Around the World Submerged (40 page)

The
Triton Eagle
has formally ceased publication, though we shall probably put out one more issue prior to arrival in the United States. The reason is that mail from home will now fill the void the paper has been filling these several months. The entire staff deserve much credit for daily extra duty faithfully performed for the benefit of their shipmates.

Monday, 2 May 1960 0117 Sonar contact identified as USS
John W. Weeks
(DD-701).

0243 Periscope depth.
Weeks
in sight bearing 035.5° true.

A blown tube in sonar equipment prevents communication with
the destroyer. Most annoying to have it take place at precisely this moment. We are however prepared against this eventuality with our homemade method of signaling by light through the periscope. As with the
Macon,
we have to use two periscopes and three quartermasters, but the thing works as well as before. We shall design a more refined apparatus for use at future times.

0302 There are lights of entirely too many ships around our present position. Signal from the
Weeks:
“Follow me.” We head out to sea in the direction we’d most like to head, toward the USA.

0554 The
Weeks
is to deliver a SubLant Medical Officer to us for transportation back to the United States and take Commander Roberts with his exposed film to Rota for further transfer by air back to the US. She also carries instructions for us regarding the end-of-cruise rendezvous near the United States.

I remember thinking, at the time, what a good idea this was. All of us were famished for news of New London, not just for personal family news, though that of course figured prominently too, but for general information as well. Occasional news messages had indeed been received, but what I, for one, wanted to know was how Poole had fared, had any of our hydrographic bottle papers been picked up, had there been any repercussions as a result of our encounter with the young man in the dugout canoe in Magellan Bay? Also, I wanted to know which ships were in port and which at sea, what new ships had been launched, which ones completed and commissioned, who had relieved whom in command of what—and a rather considerable list of strictly parochial submariner to submariner professional queries.

A Medical Officer would not be expected to know the answers to all these questions, but if he were anything like Jim Stark, who always tried to keep up with everything going on around him, it was a safe bet he could make a pretty good stab at many of them.

Sparing an officer from SubLant’s small staff for a purpose
of this nature would be a problem; no doubt the Medical Officer was a compromise, probably sent for the added purpose of giving us all some sort of physical examination as part of the information needed for the cruise evaluation report. There would be many pleasant hours spent in pumping him for information during the Atlantic crossing, I thought, and I felt like thanking the man who had thought of this kindness.

From the Log:

In broaching we have taken care that the same technique as was used to disembark Chief Radarman Poole two months ago is employed again. That is, the ship as a whole will remain submerged; only a few necessary people will come topside to handle the transfer. We shall use the conning tower as an air lock as before.

0554 With air in safety tank and bow buoyancy, broached ship to 38 feet. I went to the bridge and, after seeing that conditions were suitable, directed that Lt. Sawyer come topside with the boat-handling detail.

0617
Weeks
had already put her boat in the water and it was alongside almost immediately. As at Montevideo,
Triton
lay dead in the water, rolling gently with her stern submerged. In both cases a slight swell was running. Off Montevideo, it was in the dead of night with a slight rain and relatively little visibility. Here, it was early morning, broad daylight and no rain. Still, this transfer proved more difficult than the previous one.

The boat approached slowly and very cautiously, but clumsily. Alternately, the coxswain gunned his engine too fast, came ahead too fast, then, uneasy, threw it into reverse and backed away too fast. For a period of several minutes, during which he jockeyed alongside, he never approached our sides close enough for our deck hands to reach his bow painter when it was flung over. Finally, acceding to our shouted encouragement, he swept up abreast our bow a foot or so away, rose on
a fairly large swell above our main deck—and forgot to cut his engine, with the result that he swept on by, completely missed his landing, and had to circle around for another try.

From the Log:

The first pass failed. The second try was a little better, though the boat came alongside at the wrong time so far as the action of the sea was concerned and rode high up on our side.

