United States Army Transport (U.S.A.T.) Dorchester departed New York headed for St. John’s, Newfoundland on January 22nd with her final destination the U.S. base known as Bluie West One in Narsarssuak, Greenland.  She was a twenty-seven year old passenger liner on her sixth trip to Greenland.  As always Dorchester was loaded with general cargo and lumber, sixty bags of mail.  In addition 902 U.S. Army personnel, civilian workers, Coast Guardsmen, Danish citizens, Naval Armed Guard and crew were crowded into her 368 feet of length and fifty-two foot beam.  Captain Krecker who had charge of the Army troops and Ltjg. William H. Arpaia, USNR, in charge of the Naval Armed Guard, agreed before leaving New York not to permit any troops on deck.

            She arrived in St. John’s on the 27th and the next morning the troops were marched to the nearby base for much needed showers and a chance to stretch their legs.  William “Bill” Kramer was one her Navy passengers.  “We went into Newfoundland and let me tell you there wasn’t anybody who didn’t know where we were going.  No body.  We went up to take a shower, everybody’s out there clapping.  The Germans got to know we’re coming.  If they had any spies up there, they knew damn well where we were going and we were in a small convoy.”

            A Signalman in the Naval Armed Guard, Chester J. Szymczak, wrote of seeing several merchants ships tied up with holes in their sides and that espionage agents had “field days” in port like this were mixed crews and even the water taxi operators knew every ship in port. 

            “Goin’ back to Greenland, are you, Yank?  Good luck – you’re going to need it,” a Canadian seaman commented to John Pearse, one of Tampa’s Boatswains mates as he headed back to the cutter. 

            Clearing St. John’s torpedo-laced protective nets late afternoon of 29^th Convoy SG-19 formed outside.  Composed of Dorchester, the freighters Lutz and Biscaya and the Army transport Dorchester the ships were guarded by Tampa with Captain Joseph Greenspun embarked as Escort Commander, Escanaba, and Comanche.  Only Tampa and Comanche were equipped with radar, but none of the cutters had Huff/Duff.   John Pearse succinctly describes the weather that greeted them as “bad”. 

            On the 30^th a northwest gale struck that lasted the entire day, sheathing rigging and weapons in heavy ice. When it was over, Tampa had lost two life rafts and parts of the mouse-traps were damaged.  Before it was over, LtCdr. Ralph Curry, CO of Comanche, estimated there was between 100 to 150 tons on board, coating the cutter in up to twelve inches of ice and causing her to list ten degrees to port.  All of the ships worked to maintain station.  Making the situation more hazardous was the freighter Lutz who burned coal for fuel and left a black streak across the sky that was visible a long ways. 

            For the troops packed below Dorchester’s decks seasickness was the biggest problem.  They slept in bunks racked four high and had only narrow passageways leading to narrower ladders to reach the upper decks.  The four chaplains assigned to the unit, Methodist George Fox, Rabbi Alexander Goode, Father John Washington, and Dutch Reformed minister Clark Poling, did their best to ease the stain.  They moved through the crowded berthing areas talking with the men, organized services, and helped keep up the moral. 

            Boat drills were held, but the chance to get on the ice covered, spray drenched decks didn’t provide much relief. Here, too, the chaplains strove to motivate the troops, ensuring each man knew where to go should the ship be torpedoed.  They reminded everyone to keep  their lifejacket handy and to sleep in their clothes.  

            Bill Kramer recalls how effective two of the chaplains were in dealing with tight situations.  “I went to a Friday meeting with the Rabbi and knew of the other three chaplains. We’re down in the kitchen holding services and this big hulking black guy Thomas Fludd says: ‘You’re not disturbing my dice game.’  And they’re going back and forth.  Evidently someone got word to Father Washington.  He came down and quieted that big dude pretty fast.”

            The weather improved late afternoon on the 2^nd.  Warnings from COMINCH that U-boats were in the area and that they had been received through the day and the convoy steered evasive courses.  Additional warnings of a nearby ice pack were also passed to the wary ships.  Tampa screened ahead 4,000 yards from Dorchester, while Escanaba and Comanche were deployed on each flank, 5,400 yards from Lutz and Biscaya, respectively.  

