She carried a merchant crew of 41 officers and men. With the ensign and 8 Navy gunners of her armed guard, she had a total compliment of 50. Sailing without escort, she followed Navy routing instructions and maintained a total blackout at night . . .
About two days out of Baytown, Captain Marcus began steering zigzag courses--long courses on each leg in the Gulf of Mexico and shorter courses, of 15 minutes each, north of Miami. In addition to the crew's lookout watches, the armed guard maintained lookouts day and night, posting one man on the monkey bridge and another at the gun aft.
On the night of the 26th, Captain Marcus was in the wheelhouse when Third Mate Graham P. Covert took over the 8 to 12 watch . . . Ordinary Seaman Orville R. Hogard was stationed at lookout on the wing of the bridge.
The evening was fine and clear. There was a light northwesterly breeze, small ripples on the water, and a long, moderate, lazy easterly swell. It was a brilliant lighted moonlight night, there being a little better than half a moon showing. The sky was cloudless and the night was so clear I could distinguish the individual lights on the New Jersey shore. The evening was cold and it was necessary to wear heavy clothing and ear muffs.
From 8 to 10 p.m. Able Seaman Forsdal was taking his trick at the wheel. The Resor was then steering a base course of 30 degrees by gyro-compass and zigzagging at full speed 15 degrees to the left and right on that course at intervals of 15 minutes. A Navy gunner was on lookout duty atop the pilot house and a seaman stood watch on the foc'sle head. The wheelhouse was blacked out and the vessel was not showing navigation lights. When Forsdal left the bridge at 10 p.m. the ship was steering the zigzag course heretofore explained.
From 10 p.m. to 11 p.m. I was on standby duty. At the latter hour I proceeded to the foc'sle head and releived Ordinary Seaman Hogard. The Resor would soon be about 20 miles east of Manasquan Inlet, N.J.
Just before 7 bells, I was standing slightly to port of the stem. Suddenly I sighted a dark object lying low in the water about two points on the port bow. Although not far distant from the vessel, it was indistinct. I did not hear any engine or a motor exhaust, possibly due to the sound of the Resor's bow waves. I immediately turned and walked aft along the port side toward the bell, to report the craft. A few seconds after I sighted the vessel, which I thought might be a small fishing boat, she turned on her navigation lights. I could see that her white light was about 5 feet above her green and red side lights. The lights were then about 200 to 300 yards away and were heading for a point midway between the stem of the Resor and the break of the foc'sle head.
A second or so after the strange vessel showed her navigating lights, I rang two strokes on the bell and then reported by voice to the bridge: "Small vessel about two points on your port bow, sir!" The bridge answered: "Aye! Aye!" From the time I first observed the craft until I reported it, only 10 to 15 seconds had elapsed.
As I turned to walk forward, I saw that the lights were about three points on the port bow. They were too dim to show any part of her hull and after a few seconds she switched them off. Thinking that she was a fishing boat because of her small outline and not realizing that a submarine would venture so close to shore, I resumed my lookout without giving further thought to the vessel, which had disappeared in the darkness. At this time, as I recall, the moon was either aft or on our starboard quarter.
I had continued my lookout for a minute or two, when all of a sudden I felt and heard a violent explosion on our port side. Within what seemed a fraction of a second the Resor was aflame from her bridge aft and debris was hurled high into the air. I was thrown to the deck and lay there momentarily in a dazed condition. Then to protect myself from falling fragments I crawled under a platform on the foc'sle head which had been constructed for a gun.
When it seemed safe, I got up and went down to the foredeck. In the light of the flames, the submarine was now clearly visible, about four points on our port bow and 400 to 500 yards distant. The enemy vessel, without lights, appeared to be on her way to the Jersey shore and I could hear the noise of a heavy Diesel exhaust. Then she disappeared from view.
Removing my lifebelt and heavy overcoat, I put the lifebelt on again and proceeded to the foremast rigging on the port side, where I tried to size up the situation to see whether I could go aft. I decided that the fire was too severe. Then I released the portside life raft, found a line hanging over the side and lowered myself into the water, which was icy cold.
When about 50 yards from the ship, as I kept on swimming in heavy oil, I heard a second violent explosion. Looking over my shoulder I saw that the oil floating on the water in the vicinity of the ship was afire. I had to swim out to the sea at least 20 minutes to get away from the burning oil.
About this time I heard a voice and paddled toward it, shouting. A moment later I heard another man calling nearer by. It was Radio Operator Clarence Armstrong and I swam in his direction.
Sparks shouted to me and to the other man in the water, whom I could not identify: 'Come over here so we can be together.' He also told us he had a life raft. The Resor was then between us and the Jersey shore and I could see the mass of flames growing steadily worse.
Covered with more and more oil, I struggled hard to reach Armstrong, answering him each time he shouted. In the light of the flaming Resor, after a period of time I cannot estimate, I arrived at the raft, which was about half a mile distant from the ship. Hooking my arms around the lifelines I rested for ten minutes or so in a state of exhaustion. Sparks was hanging to a lifeline on the other side of the raft. I was heavily weighted down with cold and clinging oil; the exertion of climbing up on the raft taxed my strength so seriously that I was unable to do anything but lie down. The cold and the heavy oil seemed to be paralyzing my body.
