At 6:00 a.m. on Sunday, 28 October 1923, the USS O-5 (SS-66) had passed the luxurious Washington Hotel on Manzanillo Point, Colon, Panama, and was proceeding on a southerly course across Limon Bay, en route to Gatun Locks. The 173-foot, 520-ton O-5, commanded by Lieutenant Harrison Avery, U. S. Navy, and attached to Commander, Submarine Force, Coco Solo, Canal Zone, was leading the O-3, O-6, and O-8 in a routine transit of the Panama Canal to the Pacific.
Earlier, the United Fruit Company’s 380-foot, 5,000-ton SS Abangarez, Captain W. A. Card, Master, had arrived from Havana and anchored in Limon Bay.
At 6:14 a.m. the Abangarez weighed anchor to proceed to Dock No. 6, Cristobal; at the same time, the O-5 received Panama Canal Pilot G. O. Kolle, and was again underway at about 12 knots. The Abangarez was about 1,000 yards forward of the O-5’s starboard beam, swinging eastward to dock.
About two minutes after going ahead, the O-5 stopped to shift from direct diesel to electric motor drive to enable her to maneuver and use her propellers astern. The approximate speed, movements, and position of the two ships were as follows:
► The O-5’s engines were stopped. She was unable to turn her propellers, drifting in a southerly direction, and approaching the port bow of the Abangarez.
► The Abangarez, broad on the starboard bow of the O-5, was heading easterly with engines stopped, moving at about four knots across the main channel and across the course of the O-5.
One minute after the O-5’s engines were stopped, the Abangarez and the O-5 converged, and obviously collision was unavoidable. Up to this time no whistle or other signals were exchanged between either vessel.
At 6:22, Captain Card, seeing that the headings and speeds of the O-5 and Abangarez made collision imminent, sounded a danger signal of four short blasts. This was the first signal by either vessel. The Abangarez then backed emergency full speed and let go her starboard anchor. Without acknowledgement of the Abangarez’s danger signal, the O-5 held rudder amidships and continued on a southerly heading. Although unable to operate her propellers, the O-5 made no effort to check her headway by releasing anchors.
At 6:24, by the clocks of the Abangarez and Panama Canal Tug U. S. Porto Bello, the Abangarez hit the starboard side of the O-5, and stove in a hole about 10 feet long and 3 feet wide in the control room and No. 1 main ballast tank. The O-5, with 21 officers and men on board, rolled about 15 degrees to port and then righted. She then sank by the bow in seven fathoms of water within a minute. The Abangarez was undamaged.
Captain Card later reported to the Board of Inquiry investigating the collision that his ship was always dodging submarines in Limon Bay, and he went on to say: “Before we struck, I heard a call from the submarine’s conning tower for everyone to come from below. When we struck, someone ordered the O-5 crew to jump overboard. We threw life rings and preservers overboard and dropped ends of mooring lines over the side. We picked up eight survivors, including Lieutenant Avery.”
Eight minutes after the sinking, Chief Machinist’s Mate C. R. Butler, U. S. Navy, was shot to the surface in an air pocket. He was rescued by the Panama Canal launch, U. S. Rodman. He did not know who was left in the submarine.
George W. Cadell, Master of the towboat, Porto Bello, stated that his crew took six O-5 survivors on board, and that the tug, U. S. Tavernilla saved one man.
Captain Cadell witnessed the collision and reported to the Board:
“I received orders to tug the Abangarez to Dock No. 6. We were about to let lines go when I saw a line of submarines proceeding into the Canal channel and toward the port bow of the Abangarez. It looked as though there would be a collision. It is not customary, and against the Rules of the Road, to cross a ship’s bow when you have her on your starboard side. I started for the scene at full speed. At first, it looked like the submarine might cross the bow of the Abangarez. When we were about halfway the Abangarez rammed the O-5. The time was 6:24.”
Lieutenant Avery and the O-5 survivors were brought to Dock No. 6. Visibly shaken, Avery mustered his rescued officers and men. Sixteen were present. Five men were missing. They were: Henry Breault, Torpedoman, Second Class; Lawrence T. Brown, Chief Electrician’s Mate; C. E. Hughes, Motor Machinist’s Mate, First Class; Thomas T. Metzler, Fireman, First Class; and Fred C. Smith, Mess Attendant, First Class.