            On the 2^nd five members of a twenty-one boat wolf pack had been directed seek out the convoy.  COMINCH intercepted the message and passed it along to Captain Greenspun who in turn alerted the escorts and the convoy commodore on Dorchester to the danger.  Two thirty-six degree course changes were made later, the first to port at 6:30 PM on the second and the then back to starboard at 9:30 PM. 

            On board Dorchester, Ltjg. Arpaia told Capt. Krecker not to alarm the enlisted men about the warnings, but to advise them to go to bed fully clothed with their life jackets on.  Arpaia also arranged for Army personnel to augment the Navy and merchant lookouts.  Initially seventeen men per watch were detailed and that afternoon the number was doubled, Dorchester now had forty-six lookouts posted around the ship.  From 6:30 PM on, Arpaia kept half his men at their stations and the half fully clothed in their quarters.

            The night was overcast, moonless night with moderate seas with the water temperatures hovering around thirty-two degrees accompanied by below freezing fifteen knots winds.  Storms had churned up the ocean, degrading sound conditions so badly that James Denis, one of Tampa’s sonar men, described them as “mud”.   Dick Swanson, Comanche’s sonar man, agrees that the conditions were lousy.   

            By midnight the convoy was making ten knots and was within 150 miles of Bluie West One.  Arpaia was constantly conferrer with Dorchester’s Master, Hans Jorgen Danielsen, about the twin dangers of ice and U-boats.  “The Captain advised that if we were not torpedoed by 2400 that we had nothing to fear by reason of the fact that we would be in iceberg area/where submarines cannot operate. In fact, the lookouts had been instructed to watch for icebergs, among other things,” wrote the Lieutenant in his Official Report.

            Of the five U-boats, U-223, the northern most one, found SG-19.  Using a tactic proven effective against more heavily guard convoys, Kapitänleutnant Karl-Jürg Wächter stalked the convoy from astern.  His boat’s hull awash, invisible to both eyes and radar, used the wake noise from Lutz and Escanaba to screen his approach from the escort’s sonar.  Coming in on Dorchester’s starboard quarter, he launched five torpedoes. 

            At 12:55 AM one or two torpedoes hit Dorchester’s starboard side amidships.  A muffled explosion was heard in the vicinity of the engine room on Dorchester followed by blast that ripped her open from keel to the top deck, jamming doors and blocking escape routes, knocking out electrical power while ammonia fumes from the refrigeration plant mixed with steam filled the lower decks.  Debris smashed life boat #7 and holed boat #4.  Although the engines were stopped, the ship was still moving forward, listing sharply to starboard as water poured through her wounded side. 

            Captain Danielsen tried to sound a series of six whistle blasts to alert the escorts to his distress, but the steam gave out after the first six.  He chose not fire distress rockets for fear of alerting the attacker and, if he sent a radio call out, it was never received.  Men were trapped in complete darkness below while on deck others struggled to cut away life rafts and launch the remaining life boats.  Only five out of fourteen could be launched and one of these never reached the water.  Two others were swamped after being lowered while two others packed beyond capacity managed to clear away.    

            Screening ahead of the convoy, Tampa was on a starboard sweep 4,000 yards away when her lookouts saw Dorchester apparently turn on her searchlights.  Then, at 12:57AM, Lt. P.B. Capella and his men watched her veer sharply to port and numerous small lights showing about the decks.  General Quarters brought the crew to out of their bunks and the hunt began. 

            Five minutes after the torpedoing, Escanaba’s OOD, Ens. Henry Ringling, and the men on watch saw lights showing on Dorchester and changed course to investigate.  On the far side of the convoy, Comanche’s OOD, Ensign R.W. Anderson noted in the log: “0102 [1:02 AM] Flash seen from S.S. [sic] Dorchester from starboard side amidships of that ship followed by an explosion.  S.S. Dorchester believed torpedoed.” 

            LtCdr. Peterson, Escanaba’s CO, at first thought the troopship had lost a man overboard and was attempting to pick him up.  But, within a minute, he saw the red lights attached to survivors’ life jackets dropping over the side and in the water.  He radioed Capt. Greenspun, called all hands to General Quarters, increased to full speed, and circled the wounded ship.  Capt. Greenspun ordered his ships to illuminate the area in an effort to find the attacker and ordered Escanaba to start picking up survivors with Tampa covering her. 

