With communication once established, things are a great deal easier. I pick up the binoculars, scan the Macon and the water between us. We are lying to, stern into the wind, about five hundred yards downwind from her. She is broadside to us, her decks amidships ablaze with lights where her deck crew is hoisting out a motor whaleboat. All we have to do is receive their boat, when it comes, and keep a careful watch on the other ship to ensure that she does not drift down upon us. This will be easy, since our radar is constantly reporting ranges.
I reach forward, press the 7MC command communication button and call into it, just to make sure: “Control, Bridge; keep and log ranges to the Macon and report immediately when she commences to close.”
The return from Bob Bulmer in the control room is immediate; “Range 600 yards, Bridge, and steady.”—Then a minute later, “Bridge,—from the Macon, their boat is in the water heading toward us.”
I acknowledge over the 7MC and direct my next order to Will Adams in the conning tower. “Conn, Bridge—send George Sawyer and the topside line handling party to the bridge, through the conning tower hatch.” We had already arranged that this group of people under our First Lieutenant and Gunnery Officer would be standing by with all necessary equipment. Upon the order they would proceed up one by one to the bridge and prepare to receive the lines from the Macon’s boat when it comes alongside.
Two of them had been directed to break out paint pots and brushes and carry them down with them to slosh paint over the number on the side of the sail, after which the brushes and pots would be discarded overboard. I had not been too keen on this idea when it was first suggested, but had allowed myself to be talked into it. It did have merit, of course, but I found myself wondering how these men were going to manage paint can and brush in one hand and hang on to the handrail on the side of the sail with the other.
Will Adams’ answer from Conning Tower comes back immediately. “Line handlers are standing by. We will open the lower conning tower hatch as soon as ready.”
A few minutes later, “Bridge, Conn—request permission to open the bridge hatch and send line handling party topside.” I press the speaker button and respond, “Bridge, aye. Permission granted.”
In a moment George Sawyer’s determined voice resounds from the bridge, “Line handlers on the lower bridge, sir, Sawyer and four men.”
I have been looking over the side to decide which is the better angle for the boat to approach from; the starboard side looks a bit better; besides, the access door from our sail is on that side. “Stand by to take them alongside the starboard side, George,” I call down to him, “I’ll signal the boat to make our starboard side.”
“Starboard side, aye aye,” from Sawyer. The four people with him are Peter P. J. Kollar, Gunner’s Mate First Class; Wilmot A. Jones, Torpedoman’s Mate Second Class and recently King Neptune’s Royal Consort; Thomas J. Schwartz (the profile), Torpedo-man’s Mate Third Class; and David E. Boe, Seaman.
The noises emanating from the lower bridge indicate that Lt. Sawyer and his men are breaking out the necessary gear, stored there in a watertight tank, to receive the boat alongside. Each man has on an inflatable life jacket with attached flashlight, and a safety belt with traveler.
The latter device is the result of an accident several years ago in northern latitudes, when the US Submarine Tusk rescued the crew of the sinking submarine Cochino. In preparation for the rescue, Tusk rigged lifelines on deck forward. Nevertheless, a huge sea came aboard, swept the people on deck off their feet against the lifeline and broke it, plunging them all into the sea. Herculean efforts on the part of the Tusk got most of them back aboard, but a number lost their lives in the freezing water.
As a result of this accident, a safety track similar to a railroad rail was installed on the decks of all submarines. Anyone going topside in bad weather or under hazardous conditions wears a strong canvas belt, with chain and traveler attached. The traveler clamps over and slides along the safety track, and may only be put on or removed from the track at certain places. This arrangement permits a man to move back and forth on deck and still remain firmly attached to the ship by a short length of very strong chain [with a “quick release” snap-hook in case of need].
When two people want to pass each other, the technique is to seek a safe moment and quickly exchange travelers by unsnapping the chains from one’s own belt and snapping the other man’s into it.
I am well aware of all of these historical matters as I look over the side and ponder the advisability of letting George and his people go down on deck. Seas are sweeping freely across our deck aft, but that is of no particular importance at the moment. Our bow is staying about a foot out of water, but around the conning tower, where I am looking over the side, the deck is frequently inundated. The night is cold and dark, completely overcast, and a light drizzle is falling. The sea feels warm.
With a little luck, George and his men will very likely have no difficulty under conditions as they are. But the risk looks a little too great. With a low freeboard the transfer is aided, provided it isn’t so low that there is risk to your deck crew. Besides, even though Poole is at the moment having a remission, partly with the help of morphine, transferring him under any but the best conditions for his health and safety is out of the question.
Again, there is really no decision to be made at all. Technicalities about staying submerged have got to give way to the realities of the situation; the safety of the people involved in this operation is more important than anything else. We will have to come up a little higher. I push the button energizing the microphone to the control room.
“Control, Bridge, blow forward group for one second.”
“Forward group, one second, aye aye,” from control. Almost simultaneously, I hear air whistling into the tanks forward. It blows for a second, stops abruptly.
The effect is most apparent. The ship having previously been carefully brought to perfect trim, addition of a thousand pounds or so of buoyancy in the forward section lifts her until the displacement [not weight] of Triton’s above-water volume equals that of the water displaced by the air in the tank. The superstructure, being entirely free to flood, displaces very little water, except for the conning tower itself, and the forward section rises several inches. The main deck in the area of conning tower and sail is now fairly clear, only an occasional wave slapping over it.
Sawyer’s voice from below, “Permission to open the access door and go out on deck, Captain?”
“Open the door, but do not go out on deck until I give you permission.”
This is just to keep control to the last before letting him go. I can hear the sound of the fastenings being opened up and the door swinging wide.
George again: “Looks all clear topside, Captain, permission to go out on deck?”
“Affirmative!” I yell back.
In the distance, the lights of the approaching motorboat are visible coming around our stern. Down below, in the flickering semilight cast by their flashlights, the men of the deck force reach through the open access door, affix their travelers to the track, and then, holding their safety chains taut, step swiftly forward on the main deck. Two men quickly turn to on a collapsible cleat just forward of the sail and rotate it upward. This is the point where we plan to take the boat’s bowline. Two other men, carrying paint pots, move aft along the sail and hurriedly commence daubing at our starboard side block numbers.