ACCIDENTS AND SAFETY DEVICES
The following submarines, with all or part of their crews, have been
accidentally lost in time of peace:
_Date_ _Name_ _Nationality_ _Men Lost_
March 18, 1904 A-1 British 11
June 20, 1904 Delfin Russian 26
June 8, 1905 A-8 British 14
July 6, 1905 Farfadet French 14
October 16, 1906 Lutin French 13
April 26, 1909 Foca Italian 13
June 12, 1909 Kambala Russian 20
July 14, 1909 C-11 British 13
April 15, 1910 No. 6. Japanese 14
May 26, 1910 Pluviôse French 26
January 17, 1911 U-3 German 3
February 2, 1912 A-3 British 14
June 8, 1912 Vendémiaire French 24
October 4, 1912 B-2 British 15
June 8, 1913 E-5 British 3
December 10, 1913 C-14 British none
January 16, 1914 A-7 British 11
March 25, 1915 F-4 American 21
The _A-1_ was engaged in manœuvers off Spithead, England, when she rose
to the surface right under the bows of the fast-steaming Union Castle
Liner _Berwick Castle_. Before anything could be done, the sharp prow
of the steamer had cut a great gash in the thin hull of the submarine
and sent her to the bottom with all her crew. This was in broad
daylight; her sister-ship _C-11_ was rammed and sunk by another liner
three years later, at night. The _Pluviôse_ of the French navy escaped
the bow of an on-coming cross-channel steamer when the submarine came
up at the entrance to Calais Harbor, only to have her topsides crushed
in by a blow from one of the paddle-wheels. Collisions like these are
less likely to happen nowadays, for the navigating officer of a modern
submarine can take a look round the horizon through the periscope from
a depth sufficient to let most steamers pass harmlessly over him, and
in case of darkness or fog, he can detect the vibrations of approaching
propellers by means of the Fessenden oscillator or some similar device.
Yet the frequency with which submarines have been intentionally rammed
and sunk in the present war shows that they would still be liable to
rise blindly to their destruction in time of peace.
The vapor from a leaking fuel-tank, making an explosive mixture with
the air inside the submarine and set off by a spark from the electrical
machinery, has caused many accidents of another kind. Such an explosion
took place on the original _Holland_, shortly after she was taken into
the government service, but fortunately without killing any one. As the
crew of the British _A-5_ were filling the fuel tanks of their vessel
with gasoline, some of them were blown up through the open hatchway
and into the sea by a burst of flaming vapor that killed six men and
terribly injured twelve more. A rescue party that entered the boat to
save the men still left aboard had several of its own members disabled
by a second explosion. The vessel itself, however, was almost unharmed.
But not long afterwards, another submarine of the same ill-fated
class, the _A-8_, was lying off Plymouth breakwater with her hatches
open, when the people on shore heard three distinct explosions on board
her and saw her suddenly submerge. Her crew evidently got the hatches
closed before she went down, as they sent up signals that they were
alive but unable to rise. Two hours later a fourth explosion took place
and all hope was abandoned.
This danger has been guarded against by better construction of tanks
and valves, and very greatly lessened by the substitution of the
heavy oil used in the Diesel engines for the more costly and volatile
gasoline.
Besides igniting explosive oil vapors with their sparks, the
old-fashioned sulphuric acid and lead storage batteries still used in
many submarines are a great source of danger in themselves. The jars
are too easily broken, and the leaking acid eats into the steel plating
of the boat, weakening it if not actually letting in the sea water.
And if salt water comes in contact with a battery of this type, then
chlorin gas--the same poisonous gas that the Germans use against the
Allies’ trenches--is generated and the crew are in very great danger
of suffocation. The new Edison alkali storage battery, besides being
lighter and more durable, uses no acid and cannot give off chlorin when
saturated with sea water.
[Illustration:
Redrawn from the London Sphere.
Side-elevation of a Modern Submarine,
A, Running on the surface; B, In awash condition; C, Submerging; D,
Exposing periscope; E, Fully submerged; F, Resting on the bottom.]
The remaining great danger is that a submarine may get out of control
and submerge too quickly, so that it either strikes the bottom, at
the risk of being crushed in or entangled, or descends to so great
a depth that its sides are forced in by the pressure of the water
outside, which also prevents the submarine from discharging the water
in its ballast tanks and escaping to the surface. Detachable safety
weights and keels to lighten the boat in such an emergency date back
to the time of Bushnell and J. Day. A more modern device is to have a
hydrostatic valve (see page 51) set to correspond with the pressure of
a certain depth of water, so that if the submarine goes below this the
valve will be forced in and automatically “blow the tanks.”
