The spirit of the huddled greasy forms, packing the overloaded life rafts, is magnificent and their team work in shouting in unison is a fine example of quick return to initiative and organization in a crisis. But the bobbing blobs of isolated men are more pitiful. Thrice blown up and choking with oil and water, they are like small animals caught in molasses. We are now in a thick black circle of water, surrounded by a vast silver ring of oil slick. The men to port are drifting toward us and the hove lines are slipping through their greasy, oily hands. Soon many eager hands are grasping our cargo net, but our ship's upward roll breaks their weak and slippery hold. Instantly officers and men are begging permission to go over the side, and in no time three of our officers are ten feet from the ship on a reeling raft, and several chief petty officers are clinging to the net, trying to make lines fast around the slimy bodies of the survivors so that dozens of strong arms above on the deck can heave them aboard. The first man is hauled over the amidship rail vomiting oil. Forward from the lofty bridge I see an isolated man below me and hear his choking curses. Half blind, he sees the bridge above him. His cursing ceases--"A line, please, Sir!" I cup my hands and shout. A line is hove and he is towed amidships to the nets. Crossing to the starboard side, I see the obscure mass of another loaded raft. One man ignites a cigarette lighter and waves it in the darkness. They shout in chorus, but our lines fall short. They are drifting away to leeward. We shout through megaphones: "Hang on! We'll get you!" One man alone is trying to swim toward us. "Come on buddy!" I bellow, "You can make it!"
But the line hove with great skill falls short-and we chart the course of their drift. It is a lengthy and desperately hard job to get these men aboard. Our mena re working feverishly, but less than half have come over the rail and thirty-eight minutes have passed. The horizon is dull red with the coming of the dawn, and the increasing light makes the mass of our inert ship an easy target for the submarine which must be lurking near. One of our destroyers is continually circling us, as the Captain bellows from the bridge: "Get those men aboard!" After sixty-five minutes a few exhausted men still bob along our side. The Captain says to me: "We are in great danger. I cannot risk the ship and her company much longer." Now there are two or three left. . . . A contact directly astern with a submarine! The telephone buzzes in the wheelhouse--the other destroyer gets it too! There is nothing for it. We order the ensigns on the raft aboard with all haste, the engine telegraph is snapped full ahead, and we leap away, leaving two survivors to swirl astern. We roar away and the other destroyer lets go a pattern of depth charges, the white rising columns of water tinged with blood color in the dawning. We search, lose contact, and return, and the other ship picks up eleven men while we circle her. We hope she got the two we had to leave! A third destroyer comes back to relieve us with orders to search the spot until noon, and we with thirty-six survivors, and the other rescue ship, catch up with the fleeing convoy at twenty-five knots.
"Secure from General Quarters!" Ten-thirty and we can go to breakfast! Hot coffee--Lord, it's nectar! We ahve been on the bridge since five twenty-three! The ship is a mess--her decks, rails, and ladders are covered with oil and the smell of it. At lunch I am amazed to see two perfectly naked ensigns walk into the holy precincts of the wardroom, their eyes, hair, and ears still plastered with oil in spite of the scrubbing that they have given themselves! Ropes, life jackets, and the men's clothes are piled up along the decks in black and soggy masses. Four men with hemorrhages are put into officers' bunks. We learn that all the officers dies with the blowing up of the forward part of the ship, and we had many friends among them.
Two-ten P.M.--the peremptory rasping of General Quarters! The lookouts have sighted five ships. When nearer they turn out to be five British corvettes and they give satisfactory signals. At nine o'clock, with intermittent moonlight, the gunnery officer high above the bridge has picked up what he thinks id a sub on the surface. He asks permission to fire star shells, and with splitting roars our No. 2 turret fires five shots. Hardly has the whine of the last five-inch shell ceased when the whole surface of the distant horizon is lit brightly by their burst, and we make out an English corvette, off her station. In the dark wheelhouse the Captain turns to me: "Is today more than you bargained for?" "No, Sir!" "Well, I hope it's close enough for you," he says with a grin. At that moment two star shells burst high in the air to eastward, followed by heavy firing. Again the dreary rattle of General Quarters! Two corvettes and one of our destroyers dash off to investigate, and report to us by phone that a couple of escort ships had seen two German subs on the surface sneaking in toward us, had opened fire, made them dive, and dropped ash cans where they were. So for the last time that day, General Quarters is over and I turn in at twelve o'clock. I grope my way down from the bridge past the dim battle light in my hall, into my sealed-up cabin, post my log--and an eerie Hallowe'en is ended.
