DeFrees | family-ancestry

The DeFrees name stems from the initial name of deForest which can solidly be traced back in our family to an individual by the name of Waitier deForest, born in 1150, presumably in Saint Andre En, Cambresis, France. There is also historical reference to a deForest in 1096 who was likely a Templar in the first Crusades, but more research is needed to make a direct family connection with this individual.

The name itself represents a location in France where the family originated since "de" in French essentially translates to "from" in English. Therefore the family originated from a village or region called Forest. The name remained deForest in some cases even to this day in at least one family line. Otherwise, it morphed over time in a number of other family lines most likely due to a variety of pronunciations and census misspellings beginning as early as 1720 or so, with Joseph DeFrees the 2G grandson of the first family emigrant, Jesse deForest.

Today the various lines of the family exist with (but are not necessarily limited to) the following surname spellings: DeFries, DeFrees, DeFreece, DeForeest, DeFreest, DeFreese, DeForest, DeFriece, DeFriese and possibly DeFriest.

Francis Marion DeFrees

Circa 1948

2. DeFrees Family Legacy

December 13, 2014

Walloon Settlers Monument

Battery Park, New York City

Jesse deForest Monument-- Today, there is a Monument in Battery Park, New York City (designed by the architect of the Lincoln Memorial) called the Walloon Settlers Memorial.

That monument was given to the City of New York by the Belgian Province of Hainaut in honor of the inspiration of Jessé de Forest in founding New York City. Baron de Cartier de Marchienne, representing the government and Albert I, King of Belgium, presented the monument to Mayor John F. Hylan, for the City of New York May 18, 1924.

There is also a monument in Jessé de Forest's honor in Avesnes, France, the College Jesse de Forest and Jesse de Forest Avenue. The monument in Avesnes, France translates as follows: TO JESSE DE FOREST HIS FAMILY AND HIS BRAVE COMPANIONS FROM WALLOON COUNTRY WHO, LOOKING FOR A NEW WORLD WHERE THEY COULD IN PEACE AFFIRM THEIR BELIEFS AND PRACTICE THE REFORMED RELIGION, CONTRIBUTED GREATLY TO THE FOUNDATION OF NEW YORK THE LARGEST CITY IN AMERICA WHERE THE CHILDREN OF JESSE DE FOREST : ISAAC, HENRI AND RACHEL SETTLED IN 1637.

The New York Battery Park monument reads as follows: PRESENTED TO THE CITY OF NEW YORK BY THE CONSEIL PROVINCEIAL DU HAINAUT IN MEMORY OF THE WALLOON SETTLERS WHO CAME OVER TO AMERICA IN THE NIEU NEDERLAND UNDER THE INSPIRATION OF JESSE DEFOREST OF AVESNES THEN COUNTY OF HAINAUT ONE OF THE XVII PROVINCES.

Corresponding monument found in Avesnes, France. At right is an enlarged version of the French momument with enhanced lettering. The English version is in the paragraphs above.

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3. Round Robin to the British Ambassador

December 19, 2014

Jesse's first petition to the British to emigrate and settle about 50 Walloon families in the colony of Virginia, was to be accompanied by their list of "demands" as well as a "round robin" listing of names of all to be transported to the new colony.

On February 5, 1621, Jesse de Forest sent a petition, to Dudley Carleton, 1st Viscount Dorchester, English ambassador to The Hague. It applied for permission to settle about fifty Walloon and French Huguenot families that planned to follow the Puritans to America (then called the West Indies) in Virginia. De Forest asked to dispose over a territory of eight English miles radius.

Known as the Round Robin, this document is now preserved in the British Public Record Office. On August 11, 1621, the Virginia Company gave an agreement in principle, but raised some restrictions. The worst one was the refusal to have the settlers dwell together in one autonomous colony. De Forest declined the proposition.

This is a photo of the actual round robin document presented to the British by Jesse deForest. ....see more information on this in the posting "Jesse deforest, The First DeFrees Emigrant...

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Round Robin Petition signed by Jesse deforest, 1621

4. Jesse deForest: The First DeFrees Emigrant

December 18, 2014

This is where it all begins, the incredibly rich history of our family and this is only the beginning. The family’s first emigrant was Jesse deForest (1576-1624). To those of us who happen to be children of the daughters of Frank and Agnes DeFrees, Jesse is our 9G grandfather, G standing for “great.” It is important to understand why I use the term emigrant here because Jesse (to the best of our historical knowledge) sadly never completed the journey to America. However, the story of his efforts to create a new life for 50 persecuted Walloon families is nothing less than historically profound. The following commentary has been taken from a number of sources, not the least of which was from the original document entitled “The deForests of Avesnes (and of New Netherland), A Huguenot Thread in American Colonial History – 1494 To The Present Time”, Published by The Tuttle, Morehouse & Taylor Co., 1900.

Please understand that with the incredible amount of information available, it is very difficult to keep this from getting lengthy. I have tried to capture and relate to all of you the most important and meaningful information in the briefest possible format.

First and foremost I will set the stage of Jesse’s time period. Such circumstances certainly would have contributed to his persistence in obtaining passage to the New World for French speaking Walloon Church and Huguenot families. This was indeed a feat no less significant than the 1620 voyage of the Puritans on the Mayflower.

Jesse's Ship Pigeon or Duyfken

Jesse was born in Avesnes, France on October 22, 1576, just four years after the St. Bartholomew’s Day massacre of August 1572. This was a period in French history known as “The French Wars of Religion (1562-1598). As with so many things today, the massacre was politically motivated extremism sourced rudimentarily in the Catholic Church with the intent to destroy the Huguenot faith. Huguenots were French Protestants and followers of John Calvin. The massacre, although originally inspired by King Charles IX of France to do away with the Huguenot leadership, was carried out by Catholic mob violence. This horrific event began in Paris and extended further and further into the countryside for weeks until the Huguenot movement was crippled by the loss of its leadership and most all of its faithful. Historical reference to estimated death tolls vary considerably depending on source and range from 5,000 to 100,000.

“The young Huguenot (Jesse) was probably imbued from his earliest days with hatred for the enemies of his country and his religion and with longing for freedom and escape from religious persecution. The turbulent scenes of his childhood undoubtedly supplied the motives which underlay the acts of his subsequent life.”

Although it is arguable that the Edict of Nantes issued by King Henry IV in 1596, dictating freedom of religion is considered to be the end of religious oppression in France, persecution of non-Catholics nevertheless continued. This is further attested to with the revocation of that same Edict by the grandson of King Henry IV, King Louis XIV in 1685. Therefore it can be seen that intolerance and persecution of most all “reformist” religions was essentially ongoing for easily more than a century.

The historical record tells us that Jesse was a merchant (most likely a dyer of cloth), perhaps taking over his father’s (Jean deForest) business upon his leaving for Holland. As a merchant he was first located in Sedan, France (1602), and later in Montcornet, France (1607). In 1601, Jesse was married to Marie du Cloux, daughter of Nicaise du Cloux, who was also a merchant of Sedan. By 1608 the couple already had a family of four children (Jean-1604, Henry-1606, Elizabeth-1607 and David-1608) which would in the coming years grow to ten. After 1608, and for a period of at least eight years, little is known about the life and travels of this small deForest family. In May of 1615, records again begin to surface in the form of baptisms, but now from Holland, where we see christenings of four more children, (Jesse-1615, Isaac-1616, Israel-1617 and Philippe-1620.) History tells of quite a number of exiled Huguenots who found more tolerant conditions in Holland at the time. The records of Holland also hint in 1618, of the fact that Jesse and his family may have fallen on difficult times, showing that he pledged his “dyery-chaldron” as collateral on a loan of fifty florins on his house rent.

Without really understanding the breadth of the stimulus driving Jesse, it was in Holland in the 1618 time frame that he began his activities of petitioning for the existence of a Protestant colony which would eventually migrate to America. Considering his unrelenting focus on this task Jesse must have had an overwhelming desire to establish a permanent location where he and like families could practice their Reformed Protestant Christian faith together, in their own language, without the constant fear of persecution.

By 1620 it’s likely that Jesse had an awareness of the successful emigration of the Puritans from Holland. Perhaps it was this that stirred him to increase his efforts to accomplish something similar for his own religious group of families. However, colonizing a new land is not something that one simply undertakes without having political or industrial machinery in place. Such industry would have to derive some benefits from the investment of moving families and trades to a new and perhaps wild and dangerous location. Unfortunately at the time, companies such as The Greenland Company, the New Netherland Company or the Dutch West India Company were just beginning to coalesce to a point where they could be of value to such a venture. As a result of perhaps frustration for attempting to work with such groups, Jesse turned to the British Ambassador, Sir Dudley Carleton. This individual would certainly have some influence in the development of the English Virginia colony in America as well as with the King of England. In early 1621, Jesse introduced himself to the ambassador as “spokesman for three hundred of his fellow Huguenots.” Carleton considered Jesse’s request and seemed to favor the plans of the young deForest. Because of this he responded to Jesse, requesting a list of demands in writing along with the signatures of all members to be a part of this new colony. That list of signatures was the “round-robin,” signed by 56 men and presumably heads of families, (which I had previously posted on this site.) These demands and signatures were presented to Sir Dudley Carleton on July 21, 1621.

Diverting for just a moment, I wanted to give you a sense of what Jesse formulated as his list of “demands.” These were most likely considered to be the essentials necessary to the management of an autonomous group of settlers in unknown settlement surroundings at the time. “The settlers would build and fortify a town, but would need cannon and munitions to defend it. They desired a reservation of sixteen English miles in diameter for their own separate inhabitation, doubtless purposing and trusting that in such an asylum they might preserve their Calvinistic worship and their native tongue.” The demands also spelled out the “rights of inferior lordship” and requested regular commerce with England in the maintenance of the colony. Interestingly enough, these demands also stipulated that of the Walloons, “those of them who could live as nobles might be permitted to style themselves as such.” This was most likely because deForest understood that the Virginia Company might actually require a “ruling gentry” along with an indentured peasantry.

This list of names and demands were eventually forwarded “with friendly endorsement” from Carleton, to the directors of the Virginia Company who in turn made reply on August 11, 1621 with a condition that unfortunately did not sit well with Jesse or his group of fellow emigrants. The Virginia company stated that the “families should not settle in one body with the rights specified, but should be scattered by convenient numbers in the principal cities, boroughs and corporacions in Virginia.” Obviously, since the very purpose of establishing a Walloon colony in America was primarily so the families could preserve their faith and continue to speak French, the response was unacceptable to the group. Jesse was then forced to seek another means of transporting the families to America (then generally referred to as the West Indies.)

As mentioned earlier, a number of enterprising investment companies were just beginning to take hold in northern Europe. Jesse deForest may have been somewhat discouraged as he waited for such business conditions to become more favorable which could support a venture such as his for the relocation of so many families. Since the Dutch were still working on what would eventually become the West India Company, Jesse went ahead and petitioned the local parliament. Therefore he approached the “States of Holland and West Friesland” to secure passage and relocation of the Walloon families to the “West Indies.” Strangely enough, the States passed the petition on to the yet to be established directors of the West India Company to see what they thought of the proposal. At this point, fortunate for Jesse’s group, the West India Company replied with their feelings that such an endeavor might be “very advantageous for the Company,” and “that an effort ought to be made to promote it.” As a result, on April 21, 1623, “the Lords, Gentlemen and Cities of Holland and West Friesland unanimously resolved and agreed that the said Jesse des Forest, as they do hereby charge and authorize him, to inscribe and enroll for the colonies all families having the qualifications requisite for being of use and service to the country, the same to be transported to the West Indies ; under condition that the said Forest so does with the mutual knowledge and correspondence of the magistrates of the respective cities where he may inscribe and enroll as above mentioned, and that he be bound to furnish a report thereof to the Lords Gentlemen.” Within four months, Jesse had done just that and the new world colonists began making final preparations for their journey. They were waiting only for some form of transport, which would eventually come in the way of a fleet of ships under the command of Admiral Willekens. Not surprisingly, Admiral Willekens was on his way to Brazil and other South American countries as opposed to some new American colony.

Ok….stay with me here… Believe it or not, although this was not Jesse’s or his party of colonist’s first choice, it was nevertheless inviting since it was believed that the lands in South America actually may hold the promise of much more in terms of wealth for enterprises such as the West India Company. Under the circumstances Jesse and his band of colonists were forced to make the best of it and although there is some confusion about the exact date, they most likely set sail in July of 1623 from Leiden, Holland. Heads of Walloon families and Jesse deForest were bound for what was referred to as the “Wild Coast” of South America or French Guiana as we would call it today.

Unfortunately, this is the last of which history speaks of our (9G) grandfather Jesse deForest. There are a number of references to colonists landing in Guiana, and then further references to “a company of thirty families, most of whom were Walloons” picked up some 10 weeks after arrival in early 1624. The ship The Netherland, captained by Cornelis Jacobsen Mey of Hoorn, transported, to the best of our knowledge, the Walloon families to New Amsterdam (Manhattan Island) in the colony of New Netherland. Here, due to lack of historical references, it is speculated that Jesse deForest may have died while the group was in Guiana.

Interestingly enough, the colonists arrival in New Amsterdam was very fortunately timed because there they were met in the Hudson River by two vessels, one of friendly Dutch origin and an armed ship from France. The latter was bound to land and take French control of the lower New Amsterdam Island. As you may well imagine, the very last thing a group of Walloons and Huguenots, exiled from France as a result of persecution and slaughter would want, would be a French contingent. There was no way they were going to allow the French Catholics to gain a foot hold in what would be their first chance at real religious freedom in the new world. As recorded by Nicholas de Wassenaer, a physician at Amsterdam, “the Hollanders would not permit him, opposing it by the orders of their High Mightiness the States General and the Directors of the West India Company.” The able bodied Walloons apparently “manned a pinnace carrying two guns and convoyed him out of the river.”

The rest of this story of course becomes history and only many years later is recorded in the following statement: “The first permanent cultivating, town-building settlement of New York had been accomplished by a handful of French-speaking Protestants, recruited and enrolled by Jesse de Forest of Avesnes.”

5. Death of Jesse deForest

January 3, 2015

Commemorative Postage Stamp -1924

Last time you remember, our intrepid hero and 9G grandfather Jesse deForest, had successfully petitioned the States of Holland and West Friesland to secure passage for 30 Walloon families to the new world. There they could practice their Calvinist faith in freedom and without the constant threat of persecution or death at the hands of the French Catholics. Nearly all of that previously posted information was obtained from “The deForests of Avesnes (and of New Netherland), A Huguenot Thread in American Colonial History – 1494 To The Present Time”, Published by The Tuttle, Morehouse & Taylor Co., 1900. I must confess at this point to a couple of inaccuracies or omissions now because of new findings. I am now in possession of what has been referred to as the “Journal of Jesse deForest.” The manuscript is written in what is described as “quaint old French, and was discovered in the British Museum in 1901, having originally been in the collection of Sir Hans Skoane (1660-1753), the museum’s founder. It was apparently the property prior to this of the Zeeland Chamber of the West India Company, and given to them as an accounting of the voyage of Jesse’s pilgrims to Guiana. It is not an official ship’s log. This is apparently the original work, much of which was written by our 9G grandfather very descriptively about their voyage from Amsterdam to “The Wild Coast” or French Guiana. I will leave much of this information for later postings since it is rather extensive and extremely valuable. But for now, I wanted to relate to you two things that I didn’t have enough information about in my earlier posting, 1) the actual date of departure from Amsterdam, and 2) very specific journal references to the death of our grandfather in Guiana.

I do have to say, that with this information there is almost certainly enough to create an incredible story and even a thrilling action adventure movie of the life of Jesse deForest. You would not believe the journal specifics about confusion at sea, threats from other vessels, bickering and bloody fights between ship’s Masters and absolute uncertainty as to where the families were actually headed or where they might end up. For this short posting however, I will only relate information on the two points mentioned above in terms of journal quotes written initially by Jesse, and then later by one of his voyage companions.

[Journal] “The Directors of the West India Company, having decided at the beginning of their administration to send an expedition to explore the River Amazon and the coast of Guiana, and having for this purpose fitted out a ship called the Pigeon of 45 lasts (about 90 tons) burden, commanded by Pieter Fredericsz of Harlem, were petitioned by Jesse des forest, who, with the permission of their Excellencies the States General of the United Provinces, had enrolled several families desirous of settling in the said Indies, that these might be employed in the service of the said Company. But as their Excellencies the said Directors thought it better before carrying over the above-mentioned families, to send a certain number of the heads of families with the said Jesse desforests to inspect the region and themselves select their place of abode, there were chosen for this purpose Louis leMaire, Bartheleme Digan, Anthoine Descendre, Anthoine Beaumont, Jehan Godebon, Abraham Douillers, Dominique Masure, the brothers jehan and Gilles Daynes, and Jehan Mousnier de la Montagne, over whom on landing the said Jess desforest was to have command.” (I will also post a picture of the Dutch ship Pigeon or “Duyfken” with this)

[Journal] “On Saturday the first day of the month of July, 1623, we embarked on the said ship Pigeon to make the voyage up the Amazons.”

[Journal] “On Sunday the second of the said month we set sail from Amsterdam towards the Texel. On Tuesday we arrived at the said Texel.”

[Journal] “On Sunday the 16th day of the said month, the wind being East South East, our ship weighed anchor from the said Texel at 10 o’clock in the morning in order to sail with the fleet fitted out for Guinea; but as the Mackerel (Dutch Yacht), which was to come with us as far as the Amazons and from there to go to New Netherland, had not yet mended her mast which had been broken the night before by a store ship getting in her way, we were obliged to anchor again until 2 o’clock in the afternoon when we came out together. Shortly after, we had a sight of the Guinea fleet.”

[Personal] There are a number of journal references (between July 16th and July 28th) pertaining to what I would consider to sailing confusion and near mishaps amongst the fleet, all of which contributed to the angst between the various ship’s Masters. This resulted in the need to anchor the Pigeon and other ships at “The Downs”…[Book] “an extensive anchorage off the coast of Kent, between Deal & South Foreland, protected largely by the sunken bars known as Goodwin Sands.” Be that as it may, I will skip ahead to a point in the voyage where the Pigeon anchors off the Wild Coast for the purposes of exploration by the Walloon families to insure they will be left in a habitable area capable of supporting family life. Now begins the journal references to Jesse’s death. After exploration began, Jesse no longer had time to devote to documentation of the journal, and he is only referred to as “our Captain.”

[Journal] “On the 27th of September our Captain was at Cayenne to see the Caribs, who received him kindly.”

[Jounal] “On the 10th of October on his return he went to see Carippo Mountain from which to see how near the country of Capoure came to Apoterj point. He judged that it was about 500 paces.”

[Journal] “On the 13th of October in returning he had a sunstroke, as the sun was very strong that day, so that he fell fainting into the canoe and arrived this day seized with a severe fever.”

[Journal] “On the 15th of October, by the advice of those who had lived in this country before us, we had him bled, which gave him relief; but being impatient of keeping quiet, he wished to go on the sea again, returning from which he again had a sunstroke which redoubled his fever.”

[Journal] “On the 22nd of October (1624) our said Captain died, much regretted by the Christians and Indians who had taken a great liking to him. This day we carried him to be buried as honorably as was possible for us, accompanying the body with our arms, which we each discharged three times over his grave and our cannon as well.”

That’s it…. That’s the last that is officially recorded of our 9G grandfather, who lived an incredible life. Although passing at the age of only 48, he was an impassioned soul, bent on finding freedom for a group of Walloon and Huguenot families weary of persecution and slaughter at the hands of Catholic extremists of the day.

6. The Voyage of Pigeon: Preface

December 5, 2016

This compilation of information documents the journey of our 9G grandfather, Jesse deForest from Amsterdam to the Amazon River. This expedition took place over a period of 109 days in 1623. For the most part the details seen in the coming posts were taken from two sources. The first is a book entitled “A Walloon Family in America-Lockwood de Forest and his Forebears1500-1848” by Mrs. Robert W. de Forest and published in December of 1914. This work also includes an extensive segment referred to as “A Voyage to Guiana – Being the Journal of Jesse de Forest And his Colonists 1623-1625. The second source was a paper written for the Lee Family History blog compiled from the book mentioned and three other sources [De Forest, John William The De Forests of Avesnes (and of New Netherland): A Huguenot thread in American colonial history, 1494 to the present time (New Haven, CT: The Tuttle, Morehouse & Taylor Co. 1900)], [Griffis, William Elliot The Story of the Walloons at Home, in Lands of Exile and in America (Houghton Mifflin. 1923)], and [Bayer, Henry G. The Belgians, First Settlers in New York and in the Middle States (Bowie, Md.: Heritage Books, 1987, c1925)].