A submarine that sank too deep was the _No. 6_, of the Imperial
Japanese navy, which disappeared while manœuvering in Hiroshima Bay, on
April 15, 1910. When she was found, her entire crew lay dead at their
stations, and in the conning-tower, beside the body of the commander,
was the following letter written by that officer, Lieutenant Takuma
Faotomu:
“Although there is indeed no excuse to make for the sinking of his
Imperial Majesty’s boat, and for the doing away of subordinates through
my heedlessness, all on board the boat have discharged their duties
well and in everything acted calmly until death. Although we are dying
in the pursuance of our duty to the State, the only regret we have is
due to anxiety lest the men of the world misunderstand the matter,
and that thereby a blow may be given to the future development of the
submarine.
“Gentlemen, we hope you will be increasingly diligent and not fail
to appreciate the cause of the accident, and that you will devote
your entire energy to investigate everything and so secure the future
development of submarines. If this be done we have nothing to regret.
“While going through gasoline submerged exercises we submerged too far,
and when we attempted to shut the sluice-valve, the chain broke.
“Then we tried to close the sluice-valve by hand, but it was too late,
for the afterpart was full of water, and the boat sank at an angle
of about twenty-five degrees. The boat came to rest at an incline of
about twelve degrees, pointing towards the stern. The switchboard being
under water the electric lights went out. Offensive gas developed and
breathing became difficult. The boat sank about 10 A.M. on the 15th,
and though suffering at the time from this offensive gas, we endeavored
to expel the water by hand pumps. As the vessel went down we expelled
the water from the main tank. As the light has gone out the gage cannot
be seen, but we know the water has been expelled from the main tank.
“We cannot use the electric current at all. The battery is leaking but
no salt water has reached it and chlorin gas has not developed. We only
rely on the hand pump now.
“The above was written under the light of the conning-tower, at about
11.45 o’clock. We are now soaked by the water that has made its way
in. Our clothes are wet and we feel cold. I had been accustomed to
warn my shipmates that their behavior (in an emergency) should be calm
and deliberate, as well as brave, yet not too deliberate, lest work be
retarded. People may be tempted to ridicule this after this failure,
but I am perfectly confident that my words have not been mistaken.
“The depth gage of the conning-tower indicates 52 feet, and despite our
efforts to expel the water the pump stopped and would not work after 12
o’clock. The depth in this neighborhood being ten fathoms, the reading
may be correct.
“The officers and men of submarines should be chosen from the bravest
of the brave or there will be annoyances in cases like this. Happily
all the members of this crew have discharged their duties well and I am
satisfied. I have always expected death whenever I left my home, and
therefore my will is already in the drawer at Karasaki. (This remark
applies only to my private affairs and is really superfluous. Messrs.
Taguchi and Asami will please inform my father of this.)
“I respectfully request that none of the families left by my
subordinates suffer. The only thing I am anxious about is this.
“Atmospheric pressure is increasing and I feel as if my tympanum were
breaking.
“12.30 o’clock. Respiration is extraordinarily difficult. I mean I am
breathing gasoline. I am intoxicated with gasoline.
“It is 12.40 o’clock.”
Those were the last words written by Lieutenant Takuma Faotomu, bravest
of the brave.
Very many ingenious devices have been invented to enable the crew of
a stranded submarine to escape. The best-known and most widely used
is some form of the air-lock or diver’s chamber, as described in the
chapter on the Lake boats. Through this the crew can pass in succession
to the water outside and swim to the surface. If the depth is so great
that an unprotected swimmer would be crushed by the weight of water
above him, there is a great variety of safety-helmets, and of jackets
with mouth-pieces leading to tanks containing enough air under moderate
pressure to inflate the lungs and cheeks so that the internal pressure
of the body will counteract that of the water. An escaping seaman,
burdened with such a device, cannot rise unaided to the surface but
must climb or be hauled up by a rope let down from above. Moreover,
he must not ascend too rapidly, or the pressure within his body will
dangerously exceed that without, as if he had been suddenly picked up
at the seashore and carried to the top of the Andes. The human body is
too delicate and elaborate a structure to be carelessly turned into
a compressed-air tank. The surplus oxygen forms bubbles which try to
force their way out through the tissues of the body, causing intense
pain, and possibly paralysis or death. To avoid this, divers are
brought up from any great depth by slow and careful stages, unless they
can be placed at once in specially-constructed tanks on shore, where
the pressure they are under can be gradually reduced to normal.
[Illustration:
Courtesy of the Scientific American.