            As Master Danielsen sounded his ship’s trouble, Biscaya fired two green rockets and made an emergency turn to starboard, colliding with Lutz.  Fortunately, the ships weren’t seriously damaged and the two cripples zigzagged out of the area.  After firing her pattern of starshells and one projectile round at indistinct surface target, Comanche returned to protect the freighters. 

            On board Dorchester’s men struggled with damaged davits to launch the remaining boats and cut life rafts free.  Walter A. Boeckholt was a member of the Army Air Corp detachment. 

“I was thrown against the ceiling and then landed on the floor. By the time I was recovering my senses, the ship was already tilting. I grabbed for the door which hadn't jammed as of yet, and walked out onto the deck. Realizing I didn't have on my 'life preserver, I went back into the room to get it. As I returned on the deck, they all seemed to be yelling, crying, and trying to get to their life boats. Most of the lifeboats were frozen solid or broken in the process of trying to get them loose. I managed to get to my lifeboat, which was already overloaded.  Men still kept jumping in on top of us all the time.

            “When the boat started down, one of the men cut the rope in back of me and dumped everyone in the water except me as my foot got caught between two planks.  I was hanging by one leg with my head about one foot above the water. I got myself up where I could release my leg and crawled up the side of the ship to the deck. Realizing the ship was sinking fast with nothing but dead bodies on deck, I started back down the rope to the water. Since I couldn't swim a stroke, I stuck my foot in the water to see how cold It was. Realizing I hadn't any choice, I stepped off into the water and went down a long ways until the preserver brought me back up to the surface. With the water being 29°, I was already turning numb by this time. I floated a short distance and grabbed onto a big bail of rope.

            “At this time I heard another loud explosion. Since I was about twenty feet from the ship, I didn't experience much suction, but large pieces of debris were dropping all around me. I thought this as the end of my lifetime as my life memories passed through my mind very quickly. At this time the boat split in half and sank within fifteen minutes from the time it was torpedoed. Then, to my luck, an empty doughnut [raft] came floating by. I was able to grab hold of it and to climb in. This doughnut had a rope bottom. Shortly after I climbed in, I helped 3 other soldiers onto the doughnut, and we started to drift off into the darkness. The water was now filled with floating bodies, praying and crying for help.  It reminded me of Christmas as everyone had a trouble light that glowed a very bright red in the darkness attached to their bodies.                                              

            “Although our bodies were covered with oil and were becoming very numb, we were: getting discouraged but decided to see if we could make it until morning. The ocean was quite calm until daylight then it started getting rough and it was snowing very hard.  It was like riding a roller-coaster as one minute we were riding the high waves, then dipping way down, We were completely covered and would rise again and again.  Our dear old doughnut never did tip, so we managed to stay right side up.”

            As the ship sank lower, the turmoil on board increased.  In the midst of this the four chaplains handed out life jackets.  When the last one was gone, they gave up their own and perish when the ship went down twenty-five minutes after being struck.

            Anthony Naydyhor was one of the Army men on lookout duty.  He tossed life jackets overboard for others before jumping in and swimming about 100 feet to a raft holding twenty other men.  

            For those in the water, the struggle for life was often short lived for no man could withstand the temperatures for more than a few minutes.  Bill Kramer made in to the water. “A lot of people got killed when they jumped. They never taught us to wrap your arms around the life preserver so when they ht the water it was snapping their necks.   You could slide down into a boat.  It was pretty scary.  I started out of my cabin without my life preserver, but I went back in and got it, that saved my life.

            “I didn’t get into my right lifeboat because it was way up, but I got into another one.  I didn’t get into the water at all.  It was practically empty and then it filled up. We had thirty-two or thirty-eight people and we were really overloaded, but we were fortunate we had a sailor with us.  The sailor with us said ‘get a way, get away’ so we didn’t get sucked down with the ship.  He told steer into the waves, not broadside.  There were very few life boats left, they got swamped, they were going with the waves and a big would wave came along tipped them over. We rescued one fellow.  The others in the boat didn’t want to pick him up saying ‘we got too many now’.  But the guy sitting next to me and I dragged him on board.  He kept yelling “I’m cold. I cold.’  So I started hitting his feet with an oar. 

            “It was pretty dark out there and pretty lonely.  Everybody had a vest on with a red light on the shoulder.  We were out there for God knows how long and your life flashes in front of you and you start praying.  If you never prayed before, you start praying then.”

