A Tragic Anniversary: The Loss of USS Scorpion (SSN 589)

By Zach Smyers and Mark Freeman
HRNM Staff

In May 1968, the nuclear attack submarine USS Scorpion (SSN 589) was 350 feet below the surface of the Mediterranean Sea traveling at a speed of 15 knots. Commander Francis A. Slattery, commanding officer of Scorpion, sent a message to COMSUBLANT (Commander, Submarine Force Atlantic). In the message, Slattery said that Scorpion was closing in on a Soviet submarine and research group “to begin surveillance of the Soviets.” This would be the last message ever sent by Scorpion.

Commander Francis Slattery, CO of the Scorpion (NHHC)

Ten years earlier, in August 1958, the keel was laid for Scorpion, which was built at the Electric Boat Division, General Dynamics Corporation, Groton, Connecticut. Scorpion was the second submarine to be built as part of the U.S. Navy’s Skipjack-class. The Skipjacks had the latest in technology in terms of armament, sonar, and nuclear propulsion. Capable of speeds in excess of 30 knots while submerged, Scorpion would be ideal for covert observations of Soviet naval activity during the busy years of the Cold War.

Launching of the Scorpion (Navsource.org)

Commissioned on July 29, 1960, USS Scorpion (SSN 589) would be the sixth U.S. Navy vessel of that name. The previous USS Scorpion (SS 278) was a Gato-class diesel submarine that served during World War II and was lost with all hands in 1944. First assigned to Submarine Squadron 6, Division 62 out of New London, Connecticut, Scorpion’s first deployment was participating in exercises in Europe working with units from the U.S. Navy’s Sixth Fleet and other NATO allies. In September 1961, it changed homeports, moving to Norfolk, Virginia, where Scorpion operated for the rest of its short career.

Sailors disembark from USS Scorpion in Norfolk (NavSource.org)

In February 1967, Scorpion went to Norfolk Naval Shipyard for a scheduled overhaul. At the time, the Navy required a 36-month overhaul period to determine that the submarine maintained all safety standards, including watertight integrity of the hull. However, during Scorpion’s time at Norfolk Naval Shipyard, the 36-month period was reduced to one year, and Scorpion received only emergency repairs in order to return to sea faster.

On February 15, 1968, Scorpion left Norfolk for what would be its final deployment. Working with the Sixth Fleet, Scorpion headed west, making the return trip for home in May. However, on May 20, 1968, Vice Admiral Arnold Schade issued orders for Scorpion to make its way toward the Canary Islands.[i] Scorpion’s tasking was to observe and track Soviet warships operating in the area, which included an Echo II Class submarine, a submarine, rescue vessel, and two hydrographic survey ships. A Soviet guided-missile destroyer and an oiler joined the group three days later. On May 21, 1968, Scorpion was 250 miles south of the Azores, and was making its way back to Norfolk with an estimated time of arrival of 1pm on May 27. That day, Scorpion was reported as overdue for returning to Norfolk. Scorpion had failed to respond to a series of classified message traffic. The Navy made multiple attempts to communicate with Scorpion, but the crew never responded. Scorpion was declared missing, and the U.S. Navy began searching for the lost sub using aircraft, ships, submarines, and aircraft from the Coast Guard and U.S. Air Force. The size of the search area was 2,100 miles, which is almost equivalent to all seven cities that make up the region referred to as Hampton Roads.

On June 5, 1968, the U.S. Navy officially declared Scorpion lost and the crew dead. The Navy established a formal Court of Inquiry regarding the loss of Scorpion. The court convened from June 1968 through most of July 1968. During this time, the court learned that in December 1967, Scorpion did have an unarmed MK-37 training torpedo start up accidentally while still inside the tube. During this particular incident, the crew was able to jettison the torpedo. The court considered that the activation of the torpedo’s battery while the torpedo was still in the tube could have sunk the Scorpion. On July 25, 1968, the court reached the conclusion that there was no proof of the exact cause of the boat’s loss.