Rescue efforts began immediately. Navy divers on a salvage tug stationed at Coco Solo arrived to inspect the O-5 on the bottom. Raps on her hull brought response from within. Two men of the missing five, Breault and Brown, it would later be ascertained, were alive in the forward torpedo room. Hughes, Metzler, and Smith were not in the O-5. Metzler and Smith were found shortly after the collision and were buried with military honors at Mt. Hope Cemetry [sic], Canal Zone. The body of Hughes was never recovered.
Aside from reporting the extent and location of the damage, and discovering that survivors were on board the O-5, Navy divers were helpless to rescue the trapped men. Therefore, a means to lift the submarine off the bottom had to be found if Breault and Brown were to be saved from suffocation.
Artificial lungs and rescue chambers had not been invented, and there were no salvage pontoons within 2,000 miles of the Canal Zone. By a stroke of luck, however, there were in the Canal Zone two 250-ton capacity crane barges, the U. S. Ajax and the U. S. Hercules. These leviathans had the mightiest lift in the world for floating equipment. They had been built in Germany especially for handling the enormous lock gates of the Panama Canal. Captain Amos Bronson, Jr., U. S. Navy, Commander, Submarine Base, Coco Solo, and in charge of the O-5 salvage operation, requested the Panama Canal to furnish one of the floating cranes for service over the O-5.
To add to the rescuers’ frustration, a slide had occurred in Gaillard Cut, the narrowest part of the Canal. Both cranes were opposite the slide, 50 miles from the O-5. Ironically, this was the first slide to block the Cut since 1916.
Working to remove the slide were two behemoth dipper dredges; the U. S. Cascades and U. S. Paraiso. Each of their bites could scoop 15 cubic yards of earth. They were the biggest in the world, built especially for enlarging and maintaining the Canal. Relentlessly, they cleared a narrow passage for the Ajax, and by 2:00 p.m. of the 28th, the Ajax squeezed through and was rushed by tow to the O-5. She appeared off Dock No. 6 about 10:30 that night.
In advance of the arrival of the Ajax, Panama Canal salvage forces assembled over the luckless O-5. Among them was a 38-year-old Virginian, Sheppard J. Shreaves, who was dockmaster and foreman shipwright for the Panama Canal Mechanical Division. Barrel-chested, tough, soft-spoken, and unassuming, Shep Shreaves was a qualified diver and supervisor of the Canal’s highly proficient salvage and diving crew. Rather than risk the lives of his men on this treacherous underwater assignment, Shep himself went down. (Since Panama Canal forces and heavy equipment were being used to lift the bow of the O-5, it became the responsibility of the Canal organization to tunnel under the O-5, pass through the lifting cables, secure the cable to the hook of the Ajax, and otherwise prepare the O-5 for raising.) Shep Shreaves later recalled:
“We spotted the O-5 on the bottom by the air bubbles exhausted from the compartment holding Breault and Brown. To survive, they were bleeding air from 3,000-lb. compressed air reserves in the forward torpedo room.
“Since the Navy divers gave me a good briefing on the position of the O-5 and the location of the two trapped men, I went right in through the hole in her side. The light of my lamp was feeble against the black pitch. Inside it was an awful mess. It was tight and slippery. I was constantly pushing away floating debris.
“When I reached the forward bulkhead of the engine room I rapped with my diving hammer. Faint taps were returned. Someone was still alive. I acknowledged with a feeling of hopelessness, as I could do no more at the time.
“I emerged from O-5. By prearrangement I signalled to lower the fire hose. The O-5 lay upright in several feet of soft mud. I began jetting a trench under her bow. Sluicing through the muck was easy—too easy, for it could cave in upon me. Swirling black engulfed me, and I worked by feel and instinct. I had to be careful not to dredge too much from under the bow, for the O-5 could crush down on me. Occasionally I’d hit the hull to let the boys inside know someone was working to save them. Weak taps were returned each time.”
Shep continued his desperate efforts to dredge out the mud, aware as he worked that he might well be digging his own grave.
Finally, the tunnel was through and Shep passed a guideline under the O-5. It was attached to a 4-inch diameter steel cable. The cable was snaked under her bow and both ends shackled to the lifting hook of the Ajax.
