Although the loss of the U. S. S. Cyclops bids fair to be one of the mysteries of the war, many theories have been advanced during the usual “ ward room arguments,” the general consensus of opinion being that she capsized. This deduction is always made, it seems to me, because, although the finale of the conversation is to the effect that “surely something would have floated,” no other solution seems at all tenable. In other words, a good many officers agree that she capsized, but few have any good reason to offer as proof of this belief.
Through a peculiar train of circumstances I happened to live through an incident which I believe lends a certain plausibility to the capsizing theory.
In December, 1914, I was ordered to the U. S. S. Neptune as a part of her commissioning complement. During the first few months after going into commission considerable trouble was experienced in keeping the ship on an even keel—even when alongside the dock. She was built with athwartship double bottoms fitted with baffles but in such a way as to permit water moving completely across the ship during a list or a roll. Running along the side of the ship immediately under the main deck were “ topside tanks.” These tanks extended outboard from the coaling hatches to the outer skin in an athwartship direction, had a sloping bottom which extended down some eight feet (estimated), and the series of tanks ran from the forward bridge to the break of the poop on each side of the ship. In the weather deck, on each side of the ship, was fitted a series of manhole plates each giving access to one topside tank. These were not manhole plates in the usual meaning of the term, but resembled the circular brass bunker plates as used on battleships. The bottom of the Neptune was flat and the double bottoms ran all the way across the flat. The topside tanks, as can be seen from the above description, were high above the keel and extended only some one-third of the distance from the sheer strake to the center line. A considerable purchase could thus be obtained by filling topside tanks; and a slight list caused by an excess of water in the tanks of one side would soon increase considerably, due to the free water in the double bottoms, which would, of course, immediately rush across the ship. This is assuming that the bottoms were not full.
As the Cyclops was similar in construction to the Neptune it is fair to assume that conditions of trim obtaining on one obtained also on the other. I have seen the Neptune “ flop ” ten degrees for no apparent reason. If in so flopping something suddenly occurred to accentuate the list, such as the flooding of the topside tanks on the down side, is it not perfectly plausible to assume that this accentuation might have increased to such a degree as to cause the ship to turn turtle?
The Neptune was of some 19,600 tons displacement when loaded to capacity with 10,500 tons of coal. The ratio between cargo and total displacement gives an idea of the great freeboard existing when the ship was entirely empty. This freeboard was so considerable that although the motion of the ship in a seawav was more than noticeable it was unusual to take water over the main deck abaft the break of the forecastle when the ship was light.
This was exemplified by my experience on tbe Cyclops.
In the fall of 1916, while attached to the U. S. S. Pennsylvania, I was detailed to make a ten-day trip on the Cyclops as communication officer for the war game, held that year. We got underway at Newport and followed our flagship—the Vestal—together with two or three other colliers representing the “ black ” fleet or the “ red ” fleet—I am a little hazy on the particular shade of the rainbow involved in this battle—toward the rendezvous from which we were to begin our attack on the United States. Each of our “ fleet ” was towing a destroyer in order to save its fuel until the opening day of the fight.
On the afternoon of the second day it began to blow. One by one the towlines parted. Captain Worley (Master U. S. N. A. S.) of the Cyclops, gave our tow—the Conyngham—all the line we had available and by so doing and by the Conyngham going ahead slow to ease the strain, we managed to hold our tow until all the other colliers had parted lines; but eventually ours snapped and as the sea was then too rough to attempt picking up another line the destroyers were forced to come ahead on their own. The Vestal alone succeeded in holding her tow, and I believe that she had a towing engine.
The Cyclops had only 1000 tons of coal distributed among her various cargo holds and was riding high out of the water. The wind had worked itself into a gale and had beaten up a very rough sea. The destroyers were rolling so that it did not appear physically possible for them all to come through safely. During the afternoon of the third day conditions had grown steadily worse. The captain asked me to remain on the bridge while he went aft for supper. Upon his return—this was the evening of the third day out—I fought my way aft, wrapped myself around the particular stanchion that I had come to regard as mine, hurriedly ate a sandwich or two, filled my pockets with oranges for the long night ahead of me and started back to the bridge.