The journal of Jesse de Forest is not the ship’s log for the Pigeon. That log has apparently never been found. However, the journal was brought back to the Zeeland Chamber of the West India Company by the colonists who returned from the Amazon on another ship. It was written in what has been referred to as “quaint old French” on pages that measured 18 inches by 11 inches so that when opened the journal spanned 36 inches in width. Although the actual author of the journal is not known, credit for the information contained in it is given to Jesse de Forest himself, since it is referenced that “The journal was evidently composed by a man of education and ability.” Later portions of the journal describing the death of de Forest however would have obviously been written by someone other than Jesse.

From the beginning I wanted to present this as a visual reference to the entire journey of Jesse de Forest with information depicted on maps to show the actual travels. To accomplish this, some time ago I converted the information in the journal to a spreadsheet for practical reference since it was written in paragraph form which was difficult to follow. Key to that information was the daily reference to the ship’s location while at sea. Unfortunately, that was only a reference to latitude since longitude would not be effectively used until the mid 1700s. In view of that, although I can be confident about my north/south map points, I could only surmise the east/west location based on other visual references noted in the journal itself (i.e., sighting an island to the south, etc.). So in the coming posts on Jesse’s adventurous journey I will present a map with date points noted and will describe information and incidents stated in the journal as occurring on specific dates so you will be able to hopefully live the journey as did Jesse de Forest in 1623.

Jesse's Ship Pigeon or Duyfken

7. The Voyage of Pigeon: Part 1

December 7, 2016

Excerpts from the journal of Jesse deForest, 7/1/1623 – 8/31/1623. I will be paraphrasing much of the material but will be quoting directly from the journal when most appropriate.

[Journal Introduction] “The Directors of the West India Company, having decided at the beginning of their administration to send an expedition to explore the River Amazon and the coast of Guiana, and having for this purpose fitted out a ship called the Pigeon of 45 lasts (90 tons) burden, commanded by Pieter Fredericsz of Harlem, were petitioned by Jesse des forest, who, with the permission of their Excellencies the States General of the United provinces, had enrolled several families desirous of settling in the said Indies, that these might be employed in the service of the said Company.”

Fortunately for the Walloon families, the leadership of the West India Company “thought it better” to just send a relatively small number of the heads of the families along with Jesse deForest on the Pigeon. They would be able to make a safer assessment of the conditions for living in Guiana prior to being joined by their families. To that end, individuals mentioned in the journal to travel with de Forest were the following: Louis le Maire, Bartheleme Digan, Anthoine Descendre, Anthoine Beaumont, Jehan Godebon, Abraham Douillers, Dominique Masure, the brothers Jehan and Gilles Daynes and Jehan Mousnier de la Montagne. According to the journal, “on landing the said Jesse desforest was to have command.” Jesse is at times referred to in the journal as their “Captain.” The Pigeon, as stated above, was commanded by Pieter Fredericsz who in the journal is referred to as “ship’s Master” who in turn interacted a great deal with the ship’s Pilot.

Jesse deForest and his followers boarded the Pigeon at anchor in the Amsterdam, Netherlands port on Saturday, July 1, 1623. On July 2, the Pigeon set sail for Texel and arrived to port there on Tuesday, July 4th.

“On Sunday the 16th day of the said month, the wind being East South East, our ship weighed anchor from the said Texel at 10 o’clock in the morning in order to sail with the fleet fitted out for Guinea; but as the Mackerel, which was to come with us as far as the Amazons and from there go to New Netherland, had not yet mended her mast which had been broken the night before by a store ship getting in her way, we were obliged to anchor again until 2 o’clock in the afternoon when we came out together. Shortly after, we had a sight of the Guinea fleet.” On Monday the 17th, they first spotted the towers of Delft and of La Brille. (Apparently church towers in The Hague). On Tuesday the 18th they joined the fleet of Captain Couast who was headed for Morocco. On Wednesday the 19th nearing the English Channel they spotted Calais on the north coast of France and the port of Dover in the south of England. “Toward evening a great storm arose and strong wind from the West North West, which caused us to weigh anchor.”

“On Thursday the 20th the Mackerel, being unable to follow us, signaled us to wait for her, which made us lose the Guinea fleet, which we had almost joined, and go back to the Downs.” (An anchorage point off the coast of Kent, between Deal and South Foreland) “On Friday the 21st Captain Couast’s fleet arrived at the said Downs. This day there were distributed to us two cheeses apiece for the whole voyage.” An attempt was made to set sail once again on the 25th, but the wind shifted to the south west, forcing the Pigeon to tack (turning back and forth at sea to attempt forward movement into the wind) but they could see they were making little progress and in a storm decided to lower sails and ride it out all night. On the 26th, they were forced to return and anchor once again at Downs.

“On Thursday the 27th bread was distributed to us at the rate of three pounds and a half a week for each person.”

“On Friday the 28th our ship’s Master invited on board Pieter Jansz of Flushing and the Master of the Mackerel, and after a hearty carouse a quarrel sprang up between our Master and the chief mariners of the vessel, the upshot of which was that after several insults on both sides, our said Master and the Master of the Mackerel, who thought to support him, were very much abused and beaten. In the evening the Surgeon, the Gunner, the Carpenter, the Cook and shortly afterwards the Quartermaster left the ship with several others to the number of seven.”

“On Saturday towards evening the wind turned North East, which caused several vessels to weigh anchor, which we could not do by reason of the absence of our Master and the Supercargo, who had gone on shore to look for their men. In the evening, having returned without being able to find them they went to five states’ vessels which were anchored there to procure some others in their place. On his return he brought back a Gunner and four sailors.” The Pigeon then set sail from the Downs without her Master on the 30th. The following day they sighted the Isle of Wright, and on Tuesday August 1st, they sighted Portland. Continuing west south west, they sighted Torbay on the 2nd, and lost the Mackerel “who had anchored without telling us and we went on without her.” On Thursday the 3rd of August the Pigeon anchored at Plymouth, “there to look for a doctor and a carpenter.” “This day bread was given us at the rate of four pounds a week.”

“On Saturday the 5th the Mackerel came up with us; the same day our Master found a Surgeon and two Carpenters.” I can only surmise that the Master of the Pigeon had been returned on the Mackerel.

“On Sunday the 16th our Surgeon was married. On Monday our Master invited on board all our Surgeon’s friends and entertained them. On Thursday the 24th our said Master loaded six hundred pounds of biscuit and half a last (one ton) of beer.”

Finally on August 31, 1623, the Pigeon was able to once again set sail and continue on their Voyage, leaving the port of Plymouth. “This day for the first time we had bread without its being weighed.”

8. The Voyage of Pigeon: Part 2

December 14, 2016

Excerpts from the journal of Jesse deForest, 9/1/1623 – 9/7/1623. Back at this time in the 17th century life was pretty much a crap shoot. As was documented in Part 1, it was always advisable when traveling the high seas to be in the company of other ships heading in the same direction since there was more safety in numbers. Since the Pigeon had essentially lost any opportunity to travel with another fleet they would have to strike out on their own. This meant they were up to their own devices for protection as well as the comfort of having ship’s stores available and at hand with a group of ships. Be that as it may, it also was quite apparent that nearly every ship’s Master was somewhat of a scoundrel or ruffian at best, and murderous pirate at worst. In this part we will begin to see those very characteristics in the Master of the Pigeon, Pieter Fredericsz.

After leaving port at Plymouth on the 31st, the Pigeon set sail as best it could to the southwest to continue on their journey. On Friday, September 1st they sailed through a thick fog with an assisting wind at least until midnight when the wind shifted to the northwest but still allowed for progress in a southwesterly direction. The wind on Saturday the 2nd was very strong to the point at which they had to roll up (furl) their topsails. Then “At night the wind was so strong that we could only carry our mainsail half hauled up.”

On Sunday the 3rd they had a fair wind for most of the day, but “in the evening it fell calm, which lasted all night.”

On Tuesday, September 5th they “sighted a vessel to the South East of us. We gave chase till nightfall, and then lost her. Our Master was anxious to pursue her in spite of the night and the wish of the Pilot; but finally we continued our course to the South West.” This was the first example of the ship’s Master exhibiting his plundering tendencies. While at sea there was always a need to resupply and if the supplies from another ship could be useful that’s what they would do.

The Pigeon continued along their southwesterly route, each day at noon taking a latitude reading. On Wednesday, September 6th, they were at latitude 44 degrees 27 minutes.

The final day in this part is Thursday, September 7th. Unfortunately due to map size constraints I could only plot the course for this long so it would continue to be meaningful to everyone. On this last date the Pigeon continued their movement to the south and east and sighted Cape Finisterre on the western most tip of Spain, still north of Portugal. “In the evening we put the ship’s head to the South South East to sail close to the coast of Spain.” I can only surmise at this point that the ship’s Master intended to hug the coast of Spain because they would be more likely to encounter other ships from which they might be able to acquire supplies for their journey. After this point they would be headed more to the open sea and away from any sight of land where literally anything could happen.

9. The Voyage of Pigeon: Part 3

January 1, 2017

Excerpts from the journal of Jesse deForest, 9/7/1623 – 9/20/1623. By this time, having traveled only to the northern coast of Spain and yet a full two months into their journey, it was clear that this trip was taking far longer than it should. There of course were several reasons for this with a fight, a wedding, companion ship repairs, contrary winds and loosing travel in the company of a fleet. Although not mentioned in the journal, it could also be speculated that the Master of the Pigeon cared more about following his own agenda as opposed to looking out for his passengers. He had already made one attempt to overtake another ship to acquire ill gotten provisions and that appears to be his continuing desire as observed here.

The next vessel that would be at the mercy of the Master of the Pigeon was sighted on July 8th with a heading toward Spanish Bayonne. Although inclined to give chase, there was almost no wind on this day. Be that as it may, the Master ordered most of the crew to oars. “We pursued it with oars because of the calm, and found upon reaching it that it was an Englishman of the Island of Jersey, coming from Newfoundland. Our Master boarded her and brought away, besides some provisions, much clothing taken from the sailors’ chests.” It was at this point that we proud descendants see the stuff of which Jesse deForest was made. The journal documents that Jesse along with the ship’s Pilot argued with the Master regarding his plunder of the English ship, which resulted in the return of at least the clothing. “About 2 o’clock, after several disputes between the Master and the Pilot because our said Master, contrary to his orders, would delay the voyage by hugging the coast, we laid our course South South West.” Clearly it was apparent that the Master, Pieter Fredericsz, had intended to stay near the coast in search of other ships that could be boarded and robbed, which would only further delay their trip and in violation of the orders of the Master of Pigeon.

These days we have a saying, “what goes around comes around,” which seemed to ring true the following day for Pigeon. “On Saturday the 9th, two hours before daybreak, we were met by a Turkish vessel which followed us till daylight. As she approached, she fired a cannon in order to make us lower our sails, but seeing that we would not and that we were as strong as she was, she left us.” This potential for being boarded themselves could have been just the thing needed to influence the Master to consider getting back to the business of the journey. From here on out, the ship was to remain on course and on mission. The next few days of journal entries, at least until the 14th were simple references to wind direction, heading and midday latitude readings.

The journal entry on September 14th is a little perplexing since it appears to indicate for the first time that they were indeed in the company of another ship, the Mackerel. The last journal reference to the Mackerel was on August 5th while still in port near Plymouth England. “On Thursday the 14th the wind North North East, our course South West. At noon we were in latitude 31 degrees 54 minutes. Towards the evening the wind shifted North. This day the Mackerel, who had been with us all the time, left us, taking her course towards New Netherland.” New Netherland of course was the American colony made up of a number of Dutch settlements along the length of the Hudson River from Albany (then known as Fort Orange) south all the way to and including New Amsterdam (small section of west Manhattan Island) which later became known as New York City.

On the September 15, 16 and 17, Pigeon navigated in the area of what is known as the Madeira Island group, also referred to as Desertas Islands and referred to in the journal as “the Savage Islands.”

“On Saturday the 16th at sunrise we saw the lofty Island of Teneriffe ahead of us to the South.” “At one o’clock in the afternoon we saw the peak of Garachico, the top of which stood out boldly and seemed to be half as high again as the highest peaks in sight.” “At 4 o’clock we saw the Island of Gomera to the West South West of us. In the evening the wind grew so strong that we were obliged to lower our lug sails and to run South South West.”

Nearly every journal entry included a midday latitude reading, but there is at least a single reference to being guided by the stars at night on September 17, 1623. “On Sunday the 17th, the same wind continuing, we saw Ferro to the North of us. At midday we were in latitude 26 degrees 49 minutes, our course South South West. At night we calculated the latitude by the arrow of Sagittarius and found it 25 degrees 30 minutes.”

On September 18, Pigeon sighted two ships southwest of them which were apparently friendly as the journal states, “Having approached them and seen that they were both large ships and were waiting for us, we resumed our course.” This was presumably in the company of these ships. It also happened to be the day they “saw their first flying fish.” Then, “On Tuesday the 19th a great many flying fish fell into our ship.” They are apparently an edible fish, but also go bad rather quickly so they would have made for a quick meal for the sailors and passengers.

This brings us to end of part 3 of this voyage with reference in the journal of making “great progress” on the 20th, now finding themselves at latitude 19 degrees 55 minutes. This is quite the contrast to the beginning of their journey with so many setbacks and delays. However, part 4 will put Jesse and his followers into new and potentially perilous circumstances as Pigeon continues its travel to the mouth of the Amazon River.

10. The Voyage of Pigeon: Part 4

January 6, 2017

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Excerpts from the journal of Jesse deForest, 9/21/1623 – 10/3/1623. This has turned into the second to last installment of Jesse deForest’s journey from Amsterdam, Netherlands to the mouth of the Amazon River. I was hopeful it would be the last but found such an incredible amount of detail in the journal that I felt it nearly impossible to paraphrase without losing a great deal. Therefore, much of this section of the journal will have to be transferred directly in quotes. I also have approximately one additional full year of journal entries following their arrival, but going through that will take quite a bit more study. Family publication of that information may have to wait. Following the next and last part I’m feeling there is a need to move on to other descendants in the deForest/DeFrees family as they begin to settle in the new world from 1624 on. For now we move back to sea with Jesse and his followers who now seem to be somewhat lost…

Apparently when we have a head strong ship’s Master at odds with the ship’s Pilot interesting things begin to happen on September 22, 1623. “On Friday, not seeing the Island of Sal, toward which we reckoned we were running, we steered East South East and about 9 o’clock South West a quarter West in order to find it, as the charts of our Master and Pilot differed by 25 leagues East and West.” Although this doesn’t sound like much, 25 leagues represents a difference of 75 nautical miles requiring some kind of plan for deciding which direction should be taken in an attempt to find the island of Sal. In other words, without the benefit of a reference to longitude our friends find themselves essentially going around in circles in the open sea. Today, Sal is still recognized as an island in what is known as the Cape Verde group off the west coast of Mauritania and Senegal, Africa.

“On Saturday the 23rd we ran West a quarter North because we thought we were at the South of the Islands. During the night we had run South a quarter East and then South West. At 11 o’clock we saw to the North West a quarter West of us an island which we found to be Buena Vista, towards which we ran. This island is very mountainous and surrounded with rocks in the sea, without any harbor or roadstead for anchorage. In the evening we found ourselves opposite a bay on the coast of the (blank in journal) of the island. We stood out to sea for the night.” It appears that due to the confusion between the Master and Pilot of Pigeon, the island of Sal was never found. Current maps do show an island now referred to as Boa Vista directly to the south of Sal, but clearly it was not then an island suitable for landing. Considering the perilous danger that ensues I decided that this journal excerpt could not be paraphrased…

“On Sunday the 24th we ran towards the said bay, hoping to anchor there, but we found no suitable bottom for anchoring. The bay is divided in two by an island, each part being about half a league [wide]. We landed with our pinnace [longboat] in the part (blank in journal) with great danger, for our pinnace was filled two or three times by the breakers from the shore. We found the island quite barren, without trees or much grass; the mountains were covered with colocynth apples, (Cucumber or Melon Family valued as a violent purge) and there were no refreshing fruits. On our return (to Pigeon) we ran into the other part [of the Bay] but having found no better bottom there and having just missed grounding on a bank, we ran around the island as long as the wind would carry us, and then steered to the South West a quarter West, running this all night with a strong North East wind.”

Finally at dawn on September 25, 1623, the crew and passengers of Pigeon came upon the island of Santiago, in the southern grouping of Cape Verde islands to their southwest. At the same time they were able to see the island of Mayo (now called Maio) to their southeast. (Refer to first map posted below) The Pigeon proceeded between the islands cruising around the southern tip of Santiago, coming up on the western coast. “On the west side we saw a round bay surrounded like the coast of the island by very high mountains; on the north side of the bay there was a beautiful meadow a league long (1.5 miles) which stretched from the sea to the mountains, and at the end towards the north of this meadow was a village. On the South the meadow was full of cows from the Bourg mountains. On the South side of the bay there was another village with a church situated at the foot of the mountains on a level hillock separated from the mountains by a valley. It almost appeared to be a walled city so amazingly had nature supplied it with a seeming rampart. The bay may be about one league in width. To the South West of the same we saw the Island of Fogo. Our Master landed with seven men. He spoke to the negroes, who promised to bring him provisions, which induced us to enter the bay and to anchor in eight fathoms within the range of a small piece [cannon], hauling ourselves up to within pistol shot, where we dropped anchor in three fathoms.”

“On Tuesday the 26th we again landed to speak to the negroes, who promised to bring us this day some goats and other provisions. We took in water and wood in a garden on the edge of the bay.”

“On Wednesday we calculated the latitude with the astrolabe and found 14 degrees, 30 minutes. This day seeing that the negroes had deceived us and that they had taken away their cows to the mountains, we set sail, running South West a quarter South, the wind being North East. In the evening the wind changed to South East.” This particular journal entry was rather surprising in its matter of fact writing when I’d be fairly certain the entire complement of the Pigeon were far more than disappointed in the promise of meat, only to realize they had been deceived. However, in defense of the natives I’d have to admit they most certainly had run into marauders in the past and as a result had developed a very effective strategy to protect their own resources, most likely living a simple life of subsistence.

Disappointed as they might be, the travelers aboard Pigeon knew they must move on. The journal logs them as being between the islands of Fogo and Brava on the morning of the 28th, having Fogo to the north and Brava to the west. They describe the distance between the islands as 15 miles when the charts show them to be a distance of 30 miles apart. This was the last they would see of the Cape Verde island group as they mounted their last effort to complete their journey on the open sea with a southwest heading to the Amazon. Journal entries for Friday the 29th through Tuesday October 3rd were simply routine, taking them from latitude 12 degrees 26 minutes all the way to 9 degrees and 20 minutes. However, a rather innocuous journal entry on this date portends the calm before the storm and peril awaiting them just beyond the horizon. “During the night the wind dropped;-- now and then rain and squalls from the North and North North East.”

11. The Voyage of Pigeon: Conclusion

January 10, 2017

Since this is to be the last in the series of the Pigeon voyage chronicles I have decided it would be appropriate to dedicate these writings to the memory of Jim Rainey. This series has been entirely by, for and about family, fortunately coming to us as a gift of fate from those who sacrificed everything to give us all of what we have today. Jim was a caring soul who epitomized that proud sense of family depth of character. He left us far too early and he will be greatly missed.

THE VOYAGE OF PIGEON: CONCLUSION Excerpts from the journal of Jesse deForest, 10/4/1623 – 10/16/1623. This is the final episode chronicling the voyage of Jesse deForest and his group of Calvinist family heads to the new world in search of freedom from religious persecution. It is inspiring to think that it was our (9G) grandfather who was doing this for the sake of not only his family, but also for the families of many others of the day. Very simply stated, no matter how you view this information it always comes back to one single fact. It is about family, and the selfless courage and fortitude of certain family members who would literally risk everything in hopes of creating a better life.

As of October 3, 1623 we begin to see a changing weather pattern which will be unrelenting for a period of at least seven days. Through four of these days the crew and passengers of the Pigeon had undergone what was most likely unbelievable terror. Although Jesse’s journal downplays this time considerably I have no doubt that these stalwart sea farers experienced what has caused literally thousands of ships over the centuries to pass from all knowledge as they sank to a cold watery grave. On Wednesday October 4, 1623 the same rain and winds from the northeast persisted taking them to latitude 8 degrees and 20 minutes. On Thursday they experienced a short reprieve which may have been the real calm before the storm. “In the evening after a calm the wind became South West a quarter West and strong, which enabled us to run, under main and foresail, West North West.”

