It is a rare and exceptional circumstance when women go to sea in fighting ships of the Navy, especially submarines—but it did happen. This was a most unusual situation. The passenger list consisted of thirteen women (eleven army nurses, one Navy nurse, one civilian) six Army Colonels, and six Naval Officers; the ship U.S.S. Spearfish; the rendezvous point—a spot in the China sea four and one half miles S.W. of Corregidor P.I.; the date—3 May, 1942. On this cruise, which lasted for seventeen days, a Navy record was broken; it was the largest number of women ever to be carried by an American submarine for the distance involved—3,000 miles.
The island fortress of Corregidor, which had been under siege and merciless attack for over four months, was now in the throes of death. In less than forty-eight hours the Japs would be successfully established on its beaches with the end of our last vestige of power in the Far East following shortly thereafter.
The persons previously mentioned, including the author, were officially detached from their duties on Corregidor in the late afternoon of May 3, 1942 and headed for the submarine rendezvous point shortly after dark in a small boat. The initial passage was fraught with grave uncertainty; first, because our boat had to safely pass through an extensive Navy contact mine field to reach its objective and, second, due to a very active Jap surface patrol system at the seaward entrance of Manila Bay. The hazard of the position made it such that it was doubtful whether a submarine could, with any degree of safety, surface in the area. When the first obstacle was overcome all breathed a sigh of relief, but the big moment was yet to come. We slowly felt our way along in the darkness, all eyes straining for the silhouette of a hull we hoped would be our submarine. This went on for what seemed an eternity. Suddenly there loomed up directly ahead of us, and broadside to, an object which appeared as large as a battleship. Having no surface ships of our own in that part of the world we thought it must be a Jap. Nevertheless, we challenged by blinker-tube, according to a prearranged plan, but there was no reply. This was disturbing, but it was also comforting to note that we did not receive a blast of close range gunfire in return. So, the “object” was challenged again and this time an answer came back in the form of an old familiar hail, “come alongside.” It was thrilling sea language we understood so well.
We already knew the Spearfish was in a dangerous position, this being further stressed by her ace skipper, Lt. J. C. Dempsey, U.S.N., who told us that Jap patrol vessels were close by to seaward of us on our departure line outward and that he had, with difficulty, evaded them on his submerged run in that afternoon in order to reach his scheduled rendezvous. Consequently, the transfer was effected in short order. It was simplified by the fact that each of us carried his worldly possessions in a small suitcase—all else had previously been lost to the enemy.
This ship, having been on patrol for weeks, was now returning to her base in S.W. Australia. During her long and hazardous cruise scarcely any of her officers or men had seen the light of day, except through a periscope, and as a result they were bleached white. But, “hunting” had been good on that cruise, so there was high spirit, a sparkle in their eyes, and a confident feeling among them that they were competent and successful members of a winning team. In hot tropical waters such as these the dress among submariners was very scant and informal. There was business of war to be done and the most comfortable way of doing it seemed best, but on this occasion the crew was spruced up—they even had on undershirts for their female guests. This was unnecessary, because these women were also unaccustomed to the everyday niceties of dress. They had done their duty in the bloody jungle war on Bataan and, following that, on Corregidor where in both places rouge, powder, lipstick, dress, comforts, and good food were unknown quantities. They were arrayed in ill-fitting, hastily tailored khaki slacks, shirts, and dresses without the trimmings. Luxury had long ceased to exist; in short, things were at bed-rock. Our hosts greeted us warmly. They had prepared quantities of good hot coffee and a delicious single layer chocolate cake, which will be long remembered.
The Spearfish headed out on the surface, but not for long. After about five minutes on our journey the general alarm sounded, followed by the diving alarm and down we went—way down. We had gotten mixed up with the Jap patrol vessels, a fact which was known to them as well as to ourselves. The enemy being in superior number and of a dangerous type, the only thing to do at this juncture was an attempt at evasion. By excellent judgment and skillful maneuvering, Captain Dempsey finally shook them loose, but in so doing the ship remained submerged for twenty-two hours. Fortunately, this proved to be the longest dive and it was a good initiation, for practically all the passengers had had no previous experience in submarines.
Conditions aboard were tense the first night and following day clue to the enemy problem close at hand; there was no rest and we did little toward “shaking down” into our strange new habitat.
The first twenty-four hours, packed with thrills and excitement, had, indeed, seemed like a very long time, but actually we had made little progress on our voyage. This was due to our reduced speed and evasive maneuvering. So, when the ship surfaced on the second night, there stood Corregidor in the distance on fire and burning brightly like a beacon. All of the passengers had witnessed such a sight many times before, but this was to be the last time. On this night Radio Corregidor was heard for the last time—the dreaded end had come. The news was received with sad calm, but deep resolve. It was much the same as being present at a mass funeral of devoted friends.
