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CAPE HATTERAS ATTACK
SS E. M. Clark
Hit by two torpedoes, the E. M. Clark was sunk March 18, 1942, about 22 miles south-west of Diamond Shoal Lighted Buoy. In wartime this buoy replaced the famous lightship of that name as a navigation guide for rounding Cape Hatteras.
Although the night of March 17-18 was pitch dark and the vessel was all blacked out, as the second mate took the 12 to 4 watch the dark was passing through a thunderstorm. Brilliant flashes of lightning revealed at intervals the rain-drenched hull and superstructures of the fully loaded tanker plowing northward through wind-roughened seas.
Torpedoed in Thunder Storm
At 1:35 a.m., without warning, the E. M. Clark was struck on the port side by the first torpedo. The explosion destroyed No. 2 lifeboat and brought down the radio antennae; it did considerable damage amidships and killed a member of the crew. The general alarm was immediately sounded and the engines stopped. Luckily the cargo did not catch fire and as the ship was apparently still seaworthy, strenuous efforts were made to rig the spare radio antenna for distress calls. In the darkness, this job proved difficult and dangerous.
About 15 minutes after the first explosion, the second torpedo, striking farther forward, dealt a vital blow and caused the tanker to sink rapidly by the head. It was now clear that the vessel was doomed and the captain gave the order to abandon ship.
Of the E. M. Clark's 41 officers and men, 40 survived the disaster. A well trained crew, they launched two lifeboats quickly despite difficulties and witnessed the sinking of their ship. Illuminated by the U-boat's searchlight, the tanker went down within 10 minutes after the second attack. Next morning, the men in both lifeboats were rescued by passing vessels and reached port safely.
The SS E. M. Clark, originally the Victolite, was built in 1921 by the Federal Shipbuilding Company at Kearny, N. J., for Imperial Oil, Ltd. In 1926 she joined the Esso fleet and later acquired her new name. Two of her sisterships were the E. J. Sadler and Walter Jennings. The E. T. Bedford and J. A. Moffett, Jr., as originally built, were also sisterships of the E. M. Clark.
A twin-screw vessel of 16,030 deadweight tons capacity on international summer draft of 28 feet, 10 inches, the E. M. dark had an overall length of 516 feet, 6 inches, a length between perpendiculars of 500 feet, a moulded breadth of 68 feet, and a depth moulded of 38 feet, 10 1/4 inches. Her cargo carrying capacity was 119,414 barrels and she had an assigned pumping rate of 5,000 barrels an hour. Her triple expansion engines, with steam supplied by three Scotch boilers, developed 3,700 indicated horsepower and gave her a speed of 10.2 knots.
At the outbreak of war in Europe on September 3, 1939, the E. M. Clark was commanded by Captain Patrick S. Mahony and her engineroom was in charge of Chief Engineer Travis L. Lumpkin. Leaving Boston in ballast on August 27, she arrived at Baton Rouge September 4 and loaded 114,799 barrels of East Texas crude. For the rest of the year she continued to run coastwise.
In 1940, although the E. M. Clark was in the Patuxent tied-up fleet from August 14 to October 22, she made 13 voyages, including trips to Aruba, Buenos Aires, Guiria, and Las Piedras.
She was in the Gulf-Atlantic coast service in 1941 except for her last assignment of the year, to take a cargo of gasoline to Santos, Brazil. When the United States declared war against Japan on December 8, 1941, the E. M. Clark was in the Gulf of Mexico, having left Baytown, Texas, at 1:24 p.m., December 7. On the 8th, she received a warning message that a German raider was in her path. Soon afterward, a British auxiliary cruiser, hunting for enemy ships, circled the dark with guns trained point blank until the Esso tanker gave her name, cargo, and destination.
Heard Former Esso Tanker's Distress Call
On January 24, 1942, when the E. M. Clark was 10 days out of Santos and due to arrive in a few days at Caripito, her radio operator intercepted a distress call from the ore carrier Venore (formerly the Standard Oil Company of New Jersey tanker Charles G. Black), when that vessel was torpedoed off Hatteras.
On the two completed voyages of the E. M. Clark in 1942, she went from Caripito and Aruba to Baltimore and from Baytown and Texas City to St. Rose, Louisiana.
