Washingtonian

Specifications per 'Register of Ships Owned by United States Shipping Board, August 1, 1920'. Courtesy of Captain Stephen S, Roberts at www.shipscribe.com

According to historian Norman L. McKellar, the Emergency Fleet Corporation (EFC) assigned Design Number, 1127. In addition to Eastern Mariner, the other three vessels were:

• • • Eastern Knight – Built in Yard 953, completed November 1919 as O/N 219648. The USSB retained possession until 1922, when she was operated by Columbia Pacific Steamship Company as agent for the USSB on oriental routes. In 1930 she was purchased by Pacific and Atlantic Steamship Company (a subsidiary of W.R. Grace) and renamed San Lucas. In 1940 she was sold to the British shipping firm Atlantic Transportation Co. Ltd. (Likely under lend-lease) and renamed R.J. Cullen. In January of 1942 she was wrecked off the island of Barra in the Outer Hebrides while on ballast passage from Liverpool, England to Sydney, Nova Scotia.

    • Eastern Admiral - Built in Yard 955, completed in 1920 as O/N 219989 . The USSB retained possession until 1926, when she was purchased by American Merchant Marine Steamship Corporation (Williams joint liability) and renamed Willboro. In 1928 she was taken over by Williams Steamship Corporation. In 1937, when American-Hawaiian bought the Williams Line she was renamed Coloradan. In October of 1942 she was torpedoed by the German U-boat U-159. See my dedicated page on the Coloradan here.

    • Eastern Sailor - Built in Yard 956, completed in 1920 as O/N 220276. The USSB retained possession until 1922, when she was operated by Columbia Pacific Steamship Company as agent for the USSB on oriental routes and renamed Peter Kerr. In 1929 she was purchased by Pacific and Atlantic Steamship Company (a subsidiary of W.R. Grace) but retained her name. On July 5th, 1942 she was bombed and sunk by the Luftwaffe after scattering from the disastrous convoy PQ-17.

Like sistership Eastern Admiral, the USSB retained possession until 1926, when she was purchased by American Merchant Marine Steamship Corporation (Williams Steamship Corporation joint liability). She was renamed Willzipo. In 1928 she was taken over by the parent Williams Steamship Corporation.

The purchase by Williams made the news. In the November 29th, 1926 edition of the Oakland Tribune they stated:

"Williams Line Buys 3 U.S. Boats Cheaply

Newly Formed Corporation May Take Over Inter-coastal Line

The Williams line secured the three steamers Eastern Light, Eastern Admiral and Eastern Mariner from the United States government for $175,000 each, according to T.J. Halcrow, local representative of the line, who received official confirmation of the purchase today. The three vessels are of 10,500 tons deadweight.

The vessels will be placed on dry-dock immediately and will be renamed the Willkeno, Willboro and Willzipo respectively. These three names correspond to he nomenclature adopted by the company in its other vessels, the Willsolo, Willhilo, Willfaro and Willpolo.

The Eastern Mariner is the only one of the three vessels at present on the Pacific coast. She is loading at Portland. Each vessel is capable of handling five million feet of lumber.

At the same time that the three vessels were purchased by the Williams line the officials of the company organized the Merchant Marine Steamship Corporation to operate the fleet. It is thought that the new organization may absorb the Williams line completely [ES: It would turn out to be the other way around].

The three vessels were built for the United States Shipping Board in Osaka between 1918 and 1920. All are coal burners and will be changed to oil."

"Cheaply" is a bit of an understatement. According to 'Sundry Civil Bill, 1920, Volume 3 by the United States Congress, House Committee on Appropriations, the U.S. government paid $1,837,500 each for Eastern Admiral and Eastern Mariner and $2,408,625 for Eastern Light plus another $23,035.09 for 'Repairs and Equipment' bringing her price up to $2,431,660.09! Keep in mind also that as part of the "deal", the Emergency Fleet Corporation supplied the steel required to build Eastern Admiral and Eastern Mariner (the contract vessels), and as the EFC was three months late supplying the necessary steel, the deliveries were pushed out three months as well. Based on Williams' $175,000 purchase price, that represents a 90.5% discount on Eastern Admiral and Eastern Mariner and a 92.8% discount on Eastern Light.

While researching Arkansan's story I discovered she and her three sisters were purchased at a 85% discount, which I thought was bad enough. It is important to remember that William's deal was only for three vessels, and there were 42 more requisitioned or contracted vessels from Japan, which I suspect were bought "cheaply" as well.

You'll note that in the newspaper article, Williams bought three steamers, but Eastern Light/Willkeno was not one of the four built under contract at Osaka. It was actually one of three vessels that were already being built by Osaka Iron Works when the US Shipping Board came looking, and they bought them as well. This confirms that the design was Osaka Iron Works' own. Based on images available, they look identical to Eastern Mariner and the three contracted vessels, although the first two were a little smaller (4,385 tons vs 7,200 tons and 344.5 feet vs 415 feet). I believe the overall design was kept, but 'scaled up' starting with Eastern Light. The history of these 'step sisters', if you will, are:

• • • Meigen Maru – Built in Yard 915, completed December 1917 for Nippon Kisen K.K (Kisen means Steamship). The USSB acquired her in June of 1918 and renamed Eastern Star and assigned O/N 216453. In 1921 Eastern Star was sold to Standard SS Co. but in 1923 was returned to the U.S. Shipping Board- implying to Peter Cundall that Standard SS Co. defaulted, probably after freight rates collapsed in 1921-22. The ship was sold to Boston Iron and Metals Co., Baltimore and delivered July 29th, 1933 for scrapping.

    • Eastport - Built in Yard 907, completed August 1918 as O/N 217085. The USSB retained possession until 1930, when she was purchased by the U.S.S.R. and renamed Itelmen. She was transferred to Dalryba, Vladivostok in the 1930’s. This was a Russian State owned trading company. The ship was withdrawn from service in 1962 and would have either been scrapped, scuttled or converted to a barge at this point. According to one source she was used for crabbing in the Far East.

    • Eastern Light - Built in Yard 951, completed in 1918 as O/N 217292. The USSB retained possession until 1926, when she was purchased by American Merchant Marine Steamship Corporation (Williams joint liability) and renamed Willkeno. In 1928 she was taken over by Williams Steamship Corporation. In 1937, when American-Hawaiian bought the Williams Line, she was renamed Isthmian. In 1939 American-Hawaiian renamed her Illinoian. Illinoian was scuttled off the Normandy beachhead on August 28th, 1944 to reinforced the artificial breakwater.

Willzipo's maiden voyages were summarized in the April 26th, 1927 edition of the San Francisco Chronicle as such:

"Willzipo in Port

On her maiden westbound trip in the service of the Williams Line the steamer Willzipo is in port here from the East Coast under command of Captain Jay Overton.

The Willzipo, formerly the Eastern Mariner, was taken from the Emergency Fleet Corporation's layup grounds at Portland, OR., last November, and was reconditioned and entirely overhauled at Portland. Modern cargo gear was installed, including new winches and booms. Fifteen days after being turned over to her new owners, she went on berth for a full cargo of lumber for the East Coast. After discharging at New York the vessel went on the drydock and was converted from coal to an oil burner.

Captain Overton, master of the steamer, has been a mate in the Williams Line since the company entered the intercoastal trade. It is his first command in the company's service and he said yesterday the Willzipo is the best and finest ship in the company's fleet, which is composed of seven steamers."

I found it interesting her first voyage from the West Coast to the East Coast was in her original configuration as a coal burner, and then she was converted to an oil burner before her return trip. It it also interesting that despite the premium the government bought her for, Williams still had to invest quite a bit in upgrades after she sat idle for six years or so.

The next decade seem pretty uneventful according to newspaper articles, and Willzipo quietly plugged away week after week in the intercoastal trade.

Towards the end of her Williams Line service, in the March 30th, 1936 edition of the Oakland Tribune, they described one of her more challenging voyages:

"SHIP BATTLES ICE IN THE EAST TO GET HERE

Willzipo Gets Her Plates Dented; 1936 Will Be Boom Year for Travel

SAN DIEGO, March 30. - (AP) -

Dented plates and scraped paint told their own tale at Pier 1 today as the Williams Line freighter Willzipo came alongside yesterday. Ending a voyage during which she had to smash her way through the heaviest ice in the memory of old-timers along the Chesapeake shores.

Captain Jay Overton of the Willzipo was born and raised around Baltimore - and he said today that neither he nor any of the old-timers to whom he talked , ever had seen anything like it.

