lt. Lothar Witzke, his leg broken in the sinking of Dresden, escaped Chilean confinement in early 1916 and, proceeding to California, joined German intelligence and was named as part of the munitions explosions at Black Tom Island in New York Harbor in 1916 and Mare Island in 1917. Subsequently arrested by U.S Army counterintelligence, he was sentenced to death, but the sentence was not conducted due to the Armistice, and ordered released by President Coolidge in 1923. He was welcomed with an Iron Cross when he returned home. He later, without a shock here, worked for the Abwehr.

The largest group of Dresden sailors to leave Chile, six officers and 45 men led by Lt. Karl Richarz, escaped an old three-master barque, Tinto (137 feet, launched in 1852). They arrived some four months and 12,000 miles later in Germany via Iceland and Norway. This feat was accomplished despite inadequate charts and condemned sails, with a stop (and release) by the British armored cruiser HMS Minotaur as a cherry on top. One of the officers aboard, a young ensign Friedrich Wilhelm Fleischer, would go on to become a vice admiral during WWII only to end that war in a British PW camp. Jack Higgins would borrow the story for the basis of “Storm Warning” albeit changing the date to 1944.

As for Ludecke, Dresden’s final skipper, he remained in exile, reportedly untethered after the loss of his proud ship. He did not return to Germany until the end of 1919. Retained by the Reichsmarine briefly until March 1920, he was the operations officer for the fleet’s sole remaining cruiser squadron’ until he retired at the rank of rear admiral. He passed in 1931, aged 58, having only written briefly of his wartime experience, a chapter in a forgotten 1920s German text.

Ludecke served 30 years in the German Navy. He is seen to the left of Von Spee during the council of the admiral’s skippers at Picton Island on 6 December 1914.

Of Dresden’s other skippers, her Hudson-Fulton commander, Varrentrapp, went on to command the battleships SMS Schleswig Holstein and Konig Albert during WWI, ending the conflict as a rear admiral in charge of the defenses of Wilhelmshaven. He was discharged in 1919 and passed in 1928, aged 60. Erich Köhler, who Lüdecke relieved in July 1914, perished at age 41 aboard Karlsruhe when the ship went down.

One other Dresden crewmember deserves mention. Immediately after the sinking. A rating on Glasgow noticed a pig swimming in the water and succeeded in rescuing him. The crew named said swine “Able Seapig Tirpitz” and he served as their mascot for a year before being transferred for shoreside duty at the Whale Island Gunnery School at Portsmouth.

Late in the war, he was auctioned off for charity but his “trotters” were turned into a carving set delivered to Glasgow while the head was mounted.

Both relics made their way to the Imperial War Museum, where the head is now on display, as Catalog No. EPH 9032 in the First World War Galleries. IWM Q 47559 IWM (Q 20554)

It seemed that almost all of the German cruisers that Dresden sailed with died in battle, the ship something of an albatross for the Kaiserliche Marine.

Besides Karlsruhe, Dresden’s own sister Emden, and the other four cruisers of Von Spee’s squadron, Konigsberg, who she literally bumped into in 1910, would scuttle up the Rufiji River in Africa in July 1915, her crew eventually captured by the British in 1917. Likewise, the old Bremen was sunk in the Baltic by a mine in December 1915. Strassburg, who she patrolled the Balkans with back in 1913, would be sunk at least twice in WWII.

The Japanese only disbanded the Amerika ensei-gun patrol force in May 1915, after Asama was recovered from being grounded off Baja in shallow water. The secondary Tokubetsu nanken shitai had been ordered back to Japan in January 1915 following Von Spee’s death off the Falklands. It was the beginning of the Combined Fleet’s experimentation with squadron operations outside of home waters. It would not be the last.

As for Dresden herself, as Robinson Crusoe gets little traffic, her hull is still there, as are 6-inch shells from Glasgow— the latter embedded in the cliffs behind her final anchorage. Dresden was illegally salvaged several times, likely by “treasure” hunters. Legal expeditions in 1965 and 2006 recovered numerous relics including her binnacle, flags, and her 340-pound ship’s bell. After display in Chile, the latter was sent “home” to a place of honor at the Militärhistorische Museum der Bundeswehr (MHM) in Dresden, unveiled in 2008 on the ship’s 100th birthday.

