The U.S.S.K-2, an American Submarine, based at Punta Del Gada, in the
Azores, slowly nosed its way, out from behind the breakwater and out
through the nets. She was homeward bound to get new batteries and have
her two Diesel engines repaired.
I was one of her crew. It was late in October, 1918. The crew was happy
at the prospect and eager to leave as the influenza was very bad in the
Azores and a quarantine was on. It would take us about ten days to get
to Bermuda and about three more to make Philadelphia.
Everything was working smoothly and our crew of thirty men were
enjoying a pleasant voyage as the ocean was quiet.
However, the Captain was worried as the Chief Quartermaster Lucas
seemed to be suffering form a bad headache. The following morning Lucas
was very sick with the flu. There was not a doctor aboard and none
nearby. The Captain ordered every man to take C.C. pills every morning
and when not on duty to go out on the deck for all the fresh air he
could get. The air was foul in the submarine, from battery gas, engine
fumes, etc. The Captain ordered the engine full speed, altho [sic] the
Chief Engineer warned they could not stand much. But the next morning
Lucas was awfully sick and three or four men were not feeling well. So
the Captain ordered the speed to be kept up.
Shortly before reaching Bermuda, Lucas became delirious and taking care
of him became a problem. The the Starboard engine broke down. But we
made Bermuda and Lucas was taken to a hospital.
Taking on a supply of fresh water and fuel oil, the Captain decided to
make a quick trip to the Philadelphia Navy Yard. None of the other men
were very sick. So the K-2 eased out of the harbor. We were accompanied
by the Prairie, a supply ship, and bound for "Philly."
Everyone was happy until late that afternoon, when a radio message was
received stating that the Chief Machineist's Mate's wife and baby had
died in Philadelphia of the flu. The message was garbled and we did not
know whether it said baby or babies, as he had a couple. Of course, he
was distracted. The Captain ordered "Full Speed". Would that the other
engine stand up? The batteries were dead. One hundred twenty big ones,
but they were so dead that we could not get enough electricity for our
electric stove to even have coffee, so we ate hard tack, drank water,
and ate canned peaches.
The following morning the last engine quit. It could not be repaired,
so we semaphored to the Prairie for aid. She came to our aid and we were
soon being towed along at the end of a big steel cable attached to the
Prairie.
A storm soon came up. It was one of the Cape Hatteras famous storms.
The waves became higher and higher. It rained hard and the lighting was
terrific. Then there was a snap and we began to roll from side to side.
A voice from the conning tower said "Steel Cable has parted". We had
gotten on one side of a great wave and the Prairie on the other and the
strain had been too great for the cable. The Prairie semaphored that she
would sand by us until the storm abated. We were all relieved to hear
that as while we were able to receive radio messages, we could not send
any. We were in the path of coastline ships, also, and there was danger
of our being run down. About noon the Prairie notified us that her cargo
was shifting and that she must leave us. She sent out messages stating
our position and the Revenue Cutter Shonomish answered, from a great
distance, saying she was on her way to our aid.
It was with great regret that we watched the smoke of the Prairie fade
away. It was a great ocean and the submarine was awfully small, and
disabled.
The waves seemed to get higher and higher. First we were on top a
mountain, then down in a valley. Only two men were allowed on the
conning tower bridge. Crouched down and protected by the framework
around the periscope, the two would get fresh air, and smoke cigarettes.
The waves smashed wildly at the submarine, but she was like a bottle
with a cork in it. Sometimes as we watched from the trough of a wave, it
seemed like that towering wave would bury us deep, but we would roll
right up it.
Inside misery reigned supreme. The air was foul, from battery gas and
oil fumes. The ship was rolling about 54 degrees. In fact so badly that,
at night the sailors had to fix ways to keep from being thrown out of
their bunks. I was lucky. I had the only hammock. Also, seasickness, and
of course the flu, was with us.
The Captain would have the two men on the bridge relieved every 15 to
30 minutes. They would wait until the right time, yank open the hatch
and let two men relieve them, being careful not to let any salt water
in. The salt water would make chlorine gas, if it got to the batteries.
Our pumps were useless as we had no power. We could not submerge because
we could not blow the tanks to come up, if we went down.
Night came on and I was ordered to put a light on the periscope. I did
but believe me I was glad when I got down. One of the boys held my legs.
The waves smacked us both, but we had on rubber clothes. But the light
was necessary because we were in the path of coastline shipping and also
for the Shonomish to see.
Going below, I found most of the men seasick. Only a few ate supper. I
ate considerable hard tack and lost of canned peaches, of which I was
very fond.