One Type of Safety-jacket.]
A covered lifeboat carried in a socket on the submarine’s deck, so that
in case of accidental stranding the crew could get into the small boat
from below, close the hatch cover, release the lifeboat from within,
and rise safely and comfortably to the surface, was an attractive
feature of the _Plongeur_ in 1863, and of many projected but unbuilt
submarines since then. A detachable conning-tower, containing a small
lifeboat that could be launched after the safety compartment had risen
to the surface, has also been designed and patented more than once.
Theoretically, these devices seem admirable but naval architects will
have none of them. The reason for this is very simple. A submarine is
primarily a warship, an instrument of destruction, and its carrying
capacity is too limited to permit several hundredweight of torpedoes or
supplies being crowded out by a lifeboat or a score of safety-helmets.
A divers’ compartment and one or two ordinary diving-suits--for these
things are of military value--and a buoy that can be sent up to mark
the spot where the boat has gone down are as much as you can expect to
find in the average naval submarine.
One of the most instructive accidents that ever happened to an undersea
boat was the loss and rescue of the German _U-3_. She sank to the
bottom of Kiel Harbor on January 17, 1911. A small spherical buoy
was released and rose to the surface, where it was picked up and a
telephone attached to the end of the thin wire cable.
“Hello!”
“Hello! This is the captain of the _U-3_ speaking. We cannot rise, but
we are resting easy and have air enough to last forty-eight hours.”
“Good. The steam salvage-dock _Vulcan_ has been sent for and will be
here before then, Herr Kapitan.”
But before the _Vulcan_ arrived, it occurred to some one in authority
to attempt to raise the _U-3_ with a large floating crane then
available. The strong steel chain ready coiled at the lower end of the
buoy-line was drawn up and made fast to the crane, which could not
lift the 300-ton submarine bodily, but succeeded in hauling up its bow
sufficiently for the twenty-seven petty officers and seamen on board
the _U-3_ to be shot up through the torpedo tube to the surface. The
captain and his two lieutenants chose to remain. Shortly afterwards
the chain slipped and broke off one of the boat’s ventilators, letting
water into the hull and drowning all three officers.
Then the sea-going, steam salvage-dock _Vulcan_ reached the scene and
brought the _U-3_ to the surface in three hours.
“The _Vulcan_ is a double-hulled vessel, 230 feet in length with a
lifting capacity of 500 tons. The width between the two hulls is
sufficient to admit with good clearance the largest submarines. At
a suitable height a shelf is formed along each wall of the interior
opening, and upon this rests the removable floor of the dock. The two
hulls of the ship are each built with water-tight compartments of large
capacity, similar to those which are found in the side walls of the
ordinary floating dock. When a sunken submarine is to be raised, the
_Vulcan_ steams to the wreck and is moored securely in position above
it. Spanning the well between the two hulls are two massive gantry
cranes, each provided with heavy lifting tackle driven by electric
motors. The first operation is to fill the compartments until the
vessel has sunk to the required depth. The floor of the dock is then
moved clear of the well. The lifting tackles are now lowered and made
fast, either to chains which have been slung around the body of the
submarine, or to two massive eyebolts which are permanently riveted
into the submarine’s hull. At the order to hoist away, the submarine
is lifted free from the mud and drawn up within the well, until its
bottom is clear of the supporting shelves on the inner faces of the two
hulls, above referred to. The dock floor is then placed in position on
the shelves, the water is pumped out of the two hulls, and the _Vulcan_
rises, lifting the submarine and the dock floor clear of the water.”[18]
[Illustration:
Courtesy of the Scientific American.
The _Vulcan_ salvaging the _U-3_.]
A similar vessel was built by the French government as a result of
public indignation over the delay in raising the sunken _Pluviôse_.
Great Britain has a salvage dock with a lifting capacity of 1000
tons. But the most remarkable craft of this kind belongs to Italy and
was designed by the famous engineer Major Cesare Laurenti, technical
director of the Fiat-San Giorgio works, builders of some of the world’s
best submarines. She is a twin-hulled vessel, fitted not only to pick
a sunken submarine from the sea bottom, but to care for it in every
way, for she is also a floating dry-dock, capable of repairing two of
the largest submarines, besides being a fully equipped mother-ship for
a flotilla of six. With the ends of her central tunnel closed by a
false stem and stern, and propelled by twin screws driven by powerful
Diesel engines, she is a fast and seaworthy vessel, capable of keeping
company with her flotilla on a surface cruise. She carries a sufficient
armament of quick-firing guns to beat off a hostile destroyer. But the
most noteworthy feature of the Laurenti dock is a long steel cylinder,
capable of enduring great pressure from within, that is used to test
the resisting strength of new submarines. A new boat, or a section of a
proposed new type, is placed in this tube, which is filled with water
that is then compressed by pumps, reproducing the effect of submergence
to any desired depth.