Schiffsglocke des Kleinen Kreuzers SMS Dresden, Leihgabe der Republik Chile, Militärhistorisches Museum der Bundeswehr, Dresden, via Wiki commons

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, March 5, 2025: Poster Child for the Donald Duck Navy

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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, March 5, 2025: Poster Child for the Donald Duck Navy

USN 479855

Above we see the PC-461-class 173-foot subchaser USS Chardon (PC-564) underway during fleet exercises on 9 May 1951. The humble gunboat survived an excruciating convoy across the Atlantic during WWII to serve on the beaches at Normandy only to take part in what was the last surface naval action in Europe during the conflict– some 80 years ago this week.

Along the way, she saved hundreds of Joes from perishing on the sea in a bit of a Christmas miracle.

The PC-461 Class

Designed to provide a beefy little sub-buster– similar to Britain’s corvettes and sloops– that could float in shallow enough water (10-foot draft) to perform coastal operations but still have enough sea-keeping abilities and range (4,800 nm at 12 knots) to escort cross-ocean convoys without needing the same anti-ship capabilities as found on patrol frigates and destroyer escorts, the Navy ordered some 400 small submarine chasers based on a modified design of one of the pre-war Experimental Small Craft program’s “X-boats” the diesel-powered USS PC-451.

USS PC-451 was designed in 1938 and commissioned on 12 August 1940. Some 173 feet long, the 270-ton steel hulled diesel-powered subchaser could carry two 3″/50 DP guns, six 20mm guns, two Mk 20 Mousetrap projectors, two depth charge racks, and two K-gun depth charge throwers, all while making nearly 19 knots and just requiring a 65-man crew.

The follow-on PC-461 went a bit heavier and, carrying twin 1,440 bhp diesel engines, could break 22 knots (when clean) and tote essentially the same armament, and ship out with QHA sonar (as well as small set SF or SO or SCR-517A radars after 1942).

PC-461 was laid down in July 1941– just five months before the attack on Pearl Harbor– and eventually, some 343 of her class would be constructed by March 1945 across 13 small shipyards, all non-traditional to the Navy.

Camouflage Measure 32, Design 12P drawing prepared by the Bureau of Ships for a camouflage scheme intended for application to 173-foot submarine chasers (labeled on the drawing as PC-578 class). This plan, approved by Captain Torvald A. Solberg, USN, is dated 19 July 1944. It shows the ship’s starboard side, exposed decks, and the superstructure ends. 19-N-73643

USS PC-483 is underway in a Navy Kodachrome. Note the ship’s camouflage pattern. 80-GK-00428_001

USS PC-546 underway off the U.S. East Coast, circa 1942. Interestingly, these ships carried a false stack, as the diesel exhaust was routed through the hull sides. 80-G-K-13278

USS PC-546 from the stern.

Another stern shot of the 546 boat, note her thin 23-foot beam, welded hull, and already thinning hull black applied in a rush, sloppy fashion.

USS PC-472 underway near Hampton Roads, Virginia, 31 August 1942. Note her armament layout including a 3″/50 forward, another aft, two 20mm Oerlikons on the bridge wings, two stern DC racks, and two K guns. NH 96481

The PC-461s were some of the smallest U.S. Navy ships to carry a legit sonar listening set.

Undergoing a course of instruction with Naval sonar equipment aboard the USS PC 592 are two Naval Reservists, Seaman First Class F.C. Semkin and Apprentice Seaman G.S. Jackson, Naval Base, SC. Accession #: L55-03

Depth Charges (probably Mk. 6 type) mounted on a “K-gun” projector, and on ready service holders, on the stern of a 173-foot submarine chaser (pc). Taken at the sub-chaser training center, Miami, Florida, 11 May 1942. Note depth charge racks in the background. 80-G-16048

Depth Charge explodes in the wake of a U.S. Navy submarine chaser (PC) during World War II. The photo was taken before April 1944. The 173s could carry as many as 30 depth charges, with a cumulative “throw” of some 5 tons of high explosives. 80-G-K-13753

Submarine chasers and crew. (PC-483, 461, 466), Key West. As the number of AAA guns expanded, crews would grow to as many as 80 officers and enlisted, against a planned complement of 65. 80-GK-00427_001

A motor whaleboat was carried amidships along with a small crane to launch and recover it.

USS PC-620 is seen in Key West in this LIFE Kodachrome. Note her whaleboat, crane, after 3″/50, and depth charges galore.