Three times the cable broke from the weight of the O-5. Each time new cable was wrestled under the bow. Aside from the submarine’s flooded weight, there was the problem of the powerful mud suction which somehow had to be broken.
By early morning of the 29th, round-the-clock efforts to raise the O-5 had failed miserably, and fears for Breault and Brown mounted.
Shep surfaced occasionally to report to Captain Bronson and to permit Navy doctors to examine him. They were concerned that his extreme exertion, while working under pressure, would put too great a strain on his heart. But, by now, Shep Shreaves had no thought of his own safety—paramount in his thoughts were those two entrapped men in the blackness below.
After being underwater and in his diving suit for almost 24 hours, Shep surfaced and seemed to be functioning on willpower alone. His job below was done, and the O-5 was ready for a fourth attempt to lift her. At 12:30 p.m. on the 29th, from topside, Shep released compressed air into the engine room of the O-5 to unflood that compartment and lighten the boat. Water and mud bubbled to the surface as from a boiling cauldron. The Ajax took a strain on the cable. When Shep sensed that the moment was right, he signalled the Ajax to commence lifting. The silence that followed was almost unbearable. The bay was as calm as glass, for which all were grateful. Usually, there was a two to four-foot chop, which was disruptive to diving operations. The Ajax continued to haul, and the bow of the O-5 inched upward. After what seemed an eternity, the bow broke surface and a roaring cheer was heard even in Cristobal. When the hatch leading to the men became accessible, a score of rescuers tried to jump onto the O-5 to open it.
The two imprisoned men crawled from the O-5. Topside, Brown fainted from prostration. The moment was charged with emotion and many wept unashamedly in relief and thanksgiving.
Breault and Brown, while on the deck of the Rodman, hugged each other with joy at being alive and among their fellow men again. Rushed into a decompression chamber at Coco Solo Hospital, they were later taken to Colon Hospital to determine what ill effects they might have suffered from 31 hours of tortuous confinement.
“I was a big hero for a while,” Shreaves later recalled. “The boys carried me around on their shoulders. Everybody rushed down to the Stranger’s Club in Colon for a big celebration and to relieve their tension. But me, I went to sleep at the party.”
The O-5 incident established a world record for Shep. His were the longest duration dives up to that time.
There was now time to obtain the answers to the important question. How did Breault and Brown become confined in the O-5?
When the collision occurred, the 23-year-old Breault had been in the forward torpedo room. Upon hearing the order to abandon the O-5, he escaped to the main deck, but he quickly realized that his friend, Chief Lawrence T. Brown, was asleep in the forward battery room. Breault, with more concern for warning Brown than for saving his own life, dropped into the O-5, as she was sinking, securing the hatch cover. Brown was awake but had not heard the order to abandon the O-5. Until Breault appeared he remained unaware of what had happened. With water engulfing them, they attempted an escape through the conning tower, but the deluge blocked that route. They struggled back into the forward torpedo room and forced shut its watertight door.
Immediately thereafter, the forward battery room, where Brown had been sleeping, filled with sea water. The batteries shorted, an incandescent arc ignited the chlorine gas, and a violent explosion erupted. Miraculously, the door to their steel tomb held. (This was the second battery explosion during the O-5’s short life. On 5 October 1918, someone had accidentally left the ventilator to the battery room closed, causing gas to accumulate and explode. Two lives were lost, and two men were injured.)
About three hours after Breault and Brown became trapped, a Navy diver hammered the hull. Brown recalled:
“Breault and I separated to pound on each of the boat’s sides. In this way the rescuers would know there were two of us. Breault played a kind of tune with his hammer, indicating to the diver that we were in good shape and cheerful. Neither of us knew Morse code. We had no food or water, and only a flashlight. We were confident we could stay alive for forty-eight hours.
“The high pressure and foul air gave us severe headaches. We did very little moving or talking; it excited our hearts too much.
“We heard scraping on the hull for hours. A couple of times we felt the O-5 being lifted, and then we got tossed roughly when the slings broke. We knew they were hard after us. This buoyed our hopes for rescue tremendously.
“Finally, the sub began to be tilted upward slowly. We felt we would escape this time, but it seemed like forever. The last 20 minutes were unbearable. We heard our comrades walking on deck. Breault opened the hatch and we could see daylight. We were saved!!!”