The war transportation record of the E. M. Clark, in summary, was as follows:
Her wartime masters were Captains Patrick S. Mahony, Henry S. Westmoreland, Martin Olsen, and Hubert L. Hassell.
During the same period her engines were in charge of Chief Engineers Travis L. Lumpkin, Frank J. Balling, Clyde P. Williams, Earl Williams, Harry R. Peck, and Joseph F. Lafo.
On the morning of March 11, 1942, the E. M. Clark, commanded by Captain Hassell, with her engine department in charge of Chief Engineer Lafo, left Baton Rouge, La., with a cargo of 118,725 barrels of heating oil, bound for New York.
Master Assists Radio Operator
To quote Captain Hassell's report:
"On March 17, at 8 p.m., the weather became squally with lightning and rainfalls and wind south-west - Force 4 - sea moderately rough. At about 12:35 a.m., March 18, I had retired to my stateroom. Second Mate Richard F. Ludden was in charge of the bridge. An A.B. was at the wheel; Lynn Bartee, O.S., was on lookout at the foc'sle head; and an A.B. was on standby.
"Immediately after the explosion I proceeded to the bridge where I took charge from the second mate, who had already sounded the general alarm and ordered the engines 'Full astern' and then 'Stop'. These orders were promptly complied with.
"I then went to the radio operator's room and assisted him in the attempt to rig the emergency antenna in order to send an SOS, as the regular antenna had been destroyed."
Radio Operator Earle J. Schlarb, in his statement submitted for this history and in comment during an interview, described his experience during the emergency - when "seconds seemed like minutes and minutes like hours."
"At midnight," he said, "I threw in the switch for the automatic alarm and glanced about the radio room, making a general check-up before going off watch. My life jacket was hanging on the door knob. Taking my radio operator license out of the frame and placing it where I could get it quickly if need arose, I went below to get some sleep.
"Sparks" Has Thrilling Experience
"The auto alarm bell in my room was ringing madly when I awoke, finding myself halfway out of my bunk. I hurried into my clothes and snatched up a flashlight. As I opened my door I breathed in the sharp, acrid odor of burnt powder in the companion-way. Rushing up to the radio room, I turned on my flashlight and found the whole place in chaos. Parts of the apparatus, the filing cabinet, spare-parts locker, table, and racks were in a tangled heap on the floor. The typewriter had been flung across the operating chair and table and had crashed into the receiver-battery charger. The door leading to the boat deck had been blown off and part of the bulkhead was gone.
"Feeling lucky to be alive, I pulled the auto alarm switch and stopped the clamor of the bells. Then I heard the captain saying, 'Sparks, get on the air!'
"There was no ship voltage, as the power lines were broken; that was why the alarm bells rang. A battery started them when the line voltage fell below normal. Immediately I threw in the battery switch for the emergency transmitter power supply. It worked! Then I connected the antenna transfer and telegraph key switches and 'sat on the key', sending and repeating SSSS-SOS. But there was no radiation on the dial. Had the main antenna been broken?
"Going outside to the boat deck, I stumbled in the darkness over more wreckage. A flash of lightning showed the damage done by the torpedo; the lifeboat was a blasted heap of torn and twisted metal and splinters; a jagged hole yawned in the sagging deck. Awning and stanchion bars were smashed off or hanging loosely.
"When the lightning passed, inky blackness shut in tightly. I could not see whether the mainmast was still standing. Feeling my way by flashlight, I crossed to the starboard side and bumped into the first assistant engineer, who was coming up from aft. I asked him if the mainmast was down. 'Damned if I know,' he said, 'but the deck is full of wires. Your antenna must be broken!'
"Another flash of lightning revealed the starboard lifeboat being prepared for launching. Some of the men were in it, others on deck. I returned to the radio room, put on my life jacket, and grabbed the coil of spare antenna, tangled by the explosion, but intact. As I backed out on deck, trying to straighten out the wires, it was a matter of great urgency to find a place to attach the emergency antenna. I thought of the small runway atop the radio room, with a ladder leading up to the wing of the monkey bridge. Somehow I grasped the top of the sheer bulkhead, pulled myself up, and bent one end of the tangled antenna wire around the iron railing.
"Suddenly, off the port side of the ship, distant about 300 yards, a submarine's yellow searchlight was turned on and played about the E. M. dark, apparently to inspect the damage caused by the torpedo.
"One Step Farther . . ."
