On this day, also, we released our first hydrographic bottle, a procedure we would carry out twice a day throughout the remainder of the trip. The United States Hydrographic Office has a standard form, available to all US merchant and naval vessels, which requests that at appropriate times the form be filled out, sealed in a bottle, and dropped over the side. The so called “bottle paper,” printed in several languages, simply asks the finder to note the time and place it was found, in the blanks provided, and to forward the paper to the nearest US government authority. We could not, of course, surface to put the bottles into the water, but this turned out to be a very easy problem to solve. A standard medical bottle easily fitted into our submerged signal ejector (we had previously tested one to full submergence pressure with no apparent bad effects), and to release it we had only to shut the inner cap, equalize to sea pressure by opening a valve in an equalizer line, then open the outer cap. The bottle floated out on its own buoyancy and within a short time reached the surface.
Concern over possible premature discovery of one of these bottles, however, had prompted a certain amount of circumspection in Washington. We had been directed not to fill out the bottle papers completely and under no circumstances to put the name,
Another important event of this portion of our cruise was recorded when the
We dove to a depth of (
As in most naval ships, for fairly obvious reasons, the editor of the newspaper was a radioman; in our case, Radioman First Class Harold J. Marley, Jr. His assistant and general factotum was Audley R. Wilson, Radarman First. A third member of the staff occasionally contributed a column and rendered assistance in certain important ways, such as selection of periscope depth periods to coincide with the best news broadcasts, but refused the honor of being listed as a contributor because of his official position as Commanding Officer.
We had only been at sea a few days when a serious deficiency in the ship’s ventilation system came to light. Our SINS had been installed in a compartment which used to be a provisions storeroom, and unfortunately the addition of a considerable amount of high-powered electrical equipment had not been accompanied by enough air-conditioning. As a consequence of the slowly increasing warmth of the sea on our way south, the ex-storeroom had kept creeping up in temperature. George Troffer, who as Electrical Officer had responsibility for the SINS, became increasingly concerned as the temperature increased, rose in rebellion when it reached 105° F. Something had to be done, he said, to protect the precious equipment. Specifically, some auxiliary ventilation had to be provided quickly. It wasn’t the discomfort of the Electrician’s Mates keeping watch on the SINS that bothered us, for our men could stand that with never a complaint. The problem was that the tubes and circuitry of the equipment were not built to withstand continual high temperatures.