To those who are unfamiliar with a submarine it may be well to say that it is one of man’s most ingenious devices for the destruction of life and property—an instrument packed full of sudden death. We learned this fact from the Germans in two wars. The Japanese likewise learned from us the real meaning of this monster of the deep, for it was the submarine which initially cracked the spine of their war effort and which successfully followed through to the conclusion of hostilities. In a submarine so much space is devoted to its propulsion, control, and killing mechanisms that there is scarcely enough room to quarter the personnel who operate it. And, of course, on protracted dives, which were common throughout the war, air with which to breathe is also at a premium. Add to this a 50% personnel overload (as was our case) and there is real discomfort all around. The situation is relieved somewhat by bleeding free oxygen into the air circulating system and using lime, spread on horizontally suspended sheets, as a chemical air purifying agent. Availability of fresh water was a source of constant worry and had to be used in the smallest possible quantities. As for internal deck space, I can say without fear of contradiction that there was not a square foot which was not in use by somebody. It was difficult to move around in the ship for there was no room. In short, she was packed with humans like sardines in a can. These inconveniences meant nothing to us, but we were concerned with the added burden our presence placed upon her valiant crew.
To solve the problem of sleeping accommodations we resorted to what is commonly known in the submarine service as the “hot bunk” system. This is a very simple system in which the bunk (including same pillow and linen) is in constant use, receiving a new guest every eight hours. For all practical purposes it was night to us throughout all but the last three days of the voyage, because we were submerged during daylight hours and not permitted topside at night. Therefore, it made no difference which eight of the twenty-four hours one spent in his bunk; the problem was what to do with the remaining sixteen in the “crowd.” The nurse’s bunks were in a small screened section of the after crew’s quarters; ours in the forward torpedo room with the “fish.” There was a first and second mess in the crew’s messroom, one for the crew, the other for the passengers. The food was excellent, plentiful, and a joy to us. We appreciated good food after months of two unvaried meals daily. Each lived out of his suitcase and, as bathing was out of the question, due to the scarcity of water, our daily requirements were thus simply met, except for one— the “head.”
Of all the mean and complex mechanisms a submarine possesses, the “head” is without doubt the worst of the lot—certainly to a novice. The operating sequence is so involved that actually there appears in each one, to the right of the operator, a handsomely inscribed set of “flushing instructions” on a one foot square bright metal plate which reads as follows:
Before using see that bowl flapper valve “A” is closed, gate valve “C” in discharge pipe line is open, valve “D” in water supply line is open. Then open valve “E” next to bowl to admit necessary water. Close valves “D” and “E.” After using—pull lever “A.” Release lever “A.” Open valve “G” in air supply line. Rock air valve “F” lever outboard to charge measuring tank to 10 pounds above sea pressure. Open valve “B” and rock air valve lever inboard to blow overboard. Close valves “B,” “C,” and “G.”
It is necessary to follow the above procedure implicitly in order to over-balance the external water pressure (caused by depth) in fittings which lead into the ship from the outer hull. And anyone who misses a step in this set of cardinal rules is sure to cause a backfire and receives, as a result, a sky bound shower of the most unpleasant nature imaginable. It did happen. The three heads aboard were allocated in order: (1) Ward Room—the ladies, (2) forward torpedo room—the officers, (3) after crew’s space— the crew. The officer passengers, having had technical educations, made out fairly well with this mysterious and baffling apparatus, but the ladies, after some unfortunate experiences, simply gave the matter up as a bad job. Fortunately, the Ward Room head was directly opposite and separated from the officer’s pantry by the principal fore and aft passageway three feet wide. Joe, the Filipino mess boy, who usually muttered to himself, was always present at his pantry chores to the great delight of the female passengers. Their problem was simplified by just calling Joe and pointing to the door. Thus, Joe became “Captain of the Head”— a collateral duty. I never found out whether the presence of women aboard, with the additional duty it entailed for him, caused his mutterings.
Having settled down to the best possible routine, with all thoroughly acquainted, it now became a matter of “sweating it out,” in the strictest sense of the word a long, hot, monotonous cruise. When we surfaced at night the air aboard soon lost its foulness, but it was still hot and humid; we were approaching the equator during summer season in a sea which was and had been slick as a mill pond. The initial dress formality soon disappeared, undershirts came off and soon the girls began to appear in blue dungaree shorts loaned by members of the generous crew. To pass the time and be of as much help as possible, all assisted to the utmost. The food supply was more than adequate for the remainder of the cruise and the ship’s cook, to his joy and astonishment, found female helpers in his galley. The same applied to the dish washing detail. Soon new dishes began to appear with the discovery of different cases of foodstuff in the bottom of the storeroom. The feminine touch or suggestion was apparent to the extent that we sometimes wondered, “Is this Navy or isn’t it?” It definitely was and these good people were a loan to it for the duration of the cruise. All aboard were congenial, understanding members of one big team. There were no complaints from any quarter. As for women aboard, the crew thoroughly enjoyed this unique departure from custom, and it is a fact that the effect of their presence on morale more than offset the discomforts of an overloaded ship. There was a break in monotony, different faces, someone to wisecrack with, etc. Long before reaching the equator the question of a “crossing the line” party came up, since there were many “pollywogs” aboard in the Army contingent. This fact alone supplied enough ribbing and conversational material to last for several days.
