The United States Exploration Expedition, Part 2

by Nicolas Wieman

From Antarctica, the squadron sailed in Tonga and prepared for the next leg of their journey: Fiji. The Fiji Archipelago had been known to Europeans since the mid-1600s and was famed not only for their copious amounts of sandalwood and beche-de-mer (sea cucumbers), but for their inhabitants’ reputation as ferocious cannibals. Reliable maps of the “cannibal isles” were therefore in high demand, not least because merchants and missionaries needed to know where to avoid.

From May 4 to August 11, 1840, the expedition’s survey of the islands produced new charts and a treasure trove of botanical, geological, zoological, and anthropological material, but it also produced conflict with the native peoples. The Chief of Ono Island, Ro Veidovi, was taken prisoner and held on Peacock for his role in killing the crew of a stranded American whaler, with the goal of bringing Veidovi back to the United States to stand trial.

The Town of Rewa (NHHC)

The real “highlight” of the Fiji exploration was the murder of two sailors by natives of Malolo Island, one of whom Charles Wilke’s nephew, Wilkes Henry. On July 24, Lieutenant Joseph Underwood and Passed Midshipman Wilkes Henry led a band of sailors on Malolo Island to forage and barter for supplies, but a misunderstanding involving the chief’s son resulted in the two officer’s murders and the mutilation of their bodies.

Massacre of Joseph Underwood and Wilkes Henry (Charles Erskine, Twenty Years Before the Mast)

In response, the vengeful Wilkes swore to burn the island to the ground, sparing only the women and children. The morning after the attack on the two sailors, Wilkes sent a force armed with firearms, sabers, and Congreve rockets (of “Rocket’s Red Glare” fame) to destroy the village of Arro near the beach and Sualib in the interior, where Henry and Underwood were killed. Flying Fish and Porpoise floated near shore, to fire on any boats that attempted to escape the island. The Americans’ march of vengeance decimated the island, with approximately 88 Fijians killed to only one American wounded by an arrow to the leg.

Wilkes had Underwood and Wilkes Henry buried on the island, hidden so that natives of Malolo could not find and dig them up for further mutilation or consumption. While Wilkes publicly mourned both men, in private he blamed Underwood for causing the death of his nephew, by bringing him on that island and botching the negotiation. In a shocking display of Wilkes’ vindictiveness, he put Underwood’s personal affects up for auction.

The attack on Malolo (NHHC)

The squadron’s visit to the Hawaiian Islands in September 1840 was a welcome change for the men, not least because it offered an opportunity for much-needed shore leave, and for the officers to hear from loved ones. Among the mail from his family, Wilkes received a letter from Naval Secretary James Paulding that seemed (at least in his mind) to tacitly endorse his claims of a “mutinous cabal” among the officers and encouraged him to keep up his stern discipline. Wilkes regularly exceeded the number of lashes Sailors received as physical punishment; anything above 12 required the approval of a naval court. Wilkes justified his excess by their isolation necessitating an expedient punishment, rather than waiting to return home.

By December 1840, Wilkes sent the rest of the squadron to mop up islands skipped over in the initial voyage to Fiji, while he made plans to “voyage” into the interior of Hawaii, the biggest island in the chain, to summit Mauna Loa. This shield volcano is the largest active volcano on Earth, reaching nearly 14,000 feet above sea level. Accompanying Wilkes and his crew were a veritable legion of native Hawaiian porters and their families, whose advice about the best route up the volcano Wilkes would stubbornly ignore.

The Hanapepe Valley (NHHC)

After nearly a week hiking up the mountain, Wilkes established a base camp at the summit of Mauna Loa on December 22 that he named “Pendulum Peak,” carving it into a rock at the camp. For two weeks Wilkes and the scientists would conduct experiments on the summit, despite the camp’s ramshackle construction and the harsh climate, and hiked around the caldera. On January 13, with many men suffering from altitude sickness and snow blindness, they concluded their research and began the descent down the mountain. After roughly a month of recuperation and additional surveying of the island, Vincennes departed for their final stop: the Pacific Northwest.