“On Friday the 6th, the same wind continuing, we changed our course South East a quarter East. At noon we found ourselves in 7 degrees 40 minutes so that we had lost 20 minutes. (latitude) In the evening the wind was South, and shortly afterwards South a quarter West and so strong that we could carry only our mainsail, running West South West.”

“On Saturday the 7th the wind South West – our course West a quarter North. At noon we were in 7 degrees 20 minutes. Towards the evening, after a hurricane, the wind shipped West, which made us run West a quarter South. During the night it was very changeable with much rain.”

The descriptions of the weather on Sunday seem to sound as if they had emerged from the front end of the hurricane, traveled through the eye, and were then pounded by the waves of energy on the back side of the storm. From the latitude readings it is apparent that very little headway is being made. “On Sunday the 8th in the morning a slight wind arose from the South East but dropped shortly after. At noon we were in 7 degrees 30 minutes. At night much rain and several hurricanes.”

Finally, following what may have seemed like an eternity of crashing waves and sail rending winds, the Pigeon begins to move forward once again. My guess is much to the relief of the tortured crew. “On Monday the 9th the wind was North East and shortly afterwards East North East; at last East and fairly strong, which sent us well forward. At noon we were in 6 degrees 30 minutes – our course South West.”

Then just one more lash from the tentacles of the storm and they would finally be free from it for the remainder of their journey. “On Tuesday the 10th, the wind South East and South South East – our course South West a quarter West. At noon we were in 5 degrees 58 minutes. At night the wind and our course very changeable; much rain and hurricanes.”

Now they are within 5 degrees of the equator as they continue in what might otherwise be considered a rather pleasant voyage. They even have an opportunity to witness a little of nature on their way. “On Thursday the 12th the wind South a quarter East – our course South West. At noon we were in latitude 4 degrees 37 minutes. This day we caught a shark which was 7 feet long; it had its young alive in its belly. Attached to its belly we found a fish, the size of a small herring, fastened to it by the top of its head, which was flat and moon-shaped. We put it into an empty barrel, but it came out of it climbing up by the top of its head.” Although I’d be fairly certain this was nothing like any of them had ever seen or experienced before, they were obviously describing a fairly common sight of a Remora which had attached itself to the shark they had caught.

Then we have a series of mundane journal entries showing latitudes of 4 degrees 15 minutes on Friday the 13th, followed by 3 degrees 7 minutes on Saturday the 14th and 2 degrees 43 minutes on Sunday the 15th.

The last journal entry of Jesse deForest posting their arrival reads as follows: “On Monday the 16th the wind South East and afterwards East South East – our course West South West, in order to enter the River Amazons. At noon we reached 1 degree 35 minutes. At this time we caught sight of a ship which was coming the same way. Having joined it, we found it was Pieter Janaz of Flushing, who left Plymouth before us. We went on together, our course to the West a quarter South. In the evening we again saw the North Star.”

This marks the end of the journey of Jesse deForest and his small group of Calvinist heads of families. There is no doubt in my mind that they were overjoyed to at last see what they considered at that time to be their new home in the new world. Full of excitement and anticipation they would spend the next year searching out suitable living circumstances and establishing working relationships with the natives. The rest of their adventure will bring many changes to their settlement line of thinking. As we know of earlier postings, the Calvinist group’s “Captain” Jesse deForest succumbs to heat stroke one year later nearly to the date. Rather than have you review the posting “Death of Jesse deForest” I will copy and paste the final entries from that writing for you here….

[Journal] “On the 13th of October in returning he had a sunstroke, as the sun was very strong that day, so that he fell fainting into the canoe and arrived this day seized with a severe fever.”

[Journal] “On the 22nd of October our said Captain died, much regretted by the Christians and Indians who had taken a great liking to him. This day we carried him to be buried as honorably as was possible for us, accompanying the body with our arms, which we each discharged three times over his grave and our cannon as well.”

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Origin

Legacy

Round Robin

1st Emigrant

Death

Pigeon Preface

Pigeon Part 1

Pigeon Part 2

Pigeon Part 3

Pigeon Part 4

Pigeon Conclusion

American Revolution

12. Daughters and Sons of the American Revolution

November 16, 2017

Here is a nice bit of family information following our Veterans Day weekend which just ended. It I believe will provide you with the documentation on our first family American Veteran, James DeFrees.

I am not certain if any of you would be interested in becoming members of the DAR or SAR, but we do indeed have proof of our lineage directly to one of our ancestors who fought in the revolutionary war. After looking at both of the related websites, however, I want to let you know that the application process for either is rather extensive. We may therefore simply take comfort in knowing the connection of our ancestry to that very important era in American history and let it go at that.

Although the revolutionary war did not take place until the 1770s, the first of our ancestors to settle in what is now the Manhattan Island area arrived there in 1636. Just to set the stage a little bit on all of this I’ll give you just a small amount of background. As you are all aware from previous posts, our 9G grandfather, Jesse de Forest was the first of our ancestors from the DeFrees line who ventured across the Atlantic to the new world. Unfortunately, he died in the Amazon jungles as a result of heat stroke, or at least that is was is documented in various sources. As such, Jesse of course never made it to the first de Forest settlement in New Amsterdam. That honor fell to two of Jesse’s sons, Henrick (Henry) and Isaac. I also have possession of the ship’s log from their journey to New Amsterdam onboard the sailing vessel Rensselaerswyck (variation on the name of the owner), but that might be something to chronicle at a future date.

Hendrick and Isaac were ages 30 and 20 respectively when they arrived in New Amsterdam with the intent to become tobacco farmers. They settled on a flat of land called Muscoota and as my source states, “became the unprosperous founders of Harlem.” Although this story goes on and on, we’ll have to save that for another time since the goal here is to provide documentation for our revolutionary war ancestor.

Isaac of course had to get married if we are to travel through a few generations to find the subject of this entry. On June 6, 1641, Isaac was married to Sarah du Trieux of New Amsterdam, as my source states, a “spinster.” Well, Sarah and Isaac got busy and began having children with their first arriving in 1642 and their 14th arriving sometime around 1670. At least 6 of the 14 didn’t survive more than just a few years or died in infancy. There were plenty of things to prevent long life back in our colonizing days. Their son Isaac Jr. was born on April 25, 1655. Now, not to sound too biblical, I will project forward stating that Isaac Jr.(1655-1700) married Lysbeth VanDerSpieg (1662-1735), and one of their children was Johannes DeForest (1684-1757). Johannes married Catherine T. Resvesteyn (1684-1770) and one of their children was Joseph Defrees (1711-1765). Joseph was the first ancestor historically to use the actual Defrees name with the spelling of today. He was married to Mary C. Hutton (1715-1790) and they in turn gave birth to James Defrees (1737-1827). Suddenly we have five generations of our family who to this point have continued to live in the Manhattan Island area, for more than 100 years from 1636 to the 1770s. It is James who enrolled in the revolutionary war, and it was also James who was the first pioneer to move our family away from the New York City area. James would then be our 4G grandfather.

I have two pieces of proof from the revolutionary war period documenting the enrollment of James. The first is an excerpt from “History of Ulster County New York” which lists the men whose last names began with D’s. The other is a handwritten copy of a “Pay Roll” record which includes James name and documenting the amount he received for a three day pay period in 1778. It also states that his rank at that time was “Drum Major.” I will try to attach a copy of each to this account for your review. James served under Captain John Hunter, and was a part of “Col. James McClaughrey’s Regt of Millitia.” It is interesting to note at least at the time of this reference to his enrollment in the Militia that James was actually 41 years old. He was certainly old enough to know better than to get involved with an outfit fighting for independence. Fortunately for all of us, James managed to survive through his stint in the revolutionary war and in spite of the myriad of causes and ailments that contributed to the life expectancy of the time, James somehow managed to live to the ripe old age of 90, passing in 1827 in Sumner County, TN. There is a bit more to the life of James DeFrees regarding his family relocation to eventually settle in the hills of Tennessee, but I’ll save that for another time.

If any of you actually has any interest in becoming members of the DAR or SAR, please let me know since it would require a fair amount of lineage documentation to be substantiated, which I happen to have. I would be happy to provide any of you with a copy if you so desire.

13. Isaac deForest's Lament

December 15, 2017

You may remember in my last entry the passing description of our 8G grandfather Isaac’s and 8G uncle Hendrick’s (sons of Jesse deForest) 1636 arrival in New Amsterdam as our family’s first settlers in the new world. They began an extremely difficult life together that was the same for many if not all of our country’s first settlers. My entry read as follows---

“Hendrick and Isaac were ages 30 and 20 respectively when they arrived in New Amsterdam with the intent to become tobacco farmers. They settled on a flat of land called Muscoota and as my source states, “became the unprosperous founders of Harlem.” Although this story goes on and on, we’ll have to save that for another time since the goal here is to provide documentation for our revolutionary war ancestor.

---Since that entry I have continued my research, much of which has been transcribed from a text published in 1900 called, “The DeForests of Avesnes (And Of New Netherland).” I was able to gain a little bit more insight into the lives of Isaac and Hendrick. For example, the reference just above states that Isaac lost “at least 6” of his 14 children, however I have now learned that the toll was actually seven of his children who all died pretty much within one year after their birth. On top of that, I’ve found that Hendrick died on July 26, 1637, a mere 10 months after their arrival in the new world. At that point, our 8G grandfather Isaac was completely alone at the age of 20 and left to fend entirely for himself. Fortunately, they had made purchases of land on which to pursue their tobacco farming, described above as “unprosperous.”

As mentioned above, it was in 1641 at the age of 25 that Isaac found a life with Sarah du Trieux. They worked together very hard as a family and were subject over the years to a good number of misfortunes. Nevertheless, our stalwart grandfather Isaac was able to manage a living in the face of adversity, which enabled him to acquire a number of different properties, including a brewery, and eventually what is referred to as “The Old Church” on what used to be Stone Street. I happened across what was called “The Castello Plan” which documents the entire layout of New Amsterdam in Isaac’s time. There is official reference to the property locations which coincide with a number of maps drawn of the day. I will plan on relaying that information on to all of you in my next entry.

For now, I wanted to get to something that to me was ever so much more important to all of us which gets back to the title of this entry, Isaac deForest’s lament.

Life as a colonist in the 1630’s was a nearly impossible undertaking, especially when left completely alone and vulnerable to the vagaries of the day. This was on top of the first 20 years of Isaac’s life, running from persecution and perhaps the constant threat of death from the marauding Catholics of the day. His father Jesse had moved them from the comfort of their home in Avesnes up into the Netherlands where Jesse could practice his trade in the wool industry as a dyer of cloth. Now in the new world, Isaac’s brother and our 8G uncle Hendrick had died unexpectedly and of unrecorded causes. Isaac struggled with a tobacco farming life by himself for years until meeting and marrying Sarah. Over the next 29 years they brought 14 children into the world, seven of which they were compelled to grieve for. Isaac knew nothing of the rest of his family after arriving in New Amsterdam, and had never heard of what happened to his father Jesse following his fateful adventure to the Amazon River basin in French Guiana when Isaac was just seven years old. They were visited just once in New Amsterdam by his brother Johannes who returned to Holland, and were also visited by his brother David who also came and left, although he remained in New Amsterdam long enough to have a child of his baptized there (October 1659).

Following all of this information I came across what I found to be one of the most poignant discoveries in all of my research to-date. It is an actual written record penned by our grandfather Isaac when he was 56 years old that nearly brought me to tears, and here it is…..(I translated the short French segment)

“How time flies! How many dead! My seven little ones buried here! Lord, how many lives and tears it has cost to plant one of thy households in this new land! How many more dead than living! Uncle Gerard, eighteen years ago! –Grandmother Anne, thirty-two years! –Father (where is his grave?) fortysix! Brother Jesse, when? Where? And we spoke French then. We said, Notre pere qui es qu ciel ..(Our Father who is in heaven) what was the rest of it? Next it had to be Dutch. Now it is English. Time to get out of it, when a sickly old fellow has to learn so much---when so many have gone before. Quite, quite time---when God pleases! I shall see more of them there, beyond the Veil. No more sea to divide us! No more separations---wanderings---sorrows!”

Our 8G grandfather passed away on July 25, 1674, two years after writing this at the age of 58. He was buried in the Dutch Reformed Cemetery in Harlem. Sadly, “Prompted by New York City's northward growth, the Consistory of the Dutch Reformed Church of Harlem purchased a plot in Woodlawn Cemetery in 1869. The remains interred in its old cemetery in First Avenue between 124th and 125th Streets, and also those in the churchyard on Third Avenue and 121st Street, were removed to the plot in Woodlawn; the transfer was completed in 1875.”

Drawing of Nieuw Amsterdam from the East River -Circa 1640

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Drawing of Dutch Reformed Church grounds from the East River

14. Properties of Isaac deForest

December 22, 2017

As mentioned in my previous post, I did some work on the actual properties in New Amsterdam documented as owned by our 8G grandfather Isaac deForest and his wife Sarah Du Trieux. The two were married on June 9, 1641, but I couldn’t find reference to any property acquisitions prior to 1653 after which there seemed to be a small flurry of activity between then and 1660 followed by a final sale of a house built by Isaac on The Old Church property by Sarah to an Allard Anthony in 1682. All of the information that I found is from what was referred to as The Castello Plan. That document sets out the lot numbers for various properties of New Amsterdam from the area surrounding Fort Amsterdam on the south of the island, all the way to the fortifications on the north side of the settled land typically know at that time as “The Wall.” This particular fortification was primarily intended to keep the natives on the outside of the settlement, and eventually became known today as Wall Street.

Since a lot of this information if disjointed and relatively confusing to relate in written terms, I will resort to a pictorial presentation. I hope that might be a little easier to follow, but you will have to read the information here and then glance at the picture being referenced below. Unfortunately, Facebook would not allow me to embed the images into the body of this entry. I’m sorry for that inconvenience.

The first image above has been reproduced from information relating to the property period from 1653 to 1664. In the area near the center of this map you will see a circled listing for a property for “Isaac De Forrest.” I show you this map first because it is not associated with The Castello Plan and appears to be slightly in error in terms of the home placement of Isaac, unless it was a home owned previous to the Castello documentation. As you will see in the following maps the first home documented to be Isaac’s is located just north of this position.

The second image below is a map of a portion of The Castello Plan. On this image I have circled four properties that have been documented as being owned by Isaac. They are numbered as #3, #8 &9, #10, and #20.

Beginning with #3, which is located closest to Fort Amsterdam on Whitehall Street, was the Red Lion Brewery which was begun by Isaac sometime before 1660. He was partnered in this business with Joannes Verveelen. Then it is recorded that “De Forest turned it over to the Verveelens, Joannes and Daniel---February 14, 1662.” The reference goes on to say: “he declared that he acted ‘as well for himself as in quality of Agent of Mr Joanes de la Montagne Junior,’ and he conveyed ‘his certain right in the Brewery brewing apparatus and dependencies thereof, together with his and the above mentioned Montagne’s lot.’”

Then, we’ll move on to #8 & 9 in the same image located on Stone St. This was referred to in the Plan as “a double house.” The Plan states that the “easterly half” house was built by Adriaen Keyser and Jean Labatie and “conveyed to Jan Gillissen Verbrugge, September 22, 1652.” Then later, “Verbrugge sold it to Isaac de Forest, October 15, 1653.” Interestingly enough, at that point it was only half the size shown on this map, and “In January, 1655 De Forest complains that there is next to his house ‘a waste and unoccupied lot, whence his cellar is filled with water,’ and asks that the owner ‘be ordered to build thereon.’” The double house was made of brick, and the two halves were “divided by partition walls” and the westerly half was completed after March, 1655. Interestingly enough, this westerly half was eventually conveyed to Isaac de Forest, Junior, June 25, 1683.

Again in the same image, circled location #10 located next to the double house on Stone St. was known as “The Old Church” and “is presumed to have been built c. 1633.” Regarding this site The Castello Plan states the following: “In the year the new church of St. Nicholas was built within the ramparts of the Fort, and the old church abandoned as a place of worship. Captain Nuton, of the garrison, had his dwelling here for a while but it was resolved, April 4, 1656, to sell ‘the house, lot and buildings thereon called the Old Church’ at public auction. Jacob Wolphertsen van Couwenhoven became the purchaser, June 30, 1656, but it was sold under execution September 8, 1656 to Isaac de Forest. De Forest built upon the plot a house ‘which was an ornament to the City,’ and which soon became the residence of Allard Anthony.” Apparently Mr. Anthony only leased the house since (as mentioned above in the first paragraph of this entry) “in 1682, Anthony acquired the property on the Strand where he had so long resided, from Sarah, widow of Isaac de Forest.” For your information, the very same block where the properties are found above on Stone Street still exist in lower Manhattan today. However, it is most likely that none of the buildings/homes would exist today. I will explain that further in the next set of images.

Finally, regarding the property marked #20 above located on Marketfield St. had been purchased by Isaac de Forest in April of 1653, which was apparently then the first home documented as being owned by Isaac and Sarah, since they didn’t buy the double house until October 15, 1653. There is no reference in the plan which would account for the sale of this property. Then you will note its location on the street compared to the first map posted above, where you can see the difference in positioning on Marketfield St.

Believe it or not, I was able to find the third image below, an overlay representation on-line which clearly shows the New Amsterdam south end of the island dropped into its accurate location on today’s satellite image of the south side. It’s pretty obvious that due to shore reclamation lower Manhattan Island has grown considerably from the bustling little New Amsterdam from Isaac’s time in the 17th century.

Then the next attached image is another view of the same type of overlay just to see it from a somewhat different vantage point.

I thought this was so important to visualize properly so I decided to make a side by side comparison with today’s map of the same area at the same scale. The next image then is that side by side representation.

It might get just a little bit difficult to see unless the images can be enlarged a bit, but I added little pinpoints on both of these maps indicating the properties that were presented above associated with the lot numbers in the Plan. This will allow you to find the exact locations today if you happen to visit our little immigration homeland in New York someday.

Finally, I have just one more image to share. It is a sort of relief drawing of New Amsterdam from Issac’s period in history. On this I placed circles over the four property locations as well as one other over adjacent to the East River. To the best of my knowledge from other images that I have seen I decided that this last location would actually be the Dutch Reformed Church where Isaac and Sarah worshipped and where Isaac was initially buried. So in a sense, Isaac and his family spent their entire life living, working and worshipping all within a few blocks of the central block location where his Isaac’s properties were located. Didn’t need a car in New Amsterdam to live and work then, and apparently it’s not advisable to have one today either.

Maccoun's Map 1653-1664

Castello Plan Map, Circa 1660

Overlays of New Amsterdam on current day Manhattan Island

Documented Properties of Isaac deForest 1653-1682

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15. DeFrees Burying Ground

January 6, 2018

Back in the spring of 2014 we decided that we had just enough information to head out in search of the roots of our DeFrees ancestors who settled in Tennessee. We had discovered enough material online, including a handful of photos, that indicated to us that a small cemetery existed somewhere in the hills of Sumner County, TN that would most likely be the final resting place for our 4G grandfather James DeFrees. I’ll set up a little background.

After some effort in family research, we discovered it was James, our 4G grandfather, who pulled up stakes from Manhattan Island and ventured west. He and his family apparently made their first brief stop in 1780 where they lived in Rockbridge County, Virginia. They had purchased 100 acres of what was referred to as a “corner of Borden’s Great Tract” along the South River. Then they continued to live in this area of Virginia until at least 1790, but there is no record of James or his family in the 1790 census records in that area.. We found it noted in the Rockbridge County Order Book, 1787-1794, however, that James was exempt from paying any taxes because he was a constable.

Apparently while still living in Virginia there is record of James and his son William purchasing property in Surry County, North Carolina. James “DeFreece” and his family are documented as living in Surry County, NC by 1800 according to the Federal census of that date. The Surry County, NC Deed Book records that James bought 250 acres of land in 1789 for 200 pounds, along the south side of Forbis’s Creek in Yadkin County. He also apparently purchased land on the south side of the Yadkin River in 1792, and then bought 150 acres on Grassy Creek in 1800. In 1801 records show that James also bought 116 acres of land at the mouth of Meadow Branch of Mitchell’s River in Surry County. One can only surmise that James must have been able to profitably sell his family holding in New York in order to be able to afford all of these purchases. (Records taken from “James DeFrees and his Descendants”)

Records indicate that an agent was appointed in 1811 and 1812 to sell the DeFrees acres in Surry County, which would suggest that James and his family were once again on the move. Although no census records capture their whereabouts, sometime later he is found on the 1816 tax list for Sumner County, TN. There we see the records show James owning 137 acres of land on Otter Fork of Bledsoe’s Creek, as well as one black slave. (Sumner County Tax Books, R332, p. 1147) The Sumner County, Tennessee Deed Book also shows that James purchased 141 acres of land on the same Bledsoe Creek location in 1817. From this we surmised that what we refer to as “the lost DeFrees cemetery” would most likely be located somewhere on James’ land in northern Tennessee.