But the line hove with great skill falls short-and we chart the course of their drift. It is a lengthy and desperately hard job to get these men aboard. Our mena re working feverishly, but less than half have come over the rail and thirty-eight minutes have passed. The horizon is dull red with the coming of the dawn, and the increasing light makes the mass of our inert ship an easy target for the submarine which must be lurking near. One of our destroyers is continually circling us, as the Captain bellows from the bridge: "Get those men aboard!" After sixty-five minutes a few exhausted men still bob along our side. The Captain says to me: "We are in great danger. I cannot risk the ship and her company much longer." Now there are two or three left. . . . A contact directly astern with a submarine! The telephone buzzes in the wheelhouse--the other destroyer gets it too! There is nothing for it. We order the ensigns on the raft aboard with all haste, the engine telegraph is snapped full ahead, and we leap away, leaving two survivors to swirl astern. We roar away and the other destroyer lets go a pattern of depth charges, the white rising columns of water tinged with blood color in the dawning. We search, lose contact, and return, and the other ship picks up eleven men while we circle her. We hope she got the two we had to leave! A third destroyer comes back to relieve us with orders to search the spot until noon, and we with thirty-six survivors, and the other rescue ship, catch up with the fleeing convoy at twenty-five knots.
"Secure from General Quarters!" Ten-thirty and we can go to breakfast! Hot coffee--Lord, it's nectar! We ahve been on the bridge since five twenty-three! The ship is a mess--her decks, rails, and ladders are covered with oil and the smell of it. At lunch I am amazed to see two perfectly naked ensigns walk into the holy precincts of the wardroom, their eyes, hair, and ears still plastered with oil in spite of the scrubbing that they have given themselves! Ropes, life jackets, and the men's clothes are piled up along the decks in black and soggy masses. Four men with hemorrhages are put into officers' bunks. We learn that all the officers dies with the blowing up of the forward part of the ship, and we had many friends among them.
Two-ten P.M.--the peremptory rasping of General Quarters! The lookouts have sighted five ships. When nearer they turn out to be five British corvettes and they give satisfactory signals. At nine o'clock, with intermittent moonlight, the gunnery officer high above the bridge has picked up what he thinks id a sub on the surface. He asks permission to fire star shells, and with splitting roars our No. 2 turret fires five shots. Hardly has the whine of the last five-inch shell ceased when the whole surface of the distant horizon is lit brightly by their burst, and we make out an English corvette, off her station. In the dark wheelhouse the Captain turns to me: "Is today more than you bargained for?" "No, Sir!" "Well, I hope it's close enough for you," he says with a grin. At that moment two star shells burst high in the air to eastward, followed by heavy firing. Again the dreary rattle of General Quarters! Two corvettes and one of our destroyers dash off to investigate, and report to us by phone that a couple of escort ships had seen two German subs on the surface sneaking in toward us, had opened fire, made them dive, and dropped ash cans where they were. So for the last time that day, General Quarters is over and I turn in at twelve o'clock. I grope my way down from the bridge past the dim battle light in my hall, into my sealed-up cabin, post my log--and an eerie Hallowe'en is ended.