“Easy Does It!” Crewmen of A 173-foot submarine Chaser (PC) stowing their craft’s dory, after hoisting it from the water, circa 1942. Note Camouflage paint on the boat. The photo was received from the Third Naval District on 17 May 1943. 80-G-K-16426

The PC-461s ranged far and wide, seeing service in every theatre. Four (PC 566, PC 565, PC 624, and PC 619) claimed kills on German U-boats, two (PC 487 and PC 1135) with sinking Japanese fleet boats, three (PC 558, PC 626, and PC 477) with scratching German and Japanese midget subs, two (PC 545 and PC 627) with killing Italian torpedo boats, and two (PC 1129 and PC 1123) with stopping Japanese suicide boats.

“USS PC 565 shown a short time after sinking German U-boat, U-521, with a depth charge, only the Commanding Officer escaped. The vessel fell away from his feet as he climbed out of the conning tower, June 2, 1943.” 80-G-78408

When it comes to the butcher’s bill, six PC-461 class sisters were lost to a combination of enemy action and accidents during WWII while another 24 were seriously damaged.

Meet PC-564

Laid down on 25 January 1942 by the Consolidated Shipbuilding Co. in the Bronx (Morris Heights) PC-564 launched on 12 April and was commissioned on 2 July. In all, her construction spanned just 158 days, including the commissioning ceremony.

The Donald Duck Navy

Assigned to the Atlantic, our little subchaser spent the bulk of the next two years on unsung routine coastal patrol and escort duty, typically out of New York.

That is, after she passed out of shakedown and skills training at the U.S. Navy Subchaser School in Miami. It was there that her crew left a lasting impact on the school, with one of her crew, Signalman Jim Dickie, doodled a sort of fighting version of Donald Duck, complete with a depth charge Y-gun strapped to his back, a flag on his stern, listening gear, a “PC” brassard, and binos.

The combat duck insignia made it to PC-564′s crow’s-nest and the school personnel liked it so much it became the unofficial emblem of the SCTC.

The Donald Duck Navy insignia Mary Mclssac Collection. HistoryMiami. 2001-421-33N

In addition to dodging U-boats along the eastern sea frontier, the sea proved dangerous to our little patrol craft, with three men swept from her decks in the mountainous seas of Tropical Storm Seven off Cape Hatteras on 29/30 September 1943 while escorting a coastal convoy. SA Richard Tull (06508483) was never seen again while CBM John Black was amazingly tossed back on deck by a subsequent wave. The third man, RM Daniel Riley, was pulled from the cold embrace of the Atlantic by EM3 Norman Scaffe who wrapped a line around his waist and went after him, earning a well-deserved  Navy and Marine Corps Medal.

PC-564′s first skipper was Lt. Roland H. Cramer, USNR, who left the ship eight months later to commission a new sister, USS PC-1079, then left that ship six months later to command the destroyer escort USS Riddle (DE 185).

Her second skipper, Harvard-educated lawyer Lt. Alban “Stormy” Weber, USNR, likewise rotated out by June 1943 to command a tin can in the Pacific, leaving her to a third commander, NYC-born Lt. Seabury Marsh, USNR.

The Goofiest convoy

It was Marsh that pulled the short straw to join TF-67 in Convoy NY‑78, perhaps the most unusual Atlantic convoy of the war. As detailed in a past Warship Wednesday (Slow Going), NY-78 included 34 large (250 feet on average) NYC railway car barges specially modified into “Pickabacks” to make the voyage, which would be desperately needed to move ammo to the beaches on D-Day. Also, part of the convoy was two dozen tugs that would remain in Europe for Overlord and 11 other subchasers which were needed to work as control and support boats just off the surf line during the landings.

The pickaback convoy, Aug 1945 Popular Science

TF-67 wallowed 25 days from late March to mid-April on the 3,400nm trek from New York to Plymouth that averaged just under six knots! PC-564’s war diary for the period has her primarily chasing down loose barges, running ASW sonar lookouts, and acting as the convoy’s mail ship.

D-Day

The dozen 173-foot subchasers brought over in the convoy formed PC Squadron One and served as shepherds to the waves of LCIs headed to the beaches on D-Day, where PC-1261 was sunk off Utah Beach by a German coastal battery 58 minutes before H-Hour. Often while sidestepping German E-boats, midget subs, fire from shore batteries, mines, and aircraft, their war was one of up-close and sudden death.