The Mauna Loa caldera (NHHC)

The final stop was the survey of the Pacific Northwest between the Strait of Juan de Fuca and the Columbia River. This was arguably the most important stop of the voyage, as the Pacific Northwest was hotly contested territory between the United States and Great Britain. The powerful Hudson’s Bay Company monopolizing trade for Britain competing with American settlers and missionaries. Accurate American maps of the region would bolster American claims to the territory.

Vincennes and Porpoise arrived in late April 1841 off Cape Disappointment. They surveyed the waters of Puget Sound and sent their scientists on expeditions into the interior (with plans to rendezvous in San Francisco), trading with local Native Americans and representatives of the Hudson’s Bay Company at Fort Vancouver. Wilkes named over 260 locations in the area, among them Vendovi Island (for their Fijian “guest,” Ro Veidovi) and Henry Island, for his departed nephew. While filling in the map of Puget Sound and the interior, he awaited the arrival of Peacock and Flying Fish, who were behind schedule.

Mount Shasta/Shasty Peak (NHHC)

Before surveying up the river, they would have to pass over the Columbia Bar, one of the most dangerous river crossings in the world. The rough weather, constantly shifting bars and shoals, and rocky coastline make passage over the Bar incredibly dangerous. Even today, it is the only river in the United States where a pilot is required for all ships crossing it. The area has been named “the Graveyard of the Pacific” for the over 2,000 shipwrecks that have been recorded.

One of those shipwrecks, unfortunately, was Peacock, which arrived at the Bar behind schedule on July 17. A lapse in judgement prompted Captain Hudson to attempt sending Peacock across the Bar first, instead of the nimbler Flying Fish; the ship almost immediately ran aground on a submerged shoal. While the crew successfully evacuated, the ship and her precious cargo were a complete loss. Humiliated, Wilkes had to negotiate the purchase of a replacement ship, Oregon, from the HBC. Today, Peacock Spit outside Astoria, Oregon bears the name of the ship that wrecked upon its banks.

 

The wreck of the Peacock (NHHC)

The squadron left Puget Sound for San Francisco Bay in early September, picking up the scientists, then set off for home, their voyage of exploration at an end. Their return trip would see them visiting the Philippines, Singapore, and the Cape of Good Hope, finally returning to New York on June 10, 1842. Rather than sail into port flying a pennant ill-befitting his assumed station, Charles Wilkes slipped aboard a smaller boat and sailed in ahead of the rest of the squadron. A court martial awaited him.

The court martial of Charles Wilkes covered the whole breadth of the expedition, from the excessive punishment of sailors and hostility towards officers to the loss of the Peacock and the massacre of Fijians at Malolo. Paradoxically, the sheer volume of complaints levied against Charles Wilkes worked in his favor, as it seemed to vindicate his charges of a conspiracy against him; he was given only a public reprimand. While a light punishment considering the circumstances, it still robbed him of the public accolades he felt entitled to. His return home was marred by the court martial, and by the time he was cleared, the public had moved on to figures such as John C. Fremont and Kit Carson, leading expeditions overland to the west.

The scientific legacy of the Wilkes Expedition cannot be overstated. The sheer volume of specimens collected by the scientists and anthropologists—representing over 10,000 species of plants and animals and over 4,000 anthropological artifacts—would go on to form the basis of the Smithsonian Institution when it opened in 1846. Over 240 meticulously drawn maps of the Pacific Northwest, Antarctica, and the Fijian Islands; the latter of such quality that they remained in use until WW2. The personal journals of all participants of the Expedition together contain countless reams of data on all topics from meteorology, geology, and anthropology. All in all, it was likely the largest collection of scientific material collected by a single sailing expedition.

