But while this looks a little like
Wading out into the ocean, I splash in water up to my chest to reach the wreck. As the sea washes over and around the hull, I can see that it is firmly bedded down in the sand and that the sea has opened a hole in the iron plates that form the hull. Crawling inside, and ignoring the pain as the sharp metal bites deeply into a shin, I ponder the spider-web lattice of thick iron bars that brace the chamber. I’ve never seen anything like it. The hull form looks to be from around the year 1900, but these iron bars look like they’ve been forged with a heavy hammer, like something out of the 1850s. After crawling out and nicking myself again, I scramble up the slippery top of the submarine to reach the conning tower. It is small, barely big enough for me to fit, and as I look in, I hear the booming of the surf and feel a rush of cool salty air hit my face. There’s more than one hole in this hull.
Balancing myself on my hands, I drop into the hatch. My feet catch on a lip — the seat for another, inner hatch, perhaps. But it is missing, and so, camera in one hand, I carefully line myself up and drop into what I hope will be chest-high water. It turns out to be only waist deep. My feet hit sand, and I’m suddenly in darkness as my eyes adjust. I grab my camera and hit the flash, and see that I’m in an iron cavern that’s dripping with water and rust. I hit the flash again and look into the water. I wish I hadn’t. This submarine, half filled with sand, looks like a perfect haven for the region’s well known venomous sea snakes. At this moment, I know exactly how Indiana Jones felt in the Well of Souls. “Snakes. Why did it have to be snakes?” I jump up, catch the lip of the hatch and pull myself out of the hull just as my imagination pictures a tiny pair of fanged jaws reaching for my ankle. As I jump off the sub and wade to shore, I speculate about just what it is I’ve found on this deserted beach. Whose ancient submarine is it, and how did it end up here?
The truth is often stranger than fiction. A return trip to the beach in November 2002, this time armed with a tape measure and a pad for making notes, gives me more than a basic understanding of the submarine. I e-mail photographs of it around the world to colleagues who study old submarines. No one can figure it out, though one researcher, Gene Canfield, says it looks similar to
I sit up and take notice. After all, the wreck lies in the Bay of Panama, in an island group known as the Pearl Archipelago. But is it really a Civil War submarine that vanished from the pages of history after 1869? Could a submarine survive, half submerged on a tropical beach, for more than 130 years? Rich sends me a copy of a 1902 article on pioneer submarines of the nineteenth century. It reproduces a profile plan of
But how does
Mark answers his phone with a laconic drawl that quickens with excitement as I tell him what I’ve found on a Panamanian beach. I e-mail him a handful of photos, and as he opens them on his computer 3,000 miles away, I hear the subtle but sharp intake of his breath. That’s a good thing, because Clive is right. No one knows Civil War submarines better than Mark Ragan. He literally wrote the book on them, and he now turns his considerable energy and skill to dig deep into the archives to learn more about
War spurs terrible and magnificent inventions, often taking ideas and concepts developed in peacetime and testing them hurriedly in times of crisis. During the Civil War, technology played a significant role. Among other innovations, the war introduced new guns and more powerful cannon, ironclad warships with rotating turrets, undersea mines — and the submarine. There was nothing new about each of these inventions save their first practical and deadly use in combat. The pioneering naval accomplishments of the war started with the attack on the wooden fleet of the Union Navy at Hampton Roads, Virginia, by the Confederate ironclad CSS
Another innovation was the use of an electrically detonated “torpedo,” or mine, one of which sent the Union’s ironclad
As for submarines, both sides embraced this new technology. Inventors proposed various underwater craft and built some that operated with various levels of success, killing their builders and crews on more than one occasion. A number of projects were launched, some in secrecy, others more publicly, leaving behind an unfortunately incomplete record of pioneer submarines and submariners. But the rediscovery of Julius Kroehl’s
Julius Kroehl was a German-born immigrant who came to America in 1838. He studied to become an engineer, and in 1845 he won a U.S patent for a flange-bending machine for ironwork. In 1856, he was well enough established to win a contract from New York City to build a cast-iron “fire watch tower” in Manhattan’s Mount Morris (now Marcus Garvey) Park. In an age before fire alarm boxes, volunteer fire fighters watched the city from towers, ringing a bell to sound the alarm.
But Kroehl’s real interests lay underwater. At the same time that he was engaged in his fire tower project, Kroehl and his business partner, Peter Husted, were contracted by the City of New York to remove part of Diamond Reef, near Governor’s Island in the East River, as it was a hazard to navigation. According to the
