ith hundreds of Allied ships sent to the bottom by enemy torpedoes, the annals of the US Merchant Marine are filled with countless tales of courage, bravery, fortitude, and sacrifice. Merchant seamen gave their all and more than 5,000 seamen lot their lives in World War II. This story that I’m about to relate to you is about a seaman who survived everything the frigid Arctic could throw at him, and then some. His name is August Wallenhaupt, a tall, wellbuilt 26-yr-old fireman raised in post-WW II Germany. Seeing the many excesses fo the Nazi regime in his native Bremen, where he grew up, Wally, as he preferred to be called, could not wait to emigrate to the United

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Torpedoed in the wintry Arctic, a plucky Seamen did his best to keep his shipmates alive in freezing seas States where he intended to eventually become a US citizen. Looking for adventure, Wally shipped out as a American-Hawaiian teenage deck hand on an Orient-bound tanker and Steamship Company hat had made several voyages around the world by the badge. time America entered the war. Signing articles as a fireman on the Russia-bound American-Hawaiian Lines 6,076-ton freighter SS Puerto Rican, the enthusiastic young seaman had

no inkling this was to be a voyage that would change his life forever. With veteran Capt. Robert A. Oliver in command, the SS Puerto Rican [pictured below] sailed to Murmansk in Convoy HW 51B. Captain Oliver had

every right to be proud of his pristine ship, built in 1919 at Vancouver, Washington. She was well-founded, fast, and reliable as merchantmen went. In the freighter’s crew of 41 men and 19 Naval gunners were seamen of eight nationalities who all got along better than most under crowded wartime conditions. Though very young and led by a well-meaning freshly commissioned Ensign, the Naval Armed Guard team seemed to know how to handle the 3in/50DP gun on the bow, the 5-in/51 on the stern and the four 20mm anti-aircraft guns flanking the mid-ship superstructure. Best of all, the engine room “black gang,” including fireman Wally Wallenhaupt, appeared equally proficient in their duties. Heavily escorted, the convoy left Loch Ewe, Scotland, on 22 December 1942 under cloud-laden skies and a fast falling barometer. En route, they encountered two raging winter storms, including one of Force 10 winds on the Beaufort scale (60-mph and waves 30-ft high). Temperatures were so low that the heavily laden merchant ships reported they even had ice inside their bulkheads with thick slabs coating every deck. On 31 December 1942, the plodding convoy’s escorts encountered the German sea raiders - cruiser Admiral Hipper, armored battle-cruiser Lutzow, and several destroyers. The encounter became an all-out melee with losses on both sides in what was later referred to as “The Battle of the Barents Sea.” Lutzow fired her triple 11-in guns at the convoy, with shell splinters hitting one merchant ship, American-owned (Panama-flag) SS Calobre. By 5 January 1943, all 15 merchant ships arrived at Murmansk. Safely delivering her cargo despite the German attack, Wally’s ship prepared for a quick turn - around and return to Scotland. As a result, SS Puerto Rican was one of the 30 empty merchant ships which left Murmansk in ballast in Convoy RA-53 on March 1, 1943. Soon scattered by storms, the convoy was warned that U-boats were lurking ahead of them, poised to attack. The wind-whipped Allied seamen did not have long to

wait. On March the 5th, in freezing weather, U-255 sank the American ship SS Executive, then put a torpedo into the number one hold of the SS Richard Bland. The torpedo failed to explode. Later that day, twelve Norwegian-based Heinkel He 111Ks came in for a shallow diving attack. The convoy’s terrific A/A barrage caused the planes to ineffectively drop their bombs and fly off into the gray murky skies without making a single hit. Struggling in heavy seas, many welds on the Liberty ship SS J. L. M. Curry [Pictured Right] fractured on March 7th causing the near-new vessel fo founder the following day. Breathless hours later a torpedo from U-586 found the earlier damaged SS Richard Bland, splitting her in half. Then the SS John H. B. Latrobe broke down and had to be towed to Iceland. That night, a howling

winter gale struck the battered merchantmen causing the SS Puerto Rican to straggle from the convoy. Now alone and protected only by the guns of her Naval Armed Guard crew, the ice-laden freighter could only hope to remain concealed by heavy seas and poor visibility. Then, without warning, the storm abated into freezing but clear skies and a frigid, restless sea. On March 9th, 1943, Capt. Oliver’s Puerto Rican was suddenly torpedoed by U586 about 100-mi northeast of Iceland (66.44N; 10.41W). Due to the severe weather and ice coating, three of the ship’s four life boats were frozen and useless. When the fourth boat hit the water, its after-fall would not release due to the thick ice, causing the boat to capsize. Eight men swam to a cork life raft and six of them later transferred to a larger raft. When the torpedo struck, the temperature was 30 deg. below zero and the water stood at a cool 21 deg’s above zero a -11 deg’s below freezing; the entire ship caked in ice.