Charles Wilkes, c. 1855-1860 (US Naval Institute)

Charles Wilkes is best known for his role in the Trent Affair, when the now-Captain Wilkes, commanding USS San Jacinto, waylaid the packet ship RMS Trent carrying Confederate diplomats to Britain, sparking such a diplomatic crisis that the Civil War nearly became a World War. In seizing the ship against all diplomatic reason, Wilkes demonstrated the impulsiveness and desire for glory that led him to such heights, and such depths, as did when voyaging on America’s first great naval expedition.

The United States Exploration Expedition, Part 1

by Nicolas Wieman

In June of 1842, America’s first grand naval expedition of scientific discovery returned to America’s shores laden with literal tons of samples and specimens from the South Pacific, the Pacific Northwest, and the fabled shores of the Antarctic continent. The findings of the expedition energized the American scientific community and would eventually form the basis of the Smithsonian Institution. However, the scientific achievements of the expedition were overshadowed by the scandal that surrounded it, centered around the conduct of the expedition’s commanding officer, Charles Wilkes. 

Charles Wilkes (U.S. Naval Academy Museum)

While the 1804 Lewis and Clark expedition had fulfilled a young America’s desire for exploration of the continent, it would not be until 1838 that America would dispatch a journey of discovery by sea. While approval for such a venture had been given by President John Quincy Adams in 1828, delays in funding and shifts in presidential priorities during the Jackson Administration ensured that it would take nearly a decade for the expedition to begin preparations in 1837. Thomas ap Catesby Jones, the officer initially chosen to command the Expedition, resigned from the appointment after the stresses of political infighting, logistical challenges, and naval intrigue gave him a severe medical emergency. 

Satirical cartoon of the U.S. Ex.Ex. from August 1838 (Library of Congress)

For the young Lieutenant Charles Wilkes, however, the Exploration Expedition (or “Ex.Ex.”) was the voyage of a lifetime. A gifted cartographer and nautical surveyor, his extensive survey of Narragansett Bay had earned him the respect of his peers and command of the U.S Navy’s Department of Charts and Instruments, while his membership in the Columbian Institute for the Promotion of Arts and Sciences ensured that he was well-acquainted with the leading scientific minds of the time. Even though he was only a Lieutenant, and over the outcries of more experienced officers, Secretary of War Joel Poinsett appointed him commander of the Expedition.

On the morning of August 18, 1838, the expedition left Norfolk. Lieutenant Wilkes commanded the flagship USS Vincennes, herself no stranger to long voyages of exploration, as the first US warship to circumnavigate the globe. Accompanying Vincennes was the sloop of war USS Peacock, commanded by one of Wilkes’ closest friends in the Navy, Lieutenant William Hudson. Accompanying them was USS Porpoise, supply ship USS Relief, and the two schooners USS Flying Fish and USS Sea Gull. Each ship was structurally reinforced and made to be “floating laboratories,” with the latest in scientific equipment for the full crew of scientists, and with space to spare for the specimens they’d be collecting. 

Their route, known only by Wilkes and select officers, called for a “three-year dash around the globe,” with three main destinations: Antarctica, the Fiji Islands, and the mouth of the Columbia River. They would begin by sailing to Madeira, off the coast of Portugal, then sail to Rio De Janeiro while investigating possible locations of shoals in the mid-Atlantic. From there, they would sail to Orange Bay at Cape Horn, at the tip of Chile’s Tierra Del Fuego archipelago. While leaving Peacock and Relief at Cape Horn to allow the scientists to conduct their work, Wilkes would lead a reconnaissance expedition south of the Antarctic circle, going as far as they could before the southern hemisphere winter froze them out. They would then meet up with the rest of the squadron at Valparaiso, Chile, then sail to Sydney, Australia to prepare for their main thrust to Antarctica. 

Valparaiso Bay in 1830 (Museo Histórico Nacional de Chile)

It was on this leg of the journey that the greatest obstacle to the Expedition’s success revealed itself: Charles Wilkes himself. After a nervous breakdown during their stopover in Rio, Wilkes underwent what looked like a radical shift in personality. While Charles Wilkes’ skill as a surveyor suited him well to the voyages’ scientific aims, and his infectious charisma ensured at least a grudging respect from much of the crew, his lack of experience in commanding a ship at sea compared to his nominal subordinates weighed heavily on his psyche. Under the immense pressure of commanding the Expedition, he consciously adopted the persona of a martinet, a strict disciplinarian, to cover for his lack of seagoing experience. 

