Thirty-five feet of the stern was blown off. Living compartments and store-rooms in the after part of the ship were wrecked or gone. The equivalent of 850 pounds of TNT, in torpedo and depth-charges, had exploded on the Cassin's fantail. Twenty-odd men were in the wrecked living compartments when the torpedo exploded. Their escape was almost miraculous. Dazed by the shock, they automatically closed water-tight doors and performed other emergency duties, but could never tell just how they did it or got away. All declared that from the instant of the explosion they were absolutely blinded. Forty-five members of the crew, including the chief petty officers, lost all their belongings except the clothes they had on. But that did not bother them. The ship was saved, they were still alive, and that was happiness enough.
The Chauncey, one of our small, old-type destroyers, was rammed and sunk by the steamship Rose near Gibraltar at 1:46 a. m., November 19th. Three of the officers—Lieutenant Commander Walter E. Reno, commanding, Lieutenant (junior grade) C. F. Wedderburn, and Ensign H. G. Skinner—and 18 men were lost.
On December 6th, the Jacob Jones was sunk, with the loss of two officers—Lieutenant (junior grade) Stanton F. Kalk, of Washington, D. C., and Gunner Harry R. Hood, of Atlanta, Ga.—and 62 men of the crew. The Jones was proceeding alone from off Brest to Queenstown when, at 4:21 p. m., a torpedo was sighted rushing toward the ship. The rudder was put hard left, the destroyer put on all its speed, but could not maneuver in time to escape.
Broaching and jumping clear of the water, the torpedo submerged again 50 or 60 feet from the ship, striking in the fuel-oil tank, three feet below the water-line. The deck was blown clear for twenty feet, a number of men were killed; the auxiliary room wrecked, a torpedo-tube thrown into the air, the mainmast and radio apparatus were carried away. The vessel settled aft immediately, and the after deck was awash. The gunnery officer, Lieutenant J. K. Richards, ran aft to set the depth-charges "safe"; but they were already under water. Rafts and lifeboats were launched, circular lifebelts and splinter masts set adrift to provide floatage for the crew.
The ship went down in eight minutes. Most of the men were on rafts or wreckage, but some were swimming astern of the vessel. Lieutenant Commander David W. Bagley and other officers jumped overboard as the destroyer began to sink. Officers and men bore themselves with great coolness. "Bagley's handling of the situation after his ship was torpedoed," wrote Admiral Sims, "was everything I expected in the way of efficiency, good judgment, courage, and chivalrous action."
Going down stern-first the destroyer twisted through 180 degrees, as she swung upright. As she turned, her depth-charges exploded, killing or stunning the men near by.
Twenty minutes later the submarine appeared, two or three miles distant, then gradually approached and picked up two men from the water, Albert De Mello and John F. Murphy, whom she carried to Germany as prisoners. All the survivors in sight were collected, and rafts and boats gotten together. The ship's radio had been wrecked, preventing the sending out of distress signals. Two shots had been fired from her guns in the hope of attracting some nearby ship, but none was in hearing. There seemed no prospect of assistance except from shore, and leaving Lieutenant Richards in charge of the rafts, Lieutenant Commander Bagley, the ship's commander, and Lieutenant Norman Scott, the navigating officer, with four men, started to row to the nearest land to secure assistance.
Night soon came on, and the men on the rafts prepared for a long vigil. When help would arrive, none could tell. Shivering from cold, shaken by the experience through which they had passed, the survivors kept up their courage with the amazing cheerfulness of the sailor in stress and disaster. Their very lives depending on keeping warm, men who had thick clothing divided it with those more thinly clad. Officers and men shared their belongings and worked together for the common safety.
One small raft, which had been separated from the others, was picked up at 8 p. m. by the steamship Catalina. The other survivors remained in their perilous position all night, and it was not until 8:30 o'clock next morning when they were discovered and rescued by the British steamship Camellia.