Snug Harbor

If ever sailors on submarine duty have a right to feel safe, it is when their sub is lying on the surface, lashed securely to her mother ship in some snug harbor. Last week, tied up to the depot ship Maidstone in Dorsetshire's Portland Harbor, the British submarine Sidon lazily made ready for sea and five hours of torpedo practice. Far up in her bow, an armament officer was inspecting the last of the practice fish: on her conning tower, Lieut. Hugh Verry, beginning his last day of duty as Sidon's captain, stood by to give the order, "Cast off"; aboard the depot ship Maidstone, a 27-year-old navy doctor, Surgeon-Lieut. Eric Rhodes, had just plunged into his bowl of breakfast corn flakes. It was 8:25 a.m.

To the men below decks in the Maidstone, what happened in the next second sounded only "like a heavy door banging," but those on deck who happened to be watching saw a sheet of flame roar up through the Sidon's conning tower like a rocket's tail blast. Caps, coats and bits of furniture were hurled aloft in the explosion (presumably of torpedo fuel), and as a huge cloud of yellowish smoke billowed out, the men of the Sidon streamed up from below, their clothes torn, their faces bloody. In the Maidstone's mess, Lieut. Rhodes pushed aside his corn flakes, raced to the gangplank and across another sub's deck to the Sidon. "I saw him go down the hatch in a cloud of smoke," said a steward who was standing near, "and a minute later he came back, half carrying an injured seaman." The young doctor called for morphine and turned to go below again, but another doctor restrained him until he had been fitted with a respirator. Not knowing how to use the gadget, Lieut. Rhodes listened impatiently to the hurried instructions, clamped it on his face and plunged below once more. A few minutes later, he emerged with another injured sailor, then darted below for a third time.

At 8:55 a.m., as the seas poured into the Sidon, Captain Verry gave the order: "Abandon ship." There were some frantic, last-minute rescue attempts, all hopeless. "Through the smoke," said one of the last to give up, "I could see Lieut. Rhodes lying at the bottom of the conning tower. I called for a lifeline, but before I could get it, the conning tower hatch jammed. When I looked again, I could not see the lieutenant, and there was no chance of going back."

A few minutes later, up to his own chin in water, the Sidon's captain left his bridge. Soon the smear of oil and two rings of bubbles were all that was left on the surface. On the bottom, six fathoms down, lay the Sidon, Lieut. Rhodes and twelve crewmen, all mute to the appeals of divers who went down to tap out Morse on the ship's hull in a hopeless search for signs of life.

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