Upon arriving in Tennessee, we stayed on the east side of Nashville, and took day trips up into Sumner County on our little quest. In preparation for our venture we had scanned many satellite images of the area, and armed with the plat maps of Sumner County we could pinpoint the approximate location of the property of James DeFrees. With this information we felt that we would no doubt be successful in finding the DeFrees cemetery. After gaining permission from current property owners, we jumped in the Jeep and crawled up a hill along the backside of a field. Unfortunately, after getting sopping wet plowing through a horribly overgrown cemetery, we decided that we were barking up the wrong tree. So we headed back down to the road, and continued south along Wolf Hill Road until we spotted another likely location. None of the current residents were at home, so we decided to climb the hill on foot rather than running up to the location in the Jeep. There we found what we were after, the “DeFrees Burying Ground” as it was referred to in a number of documents later discovered at the Sumner County Historical Society. The photo at the top of this story shows the satellite image of the location of the cemetery today. This is where we found the intact headstone of our 3G grandfather Ricely DeFrees. We mapped the entire cemetery, and counted well over 50 stones. Unfortunately, Ricely’s and only one other were still legible. All the rest were only partial stones, and all were mostly ruble. We do have no doubt that James DeFrees, who passed in 1827, and his wife Sofina Sevier Ricely are also residents of this cemetery, as is Ricely’s wife Elizabeth Holloway.

The sheer joy of this family discovery prompted me to include the photo of Grandpa Ricely’s gravesite in a place of honor at the head of the home page of this our family ancestry archive. As Promised in the original posting, here are a number of additional photos of our "burying ground" exploration.

Wolf Hill Road, Sumner County, Tennessee

Stand of trees encircled in satellite photo above

Mapping the DeFrees Cemetery

The grave of Ricely DeFrees along with more than 50 other plots with rubble for gravestones

Grave of Cornelius D. Mabry. The only legible stone other than Ricely's in the cemetery

16. The DeFrees Family Lineage

February 19, 2018

A Representation of Medieval Avesnes, France, Homeland of the DeFrees Family

Back in December of 2014, you will remember that I posted information on the DeFrees family line that was a “simple son to father” arrangement. Now more recently, after having posted the Caron and Durand lineages which both included spouses throughout the centuries, I decided that in fairness I had to go back and do the same for the DeFrees family. I went back over all of my information and suddenly ran into some trouble with the three generations of Melchiors, as might be expected back in the 15th century. But I’ve just spent the better part of two days going back over all of the documented information and now have the line cleaned up. Unfortunately, the family grandmothers were not always documented, or all reference to some of them has been lost to antiquity.

I may have posted in the past that beyond this information, the very earliest documented reference to a de Forest was published in 1660 by Jean le Carpentier in his history of Cambresis. In his book he mentions Hubert de Forest who is a “Chevalier.” That is understood to be a class of membership in a French or Belgian Order of Chivalry, or order of merit. In other words he was someone who had been knighted. Hubert de Forest is referenced in the Carpentier book as being a member of the First Crusade in 1096. This may or may not be something that we as a family care to acknowledge depending on one’s feelings about the necessity for the Crusades in history at all. As you will see below, the farthest back I have been able to positively identify direct lineage is only to Waitier de Forest who was born somewhere around 1150. I have not been able to make a connection to Hubert the Crusader, so it is only mentioned here for your speculation. Included with this story is a representation of Medieval Avesnes, France, our DeFrees homeland.

DeFrees Family Documented Spouse

Francis Marion DeFrees Agnes Caron

1875-1964 1896-1998

Henry Clay DeFrees Susan Emma Wright

1846-1917 1846-1906

John Henry DeFrees Rebecca Brier Robertson

1821-1908 1823-1894

Ricely C. DeFrees Elizabeth Holloway

1800-1862 1795-1874

James DeFrees Sophina Sevier Risley

1737-1827 1755-1840

Joseph DeFrees Mary Catherine Hutton

1711-1765 1715-1790

Johannes Deforest Catharina Raverstein

1684-1757 1684-1770

Isaac Deforest jr Lysbeth VanDerSpiegel

1655-1700 1681-1735

Isaac H. Deforest Sarah Du Trieux

1616-1674 1625-1692

Jesse Deforest Marie Du Cloux

1576-1624 1576-1622

Jean Deforest Anne Maillard

1543-1606 1551-1640

Melchior Deforest III Catherine Du Fosset

1521-1571 1510-1579

Melchior Deforest II Jacqueline Bronchin

1497-1550 1490-1557

Melchior Deforest I Unknown

1472-1530

Gaspard De Forest Maria Melchiore

1450-1520 1450-1475

Simon De Forest Jordan Probst

1420- ? 1425-1450

Thomas De Forest Marie de Poix

1408-1436 1390- ?

Louis De Forest Marie De Montar

1379- ? 1380-1438

Jehan De Forest Unknown

1350-1408

Alard De Forest Unknown

1330- ?

Giles de L’Estoc De Forest Maroie

1276- ? 1280- ?

Gerard de L’Estoc De Forest Unknown

1190-1276

Herbert De Forest Mathilde Vielis

1179-1200 1170- ?

Waitier De Forest Usilie

1150- ? 1165- ?

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Depiction of Hubert de Forest - First Crusade in 1096

17. George W. DeFrees - Tennessee Youngster

March 29, 2018

Our 3G grandfather Ricely C. DeFrees along with Elizabeth Holloway brought eight children into the world. The oldest was our 2G grandfather John Henry born in 1821. He was followed by Richard James in 1822, Eliza in 1824, Francis Marion in 1827, Rachel Sevier in 1829, Elizabeth in 1835, William Reed in 1837, and finally George Washington DeFrees in 1841. This then is the story of our 2G uncle, George W. DeFrees.

The American Civil War was the bloodiest war in the history of our great nation with more than 750,000 currently estimated deaths over the four year period of battles. The battle of Shiloh in Tennessee took place on April 6th and 7th in 1862. The death toll taking place in just that two day period of time was estimated to have been nearly 24,000 young men. The losses were 55% Union and 45% Confederate. This tally of death made the Battle of Shiloh 7th in ranking over 32 battles making up current estimates. At that time in our history, the Civil War removed approximately 2.4% of our population from the earth.

Tintype Photo of the Battle of Shiloh

Anyone who has ever studied Civil War battles and troop movements over time understands how complicated the information is to follow. Strategies are formed, attempted and often fall apart. Brigades and battalions are organized and moved while artillery and supply lines are established. Throughout the battles skirmishes ensue, battalions are taken by surprise, formed battle lines are destroyed and communications come apart at the seams loaded with misinformation. Yet through all of it progress and ground is taken with great zeal and suddenly given back with greater zeal on the opposing side. Just when one group believes fervently that they have won the day, they are suddenly overrun and their ranks are decimated. The Battle of Shiloh was no different and is far too complex to reproduce for you here. So what I have endeavored to do is to bring the battle to each of you, but only through the eyes of our great uncle George DeFrees.

George was born on Monday, March 1, 1841 on the farm of Ricely and Elizabeth DeFrees in southern Sumner County, TN a few miles from the county seat of Gallatin. Certainly life on a small farm in the rolling hills of Tennessee was relatively normal for this young boy, the last to arrive in the family of eight children. George grew, worked, lived and loved over the years, reaching the age of 20 in 1861. During his short lifetime however, the mood of the country grew steadily and increasingly dark. On the positive side industrialization grew vigorously in the north, as the south benefitted from a cotton boom that notably increased living standards. From the standpoint of the economy, there was a swelling of interest in establishing an industrialized presence in the west as many followed their “Manifest Destiny” bolstered by the urgings of noted journalists of the day.

At the same time, there was a festering discontent for the entire concept of slavery. Abolitionist movements were forming and expanding in the north. The prohibition of the importation of slaves into the United States became law as far back as 1807. https://bit.ly/2pOVrwl There was no end to the constant din of a resounding demand to end the institution of slavery. Over time, many slaves throughout the country became increasingly aggressive in their attempts to either escape to the north or at the very least do whatever they could to decrease their productivity or that of the plantation’s owner. Slave rebellions had been sporadically though infrequently taking place from as early at 1800. One of the worst was that of Nat Turner in 1831 who organized a rebellion in Southampton County, Virginia in which 60 white people had been killed. Such rebellions of course contributed to the development and growth of militias and mobs roaming the countryside killing blacks by the hundreds at will.

The single most important match that may have set off the tinder of the fire which would become the Civil War took place in 1859 with the raid on the armory at Harper’s Ferry, Virginia by radical abolitionist John Brown. It was his intent to take possession of weapons to arm what he may have considered to be a formidable slave uprising. The raid failed and all involved were tried and executed. The abolitionists of the north, however, raised John Brown up to be a martyr for the cause, inflaming growing rhetoric and promoting hate of the people who lived and profited off the backs of slaves in the south.

We have no concept of discussions around the dinner tables of the south at that time, but most assuredly there was growing concern over the ruthless abolitionists forcing an end to what had become a way of life for so many years for thousands of families there, even for those who did not own slaves. That growth of concern helped to prompt the revitalization of the concept of states’ rights. https://bit.ly/2pMVbwW This was a wholly political concept that had been around since the writing of the Constitution itself. However, it now loomed more important than ever for the beleaguered southerners who had a growing dread for their continued life and very existence. By 1860 the darkness of concern and growing anxiety forced states to begin seceding from the Union, giving rise to the establishment on February 8, 1861 of a “Provisional Constitution of the Confederate States of America,” thereby giving birth to the army of the Confederacy.

Just as the young people of today find themselves inevitably and irretrievably drawn into a cause of great relevant importance, driven by the media and clamber of friends and relatives, so was likely the case with young George DeFrees. He is “enrolled” as a private in the Army of the Confederacy on Tuesday, December 17, 1861, at Camp Trousdale, one of the largest Confederate training camps located in Sumner County, TN. Here, George becomes a part of the 55th Tennessee Infantry, otherwise known as McKoin’s Infantry, commanded by Colonel James L. McKoin. He begins his enlistment period of 12 months as a part of Capt. Henry B. Day’s company.

George’s company marches out of camp and becomes organized with its regiment on January 30, 1862 at Camp Weakley near Nashville, TN. Then on February 16, 1862 his regiment is “placed in the forces commanded by Major General William J. Hardee, and on February 23, at Murfreesboro, was reported in Brigadier General Gideon J. Pillow’s Division, Brigadier General S.A.M. Wood’s Brigade, composed of the 7th, 16th Alabama, 8th Arkansas, 9th Arkansas Battalion, 3rd Mississippi Batalion, 27th, 44th and 55th (McKoin's) Tennessee Infantry Regiments, Avery’s Cavalry, and Byrne’s and Harper’s Batteries.” The 55th (McKoin’s) Regiment is listed as having “280 muskets.” It is most certain that George has become aware that his new Brigade is comprised of regiments who are currently in retreat from the short battle at Fort Donelson in a Confederate attempt to gain control of the major supply routes of the Tennessee and Cumberland Rivers.

The entire Brigade rests, recuperates and reorganizes for a few days at the Camp Weakly location, tending to the sick, injured and those who have escaped capture at Fort Donelson. Then in mid-March, Brigadier General Gideon J. Pillow is unexpectedly suspended from leadership in an order from the seat of government. His responsibility is assumed by General Thomas Carmichael Hindman, former commander of the 2nd Arkansas Infantry. Shortly thereafter the Brigade is ordered to proceed south to Corinth, Mississippi where they are to reform in anticipation of a fight for control of Pittsburg Landing near Shiloh on the Tennessee River, several miles north of Corinth. They arrive at Corinth on March 20, 1862. They are just becoming aware that Union General Ulysses S. Grant is forming his regiments at the riverboat docking location at Pittsburg Landing. There, Grant is being joined and reinforced by General Halleck from St. Louis, and General Buell who has been “force marching” through the center of Tennessee in order to arrive at Pittsburg Landing.

“On the 3rd of April a general order is issued, directing the troops to prepare five days rations and forty rounds of cartridges.” The Brigade begins its move northward on the Corinth Road to reestablish itself at the fork of Corinth and Bark Roads, just south of what will soon become the battlefield of Shiloh. There, the Confederate army, nearly 44,000 souls in number including our 2G uncle George W. DeFrees, will engage the enemy.

…The next posting will be on April 6, 2018, exactly 157 years to the day from the beginning of hostilities at the Battle of Shiloh in special memory and as a tribute to our 2G uncle, Private George W. DeFrees.

Private in the Army of the Confederacy

Private George W. DeFrees Enrollment Document

55th Regiment Battle Flag

Brigadier General Gideon J. Pillow

Major General S.A.M. Wood

General Thomas Carmichael Hindman

Major General William J. Hardee

18. Private George W. DeFrees - Confederate at Shiloh: Part 1 April 6, 2018

The Confederate march from Corinth with the intent to attack the Union Army at Pittsburg Landing was nothing short of brutal, as they found themselves at war with Mother Nature rather than the Federals of the north. Several columns of a total of nearly 28,000 men had to be organized, formed up and set in motion on Thursday, April 3, 1862, with hopes of reaching a point along the Corinth Road still approximately three miles from the juncture of Corinth and Bark Roads. Organization by communicating on horseback however can be problematic at best, especially over a population the size of a small city. The troops don’t effectively begin movement on that day until midafternoon. Marching until midnight left them miles short of their anticipated rendezvous point.

The morning of Friday, April 4th brought rain, which continued to increase in severity throughout the day, hampering travel through deeply mudded roads, making it especially difficult to haul heavy artillery and supply wagons. Troops found themselves slogging through rivers of mud which caused them to slow to a snail’s pace. Lt. Edwin H Rennolds of the 5th

Tennessee stated, “…the roads became so muddy…as to be almost impassable. The country was heavily wooded and unsuited to travel, and the men were generally unused to marching. The officers, in the main knew nothing practically of campaigning, and the progress was slow and wearisome.” As a result, a planned attack on the Union had to be postponed as the rain continued into the afternoon of April 5th, when the troops wearily arrived at their staging position. The fork of Corinth and Bark Roads was a beginning strategic position just four miles from their intended target of Pittsburg Landing. That is where the troops gathered, reorganized and reformed into concentrated lines in preparation for battle.

The forced delay in attacking was not received well by a number of generals, and General Albert S. Johnston, commander of the Army of the Mississippi was one of them. He was infuriated by the postponement of battle. His troops were located east of the main assault formation as he planned to move northeast directly to Pittsburg Landing to cut off the Union forces and protect the river port landing site. In frustration he road back to General Beauregard’s encampment to have a serious discussion about how the Confederate ranks should proceed. There he found other leading generals already in heavy debate about the advisability of continuing at all. Beauregard had lost all confidence in their plan, to which General Bragg was in complete agreement, calling the plan “suicide.” Over their last two days of advancement, forces had encountered and engaged Union pickets (scouts) a number of times leading them to believe their element of surprise was lost. Johnston as well as General Polk disagreed vehemently stating that civilians in the area were reporting that Union troops remained essentially unaware of their movements or position. Johnston simply ended the meeting as he rose and proclaimed, “Gentlemen, we shall attack at daylight tomorrow.” On their return to their regiments Johnston declared to his son, William Preston Johnston, with some bravado, “I would fight them if they were a million.”

The Third Army Corp, commanded by Major General William J. Hardee, positions itself as the lead line of attack after arriving just south of the Shiloh battlefield. This front battle line is comprised of four brigades. (Map Point 1) From left to right, the line is comprised of the 2nd Brigade commanded by Brigadier General Patrick Cleburne, the 3rd Brigade commanded Brigadier General Sterling Alexander Martin (SAM) Wood, the 1st Brigade commanded by Brigadier General Robert G. Shaver, while the last position on the far right is one of Major General Bragg’s brigades commanded by Brigadier General Adley H. Gladden. Private George W. DeFrees with the 55th Tennessee (McKoin’s) Infantry consisting of 280 men is positioned on the far right of Wood’s Brigade in the dead center of Hardee’s front line of battle. He is physically located just to the east of Corinth Road.

Wood’s Brigade is made up “of five regiments and two battalions of infantry, one battery of artillery and one company of calvalry.” The entirety of the brigade is located due south of two relatively open fields, Fraley and Wood, named for their owners. In the pre-dawn hours of Sunday, April 6, 1862, Major Aaron B. Hardcastle’s 3rd Mississippi Battalion of Wood’s Brigade is on picket at the corner of the two fields about a quarter mile ahead of the main line. General Johnston had been correct in his assumptions in that Union General Grant had no idea the Confederates were so close. He believed they were still entrenched in the Corinth area and also felt someone the likes of Albert Johnston “did not have the resolve, nor the ability, to attack them in the open field.” The front line, including George DeFrees could hear the Union camps and even their bands playing late into the night with both high morale and confidence in their circumstances. Eventually all became quiet and the exhausted and mud covered Confederate soldiers began to sleep.

One of the reasons Grant continued to believe as he did was because some of his south line generals, not the least of which is Brigadier General Benjamin M. Prentiss, were dismissing the picket engagement information coming back to them and never reported it to Grant. Regardless, others in the south line of Union camps are becoming increasingly anxious. Because of this, one of Prentiss’s direct reports in the 1st Brigade, Colonel Everett Peabody, takes it upon himself to send out a small force of 250 men to head south in search of lurking Confederates.

At 4:55 a.m. Sunday morning Hardcastle’s pickets are fired upon by the morning patrol from Peabody’s Brigade commanded by Major James Powell. The battle of Shiloh has begun. Hardcastle’s men engage Powell’s forces holding them at bay in the southeast corner of Fraley field (Map Point 2) until 6:30 a.m. when Wood’s Brigade and George DeFrees advance in support, pushing Powell’s men back toward the Peabody camp. Wood’s Brigade moves directly forward to the northeast to attack the white tents of the Peabody encampment. They continue their advancement, being joined by three other brigades. They finally reach the camp by 9:00 a.m. seeing soldiers fleeing by the hundreds to the north. The Peabody camp is completely overrun by the right side of Wood’s Brigade occupied by George DeFrees. The left side of the brigade is spread far enough to the west of the line and comes very close to engaging the encampment of the 53rd Ohio Regiment. By now Wood’s Brigade who was the first line of attack and is the guide for Hardee’s entire first line, is joined in the rear by Generals Cleburne and Shaver, the two other brigades from Hardee’s Corp. They are also reinforced by Bragg’s Brigade commanded by Gladden. At one point during the melee, Hardee’s front reaches a mile in length and includes more than 9,000 men.

Union General Prentiss is furious with Colonel Peabody. Galloping up to meet him, he “angrily demanded if he had sent out an unauthorized patrol and brought on this engagement—a violation of Halleck’s standing orders.” If so, the enraged Prentiss screams that Peabody “would be held personally accountable.” Peabody’s response to Prentiss is that he “always accepted responsibility.” Each of the Union officers then leave each other to tend to their various forces.

To continue the camp encroachment description above aligning to Map Point 3, here is an excerpt from Shiloh, by Stacy D. Allen. “At 8:15, Brig. Gen. Sterling A.M. Wood’s Confederate brigade, attaching on Shaver’s left, struck Peabody’s unsupported right flank and turned his line. At the same time, General Johnston, who had arrived at the front, ordered Shaver’s and Gladden’s men to make a bayonet charge. Hit on two sides, Prentiss’s division is driven to its camp color line, where the officers labor to establish a second line. Deployed opposite Prentiss’s two brigades, four Confederate brigades (Wood, Shaver, Gladden and Chalmers, about 9,800 men), surged forward in a large frontal assault. Pvt. Liberty Independence Nixon of the 26th Alabama in Gladden’s brigade recalled… “we were ordered to charge which we did at a shout. We ran up near enough to be certain that our balls would reach them. We then fired a tremendous volley which seemed to have a considerable effect on them…[then] we fell flat to reload.””

The Union forces fight entirely unsupported in their camps in spite of Prentiss calling for assistance. Again, an excerpt from Shiloh, “At 8:45, Everett Peabody rode through his camps shouting encouragement to his men and urging them to hold. Wounded four times, he refused to relinquish command. Drawing rein before his tent, Peabody was struck again and this time died instantly. His brigade, now leaderless and outflanked, crumbled under the onslaught and retreated in disorder.”