"It took us three days to go from Baltimore to Norfolk, and it's only 770 miles," said Captain Overton yesterday. "Ice-breakers kept the dredged channel up to Baltimore open, that is, until the ice shifted and filled up the channel again. When the ice is broken it's all right; but when you can't steer, you just sheer off, or the ship goes wherever the ice happens to split."

The Willzipo left last night for San Francisco, Seattle and way ports."

Jay Overton

As previously noted, American-Hawaiian acquired Willzipo in 1937 when they took over the Williams Line and renamed her Washingtonian.

On September 21st, 1938 Washingtonian was involved in a collision, as described the following day in the Pomona Progress Bulletin newspaper:

"Warship, Freighter Collide in Harbor

SAN DIEGO, Sept. 22 (U.P.) -- A collision off the entrance to San Diego harbor last night sent the American-Hawaiian freighter Washingtonian and the destroyer U.S.S. Henly back to dock today with stove in bows.

The Henley, flagship of the destroyer division 11, lost a motorboat and one anchor by the crash which occurred near the Point Loma entrance to the harbor.

The Washingtonian had several plates stove in. Both returned to dock under their own power and reported no injuries.

It was reported the Washingtonian, outbound for San Pedro, had just cleared the sea buoy, when the Henley, heading into the channel, collided with it.

Lt. Comdr. Rutledge B. Tompkins radioed that no assistance was required. Capt. David W. Hassell of the Washingtonian did likewise.

Authorities said an official inquiry as to the nature of the crash would be held immediately."

Henley's commander, Rutledge Barker Tompkins (USNA 1921-A) appears to have stayed in command until January 14th, 1941. The U.S.S. Henley (DD-391) had just been commissioned the previous year on August 14 1937. She would be torpedoed by the Imperial Japanese Submarine RO-108 (Arai) off Finschafen, New Guinea, on October 3rd, 1943, under the command of Cdr. Carlton R. Adams, with the loss of 17 of her crew.

By late 1939 Fred C Siebert was Master of the Washingtonian. Colman Raphael was his Chief Mate. They had arrived back in New York on April 7th, 1940, after a voyage that took them to the Hawaiian islands.

Washingtonian, now under the command of Colman Raphael, had arrived in New York from her previous voyage on November 24th, 1941, and was lying at Pier 10 on Staten Island, just two weeks before the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor.

According to her Chief Engineer, Thomas F. Morgan:

"We sailed from New York Jan. 3, 1942, bound for Suez with weapons of war including several medium tanks, 18 fighter and bombing planes, a large number of machineguns and ammunition. Since we had not yet been in the war a month, there had been no time to arm the ship. Urgent necessity for these much-needed supplies didn’t permit the delay which would have been necessary.

The SS Washingtonian of the American-Hawaiian Steamship Co. sailed without arms or convoy and hoped for the best. Of course we maintained strict blackout. That is, we painted all the glass ports in the quarters black and kept them dogged down tight so that no glimmer of light could be seen from outside.

No navigation lights were used, and all radio receivers had been removed from the ship. Our course was erratic instead of the usual great circle courses followed in normal times.

The first port of call for our medium type freighter was Cape Town. Now the shortest route to South Africa from New York is approximately 6,800 nautical miles, but we actually traveled 7,500. We arrived safely after 33 days at an average speed of 9 ½ knots. We stayed only 24 hours at Cape Town to take on fresh vegetables and refill our fuel and fresh water tanks.

Around the Cape of Good Hope we proceeded northward along the African east coast, again steering a zig-zag course, and finally arrived at Aden at the entrance to the Red Sea. There we anchored a few hours while British naval authorities examined our papers and checked the crew.

At Port Sudan we lay two days, discharging our deck load of planes, and then proceeded to Suez to discharge the remainder of our cargo. Due to the heavy congestion of shipping at Suez we were nearly three weeks discharging, but at last we were empty and ready to sail.

It was then decided to load eight captured German and Italian tanks aboard, which we were to bring back to New York for exhibition. There were also some cases of captured 3-inch shell loaded [ES: possibly German Afrika Korps 7.5cm anti-tank rounds]. We then received orders to sail for Ceylon [present day Sri Lanka] —for further orders."

Unknown to Raphael and Morgan, they were sailing right smack into a significant Japanese offensive in the area. Just a few weeks earlier, around the middle of March, at their Penang, Malaya Headquarters, Japanese Combined Fleet ordered that the western coasts of India and Ceylon be reconnoitered before the commencement of “Operation C" - raids in the Indian Ocean.

The Imperial Japanese Submarine I-4, commanded by 40 year old Hajime Nakagawa (Class 50, 1922) had arrived in Penang on March 8th, and departed on March 28th to reconnoiter the Eight Degree Channel and Colombo areas on her third war patrol.

Nakagawa had taken over command of I-4 less than 5 months before on October 31st, 1941, and was part of the fleet that had attacked Pearl Harbor. He had two successes prior to this, the Norwegian freighter M/S Hoegh Merchant, and the small Dutch merchant steamer SS Ban Ho Guan. Note that the latter's loss is the topic of some debate. According to historian Peter Cundall; "Given her slow speed it seems unlikely the ship was able to make the location the attack allegedly took place. Lloyds War Losses has ship sunk cause unknown (presumed by air attack) off Benkuelen 1 March 1942."

On April 5th Vice Admiral Chuichi Nagumo's Carrier Striking Force ("Kido Butai") attacked the British naval base on Columbo, Ceylon. They wrecked the base's facilities, destroyed 27 aircraft and sank several ships. A floatplane found British Vice Admiral James Somerville's Eastern Fleet's cruisers HMS Cornwall and HMS Dorsetshire at sea. Nagumo's airmen sank both ships, but were unsuccessful in their search for the rest of Somerville's fleet.

Chief Engineer Morgan described the attacks as follows:

"On March 24 we started zig-zagging southward toward Ceylon. Everything went well until April 6.

At 3:55 p.m. that day we were steaming through the Maldive islands about 500 miles west and a little south of Ceylon. I was sitting in my room when a terrific explosion shook the ship and knocked me out of my chair onto the deck. Before I could get to my feet a second explosion flattened me."

The I-4 was known to have fired two Type 95 torpedoes (each with a 893 lb. explosive charge) which impacted on the port side of the Washingtonian, abreast of the No. 2 and No. 3 holds. The approximate coordinates of the attack were 7° 15' N, 73° 3' E.

Morgan continued:

"Well, I had never been torpedoed before, but I didn’t need to be told what had happened. My first thought was that the torpedoes had hit the engine room. I ran to the engine room door and was relieved to see all six men who had been below coming up the ladders.

The first assistant, who’d been below when the torpedoes hit, reported that he had tried to stop the engine but couldn’t shut it properly because the throttle had jammed. The engine was still turning over slowly.

I realized at once that with the ship underway there might be some difficulty in launching the boats and thought of going below myself to make further attempts to stop the engine. Then I remembered that all hands were safely on deck and thought better of it. After all, there was the possibility of a third torpedo’s being sent into that compartment, in which case it would be just too bad for me if I were below when it came.

Besides, immediately after the explosions the ship took a heavy list to port, giving rise to fears that she might capsize. So I ran to my room, grabbed my license, citizenship papers, hat and overcoat, put on my life preserver and went to my boat station.

The heavy list made launching of the port boats comparatively easy—and that of the starboard boat correspondingly more difficult. Before I’d reached my station at the starboard boat some of the men had cut the boat falls in panic-stricken anxiety to get it launched.

As a consequence, this boat fell about 25 feet to the water, striking the ship’s side while falling. A big hole was punched in the boat. When we saw that it was of no use to us, we abandoned it and made for the port boat, already in the water. Capt. Raphael had ordered some of the men to throw overboard a couple of the life rafts we’d made of empty oil drums lashed together.

About 10 minutes after the explosion we were all safely in the boat and fortunately, except for minor bruises and scratches, no one was injured. At once we got out the oars and pulled away from the ship. It was not until then that I saw the ship was on fire.

Dense clouds of smoke were coming out of No. 2 hold, and less than 15 minutes later No. 3 was afire.

As we pulled away we looked around anxiously for the submarine, fearing she might surface and open fire on us with machineguns. I’m not ashamed to admit that from the time of the first explosion until about 30 minutes later I feared I was about to die. But after that a strange calm came over me. I realized that if the sub did open fire, there was nothing we could do to protect ourselves. I was no longer afraid to die—afraid only that I might be badly wounded instead of suddenly wiped out.