The last known picture of Scorpion (NHHC)

In October 1968, the oceanographic research ship Mizar (T AGOR 11) located Scorpion. Sections of its hull were found 400 miles southwest of the Azores in water deeper than 10,000 feet. Pictures and data were collected from the wreck site, but the question remained: what caused the submarine to sink? In 1969, the deep surveillance vessel Trieste II made nine dives surveying the wreckage of Scorpion. These dives confirmed that the Scorpion had broken into three separate sections.

Map showing location of USS Scorpion's wreck (Wikimedia)

While we may never know the precise reason Scorpion sank, there are several theories about this event. In the 1998 issue of Proceedings, author Mark A. Bradley concluded that Scorpion sank due to lack of necessary safety improvements. In the 1998 book Blind Man’s Bluff: The Untold Story of American Submarine Espionage, the authors conclude that the battery used to power the MK-37 torpedo aboard Scorpion could have caught on fire, which in turn would cause the torpedo’s warhead section to explode and sink the submarine. Another popular theory is that Scorpion was attacked and sunk by the Russian navy. While this theory may seem far-fetched, there is some evidence to support it in a letter Scorpion crewmember MMC Robert Bryan wrote to his son, Samual Bryan, about the Scorpion’s final mission. Bryan wrote, “Russians followed us with guns down the entire time.” Regardless of the cause, Scorpion went down with all of its crew and will forever remain on eternal patrol.

This year marks the 56th anniversary of the loss of USS Scorpion (SSN 589). To this day, any submarine entering Naval Station Norfolk will pause to render honors to Scorpion and the boat’s fallen Sailors. Current submariners do this by sounding the ship’s whistle as submarines pull into port from a long deployment. It is a somber yet respectful way to keep the memory of that crew alive. Along with the tribute from current active submarine Sailors, there are several monuments throughout the country commemorating the loss of USS Scorpion, one of which is pictured below. We may never know with total certainty why Scorpion sank. We should, however, stop to remember the crew’s sacrifice over fifty years later.

USS Scorpion monument in Newport News, VA (hmdb.org)

[i] The Admiral’s orders for Scorpion remain classified to this day.

Thirty Years Ago: A Ghost in the Working Party?

About this time each year we like to roll out a nautical ghost story or some other tale broaching the supernatural. There are few left, however, that have not been brought forth over and over so many times from multiple sources until there is hardly a person alive with an interest in the subject who has not heard about nor read them. With this in mind I am dusting off an old story that I have only repeated to a few people over the years. While not a believer in such things myself, I will grant that the unexplainable can sometimes happen. One such event reportedly happened to a fellow Sailor on a working party I was assigned to aboard the aircraft carrier Forrestal (CV 59) some years back.

Originally photographed in 2011 by Mass Communication Specialist Seaman Nicholas A. Groesch aboard USS Ronald Reagan (CVN 76) in the Western Pacific Ocean, this working party passing along chemical, biological, and radiological (CBR) kits, with an extra ghostly member inserted, serves as a convenient illustration for this Halloween-themed article. (Photo illustration by M.C. Farrington)

During the entirety of the history of the U.S. Navy, ships have never been entirely self-sufficient. While the dismal and dirty drudgery of loading coal disappeared a century ago with the ascendance of fuel oil-fired boilers and, later, gas turbines and nuclear reactors, the basic staples required by those manning war vessels the world over have not changed. Sooner or later, provisions must be taken aboard, whether from a pier or underway. Today, the Navy has logistics specialists to oversee the efficient procurement and management of those provisions, but there has never been enough of them on any ship to take these supplies onboard by themselves. Taking on essential supplies that all hands use has always been an all-hands effort, disproportionately allotted to lower-ranking Sailors, of which I was one aboard Forrestal.

