JACK STADSTAD

CONFIDENTIAL

24 August 1943.

From: Cadet-Midshipman Herman Rosen, First Class, (D-1), USMMCC

To: Supervisor, U.S. Merchant Marine Cadet Corps

Via: District Cadet Supervisor, New York.

Subject: Loss of vessel SS JOHN DRAYTON; Report on

The writer was assigned to the subject vessel on 4 September 1942, while the ship was still in the yards at Wilmington, North Carolina, ready for loading. She proceeded to New York, loaded in Brooklyn and left for the Persian gulf on 12 October 1942. The first stop was Guantanimo Bay, Cuba where an accident,( the flywheel on a generator flew off and punctured the main steam line) which killed the Third Assistant Engineer, kept her in bay for 30 days. After a new Third Assistant had been flown from New York, and the necessary repairs made, the vessel proceeded to Panama, arriving there on 19 November, passing through the canal bound for Capetown, South Africa via Cape Horn and the South Atlantic.
From Balboa to Cape town, the vessel proceeded along traveling for 37 days through particularly dirty weather around the Horn. Table Mountain in Cape town came into view on 29 December and the ship anchored there until 2 January, 1943 when she left for Durban to join a convoy. The convoy at Durban was awaiting the arrival of the writer’s vessel and we set sail immediately. For four days, sailing at a speed of eight knots, the convoy arrived at a prearranged longitude and the convoy dispersed while the escort vessel, three British corvettes, returned to Durban.
The trip was uneventful to the Persian Gulf, finally anchoring there on 26 January 1943. There were many ships of different nationalities awaiting the opportunity to unload. After several days, our ship was ordered up the river to Abadan, Iran, where native gangs unloaded our deck cargo of Boston Bombers and medium tanks. The ship was then ordered to Harta Point, in the stream, to await final unloading of the cargo in the holds. Three weeks later, the ship was ordered to Khorramshahr, a bit farther up the Tigris River, where American soldiers worked our cargo. Ships at the dock at that time were the IDAHO, WILLIAM PATTERSON, ROBIN TUXFORD, and several others. On 1 April the ship left the Persian Gulf, completely empty, except for ballast, bound for Bahrien, Arabia where the water tanks were loaded. By April 3^rd, the ship was again on her way bound for Cape town.
After traveling alone for 19 days, at about 2020, on 21 April, a black moonless night, a torpedo struck the ship directly below the #3 lifeboat, slightly aft of the midships house on the starboard side. The writer was on lookout on the docking bridge on the starboard side. The Captain was on watch on the port side. He had seen a silhouette about 20 minutes earlier, and thinking it was a submarine, had ordered the ship a hard right. She was just swinging back to her original position when there was a loud crash. The entire ship was jarred, a great sheet of flame and oil belched from the stack which seemed to shuddered and leant forward. The writer crossed the ship to the port side and asked the Captain for further orders. He directed the writer to stay with him and together they ran down to ascertain the damage. There was a large hole in the side plates with water rushing into the engine room. The torpedo had struck directly into the generator platforms blowing away #3 lifeboat and partially wrecking #1.
The crew was calmly going to abandon ship stations donning lifejackets. It was quite remarkable, the self-control that was displayed at the time. There was no shouting or confusion. The writer started down to the engine room to attempt to help Engine Cadet-Midshipman Jack Stadstad who was on watch, the Third Assistant Engineer or the oiler or fireman, but the smoke and steam prevented the writer from going down the ladder. Suddenly the fireman appeared on deck, covered from head to foot with oil and burns. The writer questioned him about the others and he was told there as no hope for them. He fireman, fortunately, had been standing near an escape vent.
In the meantime, the crew was ready at the falls to abandon ship. The writer went to the chart-room and picked up the sextant, Bowditch and all the charts on the table. Spotting the ship’s log in the corner, the writer carried that along too. After placing them in #4 boat, the writer returned to his quarters for a raincoat and flashlight, taking the blanket from his bed on the way out. Upon reaching the lifeboat, the Captain again gave orders to abandon ship. The releasing gear was tripped before the writer could get into the boat, and after a little swim, three of us managed to scramble into the #2 boat.