While lying on the raft I observed what I took to be a Coast Guard patrol boat. I told sparks to keep his chin up, that help was coming. At the same time I was shouting toward the boat so they could locate us. When she passed us she turned around and put a searchlight on the raft. Then a lifebuoy was thrown, attached to a line. I managed to return slowly to the raft, but as I felt warmer in the water, I did not attempt to climb aboard it. Armstrong was still hanging on, but did not reply when I talked to him. (Forsdal did not know, at that time, that the radio operator had died.)
A small boat came over to me and a rope was put under my arms. Soon afterward a picket boat came along and the line secured to my body was passed to it. I cannot remember what happened after that until I found myself on board the boat, which landed me on the New Jersey coast.
Another man had been hauled out of the water by the picket boat before they rescued me. He was a member of the Navy armed guard named Hey.
According to Chief Boatswain's Mate John W. Daisey, commander of the Coast Guard picket boat that rescued the two survivors, "Forsdal was so coated with thick congealed oil that we had to cut his clothes and his life jacket off with knives. They were so weighted with oil we couldn't get him aboard. Even his mouth was filled with a blob of oil."
--John J. Forsdal
From: The United States Navy in World War II
Part II: Chapter 3: Wipe the Oil Out of my Eyes!
Compiled and Edited by: S.E. Smith
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| Career |  |
|---|---|
| Name: | R.P. Resor |
| Owner: | Standard Oil Company of New Jersey, New York, NY |
| Builder: | Federal Shipbuilding and Drydock Company of Kearny, NJ |
| Launched: | 1936 |
| Homeport: | Wilmington, Delaware |
| Fate: | Torpedoed by U-578, 28 February 1942 |
| General characteristics | |
| Tonnage: | 7,541 gross register tons (GRT) |
| Length: | 435 ft 9 in (132.82 m) |
| Beam: | 66 ft 6 in (20.27 m) |
| Draft: | 34 ft 7 in (10.54 m) |
| Propulsion: | Oil fired steam engine, twin screws |
| Speed: | 12.7 knots (23.5 km/h) |
| Crew: | 41 + 9 Navy Armed Guard gun crew |
| Armament: | 1 × 4"/50 caliber gun |
R.P. Resor was a tanker ship built in 1936 by the Federal Shipbuilding and Drydock Company of Kearny, New Jersey for the Standard Oil Company. She was torpedoed by U-boat U-578 on 28 February 1942, and later sank.
Disaster[edit]
Leaving Houston, Texas on February 19, 1942, the R.P. Resor was carrying 78,729 barrels (12,517 m³) of crude oil to be carried to Fall River, Massachusetts. She had a crew of 41 commanded by Captain Frederick Marcus, and carried an ensign and eight navy gunners. These men were needed to man a four-inch gun mounted on the stern. German U-boat activity compelled the R.P. Resor to steer a zigzag course with no navigation lights. Extra lookouts were posted.
Attack[edit]
According to the account of John Forsdal, seaman on the boat during the attack, an unidentified object was spotted in the water. It flickered its lights, and subsequently, Forsdal reported by voice to the bridge. Soon after, a torpedo hit the port side. Debris flew into the air, and the deck erupted with flames. The crew, including Forsdal, were knocked down by the explosion. As he released the life raft and slid down the safety line into the water, three more torpedoes destroyed the port side hull. Oil poured out, coating the sea. Soon, the life raft had floated off. Forsdal swam for approximately 20 minutes before reaching the raft, which was half a mile from the burning R.P. Resor. On it, he joined radio operator Clarence Armstrong. John Forsdal released the following statement after being rescued:
| “ | Hooking my arms around the lifelines I rested for ten minutes or so in state of exhaustion. Sparks [Clarence Armstrong] was hanging to a lifeline on the other side of the raft. I was heavily weighted down with cold and clinging oil; the exertion of climbing up on the raft taxed my strength so seriously that I was unable to do anything but lie down. The cold and heavy oil seemed to be paralyzing my body. | ” |
12:40 am—land reaction and rescue[edit]
Flames were spotted by a lookout at the Shark River Lifeboat station, which was 20 miles (40 km) away. A picket boat was dispatched. In attempt to find survivors, they shone a searchlight, combing the surrounding areas. They saw Forsdal, and after much difficulty, manually pulled him over the gunwale. Radio Operator Armstrong was never seen again.
Now, many coast guard boats were on scene. Coxswain Daniel Hey was found, but due to congealed oil, they resorted to extreme measures, namely removing the oil-soaked, weighted clothes. Mr. Hey was one of the eight navy gunners on the ship. According to his testimony, he was sleeping in his bunk when the torpedo struck, and subsequently jumped off the boat, along with three other gunners. The port lifeboat had been effectively immobilized by the flames. Mr. Hey was the only one of the three to survive the burning sea. He also said that "he saw the starboard lifeboat shove off into the gunnel".
When the flames on the water's surface died out, Navy vessels and aircraft searched the surrounding area for survivors. One body was recovered, but no other survivors, nor was the starboard lifeboat ever found.
Sinking and subsequent effects[edit]
Since trapped air prevented the immediate sinking of the R.P. Resor, it was partially afloat for 46 hours. The USS Sagamore took the drifting wreck in tow. The tow ended about 30 miles (55 km) east of Barnegat Lighthouse, where it grounded.
The American Marine Insurance Syndicate paid $1,716,416 to the Standard Oil Company: the total hull value in its insurance agreement.
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