On the Forrestal, there were few mechanical conveyors to bring frozen packages down into the refrigerated “reefers” below. Most of a large shipment of food and other consumables would be taken down into the hold using only Sailor power. Four or five decks down into the neither regions of the carrier, wax-coated cardboard packages, taken from palletized cargo hoisted onto the hangar bay during underway replenishment, were passed from hand to hand for what seemed like endless hours, down a vertical access trunk plunging straight to the refrigerated reefers of the hold. As one might expect, the spaces at the bottom were cold, dark, and a little slippery after the humid air of the North Arabian Sea reached them.

During most of the working parties I was assigned to, there wasn’t much talking. At least, it wasn’t the kind of talking that would pass for polite conversation. Every so often, however, the pace would let up as an empty pallet up in the hangar bay was moved aside and a new one staged. During the few minutes of respite, the Sailors of the working party could sit down, stretch, or even talk. The topic of conversation one particular day was an entity called “George,” the existence of which had been recently confirmed to the news media by the ship’s public affairs office.

The Sailor working closest to me claimed that he had an experience with George. He had been working with one other man at the bottom of a vertical access trunk that terminated at two reefer spaces. They had just finished filling up one reefer and had just opened the hatch leading into another empty one. One new problem that developed was that they could not get the lights in the space to turn on, but a much worse problem quickly became apparent. Despite having to traverse a further 25 feet to place the boxes along the opposite bulkhead of the newly-opened space, the petty officer overseeing the work above had refused to send down any more men to bridge the gap. The man at the end of the chain would have to quickly run each new box across the reefer from the entrance after receiving it from the second-to-last man (the teller of the tale) at the bottom of the trunk. 

Meanwhile, a box continued to come down about every five seconds.

U.S. Navy Damage Controlman Fireman Josh Steiger hands a frozen goods package to Electrician's Mate 3rd Class Joseph Spangenberg in a storage freezer aboard the aircraft carrier USS Harry S. Truman (CVN 75) at sea in an undisclosed location Sept. 23, 2010. The material condition of the freezer, not to mention the food being stored within, appears to be of markedly higher quality aboard this Nimitz-class carrier than it was for the author doing similar work aboard USS Forrestal. (U.S. Navy photo by Mass Communication Specialist Seaman Apprentice Tyler Caswell/Released)

Despite the new challenges they were facing, the Sailor at the doorway tried to keep up with the pace. After handing off the first box to the Sailor inside the darkened space, he pivoted upward to catch the next box being handed down from above, but he was shocked when a pair of hands emerged from the pitch-black doorway and grabbed it from his hands when he pivoted downward again. After the following box dropped into his hands, he pivoted back down to the Sailor who was again back in the doorway and asked him, “How’d you do that?” as he handed over the box.

“How’d I do what?” the man replied breathlessly.

“How did you get back here so fast?”

“I got back just now.”

“No, you grabbed the last box just a few seconds ago and now you’re back again.”

“No I didn’t. I just got back.”

Meanwhile, more boxes were coming down the access trunk unabated, so the two had to put their argument on hold, yet neither of them were able to keep the pace after that, nor were they ever able to sort out just what had happened.

Neither could I, after hearing the tale that day down at the bottom of a similar trunk near a similarly dank, dark reefer space. But there’s one thing I did know.

“George is supposed to be an officer; a ‘khaki,’ right?”

“That’s what I heard,” replied the Sailor.

“Then it can’t be George,” I said, “because no khaki, living or dead, would ever come pitch in all the way down here.”   

Chesapeake, to the Bone

Editor's preface: Although it is the home of the annual Brick by Brick Lego model shipbuilding event, the Hampton Roads Naval Museum’s gallery features the fruits of traditional model shipwright labor in wood and metal, both builder’s models made as a guide for the construction of full-size vessels, and miniature recreations of vessels long gone. For a select few, model shipbuilding of this caliber is a profession. For many thousands, it is an enjoyable hobby. Within the obscure recesses of the history of this pursuit we find a dark chapter; one populated by hundreds of unwilling artisans who were prisoners of the British during the Napoleonic Wars and the War of 1812. By 1814, more than 72,000 prisoners languished aboard hulks or in dungeon-like "depots" such as Dartmoor, which held more than 5,000 Americans by early 1815.