He became convinced that there were a “cabal” of officers, mostly holdovers from Jones’ appointments, that were conspiring to undermine the expedition. Those officers who had served with him before knew him only as a perfectly genial and easy-going gentleman and were surprised to see him lash out at others. In the years to come, Wilkes would regularly suspend or dismiss officers from the squadron, sending them back to the United States on whatever ship he found that he could put them on. This would prove to be his undoing, as when these officers returned to Washington, they’d come bearing news of Wilkes’ shocking behavior, laying the grounds for his eventual court martial. 

This insecurity expressed itself most obviously in his preoccupation with his rank. While commanding a squadron of this size would ordinarily have merited promotion to Captain, he remained a Lieutenant, ostensibly due to the Secretary’s illness delaying the publication of the promotion list. He demanded to be addressed as Captain, modified his and Hudson’s uniforms to resemble those of a Captain, and even flew the pennant of a Commodore (a Captain commanding a squadron) from Vincennes. He spurned the company of most other officers, limiting his social circle to Lieutenant Hudson and a selection of officers he’d served alongside on the Narragansett Bay survey.

The first southern expedition, which set off February 25, 1839, made it as far south as latitude 70 degrees South, 101 degrees West, just a hundred miles north of what is now called the Palmer Peninsula. This reconnaissance mission, while valuable in terms of coming closest to Antarctica than any other voyage in history, would come at a price. On the return trip north, Sea Gull was separated from Porpoise in a gale and did not make their rendezvous point at Valparaiso by the time the rest of the Squadron arrived. It was presumed lost at sea. Wilkes took this opportunity to “reassign” a Lieutenant to await the lost Sea Gull at Valparaiso and return to the United States when she did not return. Relief had lost her anchors in a storm on the way to Valparaiso; as the ship was the slowest in the squadron anyway, she was ordered to return to the United States carrying not only scientific specimens collected thus far, but many of the other officers who had lost Wilkes’ favor. 

On the voyage west from Valparaiso to Sydney, Wilkes’ inexperience at sea became painfully apparent. In early October, Vincennes spent around a week at anchor in Pago-Pago, a deep natural harbor in Tutuila, what is now American Samoa. While it was easy for a sailing ship to enter the harbor, due to the prevailing trade winds it was extremely difficult to leave. Charles Wilkes’ attempt to guide Vincennes out of the harbor proved disastrous, and he publicly exclaimed that “this was the last” as Vincennes seemed likely to dash on the rocks. Only the quick thinking of their pilot saved the ship from certain doom. Wilkes recovered from this embarrassment by taking out his frustrations on junior officers and sending home one of the expeditions scientists who objected to his behavior.

USS Vincennes in the ice off Antarctica (Peabody Essex Museum)

Their second southern expedition had far greater success. They departed from Sydney on December 26 (Wilkes with a gifted Newfoundland puppy named Sydney at his side), bound for the great Southern Sea. The next two months would see the four ships navigate treacherous waters, clogged with icebergs of all shapes and sizes, and ferocious winter gales. Land was first spotted on January 19, 1849 (according to the logs), Vincennes, Peacock, and Porpoise began a survey of the Antarctic coastline, confirming Antarctica to be a continent, and not just a massive ice sheet as had been assumed thus far. Flying Fish was forced to turn back after the little schooner found herself unable to handle the Antarctic winds. 

Unfortunately, Peacock’s rudder was disabled after her stern collided with an iceberg, disabling her. It was only due to a well-timed gale blowing Peacock away that prevented the poor ship from being crushed by a giant ice sheet that had been shaken loose by the collision. By January 26, after emergency repairs to the rudder, Peacock set sail back to Sydney for repairs.  