The 21 year old George DeFrees, in the first four hours of this day, beginning sopping wet and muddy from head to toe, is suddenly thrust into his destiny leading the foray into Union forces on the fields and in the woods of Shiloh. He is witness to literally hundreds of his companions being killed before his eyes and for some unexplainable reason he continues to survive. For the moment Wood’s Brigade has gained a hard fought victory over the Union’s Peabody Brigade, sending them in retreat, fleeing for their lives, but George’s brigade too has suffered many losses. For now he is surrounded both near and far by thousands of fresher troops to reinforce his initial incursion into enemy lines. With any hope at all, George is able to derive some level of comfort and confidence from his current circumstances. He looks around to assess the quieting field of battle and can only imagine if the calm will last.

The second half of George’s first morning at Shiloh on April 6, 1862 will be posted tomorrow…

General Benjamin M. Prentiss

Artist Renditions of the Battle of Shiloh

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19. Private George W. DeFrees - Confederate at Shiloh: Part 2 April 7, 2018

I'm a paragraph. Click here to add your own teIt is now 9:00 a.m. on Sunday, April 6, 1862, the first day of the Battle of Shiloh. Confederate forces led by Wood’s Brigade have successfully created Union disarray and retreat from encampments which just hours before were beginning their breakfast activities. The swiftly retreating men of Prentiss’s Brigade, Peabody’s Brigade and the 53rd Ohio Brigade bolsters the confidence and boldness of the Confederate troops as they enter the vacated white tent encampments of the Federal forces. The discipline of the emboldened Confederates wanes and then swiftly falls apart completely as they begin wild ransacking and looting of the camps in a free for all. The hungry troops, some of which haven't eaten since Corinth, help themselves to still warm breakfast preparations with glee. They also help themselves to clothing, armaments, keepsakes and other personal effects of the Union troops. George DeFrees is witness to all of this. We can merely speculate whether he joins in or is disgusted by the unfolding of brazen human greed before him. Private Liberty Nixon once again reflects in saying, “The Yankees…left everything they had, Corn, Oats, Pants, Vests, Drawers, Shirts, Shoes and a great many other things in great abundance and of the finest quality.”

Generals Hardee and Bragg are extremely disappointed in this turn of events and the behavior of their “green” volunteers, which have now become nothing more than a rabble. They and several other officers spend the better part of the next hour attempting to bring order back from the looting chaos. There is a demand for urgency, (Map Point 1) since significant fighting can be heard a short distance away to their left. There, six brigades under Beauregard and Polk have attacked the Union brigades of Hildebrand and Buckland of General William T. Sherman’s Division just north of Fraley field. The 6th Mississippi infantry in Cleburne’s Brigade is taking a severe beating in which it loses over 70% of its numbers. Although it appeared for a brief time the Confederates were on the verge of victory, there is a great deal more to be done on this day.

Now closing in on 10:00 a.m. most of the troops have been rallied and are reorganized back into their respective brigades. Wood’s Brigade immediately mobilizes to join the Cleburne and Anderson attack. George DeFrees and his fellow soldiers pivot left, running for approximately a quarter mile nearly to within sight of the Shiloh church. There they engage the Union’s brigade commanded by Colonel Julius Raith near their Waterhouse battery of cannons. Cleburne and Anderson are joined now by Johnston and Russell while Wood circles around on the right against Raith. This combined effort succeeds in forcing Sherman’s two brigades back across the Hamburg-Purdy Road, while the 13th Tennessee of Russell’s Brigade claims possession of the Waterhouse battery. Later General Vaughan of the 13th Tennessee recorded that when they arrive at the cannons, “A dead Union officer lay near them, and keeping guard over his body was a pointer dog that refused to allow the Confederates to approach the body.”

During this battle, Generals Charles Clark of the 1st Division and Albert Johnston are severely wounded. At the same time, Union Colonel Julius Raith is killed.

Filled now with emboldened encouragement after successfully driving the Union soldiers back in retreat on all fighting fronts, Wood’s Brigade pushes the fight forward. They double time up the left of Raith’s fallen brigade and move into attack position against Marsh’s Brigade on the Corinth Road (Map Point 2). For good or ill, this move opens a hole to their rear nearly a brigade wide that must be filled by advancing troops. Union Colonel C. Carroll Marsh remembers the scene by noting, “The enemy were seen approaching in large force and fine style, column after column moving on us with a most terrible precision.” He further added that the Confederates “opened on us with a most terrible and deadly fire, unequaled by any which we were under during the subsequent engagements….During the first five minutes I lost more in killed and wounded than in all other actions.”

Meanwhile, the strategic hole left by Wood’s Brigade advancing and engaging Marsh’s Brigade was ordered filled by the Russell and Stewart brigades. In the rush and confusion of battle, with vision filled with trees, underbrush and worst of all huge clouds of smoke from armory and artillery fire, things naturally go wrong. George DeFrees is in the middle of Wood’s Brigade and suddenly finds himself with others receiving fire from both the front and the rear. Although never documented completely, it is nevertheless understood that it is Stewart’s Brigade to their rear who mistake Wood’s Brigade for Union troops and begin firing into them. The first volley of friendly fire instantly kills five of them. All the others drop to the ground and try to hide behind trees and logs, but the attempt seems all but futile. The brigade commander General SAM Wood will have none of this. He turns on his mount and makes for Stewart’s Brigade screaming all the way to cease fire. This heroic action, however, is cut short as his horse is shot and falls to the ground while Wood is thrown but remains tangled presumably in a stirrup. His horse regains its footing and begins to run, dragging Wood several hundred yards through tents of a camp before he can free himself. General Wood lay still and unconscious and is carried from the field as the fighting continues. He is however successful in stopping the friendly fire incursion from the rear.

Freed up now to continue their advance, the now leaderless Wood’s Brigade continues the attack on Marsh’s Brigade, pushing them back to the north of Hamburg-Purdy Road. There they manage to claim possession of the six cannon Burrows battery. Now, the combination of the brigades of Wood, Shaver, Stewart, Gibson and Stephens continue pummeling the Union ranks until Sherman’s entire front collapses completely. Sherman orders his troops to “fall back fighting.” The battle again begins to quiet down and the widely scattered brigades can start to take a tally of their ranks. It is likely in this battle, or as a result of the incident of friendly fire that George DeFrees falls wounded. He does however remain alive, and is moved with the other wounded to an area south of the fighting and also some ways south of the original Confederate formations of that morning. The field hospital known as Mickey House is manned by Drs. Cross, Lawrence and Noblitt who undoubtedly have their work seriously cut out for them.

It is now 12:00 noon on Sunday. Grant had become aware of the situation at Shiloh earlier in the morning and moved immediately from his command location to Pittsburg Landing where he arrives at 9:00 a.m. to make his own personal assessment. There he finds his Union troops in complete mayhem and panic and sends his officers out at once to contain the situation.

Grant has four full divisions including no less than nine brigades of fresh troops that have not yet been involved in the fighting of the day. Most of them are located near Pittsburg Landing. At midday he sends the brigades of Generals William Wallace, Stephen Hurlbut and John McArthur south to join with what’s left of the Prentiss Brigade (Map Point 3). They come together at the Peach Grove and there they form a line of battle which will come to be known as “The Hornet’s Nest.” It is so named from the experience of the Confederate Gibson’s Brigade because the area is “covered with an almost impenetrable thicket,” and the men are “raked by battery fire and a steady fire of musketry, which exploded across their front to consume the forest, ripping trees and underbrush to pieces. The whizzing sounds of the minie balls and shrapnel reminded the men of a swarm of hornets.” It is here where the tide of the battle begins to turn in favor of the Union.

The Union troops are advanced upon time and time again by Rebel ranks, but they continue to hold their own in the nest. Confederates are pulling in on all sides of the Hornet's Nest and continue to pummel the location with gunfire. It is only after Confederate Brigadier General Daniel Ruggles establishes a line of cannons consisting of 55 guns south of the target that the nest begins to give way. This, the "largest concentration of artillery ever seen in North America" finally collapses the Hornet's Nest, although with massive casualties on both sides. However, the hours of time lost here by the Confederates allows Grant to welcome 7,000 of General Lewis Wallace's troops from the north, as well as 18,000 men from General Don Carlos Buell's division from the east side of the Tennessee River. We know from history that the power of the fresh Union troops along with the hands on command of Grant himself over the next day ends in a realistic victory for the North.

Although there is a huge amount of information that may yet be conveyed of the ensuing battle, this story is about George DeFrees, so we return to noon on April 6, 1862.

Also by midday on Sunday the 6th, the 55th (McKoin’s) Infantry realizes that its ranks have become completely decimated. Current records show that Wood’s Brigade losses placed them 5th out of 16 tallies in terms of casualties. Nevertheless, the 16th Alabama and the 55th (McKoin’s) Tennessee are ordered to join Shaver’s Brigade now commanded by General Stewart, as they move to the right to engage the infamous Hornet’s Nest. However, before their fighting begins, the 3rd Mississippi and the 55th Tennessee are ordered to the rear with the prisoners. After their unbelievably heroic actions as well as horrific losses of the day, the 55th does not become engaged again in the Battle of Shiloh.

On Monday, April 7, 1862, back at Mickey House field hospital, the doctors have been working feverishly through the night. Drs. Cross, Lawrence and Noblitt continue nonstop tending to the never ending masses of wounded. None of them have slept for over 48 hours. Then late on Monday evening, realizing that the tide has drastically turned in the direction of the Union, they come to understand that the hospital and wounded will be surrendered on Tuesday morning. It is Dr. Noblitt who is successful in obtaining a number of wagons to carry off no more than 65 wounded soldiers to Corinth. Our 2G uncle George DeFrees by some miracle of chance or fate is among them.

However, that miracle soon begins to fade as they find conditions at Corinth nearly intolerable. The extremely wet spring flooded the area, and the already infested swamps only became larger increasing insect populations to staggering proportions. The small city is filled up with the sick, wounded and the dead following Shiloh. Any available resources are completely tapped out with little or nothing for the retreating Confederates to sustain themselves with. Beyond that, with contaminated drinking water, the region is ripe with a variety of diseases including dysentery, and measles as well as anything that could be acquired due to contact with festering wounds.

Nevertheless, Union troops following on the retreat begin to engage the Confederates in the first battle now referred to as the Siege of Corinth, on April 29, 1862. One of their main objectives from the very beginning has always been to gain control of the “vital crossroads” in Corinth of the Memphis & Charleston and the Mobile & Ohio railroad lines. That battle lasts until March 30, 1862 when the Confederate ranks are vanquished.

Our uncle George DeFrees perishes in Corinth, MS on May 1, 1862, whether it be from his wounds, disease or bullet during the siege we can only speculate. His final military record which we found in our visit to the Sumner County Historical Society simply read, “Died May 1st 1862 at Corinth, Miss.” In the section noting when and by whom he was last paid, it stated, “Never Paid.” After searching the entire city and surrounding area, we could not find any Confederate cemetery which might include our uncle. Thus ends the brief, courageous and noble life of our 2G uncle, George Washington DeFrees.

In spite of the times being the mid-19th century, it is likely the family back in Sumner County, TN did indeed receive word of George’s death within a few days. Whether from disease, strain of toil or the grief of the loss of his youngest child, George’s father Ricely himself dies on May 8, 1862, just seven days after his son, at just 62 years of age.

Sources: Shiloh 1862, by Winston Groom; Confederate High Command at Shiloh, by Maj. Thomas K. Hall; The Battle of Shiloh and the Organizations Engaged, by United States Shiloh National Park; The Generals of Shiloh: Character in Leadership, April 6-7, 1862, by Larry Tagg; Indiana at Shiloh: Report of the Commission, by Indiana National Park Commission; Shiloh, by Stacy D. Allen; The Confederate Military, Vol. 8, Tennessee; Tennesseans in the Civil War, by the Civil War Centennial Commission, 1964; Military Annals of Tennessee (Confederate), 1886, by John Berrian Lindsley, and the 1913 Report of the Shiloh National Military Park Commission.

Tintype of Pittsburg Landing, 1862

Artist Rendition of Grant's Arrival at Pittsburg Landing

General William Wallace

General John McArthur

Artist Rendition of The Hornet's Nest

Artist Rendition of Confederate Wounded moving to Corinth

Artist Rendition of The Siege of Corinth, April 29, 1862

General Stephen Hurlbut

General Daniel Ruggles

44th Tennessee Regiment Flag

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20. DeFrees Journey to Faribault - Part 1
December 23, 2018

DeFrees, Frank & Agnes Caron Wedding.jpg

First of all, I will borrow an excerpt from story 15. DeFrees Burying Ground. We know it was James, our 4G grandfather, who pulled up stakes from Manhattan Island after more than 100 family years and ventured west. He and his family apparently made their first brief stop in 1780 where they lived in Rockbridge County, Virginia. They had purchased 100 acres of what was referred to as a “corner of Borden’s Great Tract” along the South River. Then they continued to live in this area of Virginia until at least 1790, but there is no record of James or his family in the 1790 census records in that area.. We found it noted in the Rockbridge County Order Book, 1787-1794, however, that James was exempt from paying any taxes because he was a constable.

Apparently while still living in Virginia there is record of James and his son William purchasing property in Surry County, North Carolina. James “DeFreece” and his family are documented as living in Surry County, NC by 1800 according to the Federal census of that date. The Surry County, NC Deed Book records that James bought 250 acres of land in 1789 for 200 pounds, along the south side of Forbis’s Creek in Yadkin County. He also apparently purchased land on the south side of the Yadkin River in 1792, and then bought 150 acres on Grassy Creek in 1800. In 1801 records show that James also bought 116 acres of land at the mouth of Meadow Branch of Mitchell’s River in Surry County. One can only surmise that James must have been able to profitably sell his family holdings in New York in order to be able to afford all of these purchases. (Records taken from “James DeFrees and his Descendants”)

Later, records indicate that an agent was appointed in 1811 and 1812 to sell the DeFrees acres in Surry County, which would suggest that James and his family were once again on the move. Although no census records capture their whereabouts, sometime later he is found on the 1816 tax list for Sumner County, TN. There we see the records show James owning 137 acres of land on Otter Fork

of Bledsoe’s Creek, as well as one black slave. (Sumner County Tax Books, R332, p. 1147) The Sumner County, Tennessee Deed Book also shows that James purchased 141 acres of land on the same Bledsoe Creek location in 1817 (Plat maps below). And there the family continued to live and survive on a subsistence regimen until John Henry DeFrees, one of Ricely’s sons, decided to pull up stakes and move north the year following his father’s death in 1863.

James DeFrees in his Last Will dated July 26, 1820, states: “First, I give to my beloved wife, Sophi Defrees, all my tract and parcel of land whereon I now live, to her for her proper use during her natural life, together with all my utencils (sic), my wagon and gears, stills, and tubs and also my household and kitchen furniture except what I may hereafter in this will dispose of.”

Then documented in “James DeFrees and His Descendants,” it is stated: “The land, which was left to his wife during her lifetime and then to the two youngest sons, Ricely and Joseph, was acquired by Ricely. From him it passed to one of his sons, William R. (Reed), whose brothers and sisters quitclaimed their shares to him after the death of their father (Ricely).” One of his brothers of course was our 2G grandfather John Henry DeFrees, so he no longer had any claim to the Sumner County, TN land. This same reference went on to state, “John Henry moved to Illinois in the early 1860s – 1863 according to a letter quoted below – following a sister and brother who had gone there earlier.” This book unfortunately does not indicate which sister or brother moved first, or why.

Just as an interesting side note, the letter referenced above was written in 1946 by Talmage DeFrees, a grandson of John Henry, and first cousin of our Frank DeFrees. The letter documents a trip that Talmage and his father Newton Talmage DeFrees had taken back to the Tennessee homestead in 1929 when Newton was 80 years old. It read as follows: “We went to the big log house where father left in 1863. Big fireplaces in each end. We also went to the house where Risley (sic) lived. There was a sand stone drilled well back of the house on a natural stone stoop….Also saw all the things that father had told me about all his life. He was fourteen when he left there and had never been back.” I have included an illustration plat map from 1915 which just happens to show two dwellings which both have “big fireplaces in each end.”

So now the DeFrees family is once again on the move after dwelling on the Sumner County, TN homestead for at least two generations, or 46 years. One thing we know is that although the DeFrees owned a fairly considerable tract of land in Sumner county, much of it was forest covered and quite hilly which made it pretty much untillable. At least that is what we witnessed on our visit there in 2014. There are references in the James DeFrees book mentioned above describing the conditions experienced at the time of their habitation of this area. Quotes taken from letters by a James M. Ritchie also of Sumner County stated the following: “…we have hard times in this state monney bin [scarce] here since 1818 cotton is worth $6 per hundred pork 43 to 43.50 per hundred…wheat at 40 cents per bushel…” Further reference from 13 May of 1841, “…we had a [great deal] of sickness here laste summer an fall a grate menney death we have harde times here the peapel is in deat an monney is [scarce] an prouduce low…” Then on 15 March 1845, “…we have harde times in Tennessee monney is scarce here an all kine of produce is low…this is a harde contry for farmers to make monney we can have plenty to eate boute I am in hopes tha times wil git better as James K Poke take his seate as president…”

Whether it be from these kinds of hard times or the struggle of subsistence farming, attempting to sustain a decent living in Sumner County at this time in history was becoming more and more difficult. That is especially true with the Civil War waging on, which caused even further hardships for families in this area. Couple that with notifications from newspapers in the north of relatively inexpensive farmland in the state of Illinois. Current Illinois state history references the following, “The first settlers came mostly to raise cattle on pasture, not row crops. Among those who bought land for $1.25 per acre were the Funk family who later became known in the seed industry.” Also note the ad below taken from an 1863 edition of an Illinois newspaper which calls out to anyone in search of a better life to come to Illinois for land at $8 to $12 per acre. Something like that would most certinly sound like heaven was just waiting up the road a piece.

Therefore, sometime during the year 1863, John Henry DeFrees uprooted his family of 9 children and headed north to Illinois with the hopes and dreams for a better life for everyone. The family relocated to farmland near Beaver Creek in Bond County, Illinois according to the 1870 census records. By the same token, John’s last two children, Samuel and Ruth Mary were both born in Effingham County, IL, in 1864 and ’65 respectively, but neither of them survived for more than a couple of months.

At the time of their move in 1863, our great grandfather Henry Clay DeFrees was 17 years old. About one year later it is documented that on February 16. 1865 he was for some reason compelled to enlist in the Illinois Union Army in the 154th infantry regiment at the age of 18. This is in spite of, or perhaps even because of his uncle George Washington DeFrees’ service in the Army of the Confederacy just three years earlier. You will remember that George DeFrees fought and died from his part at the Battle of Shiloh. However, history tells us that just two months after Henry’s enlistment, on April 9, 1865, General Robert E. Lee surrendered his Confederate troops to General Ulysses S. Grant at Appomattox, VA. This of course led to a rather short military experience for Henry since he was mustered out of the regiment just seven months later on September 17, 1865.

Following Henry’s short stint in the military, he would meet and fall in love with Susan Emma Wright, originally from Driftwood Township in Jackson County, Indiana. They would be married on June 15, 1866 in Effingham, Illinois, and they settled in the Beaver Creek area near Henry’s father, John Henry. There, according to the 1870 Federal Census record, they have a personal estate value of $400, and two children, Ricely Claiborn (Clay) 1869-1938 and Rosena Enia 1870-1883. There is further documentation of two other children born in this young family, Charles in 1867 as well as William Jefferson in 1868 who did not survive infancy. Strangely enough, there is no mention of Charles in either the 1870 or 1880 census records for Bond County, IL, and no records exist for that county in 1890. The only proof that has been found for the existence of Charles is a certificate in 1906 for his marriage to Rebecca Black, posted below, which clearly shows Henry Clay and Susan Wright as his parents.

Following 1870, several more children are born in this growing family as follows: Ione Victory 1871-1902; Reason Erustus 1874-1878; Francis Marion 1875-1964; George Washington 1878-1929; James Arthur 1879-1954; Dora Ann 1881-1978; Cordelia Grace 1854-1969; Guy Lester 1886-1908; and the namesake of his grandfather, John Henry 1888-1961.

From here we will follow our grandfather, Francis Marion in part 2 and document his travels finally to Faribault, Minnesota.

DeFrees, James Property Topographical.jp

Topographical map of the DeFrees property in 1863.

DeFrees, James Property Sumner Cty, TN.j

Current day satellite image of the DeFrees property in 1863

DeFrees, James Property Sketch 1915 1.jp

DeFrees, Charles & Rebecca Black Marriag

Marriage Certificate for Charles DeFrees and Rebecca Black. Note the parents of Charles shown in the left column.

1915 Plat Map sketch of the same property as seen above. Note the two houses with "big fireplaces in each end."

Henry Clay DeFrees, circa 1911, age 65.

