On the Bottom: The Raising of the Submarine S-51 by Edward Ellsberg

Author:Edward Ellsberg [Ellsberg, Edward]
Language: eng
Format: epub, azw3
ISBN: 9781480493759
Publisher: Open Road Media
Published: 2014-06-24T04:00:00+00:00

XXV

THE FIRST TUNNEL

At bow and stern we had been able to pass our reeving lines under with no great difficulty, because there the keel, due to its rocker shape, rose clear of the bottom. However, for the other pontoons amidships, the case was far different.

Amidships the S-51 was buried about six feet deep in a bed of hard blue clay, overlaid with a thin layer, a few inches thick, of hard packed gray sand. To get the reeving lines and the chains through here required that we provide a tunnel for their passage. There was only one way which appeared practicable for digging the tunnel. At that depth it was out of question for the divers to undertake the continued physical exertion of swinging pick and shovel in an excavation, disregarding the mechanical limitations of trying to do it in a diving rig. We all felt that the best solution lay in washing out a hole under the ship with a stream of water from a fire hose.

We coupled up two hundred and fifty feet of the Falcon‘s two-and-one-half-inch fire hose, with a regular hose nozzle screwed to the end. Bailey was selected to go down and start the tunnel. I took him aboard the S-50 and showed him the spot abreast frame forty-six, where he was to start. A torpedo davit projecting from the deck was the nearest visible mark. He was to spot this on the S-51‘s side, then measure off five feet forward of it, and start the tunnel there.

Bailey was small, but he was an excellent diver and a careful man. We could rely on him to hit the right spot and, in case of any doubt, to ask questions rather than to guess.

Bailey was dressed, went down on the forward descending line, the fire hose dragging after him on a lanyard to his wrist. He found the torpedo davit, tied a small line to it, which he threw over the port side to mark the location, and then slid down the line to the bottom. He measured off the five feet against the side of the submarine, dragged the hose nozzle over, braced it between his heavy shoes against the sea bottom close to the ship’s side, and sang out:

“On deck! Turn on the water!”

A sailor opened wide the valve to the Falcon‘s wrecking pump. The hose swelled out, and throbbing with each stroke of the pump as the water rushed through, disappeared over the rail.

Another call from Bailey:

“On deck! Turn off the water! I’m about fifty feet from the sub and I don’t know where the hose is!”

We shut down the pump and the hose flattened out, hanging limply over our bulwarks.

It was easy to imagine what had happened. I remembered in my boyhood days the sight of four firemen clinging to a hose nozzle, trying to direct the stream against a burning building. Bailey, all alone, had tried the same thing except that his stream instead of meeting air, was discharged against solid water, making the reaction worse.

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