USS Peacock in the ice (Drawing by M. Osbourne. Oregon Historical Society Research Library)

On February 14, Vincennes landed a research party on a particularly large iceberg, allowing the crew to disembark and gather samples of rocks and bags of fresh water from the iceberg. On February 21, Wilkes determined that they had explored as far as they could, and they set off back north. The expedition had mapped nearly 1500 miles of Antarctic coastline; this stretch of coastline was later named Wilkes Land in honor of the expedition and its leader. Despite the obstacles thrown in his way by nature, his men, and his own personality, Charles Wilkes had made his name in history as the man who had, for all intents and purposes, discovered the Antarctic continent.

Vincennes crew and dog Sydney on an iceberg (NHHC)

The next leg of the journey would see them trade the frigid Antarctic waters for the balmy tropics of Fiji and Hawaii, and the roaring waters of the Columbia River. Wilkes would continue to broaden America’s knowledge of the natural world, while sowing the seeds of his own destruction. 

Pillow From The Original USS Iowa (BB 4)

By Zach Smyers


When working in the field of history, often times unique and interesting things are discovered while in the process of working on something else. That was the case regarding the pillow from the original battleship USS Iowa (BB 4) when a random drawer was opened at the museum’s collection facility.

USS Iowa (BB4) Pillow, Front. (Photo: Zach Smyers)

The pillow is from 1918 and is from the USS Iowa (BB 4), the first battleship to be named after the 29th state. The pillow is 14 inches in height, 14.5 inches long, and has a depth of 5 inches. It is constructed of felt and leather. The color pattern is black lettering spelling out Iowa on the front with a gold background. On the back of the pillow is a golden eagle over a black background. Decorative pillows like this were popular, but they were not a standard issue item. The pillow was most likely owned by a Sailor who was serving on the battleship Iowa.

Back of the pillow. (Photo: Zach Smyers)

The first battleship Iowa was built in Philadelphia by William Cramp & Sons, with the keel being laid on August 5, 1893. The ship was completed in 1897 and commissioned on the 16th of June in 1897. Weighing in at 11,410 tons, the Iowa was armed with a main battery of four 12-inch guns and a secondary battery of eight 8-inch guns. The ship’s crew consisted of 540 enlisted Sailors, a Marine detachment, and 36 officers. At the time, it was one of the most powerful and advanced warships in the U.S. Navy’s arsenal.

The Iowa slides into the water during the launching ceremony in 1896. (National Archives)

The Iowa first saw combat in the Spanish American War during the bombardment of San Juan, Puerto Rico in May of 1898. On July 3, 1898, the Iowa participated in the Battle of Santiago and assisted with the destruction of three Spanish cruisers. After the war ended in August, the Iowa served with the Navy’s Pacific Squadron which was tasked with protecting U.S. commercial ships operating in Pacific waters. In 1902, the Iowa then transferred to the South Atlantic Squadron, carrying out a similar role in waters off of South America and Africa.

The Battle of Santiago as seen from the USS Iowa (BB 4). (NHHC)

In 1910, the Iowa received a modernization upgrade and went on to serve as a training ship for midshipmen from the U.S. Naval Academy. When the United States officially entered World War I in 1917, the Iowa was tasked with guarding the Chesapeake Bay. After World War I ended in 1918, the Iowa was decommissioned in 1919. Now obsolete compared to the current battleships that were serving in the fleet, the Iowa was converted one final time into a radio-controlled target ship in 1920. In March 1923, Iowa was sunk by the USS Mississippi (BB 41) during a naval gunnery exercise.

USS Iowa (BB 4) underway in 1918. (National Archives)

The discovery of something as simple as a pillow can be the inspiration for a story. Every artifact has a history, and the pillow from the original battleship Iowa is no exception. Often, there isn’t a beginning, middle, and an end regarding the information for a particular artifact. We may not know who owned it, when exactly it was made, or whose collection it belonged to, but that lack of knowledge does not make the artifact unimportant. What we do know is the pillow’s connection to the U.S. Navy and the protection of Hampton Roads during a time of war.