In the boat were Commander A. F. Betzel from Washington and Lieutenant Commander Earl Ninow, Medical Corps, from New London. Seizing the right moment, Commander Betzel made a flying leap across to our deck, landed on all fours, was caught and steadied by Fitzjarrald and Sawyer. A line, easily passed over to the boat, brought back with it a sack with a large bulky circular object outlined against the canvas. The coxswain gunned his boat again, brought it up alongside once more, again overshot as the freshening swells lifted it. The boat rode up on our deck and landed right on it with a crash. A moment of pure fear in my heart. Our men on deck reeled back hastily when it became evident that the boat was coming aboard.

As she touched, Commander Ninow leaped out of the whaleboat, landing like his predecessor on hands and knees on deck. As the sea subsided beneath the boat, it slid off our side and plunged drunkenly back into the sea. Two men on the far side of the boat fell backwards into the water. The wisdom of being stopped was now evident; when the men surfaced, being still right alongside their boat, they quickly hooked their arms over the gunwales and in a moment, with the help of their mates, they were back aboard.

In the boat was some mail and gear destined for us, but the coxswain had evidently had enough. He gathered in bow and stern lines and sped off toward his destroyer.

0631 With passengers and part of the cargo on board,
Triton
opened vents and went back down to the comfort of the depths. During the ensuing conference, we will investigate how to transfer
Commander Betzel back to the destroyer and receive the mail and other parcels they have for us.

With the experience of the boat alongside in mind and evidence that the weather is commencing to kick up, it is obviously impractical to attempt another boat transfer. Helicopters are standing by at Rota; we ask the
Weeks
to request their assistance.

0800 Commander Betzel has brought our instructions with him. We are to proceed to the area of the Delaware Capes on the eastern seaboard of the United States, where we shall surface and officially terminate our trip. He has also brought with him the plaque we had left behind to be cast and which we had hoped to present at the site of the statue of Magellan reputed to be at Cadiz.

I recall that my attempts to pump Buzz Betzel during that quick conference were wholly fruitless. And later, during the entire trip back across the Atlantic, I had no better luck with Dr. Ninow. Ninow, in fact, informed us that he had just reported to New London and knew absolutely nothing about submarines. I worked on him all the way across the ocean, but remained hungry for news until we reached the States.

Our memorial to Ferdinand Magellan is about 23 inches in diameter, cast in shiny brass. It depicts the world by general outline of latitude and longitude lines. Around its circumference, in raised letters, are the words: “A
VE
N
OBILIS
D
UX
—I
TERUM
S
ACTUM
E
ST
,” which is translated as “Hail, Noble Captain, It Is Done Again.” In the center is an old sailing ship similar to Magellan’s, beneath which is inscribed “1519-1960,” signifying the dates of his voyage and ours. A laurel wreath with the US submarine dolphin insignia in its base surrounds the ship and dates.

The plaque is symbolic of all we have been trying to accomplish. It is hastily photographed on board and packed away for return to the
Weeks.
It has become an international object. Apparently it is to be presented to Spain by the US ambassador at a formal ceremony!

0807 With helicopters in sight, broached ship once more and
commenced preparations for transfer of personnel. By 0900, Commanders Betzel and Roberts had left the ship, accompanied by all the painstakingly-taken photographs of our nearly three months’ journey and the narrative section of our voyage report to date.

Sad to relate, even though there were those who swore there had been several bulging sacks of mail in the
Weeks’
whaleboat when it was swept up on our deck, there was an utterly unsatisfying amount of mail delivered by helicopter. Radioed inquiry to
Weeks
brought the answer that there was no more to be found on board marked for us. Ultimately, it would catch up to us, this we knew, but not until we arrived back home. There is nothing so frustrating in the world as mail which one cannot get one’s hands on.

0919 Changed depth to cruising depth and speed to full. We are on the last leg of our trip enroute to the United States.

Tuesday, 3 May 1960 Enroute the United States. Our estimated time of arrival in New London is 0800 on the morning of 11 May, on the 85th day after our departure.