On each side of these colliers, inboard against the cargo hatches run the steam lines for the winches and for the auxiliary machinery forward. These pipes are encased with light sheet' metal and the cover is corrugated as are fire room floorplates. This forms a runway leading from the break of the forecastle aft to the break of the poop. The men call this the “ bicycle track ” for no better reason I suppose than that one could not ride a bicycle on it.
In going back to the bridge from the wardroom I started along the bicycle track as usual, but as I came abreast the manhole plate for the starboard after topside tank I was thrown off the track onto the main deck. We had lifelines rigged to assist in walking forward and aft, but the lurch of the ship broke my hold. I landed near the topside tank manhole and my attention was at once caught by the fact that the plate was not secured. I slid the plate into position as best I could with one hand—I was carrying a sigcode book—and set up the central screw finger-tight, thinking all the time I worked how fortunate it was that I had served on the Neptune and had there learned the value of keeping tank tops tight. On starting forward again I was astonished to find that the next plate was also cast off. Upon looking further, all plates were seen to be adrift. Deciding that securing all of them was too much of a job to do with one hand, I fought my way to the bridge and reported to the captain that someone had opened all of the topside tanks. He laughed at my earnestness and said that they were always left off in accordance with instructions from the navy yard (I won’t mention the yard, as I never saw the circular during my time in the colliers) as the air was “ better for the bitumastic.” The skipper was worrying not at all about the tanks. We were cavorting around the old ocean like a frisky colt, but, true enough, were taking no green seas over the main deck. As I have said, we were light and high out of the water. The captain was worrying about his cargo. With such a small amount of coal in the cargo holds and with no braces rigged to hold it in place, it was not improbable that the cargo might shift.
Standing at the clinometer that night I saw it register 48 degrees to port and 56 to starboard. (Now you destroyer men consider the size of the ship before you compare notes disparagingly.) So much for proof that these ships can roll when tempted. During this rolling she was dry so far as green seas were concerned, but this was due to her freeboard. I have seen the Neptune at full load ship seas on her well deck which carried away the side plating on the bicycle track to such an extent that we had to heave to for repairs.
Now let us take the case of the Cyclops on her ill-fated voyage of last year when she was lost. She was carrying manganese ore (according to newspaper reports we received abroad at the time). Due to the great weight per cubic foot of this ore as compared to coal it is probable that her cargo holds were loaded by weight and not by volume and were therefore far from full. Perhaps the cargo was braced to prevent shifting—but this would have required very strong braces, far beyond the capacity of the ship’s carpenter. Unless these braces were installed at the loading port they were probably not installed at all. Now the matter sizes up as follows: '
The ship was heavily loaded—hence deep in the water with a correspondingly small freeboard—but her holds were not full by volume.
It was customary to leave the manhole plates off the topside tanks according to the statement of the captain (she had the same captain when I made my cruise on her as she had when she was lost) in order to “ preserve the bitumastic.”
Due to her load her sea connections from the topside tanks were probably submerged. These were in the skin of the ship and led from the bottom of the tank.
In any sort of a storm it was always customary in the colliers, due to their liveliness and to their great amount of top hamper, to secure everything for sea. I have seen even the huge iron sister- blocks which are shackled to the fore and aft girder, lashed together to prevent pounding.
Is it not plausible to assume that the cargo may have shifted, perhaps only a little, but enough to increase the average list sufficiently to cause the free water in the double bottoms to rush toward the down side thus further increasing the list. Suppose the heavily laden Cyclops now shipped a sea. Would not this sea run into the open manholes of the topside tanks and immediately give the ship a tendency to capsize ?
This could all occur in a few seconds and the ship would be bottom up before anyone could abandon ship. Some few men from the bridge and poop might have been thrown clear of the ship. But with everything secured for sea there would be little wreckage. Remember that there would be nothing adrift except such gear as would be free to float off during the few seconds during the turn. There would be no debris such as always follows a sinking due to other marine casualty, as in the case of striking a mine or torpedo. There would have been no time for an “ S. O. S.” There would have been no time for anything. The few men in the water could not have lived long of their own accord. Such small gear as did float off would have been lost in the vastness of the ocean long before the rescue vessels started their search.
This seems to me a plausible solution of the loss of the Cyclops. Of course it is only a theory based upon several assumptions, some of which may be faulty. As several officers have said, “ Yours seems to be the only plausible theory,” it occurred to me that the service as a whole might be interested.