            Ltjg. Arpaia:   “I abandoned ship from the Port side on the beam in a doughnut raft. Eight to ten of the gun crew were with me, but most of them ended for themselves. McCoy and McMinn, Seamen First Class, after a doughnut raft had been thrown overboard and after we descended and were standing on the listed vessel, discovered that some soldiers had taken our raft.  Both McCoy and McMinn were entirely on their own and with the ship sinking under them volunteered to climb up to top side and get another raft, which they did, and which they threw down. I then dove into the water, got into the raft and held it for them and they both got in as well as Taylor, S1/c.” 

            Eighteen of the men with Naydyhor thought they was a rescue ship and swam away.  James F. Caulley, the Assistant Purser, in one of the boats also thought he saw a rescue ship about 500 yards away. As he got closer, it took on the aspect of a U-boat’s conning tower.  One of the civil employees, Louis Wachtel, also believes there was a surfaced U-boat in their midst.

            Escanaba was on scene before Lutz could clear the area, forcing the cutter to swing around the wreck since the survivors were on the port side and Lutz was drifting in from starboard.  Once she was in position, her men went to work hauling survivors on board.  At first, many of the survivors were hysterical and either won’t or couldn’t help themselves.  To get save these men, members of the crew swam out from the ship, towed in life rafts and single survivors, secured a line around each survivor and hauled him on board.  During this period and while they lasted, rubber suite were used, the procedure being to stuff a member of the crew into this suit, tie a stout line around his chest, pick him up bodily and lowering him over the side.  After a while these rubber suite became damaged that their use had to be discontinued and men had to go into the water protested only by their clothing, and a life jacket.  During the operations two crew members fell overboard and were promptly rescued by their shipmates.  While in the water, these retrievers were constantly at risk of being injured between the life rafts and the ship's hull. 

            Virtually motionless, the cutter was a sitting duck, but she kept at it for hours, her pinging sonar only a ruse to make any lurking U-boat wary while Tampa patrol relentlessly with weapons manned and sonar sweeping.  Capt. Greenspun’s offensive options were limited by the fact that a depth charge attack would kill the men he was risking his ships to save. 

            Walter A. Boeckholt was one of those men clinging tenaciously to life.  “About 8 o'clock we saw two destroyers which kept missing us.  About this time, one of the fellows died. However, since he was frozen securely to the doughnut, we couldn't throw him overboard to keep us from tipping. We did manage to stay afloat, as they were making their last swing to see if they could spot anymore survivors.

            “As the destroyer Escanaba pulled up beside us and saw us we were still alive, they lassoed each of us from the raft, leaving the dead one in the raft: As my body hit the deck on the destroyer, it really did sound like a bag of frozen bones. They carried me below, cut my clothes from my body with a large knife, and started massaging my body, trying to get circulation moving in my legs and arms.  My body was almost completely frozen. I was still conscious and was able to take a shot of whiskey for stimulation, and it was greatly enjoyed.”

            At 2:26 Comanche was ordered back to relieve Tampa.   When she arrived thirty-six minutes later, Dick Swanson remembers the sight that greeted their return.  “We sailed through acres of bobbing red lights.”  Passing though an oil slick laced with lights, she slowed to pick-up some of the men, but they were already dead or unable to respond or act in any way.  Word had been received that there were now as many as five U-boats shadowing the ships.  Until 3:45 Comanche screened Escanaba from attack.  At that time a lifeboat seen and, by bringing it alongside the cargo net hung from the starboard side forward, forty survivors were brought aboard Comanche.  Captain Curry tells the story.  “The first boat load we picked up were able to climb to the deck via our cargo net hung over the side, but as time elapsed the men on rafts and in boats awash had become so numbed and weakened that they needed help in order to get a bowline around their shoulders so that they could be hoisted aboard.  The old Coast Guard practice of lowering a boat could not be followed because of the submarine menace.”

            Some of new members of Comanche’s crew were so shacked at seeing bodies of dead men mixed with those still alive that they were helpless to do anything but stare until snapped out of their daze by such acts of courage and leadership their shipmates. 