0824 Sonar contact on a merchantman which passed by to north. Even though there might be plenty of time to investigate the contact further, we decide against it in favor of pursuing our homeward-bound passage. Besides, none of us have any time to spare. Working on the cruise report is taking every free moment.

Wednesday, 4 May 1960 Among the papers brought aboard day before yesterday are promotion papers for Robert L. Jordan and Richard N. Peterson, both Chief Interior Communication Electrician’s Mates, raising them to the rank of Warrant Electrician. Caught somewhat unprepared, neither had the necessary uniforms or insignia with which to transform his normal CPO dress into that of his newly attained Warrant rank. But once again improvisation comes to the fore. At 1840, resplendent in the fully authorized and correct uniform of Warrant Electricians, US Navy [although closer inspection might show that their rank insignia were made
of yellow plastic tape instead of gold stripes and colored, where needed, with blue grease pencil], Bob Jordan and Pete Peterson are promoted to Warrant Officer and move into the wardroom.

Friday, 6 May 1960 One of the mysteries of the cruise has been an anonymous character named “Buck” who occasionally writes a column for the
Triton Eagle.
A particular subject of his misguided wit is usually myself, whom he has irreverently named the “
O.M
.,” and a number of the people on board have wondered who he is and how he can get away with so much. Tomorrow they will find out, as they read the morning edition of the rejuvenated
Eagle
[by popular demand—and the dearth of mail—it had started publication again], for in “The Skipper’s Corner” it is revealed that “Buck” and I are one and the same.

1900 There is a rather lively discussion in the wardroom over the suggestion that there has been a let-down in general morale during the past several days. Various reasons are advanced to explain this phenomenon, which all agree is present. A most obvious explanation: we have finished our trip. We have gone around the world submerged, but we still have a long way to go before we get home. Morale had been fairly well sustained all the way to St. Peter and St. Paul’s Rocks, which had been our goal. But though our goal was achieved, it was not the end of the line. There were still 6,000 miles to go. Furthermore, we didn’t get nearly as much mail at Rota as we had hoped, and many have heard nothing at all from their families. Finally, especially as pertains to the officers, the paper-work problem related to the voyage report, preparation of work items for “post-shakedown overhaul,” and necessary revision to ship’s procedures resulting from our voyage, has been extremely heavy. It has been a tough trip; the keyed-up attitude with which everyone went into it has, after some 80 days, worn a little thin.

As Jim Hay and George Troffer point out, however,
Triton
’s crew is a highly trained, extraordinarily well-motivated outfit. What we are calling “a low state of morale” would, in most places, be considered a very high state indeed. We really have no right to
complain. There is no doubt that we have noticed a drop, but maybe it was inevitable, just a return to normal levels.

At about this time, the conversation turned to some of the privileges which we have not been able to enjoy of recent date. “Here it is dinnertime. How I wish I had a martini right now!” someone mumbles.

This was the cue I had been trying for some minutes to plant somewhere. A surreptitious signal to Green brought him back with a tray containing a dozen deliciously frosted sherbert glasses, each one brimming with a clear liquid in which was submerged a green olive impaled on a toothpick. The effect was magical. We could almost smell the tantalizing odor of vermouth. The illusion lasted until somebody finally could stand it no more—and drank his ice water.

Morale in the wardroom, which had previously hit a new high, touched a new low. Psychology being what it is, I was not sure, afterward, that my little joke had quite accomplished its objective.

2300 A message arrives from ComSubLant which ought to change all this talk about low morale. He announces that upon arrival in New London,
Triton
is to receive the Presidential Unit Citation from the Secretary of the Navy, who will apparently be there in person to present it. Furthermore, although the message itself is received in a highly classified manner, I am specifically authorized to publish the news to the entire crew.

With great pleasure we stop the presses, tear up the front page of the
Triton Eagle
and write a new one, quoting this section of the dispatch in full.