Marsh would command PC-564 during the operation, leaving Portland Harbor, England at 0300 on 5 June, D-1, to function as the guide for Convoy Group 2 (O-2A), “riding herd” over the LCT flotillas in the convoy in the rough weather to the assembly area. On D-Day the next morning, she was assigned to function as a control vessel at Easy Red Sector, Omaha Beach, for Assault Group O-3, riding in with the 20th wave to the line of departure.

‘Easy Red Sector’, Omaha Beach – approx. 0700 on the 6th of June 1944. Men of Easy Company, the 2nd battalion, 16th Infantry Regiment, US Army 1st Division hide under Czech Hedgehogs while under fire during fighting during the Landing at Normandy.

The afternoon of 6 June saw PC-564 standing as part of the ASW/anti-E-boat screen off Omaha Beach, a role she maintained until 1800 on the 7th. Over that night, 12 enemy planes were reportedly shot down near her line.

Normandy Invasion, June 1944, USS Ancon (AGC-4), command ship for the Omaha Beach landings, stands offshore on 7 June 1944. USS PC-564 is in the foreground. 80-G-257287

On the evening of 7 June, she was ordered by USS Ancon (AGC-4), the command ship for Omaha Beach, to proceed to Easy White Beach to serve as a control vessel there, closing to the two-fathom curve where she experienced several enemy shells landing close-by. She would maintain her position off Easy White, directing incoming and outgoing vessel traffic, until dark on 12 June when she was dispatched to ASW/E-boat screen duties to T.G. 122.4 just offshore through the 17th.

Leopoldville

Marsh left PC-564 in late 1944, his place taken by Lt. James E Spencer, USNR.

When the troop transport HMTS Leopoldville, packed with men of the U.S. 66th (“Panther”) Infantry Division, was torpedoed just five miles short of her destination on Christmas Eve 1944, PC-564 was one of the ships that went to her immediate assistance. Spencer ordered her to close with the much larger ship in the darkness, and, throwing lines over, tied up as Leopoldville settled slowly into the water, taking men aboard until the dying troopship threatened to drag the subchaser to the bottom with her.

As detailed by the NHHC:

HMS Brilliant came alongside and rescued about 500 soldiers, while the other escorts pursued the submarine. The U.S. tug ATR-3 reached SS Leopoldville from Cherbourg in time to rescue 69 soldiers, and PC-564 and PT-461 also contributed to the rescue of a further 1,400 U.S. soldiers.

As recalled by Thomas Kay, a British DEMS gun layer on one of Leopoldville’s 3-inch HA gun that found himself in the frigid water unexpectedly:

When I hit the water the red light on my life jacket lit up and I kept on swimming as hard as I could go. I stopped once to look back, there was a crowd of men near and behind me. I saw the bows of the Leopoldville sticking up in the air and men dropping off her like flies. I turned away and kept on swimming hard for a while, then as I looked around me, I seemed to be quite alone.

I must have been in the water about 15 minutes or so, I really couldn’t tell, when a PT boat came alongside me. I later learnt it was the PC 564. It had a scrambling net hanging over the side and I grabbed hold of part of the net, but I could neither climb up or let go of the net I was so exhausted. I was rising and falling with the swell on the sea and the rise and fall of the ship. Two American sailors came down the net and somehow dragged me up it. I was so exhausted I collapsed in a heap on a canvas on the deck and one of the sailors said to me “don’t’ lie there buddy” and lifted the corner of the sheet up and I could see two or three dead bodies underneath in army gear.

They half carried me to a short steel ladder, took me down and put me in a bunk. I thought it was a sick bay at the time but later learned it was an officer’s cabin and I had been put in the bunk of Lt. Wesley Johnson, an officer on the ship.

The Granville Raid

With the war in Europe in its last act, just eight weeks before VE-Day, VADM Fredrich Huffmeier, late of the battleship Scharnhorst, was in charge of the isolated German garrison in the occupied Channel Islands, a command that would not capitulate until after the war. Looking to keep Allied forces tied down, he ordered Kpltn. Carl-Friedrich Mohr to sea with a motley force of 600 troops crammed into six minesweepers, three AAA barges (Artilleriefährprahms), three motor launches, and a tugboat with an aim to raid the French coast for sorely needed coal. With escapees from the POW camp at Granville providing intel, that harbor was chosen as the easy target.