Model shipbuilding was not merely a leisurely pastime for these poor souls as they filled the empty hours of their confinement. British regulations allowed prisoners to make and sell items to make their lives more tolerable, as long as the raw materials did not come from the depot's supplies. Thus the fruits of their labor, most crafted from scraps of wood and festooned with ornately carved beef and mutton bones, helped ensure their very survival.

An advertisement for the International Maritime Museum in Hamburg, Germany, shows off their largest and most ornate model, proclaiming it "Unique!" (Manfred Stein, Prisoner of War Bone Ship Models, 2015)

The Internationales Maritimes Museum in Hamburg, Germany, possesses 31 of the approximately 510 ghostly-looking bone models from that period known to exist. Its largest model, the 144-centimeter-long Chesapeake, depicts a ship with a storied connection to Hampton Roads.  It was presumed by bone ship model expert Manfred Stein, based upon the model's original provenance, to have been made by American prisoners, probably at Dartmoor, and presented to the widow of her ill-fated last American captain, James Lawrence.
 
That is, until our senior docent took a close look at the model.

By J. Huntington Lewis
HRNM Docent & Contributing Writer

Several years ago, I came across a photo of the stern of a very large whalebone model of the United States Frigate Chesapeake that was at The Internationales Maritimes Museum in Hamburg, Germany. The Hampton Roads Naval Museum requested additional photographs, and Mr. Stein kindly provided some snapshots he had taken, as well as a few selected from his book Prisoner of War Bone Ship Models from the Age of the Napoleonic Wars (2015). 

The bone model of the frigate Chesapeake.  Note the plaque at the corner of the display case (closeup below). (Courtesy of Manfred Stein)

The original plaque accompanying the bone model Chesapeake. (Courtesy of Manfred Stein)

Little is known about the provenance of the model except that the a member of The Nautical Research Guild, the ship modeling society, wrote that “The model was made by US POWs in 1813 and given to the widow of Captain James ‘Don't Give up the Ship’ Lawrence after the war.” Mr. Stein, in response to a question from the Guild, said:

I don't know how they brought the model from England to America in the early-1800s, nor do I know how the model came back to London, England, where it was bought by [museum owner Peter Tamm] in 1975. A note accompanying the model and its certificate of authenticity stated “Almost certainly made by American Prisoners of War circa 1813,” The model was in a very bad shape at that time shape at the time, was brought to Hamburg, and years later it was restored by a restorer.

To the left we see the bone model Chesapeake (courtesy of Manfred Stein), while on the right is a detail of a painting by American artist James E. Buttersworth, circa 1815, showing USS Chesapeake's stern during her battle with HMS Shannon on June 1, 1813.  (Courtesy of Joseph Vallejo, Vallejo Gallery, Newport Beach, California)

The decorations on the stern just didn't seem right to me, since the earliest paintings of the engagement between the Chesapeake and Shannon show much less embellishment. I wondered also if American prisoners could acquire the skill to build such a model within the year of their capture by HMS Shannon. 

The Chesapeake bone model's eagle figurehead. (Courtesy of Manfred Stein)

I later found that some of the early American warships were heavily decorated. One such ship was the frigate United States, as featured in the article "Celebrated Figureheads" by H.D. Smith, in the August 1904 edition of The United Service-A Monthly Review of Military and Naval Affairs. The Chesapeake model has the figurehead of an eagle, but, according to a thoroughly researched article by Eugene H. Pool, “The Frigate Chesapeake” in The Mariner, The Quarterly Journal of the Rhode Island Ship Model Society (1937), the USF Chesapeake did not have a figurehead. 
 
William James in his Inquiry into Principal Naval Actions between Great Britain and the United States (1816) published by Anthony H. Holland at the Arcadian Recorder's Office, Halifax, mentions that “her outward appearance was much improved in England by giving her a figurehead.” 

