This is the story of a man and a ship. He was a lieutenant commander in the U.S. Navy but the ship was not his command. Yet on May 23, 1939, it seemed as if all this man’s vision, doggedness and life’s work had been shaped directly toward that place and that moment when the submarine “Squalus” fell 243 feet to the bottom of the sea, trapping fifty-nine men within her. He was Charles Bowers Momsen, 43, an Annapolis graduate who entered the submarine service in 1921 and for years had been a thorn in the flesh of the Navy establishment. Single-mindedly, and sometimes single-handedly, he had pioneered whatever submarine rescue devices the Navy now had, including the famous “Momsen Lung.” On that May morning, “Swede” Momsen was in his Washington office when he learned that the “Squalus,” newest and proudest addition to the fleet, had plunged to the bottom of the Atlantic off the New England coast while making a test dive. A hastily assembled rescue fleet raced to the spot. At its center was the rescue ship “Falcon,” with Momsen in charge of all diving operations - the gear, the divers and the diving bell, a huge rescue chamber to be lowered to a sunken submarine and sealed against its escape hatch to enable the men trapped within to be brought to the surface. This would be its first trial. Through hour after agonizing hour the rescue efforts proceeded while frantic wives and families on shore awaited the outcome. It was known that there were survivors, but who they were and how many remained obscure. Men and equipment were strained to the breaking point. The bell descended, sealed against the escape hatch, took on some of the trapped men, climbed slowly up to the surface again to discharge them, once more descended. Twice, three times, a fourth. The saga of the raising of the “Squalus” thereafter, and Momsen’s extraordinary career in the years during and after the Second World War - he retired as a vice admiral in 1955 - rivals the excitement of the rescue itself.
