Around the World Submerged: The Voyage of the Triton

Following commissioning, we made a trip to Newport, Rhode Island, for torpedo trials and to Norfolk, Virginia, for certain special tests. Early in December, we returned to our birthplace at Electric Boat. The Navy Department wished to put some new communications equipment aboard.

The layover was most welcome, for it was Christmas and we might have been at sea as many other ships were, but when January came and we were still tied to the dock at Electric Boat, we grew restless. We were scheduled to get under way on February sixteenth for a shakedown cruise to northern European waters, in company with the flagship of the Second Fleet, USS Northampton. Time was passing, the sixteenth of February was approaching rapidly, and our impatience mounted.

When the new equipment was finally installed, late in January, we got under way immediately, vowing to work twenty-four hours a day, if necessary, to make up for lost time. Tests scheduled to take three weeks or longer were telescoped to twelve days. Late in the evening of the first of February, we returned to New London, all tests and evaluation complete, hoping there would be nothing further asked of us and that our projected cruise with Northampton was still on the docket.

On my desk, as I came down from the bridge after Triton had been safely moored, was a soiled envelope addressed to me, slightly crumpled as though it might have been carried some distance by hand.

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One of the curses of the modern Navy is paperwork. Early in their careers, therefore, all officers develop the technique of determining in the shortest possible time which papers require immediate attention and which can be postponed. Consequently, I had no difficulty recognizing that the handwritten note which somehow appeared upon my desk that day was more important than the sacks of carefully mimeographed official mail our “Mail Petty Officer” had laboriously dragged from the dock a few moments before.

The note simply said, “CSL wants to know if you can be in Washington on 4 Feb. Please phone ASAP.”

CSL stood for ComSubLant, the operational boss of all Atlantic Fleet submarines, and ASAP was good old Navy jargon for “as soon as possible.”

Next day, the second of February, I met with Rear Admiral L. R. Daspit, ComSubLant, in his office at the Submarine base. He revealed nothing about the purpose of my trip to Washington, but hinted that it probably involved the shakedown cruise we had been planning for so long, and that there could be some questions relating to how long a cruise we might be able to make.

The following day and a half were full of suspense. Early on the morning of the fourth, I appeared, as directed, in the office of the Deputy Chief of Naval Operations for Fleet Operations. I was wearing a civilian suit, as requested, and was ushered immediately into an inner office.

Conferences with a Deputy Chief of Naval Operations are hardly ever ordinary; but this one, I immediately realized, would be absolutely extraordinary. Maps were spread out on a large table, and besides Admiral Wallace M. Beakley, the Deputy Chief, there were two other admirals and a number of captains and commanders whom I recognized, plus a few whom I did not. Seated at the center of the table, Admiral Beakley was studying one of the charts. He looked up, waiting until the door had closed behind me.

“Beach,” he said, as soon as the door had swung to, “what kind of shape is your ship in?”

I assured him that Triton was in excellent condition and ready to carry out any mission she might be given. The Admiral nodded as though it was what he had expected.

“Sit down,” he said, indicating a chair at the table opposite him. “Beach,” he said again, “you’re about due to start your shakedown cruise. Can Triton go around the world—submerged—instead?”

The room swayed. Since my talk with Admiral Daspit I had tried to imagine the reason for this Washington conference, and I must truthfully admit that the possibility that Triton might be asked to try a round-the-world mission had crossed my mind. I had even considered several full-of-confidence responses with which to answer such a request. But the actual situation hardly seemed appropriate to any of the replies I had thought of, and after a sudden, nervous cough, I said, “Yes, Sir!” That was all I could say.

“When can you get under way?”

Admiral Taussig’s famous response, when asked a similar question in World War I: “We will be ready when fueled,” flashed across my mind, but of course Triton’s dual reactors would not need fuel for two or more years. Mindful that work already in progress was scheduled to be completed on the sixteenth of February, and aware that any change in schedule, even to prepare for a longer trip, would be upsetting, I answered, “We are scheduled to get under way for shakedown on the sixteenth of February, and we will still meet that date!”