But what figurehead?

By chance in continuing research on the USF Chesapeake prisoners, I was lucky enough to find a genealogy blog by Dennis Segelquist entitled “Civil War Days and Those Surnames” which has a long post by British researcher Martin Bibbing dealing with the mystery of the Chesapeake's figurehead. Bibbing reported:

I have also previously come across another contradictory reference to Chesapeake’s figurehead which doesn’t square with my previous understanding.... A book entitled Hampshire Treasures (1982) … has the following: “The figurehead of the Chesapeake was also to be found in the area (near Wickcombe, Hampshire, at Arford House) ...The figurehead of the Chesapeake, which was captured by the Shannon, was formerly on a summer house at the top of the garden - it was a bird, perhaps an eagle, and a portion of it was said to be part of a lamp bracket in the house. When the 'Chesapeake' was broken up, the figurehead was bought by Mr Ewsters, who was then building (or living in) Arford House.”

In researching what happened to the American prisoners, I found an illustration which indicates that the USF Chesapeake had two stars on her transom.

According to the 1866 book Admiral Sir P.V.B. Broke: A Memoir, edited by John George Brighton, the "S" within the star above the figurehead, seen here on display at Broke Hall (home to the man who commanded HMS Shannon to victory over USF Chesapeake), was the only survivor of the two stars (the "U" having been shot away during the battle) that once graced the transom of USF Chesapeake. 

The transom of the model has two bearded reclining men. A reclining bearded man is the allegorical symbol of a river god. The Shannon is an Irish river. The Chesapeake, correctly a bay, could be considered a very large river. The wreath on the transom is a symbol of victory. Opposing nations brought together are frequently represented by crossed flags. Taken as a whole, I believe the transom decorations are an allegorical reference to the victory of the Shannon over the Chesapeake and could have been added only by the British when they were repairing the Chesapeake.

Chesapeake bone model stern. (Courtesy of Manfred Stein)

The whale bone model of the Chesapeake has an eagle figurehead, and the transom decorations appear to be an allegory of HMS Shannon's battle with the Chesapeake.  Therefore it is a reasonable conjecture that model is of HMS Chesapeake, the repaired former-USF Chesapeake.  Even if there were American prisoners from the USF Chesapeake at Dartmoor (which is very doubtful because they were imprisoned at Melville Island, Halifax, Nova Scotia or returned to the United States in cartel vessels) who had the skill to build the model, they would not know of the installation of the eagle figurehead or the different stern decorations. 

The museum plaque had to have been added some time after the model was built.  It was not made by the builder. The error in the provenance was quite understandable, given that model had "Chesapeake" carved on its stern. The assumption would be that it was of the more famous defeated USF Chesapeake, rather the HMS Chesapeake. It is also reasonable to assume that the whale bone model of the Chesapeake never had occasion to cross the Atlantic.

Who built and under what circumstances the model was constructed may never be known, but it is truly one of the world's most magnificent ship models. So truly the model isn’t the USF Chesapeake, but is still the Chesapeake. 

Editor's Postscript: The February 2018 Hafencity Zeitung story, "The Secret of the 'Chesapeake': Collaboration with American Colleagues Leads to New Insights," gives Hunt Lewis credit for his helping Manfred Stein reassess the bone model Chesapeake's provenance. Although the story was published in German, it is easily translatable.

Seventy-Five Years Ago: A Submarine is Lost,Yet its Legend Persists

By Joseph Miechle
Hampton Roads Naval Museum Educator

Oberleutnant Hans Sanger was the highest ranking of 29 Kriegsmarine personnel whose bodies were recovered from the Atlantic Ocean after the destroyer Roper (DD-147) sank their Unterseeboote (U-Boat) early on the morning of April 14, 1942.  They were buried at Hampton National Cemetery the following evening, where they remain to this day. (M.C. Farrington)  

Shortly past midnight on April 14, 1942, USS Jessie M. Roper (DD-147), a WW1-era Wickes-class destroyer, made radar contact with a suspected German submarine operating on the surface. “The night was clear, with many stars visible; the sea was very nearly calm,” noted the Roper’s captain, Lt. Cmdr. Hamilton W. Howe. The destroyer continued a nearly due south pursuit of the target it was now tracking off the North Carolina coast. The crew of Roper was ordered to general quarters as the old destroyer closed the distance with the unknown target. When the ship was approximately 700 yards from the still unidentified vessel, a torpedo was observed passing Roper close down the port side, immediately making clear the severity of the pursuit. 