--Lieutenant Commander Griffith Baily Coale
From: The United States Navy in World War II
Part II, Chapter I: Attack
--Compiled and Edited by: S.E. Smith
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USS Reuben James (DD-245)
 USS Reuben James | |
| Career (United States) |  |
|---|---|
| Name: | Reuben James |
| Namesake: | Reuben James |
| Builder: | New York Shipbuilding |
| Laid down: | 2 April 1919 |
| Launched: | 4 October 1919 |
| Commissioned: | 24 September 1920 |
| In service: | 24 september 1920 |
| Out of service: | 31 October 1941 |
| Fate: | Sunk by U-552, 31 October 1941 |
| General characteristics | |
| Class & type: | Clemson-class destroyer |
| Displacement: | 1,190 long tons (1,210 t) |
| Length: | 314 ft 5 in (95.83 m) |
| Beam: | 31 ft 8 in (9.65 m) |
| Draft: | 9 ft 4 in (2.84 m) |
| Installed power: | 26,500 shp (19,800 kW) |
| Propulsion: | 2 × geared steam turbines 2 × shafts |
| Speed: | 35 kn (40 mph; 65 km/h) |
| Range: | 4,900 nmi (5,600 mi; 9,100 km) @ 15 kn (17 mph; 28 km/h) |
| Complement: | 159 officers and enlisted |
| Armament: | 4 × 4 in (100 mm) guns 1 × 3 in (76 mm) anti-aircraft gun 12 × 21 in (530 mm) torpedo tubes |
USS Reuben James (DD-245)—a post-World War I, four-funnel Clemson-classdestroyer—was the first United States Navy ship sunk by hostile action in the European theater of World War II and the first named for Boatswain's MateReuben James (c.1776–1838), who distinguished himself fighting in theBarbary Wars.
Reuben James was laid down on 2 April 1919 by the New York Shipbuilding Corporation of Camden, New Jersey, launched on 4 October 1919, andcommissioned on 24 September 1920, with Commander Gordon W. Hines in command. The destroyer was sunk by a torpedo attack from German submarine U-552 on 31 October 1941.
Contents
[hide]Service history[edit]
Assigned to the Atlantic Fleet, Reuben James saw duty in the Mediterranean Sea in 1921–1922. Reuben James sailed from Newport, Rhode Island, on 30 November 1920, to Zelenika, Yugoslavia, arriving on 18 December. During the spring and summer of 1921, she operated in the Adriatic and the Mediterranean out of Zelenika and Gruz, Yugoslavia, assisting refugees and participating in postwar investigations. In October 1921 at Le Havre, she joined the protected cruiser Olympia at ceremonies marking the return of the Unknown Soldier to the U.S. At Danzig, from 29 October 1921 to 3 February 1922, she assisted the American Relief Administration in its efforts to relieve hunger and misery. After duty in the Mediterranean, she departed Gibraltar on 17 July.
Based then at New York City, the ship patrolled the Nicaraguan coast to prevent the delivery of weapons to revolutionaries in early 1926. In the spring of 1929, she participated in fleet maneuvers that foreshadowed naval airpower. She was decommissioned at Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, on 20 January 1931. Recommissioned on 9 March 1932, the ship again operated in the Atlantic and the Caribbean, patrolling Cuban waters during the coup by Fulgencio Batista. She transferred to San Diego in 1934. Following maneuvers that evaluatedaircraft carriers, Reuben James returned to the Atlantic Fleet in January 1939.
World War II[edit]
Upon the outbreak of war in Europe in September 1939, she joined the Neutrality Patrol, guarding the Atlantic and Caribbean approaches to the American coast. In March 1941, Reuben James joined the convoy escort force established to promote the safe arrival of materiel to the United Kingdom. This escort force guarded convoys as far as Iceland, after which they became the responsibility of British escorts.
Based at Hvalfjordur, Iceland, she sailed from Naval Station Argentia, Newfoundland, on 23 October, with four other destroyers to escort eastbound convoy HX 156. At about 0525 on 31 October, while escorting that convoy, Reuben James was torpedoed by U-552commanded by Kapitänleutnant Erich Topp near Iceland. Reuben James had positioned herself between an ammunition ship in the convoy and the known position of a "wolfpack", a group of submarines that preyed on Allied shipping. Reuben James was hit forward by a torpedo and her entire bow was blown off when a magazine exploded. The bow sank immediately. The aft section floated for five minutes before going down. Of the 159-man crew, only 44 survived. Many consider the Reuben James to have been the first US warship to be sunk in WWII.
Convoys escorted[edit]
| Convoy | Escort Group | Dates | Notes |
|---|---|---|---|
| ON 20 | 30 Sept – 9 Oct 1941[1] | from Iceland to Newfoundland prior to US declaration of war | |
| HX 156 | 24–31 Oct 1941[2] | from Newfoundland to Iceland prior to US declaration of war; sunk by U-552 |
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