            Bill Kramer:  “We suddenly saw a ship coming towards us, we learned later it was the Escanaba, but supposedly when a ship got hit, a coast guard cutter would come in and pick up survivors for fifteen minutes, never stop, and when that time was up, they took off and the other one would come in.

            We saw this and we’re yelling and screaming and everything else, but they couldn’t hear you of course.  They’re coming towards us and all of a sudden they peeled off and I said ‘that’s it, we’re gone now.’  But then Comanche came up and picked us up.  They had a cargo net thrown over the side.  I was sitting at one end of the life boat and somebody was at the other end and we held onto the net.  Everybody panicked when they started to get off and somebody stepped on my ankle.  I was one of the last ones off, I grabbed the net and started to climb, but couldn’t make it.  I said ‘That’s it; I can’t get up there my ankle’s bothering me too much.’ One of the CG guys, I never knew which one, came down the net, grabbed me and pulled my up.  That guy had a lot of guts coming over the side.”

            In rapidly mounting sea, Charles David, a 6’ 3”, 220 pound Black Steward’s Mate, was one of the men who turned to on Comanche.  Dick recalls the actions of his friend.  “More than anyone else, David never let up, even though he had a severe cold.  At the end, I was too tired to pull myself more than half way up the net.  I heard Charles yell from above: ‘Come on, Swannie, get  on board.’  Then he came down and pulled me up himself.

            According to other crew members, David repeatedly dove overboard to save several men.  He also saved the life of Comanche's executive officer, Lt. Langford Anderson, when Anderson became unable to pull himself out of the water due to exposure. 

            Comanche would screen Escanaba for about an hour to make sure there were no U-boats in the area than she would stop once more to pick up survivors for a period of approximately half an hour.  Capt. Curry knew the risks.  “It was realized that this was dangerous to have both vessels picking up survivors at the same time.  However, conditions were such that it was felt the chance had to be taken.”

            About a mile to leeward Escanaba kept searching for which Walt Boeckholt was grateful.  “Around 8 o'clock we saw two destroyers which kept missing us.  About this time, one of the fellows died.  However, since he was frozen securely to the doughnut, we couldn't throw him overboard to keep us from tipping. We did manage to stay afloat, as they were making their last swing to see if they could spot anymore survivors.

            As the destroyer Escanaba pulled up beside us and saw us we were still alive, they lassoed each of us from the raft, leaving the dead one in the raft.  As my body hit the deck on the destroyer, it really did sound like a bag of frozen bones. They carried me below, cut my clothes from my body with a large knife, and started massaging my body, trying to get circulation moving in my legs and arms. My body was almost completely frozen. I was still conscious and was able to take a shot of whiskey for stimulation, and it was greatly enjoyed.  The survival time in the water was approximately one-half hour. We had survived nine hours when we were finally picked up.  About 8 o'clock we saw two destroyers which kept missing us.  About this time, one of the fellows died.  However, since he was frozen securely to the doughnut, we couldn't throw him overboard to keep us from tipping. We did manage to stay afloat, as they were making their last swing to see if they could spot anymore survivors.

            “As the destroyer Escanaba pulled up beside us and saw us we were still alive, they lassoed each of us from the raft, leaving the dead one in the raft: As my body hit the deck on the destroyer, it really did sound like a bag of frozen bones. They carried me below, cut my clothes from my body with a large knife, and started massaging my body, trying to get circulation moving in my legs and arms. My body was almost completely frozen. I was still conscious and was able to take a shot of whiskey for stimulation, and it was greatly enjoyed.  The survival time in the water was approximately one-half hour. We had survived nine hours when we were finally picked up.”

            Bill Kramer remembers his rescue. “We suddenly saw a ship coming towards us, we learned later it was the Escanaba, but supposedly when a ship got hit, a coast guard cutter would come in and pick up survivors for fifteen minutes, never stop, and when that time was up, they took off and the other one would come in.

            “We saw this and we’re yelling and screaming and everything else, but they couldn’t hear you of course.  They’re coming towards us and all of a sudden they peeled off and I said ‘that’s it, we’re gone now.’  But then Comanche came up and picked us up.  They had a cargo net thrown over the side.  I was sitting at one end of the life boat and somebody was at the other end and we held onto the net.  Everybody panicked when they started to get off and somebody stepped on my ankle.  I was one of the last ones off, I grabbed the net and started to climb, but couldn’t make it.  I said ‘That’s it; I can’t get up there my ankle’s bothering me too much.’ One of the CG guys, I never knew which one, came down the net, grabbed me and pulled my up.  That guy had a lot of guts coming over the side.  The Coast Guard was a great outfit. I don’t know how they did it.” 