About eight o'clock, I was ordered to listen in on the radio, or
wireless telegraph. Picking up Arlington, Va., where there was a large
radio station, I began copying the whistling dots and dashes. The static
was awful and every time the waves hit our antenna, it was impossible
tho hear at all. Arlington was giving out war "Communiques" and lots of
Code. My messages were badly garbled as I could not hear very well and
the submarine rolled so I had to hold the condenser knobs, etc., to keep
on the station.
About ten o'clock I got terribly seasick. The rolling waves, the stuffy
air, and the beautiful delicious peaches, were too much for me. My
copying had been bad enough before, but now it was awful. In disgust the
Captain told me to "turn in."
All night it was a madhouse. Men rolling and tossing and falling out of
bunks or nearly so. The lights were dim, because the batteries were bad,
and the air blue sometimes because the oxygen was being used up. We cast
longing eyes at the oxygen tanks, but they were for a worse emergency
than this.
We did not sleep much. Would the Revenue Cutter find us?
Day dawned and a cry was heard from the men on watch. "There she is!
Away up on that mountain of water."
She sent us a message that she would tow us in, after the Ocean quieted.
The storm continued for a while. It was forty hours in all before it
got quiet enough to open the conning tower hatch.
After the storm, it was a big job to get a towline. The Shonomish
steamed by and tossed us a line but it missed us. Again they tried to
get a line to us and again. They had to come close and there was great
danger that we would crash. Finally we got the line. Then our boatswains
mate and several of the other sailors fastened ropes around their naked
bodies and around the steel line than ran from the conning tower to a
post, and on the bow of the submarine, and going out they fastened the
towline. At times the bow went under until they were submerged up to
their necks. It was a risky job but they made it.
Coming up on the bridge, they put on their clothes, which they had
taken off because there was no way to dry out wet clothes. Then the
Captain passed them a good part of his personal supply of "Cognac",
which he was hoping to bring home. But his men were nearly frozen and he
was a real fellow.
The waves were pretty high but the Shonomish signaled that they were
ready so we went to our stations. But alas, at the first real pull the
cable parted. We were all disgusted. Our Captain decided to wait a few
hours and then try again.
Late in the afternoon, "Rosy" the boatswains mate and the same men
went out again to fix the towline. They did and also finished the
Cognac.
This time the cable held. All night long and the next day we were towed
astern. A big British warship saw us, and left immediately, sending out
submarine warnings. Two seaplanes came out to meet us and circled. Their
machine guns and bombs looked nasty. We waved our flag and cheered. They
looked disappointed. Early the following morning, we were in the
Delaware river and our submarine was brought up along side the Revenue
Cutter and lashed bow to bow and stern to stern. Everything seemed safe
now so our Captain; the second in command, and most of the men went
aboard the Shonomish for a bath, shave, and hot coffee and hot food. We
were near Wilmington, Delaware. Ensign Wiker was left on board, along
with a Machinists mate, a seaman, and electrician, myself and the negro
servant, who was pressing the Captain's uniform while the Captain took a
bath over on the Cutter.
As we went up the river, I was engaged in scrubbing up around my
wireless set. I was thinking "Hot coffee, hot food and a bath. Wish my
relief would hurry". Suddenly, Boom! Cries from the officer in the
conning tower. Our sub lurched violently upsetting me and my bucket of
water. The negro and the Captain's uniform landed in a pile. Boom! and
the submarine righted itself. It seemed to have turned nearly over.
Making a dive for the hatch, I beat the negro to the deck. We were
nearly on the rocks! The front bowline had parted, followed by the
smaller ones. The rear one had held and we started to turn over when an
old timer cut the lines with an axe or released it some way, righting
us.
Away off to our left was the Shonomish making a circle, coming back to
get us. Would she make it before we got on those nasty looking rocks?
Well, it sure didn't look like it.
Wiker ordered the electrician to start the electric motors, and he
reversed the engines. But it was a long shot! Our batteries were dead.
The electrician, however, threw the switch and to our delight the motors
started. The propellers turned. We started backward. But in just a few
moments the electricity died. However, the motors had done just enough
to give the Shonomish a chance. "Here she comes". shouted Wiker, "grab
those lines and fasten them".
The Shonomish was still twenty feet away when our big boatswains mate,
"Rosy", gave a running jump and landed on our deck. At the same time
the lines were thrown from the cutter and caught by us and wrapped
around the stanchions, etc. They tightened and held. We were slowly
pulled back and soon were fastened to the Shonomish, but with plenty
more ropes. Our Captain had followed "Rosy", and then the men came on
board. None of us were permitted off the submarine again until late that
afternoon when we went into Dock at League Island Navy Yard,
Philadelphia, Pa.
Most of our men got shore leave at once. I had to stay on board. My
watch was from four to eight A.M. As I was walking post, I heard the
first whistles sounding the signing of the Armistice, November 11,
1918.