However, the submarine commander apparently was satisfied with his work and went on his way. At least we never saw him."

Despite their misfortune, they were lucky to run into Nakagawa at this stage of his career as I will detail later. Another survivor, Peter Gorey, described his experience as follows:

"The discipline and courage of our crew was really magnificent. It was my first deep sea trip, and the first time I have been torpedoed. And it happened on my twenty-first birthday.

It was about four o'clock in the afternoon. We were moving along serenely in the Indian Ocean. I had signed on as a wiper and was down in the engine room on duty. My brother John was asleep in his bunk.

Suddenly, there was a terrific roar and the ship began to roll.

The bridge sounded the alarm to abandon ship and, in perfect order, the crew trotted to their boat stations.

None of us saw the submarine as it apparently fired on us without rising to the surface.

All of us - 39 crew members, two passengers and two dogs - got safely into the lifeboats and set our course for the Maldive Islands, off the southwest tip of India."

Their ordeal was not quite over yet, however, and Chief Engineer Morgan continued:

"Half an hour after we left the ship we had another scare. We thought we heard the sub shelling the ship. Sure enough, holes began appearing in her side. The ship was being shelled, all right; but it was from the inside. The fire had reached and was exploding the captured ammunition stored in No. 2 hold. We were far enough away to be out of danger, so we stopped rowing to get ourselves organized.

Forty-one of us in one boat were too crowded to move around much. Then we saw the abandoned lifeboat, still floating, so we pulled over to it and transferred a dozen men to the other boat. Although it was badly damaged, the air tanks with which all lifeboats are equipped kept it afloat even though it was half full of water. The men inside were up to their knees in water, but since the sea temperature was about 90 degrees, it was no great hardship.

Meanwhile, fire was spreading rapidly throughout the ship. Already, less than a hour after we’d left her, the whole midship section was ablaze. The propeller was still turning over, pushing the burning vessel through the water at slow speed.

Since there was no one to steer her and the rudder was over slightly to port, she was moving in a big circle. It almost seemed as if the old ship resented being abandoned and was actually trying to follow us. However, by heading in the opposite direction, we managed to get a safe distance away.

At last we were properly organized and asked our captain about our position and our chances of being picked up. He said if we steered due south, we couldn’t possibly miss one of the numerous islands only 25 miles away. So, steering by a small compass, we started rowing.

It was hard work, pulling that boat, particularly since we were towing the waterlogged one. Progress was slow, indeed, probably not more than 1 ½ miles per hour. The men in the trailing boat couldn’t row because the boat was too low in the water for them to use their oars effectively.

As darkness came the stars shone brightly and the Southern Cross was clear as a beacon for us to steer by. The sea was calm as a mill pond. We didn’t have to worry about being swamped. But our boat was heavily laden and leaking a little, so we did have to keep bailing continuously in order to remain afloat.

So we settled down to a night of rowing and bailing. We wanted if possible to reach one of the islands before the sun came up to make things hot and uncomfortable.

It was a beautiful night, with no moon. The Southern Cross encouraged us to keep on rowing, tired as we were, for we knew that under that cross was the island we were seeking."

Morgan continued:

"Often we looked back at the ship, which was on fire from stem to stern. The entire hull appeared to be red hot, but the stack was still standing and the entire ship was outlined in fiery red, for all the world like a picture ship outlined with fireworks at some fair or beach display.

She must have been visible for many miles and likely as not was seen by other ships. But they would keep clear of her, since the old tradition of the sea to go to the aid of a distressed ship is not followed in wartime. Some enemy sub might be waiting to sink the ship that came to offer aid. So we neither expected nor looked for others to come to our assistance.

About midnight, when we were maybe 10 miles from the ship, a terrific burst of flame shot up from midships. Either a boiler or an oil tank had exploded. The flames seemed to shoot a mile high in the air, and as we watched we expected to see her disintegrate and sink. But no! The flame died down again, and the ship continued afloat, burning fiercely. A truly magnificent—but a tragic—sight. We continued rowing, each taking his turn at the oars or bailing, until about 3 a.m., when the captain decided we’d gone far enough south and told us to rest and sleep as well as we could until daylight, when he hoped to be in sight of land. So, except for the bailing which had to be kept up, we rested and dozed."

Berinmadhoo

Chief Engineer Morgan described making landfall as follows:

"At daylight [April 7th] we looked around eagerly for the “promised land.” There was nothing but sky and water. We rigged up the small sail which was part of the boat’s equipment, but there was no breeze. So we got out the oars again and started pulling. As the sun got higher we began to suffer from heat and thirst, and each of us had a cup of water and a biscuit.

The captain, though he was fairly certain we’d reach an island that day, wisely decided to conserve water and provisions until land was actually in sight. We had a pair of binoculars aboard, and you may be sure that someone was looking through them all the time, trying to pick up land.

At last, about 8 a.m., someone shouted, “Land!” The binoculars were passed from hand to hand, the discovery verified. We celebrated with a veritable orgy of drinking (water) now that the necessity for rationing was over. Then we went back to work on the oars.

We estimated the land to be about 10 miles distant and figured it would be late afternoon before we could make it. We were very tired, and only the thought of the cool shade of the coconut trees, which we could now see plainly, kept us going.

Then, about noon, when we were some two miles from the beach, we saw small sailing craft. We waved and shouted to attract attention, but the natives ignored us. And when we were within a mile of the beach we discovered there were coral reefs close in, over which breakers were piling, and we realized with sinking hearts that we would have to go around the island until we could find an opening."

You can see the reefs surrounding the island, especially on the north and east sides, in the satellite image above.

After a while a man of about 30 years came along and started giving orders to the natives. They departed but soon returned, some of them carrying water, others canvas sails which they set up on sticks to make an awning for us. We reached eagerly for the water, only to find it quite brackish. But since it was the only water available, we drank it.

Presently the awning was up and coconut mats spread on the sand. We lay down in what seemed luxurious comfort. Then the natives brought coconuts and cut off the tops so that we might drink the liquid. Others made a fire and started cooking rice. When it was ready we ate it and washed it down with tomato juice we’d brought with us in the boats.

Later, we sat around under the awning, smoking (we had also brought a few cartons of cigarettes with us) and doing our best to explain to our hosts, by drawing pictures on the sand, what had happened. It was difficult to make them understand that we were not victims of aerial attack. Planes they seemed to understand, but submarines were definitely beyond their comprehension.

Shortly after we landed on the island we unwittingly gave natives a bad case of jitters. Our chief officer noticed a ship passing about five miles out and, hoping to attract her attention and maybe persuade her to send a boat for us, fired a distress signal into the air.

This signal is fired from a special handgun which looks like an oversized pistol and sends a projectile about 200 feet into the air to explode and release a bright red light kept aloft for several minutes by a small parachute. Well, when the mate fired this signal, the natives fled.

It was half an hour before any of them could be persuaded to return, and then, with gestures, we reassured them that we didn’t mean to destroy them. They made us understand that the women had been particularly frightened, so we promised we wouldn’t fire the gun again.

As far as we were concerned the female population was non-existent, for they were kept away from us. We soon discovered that we were not permitted to wander too far away from the immediate vicinity of our camp. When it was necessary to seek privacy in the woods, a native would always follow at courteous distance but near enough to see that we didn’t wander afield. And when any of us took a notion to stray from camp, a respectful but insistent native motioned us to return.

I awakened at daylight [April 8th] feeling stiff and sore, with several unsightly bumps where mosquitoes had bitten. After I straightened out the kinks I went down to the water and enjoyed a swim in the delightfully warm, clear sea. This, of course, didn’t remove the grime collected on me, but it did freshen me up a little.

Nolhivaranfaru

Nolhivaranfaru Island is part of the northern Thiladhummathi Atoll and has a long cape extending from its southern end. This stretches it's length to 2.4 miles, but it's width is still only .56 miles, so about twice as large as Berinmadhoo, and with a much larger population and developed village. It is a little over 175 miles north of Malé. Once gain, the Maldivians took excellent care of their guests. "Royally" according to Peter Gorey.

Chief Engineer Morgan described their next stop as follows:

"About 6 we arrived at our destination. We learned from the natives that the first island was Barimba-Du (that’s the way it sounded to me) and the second was Nolywong Garu. At the latter a large group of natives met us and showed their kindly intentions by promptly clearing out a large tin-roofed brick boathouse and covered the floor with coconut matting. They produced a pillow for each of us.

