Trapped in a Sunken Ship
理查德·米兰达 / Richard Miranda
With a loud noise, the corroded bulkhead collapsed, sealing off the diver' s escape route. Now, as he groped desperately through the dark maze of drowned passageways, he could measure his life expectancy precisely—by the 25-minute supply of air in his tan...
Had I known what was facing me on June 16, 1979, I would never have left the dock. As it was, preoccupied with the wreck of the USS San Diego, I headed my 47-foot diveboat, the Barnacle Bill, out of Jones Inlet, Long Island, N.Y.
An American heavy cruiser, the San Diego had met her fates in 1918 as she escorted cargo ships about ten miles south of Fire Island. Some crew members claimed the warship struck a mine. As a professional diveboat captain I didn' t care why she sank, only that I had a good crew and 20 scuba divers aboard, all eager to hit the water in search of artifacts.
Three and a half hours later, the Barnacle Bill arrived at the wreck, and we dropped our grappling hook. I summoned crew members Dorecn Olsen and Lars Hansen, and we prepared the vessel for the dive. Since Doreen and Lars are both licensed captains, they could attend the Barnacle Bill while I dived.
Once the topside chores were taken care of, I suited up, hit the water with a splash and swam toward the anchor line. The water was crystal clear. Most of the divers were already at the bottom, and I could see their bubbles coming to the surface. What a sight!
Twenty feet down, I could already make out the wreck's dark outline, rising off the bottom like the lonely ruins of a cathedral.
I headed toward the stern, looking for an opening in the hull that I had used on earlier dives. I knew it would take me to the small arms locker where I had previously located boxes of ammunition. The guns themselves should be nearby, I figured: They would make great souvenirs, even if corroded.
Diving into a wreck like the San Diego can be dangerous, and definitely is not for beginners. The vessel is upside down, resting in 102 feet of water, and you can imagine the frigid loneliness that grabs you when you swim into the dark twists and turns of her interior.
I spotted the opening, moved inside and played my light around the front corridor. I knew this section of the wreck well, but as I swam deeper I saw that rusting bulkheads and decaying decks had given way during the winter, changing the shape of the interior considerably.
Suddenly I heard a loud noise. I turned and swam back 40 feet toward the first bulkhead. When I got there, I was struck with terror. The noise I had heard was a bulkhead collapsing against the gap through which I had entered the wreck.
I was trapped.
Into the Maze. My heart beat so loud I could hear it I wanted to scream for help, pray, kick—turn all this into a nightmare from which I could awake. But it was no nightmare. Moreover, my plight was of my own making, I had gone down improperly equipped—no safety line to guide me back, no alternate air supply and, most important, no diving companion. My mind flashed back four years when my colleagues pulled the body of a diver from the same wreck.They found him ten feet from an opening through which he might have escaped. But he had panicked, removed the equipment and made a last-ditch effort to swim to safety. His fingers were scratched to the bone by his vain attempt to tear through the ship' s hull.
I tried to relax, because I knew the more excited I got, the faster I would use up my air. Physically I' m in good shape, I thought, so I should be able to stretch another 25 minutes out of this tank. Bat what should l do ? I had to probe deeper into the wreck and find an opening large enough to escape through.
I thought of the deck guns. Often divers would squeeze through openings in the gun turrets and work their way into the vessel. If I can get to the gun turrets, I' ll have a chance. Since the ship was inverted, however, the gun turrets might be buried under sand on the ocean' s floor.Moreover, going into deeper water would cut into my precious air supply, because the more pressure you have on your body, the more air it takes to fill your lungs.
I cringed at the possibilities, but figured I had to go for the gun turrets as fast as I dared, without getting out of breath.
I found an opening that allowed me to go lower into the ship.As I twisted through a maze of narrow corridors, a thousand ugly visions flashed through my mind. Each one reminded me that I was probably going to die.