It was for Breault’s act of selflessness and valor, by going to the assistance of his shipmate, in the face of almost certain death, that he was awarded the Congressional Medal of Honor by President Calvin A. Coolidge on 4 April 1924.
Shep also was honored for his heroic O-5 exploit. The Acting Governor of the Canal Zone, H. Burgess, recommended Shep for a Congressional Life Saving Medal. He also received a 14-karat gold watch from 800 grateful members of the Coco Solo Submarine Base. The presentation was made at a Navy night banquet to inaugurate the opening of the Y.M.C.A. Army-Navy Club, Cristobal. The watch was inscribed, “To S. J. Shreaves, from Submarine Force, Coco Solo, C.Z., for his heroism in raising the O-5.” Breault and Brown presented it to Shep.
Shep’s performance on the O-5 was not the end of his heroic deeds. On 16 July 1924, four laborers were trapped in the hold of the SS Columbia. Shep went down after them, but he was too late. The laborers were dead from poisonous fumes, and Shep was hauled up unconscious.
For this rescue attempt, he received recognition from John Barton Payne, Chairman of the American Red Cross. Payne’s commendation, which applied equally to his O-5 exploits, read:
“Your extraordinary heroism has aroused my admiration. It is one thing to calmly perform a heroic act under the stimulation of a great wave of excitement, without having time to think much of danger, and quite another to calmly face death without excitement and inspiration of dramatic circumstances.”
With more than 1,000 dives behind him, Shep retired to St. Petersburg, Florida, on 31 December 1945, after 32 years of Panama Canal service. He died in January 1968.
Other lives were touched by the O-5 sinking. R. G. Lewis, a photographer for Fox Movietone News, who now resides in retirement in the Republic of Panama, was awarded a five-dollar bonus by his company for the best subject of the current week. His extraordinary film documented the full pictorial sequence of the O-5 rescue and salvage operation.
W. H. Stone received a commendation for efficient and valuable services rendered in connection with the final raising of the O-5. It was Stone who suggested a plan for fitting a wooden cofferdam around the gash in the O-5. It permitted the O-5 to be pumped out sufficiently to raise and tow her to the U. S. Submarine Base, Coco Solo.
On 26 November 1923, Lieutenant Avery was found to be responsible for the collision, but a Court of Naval Inquiry later cleared the O-5 of blame for the collision. At the time of his death, in October 1934, Lieutenant Commander Avery commanded the USS Isabel (PY-10) of the Asiatic Fleet.
The ordeal suffered by the O-5 made her valueless for future naval service. She was stripped of valuable fittings and equipment and sold to a private individual for $3,125 on 12 December 1924. Her original cost had been $638,000.
This did not end the O-5 incident. On 14 August 1927, the SS Abangarez was seized by U. S. marshals on her arrival in New Orleans from Havana. Libels exceeding $336,000 were brought against the vessel. The government charged negligence among the reasons for seizure. United States vs. United Fruit Company (Submarine O-5—SS Abangarez) continued in the courts until 20 August 1932, when Federal Judge Wayne G. Borah, New Orleans, ruled the O-5 was at fault in the collision.
At a time when modern rescue and safety devices did not exist, and while submarines were still in their infancy, it remains a remarkable feat that the two men trapped in the O-5 were not only rescued, but that their submarine was raised quickly thereafter. Rescue of personnel from within a disabled submarine was not duplicated until 16 years later in 1939 when 33 men were saved from the USS Squalus (SS-192) through the use of a submarine rescue chamber.
Had the Abangarez and the O-5 collision occurred elsewhere, Breault and Brown would have perished for want of the rare combination of humanity and technology that was required to effect their rescue, and which made the O-5 incident unique in the annals of submarine rescues.
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Captain Julius Grigore, Jr., USNR, is Supervisor of Shipbuilding, Conversion and Repair, U. S. Navy, Fifteenth Naval District, Fort Amador, Canal Zone. Before being recalled to active duty, he was Assistant Chief, Industrial Division, the Panama Canal Company’s shipyard complex. He is a graduate of the U. S. Merchant Marine Academy, the University of Detroit, and of the Harvard Business School, Advanced Management Program. He is the author of numerous articles for the National Transportation Journal, Military Engineer, Panama Canal Review, and Explorer’s Journal.