They brought water, not entirely fresh but better than that on the first island, and coconuts opened for us to drink the liquid. Then they cooked us a meal. Yes, you guessed it—curry and rice. After super we sat around and smoked cigarettes, the last of our supply.

When our cigarettes were gone the natives produced a hubble-bubble pipe. This is a contraption consisting of a bottle of water, tightly corked, with two glass tubes through the cork. On the outer end of the longer tube is a little brazier on which is placed a piece of lighted charcoal. The smoker draws the charcoal smoke through the water into his mouth.

The natives got this pipe going and each, after a few draws, passed it on to his neighbor. Some of our men tried it, but I noticed they were satisfied after one or two puffs.

On the 9th [the survivor's first full day on Nolhivaranfaro] the Japanese Striking Force attacked the British naval base at Trincomalee, Ceylon. They wrecked the base's facilities and shot down nine planes. A floatplane spotted the old light carrier HMS Hermes and the Australian destroyer HMAS Vampire at sea, and the Striking Force soon sank both. Nagumo's aircraft also found and sank several smaller ships.

Morgan continued:

We stayed on Nolywong Garu five days, during which we lived entirely on curry and rice, supplemented by fish which might have been quite palatable prepared according to American ideas. But the native method was to cut it into small pieces and put it all, including heads and tails, with the curry. We pushed the parts that didn’t appeal to us aside and ate the remainder.

On the fifth day [April 13th] four medium-sized sailing vessels were assembled in the harbor, and we were told that they would take us to Male, capital island of the group, 150 miles away [ES: actually just over 175 miles].

As we prepared to go aboard we paused to say goodbye to our hosts and shake hands with the young headman. Then the fun commenced.

We had to shake hands with the 100-odd men that had been our constant companions during our stay. Evidently this hand-shaking business was something new to them, and they liked it. They lined up and shook hands with us and then went to the end of the line to wait their turn to shake hands again. This went on for fully an hour before, at last, we broke away and boarded the vessels.

The boats were about 25 feet long and 6 abeam. In the center of each was a small house covered by a corrugated tin roof. There were four vessels and 41 of us, which meant 10 men to a ship with an extra man on one.

Each ship carried eight crew, so there were 18 mean in all—a large number for such a small vessel. In order to give the crew space to work and rig the sails we passengers had to crowd into the house amidships."

Malé

Chief Engineer Morgan described their stay at the Maldivian capital as follows:

"We sailed all day and arrived at 6, three hours behind the other three boats. As soon as we dropped anchor in Malé harbor a small boat came out and a young native greeted us in perfect English. He even had an Oxford accent!

He introduced himself as “official interpreter and assistant to the deputy prime minister,” conveyed his sympathy on our misfortunes, congratulated us on our escape from injury and was “most happy to welcome us in the name of the Maldivian government to the island of Male.” We shook hands and followed him into his boat and were rowed ashore.

Upstairs in a nearby building we were served tea, bread and fruit. Afterward we were conducted to a washroom where we bathed by drawing water from a well. There were plenty of soap and towels, and the experience was thoroughly refreshing. With safety razors we at last got rid of our whiskers, and clean underwear made us happy and comfortable.

Next we were conducted to a dining room where two long tables were laden with food. It was curry and rice, naturally; but it looked and tasted better than any we’d had so far. And there were also really good white bread, bananas and papayas. We were then given a liberal supply of English cigarettes.

The next surprise was a real bed for each of us, with soft mattress and white sheets. I lost no time getting into mine and fell asleep immediately. I woke at 7 a.m. feeling fully rested.

After breakfast (you guess what it was) the official interpreter, etc., etc., invited us to meet his boss, the deputy prime minister. His Excellency’s English was also perfect. We learned that both the deputy and his assistant had been educated in England, which accounted for their command of the language.

The deputy conveyed the prime minister’s regret that, due to illness, he was unable to meet us in person and listened with interest to Capt. Raphael’s account of our misadventure. He then requested the captain to write a brief account of the affair to be placed in the government archives. [ES: I made three attempts to request the records from the archives with no success, but they may be closed or have limited access during the pandemic] Next he told us he was placing a government vessel at our disposal to take us to the Indian mainland.

In answer to our questions we learned that Maldiva [sic] is a sultanate, with the sultan’s palace and the seat of government located on Malé. There are thousands of islands in the group but only a few hundred of them are inhabited. The largest island is five square miles and Malé itself one square mile, with 5,000 inhabitants.

It is a completely independent nation but under the protection of the Ceylon government. Until the outbreak of war with Japan, it had radio communication with Ceylon. Since no such communication was now permitted, news of our plight couldn’t be transmitted to the American consul at Ceylon.

Before parting, the deputy gave the captain a letter officially welcoming us to the islands and expressing his government’s appreciation of the brave fight the United States was making against the forces of oppression. He refused the captain’s offer of a monetary reward for his government’s expense in caring for us, so we shook hands with His Excellency and left him.

At 1 p.m. we went aboard ship. The anchor was hove up, the sails hoisted, and we were on our way. As had happened on each of the other islands, the entire population turned out to wave goodbye. I’m certain every resident, with the possible exception of the sultan and the indisposed prime minister lined up on the beach, for it was literally black with people.

In the middle of the ship was the galley, which was not exactly modern. An iron plate sat on the deck, and on that stood a set of grate bars where wood was burned. A windbreak of wood lined with metal was built around it.

About 7 a.m. the cook made tea which was served to us with a piece of rather hard but very good tasting roll. Tea and rolls were always the high spot of the day for me, for the tea had that same delicious flavor of which I’ve already spoken. The native captain handed Capt. Raphael several packs of English cigarettes for distribution, and then the ship’s cook started the first meal of the day.

The native captain acted as head waiter and saw that we were well served. While preparation of the food might have been opened to criticism; certainly the service was all that could be desired under the circumstances. After the meal we were again given cigarettes. There were tea and rolls again in mid-afternoon, and dinner at 6 was a repetition of the morning meal.

After we had eaten, the native crew gathered around a large tin of rice, and each drew a good portion of it with his fingers to one side of the bowl and conveyed it to his mouth in the same manner. I suppose to them our idea of using individual plates and spoons seemed pretty silly.

We were six days on the ship. In that time we became very friendly with the crew. The first and second officers were intelligent young men and efficient navigators. Both had sextants, and in our cubbyhole was an English-made chronometer. Our own officers helped them with the navigation, showing them newer and shorter methods of working out the problems.

As far as I could observe, the captain relied entirely on his young officers to keep him advised as to his position. I’m inclined to think the skipper wasn’t very well-versed in navigation, but there was no question about his ability as a seaman. He handled his vessel expertly.

The two young officers spoke a few words of English and were eager to learn more. They were surprisingly quick to pick it up, although occasionally they did mix phrases in an amusing manner.

One morning as I came out on deck the second mate greeted me, “Good night.” When I laughed, he at once realized he’d made a mistake and changed it to, “Good morning.” When he properly understood the greetings and times appropriate to use them, he used them frequently and most of the time correctly.

One afternoon we were sitting on the cabin deck, studying English, when one of our fellows asleep alongside was disturbed by the flies. From time to time he’d brush them off his face; and of course they’d promptly return.

At last he burst out, “_ _ _ _ _ _ _ these blasted flies!” Quick as a flash our young student repeated the phrase with equal fervor. Of course we laughed, so he repeated it several times, evidently thinking it was a very funny thing to say.

Well, it did sound funny, coming from him, but we went to great length to explain that it wasn’t polite language. Nevertheless, he liked it and repeated it frequently during the voyage.

Time dragged until the morning of the sixth day, when we were only about 25 miles from our destination, British Cochin, and were elated that our tiresome trip soon would be over. But about 9 our spirits sank.

The wind left us, and we stopped dead. We threw sticks over the side to see if we were moving at all, but they floated right alongside. We were becalmed. We asked the captain how long the calm might last, but he shrugged his shoulders as if to say, “Who knows?” but about 11 the wind started, filled our sails and we got underway again."

This was a substantial journey of some 450 miles to the northeast across the Laccadive Sea where Japanese submarines and aircraft were still operating with relative impunity.

Even the local vessels were not safe, and on April 10th off Colombo I-4 battle-surfaced on a 200-ton Indian dhow in the area and fired 14 rounds from her deck guns, reporting the target as heavily damaged.

Interestingly, the British had a secret base they were building at Addu Atoll, at the extreme southern end of the Maldives, but which was actually closer at 335 miles. There was no mention of this in Morgan's account and the American's may not have been aware of it, but the Maldivians made the decision to bring them to Cochin. At the time. none of the men were ill, and it was probably more efficient to get them to Cochin rather than Addu, then Cochin.