Dedicated to all of the Sailors who served on the USS Iowa (BB 4).

The Battle of the Virginia Capes

 

by Meghan Schill, HRNM Historian

“Should a French fleet now come into Hampton Roads, the British army would, I think, be ours.” - Marquis de Lafayette

"Battle of the Chesapeake" (Naval History and Heritage Command)

This year marks the 250th anniversary of the signing of the Declaration of Independence, and therefore the 250th anniversary of our nation and its armed forces. Throughout the year, we’ll be featuring stories from not only 1776, but all of the American Revolution. Today’s post brings the Revolution right to Hampton Roads’ doorstep. 

By 1781, the Revolution had raged across our new nation from New England to South Carolina. The French had joined the American cause in 1778 with the signing of the Treaty of Alliance. While France sent thousands of infantry troops to help bolster the struggling Continental Army, their largest contribution came in the form of its navy. After spending the years following their defeat in the Seven Years War revitalizing its fleet, the French were suddenly in a position to rival British naval supremacy. In July of 1781, Admiral François Joseph Paul, Comte de Grasse of the French fleet received directives from General Rochambeau to move his vessels from the West Indies to Virginia.

Admiral Comte de Grasse. (Palace of Versailles)

De Grasse immediately headed north with his entire fleet, comprised of twenty-eight ships of the line and four frigates. They arrived on August 30, 1781, and laid anchor between Cape Henry and Cape Charles at the mouth of the Chesapeake Bay. They began at once to unload troops and supplies. By September 4, de Grasse was short four ships of the line, three frigates, and over a thousand officers and sailors as they set out to deliver their goods farther up the James River. Their overall goal? Trap General Cornwallis in Yorktown. Brigadier General Louis le Bègue Duportail stated that "we must take Lord Cornwallis or be all dishonored."

Rear Admiral Thomas Graves (Portrait by Thomas Gainsborough)

The British arrived on the horizon on September 5. Commanded by Rear Admiral Thomas Graves, the British fleet totaled nineteen ships of the line and eight frigates. Graves had been convinced that the French would have no more than twelve ships, and was shocked to find himself suddenly outnumbered. In consequence, the British were slow to maneuver. De Grasse, forced to wait until the tide changed around noon, ordered a lign de vitesse (line of speed) to form a line of battle as quickly as possible, sailing out of the mouth of the Bay to confront the British in open water. At 4:00 pm, Graves gave his ships the order to attack. Two hours of fighting commenced.

Map of the Battle of the Capes (Library of Congress)

The majority of the fighting was done by the vanguards of the two navies. Over the course of the battle, the wind shifted more than 30 degrees, forcing the vanguards closer and closer together, until they were almost within pistol range. Chevalier de Thy, watching the fighting from the rearguard, later wrote that “all that could be seen was fire and smoke on either side.” Eventually, the two navies, exhausted, fought to a stalemate. One French officer aboard the Saint Esprit at the front of the line wrote, “for our part, we were so tired that though within gunshot, the vans no longer fired.”

As night began to fall, both navies separated. The French had sustained major damage to only one ship - the Diademe - while the rest suffered only minimally and were all able to continue fighting if necessary. In contrast, the British had four ships - the Shrewsburg, Intrepid, Montague, and Princessa - damaged badly enough they were unable to stay in a line, and others were in rough shape. As the French fleet resumed its position in the mouth of the Chesapeake, the British remained nearby for a few more days. Eventually, Admiral Graves decided his ships were too badly damaged to mount another attack, and made the fateful decision to return to New York for repairs.

Graves’ retreat was a pivotal moment in the Revolution. With the British fleet gone, General Cornwallis, waiting in Yorktown, was suddenly left abandoned, stranded and isolated from any hope of reinforcements. And as George Washington and Rochambeau marched from New York to Yorktown, Cornwallis found himself surrounded by land and by sea. His surrender, 44 days later on October 19, was inevitable. 