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ABOVE: A sketch from an after-action report by Lt. Cmdr. H.W. Howe, who would later be awarded the Navy Cross for his actions against U-85. (War Record of the Fifth Naval District, 1942) BELOW: A painting of U-85 turing sharply to starboard in an attempt to evade Roper.  (Robert Hurst via Navsource.org)

When the distance between the vessels was only to 300 yards, the unknown vessel “cut sharply to starboard.” The darkness was suddenly pierced by Roper’s 24-inch searchlight as it illuminated the hull of U-85 as the submarine attempted to evade the rapidly approaching destroyer. As the two vessels circled each other like boxers in a ring, the combat became a race to see who could man their guns faster. As crewmen poured from hatches aboard U-85, Chief Boatswain's Mate Jack Edwin Wright aboard Roper responded with accurate .50 caliber machine gun fire, sweeping the U-boat deck of would be assailants. Shots were then fired from Roper’s starboard 3-inch guns, and despite numerous misfires, Coxwain Harry Heyman, Roper's junior gun captain, scored a hit just aft of U-85's conning tower. "This hit undoubtedly contributed markedly to the final destruction of the submarine," Howe wrote in his after-action report.

A sketch from an after-action report by Lt. Cmdr. H.W. Howe.  Drawn the day after the battle, it shows the frantic 20-minute engagement. (War Record of the Fifth Naval District, 1942)

A combination of this hit, and likely the remaining U-boat crew scuttling the ship, culminated in the rapid sinking of U-85, the first German submarine sunk by the United States Navy in World War II. Roper circled back through the last location of the U-boat where it proceeded to deploy 11 depth charges into the water. The action from the first spotlight contact aboard Roper to sinking had taken less than 20 minutes. The victorious destroyer remained on station until morning but was unable to stop and render aid to any possible survivors, as Howe feared that U-boats operated in pairs and his ship could be in danger if it slowed. The bodies of 29 German sailors recovered afterward became the first foreign combatants interred in American soil since the War of 1812.

USS Roper as seen from above in this 1942 photograph.
The starboard, aft 3-inch gun struck the fatal blow to U-85.
Notice the abundance of depth charges on the stern as well
as amidship. (Naval History and Heritage Command)

Sometimes a myth surrounding a ship is harder to destroy than the ship itself. Case in point: A U.S. Naval Institute Proceedings article by Parke Rouse Jr., from June 1982 contains what today might be called, “fake history.” 

Rouse claimed that when some deceased submarine crewmembers were recovered, they were “wearing civilian clothes with their wallets filled with U.S. currency and identification cards,” inferring that their mission was clandestine in nature. This is only partly true. German U-boat sailors often wore civilian clothing in conjunction with their military issued gear for comfort and functionality. The reports compiled by the Navy on April 15 and 17, 1942, described the type of clothing that was recovered as a mix of civilian and military garments. The reports also listed the pocket contents recovered from the crew. While identification tags and currency were recovered, there were zero instances of U.S. currency or identification documents being found.

Rouse's article also states, “They had been preparing to row ashore in a rubber raft when the submarine was discovered.” There is no mention of a raft in Howe’s after action report, nor was a raft documented as having been recovered by the Navy. Also the submarine was 14 miles from the coast when sunk, a long distance to row at night with no coast visible. It is safe to say this bit of information can hold no credence and after scrutiny, ought be discarded unless some primary documentation can be found supporting the claim.