The United States navy tests each new submarine built for it by
actually lowering the boat, with no one in it, to a depth of 200 feet.
We have no Laurenti dock, no _Vulcan_, no sea-going salvage dock of any
kind. The tender _Fulton_ has a powerful crane, but she cannot be on
the Atlantic and Pacific coasts and in the Far East, simultaneously.
“The difficulties encountered in raising the sunken British submarine
_A-3_,” wrote Mr. R. G. Skerrett in the “Scientific American” some
years ago, “have in them a note of warning for us. We are steadily
adding to our flotilla of under-water boats, and yet we have no proper
facilities in the government service for the prompt salvage of any of
these boats should they be carried suddenly to the bottom. We have been
fortunate so far in escaping serious accidents, but that is no reason
for assuming that we are any more likely to be immune from disaster
than any other naval service. We should profit by the catastrophes
which have befallen England, Russia, France, Germany, and Japan, and no
longer continue unprepared for kindred mishaps.”[19]
We refused to profit and we continued unprepared. Then came a brief
official cablegram from Hawaii, “Honolulu, March 25, 1915. U. S.
submarine _F-4_ left tender at 9 A.M. for submerged run. Failed to
return to surface.”
The other two submarines on the station and motor-boats from the
tender _Alert_ cruised about till they found the spot where oil and
air-bubbles were coming to the surface. Two tugs then swept the bottom
with a two-thousand foot sweep of chains and wire cables, which caught
early the next morning on what proved to be the lost submarine, in
three hundred feet of water, about a mile and a half outside the
entrance to Honolulu Harbor.
For twenty-four hours or so the navy department held out the hope
that the men on board her were still alive and might be rescued. But
there was nothing ready to rescue them with. Three weeks were spent
in building the windlasses for an improvised salvage-dock made out of
two mud scows. In the meanwhile, a detachment of the department’s most
skilled divers were sent out from the Brooklyn Navy Yard. With their
aid, strong wire cables were passed under the submarine’s hull. While
engaged on this work, one of the divers, Chief Gunner’s Mate Frank
Crilley, broke all deep submergence records by descending to a depth
of 288 feet. As a result, his lungs were severely injured and he soon
afterwards developed pneumonia.
The wire ropes chafed through and were replaced by chains. Then the
_F-4_ was lifted from the bottom and towed inshore to a depth of fifty
feet. Here a heavy storm set in and the lines had to be cast off. Six
big cylindrical-shaped pontoons were then built at San Francisco and
brought out to Honolulu on the cruiser _Maryland_. Divers passed fresh
chains under the _F-4_, the pontoons were sunk on either side of her,
and coupled together. Then the water was blown out of the pontoons
by compressed-air piped down from above, the _F-4_ was raised to the
surface, and towed into dry dock.
No decipherable written record was discovered inside her hull, which
was filled with sand washed in through a large hole made in the plating
by the chafing of the chains. But the story of the disaster was written
in the plates and rivets of the vessel herself, and skilfully deduced
and reconstructed by a board of inquiry, headed by Rear-Admiral
Boush. Their report, which was not made public till October 27, told
dramatically how the corroded condition of the lead lining in the
battery tanks had let the acid eat away the rivets in the port wall
of the forward tank. Salt water thus entered part of the battery,
producing chlorin gas, which exploded violently, admitting more water,
till the submarine began to sink by the head, in spite of the raising
of her diving-rudders.
“Automatic blow was tripped, and blow valve on auxiliary tank opened
in the endeavor to check downward momentum. Manœuvering with propellers
probably took place. The appreciable length of time requisite for air
to build up in ballast tanks for the expulsion of sufficient quantities
of water resulted in the vessel reaching crushing depth.
“Seams of the vessel began to open, and probably through open torpedo
tubes and seams water entered the vessel and a condition of positive
buoyancy was never attained.
“There followed actual disaster. The vessel began filling with water.
The personnel abandoned stations and many sought refuge in the engine
room, closing the door. Under great pressure the engine room bulkhead
failed suddenly, leaving the vessel on the bottom, completely flooded.”
All the boats of the “F” class had already been withdrawn from the
service, by order of Secretary Daniels. Their place at Honolulu was
taken by four boats of the “K” class, which made the 2100 mile voyage
out from San Francisco under their own power.