Surrender of Lord Cornwallis at Yorktown (Yale University Art Gallery)

Want to learn more about the Battle of the Capes? The Hampton Roads Naval Museum will be hosting a new exhibit starting September 1 of this year. The project is a celebration of the 250th anniversary of the US Navy, the 400th anniversary of the French Navy, and will feature more information about the battle, the partnership between France and the US during the war, and the two navies’ long history. We hope to see you there!

Book Review, Codename Nemo: The Hunt for a Nazi U-Boat and the Elusive Enigma Machine

by Charles Lachman
Reviewed by Lee Duckworth, HRNM docent

Author Charles Lachman’s book, Codename Nemo: The Hunt for a Nazi U-Boat and the Elusive Enigma Machine, provides a unique perspective of life on board WWII German U-Boats, US Navy ships, and merchantmen. The book reads like a historical novel and relies heavily on personal US and German sailor diaries as the author weaves the story from both Allied and Axis viewpoints.

Lachman gives a thorough history of Germany’s U-505 from pre-commissioning through its current resting place (Museum of Science and Industry, Chicago, IL). He discusses the operational history of the submarine and spends a significant amount of time on each of her three German commanding officers.

The author also details the lives of US Navy sailors who were involved in the search for and ultimate capture of U-505. He devotes several pages to each member of the nine-person boarding party and his action-packed chapters highlight the drama from both sides: the hunter and the hunted.

His characterization of US Navy Captain Dan Gallery (Commanding Officer of USS Guadalcanal (CVE 60), and officer in tactical command of a five-ship task group (TG 22.3), depicts him as a “maverick” and makes one wonder how higher authority allowed him to formulate plans for capture of a U-Boat. This daring and dangerous scheme includes actions that would never be tolerated in today’s Navy: ordering pilots to self-qualify for night carrier landings; allowing his ships’ fuel to get so low that he nearly needs to be towed to port; and seemingly carrying out his own personal quest for capture of a U-Boat. All of this was accomplished without making higher authority completely aware of his actions until they were either already under way or completed.

U-505 sinking (NHHC)

The most riveting chapters of Codename Nemo contain detailed descriptions of the unmatched bravery of the nine-man US Navy boarding party. They unhesitatingly boarded the sinking U-505, not knowing if there were still armed German sailors or booby traps on board, whether they could stop the flooding in the scuttled submarine, or if they could even right her for towing. The extraordinary, risky, and time-critical actions (sometimes just having to guess which valves to turn) in their attempt to stop the progressive flooding make you feel like you are right there alongside them.

Crewmembers of USS Pillsbury, some of the first Sailors to board U-505 (NHHC)

Lachman uses scant official US Navy or German documents in his research and relies almost entirely on diaries or books written by the main participants. Deeper dives into ship’s logs and other official US Navy records might have enhanced his book. He writes little about the actual significance of the capture of the Enigma machine at this stage of the war (mid-1944). Although he alludes to its importance throughout the book, he fails to present any detail about the importance of the capture other than one paragraph where he states it may have shortened the war. This lack of the specific importance of capture of the U-505 enigma machine and code books seemingly lessens the heroics of the US Navy boarding party who risked their lives to recover these items.

Perhaps one of the most remarkable achievements of the US Navy task group is that there wasn’t a single leak from any Sailor about the capture of U-505. The fact that virtually nothing was divulged and Germany and most of the US Navy knew nothing about the U-505 capture is a real testimony to those Sailors.

I recommend Codename Nemo to readers who want a fast-paced account of the audacious plan to hunt, capture, and keep secret one of the most daring actions of WWII.

Book Review: From Yeomanettes to Fighter Jets: A Century of Women in the U.S. Navy

by Randy Carol Goguen
Reviewed by Lee Duckworth, HRNM docent

From Yeomanettes to Fighter Jets covers a century of the role of women in the U.S. Navy as author Randy Carol Goguen paints a vivid canvas of their storied advancement. Her book is divided into four phases: 1917-1947 militarization; 1948-1966 marginalization; 1967-1993 transition; and 1994 to present. Goguen’s book goes into great detail surrounding the economic and political conditions, and cultural and technological changes that both plagued and advanced their cause.