Our lifeboat stood by the ship waiting for anyone else who might still be aboard. Nick Tobiassen, an A.B. and the Chief Mate came down a manrope into the board, and on orders from the Mate, the boat shoved off. The seas were quite high and it was impossible to get the oars out because of the crowded condition of the boat. Only the oil slick prevented the boat from capsizing as it drifted off. Many of the men were very sick due to the oil and the sea, but after about ten minutes, we managed to ship the rudder and get out two pairs of oars.
Suddenly, about 50 yards off our port beam the surface of the water broke and the conning tower of a submarine appeared. The writer could distinguish two officers on the tower and when one lighted a cigarette, the writer was able to see his face for an instant. It was not Japanese. Another submarine farther off to the left also surfaced and for 5 minutes they used their blinker lights in code signal. The first submarine, paying no attention to the men in the writer’s lifeboat, approached our ship, which was still afloat. They opened fire with deck guns, and the writer counted16 shots before the lifeboat drifted away. There may have been more because when our boat left the scene the JOHN DRAYTON was still afloat in spite of the accurate shelling of the sub’s crew.
The submarine was new, completely black, with no markings. It was about 175 feet long and exceedingly trim. Others in the boat claimed they saw a third submarine, but the writer failed to see it.
In the writer’s life boat, the Chief Mate was very sick and the Third Mate badly shaken, so the writer assumed charge and ordered Nick Tobiassen to put up the sail. It was too dark, and everyone too sick to do much else. The writer kept the boat headed into the seas and we sat tight till dawn.
There is no point in relating our experiences in the life boat. We spent 29 days and 30 nights in the boat and each night was hell. We were wet and frozen at night and baked and thirsty by day. We capsized after six days and all 24 men thrown into the sea. It was a miracle of seamanship that the boat was righted, but it was baled out and all scrambled back into it, but we lost precious foods, flares, charts, etc. We drank salt water, experimented drinking urine, experimented making condensers, etc. We ate two raw flying fishes, chewed on wood in the boat, but to no avail. Day by day, we were forced to put dead comrades over the side and one morning as many as five.
We were spotted by planes and signaled by blinker light that help was on its way on two different occasions, but it never arrived. The first to die was the old Bos’n and the others followed in short order. A word of praise is due Tobiassen who was elected by all to take command after the Mate walked over the side. Tobiassen was a tireless worker, mending the sail, improvising a new rudder, cheering us all with his good sense and limitless knowledge. When he died the writer was in charge, but felt immature and unequal to the task. Some men were mad and others too weak to move. There were nine left of the original 24.
We continued to sail NNW hoping to see land. Day and night we would strain our eyes for some sign of hope and when finally a plane droned over us, we remembered the other planes and other promises of rescue and refused to become excited. At that moment, Cadet-Midshipman Thomas Kellegrew died in the writer’s arms.
Finally a Greek freighter loomed into view and the survivors were rescued. We were taken to Durban, South Africa. Since we were only 20 miles from land when rescued, we were all in the hospital within two hours. Three others died in the hospital. Cadet-Midshipman Kellegrew’s body was brought in and the funeral was held in Durban on 22 May 1943.
The writer spent seven weeks in Addington Military Hospital and told to stand by after discharge, after three weeks, was assigned as passenger to the GEORGE W. GOETHALS, U.S. Army Transport, departing from Capetown. We arrived in the United States on Monday, 16 August 1943.
Of the four Cadet-Midshipmen assigned to the JOHN DRAYTON, two died. Cadet-Midshipman Jack Stadstad was killed in the engine room, and Cadet-Midshipman Thomas Kellegrew died in the life boat. The other Cadet-Midshipman, Horton Dietz was repriated along with the writer on the GEORGE W. GOETHALS and reported to the District Supervisor upon arrival in New York.

HERMAN ROSEN