Susan Emma Wright, circa 1903. Age 57

Family of Henry Clay DeFrees, circa 1890. Standing back right, Ricely & Ione Victory. Standing middle L-R, John Henry, James Arthur, Dora Ann, Cordelia Grace, and Guy Lester. Sitting front, L-R, George Washington, Henry Clay, Susan Emma, and Frank Marion.

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Advertisment from an 1863 Illinois newspaper.

21. Frank DeFrees Journey to Faribault - Part 2

January 3, 2019

Frank DeFrees Mary Zender Wedding - Austin, MN February 9, 1904

In this last segment of the DeFrees journey to Faribault story we will follow Francis Marion DeFrees, who preferred to be called Frank. Frank’s dad, Henry Clay had been residing in Bond County Illinois since he was 17 years old in 1863. He later served for a very short time in the Union Army (7 months), and then met and married his wife, Susan Emma Wright, in June of 1866. Our grandfather Frank wouldn’t come into the world until October 13th of 1875. He was born as the seventh child in a family of 13, all born over a span of 21 years.

The 1880 Census was recorded in June and simply shows Frank at age 4, with his father listed as a "farmer" and his mother as "keeping house." Unfortunately, there is no census record for Bond County, Illinois for the 1890 census year. The next record of Frank is found in the 1900 Mt. Pulaski, Illinois Census showing at the age of 24 he is still living with his family at their current home. This record shows Henry Clay, now at the age of 53, to be a “day laborer.” By this time however, Frank has found gainful employment as a “Fireman RR Engine.” Presumably this means that he has already begun his career with the railroad. It is known from quite a number of references that for most of his life Frank worked for the Chicago, Milwaukee, St. Paul & Pacific Railroad, otherwise known as The Milwaukee Road. After extensive searching however I have not been able to find any reasonable reference to Frank or his time of employment with the Milwaukee Road, other than anecdotal evidence that he retired in January of 1948 at the age of 72. It is entirely possible that he began his career with them while still living in Illinois, and perhaps decided to transfer with them into the Minnesota area. His first stop there is Austin, MN.

Frank’s move to Austin took place sometime between June of 1900 and February of 1904 when he married his first wife, Mary G. Zender. Unfortunately, the archive of Austin City directories from 1900 to 1904 are missing, so the beginning of his residence specifically can’t be established, and the first federal census record for this area will not be documented

until 1910. Suffice it to say that some time was needed for Frank to arrive, settle, fall in love with and marry Miss Zender. The two were married at St. Augustine Catholic Church on February 9, 1904. The newspaper wedding article (below) states that Frank is a brakeman for the Milwaukee Road. A little over a year later in June of 1905, the Minnesota Territorial & State Census lists Frank now as an engineer, and that the young couple reside at 1015 Bridge Street in Austin. This address also just happened to be the location of Zender’s Meat Market, which has a second story apartment (current day photo below).

Frank and Mary begin their family with the birth of Harlan on October 18, 1905. He is followed by Ervin on May 1, 1907, and Norbert on August 4, 1908. With this rapid family expansion, Frank and Mary must have decided that their little apartment above the meat market was getting a bit too small. Later records and news postings show that Frank first apparently rents a home, beginning in 1908, and then purchases that same home just one block from their first residence to live just walking distance from the Austin railyard at 908 Water Street. This will become their address for the rest of their time in Austin. That home still exists today, and was bought by Frank for a total of $1600 in 1910.

This is just the beginning of a somewhat challenging life for this young family. Although newspapers and certainly census records are notorious for getting names wrong, everything else about a 1911 article (below) indicates that Harlan is injured at the age of 5 when he is hit by a passing motorcycle. Although certainly not related, it is shortly after this that Mary begins to show signs of an illness then commonly referred to as “consumption.” In the early 20th century this disease was also referred to as the “white plague,” but we of course know it today as tuberculosis. At the time however, there was very little that could be done to stop the advance of the illness other than for doctors of the day to recommend moving to what they felt was a more suitable climate. This was exactly what Mary’s doctors prescribed, and as a result she and her sister Margaret boarded a train that would take them to the Phoenix, AZ area in January of 1912. They were also accompanied on this hopeful journey by Frank who would see to their settling in the new location. Frank however had to return to Austin to work and care for the children, while Margaret looked after Mary until her death in Phoenix on July 10, 1912. Mary had just turned 30 in June of that year. The boys, now left to the care of their father Frank were ages, Harlan 6, Ervin 5, and Norb 3.

Frank had traveled to Phoenix and was able to be with Mary at the time of her death. He made arrangements for the transportation of Mary back to Austin, and her funeral took place on July 24, 1912, “with a large attendance.”

Sadly, life under such circumstances must go on, and Frank has three mouths to feed, but his work on the railroad must obviously take him away from his family for perhaps both short and longer periods of time. Although it is fairly certain that the Zender family helped in caring for the youngsters, it had been understood in our family history that at some point the boys were enrolled at the Owatonna orphanage. This I felt was a critical point where it was vitally important to verify the information. The Owatonna orphanage is now a museum, and does not have any of the attendance records from the early 20th century. I was directed to the Minnesota Historical Society in St. Paul where they do have all of the early case files from the Owatonna institution. I contacted them armed with the case file identification numbers that I had discovered from the period in question between the years 1912 and 1916. The individual I was working with was extremely helpful and over the course of a day of back and forth phone conversations he informed me that although he could find unrelated references to both Frank and Mary DeFrees, there was no record to indicate that any of the boys had been institutionalized for any period of time in Owatonna.

I continued my efforts believing that, due to this family rumor, there had to have been some time when Frank may have felt somewhat helpless and not confidently able to care for the children. Then I finally stumbled over a document “For School Year Ending June 30, 1915” from the Arizona school census records and there found both Harlan, age 9 and Ervin, age 7 enrolled in a Maricopa County, Arizona school. The ‘Name of the Parents or Guardians’ listed on the document are “DeFrees, F.M. & M.G.” At this point, young Norb may not yet have been of school age. The mystery has therefore been solved, and at least Harlan and Ervin had been sent away to Phoenix to attend school during the interim life period between their mother Mary and their eventual step mother Agnes Caron.

Frank’s work on the Milwaukee Road quite often took him I believe all the way from northern Iowa, up to St. Paul regularly, which of course would bring him quite frequently through Faribault. Indications are that somewhere around 1914, Frank begins to find the possible beginnings of a new life for him and his boys perhaps in this small city.

Over the years I have run into just two family accounts of how Frank DeFrees and Agnes Caron met and began seeing each other. After pouring over both of these documents I feel that only one of them would best represent what actually occurred based on other information described within it which is fairly accurate. That story was written back in 1983, and presumably included Agnes’ own thoughts and reflections since at the time she was only 87 years old and still very much of sound mind. So that information is quoted below.

“Agnes gained employment at the Farmer Seed & Nursery Company on Fourth Street. She walked to and from work on the railroad tracks with her friend, Hilda Kalow, who worked at Clarine’s Greenhouse. As they were walking home one day they stopped by the Milwaukee depot, where Hilda introduced Agnes to her favorite beau, Frank DeFrees. Shortly after, Agnes met Frank again as she passed the depot walking home. She was alone, and Frank offered to escort her home. Before they reached her house, he asked her to see a movie with him. Since she knew he had been going with Hilda, she asked if she should invite her to go along with them. His reply was, “Well, two’s company, three’s a crowd.”

“They continued to date through the winter, but Agnes would be teased by friends about her “old man,” since Frank was 20 years her senior, with three growing boys. Though her parents liked Frank, and never objected to her dating him, she broke off the relationship by summer of the next year. Frank started dating other girls, but stopped to see Agnes often, and regularly brought her copies of his subscription to the Saturday Evening Post. He eventually talked her into dating again, and they became engaged and were married February 1, 1916, on Agnes’ 20th birthday.”

Amazingly enough, both the Caron and de Forest families arrived in the new world at nearly the same time in 1636. Here it is now 280 years, seven generations and many thousands of miles later, and the two families find each other in Faribault, MN to begin creating a life together.

Now for the most part many of you will be able to fill in history pretty much from this point on from your own conversations, experiences and family memories of Frank and Agnes. That is perhaps with the exception of just a couple more things which painfully impacted the lives of Frank and Agnes.

The 1920 Federal Census documents that the young Faribault DeFrees family consisting of Frank, Agnes, Harlan, Ervin, Norb and Helen, now living at 725 First Street. I presume this to be an apartment building since the census also shows a 725½ address where a Henderson family is residing. I can only assume that the boys were brought back from the Phoenix area in early 1916, and the new couple had their own first addition with Helen being born on September 21, 1917. It may or may not be common knowledge, but nevertheless understandable, that the boys did not immediately take a liking to their new step mother, and apparently did not treat her with the greatest of kindness or respect in those early years. Be that as it may, the family under the caring and motherly leadership of Agnes made themselves a home and continued to grow.

Then in late 1921, young Ervin, then 14, began to show signs of consumption, just as his mother had. Little if anything from a medical perspective had improved from the time of his mother’s passing and the recommendation still called for seeking more favorable climates. It was either this or be relegated to institutions specifically for the care of tuberculosis, which at that time were called “Sanatoriums.” Fortunately for the DeFrees family one such facility existed in Cannon Falls, Goodhue County, which had earlier that year opened its doors to both Rice and Dakota County patients. Regardless of circumstances, this is a heart and gut wrenching time for the DeFrees family. We can only imagine what Frank and Agnes were going through as they weighed their options, but the severity and contagiousness of the illness at that time was very well known. Now with Helen a toddler and Yvonne just a year old it was decided that most likely for the best of all concerned, Ervin would have to move to the sanatorium for care. The Mineral Springs Sanatorium in Cannon Falls was then where Ervin would check in and spend the rest of his days, until his death on August 6, 1922. https://bit.ly/2RtMtn3

A few years ago, Kathy Rainey sent me what I consider to be a family treasure. It was the last photograph to be taken of Ervin in his room at Mineral Springs. Accompanying the picture (below) was probably one of his last letters written to his family dated April 26, 1922, which read as follows.

“Dear Folks:

Well how is every one at home I am feeling good as usely. How is Yvonne gee! I would like to see her.

I kind of had the blues Sunday there was lots of company out here. When Papa was here he said Alice and all had planned to drive out and I thought they might of came Sunday but I guess they didn’t.

Well I will be 15 years old pretty soon and I guess I wouldn’t have any one to spank me Ha! Ha!

Well I guess that is all for now so will close with lots of love for Yvonne and the rest.

Ervin”

Sadly then, it was just a few a few years later that Ervin’s older brother Harlan would begin to have his own problems with health. In 1928 at the age of 23, Harlan was taken to St. Lucas hospital in Faribault where emergency surgery was performed on him. There is no further information associated with what may have been the problem, but Harlan did not survive the surgery. Both Ervin and Harlan were transported after their deaths to Austin where they are buried with their mother in Calvary Cemetery. Their only remaining brother Norb, whom we all came to know and love, fortunately lived a rich full life and survived to within just a few days of his 82nd birthday in 1990.

The blessed union of Agnes Caron and Frank DeFrees brings five of the most incredible women into this world. As referenced earlier, Helen is born on September 21, 1917, followed by Yvonne on March 14, 1920, the twins, Margaret and Marion on November 29, 1923, and Catherine on November 7, 1929.

The rest as you all know from here is our history, comprised of the joys of our memories of our time together with Frank and Agnes DeFrees, uncle Norb and all of the wonderful DeFrees women. What an incredible legacy they left for us all which helped everyone of us in turn to create our own rich and wonderful lives.

Two notices of the Frank DeFrees Mary Zender Wedding - Austin, MN, February 9, 1904. (Above) Mower County Transcript, (Right) Austin Daily Herald

Harlan DeFrees accident with motorcycle - 1911

Defrees Zender Boys Harlan Ervin and Nor

Frank & Mary's apartment above Zender's Meat Market in 1904. (Current day photo)

Frank & Mary's home at 908 Water Street, Austin - 1908. (Current day Photo)

News notice in the Austin Daily Herald of Mary Zender DeFrees moving to a new climate for her ailment - January 1912

Two news notices of the death of Mary Zender DeFrees in Phoenix, AZ - July 1912

L-R Harlan, Ervin & Norb at the approximate age when their mother died. - Circa 1912

Mary Zender DeFrees - Circa 1910

DeFrees, Harlan & Ervin Arizona School R

Arizona School Census Record from the school year ending June 30, 1915 - Maricopa County near Phoenix, AZ

Certificate of death for Mary G. DeFrees - July 10, 1912

The Milwaukee Road Railyard, Austin, MN - Circa 1910

Agnes Caron far left, and Celania Caron far right - 1915 (Perhaps Frank was taking this photograph for them?)

Mineral Springs Sanatorium, Cannon Falls, MN - Circa 1916

Frank DeFrees Agnes Caron Wedding - Faribault, MN February 1, 1916

Last photgraph of Ervin DeFrees in his Sanatorium room shortly before his death on August 6, 1922

News of Ervin DeFrees' funeral in the Austin Daily Herald - 1922

Greear, Eileen 5_14_1939 Star Tribune.jp

DeFrees, Frank, Agnes Caron & Paul Rober

Notice of Harlan DeFrees' death in the Faribault Daily News, May 30, 1928

Harlan DeFrees funeral notice printed in the Faribault Daily News, June 1928

L-R Norb, Ervin & Harlan DeFrees - Circa 1919

Miss Eileen Greear from Anoka, MN announces her wedding date to Norb DeFrees in the Star Tribune, May 14, 1939

Norb DeFrees Marriage to Eileen Greear, May 24, 1939

Paul Roberts, Agnes & Frank DeFrees on the porch of 712 4th St, Faribault, MN - Circa 1955

Norb DeFrees Marriage to Eileen Greear, May 24, 1939. Attending, Robert Caron, step uncle of Norb, and Honey Greear, sister of Eileen.

Circa 1931

Circa 1933

Circa 1935

Circa 1939

Circa 1988

Circa 1996

DeFrees family through the years...

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Circa 2000

22. Joseph Rollie DeFrees, US Navy – Part 1

April 21, 2020

This story begins with our 2G grandfather John Henry DeFrees, 1821-1908. John and his wife Rebecca Brier Robertson, 1823-1894 brought 11 children into the world, beginning with our great grandfather Henry Clay, 1846-1917. He was followed by his sister Alvaline Berniece, 1847-1916, and then by his first brother, Newton Talmadge, 1849-1932. Newton is the DeFrees branch that we will be looking into here. It sort of gives a new meaning to the phrase “going out on a limb” by departing ever so slightly from our direct family line. But this little detour you may find quite informative.

Newton Talmadge DeFrees was born on February 16, 1849 on the family farm in Sumner County, TN. We know from the research posted in story #20, DeFrees Long Journey to Faribault – Part 1, that it was John Henry who uprooted the family in 1863 to move to Illinois. At that time John Henry and Rebecca had nine children. The last two additions to the family, Samuel and Ruth Mary were born in Illinois but would not survive past infancy. In 1863, Newton

USS Antigone - 1919

was a strapping youngster of 14 and was certainly an accomplished farm hand. According to the 1870 Census, Newton is listed still with his father as a “Farmer” at the age of 22. Just two years later on July 30, 1872, Newton was married to Anna M. Johnson 1849-1929 and together they have three sons, Joseph, David and Homer. As you can see from the title of this posting, it is Joseph who we will be discovering in this first part of his story.

Joseph Rollie DeFrees was born on June 12, 1876 in Smithboro, IL. It is interesting to note here that his cousin, our grandfather Francis Marion DeFrees was born just a few months before Joseph on October 13, 1875 in Greenville, IL. Although we know almost nothing about their early lives, because of the fact that they essentially lived within five miles of each other it may be understandable to surmise that they, as first cousins, knew each other quite well and most likely grew up as relatively close friends. Although both of these youngsters begin their lives on the farm, they part ways quite dramatically by 1900 when Frank joins the railroad in Mount Pulaski, IL, and Joseph manages to obtain an appointment to the US Naval Academy in Annapolis, MD, actually graduating in that year and becoming a young Ensign.

Joseph rose through the ranks quite nicely, becoming a Lieutenant in 1906, a Lieutenant Commander in 1914, a Captain in 1920 and finally reaches the esteemed rank of Rear Admiral in 1933, a stature at which he remained until his two retirements in 1940 and 1945. Of course, as you might guess there is a great deal more to this story since Joseph’s military service spans two major world wars.

As with any military stint or career, the full measure of the experience is through a series of duty stations. We will walk through Joseph’s duty stations as best they can be documented and hopefully experience what he did along the way.

In 1896 Joseph received an appointment to the US Naval Academy from the state of Illinois. The appointment could have come from a Congressman or Senator at the time. He entered the Academy on May 20, 1896, less than a month from his 20th birthday. He continued his disciplined education there, taking classes in Seamanship, Astronomy, Principles of Mechanism and Maritime Engines, Calculus and Mechanics, French, Mechanical Drawing, History, Efficiency, and Conduct. Joseph managed to graduate with the class of 1900 with a “merit standing” of 6th in his class.

His first duty station as a young Ensign was likely his first of three separate periods of service at the Naval Gun Factory at the Washington Navy Shipyard. The Gun Factory, or Gun Foundry was originally conceived in 1883 with the intent to provide a completely government owned and controlled source of ordnance entirely independent from other countries. It was to provide for the care and maintenance of the existing fleet of ships and was intended to always be managed by officers of the armed services. It was finally financed by Congress in 1885 and work had begun early in 1886 to bring the facility to full capacity as quickly as possible. Near the end of 1886 the Chief of Construction, Theodore D. Wilson reported, “We shall soon have a Navy that will be a credit as well as protection to our country and our country’s interest.” The Gun Factory didn’t reach full production until 1892. Around the time that Joseph was first assigned to this station however, the factory was steadily falling behind in its production, not so much from inefficiency, but rather as a result of the demand for Navy ordnance because of the increasing and “unprecedented size” of the American Navy. As a result, it’s certain that young Ensign Joseph DeFrees had his hands full as the station during the years of 1901 through 1903 worked three eight hours shifts every day constantly. In such a setting, Joseph undoubtedly cut his teeth on production coordination and effectiveness. The forging of 7- and 8-inch guns along with the production of the gun mounts realistically took as much time as it did to build the ships they were destined for. Coordination with the ship

builders of such forging and assembly was an absolute must.

By 1910 Joseph had left the Gun Factory and was then stationed on the USS Mississippi (BB-23), a brand-new battleship (Mississippi class) only launched in 1905. Its armaments included four 12”, eight 8”, eight 7”, and twelve 3” guns, along with six .30 caliber machine guns, and two 21” torpedo tubes. The ship was commanded at that time by Captain J. C. Fremont. Not being wartime, the ship generally operated along the New England coast. However, in January of 1909 it sailed to Cuba to represent the United States at the inauguration of the President of Cuba at Havana. Interestingly enough, the ship left Cuban waters in May, and actually began a cruise up the Mississippi River (its namesake), stopping at ports along the way and reaching as far north as Natchez, MS. The ship returned to the east coast in June, but continued to run in exercises down the coast and into the Caribbean.

In spite of his tours at sea, somewhere during this period in Joseph’s life he met and married Bernice Fairbanks on May 29, 1913 in Washington, DC. He was 36 and she was 21. At that time the USS Mississippi was home based alternatively between Philadelphia, PA and Norfolk, VA. It’s difficult to say just how the two met except for perhaps the coincidence they were both born and raised in the state of Illinois. Bernice’s father was listed as a farmer in the census records, with a residence of Decatur, IL in 1910, and in Taylor township, IL in 1920. The Fairbanks never lived less than 100 miles from the DeFrees family at any time in their lives. Regardless, Joseph and Bernice did manage to meet, get married and they soon began a family together with the birth of their daughter, Helen on April 21, 1914. That was about the time that Joseph was promoted to Lieutenant Commander.

By 1917, Joseph had reached the rank of full Commander, and was assigned to the Norfolk Navy Yard in Portsmouth, VA to oversee the refit of a German passenger liner called the Neckar. The Neckar was originally launched in December, 1900 in Geestemude, Germany, but at the outbreak of World War I, the ship sought refuge from its north Atlantic journeys at a neutral port in Baltimore, MD. Unfortunately, since it was of German origin, American Customs agents seized the ship and transferred it to the US Navy in July of 1917. Under the watchful eye of Commander Joseph DeFrees, the ship was converted into a transport and renamed USS Antigone in September of 1917, commanded by none other than now Captain Joseph R. DeFrees. The ship was assigned to the Cruiser and Transport Force, Atlantic Fleet in September and then departed Norfolk on November 29, 1917. The Antigone underwent “coaling” and sea trials after which she ported in Hoboken, NJ to pick up her first 2,000 American troops destined for France and the front lines. Between that time and the end of fighting in November, 1918, the Antigone had made no less than eight trips across the Atlantic carrying cargo and approximately 16,000 soldiers to the war zone, leaving its passengers at either of the two French ports of Brest or St. Nazaire. These traverses were never without peril, and in attempts to ward off enemy ships from attacking, it not only helped to be of German design, but the Antigone never had any identifiable features of a US Navy ship. At times it also had to be disguised with special paint jobs. At one time it had a full-size destroyer silhouette painted on its sides and at another time it was camouflaged with a paint job referred to as “dazzle.”