            Escanaba saved 132 men from an icy death and Comanche gathered ninety-four. Among Comanche’s haul were Anthony Naydyhor and Thomas M. Gannon.  But, Thomas Gannon died despite two hours the Ship’s Doctor spent trying to revive him. 

The rescue operations continued until 9:30 in the morning, when, there being no more survivors, Escanaba and Comanche resumed course to Bluie West One, arriving there at 3:00 AM on February 4^th.

            After Comanche arrived to relieve her, Tampa had steamed at full speed to overtake Lutz and Biscaya.  During this run, she had several radar contacts, firing starshells to help pierce the darkness.  Among the contacts were two Greenland Patrol vessels Aklak and Sandpiper on their way to assist Comanche and Escanaba.  It wasn’t until 8:10 that found Biscaya and just over two hours later to catch up with Lutz.  Having delivered them safely to the entrance of Skovfjord, Greenland, the cutter reversed course and headed back to continue the rescue. 

            Aircraft and other ships were also enroute to help.  Two aircraft attacked U-boats mid-day of the 3^rd, the first at 9:55, less than sixty miles off Narsarssuak, close to likely track of the convoy and the second at 10:57 within fifteen miles of  where the Dorchester was hit.  

             The Coast Guard Cutter USS Duane, detached from her own convoy and rushed to the scene.  She arrived at 3:25 A.M. on February 4 and began a diagonal search of a five-mile area extending seventy-five miles downwind of the wreck.  Searching through the night, Duane reported seeing dim lights early on February 4, twice on the same relative bearing.  At daylight, she was back over where Dorchester had been hit.  The sea was coated with oil patches, empty life jackets, damaged lifeboats and other small wreckage. 

Al Phaneuf, onboard Duane, would remember: "It always haunts me.  What we saw was debris, loads of debris.  There was one boat with a man sitting upright in it.  We called to him, but got no response.  We risked getting torpedoed if we stopped to check.  To this day, I wonder if he was alive."

            Keeping up her search through the night, dim lights were reported early on the 4th twice on the same relative bearing.  Returning to the position of the torpedoing at daylight, oil patches, empty life jackets, boats and other small wreckage was sighted. 

At 9:37 a submarine was sighted about eight miles distant and Duane headed for it at nineteen knots.  The sub headed directly away and half an hour later it submerged as the cutter closed in.  The position of the U-boat when spotted was also less than twelve miles from the previous day’s sinking.

            Tampa joined her larger sister that afternoon and for another day and a half they combed the area.  Alvin “Rocky” Ford was a member of Tampa’s crew.  “There were bodies in rings and we had to drive right through them.  In the North Atlantic when you hit that water, that’s the way you died, that water was cold.” 

            In the predawn on the 5th, Duane got another sound contact and unloaded a pattern of depth charges.  In the morning light, she passed eight bodies in life jackets, and two swamped life boats, one containing ten, and the other four, bodies of soldiers.  “In one was an Army guy sitting up.  We hailed him several times, but there was no response so they assumed the man was frozen.  We left him there.  It was a tough situation, a tough situation,” says Al. 

            Tampa had retrieved a number of bodies for burial in Greenland.  For Mike Xirinachs it was a night he’s never forgotten.  “We had about thirty-five or forty bodies aboard sitting behind the ash cans on the fantail.  I had never seen death in war up to that point.  They were sitting there, just blocks of ice, all young men, all kids looking like they were alive.  That night I had the watch and that was the scariest thing of my life.”

            Captain Greenspun: “Inasmuch as COMINCH dispatches indicated that a pack of submarines was shadowing this convoy, confirmed by sightings and contacts, it may be that starshell illumination was a deterrent against further attack on the convoy.”

            U-223’s torpedoes claimed one more casualty.  Charles Walter David, .Jr. age twenty-six, died of pneumonia a short time later.  His left behind not only his shipmates on Tampa, but also a wife and child back home.

The German U-boats continued to wreak havoc almost at will.  February 1943 was a cold, cruel month in the Battle of the Atlantic.