Cochin, India

Cochin (present day Kochi) is a port city in southwest India's coastal Kerala state, which at the time was still part of the British Empire.

Chief Engineer Morgan described their time in Cochin as follows:

"Before long we picked up land and soon afterward sighted the buoy at the entrance to Cochin harbor. We entered the channel and sailed slowly through it, past the fort to the inner harbor. We were surprised that we were permitted to sail right into port without being challenged.

At the flagstaff was flying the Maldivian ensign, indicating plainly to observers that we were a foreign vessel. But nobody came out to investigate. Finally, when we were well inside the harbor, about 500 yards from a landing, someone hailed us, “What’s your number?”

“We haven’t a number,” we yelled back. “We’re shipwrecked Americans.” We later learned that all local craft have a number which they’re supposed to display on entering, and we were mistaken for one of the local vessels. The flag at our staff should certainly have indicated that the ship was foreign.

Presently someone spoke through a megaphone, ordering us to drop anchor, and soon a boat came alongside carrying the harbor commandant, a British navy commander. Our captain explained who we were and what had happened.

Then the commander asked if any of our crew needed hospital treatment. About 10 of the mean were suffering from bruises and cuts which, for some reason, wouldn’t heal. So they were put in a boat and taken to a hospital. The rest of us went to the army barracks and were taken in charge by a Capt. Towler.

After he assigned us supplies and sleeping quarters, Capt. Towler invited the skipper and me to go with him to his home, about a mile from the barracks. We rode in rickshaws.

Please remember that we were dressed only in sarongs and underwear and were dirty and unshaven. The captain was a little better-dressed than I was. He had shoes.

The day after our arrival, the captain and I met the two young officers from the ship which had brought us to port. We tried to show our appreciation by getting them some small gift, but they would not accept nothing.

All they asked was a letter of our appreciation that they could take back with them to prove to their government that we were satisfied with the treatment during the voyage! Some of the so-called civilized nations could learn from these people the true meaning of the words “charity” and “humanity.”

Our friends sailed a day or two later, back to their islands. The captain and I waved goodbye to them from the beach – as their countrymen had done for us when we sailed from their shores."

The Washingtonian survivors had the good fortune of not running into I-4 again or any of the other Japanese forces in the area and after recuperating in Cochin, as noted by Morgan, they were transported 675 miles north to Bombay via ship and train, where they caught their ride home.

Washingtonian's Chief Engineer Thomas F. Morgan described their repatriation as follows:

"When our patients were fully recovered we bade the Towler family goodbye and took the train for Bombay, arriving after 48 hours of uncomfortable travel in a “first class” compartment we had expected to occupy by ourselves but wound up by sharing with six or eight strangers. We found that our men who had preceded us to Bombay had all had malaria, but they had recovered by the time we arrived.

It was three weeks before transportation could be arranged for us. We finally obtained passage on the SS Brazil and after an uneventful passage arrived five weeks later in New York.

Oh, yes. About my overcoat . . .

When we were torpedoed, it was one of the few things I saved. It later proved truly useful. In cool weather it kept me warm, and in warm weather it kept me from getting sunburned. When I slept, it came in handy as a pillow.

I treasured that coat and intended to bring it home with me, get it cleaned and have it good as new. Many times the captain had suggested that I throw it away, but I wouldn’t part with it. All through my travels I carried that coat – sometimes at no little inconvenience.

I had it with me when I got off the train in Bombay and entered a taxi to go to the hotel. At the hotel I gave a porter the job of carrying my luggage to my room. It was all delivered safely – except the overcoat.

I had carried it 2,000 miles, only to lose it on a two-mile journey from the railroad station to the hotel!"

The USAT Brazil, operated by Moore McCormack Lines departed Bombay on May 31st under the command of Master Harry N. Sadler. The liner had a crew of 266, and 864 passengers comprised of 3 Filipino musicians, 177 Chinese Army Cadets and officers, and 684 civilians, mostly Missionaries and their families leaving the war zone, but also including the survivors of the Washingtonian.

Radio Operator Rolland Penner would later be killed February 26th, 1944, when his vessel, the liberty ship William H. Welch, was driven into the Scottish coast during a winter gale with a high loss of life.

Gonzalo Dacaney and Rupert McFarlane actually worked their way back as crew of the Brazil.

Originally I had ignored the Gorey Brothers as there were so many families list on the Brazil's passenger list. While searching on newspapers.com for articles about the Maldives during this period during my 2021 update I stumbled upon an article in the Wilmington Delaware News Journal from November 2nd, 1942 titled 'Three Brothers Are Torpedoed Same Week on Two U.S. Ships'. They were from Jackson Heights, Long Island.

The third brother was William Joseph Gorey. He was described as being on an American Merchant vessel that was torpedoed in the Mid-Atlantic, then spotted by an aircraft and picked up by a US Destroyer and taken to a Caribbean port. There were two vessels that matched this description, both attacked by the same U-boat, the U-154 commanded by Korvettenkapitän Walther Kölle, these were:

• Comol Rico attacked April 4th

• Catahoula attacked April 5th

Both were Hog Islanders converted into molasses tankers. The only part of the story that deviated is the newspaper article stated William spent 23 days in a lifeboat. The Catahoula survivors spent 23 hours and the Como Rico survivors spent 3 days. Both crews were picked up by the U.S. destroyer USS Sturtevant (DD-240) and taken to San Juan Puerto Rico.

In the newspaper article Peter was asked if the trio expected to return to sea soon again and he replied:

"You bet we do. Bill, John, and myself are anxious to do our part in helping Uncle Sam win the war - and sailing his merchant ships is our job, We're sticking to our job."

True to his word, all three Gorey brothers soon returned to sea, served throughout the war, and fortunately survived. John passed in 1987, Bill in 2001 and Peter in 2013.

Coincidently, three of the crew that had left Washingtonian before her last voyage ended up on the Arkansan when she was hit (but survived as well):

• Robert F. Mundell – A.B.

• Joseph F. Heuser – A.B. (Bosun on Arkansan)

• George Tisdale – O.S.

Some of the pages of the Brazil passenger list were very faded and difficult to read, but eliminating the families left 62 individual men between the ages of 20 and 61 that were probable and possible Washingtonian survivors:

Hopefully one day I will be able to positively identify all of Washingtonian’s crew. The men in the probable table above were either listed as “Repatriated seamen from US Consulate in Bombay” or I was able to find Merchant Seaman work histories on them and so they are most likely from the Washingtonian. Moore noted Washingtonian had a crew of 39 (unclear if the Master was included in that number) and 2 passengers, so with only 8 positively identified and 22 probable there is still some work to do.

As I was going through the crew list trying to separate out the single men from the civilian families that could possibly have been Washingtonian’s crew, one name jumped out at me: Gregory Boyington from Coeur d'Alene, Idaho. At the time Boyington was on his way back to the states after a stint with the Flying Tigers to re-join the Marines. He would later be known as “Pappy” Boyington, of the famous “Black Sheep” squadron (VMF-214), Medal of Honor recipient and one of the best flight leaders and aces of the Pacific theater during WWII.

Dave Warren, who was 18 at the time of the voyage, and a recent graduate of Kodaikanal School (see section below), recalls that Boyington actually lectured to them. That must have been an interesting dynamic, Boyington, known for being quite rough around the edges, lecturing civilians about flying and fighting. One can imagine one or two colorful words sneaking out during the process. Dave thought there may have been other Flying Tigers aboard and I attempted to cross reference their known members with my list of potential Washingtonian survivors, but it doesn't appear so. Boyington had quit the American Volunteer Group (aka Flying Tigers), which triggered a dishonorable discharge and he had to make his own way home by himself.

USAT Brazil arrived in Cape Town, South Africa where they picked up 47 additional passengers and departed on June 21st.

The next stop was Bermuda, where they picked up 252 construction workers and then departed July 10th.

Brazil and the Washingtonian survivors finally arrived in New York on July 13th, 1942.

Colman Raphael

Thomas F. Morgan

I-4 and Hajime Nakagawa

Hajime Nakagawa was born in Shizuoka Prefecture on January 26th, 1902.

Nakagawa and I-4 would go on to take part in Operation "AL"- The Invasion of the Western Aleutians in June of 1942.

Nakagawa left I-4 on August 15th to take command of the new I-177. Lieutenant Commander Michio Kawasaki took over command of the I-4. They would go on to damage the USS Alhena (AK-26) in September.