Wally Wallenhaupt was asleep in his quarters when the torpedo struck at 2200, but awoke in the dark, immediately aware of what had happened since he had been torpedoed twice before. Taking his time to dress warmly, Wally slipped on his rubber life saving suit, then donned his life jacket over the suit , then donned his life jacket over the suit and put on a knee-length woolen seaman’s coat with a hood to protect his head. He then tied the laces of his waterproof boots, as ready as would ever be to face the freezing Arctic sea. LIFESAVING SUITS Cargo or tank vessels of over one thousand gross tons shall be provided with one lifesaving suit for each person on board. The life suit should always either be worn or placed near at hand. When not worn, keep it in the "made-ready position," that is, roll it down over the boots so you can step into it easily. The deck crew should wear the suit rolled down to the waist while on duty. The engine crew should have it near, for instance, in the engine passage or on the boat deck in the "made-ready position." If you do not wear the suit while sleeping, keep it close at hand. Wear the kapok jacket, approved for use with your type of suit, at all times when outside inland waters. The clothing worn inside the suit should be as warm as practicable when traveling in winter or in cold latitudes. Each type of approved suit has individual characteristics and you should become acquainted with these in order that the suit may serve more effectively. When wearing the suit in the water, keep your arms and legs in motion as much as possible. The motion will aid blood circulation and keep the air circulating within the suit. If you want to decrease the water pressure on the body, kick the legs up so as to float horizontally. If you have to stay in the water for a long period, lift your arms high up to aid blood circulation. It is very difficult to make any sort of coverall suit absolutely watertight around the neck. An effective method of keeping out water is to wrap a medium-sized bath towel or the like around the neck. Loosely fasten the towel in the back of the suit at the neck level. Should the suit become flooded by leakage or a puncture, the kapok life preserver worn with it will keep you afloat.

practice getting into your suit frequently. Do it in the dark and in confined spaces. Many wise seamen wear their suits at all times with the upper section tucked in and lashed about the waist. Notice light (red), knife and whistle attached to suit. Check this gear on your suit constantly. When you are not using the suit, store it away from oil and grease, steam pipes, and heated locations such as the fidley and steering engine room. Bear in mind that lifesaving suits are made of rubber. They are not easily replaced if damaged. Take care of your suit. A kit of repair material similar to that used for repairing automobile inner tubes should be carried on vessels provided with lifesaving suits. If the suit is wet, do not put it away before you wipe it off. If available, sprinkle the suit with a good grade of talcum powder, which will preserve the rubber. The chief purpose of a lifesaving suit is to keep you dry if you have to go overboard into the water. Preventing your clothing and body from getting wet will keep the body temperature higher and consequently allow you a longer survival time if you cannot get onto a raft or into a lifeboat. Your lifesaving suit will protect you from exposure. In the colder latitudes and during the winter months make every effort to get into your suit and help your shipmates don theirs before getting into the boats. If you lack time to do this, take the suit into your boat or onto the raft, and put it on when you are able. He went out to his position at number four boat and found other members of the crew desperately trying to free the lifeboats from the ice. They rammed the boats with there shoulders but “it was line ramming the Empire State Building and expecting it to fall. The boat finally worked loose and was lowered into the water. By then, Wally noticed that the ship was now sinking fast and figured that the lifeboat would be capsized because the heavy ice on the falls made it impossible to release the lines. Wally threw himself out of the boat and tried to get clear of the sinking ship; he was only 4ft from the side of the freighter when she went down in less that 15min. Luckily, there was no deadly suction and he remained afloat with little effort.

