RESCUE FROM OCEAN FLOOR

New Zealand Herald, Volume LXXVI, Issue 23356, 26 May 1939, Page 13

RESCUE FROM OCEAN FLOOR

26' OTHERS BELIEVED DEAD TERRIBLE HOURS OF SUSPENSE By Telegraph—Press Association—Copyright (Received May 25, 7.10 p.m.) NEW YORK. May 25 After 39 hours of imprisonment in a steel coffin 240' feet below the surface of the sea, 33 survivors of the crew of the United States submarine Squalus were rescued by the bell-chamber apparatus operated from the rescue ship Falcon. The remaining 26 men, who were trapped in the after compartment by the inrush of water —possibly through the induction valve failing to close when the vessel submerged—are believed certainly 1:o be dead. The scene of the rescue was one of unforgettable drama yesterday. The Falcon was moored by four anchors directly above the sunken submarine, and in a circle around her were 1 6 other naval vessels standing by, while on the fringe hovered scores of coastguard picket-boats and small fishing craft carrying reporters and photographers. Overhead zoomed aeroplanes and a brilliant sun shone down. The sea was calm, but an oil film was spread out to facilitate the lowering of the divers with the giant steel rescue chamber. Quite two and a-half hours elapsed between the time the first and second batches of men were brought up. The bell chamber, which was used in the present disaster for the first time in actual rescue work, is said to be a Ltaited States Navy development, the design for which has been made available to all foreign navies. The United States now has five of such chambers, one each on five submarine rescue ships. The bell is an intricate affair, with electric lighting and telephone systems. It weighs nine tons and is operated by a motor. Working in brief relays, because of the great pressure at that depth which prevented their remaining down for long, 40 divers fixed the bell chamber in place above a hatch in the deck of the submarine, and by this means access to the interior was gained. The survivors were brought to the surface in four batcheji, the last eight, including the captain, Lieutenant N. A. Quin, being raised soon after midnight. Graphic stories of the hours of terrible suspense in the sunken submarine were told by some of the survivors. Movement and even speech were restricted to save the precious air and oxygen, and in the bitter cold—only four degrees above freezing point on the ocean floor—the men huddled in their bunks, listening hopefully for the tapping of divers on the steel hull outside.