However, because of the armistice, it became time to reverse the process and begin returning the troops back home. In that capacity, Captain DeFrees and the USS Antigone transported some 22,000 soldiers back from Europe by September of 1919. The elation continued to increase for the troops every time they set eyes on the Antigone and what affectionately became known to them as “The Ship That Brought Us Home.”

It should come as no surprise that as a result of this particular war time endeavor, Captain Joseph R. DeFrees was awarded the Navy Cross “for distinguished service in the line of his profession as Commanding Officer of the U.S.S. ANTIGONE, engaged in the important, exacting and hazardous duty of transporting and escorting troops and supplies through waters infested with enemy submarines and mines during World War I.”

By now, Joseph is 43 years old and his Navy career, family life and experiences had just begun to get underway. In the final segment of Joseph’s story we will explore the remainder of his duty stations and responsibilities, perhaps also touching upon some rather tragic life changes for him and his family.

DeFrees, Joseph Rollie RAdm Academy Clas

Naval Academy Class Standing - 6th in His Class

USS Mississippi (BB-23) Battleship 1908

Two Photos of the Naval Gun Factory

DeFrees, Bernice Fairbanks with Helen 1.

DeFrees, Helen (Daughter Radm Joseph Rol

Helen DeFrees Age 17

Bernice Fairbanks & Helen, 1915

USS Antigone Dazzle Camouflage1918 1.jpg

USS Antigone with Destroyer Silhouette Camouflage

USS Antigone with Dazzle Paint Camouflage 1918

USS Antigone with Troops Destined for War During Abandon Ship Drill

USS Antigone Entertaining at Sea with Negro Jazz Band

USS Antigone - The Ship That Brought Us Home

DeFrees, Joseph Rollie RAdm Navy Cross.j

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Joseph DeFrees Navy Cross Award for Commanding the USS Antigone

23. Joseph Rollie DeFrees, US Navy – Part 2

April 24, 2020

Captain Joseph Rollie DeFrees Circa 1925

Just to complete the thought at the end of the Part 1 posting, Captain DeFrees brought the USS Antigone back to New York City from its last journey to France on September 15, 1919. She was decommissioned shortly thereafter on September 24, and her name was unceremoniously deleted from the Navy’s list of ships. Eventually the Antigone was transferred to the War Department where it went into the Army Transport Service.

Captain Joseph DeFrees was almost immediately sent to his next duty station as Captain of the USS Camden (AS-6). Under his direction the Camden became a world class Submarine Tender of the day. Similar to the story about the USS Antigone, the Camden also began as a German cargo ship known as SS Kiel. It was also seized during WWI and entered into service in the US Navy in 1917. She did not begin her refit process into a Submarine Tender until early in 1919. Joseph was only on the Camden for a few months, from October of 1919 to January of 1920, but during that time he had a great deal to do with its sub tender activities. Also, during that time, it was based out of New London, CT and was designated as the flagship for the Commander, Submarine Flotilla, Atlantic fleet, as well as the Commander, Submarine Division 9, at least until September of 1920. The Camden remained in active service until May of 1931. I was able to find quite a number of photos in full tendering operations. I’ll see if I can sneak a couple into this story.

Following that short period, Captain DeFrees was transferred to become Inspector of Ordnance in Charge of the Naval Torpedo Station on Goat Island, Newport, Rhode Island. It was in 1920 when Joseph and Bernice welcomed their newest

child into the world with the birth of Joseph Rollie Jr. on September 12, 1920. That would appear to be quite the little child bearing dry spell in view of the fact that Joseph Jr’s sister Helen was by then 6 years old. But after all, there was a little war going on at the time.

The Torpedo Station was actually built in 1907 for the purpose of manufacturing steam torpedoes for the Navy. By the 1920s it was said to have three distinct functions. These were development and experimentation, manufacturing and training. In any given year a number of naval officers would be required to spend a three-month time period at the station undergoing instruction in torpedo work, diving, electricity, high-speed engines and the chemistry of explosives. Under the leadership of Captain DeFrees, the station was responsible for developing the Mark VI magnetic influence fuse. It also did a considerable amount of research and tested a wide variety of underwater weaponry during that time. However, it was once again of course a period between wars and in spite of diminished resources the station successfully developed quite a number of rather innovative torpedo components such as propulsion and control systems and exploder changes. Also, to their deserved credit, with the beginning of the use of torpedo planes, they did ground breaking work in the area of air launch weapons, especially in the 1920s. It is clear from the Federal Census records that Joseph remained in position at the torpedo station until at least 1930 although he was then listed as the “Officer in Charge.” There also appeared to be a slight detour for Joseph during this tour of duty. It was documented back in 1923 that both Joseph and his wife Bernice traveled for a three-month period to both China and Japan because Captain DeFrees had been “ordered by the department of the Navy to duty under Commander-in-Chief U.S. Asiatic Fleet.” They both left to fulfill that particular mission aboard the SS President McKinley on October 29, 1923.

It isn’t until 1933 that we see some other significant changes coming along in Joseph’s life. It was early in that year that it is documented that both the US Senate and House of Representatives have confirmed the advancement of Captain Joseph R. DeFrees to Rear Admiral effective April 5, 1933. Just as a side note, it was a rather surprising coincidence that my discovery of this information also happened to occur on April 5, 2020, exactly 87 years to the date from his promotion. At this time, it also appears that he had left the Torpedo Station and has become Chief of Staff, United States Scouting Force. One listing of the U.S. Naval and Marine Corps Registries from 1933 shows Joseph in this capacity onboard the USS Indianapolis (CA-35) a brand new heavy cruiser, which at that time was the flagship for the Scouting Force. Unfortunately, my research was unable to turn up anything of significance regarding the Scouting Force itself. There is only a vague reference to it on Wikipedia of all places. But since I have no reason to doubt the information I quote it for you here:

“The Scouting Fleet was part of the United States Fleet in the United States Navy, and renamed the Scouting Force in 1930.

Established in 1922, the fleet consisted mainly of older battleships and initially operated in the Atlantic. Returning from European waters on 21 October 1922, USS Utah became the flagship of BatDiv 6, Scouting Fleet, and operated with the Scouting Fleet over the next 3½ years.

In 1931, it was redesignated as the "Scouting Force." At this time, it consisted of the remaining cruisers and destroyers that were not with the Battle Force and a "Training Squadron" of three old battleships and eight destroyers. This force operated exclusively in the Atlantic and Caribbean Sea.[1]

In 1932, the force was moved to the Pacific. In 1940 it survived the division of the Fleet into the U.S. Pacific Fleet and the Atlantic Fleet, and served in the early part of World War II as an umbrella command for task forces.”

Regardless, this was a quite temporary position held only until Joseph returned once again to the Washington Navy Yard, but this time as the Commander in charge of that facility. He remained in that capacity from 1933 to 1936, but little else is known of this time or of any outstanding accomplishments.

It was in 1936 when it is documented that Joseph had assumed responsibilities as Commander Submarine Force, US Fleet. There is at least one historical reference to the accomplishments of Admiral DeFrees during his time in this position which states: “In the 1930s, thanks to the determination of submarine force leaders and notable improvements by ship designers and builders, U.S. submarines evolved into a powerful offensive force, equipped with enough fuel, food, and weapons to sustain long-range, independent, open-sea patrols.”

Although by 1937 Joseph had moved on to other pressing responsibilities, which will be covered shortly. But, because of the statement above, one rather significant finding bears mentioning at this point.

In 1937, the Assistant Secretary of the Navy was Charles Edison. At that time the Secretary of the Navy, Claude Swanson had given Edison the authority to administer a rather massive construction program which Edison had advanced earlier for approval. That was a broad general plan to reduce complexity of any new construction and to overall raise the quality of the fleet in a program which was intended to be funded under the New Deal recovery legislation. This essentially required a complete overhaul of all military and civilian contracts, changing the way the military did business and incorporating necessary efficiencies where the military had to deal directly with civilian contractors and workers. Not wanting to completely bore you with details regarding shipbuilding contracts or proposed changes to work week limits authorized by Congress, the most important thing to note here is that Edison reached out specifically to Rear Admiral DeFrees for insights on the “best ways to expedite construction,” most specifically of the submarine fleet.

Responding to Edison, Admiral DeFrees, based on his years of experience, proposed very specific improvements in three fundamental areas where he felt it was an absolute must to make changes. He first of all insisted that an “uninterrupted construction program was absolutely necessary to develop the skills, facilities, tools, and workmanship necessary to sustain a submarine fleet.” Secondly, he asserted that all submarines needed to be made consistently to the exact same standards so that rather than so-called “one off” construction, submarines would have interchangeable features making the construction work far more consistent as well as efficient. Fleet construction to this point had always been plagued with delays caused by “lack of skilled labor and adequate facilities.” It was therefore essential that such elements had to be dealt with effectively in this new program. Finally, the Admiral required that “shipbuilding projects needed more hours, fewer strikes, and more efficient utilization of skilled workers like draftsmen and engineers who could not operate in shifts.” As a result, assistant secretary Edison “took steps to augment industrial capability. He initiated apprenticeship and training programs to improve workers skills and allocated resources for tools and replacement parts." Because of Admiral DeFrees’ suggestions, “the Navy increased the number of engineers and draftsmen in its service by borrowing people from other agencies and training them for navy work in cooperation with the Civil Service Commission.” But probably the one most pivotal thing resulting in absolute success of this program was what might be considered a very specific design approval program which would result in all similar submarines built thereafter to follow the exact same specifications. In other words, “once a design proved successful, he centralized the design and drafting work for subsequent ships of any class to avoid costly duplication.”

Although Rear Admiral Joseph R. DeFrees is not publicly credited with such honor that I am aware of, I believe that he should well be considered to be one of the Fathers of the modern American submarine fleet.

In 1937, Admiral DeFrees was appointed to be the Director of Shore Establishments. This quite literally means he was responsible for all of the activities of the Department of the Navy on shore anywhere in the world. With regard to this department’s mission I was able to find the following: “The mission of the Shore Establishment is to create, maintain and support the Operating Forces. With the exception of certain facilities on land assigned to the Operating Forces, the responsibility for the creation and to a great extent the management control of the shore activities rested during World War II with the various Bureaus of the Navy Department, coordinated by the Chief of Naval Operations, and administered as the highest level by the Assistant Secretary of the Navy.” By the same token, the Shore Establishment is divided into a number of branches dealing with things such as research and development, maintenance, naval intelligence, training and many other logistical concerns. In a way, you could say that Joseph DeFrees was actually then responsible also for even the US Naval Academy.

So, what now of Joseph’s family? Exactly how have they managed to fit into the incredible if not overwhelming shining light of their husband and father? By this time in her father’s career, firstborn Helen would now be approximately 24 years old. Of course, with a father who has for all intents and purposes been in the lime light of many public activities it is understandable that Helen as a result becomes quite the socialite. She is documented as having attended many military gatherings and functions, and most certainly as a result meets her future husband, Jack Jones Tomamichel, a US Naval Academy graduate from the class of 1933. They are married on June 12, 1937 in San Diego, CA. Meanwhile, just one year later, young Joseph Rollie Jr. is enrolled at the US Naval Academy as he begins to follow in his father’s footsteps.

Joseph Sr’s wife Bernice is also found to be quite active in public affairs, and being the wife of such a prominent naval officer she more than once had been called upon to launch newly completed Navy vessels. One such event with rather unexpected and fateful consequence was her sponsorship and launch of one of the latest in newly developed submarines, the USS Sculpin, on July 27, 1938. This particular launch will become painfully significant in the stories to come in our following the life of Joseph Rollie DeFrees Jr.

Now in 1939, Joseph Rollie DeFrees Sr. has been serving his country in ways that most of us quite frankly can’t even imagine since 1896 and is swiftly approaching the age of 63. In spite of that, he is asked once again to transfer to his next duty station and to assume responsibilities as Commandant of the 11th Naval District located in San Diego, CA. In this capacity he stands as the representative of the Secretary of the Navy, the Chief of Naval Operations, the Sea Frontier Commander and has absolute authority over all military matters as well as over civilian personnel and industrial matters. However, be that as it may, Joseph remained in this position for just over a year because in June of 1940 he had reached the age of 64. At the time that just happened to be the “statutory” age for retirement of all high-ranking naval officers. By all standards any career the length of 44 years is highly significant. A 44-year career with the levels of complexity, change, unparalleled demand and death-defying circumstances is an incredible accomplishment indeed. Rear Admiral Joseph R. DeFrees can certainly not be questioned regarding his request for a well-deserved rest.

As a result, Rear Admiral Joseph R. DeFrees is ceremoniously replaced as the Commandant 11th Naval District by Rear Admiral Charles A. Blakely in June of 1940. Here is where you may think that Joseph quietly weighs anchor to cruise off into the sunset to find a comfortable rocking chair on a porch in a serine setting with his lovely wife Bernice now married 27 years. But…. on a day that will forever live in infamy, December 7, 1941, life’s cruel element of fate and the beginning of World War II resulted in changes that would dictate the Admiral be called once again back to active duty.

In 1941 then, Joseph accepts the inherent duties of his next assignment as Inspector Naval Material Los Angeles District and again dons the uniform of Rear Admiral. In this new capacity, Joseph is charged with the task of inspecting all material and procurement activities of the US Navy in the district. The Los Angeles District at the time consisted of the states of New Mexico, Arizona, Nevada and Southern California. Our third cousin continued to carry out these duties until his second retirement in 1945 after the war’s end. Unfortunately, those four years took their toll on the DeFrees family. In late 1943 the Admiral was informed of the fact that his only son, Joseph DeFrees Jr. is lost at sea in the South Pacific while fighting the Japanese on his third at sea duty station onboard the submarine USS Sculpin (SS-191). That rather extensive story of course will become the subject of the next ancestry postings.

Finally, in 1945 Rear Admiral Joseph R. DeFrees is retired once again, this time at the age of 68 in a special ceremony witnessing the lowering of his two-star Admiralty flag at his final duty station. In the next two years he and his wife Bernice would discover the full circumstances of their son’s death upon the return of prisoners of war captured from the USS Sculpin.

Just 13 years later in 1958, Joseph DeFrees passed away from heart related difficulties at the age of 82. He and his wife Bernice, passing in 1972, are buried together at Arlington Cemetery in Virginia. Thus, ended the incredibly noteworthy, powerfully impactful and perhaps plausibly improbable life of a lowly farm boy from Smithboro, IL, turned Naval officer.

Three Photos of the USS Camden, (AS-6) Submarine Tender

US Naval Torpedo Station - Newport, RI

1923 Passport application to Asian Pacific Fleet

Congressional Records of Rear Admiral Advancement

USS Indianapolis (CA-35) Heavy Cruiser

DeFrees, Helen (D) w Lucil van Deer Frie

Washington Navy Yard

DeFrees, Joseph Rollie RAdm Retired 1940

Joseph Rollie DeFrees 2nd Retirement 1945

DeFrees, Joseph Rollie 3 Arlington Cemet

Admiral DeFrees Final Resting Place - Arlington Cemetery, Section 2, Grave E-49

Helen DeFrees (L) with Friend Lucil Van Deer Friedell, 1935

DeFrees, Bernice Fairbanks launches Brax

Bernice (R) with Admiral Launching USS Braxton Troop Transport, 1944

DeFrees, Joseph Rollie RAdm Retired 1945

Joseph Rollie DeFrees 1st Retirement 1940

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Admiral DeFrees Obituary 1958

24. Joseph Rollie DeFrees, US Navy – Addendum

April 27, 2020

USS Texas (BB-35) Battleship Transporting President Coolidge 1928

When I posted the first two stories, I realized there were some gaps in my duty station findings for Joseph, but there are times when information is just not as forthcoming as it could be. Then at other times suddenly there falls a tiny tidbit into your lap that opens up a whole new series of discoveries.

Following the postings, I received a number of very thoughtful messages regarding the information. One of those in particular, from a family member (also a family history buff) has turned out to be a fairly incredible discovery. He had been aware of a newspaper posting of the USS Texas (BB-35) mentioning the ship’s commander was Capt. Joseph R. DeFrees. He was able to find the information and forwarded it to me, which I could then use as a springboard to other discoveries as well. The actual clipping is shown at the top of this posting. We will get to that in just a few more paragraphs.

In Part 2, it appeared to me that Joseph’s stay at the Naval Torpedo station seems unusually lengthy, but it becomes difficult to argue with the documented census records. Nevertheless, there quite certainly were some different, perhaps shorter length, duties undertaken by Captain DeFrees beyond that of the Torpedo station between the years of 1920 and 1930. I alluded to that with reference to a 1923 set of Passport applications that I had found indicating a stint with the Asiatic Fleet, and have now been able to find that Joseph commanded the USS Rainbow (AS-7), another sub tender in the Asiatic Fleet from October 16, 1922 to September 29, 1923.

By the same token, in earlier research I had found a vague reference to Joseph’s time onboard yet another ship, but I couldn’t put my fingers on what or when that was, so it had to be left out of the story. Well as I extended my efforts, I happened across the information in an obscure Navy fleet directory which stated that Captain DeFrees also commanded the USS Huron (CA-9), an armored cruiser formerly known as the USS South Dakota (ACR-9). As the South Dakota, it was launched in 1904, and some 15 years later served as flagship of the Asiatic fleet which consisted of 26 vessels, including 8 destroyers. In the winter of 1920, the South Dakota, along with the USS Albany, was stationed off the coast of Vladivostok, Russia aiding in the

withdrawal of American troops in Siberia. Just a few months later in June of 1920 the South Dakota was renamed the Huron so the original name could be freed up for a new battleship eventually figuring prominently during WWII. The Huron served in the Asiatic Fleet for seven more years.

During Captain DeFrees’ tenure onboard, the Huron was ordered to Japan to assist in relief and rescue operations. On September 1, 1923 Japan was hit by a massive earthquake. This became known as the Great Kanto Earthquake and resulted in the death of more than 100,000 Japanese people. Beyond that more than 40,000 were missing and many hundreds of thousands were left homeless. The Fleet Admiral, Edwin Anderson, Jr. pressed his entire Asiatic Fleet to the task of rendering the assistance necessary. The Huron also served as flagship, as the South Dakota had before, and steamed to the city of Yokohama with Admiral Anderson onboard. “From the Huron, his flagship Admiral Anderson brought much needed organization to the people of Japan in their hour of need and this was to be a shining moment for the entire US Asiatic fleet.” The USS Huron remained in the Asiatic Fleet until late 1926 when it left Manila heading for the Puget Sound Navy Yard to be decommissioned.

Now for the USS Texas (BB-35). This was a massive New York class battleship, sporting 10-14”, and 21-5” guns along with 4-3 pounders and 4-21” torpedo tubes. It was originally launched on May 18, 1912, and later commissioned on March 12, 1914. The Texas saw a great deal of wartime activity during the first World War and its “service with the Grand Fleet consisted entirely of convoy missions and occasional forays to reinforce the British squadron on blockade duty in the North Sea whenever German heavy units threatened.” In 1925 the battleship returned to the Norfolk Navy Yard to undergo a major modernization. That work was completed late in 1926 and was promptly named flagship of the U.S. Fleet.

Captain Joseph R. DeFrees served as the commanding officer of the USS Texas from January 4, 1928 to July 9, 1929. Obviously from the newspaper posting above it can be seen that certainly one of the most notable things he did during that time was to ferry the President of the United States, Calvin Coolidge along with the First Lady Grace, from Key West, FL to Havana, Cuba for the Pan-American Conference. Amazingly, this was just five days after Captain DeFrees assumed command of the Texas.

The caption in the posting from the January 9, 1928, Washington, D.C. Evening Star reads as follows:

“Upper—The U. S. S. Texas, which will take the President and Mrs. Coolidge to the Pan-American conference at Havana from Key West. This shows a sweep of the deck to be used by the passengers as a promenade.

Lower Left—Capt. J. R. DeFrees, commander. Lower Right—Entrance to the Presidential suite, which on less formal occasions is occupied by Admiral H. A. Wiley, commander of the U. S. fleet.”

In addition, I mentioned a few other duty stations in my email posting notice. These were, his very first sea duty station onboard the USS Mohican in 1904. This was followed by the USS Michigan in 1910, the USS Ohio in 1912, the USS Nevada in 1915, and the USS Augusta in 1933.