Lt. Percy Sandel Jr, USNR, the 30-year-old son of Judge Percy Sandel of Monroe, Louisiana, was in command of PC-564 at the time. Our subchaser was the only American warship in Granville harbor crowded with Allied merchant ships other than the Royal Navy anti-submarine trawler HMT Pearl (T 22), which was armed with just a single old 4-inch gun and was set to escort British colliers back to Plymouth in the morning.

Asdic trawler HMT Pearl (ex-Dervish). She did not make contact with the German forces other than to fire star shells. IWM FL 17276

Things got squirrely just before midnight on 8/9 March 1945.

Per PC Patrol Craft of WWII, based on Sandel’s nine-page after-action report:

At 2315 hours, the radioman on PC-564, which was on patrol off Granville, picked up an alert for his ship. The radio station blurted out the positions of three radar contacts between the islands of Chausey and Jersey. After they tracked and identified them as German, they sent orders to the PC to intercept them. Percy Sandel, USNR, the Skipper of PC 564, rang General Quarters. The PC charged toward the contacts. After a series of radar and navigational plots to intercept the largest, the captain commanded, “All ahead two-thirds.”

At a range of 4,500 yards, Sandel ordered the crew on the three-inch gun to illuminate the targets. The night sky flashed to brilliance as PC 564 fired three star shells over the enemy ships. Fear raced through the men on the bridge as they stared at the sight of three German gunboats knowing that even one gunboat had them outgunned.

Seconds later, a star shell from the German ships burst over the PC.

The PC opened fire and after one round from the main gun it jammed. The German ships opened up with their larger guns, and their shells pounded the PC. A few minutes later a German 8.8 cm shell bored through the bridge of the PC and exploded. The blast, heat, and flying metal struck down all hands on the bridge, killing all but one person. As sailors raced to fight the fire another shell tore through the chart house. A third round splintered the ship’s boat. Then, German shells riddled the 40mm gun tub and crew. Motor Machinist’s Mate 2/C Elmer “Scrappie” Hoover tumbled from his post as pointer. Shrapnel had riddled his body and splintered many of his bones. His buddies lashed him to a bomb rack as the ship rolled in the heavy sea. Bodies sprawled about the deck and the bridge.

Because of the severe damage to the engine room, the steady roar of the PC’s diesel engines faded to silence. The Skipper ordered the men to standby to abandon ship. Sailors scurried about the deck twisting tourniquets, wrapping bandages, and shooting morphine into shivering men with legs and arms bloodied and dangling or blown away. Below decks, the engineers lit off the engines again. Under the direction of Lt Sandel and Lt. Russell Klinger, the ship plowed ahead for the shore. It ground onto the rocks of La Baie du Verger near Cancale. Larry Jordan, Seaman Ist Class, wrote, “‘I never knew that land could look so good in all my life, but boy! That was the most beautiful land that ever looked at!”

The shells of the German gunboats killed fourteen men. wounded eleven and left fourteen missing. Dazed survivors who heard only the last words of the captain, “abandon ship,” jumped into the frigid water. From there they watched as Sandel, steering by hand, beached the heavily damaged ship. German sailors on the E-boat scooped up some of the men, who had gone overboard, before the ship ran aground. Those PC sailors ended the war in a German prison camp. A small group of men swam or went hand over hand along a line from the beached PC to shore. Though unable to speak French, they raised help from a French doctor and fishermen who went to rescue and care for the men still on the grounded ship.

Sandel’s damage report:

  • Shell through the Pilothouse exploded inside causing extensive fire damage.
  • Mast Damaged by shrapnel
  • Hull and deck have extensive damage due to shell holes and shrapnel.
  • Shell through deck at base of Pilothouse
  • Minor damage to 40mm gun, tub full of holes
  • Depth Charge release gear inoperative
  • Steam lines broken, electric cables cut.
  • Shell exploded in small boat, boat cut in half
  • Starboard rudder missing
  • Port rudder badly damaged
  • Both props badly damaged
  • Starboard strut shaft missing

Casualties: 2 Officers and 12 men dead, 11 men wounded, 12 men missing out of a crew of 5 officers and 60 men. At least five of those lost are buried at the Brittany American Cemetery, Montjoie Saint Martin, France.

The Germans lost one ship during the raid, the 224-foot M1940-class large minesweeper M-412, which had run aground in shallow waters and evacuated, was scuttled in place.

Commander, U. S. Naval Forces, France, endorsed the fight of PC-564 against hopeless odds at Granville as “The PC 564 closed the enemy rapidly, engaged vigorously, and did her best to break up the attack. The resultant loss of life and injuries to personnel is to be regretted, but the courage of the Captain and his crew was of a high order.”