Lieutenant Commander Toshitake Ueno took over command of I-4 on November 16th, 1942. I-4 made two supply runs to Guadalcanal during November-December. At 0620 on December 21st, 1942 Ueno and the I-4 were spotted on the surface at the southern entrance of St. George's Channel, New Ireland by Lieutenant Commander William E. Ferrall's USS Seadragon (SS-194). At 0637, Ferrall fired three Mark 10 torpedoes at a range of 850 yards, one of which hit the I-4 in the stern in position 05-02S, 152-33E. I-4 was presumed lost with all 90 hands off Rabaul.

Nakagawa eventually departed Truk on April 10th, 1943 in command of I-177 on her first war patrol which involved patrolling off the eastern coast of Australia with I-178 and I-180. On April 26th I-177 sank the British MV Limerick 20 miles SE of Cape Byron, near Brisbane.

I-4 vs. I-5 Claims

Most well known and respected sources, including Arthur R. Moore's 'A careless word......A NEEDLESS SINKING', Robert M. Browning's 'U.S. Merchant Vessel War Casualties of World war II' and Jürgen Rohwer's 'Axis Submarine Successes 1939-1945' credit Washingtonian's loss to the Imperial Japanese Submarine I-5 under the command of Utsugi Shujiro (or Hidejiro Utsuki depending on source). Browning, in fact credits Rohwer. Just about everyone that has come along since has relayed this same information.

When you look at what are called the Tabular Record of Movement (TROMs) for I-4 and I-5, however, they paint a different picture and indicate I-4 was responsible. The TROMs are recreated in english on the combinedfleet.com website created by historians Bob Hackett and Sander Kingsepp, which is also a highly respected source.

It is easy to see where the confusion would be, as both submarines (as well as I-2, I-3, I-6 & I-7), all the Penang SubRon2 boats with the exception of I-1, were patrolling in the region at the same time. At the beginning of March the Japanese Headquarters, Combined Fleet, ordered the western coasts of India and Ceylon (now Sri Lanka) to be reconnoitered before the commencement of Operation C, the carrier strike force that would attack this area at the beginning of April.

Here is what the TROM's show for activity in April of 1942 for these 6 submarines:

I-2 (LtCdr. Hiroshi Inada) - Blue in Map below

22 March 1942: At 1000 departs Penang to reconnoiter Trincomalee, Ceylon.

31 March 1942: Arrives in the area.

3 April 1942: Off Trincomalee. I-2 acts as a weather report ship. Transmits her first reconnaissance and weather report from that area.

4 April 1942: At 0631 (local), I-2 sends a radio message that says: "Reached a point ten miles off the Bay of Trincomalee at 1100 hours (0800 local), 2 April, but failed to gain entrance into the bay because of hostile patrol boats. No enemy vessels except patrol boats sighted in the vicinity of the mouth of the bay. Have been on lookout in the area since 31 March, but no hostile aircraft have yet been sighted before or after sunset nor during the night (cruised submerged during the day)."

7 April 1942: LtCdr Inada reports the sinking of an unidentified merchant in position 00-48N, 82-18E. [ES Note: Vessel is never identified or confirmed.]

9 April 1942: Operation "C": Early in the morning I-2 transmits a weather report to Nagumo's task force.

10 April 1942: Departs her patrol area for Singapore. Reassigned to the Advanced Force.

15 April 1942: Arrives at Singapore.

I-3 (LtCdr Kinzo Tonozuka) - Purple in Map below

28 March 1942: Departs Penang on her third war patrol in the Indian Ocean.

2 April 1942: Arrives off Colombo, Ceylon and transmits weather reports to Vice Admiral Nagumo’s carriers. The Sixth Fleet receives a message sent by I-3 at 2200 (JST) that reads: "Since a large number of enemy vessels is maintaining vigilance outside Colombo Harbor, we have not yet had an opportunity to reconnoitre inside of the harbour. Other than a lone merchant ship sighted steaming westward 70 nautical miles from Colombo, 220 azimuth from the harbour at 0725 (JST) hours (0425 local) of the 2d, no ships were sighted leaving or entering the harbour. As for aircraft, a land plane was seen 195 miles and 135 azimuth of Colombo at 1600 hours (1300 local) of the 31st. However, since we are remaining submerged during the day, we do not know the subsequent situation regarding enemy an patrols." Sometime later, I-3 departs the area prior to the attack on Columbo.

7 April 1942: 150 miles SWW of Colombo. Early in the morning Tonozuka sights five Allied merchants fleeing eastward and next one merchant and an oiler on westbound course. After a fruitless chase he battle-surfaces on the 4,872-ton British armed steam merchant ELMDALE en route from Karachi to Colombo (06-52N, 78-50E). After 0240 I-3 fires a total of 39 5.5-in shells and four torpedoes, scoring 14 shell hits, but fails to finish off her target. [1]

8 April 1942: 300 miles W of Colombo. After 0150 I-3 battle-surfaces on the British armed merchant FULTALA independently on the voyage from Calcutta to Karachi with 8,000 tons of coal. After receiving one Type 89 torpedo hit the 5,051-ton merchant sinks in position 06-52N, 76-54E. Her entire crew is rescued.

9 April 1942: I-3 returns to the area SW of Colombo.

15 April 1942: Arrives at Singapore in company of I-7.

I-4 - as detailed above on this site. Red in Map below

I-5 (LtCdr Shujiro Utsugi or Hidejiro Utsuki depending on source) - Gold in Map below

25 March 1942: Departs Staring Bay to patrol off Cape Comorin on her third war patrol.

16 April 1942: Arrives at Singapore.

I-6 (LtCdr Michimune Inaba) - Dark Green in Map below

26 March 1942: Departs Penang to patrol in the Indian Ocean N of Maldive Islands and and W of Bombay on her third war patrol.

31 March 1942: Indian Ocean, off Eight Degree Channel. At 1635, LtCdr Inaba sights an enemy vessel and commences an approach. Just before firing his torpedoes, the target is identified as a hospital ship and the attack called off. I-6's target was most likely HMHS VITA en route from Addu. (Later, VITA picks up the survivors of carrier HMS HERMES).

2 April 1942: Arabian Sea, 300 miles SW of Bombay. In the afternoon, I-6's lookouts spot 5,897-ton British steamer CLAN ROSS sailing independently from Liverpool to Cochin with 3,655 tons of general cargo and 1,027 tons of explosives. The submarine closes at high speed and submerges in a favorable position. LtCdr Inaba fires two torpedoes from 1,640 yards, scoring one hit port amidships. At 1414, CLAN ROSS goes down by the stern at 15-58N, 68-24E. 11 sailors are lost, 3 injured. I-6 surfaces again to question the survivors. Her medical officer provides them with water and biscuits and gives them the bearing to Bombay. Before departure, the off-duty crew lines up on the afterdeck and salutes the survivors, wishing them a "Bon Voyage!" in broken French. The survivors from CLAN ROSS are later rescued by Norwegian armed motor merchant L.A. CHRISTENSEN and a native Indian vessel.

7 April 1942: Arabian Sea, 170 miles NW of Bombay. Around 1600, when I-6 prepares to shift to a different position, her lookouts sight 5,424-ton British merchant BAHADUR, independently on a voyage from Bombay to Basra with 5,100 tons of government stores, including ammunition. LtCdr Inaba dives and fires a spread of torpedos, but their wakes are spotted by the merchant, which evades with a sharp turn to starboard, then opens the range at flank speed. I-6 fires two torpedoes from aft tubes, but misses again. The submarine surfaces and commences a tail chase. At 6,570 yards I-6 opens fire with her 5-inch deck gun, but it jams after the first shot. When the submarine submerges, ready to abandon the hunt, BAHADUR suddenly stops to lower her boats. I-6 closes in and fires two more torpedoes from port beam. At 1920, BAHADUR goes down by the stern at 19-44N, 68-28E. Her crew is later rescued by US ship VOLUNTEER.

10 April 1942: Arabian Sea, 300 miles SW of Bombay. After 0815, I-6 battle-surfaces on two 150-tons dhows and shells them, reporting both as sunk. On that same day, I-6 is reassigned to the Advance Unit.

17 April 1942: Arrives at Seletar, Singapore.

I-7 (Cdr Kiichi Koizumi) - Light Green in Map below

28 March 1942: At 1600 (local), I-7 departs Penang on her third war patrol, carrying an E9W1 floatplane. She is tasked with conducting aerial reconnaissance of Colombo and Trincomalee two days prior to air attacks.