"Someone approaching me called out 'Sparks'. I answered with a shout and up came Captain Hassell and Second Mate Ludden. 'The antenna is down,' I said. 'Here is the spare coil of wire. It's badly messed up. Can you give me a hand?' I scaled the bulkhead again and unhooked the wire. All three of us started pulling and twisting. A considerable length came free and I climbed with it up the ladder to the bridge wing. Part of the awning bar was still up. To get the spare antenna as far out from the ship's house as possible, I inched along in the murky dark, holding the rail with one hand, the wire with the other. As if by instinct, I halted where I found the railing gone. At the same instant a bolt of lightning showed that the outer wing of the bridge had been torn off. Black water and wreckage gleamed up from far below. One step farther. ... I could feel my heart beating as I made one end of the insulator fast to the swaying, broken awning bar. When I went back on deck, the captain told me the lead-in was free. We ignored the rest of the tangle, pulled taut what we had, and hooked up the lead-in to the bulkhead insulator.
"I had hardly started for the radio room to send distress calls when the ship leaped and shuddered. The lead-in was torn from my hands. Captain Hassell, thrown off balance, stumbled and dropped his flashlight as the sound of a dull, heavy explosion reached our ears. Hit again! This time it was up forward, in way of No. 1 tank and the dry cargo hold. The torpedo had apparently gone deep inside before detonating.
Whistle Jammed
"The ship's whistle jammed and sent forth a steady roar. Broken steam lines hissed loudly. The captain found his light and turned it on. The glass was broken but the bulb still worked. The second mate ran to starboard to see if No. 1 lifeboat was still intact.
"I thought it had started to rain but what I felt on my face was not water; the 'rain drops' were oil! Cargo heating oil had been blown high and was falling in a fine spray! It seemed a miracle that the ship had not caught fire. The explosion had ripped down the spare antenna we were working on and part of it could not be seen.
"The second mate came back, holding the rail as the ship took a list to port. 'Captain,' he shouted, 'she's going down fast!' Captain Hassell looked at me. 'How long will it take to repair this and send an SOS?' he asked. 'At least 15 minutes, maybe more,' I replied. 'The insulator here is broken and the one above, also. Part of the wire is gone. The rest must be unraveled.' Captain Hassell said calmly, I doubt if we have 15 minutes.' "
Returning to Captain Hassell's report:
"I gave orders to launch the lifeboats and abandon the ship. No 2 boat had been destroyed; 14 men got into No. 1 boat and 26 in No. 4. Thomas J. Larkin, utilityman, was the only missing crew member when I made the count and it is presumed that he was killed by the first explosion while asleep in the hospital room, about where the torpedo struck.
"Before going into No. 1 boat myself, I collected the ship's documents and secret wartime codes. Taking the former along with me, I threw the codes overboard in a weighted canvas bag." To continue the radio operator's story:
"When we went over to No. 1, the captain and I handled the after fall while the second mate and others took care of the gear forward. Captain Hassell, believing all hands were accounted for, was the last man to enter the lifeboat. Although we were on the windward side, the boat was safely launched, but once it was in the water the trouble started, as the wind and waves slammed us against the ship's side with great force. All hands worked hard trying to shove off, using the heavy oars and boat hooks. Finally we got the boat clear and all the oars in the water. Rowing was difficult because of the choppy waves and the rolling of the lifeboat.
Seaman Left Aboard—Saved
"Suddenly a seaman yelled and pointed to a man standing at the ship's rail. Captain Hassell directed us to pull back part way, and shouted to the man to jump. His orders were muffled by the din of the ship's whistle. The man on the deck, Wiper Glen Barnhart, slid down a boat fall and dropped into the sea. He wore a life jacket but weighed about 240 pounds and floated low in the water. A wave picked him up and tossed him within a few yards of the lifeboat. He was soon hauled aboard and covered with a blanket.
"The captain told us to row around the stern of the vessel to see if anyone else could be picked up. We had just started when the loom of a light showed, creeping around the ship's stern. 'It's the sub!' someone called out. 'Let's get the hell out of here?' The captain gave orders to pull away and wait until the enemy U-boat submerged. We saw the submarine heading for the stern of the ship as its yellow light silhouetted the torpedoed tanker in the darkness.
"The E. M. Clark was then deep down by the head and filling rapidly. The sea was covered with oil, which kept the waves from breaking over our lifeboat, but the fumes were sickening. Several of the men - 1 was one of them - became violently ill.