VADM Laurence DuBose, chief of staff and aide to the commander, Naval Forces Europe under ADM Harold Stark, in May 1945 further endorsed Sandel’s report from Granville by saying, “The Commanding Officer displayed courage in fortitude in bringing superior enemy force to action. This action delayed and shortened the enemy’s subsequent activities in Granville.”

Beached on the French coast at the Pierre de Herpin Lighthouse, PC-564 was later salvaged and towed to Amphibious Base Plymouth, England, where she was repaired by late April and returned under her own power to the states. After more extensive overhaul on the East Coast, in June 1945 she was assigned to the Commander, Submarine Force in New London, Connecticut to serve as an ASW asset for new boats.

Cold War

Postwar, PC-564 was dispatched to Pearl Harbor where she was placed in service as a Naval Reserve Training vessel and general district craft assigned to the 14th Naval District. While stationed there, she was named Chadron on 15 February 1956, one of 102 sisters who lasted long enough to earn a name.

She is likely named for the small maple syrup-rich Ohio town established in 1812, with a slim runner-up being Anthony Chardon, a French exile and American patriot in Philadelphia who hobnobbed with Thomas Jefferson– he provided the wallpaper for Monticello– and whose image is in the Navy’s collection.

Her time at Pearl was spent in a series of training evolutions for reservists and as a guard and exercise asset for COMSUBPAC’s boats, as detailed in this log entry from January 1957:

She was decommissioned and stricken from the Naval Vessel Register on 1 November 1962 at Honolulu, as directed by the CNO in 1561P43 and placed in the reserve fleet.

Picking up a Taegeukgi

Ex-Chadron was transferred to the Republic of Korea on 22 January 1964 at Guam as Seoraksan (PC 709), seen in Janes at the time as Sol Ak.

The ROKN had a long record with the 173s, with the country’s first naval purchase being ex-PC-823, commissioned as Baekdusan in 1950.

Ultimately, the U.S. Navy transferred another five PC-461s to the ROKN during the Korean War– no cash required!

Three were lost to assorted causes and the three remaining of these PCs were retired in the 1960s and replaced by Chadron and two sisters– ex-USS Winnemucca (PC 1145), and ex-USS Grosse Pointe (PC 1546)– again giving the South Koreans a three-pack of PC-461s on patrol into 1975, by which time they were replaced by a six-pack of larger (1500-ton, 306-foot) Rudderow-class destroyer escorts.

Notably while in ROKN service, Chadron/Seoraksan on 10 November 1964, she rescued the South Korean trawler Changseong-ho, which had been captured by a North Korean patrol boat. Then, on 12 April 1965, while patrolling the East Sea, rescued and towed the fishing boat Songjin-ho, which was drifting due to engine failure, a feat she repeated on 22 July 1968 with the drifting trawler Choi Chang-ho.

ROK 173-foot class via Jane’s 1974.

Epilogue

Little remains of our subject.

Of her skippers, Alban “Stormy” Weber retired as a rear admiral and passed in 2007. He joined with other PC-564 crewmembers including Lt. Wesley Johnson, whose bunk the rescued British gunner from Leopoldville used, to form the Patrol Craft Sailors Association in 1987. Once some 3,000 strong in 1998, it is increasingly sunsetting with the end of the Greatest Generation.

Weber was preceded by Seabury Marsh, PC-564‘s skipper on the slow-going NY-78 Convoy, and during Overlord, who passed in New York in 1973, aged 63. Likewise, Percy Sandel Jr., who commanded her during the one-sided battle at Granville, passed in Louisiana in 1994, aged 80. James Spencer, who commanded her for the Leopoldville rescue, faded into history. I cannot find where he was even decorated for his role in the debacle, one that was classified for decades.

The “disposable” PC-461 class, besides the U.S. and ROK navies, served under the flags of more than 20 other countries. They remained in service around the globe until the late 1980s when the last two in active, ex-USS Susanville (PC 1149) and ex-USS Hanford (PC 1142), were retired by Taiwan.

Some 40,000 bluejackets sailed on the PCs during the “Big Show” and immediately after. The chronicle of their war is the out-of-print 400-page PC Patrol Craft of World War II: A History of the Ships and Their Crews by William J. Veigele, a former PC sailor, first published in 1998.

It’s a good read if you can find it

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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