To those who follow the sea it is an ancient custom to indulge in ceremonial proceedings when the equatorial waters, the realm of Neptunus Rex, are invaded to the extent that the imaginary line is crossed and the latitude changes from north to south, or vice versa, provided, of course, there are newcomers (pollywogs) aboard who have not previously experienced such “goings on.” During the war these gala events varied in form and degree depending upon enemy activity in the immediate locality. But, whenever practicable this favorite tradition of the sea was not ignored.
After due consideration of the time, place, and circumstance the Captain finally gave his approval of the plan to the anxiously awaiting crew. Immediately and out of nowhere there began to appear ridiculous and hastily improvised costumes eventually to be worn by members of the Royal Court which included King Neptune, Davy Jones, the Royal Princess, the Royal Baby, Doctor, Dentist, the Judge, the Devils, Torturers, etc. Each man in his own original way tried his best to outdo his shipmates in this mock get-up and all succeeded in a most creditable manner.
Meanwhile, the pollywogs were informed in writing of the most impossible charges for which they were to stand judgment and were officially subpoenaed by the Court to appear in the crew’s messroom on a certain date at a specified time where the wrath of the King would be loosed upon them. All were warned of the terrible things in store for them and to make matters worse it was stipulated that they were to appear blindfolded and barefoot and that the nurses would have the place of honor by being the first to greet the Court. There was some uncertainty in their minds as to what the blindfold meant, but, as for the bare feet, there was no doubt. They had heard of the “shock treatment,” which was plainly indicated here.
After several days of warnings and other mental tortures the batch of pollywogs finally arrived at the point of zero latitude and two hundred feet “beneath the equator” in Macassar Strait during daylight hours of a hot day in May. Before starting the proceedings a very careful check was made visually and by sound to assure that no possible enemy targets would be overlooked. An “ALL CLEAR” was the signal to start the “works” which would transform the tenderfoot pollywogs into trusted “shellback members of the Ancient Order of the Deep.”
One by one the victims were headed for the presence of His Majesty and the Court, being warned by the attendant on the way in to “watch your arms on that hot switchboard; duck low through this water-tight door; step high over this storeroom hatch or you’ll fall through and break your neck—.” All these hazards were customary every day knowledge, but being blindfolded complicated matters so much that there was high, wide, and handsome stepping as well as awkward movement. While the charges were being read the unfortunates were required to stand in a shallow pan of water before the Judge and it goes without saying that the plea in each case was, “not guilty.” This dissatisfied the King, he became impatient, and wanted action which was produced by the touch of a button that sent a small electric current through the water in which they were standing. Rumba was the word for it and it pleased the King. Next, the Royal Doctor had his turn with all his awful instruments but, finding no disease, he passed his patient on to the Royal Dentist for further check. This stage was extensive and complicated, ending in a thorough prophylaxis treatment in which he used a vile concoction made from a mixture of soap, oil, water, quinine, mustard, tabasco sauce, salt and pepper. The patients objected somewhat to the latter treatment so, in order to soothe their feelings, obliging Devils with electric hands and tender care patted them gently on the face and arms. After kissing the Royal Baby in odd places and other lesser shenanigans, the rugged session came to an end, a certificate of initiation, duly authenticated by King Neptune and Davy Jones, was presented to each and the newly confirmed member allowed to witness the trials that followed.
While viewing this unusual comedy, the thought occurred to me that here in a small undersea craft, deep within waters dominated by the enemy, was a minute cross section of America. Its personnel was made up largely of average citizens from various walks of life in widely separated localities banded together with a single purpose in mind—the winning of the war. All had lived through tragedy, death, and destruction, had seen bitter defeat, but had failed, even in such circumstances, to lose their sense of balance, good humor, or the American concept. Their ability to adapt themselves to changing conditions under adversity, their spirit of give and take, and their selfless understanding of matters at hand had been superb.
The line crossing party further solidified the fine relationship existing between passengers and crew, for all the recipients, in sporting fashion, took it with good grace and the best of humor. It was a subject which produced additional discussion and comment for several days and served as a booster of morale.
The remainder of the cruise passed slowly without unusual events. A few of the nurses had recurring spells of dysentery, originally contracted on Bataan. Except for a slight touch of mal de mer with some after the ship passed into the rough waters of the Indian Ocean, all else went well, though we were sorely in need of a bath. Packed tightly inside the cigar shaped hull for two long and sweaty weeks had left a “telling” effect. About the fifteenth day when it was ascertained that, even in an emergency, the ship would have sufficient fresh water to reach her destination, a bath was the order of the day. A scant third of a bucketful was the allowance, but even that was truly welcomed and refreshing. As we were now in south latitude approaching the opposite season, the air became colder each day and this one bath would suffice.
There was much conjecture during the latter days of the cruise as to how cold it would be in the strange new land (important to us because we were poorly clad); what would civilization be like to us again; where would our next duty take us, etc. The answers to all our questions were known soon after arrival, at Freemantle, S.W. Australia, on the seventeenth day of our voyage: Civilization was wonderful, it was cold, and we would soon be Homeward Bound!