1 April 1942: 180 miles SE of Ceylon. At 0517 (local), the surfaced I-7 is attacked by an RAF PBY "Catalina" which near-misses her with two bombs. Four hours later I-7 encounters several small patrol vessels in the same area. Cdr Koizumi decides to cancel a reconnaissance flight scheduled for the 3 April because the launch area appears to be compromised. I-7 later acts as a weather ship.

3 April 1942: Indian Ocean, 300 miles E of Maldive Islands. At 0340, I-7 attacks the 9,415-ton British motor vessel GLENSHIEL, independently en route from Bombay to Fremantle with 1,000 tons of general cargo and 12 passengers. Cdr Koizumi fires two Type 89 torpedoes; one hits GLENSHIEL's port side and the motor vessel settles by the stern. Master Ramsay Brown orders to transmit a distress signal and abandon ship. Immediately after the boats have cleared the ship, Koizumi fires two more torpedoes and gets another hit. I-7 surfaces and shells the listing vessel with her deck gun. After 20 hits, the blazing GLENSHIEL sinks by the stern at 00-48S, 78-33E. The entire crew is soon rescued by destroyer HMS FORTUNE and landed at Colombo.

10 April 1942: Reassigned to Advance Force.

15 April 1942: I-7 and I-3 arrive at Singapore.

In summary, I went with the detailed TROM records from combinedfleet.com as they appear to be the most comprehensive, and there are too many cross-checks as far as commanders and patrols to confuse one submarine for another. Per the TROM's, I-5 was ordered to patrol off the south tip of India and I-4 was ordered to reconnoiter the Eight Degree Channel and Colombo areas, south and west of I-5's position.

For that reason, I believe it was I-4 under the command of Hajime Nakagawa that sank the Washingtonian. The beauty of this site is that should more information come to light in the future I will update this page accordingly.

Kodaikanal

Editor’s Note: In October of 2012 I was contacted by a gentlemen named Don Wilder, who had come across my website while searching for information on the USAT Brazil. Don’s big brother Charles (aka Charlie, or Chas to Gale) was one of the civilians on board the Brazil. He was just 16 years old, and one of several classmates who had just completed their high school education at Kodaikanal School, a K-12 Christian boarding school in Kodaikanal, South India, and were on their way to college in the United States. (That school is now Kodaikanal International School--see www.kis.in.).

Don put me in touch with other Kodaikanal alumni who helped me eliminate some of the names from the Washingtonian’s crew list. I sent those alumni copies of the Brazil passenger list that I found on Ancestry.com, and they identified names of alumni, parents, and staff associated with Kodaikanal School.

I admit it was a little overwhelming at first. Don then sent me a transcription of his brother Charles' diary from the voyage, along with that of Charles’ best friend and classmate Kenneth “Gale” Potee. This information painted a whole new picture of the Brazil voyage. I had thought the worst was over for the Washingtonian’s crew once they boarded the Brazil, and while I knew it wasn’t a pleasure cruise, I had no idea the ordeal they and the other passengers had gone through. Measles swept through the ship on the first leg from Bombay to Cape Town, and whooping cough hit between Cape Town and Bermuda (more on that later).

At some point it was suggested that I should include this information on the Washingtonian page. At over 20 pages I feared the story of the civilians aboard the Brazil might overshadow that of the Washingtonian survivors (8 pages). Their stories were comprehensive and I thought their own site or perhaps even book would be more appropriate. The Washingtonian page was my first “detailed” page after I had added the American-Hawaiian in WWII page to what I thought at one time would be my little tribute to Bernard and the Arkansan. Of course as you can see the site has snowballed a bit since then.

Finally, I came to my senses and decided to add the information here. It seemed fitting that they should at least have their own section.

First, a little background on why all these civilians were aboard the Brazil for this voyage. In general some were fleeing the war zone, and for others it was simply time to leave. Some aboard were missionaries, such as Charity Carman that had fled Burma ahead of the Japanese advance. Others were students (from Kodaikanal and other schools) that were ready to continue their education in the United States.

A large number of western civilians (estimated at 130,000 but probably higher) had either been captured or trapped behind the lines when the Japanese swept down through what was then known as the Dutch East Indies. They were generally not as abused as military POW’s, but they still suffered appalling losses, equal to that of the military prisoners, or about 33%. This was mainly due to inadequate access to food and medical care which resulted in malnutrition and disease in confined areas.

As mentioned above, the Japanese carrier strike force that steamed into the Indian Ocean in early April and bombed several cities in Ceylon sent the region into a panic. The Japanese seemed unstoppable. British naval and air forces were overwhelmed and, despite many examples of heroic efforts to delay the advance, were criticized for eventually pulling back to live and fight another day.

According to Gale Potee;

"A strong rumor came up the ghat [valley or pass] that the entire Japanese Navy had been sighted off of the Andaman Islands, heading for Madras. It was everyone’s belief that Japan intended to attack South India, cutting the country off from the North, on a line from Madras to the West Coast. Kodai School was clearly below that Red Line. As the situation developed, Papa Phelps [Carl W. Phelps (1894-1984), Principal of the School] gathered a small group of the older boys from Boys’ Block for a special mission: They were to find an escape route for the entire school if the Japanese marched up the ghat road in an outright attack. There were already seen small Japanese surveillance planes flying over the school, so that seemed quite possible."

The Kodaikanal School was less than 150 miles from the northern tip of Ceylon. Air raid procedures were actually written up for the school, and Don Wilder sent me an example:

Women and children were evacuated to the north. Don and Charles Wilder, their siblings John and Dave, and mother had spent the last three weeks in Ahmednagar, just east of Bombay. All four boys had in fact been born in south India. Their parents, Dr. Edward Wheeler Wilder (1892-1965) and Harriet Minerva Wilder née Wyman (1889-1977), had come to India separately in 1921, where they met, married and started a family.

Then news of a passenger liner that would be departing India for New York was spread amongst the western ex-pats. On May 19th, Forbes Forbes Campbell & Co. Ltd., local agents of American President Lines, sent letters to those families that had expressed interest in booking passage to inform them of the conditions they could expect on board the ship. The identity of the ship was kept secret at the time, but we now know they were describing the conversion of the SS Brazil into the troop transport the USAT Brazil:

"Dear Sir, Madam,

With reference to your application for accommodation on the passenger vessel leaving India shortly, we have to advise that the sailing will be from Bombay. You will be advised as soon as possible the date on which you should arrive in Bombay.

It has now been possible to obtain information regarding the accommodation and we must make it quite clear to you that she has been fitted out entirely as a troopship and there are now none of the comforts normally found on a passenger vessel.

Cabins and Public rooms have been completely stripped of all furniture including chairs, fittings, cupboards, carpets etc. and all have been filled to absolute capacity with steel troop bunks. The number of bunks in cabins varies between 6 and 28 and it will be appreciated therefore that married couples cannot be berthed together in cabins. The most baggage that could be taken into the cabins would be one small suit case per person. The bunks consist of oblong steel frames across which canvas is stretched and there are no mattresses. Passengers will be required to provide their own bedding and towels.

Bathing facilities will be severely restricted and in all probability only salt water will be available.

There are very few stewards aboard and therefore no room service can be provided. Dining Room service will be the absolute minimum and any men passengers that may be carried will probably have to obtain their food in "cafeteria" fashion. While every effort will be made to make the menus as attractive as possible, the wide variety of items normally found on passenger vessel menus cannot be provided as all supplies will have to be obtained in India. The Dining Saloon can provide seating accommodation for only 417 passengers and passengers in excess of this number will have to take their meals in the auxiliary dining saloon standing at benches about 4½ feet high. In allotting seats in the regular dining saloon preference will be given to those who are physically incapable of standing in the auxiliary saloon.

Very little deck and recreation space is available at present but efforts are being made to improve this situation before the vessel sails. Passengers who have small deck chairs or small folding chairs of their own are recommended to take them with them. No dogs can be carried on the vessel.

Passengers who are not absolutely physically fit and able bodied will only be carried if the ship's surgeon approves. For the present only American citizens can be booked but it is not yet definite exactly how many passengers can be carried. We hope to advise you on this point in a day or two.

In view of the nature of the accommodation, the fares may be revised and you will [be] advised immediately if there is any change. There are on board a small number of cabins in their original condition and equipped with two beds. Bookings for these cabins must for the present be restricted to passengers whose physical condition does not permit their traveling in the troop accommodation."

