soon authorized by Captain J. B. Williams, Jr., to join the other watch officers who carried out his orders and those of the executive officer. While not on duty, each officer was responsible for supervising one of the major functions of the ship’s operation. In addition, I was expected to learn from experienced enlisted men about every valve, pipe, lever, switch, hatch, torpedo, compass, wheel, or instrument that was used in the normal operation of the ship and in times of combat or other emergency.
I was designated to be the electrical officer and had spent my first two days while still in port in a cram course, primarily instructed by chief petty officers, in an effort to learn everything possible about the electrical equipment before we went to sea. When we sailed on the last day of December 1948, I began learning about my duties as a watch officer, whichI would share with the four other officers who served under the captain and the executive officer. This had been an integral part of our instruction at sub school, but each ship’s captain had his own idiosyncrasies. After three days I was standing watch topside on the bridge, with another officer on duty below in the conning tower. We were simulating a wartime patrol, remaining submerged during daytime and cruising on the surface at night. At our most efficient cruising speed, we proceeded about two hundred miles daily, heading toward China. This was about the same as a sailing ship in ancient days, with a fair wind.
After about a week, a storm began brewing, and I became increasingly seasick. Cigarette smoke and diesel fumes permeated the compartments belowdecks, and my nausea was uncontrollable. I was either in my bunk or throwing up in the toilet. The cold, fresh wind helped when I was on the bridge, and I stayed there whenever I could, even volunteering to take the duty from other officers a few times, so I could easily vomit over the side. Our ship was affected by the swells down to periscope depth (about sixty feet), but we could go deeper, where it was relatively calm. We remained submerged as much as possible to protect the ship from the huge seas, but it was absolutely necessary to surface during the night to charge our batteries and make progress along our assigned route. A submarine is extremely strong and rigid along its length, but its cylindrical shape makes it very susceptible to excessive rolling when wind and waves beat on it from the sides. I had experienced bad weather on midshipmen’s cruises and in the Atlantic on battleships, but this storm soon exceeded anything I had known. Since my head was only about fifteen feet above the surface when I was on the bridge, I became accustomed to the salt spray and wave tops being constantly in my face. I was shivering after several hours topside in the strong January wind, even in the tropical latitude. As the waves mounted, the captain directed that we head directly into the seas to minimize the violent rolling, and this order was to save my life.
I was standing watch on the bridge about two hours after midnight, with my feet on the slatted wooden deck, when I saw an enormous wave dead ahead. I ducked down beneath the chest-high steel protector that surrounded the front of the bridge and locked my arms around the safetyrail. The wave, however, smothered our ship, several feet above my head. I was ripped loose, lifted up, and carried away from the ship. I could only swim around in the turbulent water, striving to reach the surface. This was my first experience with impending death, but when the wave receded I found myself on the main deck directly aft of the bridge and was able to cling to our five-inch gun. In the interval before the next huge wave, I scrambled back onto the bridge, where I found the lookouts hugging their protective rail, drenched above their waists. We all donned life preservers, and I tethered myself in place with a rope. If we had been traveling just a few degrees at an angle to the
I was designated to be the electrical officer and had spent my first two days while still in port in a cram course, primarily instructed by chief petty officers, in an effort to learn everything possible about the electrical equipment before we went to sea. When we sailed on the last day of December 1948, I began learning about my duties as a watch officer, whichI would share with the four other officers who served under the captain and the executive officer. This had been an integral part of our instruction at sub school, but each ship’s captain had his own idiosyncrasies. After three days I was standing watch topside on the bridge, with another officer on duty below in the conning tower. We were simulating a wartime patrol, remaining submerged during daytime and cruising on the surface at night. At our most efficient cruising speed, we proceeded about two hundred miles daily, heading toward China. This was about the same as a sailing ship in ancient days, with a fair wind.
After about a week, a storm began brewing, and I became increasingly seasick. Cigarette smoke and diesel fumes permeated the compartments belowdecks, and my nausea was uncontrollable. I was either in my bunk or throwing up in the toilet. The cold, fresh wind helped when I was on the bridge, and I stayed there whenever I could, even volunteering to take the duty from other officers a few times, so I could easily vomit over the side. Our ship was affected by the swells down to periscope depth (about sixty feet), but we could go deeper, where it was relatively calm. We remained submerged as much as possible to protect the ship from the huge seas, but it was absolutely necessary to surface during the night to charge our batteries and make progress along our assigned route. A submarine is extremely strong and rigid along its length, but its cylindrical shape makes it very susceptible to excessive rolling when wind and waves beat on it from the sides. I had experienced bad weather on midshipmen’s cruises and in the Atlantic on battleships, but this storm soon exceeded anything I had known. Since my head was only about fifteen feet above the surface when I was on the bridge, I became accustomed to the salt spray and wave tops being constantly in my face. I was shivering after several hours topside in the strong January wind, even in the tropical latitude. As the waves mounted, the captain directed that we head directly into the seas to minimize the violent rolling, and this order was to save my life.
I was standing watch on the bridge about two hours after midnight, with my feet on the slatted wooden deck, when I saw an enormous wave dead ahead. I ducked down beneath the chest-high steel protector that surrounded the front of the bridge and locked my arms around the safetyrail. The wave, however, smothered our ship, several feet above my head. I was ripped loose, lifted up, and carried away from the ship. I could only swim around in the turbulent water, striving to reach the surface. This was my first experience with impending death, but when the wave receded I found myself on the main deck directly aft of the bridge and was able to cling to our five-inch gun. In the interval before the next huge wave, I scrambled back onto the bridge, where I found the lookouts hugging their protective rail, drenched above their waists. We all donned life preservers, and I tethered myself in place with a rope. If we had been traveling just a few degrees at an angle to the
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