Went Down With Whistle Blowing
"The ship's stern began to lift high as she plunged forward and down. Just before the smokestack disappeared under the surface, the whistle, which had been blowing steadily since the second explosion, stopped for about 10 seconds, then started again.
"A great bubbling noise was heard as the E. M. Clark slid smoothly beneath the waves.
"Now that the ship was gone, we could see the entire length of the searchlight beam, but it was too dark to distinguish the U-boat's hull or conning tower.
" Keep circling her,' ordered the captain. 'When she dives we'll see if we can find anyone.'
"A black shape now came alongside. It was one of the life rafts, which Chief Mate Andrew Kadek had released, between torpedo hits, at the risk of his life. A shark, possibly killed by the concussion, floated by, white belly up.
"We rowed until the lifeboat was out of the oil slick. The waves were now six to eight feet high and all hands were busy with the oars, keeping the boat's head into the wind. The captain called for a count and 13 men reported.
"The submarine's course could be followed by its light, which kept swinging back and forth over the place where the ship had sunk. Now and then the searching beam passed over our boat, but each time this happened we were hidden by wave crests. About two hours later the sub disappeared. The captain then ordered the sea anchor put out to keep the boat from broadsiding to the seas and shipping water. We saw no sign of lifeboat No. 4. Rain started to fall again and those who had not had time to put on warm clothing began to suffer from the cold.
"Our lifeboat drifted till just before dawn, when the compass was broken out to determine the direction of the nearest land. As the wind was blowing toward shore, a sail was hoisted and we moved along at a good clip before a stiff breeze.
Destroyer a Welcome Sight
"As the first gray streaks of dawn crept over the sea, several ships were sighted far off. At about 7 a.m., a destroyer appeared over the horizon. We shot two red flares and she changed course. A few minutes later another flare was fired and before long the destroyer neared us, maneuvered to windward, and carefully came alongside. After five hours in the lifeboat, we were soaking wet with rain and spray and chilled by the cold wind. When we were picked up, it felt mighty good to be safely aboard a United States man-o'-war - the USS Dickerson.
"No definite word of No. 4 boat was received for some hours. Finally the Dickerson sighted an empty lifeboat containing several pieces of discarded wearing apparel. It was No. 4 boat of the E. M. Clark. We later learned that the 26 men in this boat had been rescued by a Venezuelan tanker and landed at Norfolk."
Captain Hassell concluded his report as follows:
"In the afternoon we were transferred to a Coast Guard cutter which landed us at a nearby station. From there we proceeded to Atlantic, N. C., thence to Morehead City, and finally to New York, where we arrived March 20."
The following members of the crew were severely injured: Second Mate Richard F. Ludden, Chief Cook Henrique Ferreira, and Pumpman Eri F. Dean.
Captain Hubert L. Hassell entered the Company's employ as a third mate on April 11, 1924 and has had continuous service as master since June 8, 1936. He has been a lieutenant commander in the Naval Reserve since January 22, 1941 and was granted leave of absence on August 2, 1943, for active service in the Navy.
Chief Engineer Joseph F. Lafo joined the Company as a third assistant engineer on February 13, 1928. He had continuous service as a chief engineer from July 15, 1933. In June, 1942, he was lost on the L. J. Drake when that vessel, long overdue, was presumed lost by enemy action.
Eight members of the crew of the E. M. Clark on March 18, 1942, survived the war loss or damage of other tankers by enemy action: Chief Mate Andrew Kadek (M. F. Elliott, June 3, 1942, and S. B. Hunt, July 7, 1943); Third Mate Charles Muller (second mate, S. B. Hunt, July 7, 1943) ; Radio Operator Earle J. Schlarb (Arriaga, June 23, 1942); Able Seaman Russell L. Menapace (J. A. Moffett, Jr., July 8, 1942) ;
Able Seaman James T. Stafford (Benjamin Brewster, July 9, 1942); Able Seaman Eugenio M. Gallego (Esso Baton Rouge, April 8, 1942) ; Wiper Porter C. Arney (oiler, Arriaga, June 23, 1942); and Second Cook Eugenio J. Gonsalves (John Worthington, May 27, 1943).
Lost on the "E. M. Clark"-March 18, 1942
Survivors of the "E. M. Clark"
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