The path to progress for Navy women is highlighted by examples of some unlikely leaders with unique personalities and views that bolstered women’s rights over the course of the century. She opens the book in 1917 with Josephus Daniels, the secretary of the navy who acted independently of the secretary of war and others, including senior navy officers. Daniels took advantage of a gap in law (others later do the same) with the Naval Reserve Act of 1916 which didn’t specify sex as defining eligibility to bring women into the navy. Eventually, 11,880 women served as yeoman (F) during WWI and the author details how the exigency of war prevented others from overriding this new policy.

Four Yeoman (F) in the late 1910s (NHHC)

Though openings were advertised for numerous positions, WWI Navy women were assigned mostly administrative duties. The author’s premise is that new technology, such as the typewriter and telephone, opened opportunities for women and, as there were many unknowns as to how this technology would be used, little prejudice against women had developed. Despite the overall satisfaction of the performance of the yeomen (F), they were rapidly discharged at the end of the war.

Goguen’s research reveals that during the inter-war period, only two offices (Bureau of Aeronautics and Office of the Chief of Naval Operations) were “positive” about allowing women in the Navy. As aviation was a “new” industry, there were no preexisting barriers or traditions in that field to break down. A wide variety of billets were opened to women but they (other than nurses) were not allowed to serve outside the continental United States or aboard vessels or combat aircraft. Additional detail and discussion of the WWII era would have provided a more even balance to the book.

Members of the first class of WAVES to graduate from the Aviation Metalsmith School, at the Naval Air Technical Training Center, Norman, Oklahoma, 1943. (NHHC)

The concept of separate spheres for men and women enjoyed a resurgence in the post-WWII era, marginalizing military women for the ensuing three decades. In June 1948 the first peacetime draft was initiated, with a two percent ceiling established for women in the total force. Several factions wanted to retain women in a “reserve status” while others felt a need for regular commissions. Most of the service leaders supported a regular commission for women, though Congress did not. President Harry Truman signed the 1948 Women’s Armed Service Integration Act, which set permanent status for women in regular components in the armed forces, though they were prohibited from going to sea in ships other than transports and hospital ships. Yet, two years later when the Korean War broke out, an active-duty recall was established which included women.

By the mid-1960s, despite much controversy over the Equal Rights Amendment (ERA), cultural attitudes toward women in the Navy had changed little since 1917. The author goes into great depth as to how Chief of Naval Operations Adm. Elmo Zumwalt Jr. charted a new course for Navy women by expanding opportunities. As the advent of the telephone in the WWI era provided a viable career path for Navy women, development of the Integrated Undersea Surveillance System (IUSS) specialty did the same in the 1970s.

The final section of her book goes into significant detail of the turmoil of the late 1980s and the initiatives and changes to allow women on combat ships and aircraft. During those strained times, Congress, SecNav, CNO, and presidential influence wavered greatly, depending on who was in office. The Tailhook scandal of 1991 demonstrated a catastrophic failure of leadership, yet finally opened the door for Navy women to go to combat.

Airman Ora Howard, Plane Captain, (left), and Airman Grisselle Martinez, perform a routine maintenance on an A-7 Corsair II aircraft, November 1988. (US Navy)

The author delineates the rapid progress in the 1990s and recognition that successful integration could be achieved in units that possessed an excellent command climate and strong leadership. By the early 2000s, successful integration in aircraft and ships was commonplace and warfare specialties became available to women in nearly every area of the U.S. Navy. The integration of women into the Navy succeeded despite the cultural challenges. Set in motion by the exigency of war, progress in the first half of the twentieth century and scandals in the second half led to eventual qualification for sea-going and combat assignments.

CNO Admiral Lisa Francetti (US Navy)

This well researched and written book is a must-read and belongs in the library of every Navy person—man and woman.