Civilians from across India would have likely made the trek to Bombay, for they assumed at the time that this would be the last ship out before the Japanese invasion. As mentioned earlier, women and children had already been evacuated to the north, closer to Bombay. Probably a good thing as the trip from Kodaikanal to Bombay was over 1,100 miles.

It must have been pandemonium on the docks before they could all board. Hundreds of men, women and children, each with their “small” suitcase, and perhaps a mattress and deck chair. People were being examined to make sure they were not sick. In some cases men were sending their spouses and children off to what they hoped would be safety, although the vessel would be under the constant threat of attack by Japanese submarines, German surface raiders and U-boats. Those staying behind faced an uncertain future even though the immediate threat of a Japanese invasion had passed by this point.

Below is a partial list of passengers compiled by my Kodaikanal contacts which shows those associated with Kodai School who traveled on the USAT Brazil. This list includes Kodai School students, their parents and siblings, and staff. The graduation years shown as "KS 'xx" indicate the class the various students were in, but some of those students actually graduated from other schools. Not listed are missionary families that did not have those connections with Kodai School. Some of their children attended another school called Woodstock.

The list starts with five new graduates from Kodai School:

Ruth Seamands would later write a book about her missionary work including the evacuation on the Brazil called ‘Missionary Mama: The Lighter Side of the Labors of Those Who Serve the Lord in Strange, Exotic Vineyards’ (2011 - Literary Licensing, LLC, ISBN 1258133504, 9781258133504).

Charles Wilder’s diary picks it up from the time he reached their cabin and the Brazil departed Bombay:

As mentioned above, Charles’ best friend, Gale Potee, filled in some of the details of their experience in Cape Town in a letter he wrote to his parents and younger sister (hence "Three Fifths" or three out of the five family members, Gale being the fourth, and his older sister the fifth, perhaps away at college):

As mentioned, besides seasickness, the passengers had to cope with two waves of contagious illnesses that swept through the ship. Robert Carman, who was 10 years old at the time, was traveling with his mother, father, aunt and four siblings ranging in age from 11 to 3. He describes the illnesses as follows:

Of the teenagers on board the Brazil that are mentioned in Charles’ and Gale’s accounts, Charles, Gale, Dave and Harry all went on to become doctors.

Charles and Harry both became doctors rapidly through the Navy V-12 program. Charles went to the Boston University School of Medicine, became a cardiologist in Laconia, NH and passed away in 2011. Harry went to Yale, became an internist and settled in Tracy, CA, passing away in 2006. Gale Potee graduated from the University of Michigan in 1945 and Western Reserve School of Medicine in 1949 and led a long full life. He passed away at his home in Massachusetts in 2014. Dave Warren is retired and living in Virginia Beach.

Mary Martin graduated from Oberlin College in 1946 and worked in Washington, D.C., at the Library of Congress. She married Hans Stern in 1948, raised a family and led a full life involving Church, music and NPR. She passed away in 2010.

Russell Jones

At first it wasn’t clear what became of Russell Jones, other than general agreement amongst the Kodaikanal alumni that he was lost in the war. The Brazil passenger list provided his place and date of birth, and his home address, "1818 Portship Road, Dundalk, MD", which would be key. As he was lost during the war I made the assumption he had joined the military. Searches of Russell D. Jones’ born in 1923, from Maryland and dying between 1942 and 1945, resulted in one firm hit as a bomber crew member, although I still had reservations.

I found some great information on this candidate, but only the year and not the month and day he was born to confirm. There was also no mention of the woman I first assumed was his mother (Ethel Jones), and the fact that Jones was killed as a Staff Sergeant and my first inclination is that he would have been an officer based on the trend of Kodaikanal graduates going on to higher education.

Finally, amongst the Army Air Corps reports I found a list of next of kin of those that perished on his bomber. Next to Russell’s name was that of Sara E. Jones, Russell’s new wife, residing at 1818 Portship Road, Baltimore, MD. Dundalk was a suburb of Baltimore, not far away from the famous Sparrows Point shipyard. Perhaps ace Flying Tiger pilot “Pappy” Boyington’s lecture on board the Brazil made a lasting impression on the young Mr. Jones.

Thanks to a fellow researcher named Janice Kidwell (more on that later), who found my site, I learned that Russell enlisted on March 8th, 1943 in Baltimore, MD, eight months after the Brazil's return to New York. Combat training appears to have taken place in Dyersburg, TN. His father, David was a galvanization foreman at one of Tata's Steel Mills in India, which explains why he went to Kodai. Also, the Ethel Jones noted on the Brazil's passenger list ended up being a coincidence, just another passenger who shared the same common last name. Russ' mother was named Bessie.

Russell was lost on July 8th, 1944, about a month after D-Day and about two years after he returned to America on the Brazil. His Boeing B-17G Flying Fortress was part of the 8th Air Force, 452nd Bombardment Group (Heavy), 729th Bombardment Squadron based at Deopham Green, England about 90 miles northeast of London.

The learning curve was steep, and the odds long. Although only at it for a few months, he would have been considered a seasoned veteran by this point.

His 30th and last mission was to bomb V-1 rocket sites near Rouen in occupied France. Jones was the right waist gunner on the B-17. The rest of the crew was:

• • 1st Lt. Everett Gardner Hanson Jr. – Pilot, age 20 from E. Blackstone, MA (died on his birthday)

  • 2nd Lt. James H. Heinzen – Co-pilot, age 25 from MN

  • 2nd Lt. Leonard S. Marcus – Navigator, age 26 from Worcester, MA

  • 1st Lt. Donald James Lyma – Bombardier, age 20 from Sacramento, CA

  • T.Sgt. George Ivan Grissom – Engineer, age 20 from Hammond, IN

  • T.Sgt. Chester L. Pool – Radioman, age 20 from Oklahoma City, OK

  • S.Sgt. Lloyd P. Pohrte – Ball Turret Gunner, age 19 from Berwyn, IL

  • S.Sgt. Arthur Schulze – Left Waist Gunner, age 25 from Chicago, IL

  • S.Sgt. Van Jackson McManus – Tail Gunner, age 19 from York, SC

At 0715 their aircraft, 43-37747, flying at 15,000 feet was seen to receive a direct flak hit over Nucourt, France and immediately fall from the formation. The aircraft impacted about 25-30 miles northwest of Paris.

Of the ten crew, only one man survived, Staff Sergeant Arthur Schulze who was likely blown from the aircraft and deployed his parachute. According to his nephew:

"He gave each guy a piece of rope and told them to tie it around their waist and to their parachute. Apparently, no one else heeded his advice. When the plane was hit, he was able to get to the bomb bay doors and jump out. He put his parachute on while he was falling. No one else in that plane was able to escape in time."

He became a POW, but survived the war and eventually passed away in 2009. Ironically Schulze was the left waist gunner and likely only feet if not inches from Jones, and yet he survived and Jones did not.

All the bodies of the casualties were found in the wreckage, but badly burned.

Only three of the nine were initially identified:

1. Pilot Hanson

2. Engineer Grissom

(This was accomplished from their ID tags.)

3. Russ was identified from a bracelet he wore on his left wrist with his name on it and an inscription that read: “Hands off. This guy is mine. Sara”.

Jones was first buried at the French civilian cemetery in the tiny village of Boubiers a few miles away the day after the incident.

In August of 2014 a researcher named Janice Kidwell reached out to me after coming across my site while searching for information on Russell. She and her husband Charlie are part of a group of people that help arrange memorials for allied service members who were lost in combat in Europe, and they were attempting to locate family members of Russ' bomber crew for a dedication the following year. This started a long, fruitful correspondence during which we both learned a lot about Russell and his sacrifice.

On May 8th, 2015, a new memorial was unveiled in Boubiers where most of the crew were initially buried. According the Janice Kidwell:

"Twenty-four family members attended; 2 of the families were represented by 3 generations. There was a Church service held before the ceremony and it was led by the village Priest as well as the Minister from the American Church in Paris. The service included a choir with some songs in French and others in English and one Jewish song to represent Leonard Marcus. The Church is from the 1100's and is beautiful. There is also a small memorial stone in the church yard to represent where the bodies of the airmen had been temporarily buried after the crash."

After the war, Russell was moved to the Ardennes American Cemetery and Memorial, Neuville-en-Condroz,Liege, Belgium. He was awarded the Air Medal with 3 Oak Leaf Clusters and the Purple Heart.

Russell was survived by his wife Sara and unborn child, Four months after Russ' loss, Sara gave birth to a baby girl who years later, married and had a daughter and a son of her own.