A short distance away, he saw one of the small doughnut rafts; it was impossible to swim but the swirling seas soon brought the raft to him and he climbed aboard. It was then Wally noticed that he’d lost his heavy fur-lined gloves and his fingers were getting numb. Within 10-min, Wally pulled seven men aboard the tiny raft. Their hands were beginning to freeze and they tried to warm them by holding them over the automatic flare light on the raft. A large wooden raft floated by. Wally grabbed it and secured the two rafts together. Five of the men crawled over to the wooden raft. Two seamen, however, were sitting motionless in the doughnut raft. Wally tried in vain to revive them, but realized they were fast succumbing to the cold. He tried to join the men on the other raft and found the he had no control over his legs from the hips down. The other men helped him crawl aboard. They huddled together in the center of the raft and the heavy seas, breaking wildly over the tiny craft, covered them with a sheet of ice. One man went out of his mind and kept begging for help. All of them prayed. The tried to pray aloud but the water got in their mouths and froze as the howling gale cut all other sounds. Thirty-foot-high seas pitched the raft unmercifully. Shortly, a huge wave washed one of the men overboard. Wally shivered throughout the night, but the other men were numb and mute with cold. As a vague frosty dawn rose in the east, he noticed another man had disappeared and soon he helplessly watched a third seaman slip over the side. It was then, with the sun soon above them, that Wally realized so few of the crew of 41 merchant seamen and 19 Naval gunners were still alive; that Capt. Oliver was nowhere in sight. During the second night, Wallenhaupt heard someone call out, “Auggie, boy!” The words were spoken softly, almost in a whisper, and Wally knew it was the voice of his buddy on the ship - a young Navy gunner who slept in the bunk below him, Seaman 1C John Waldron Noonan, US Naval Armed Guard. At daybreak, he saw that Noonan also was gone and assumed that it was he who had called to him as he was washed over the side. The only other man left on the raft was lying on his stomach, his head bare and iced over. He couldn’t budge the man; his body frozen solidly to the bottom of the raft.

August Wallenhaupt had now been on the raft 36-hrs without food or drink. He quenched his thirst somewhat by compressing snow into an ice ball and lapping it with his tongue. He lay on the pitching raft beside his frozen shipmate, drifting off into semiconsciousness as the seas continually washed over him. Shortly before daybreak on the third day, Wally heard voices. He opened his eyes and looked around in the darkness but saw nothing. The voices, however, kept haunting him, coming back throughout the long night. He prayed aloud to drown out the sound. It was nearly light when the voices came back, stronger now. “Hello, there! Hello, there!” they seemed to call. He said his prayers more loudly and buried his head into the hood.

HMS ST. Elstan (FY-240)

Suddenly, Wally felt a violent bump against the side of the raft and when he looked up, he could make out the towering hull of a destroyer. The men on the deck of HMS St. Elstan (YF-240) broke out into cheers when they saw him move. Delirious and half-frozen, Wally was carried into the ship’s sick bay where they gave him a hot cup of Bovril, a few sips of water, and a shot of morphine. His hands and feet were wrapped in ice-cold towels. He was safe now, but then the real ordeal began. His hands were swollen three times their normal size and were white with frost. Wally Wallenhaupt was taken ashore at an Iceland port and transferred to the transport USS Gemini (AP-75). In the transport’s sick bay they wrapped his legs in cotton and hoisted them on pulleys. He was kept alive by frequent injections of blood plasma and intravenous feeding. Morphine was injected at 4hr intervals and the pain was almost unbearable. Crewman August “Wally” Wallenhaupt, soon became the subject of one of the most fascinating stories ever told about our merchant seamen in WW II when his saga was printed in a Boston newspaper a few weeks later. Emerging as the undaunted sole survivor of the ill-fated Puerto Rican, he not only symbolized the sufferings that thousands of other merchant seamen had to endure during torpedoing, but he also typified the same courage and cheerfulness that was indicative of all those who have looked death in the eye on the high seas. Once rescued, half-frozen and semi-conscious from a damaged life raft by the British destroyer, Wally was soon informed that gangrene had set into his legs

and fingers. Both of his frozen legs would have to be amputated at the knee, plus all the fingers on his right hand and all but the index finger and thumb on his left hand - eight fingers in all - if the doctors were to save his life. That he had survived at all was a true miracle. Thanks, however, to his indomitable spirit, quick thinking, and the sharp eyes of a lookout on the British destroyer, he was soon on the road to recovery. Taken to a hospital on the second day, he came down with pneumonia and pleurisy. It was here that they amputated his legs and fingers. Then came a transfer to the States where he received his final treatments at the Staten Island Marine Hospital. During his lengthy recuperation, Wally learned to write, using the thumb and knuckle of the index finger. Thanks to his perpetual good humor, he became a legend and inspiration to many other severely injured seamen at the hospital. Since every story of unusual courage is bound to wind up with a happy ending, August Wallenhaupt soon fell in love with one of the clerks in the hospital and they eventually married. Thanks to the two artificial legs donated by a local seamen’s union. Wally walked out of the hospital three-months later with his August Wallenhaupt plays cards with another seaman at the bride-to-be, plus the help of Staten Island Marine Hospital. Despite his severe injuries, a cane. He also had a job he retained his smile and happ, optimistic outlook waiting at the Americandetermined to make a useful life for himself after the war. Hawaiian Shipping Company. Following the war, Wally entered the marine insurance profession, which he made his life’s work. A true hero in ever sense of the word, the way he overcame his horrendous injuries became a lifelong inspiration to everyone he met. END