Although some military intelligence was gathered from the 29 recovered crewmembers inspected at Naval Operating Base Norfolk after the battle, much of what they carried, such as this photograph, was personal in nature. (War Record of the Fifth Naval District, 1942) 

Of the German bodies hauled aboard Roper, Rouse wrote, "Two were officers, [and] one of them the U-85’s captain.” This is categorically false. Naval intelligence officers positively established the identities of all 29 bodies. The original Navy report of April 15 states that it was believed that one of the bodies recovered may have been of the captain, but eventually only one casualty was identified as an officer: Oberleutnant Hans Sanger. The body of the U-85’s captain, Oberleutnant (possibly Kapitanleutnant at time of sinking) Eberhard Greger, has never been recovered. Once we put the various pieces together, it is safe to state that U-85 was not involved with any type of spying operation.

Among the personal pictures found among the belongings of the ill-fated submarine crew is this image of U-85 taken sometime before her fourth and final war patrol (War Record of the Fifth Naval District, 1942),  To the right is a photograph by Brett Seymour of the National Park Service's Submerged Resources Center, taken from a similar viewpoint in 2009, which shows a possible penetration of the pressure hull from USS Roper’s gunfire. The wreck of U-85 is considered a war grave by both the United States and Germany. (Courtesy the National Oceanographic and Atmospheric Administration (NOAA))  

Among the articles recovered by the Navy in the flotsam was the diary of Erich Degenkold, a sailor aboard the U-85. In it he records a short statement describing each day. The night before he was killed, his final entry ominously foreshadowed the events that would soon unfold. “American beacons and searchlights visible at night.”

After the 29 bodies recovered from U-85 were brought back to Hampton Roads aboard USS Roper, they were transferred to Naval Operating Base Norfolk (now known as Naval Station Norfolk) aboard USS Sciota (ATO-30). After an intelligence investigation was conducted on the evening of April 14, 1942, Sailors at a hangar at nearby Naval Air Station Norfolk prepared to transport the bodies to Hampton National Cemetery. (National Archives and Records Administration (NARA) Still Picture Branch via NOAA)

Sailors from Naval Operating Base Norfolk (now known as Naval Station Norfolk) move a box containing the body of a U-85 crewmember to a truck during the transport of the deceased sailors from Naval Air Station Norfolk to Hampton National Cemetery. According to an intelligence report dated April 17, 1942, the US Naval Hospital in Portsmouth did not have enough caskets for such a large mass-burial, and neither did local funeral businesses. The Veterans Administration in Kecoughtan (Hampton) came through, however, and supplied enough caskets and shipping boxes to ensure a proper burial. (NARA Still Picture Branch via NOAA)

On the evening of April 15, 1942, 29 sailors from U-85 were buried Hampton National Cemetery, Hampton, Virginia, with military honors. Fifty-two prisoners from Fort Monroe, Virginia, prepared the graves, and Soldiers from the fort acted as pallbearers. At 8 pm, the burial service was read by a Catholic chaplain, followed by the Protestant chaplain, Lieutenant Junior Grade R.A. Lundquist. A firing party of 24 Sailors from the Naval Operating Base fired three volleys, and Taps was sounded. The event attracted dozens of onlookers outside the cemetery walls. (NARA Still Picture Branch via NOAA)

The area of the Hampton National Cemetery containing the U-85 graves, as it looks today.  Union soldiers from nearby Fort Monroe were some of the first to be buried at the cemetery in Hampton, Virginia, but it is also the final resting place for Confederate soliders from the Civil War, as well as German and Italian prisoners from World War II. (M.C. Farrington)  

--For additional information about the USS Roper and U-85 please visit the NOAA website, and the Naval History and Heritage Command website. Special thanks to the folks at Uboat.net who maintain an excellent website full of links to primary sources about U-85 and many other German submarines. Several artifacts from U-85, including an enigma machine, can be seen on display at the Graveyard of the Atlantic Museum in North Carolina.