That’s probably enough now to round out the career of the family Admiral and in the coming weeks I will be turning my attention to completing the research associated with his son, Joseph Rollie DeFrees Jr. That short career promises to be quite the tragic yet incredibly heroic family story.

USS Texas (BB-35) 1913

USS Texas (BB-35) Current Day

USS Mohican a Swatara Class Screw Sloop Submarine Tender 1904 - Presumably Joseph's first at sea duty station

Lament

Properties

Buying Ground

Lineage

Youngster

Confederate 1

Confederate 2

Journey

Frank DeFrees

Rollie 1

Rollie 2

Addendum

USS Michigan (BB-27) 1909

Tinted Photo of USS Ohio (BB-12) 1906

USS Nevada (BB-36) 1914

USS Michigan (BB-27) 1910

USS Ohio Joseph Strauss Commanding in 19

Captain Joseph Strauss, Commander of USS Ohio in 1912 when Joseph DeFrees Served Onboard.

USS Nevada (BB-36) 1915

USS Huron (CA-9) Armored Cruiser 1920

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USS Augusta (CA-31) 1933

25. Ensign Joe DeFrees jr. - USS Benham (DD-397)

May 11, 2020

As mentioned in Joseph Rollie DeFrees, US Navy – Part 2, “It was in 1920 when Joseph and Bernice welcomed their newest child into the world with the birth of Joseph Rollie Jr. on September 12, 1920.” Joe Jr. was born in Newport, RI while his father served as Inspector of Ordnance in Charge of the Naval Torpedo Station on Goat Island. Being a child of a Navy family, Joe had a number of different homes over the years but was most likely graduated from high school somewhere in the Washington, DC area, where his father had spent a number of years in various duties.

Because of his father’s stature it is a natural assumption that young Joe would also be able to gain appointment to the US Naval Academy being the son of a distinguished alumni. Joe went to Annapolis, MD and entered the Academy on June 16, 1938 just a few months prior to his 18th birthday. Something reasonably telling about his personality might be the fact that unlike his father’s determination to graduate in the top 10, Joe finished somewhere in the middle of the pack with a class standing around 220 out of a class of 564. Regardless, his Academy yearbook reference read as follows:

“JOSEPH ROLLIE DEFREES, JR.;

Joe, Deefy, Punkin

Though “all me bloomin’ life, sir” is the traditional answer, in Joe’s case it’s true. With a

lengthy navy background, he has a weather eye cast to continue the family tradition.

In particular, Joe has a way with the fairer sex, a way which neither we nor they can quite

understand. His case with the academics as well, makes for a prediction of more than a small

measure of success in the Service.

Football 4,3, Manager, Battalion Soccer; Lacrosse 4; Battalion Lacrosse;

Boat Club 4, 3, 2, Ketch Captain 1; 2 Stripes”

Joe, although destined to graduate in the Class of 1942 is preemptively graduated on December 19, 1941, as opposed to April, just 12 days after the day that will forever live in infamy, the attack on Pearl Harbor. As a result, he is assigned and sent immediately to his first duty station in the Pacific Fleet onboard the USS Benham (DD-397), a Benham class destroyer. He traveled to San Francisco where he was supposed to be boarding his ship, scheduled to be ported there in early January 1942. However, that didn’t happen because the Benham was called back out of port in Pearl Harbor to race to escort the USS Saratoga which had been crippled by a torpedo hit. Joe’s destroyer was ordered to sea to render assistance and attend to the successful return of the Saratoga to Pearl Harbor. Because of this, young Ensign Joe boarded a transport ship in San Francisco, the USS Wharton (AP-7), on January 10, 1942 which would take him to the Benham a few days later upon that ship’s return with the damaged Saratoga.

The USS Benham was the lead ship in a series of ten 1,500-ton destroyers just built and commissioned in February of 1939. The Benham carried a complement of 251 officers and enlisted men. Its armaments consisted of 4-5” guns, 4-.50 cal. guns, 4- 21” deck mounted torpedo tubes and two depth charge tracks. It had a range of 6,500 nautical miles at 12 knots and had a top speed of 38.5 knots.

The general purpose of Navy destroyers, especially during World War II, was primarily to escort larger ships such as aircraft carriers and battle ships in task forces and convoys to run a screening operation in protecting the ship grouping from attacks of small enemy ships and submarines. In the case of the USS Benham, being home ported at Pearl Harbor, it happened to be spared from eminent destruction on December 7th because it was on assignment, escorting the USS Enterprise (CV-6) in the delivery of Marine Planes to Midway Island from November 28, to December 7, 1941. Although initially scheduled to return to Pearl Harbor on the morning of that fateful day, through a small twist of fate, it instead was still out at sea due to refueling difficulties as a result of adverse sea conditions and did not return to port until the following day.

Young Joe’s actual responsibilities on the Benham could not be discovered, but it is likely that he was undergoing a high degree of education and training onboard a wartime vessel. Therefore, his first experience at sea can only be seen vicariously through the movements and wartime involvements of the Benham during Joe’s tenure onboard.

After joining the crew, life at sea began routinely enough, with the Benham performing its typical duties for the first few months. In late January the Benham joined with another destroyer, the USS Ellet (DD-398) to escort a slow convoy from Hawaii to San Francisco. Then Joe’s ship could undergo the alterations that it was to have had when it got sidetracked by the fate of the Saratoga. It shifted to the Mare Island Navy Yard where it received some alterations, repairs and updates. These included a streamlined sonar dome, new radar equipment and 4- 22mm antiaircraft guns. Following those modifications, the Benham then escorted a large convoy back to Hawaii, arriving there on March 1, 1942.

Life onboard remained relatively routine for another month, taking on local patrols, escort duties and gunnery exercises to keep themselves in tip top wartime condition. Then on April 8, 1942 the Benham was assigned once again to escort the USS Enterprise in a task group heading out northwest toward Midway Island. The Benham was in the company of three other destroyers, USS Balch (DD-363), USS Gwin (DD-433) and USS Grayson (DD-435) all of whom were escorting and protecting not only the Enterprise, but two heavy cruisers, USS Salt Lake City (CA-25), USS Vincennes (CA-44) and a light cruiser USS Nashville (DL-43). This was by no means an ordinary grouping of combat ships.

No one onboard the Benham nor any of the other ships in the Enterprise task group had any awareness of their mission. That changed however when their group combined forces with the USS Hornet (CV-8) and all her escorts on April 13, 1942 at mid sea, en route to some unknown destination. On that day, USS Hornet commanding officer Captain Marc A. Mitscher made a ship wide announcement to the crew saying, “This ship will carry the Army bombers to the coast of Japan for the bombing of Tokyo.” As you might expect, the entire aircraft carrier rang out in cheers with elation and pride instantly swelling through the crew. The same message was immediately sent out to all of the ships in both task groups by signalmen using semaphore lights. What an incredible opportunity to be a part of a response air attack directed on military targets of those who bombed Pearl Harbor.

The Hornet was in the company of the heavy cruiser USS Northampton (CA-26), and four destroyers, USS Fanning (DD-385), USS Ellet (DD-398), USS Merideth (DD-434) and USS Monssen (DD-436). The flight deck of the Hornet surprisingly and crowdedly held a total of 16 B-25 fixed wing bombers, some of which extended precariously over the edge of the deck due to lack of space. Young Ensign Joe DeFrees and all of the other men in the combined task groups had just embarked on what history would come to refer to as Doolittle’s Raid on Tokyo, in their first air attack attempt on the nation of Japan since the bombing of Pearl Harbor just four and a half months earlier. The popular film made of this little adventure was called “30 Seconds Over Tokyo.”

The Doolittle Raid was originally referred to as the “joint Army-Navy bombing project” when it was conceived in January of 1942. It was the US Fleet commander, Admiral Ernest J. King who first proposed the idea to Air Forces leader General Henry H. Arnold. General Arnold was highly enthused with the idea, however unlikely, of physically launching huge B-25 bombers from the deck of an aircraft carrier to which they would never be able to return. Arnold immediately made the decision to assign Air Force Lieutenant Colonel James H. Doolittle to the task of planning and leading the effort.

Suffice it to say there was an incredible amount of preparation and testing initiated dealing with every element of the plan. Bombers would have to stripped bare of literally everything considered nonessential while being outfitted with extra fuel tanks for flights far beyond their standard range. Tests of extremely short take-off distances would take place on both land and sea before committing to the effort, all of which took place on the eastern seaboard of the United States.

The fundamentals of the plan were for a large task group of ships to secretly move bombers within 400 miles of the Japanese coast prior to launching for their approach and attack on the mainland. Each would carry a five-man crew and would have a payload of four-500 lb bombs. Following their bombing run they were to fly on to airfields in China where they might safely be protected until their return to the United States. What could go wrong?

In the predawn hours of April 18, 1942, still more than 600 miles from Japan, the task group discovered the first of a line of Japanese picket (spotter) vessels who immediately notifed their military leaders of an eminent attack. The USS Enterprise, flag ship for the operation leader, vice Admiral William F. Halsey, launched aircraft and sent out the light cruiser in its group, the USS Nashville, to destroy the spotter ship. This was quickly accomplished and the task group continued on its way knowing now that they had been discovered. The decision was quickly made to preemptively launch much farther from the coast than originally hoped.

As mentioned, a total of 16 fixed wing B-25 bombers were literally crammed onto the flight deck of the USS Hornet. Strategically placed as well as could be, their size and positioning effectively left only a meager 467 ft (155 yds) of deck space for the first in line to successfully launch into the air. Between 8:03 and 8:14 am the Hornet underwent a series of course and speed changes until the optimum conditions of 22 knots into the wind on high seas would hopefully suit their needs. The flight deck Navy launching officer determined the pitch times between waves and at 8:21 am signaled the first of the B-25s forward revving at full throttle. The direction was timed so the bomber would reach the end of the deck as the bow lurched as high as possible to give the aircraft the lift advantage necessary to take to the air. It worked! And to the great excitement of the entire task group within view, the first bomber carrying Lt. Col. Doolittle and his crew, apprehensively rose into the air beginning its flight to Tokyo.

In the exact same manner, between 8:21 and 9:20 am all 16 bombers successfully left the deck of the Hornet and began their mission to bomb military and industrial targets in and around Tokyo. The Doolittle Raid had begun.

In other less noteworthy accomplishments of that day, Ensign Joe DeFrees and the crew of the USS Benham, along with other members of the Enterprise task group, crippled or destroyed at least 11 more picket boats. That action would effectively destroy Japan’s distant warning network at sea.

With regard to the Doolittle mission, an excerpt from USS Hornet’s log book stated the following: “1445 Heard Tokyo English language broadcast: “Enemy bombers appeared over Tokyo today shortly after noon for the first time in the current East Asia War. Heavy and telling damage was inflicted on schools and hospitals, and the populace shows much indignation.” The Japanese language version for home consumption: “A large fleet of enemy bombers appeard over Tokyo this noon and caused much damage to non military objectives and some damage to factories. The known death toll is between three and four thousand so far. No planes were reported shot down over Tokyo. Osaka was also bombed. Tokyo reports several large fires burning.”

By all other more accurate accounts, the real amount of material damage by the raid was relatively small and even Japan’s at sea early warning system was restored within a matter of days. However, the psychological impact of the raid was quite devastating to pride of the Japanese military. The Japanese Naval General Staff was an outspoken advocate of the belief that the people of Japan were quite safe from any US carrier strike against the Homeland. Thereafter, Admiral Yamamoto Isoroku swore to destroy all Pacific American aircraft carriers as quickly as possible. This was a promise that would result in the soon to be fought Battle of Midway.

All but one of the 16 bombers had gotten as far as the China coast, but due to the unexpected distance of the flight, none of them were able to land safely. Being completely out of fuel, several of the B-25s were ditched along or near the coast, while the crews of the remaining aircraft parachuted over relatively unfriendly territory and allowed their planes to crash. Most all crew members were taken and concealed by sympathetic Chinese villagers. The Japanese were only able to capture eight men from two of the crews. Three of those were eventually executed in Shanghi some months later but amazingly, 77 crewmembers from the bombers managed to survive. Not looking kindly on the efforts of the Chinese locals to assist the crews, the Japanese military launched a “vicious ground offensive” killing tens of thousands of Chinese over a period of months.

Only one of the bombers, desperately short on fuel diverted to a landing site near Soviet Vladivostok. The crew was imprisoned for many months and were only returned to the US after negotiations and the assistance of the country of Iran.

In view of the documented rather lackluster physical results of the raid and given the destruction of all 16 B-25 bombers, Lt. Col. Doolittle expected nothing less than to be summarily court martialed. Instead, because of the devastating impact on the Japanese military, the incredible rise in American pride and optimism along with the vastly improved standing with our allies, he was awarded the Medal of Honor and immediately advanced to the rank of Brigadier General.

Meanwhile, following the successful launch of the bombers and the destruction of the picket boats, the Enterprise and Hornet carrier task groups gathered and began their return to Pearl Harbor, safely arriving there on April 30, 1942 without incurring damage.

Upon Benham’s return to Pearl Harbor and following his first test at sea with this harrowing adventure, Ensign Joe DeFrees transferred almost immediately to the USS Nautilus (SS-191) a Narwhal class submarine. In that assignment he would become the Spotting Navigator with duty in the Conning tower. Little did young Ensign Joe know that he would, in just over a month, be involved in his next horrific wartime experience, the Battle of Midway.

USS Denham (DD-397)

Ensign Joe's Naval Academy class standing, 1941

USS Wharton (AP-7) Transported Ensign Joe to Pearl Harbor in January, 1942 to join the crew of the USS Benham.

USS Wharton passenger listing, December 1941

USS Benham (DD-397), 1943

USS Hornet (CV-8) with escort destroyers like the USS Benham

USS Benham (DD-397), February 1942

USS Hornet (CV-8) with its compliment of 16 B-25 fixed wing bombers lined up on the flight deck.

B-25 bomber successfully taking off from the Hornet flight deck

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Joe's Naval Academy Yearbook photo

26. Ensign Joe DeFrees jr. - USS Nautilus (SS-168) - The Battle of Midway - Part I

June 9, 2020

USS Nautilus (SS-168) Avoiding enemy depth charge attacks

The USS Benham returned to Pearl Harbor from its duty as escort to the USS Enterprise for the Doolittle Raid on April 30, 1942. Just two days prior to that the USS Nautilus had also returned to Pearl Harbor after an extensive period of updates and modernization at Mare Island in San Francisco. That period of modernization and refit ran from August of 1941, to mid-April of 1942, which kept it safely protected in San Francisco during the fateful Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor.

The Nautilus arrived at Pearl Harbor on April 28, 1942 with, among other things, new radio equipment, a new modern engine and something really wonderful for the first time, air conditioning. Some days to weeks later, Ensign Joseph R. DeFrees reported aboard and although referred to as commissary officer in one reference, he was notably the “navigation plotter” with duties in the conning tower, especially during battle stations.

By most standards the USS Nautilus was no longer considered to be a new submarine. The Nautilus (SS-168) was one of just 2 Norwhal Class diesel-electric attack submarines. It was 371 ft in length with a 33 ft beam and top speeds of 17 knots (surface) and 8 knots (submerged), with a range of 9,380 nautical miles at 10 knots. It carried a complement of 93 officers and enlisted men and was equipped with 2-6” deck guns, 2-.30 caliber machine guns and 10-21” torpedo tubes, some of which were deck mounted. Originally known simply as V-6, its keel was laid down on August 2, 1927 in Vallejo, CA. It was later launched on March 15, 1930, followed by commissioning on July 1, 1930, acquiring the Nautilus name.

Ensign Joe was junior most of nine officers aboard reporting to the commanding officer, 37-year-old Lt. Cmdr. William H Brockman, Jr. In the weeks following boarding the Nautilus was sent out on a number of training and readiness patrols. Joe’s duty shift in the conning tower was daily 2000-0000 hours (8pm to midnight) and every other day 0800-1200 hours (8am to noon). Joe was regularly in charge of the watch, or considered to be the officer of the deck. Under such circumstances he was absolutely required to have full awareness of every department onboard at all times. That would include knowledge awareness of all hull openings, ballast tanks, flood valves, vents, variable tanks, and pumps. In other words, he was required to maintain the boat’s readiness to dive at all times.

All of what follows was taken from more than a dozen Navy historical or heritage references and documents, including the posted log of the Nautilus. However, the primary source of this information is from a book by David W. Jourdan, The Search for the Japanese Fleet – USS Nautilus and the Battle of Midway, University of Nebraska Press, ©2015. A great deal in the telling of that story was by created fictionalized dialogue based on who was documented as on watch during various log entries. Italicized texts as well as specific statements by Joe DeFrees were taken directly from this book.

On May 24, 1942, the USS Nautilus and her crew left Pearl Harbor for their first war patrol. In the company of more than a dozen other submarines their mission was to patrol the water of the Pacific in a defined pattern approximately 70 miles northwest of Midway Atoll. As a direct result of the Japanese communication code being broken some months back, the U.S. Pacific Fleet watchfully awaited the approach of the Japanese Fleet because of their known Midway attack plan scheduled for June 4, 1942. Each submarine had a well-defined 50-mile wedge of sea to patrol, submerged during daylight hours. The patrol pattern effectively held an arching line of detection for a distance of more than 250 miles. A dragnet through which no enemy ships could ever pass.

Meanwhile, the USS Hornet and USS Enterprise carrier task forces remained grouped together undetectable some 70 miles north of Midway Atoll and some 200 miles east of the submarine patrol field. Unfortunately, the USS Lexington had been sunk in Japanese action in early May, and the USS Yorktown had been so heavily damaged that the Japanese believed it also had been sunk. However, the Yorktown was safely and doggedly escorted back to Pearl Harbor where it underwent the most incredible rebuilding and reactivation in the entire history of the Navy. Although repairs were anticipated to take months, with a swarm of 1,400 shipyard workers laboring around the clock, the Yorktown was underway once again within 48 hours, steaming for Midway and prepared for action by June 4, 1942.

As the Japanese Kidō Butai strike force of the First Air Fleet steadily approached from the northwest, the airbase on Midway Island prepared its reconnaissance air planes for takeoff. The Kidō Butai First Air Fleet mobile force was made up of four Pearl Harbor veteran carriers, the Akagi, Kaga, Hiryū, and the Sōryū, along with 264 aircraft, two battleships, three cruisers and 12 destroyers. However, all in all, the full Japanese strike force was made up of no less than 151 warships. The U.S. Navy was vastly outnumbered.

On June 3, 1942, 2000 hours, 21-year-old Ensign DeFrees took the conn. “Helm, come left to one-nine-five.” This course correction would keep them steady on the assigned patrol arc in spite of persistent current and winds pushing the Nautilus to the west. The periscope was raised by DeFrees and although as yet undetected, “In the direction of DeFrees’s gaze, three hundred miles to the west, the Japanese Kidō Butai was approaching.” Joe DeFrees could not have anticipated at that point that he and the crew of the Nautilus would be the only American submarine to take on the Japanese Fleet in battle the following day.

The Japanese plan of attack was to launch a massive air strike on the Midway airbase in the predawn hours of June 4, 1942. Assuming the Americans had no knowledge of their approach, they expected the element of surprise was on their side and they would easily destroy the airbase, all aircraft and all defensive installations. They would then wait for the following day to launch another attack in preparation for an amphibious landing with an assault force of 1500 troops, with heavy cruisers supporting the landing with bombardment. They fully intended to have the island secured and in Japanese hands by the end of the day. They would then bring in construction engineers and workers to make rapid repairs and have the island in full operation as a Japanese base by Sunday, June 7, 1942. There was only one problem, American awareness and ingenuity.

By 0420 hours on June 4, Rear Adm Frank Fletcher, commander of the American carrier forces launched scout planes from the deck of the Yorktown in search of the Japanese Fleet. By the same token, at least 30 PBYS (Catalina flying boats) took off from Midway Island also in search of the enemy. At precisely the same time, the Japanese launched several float planes from five different ships into an arcing search pattern directly over the top of where the Nautilus was patrolling. U.S. carrier forces began their move south in anticipation of the coming attack. Then, at 0426 hours the Japanese attack force comprised of three dozen of each, fighters, bombers and torpedo planes, launched from carriers in the Kidō Butai, on course for their target. The battle of Midway had begun.

USS Nautilus Log Entry: “Thursday, June 4, 1942. 0544 YST-Intercepted message that many planes were

headed for Midway from a point 320°T from Midway distance about 150 miles. This was on the northern

boundary of Nautilus area and we were close to this point. Swept horizon continuously.”

It should be noted at this point that all orders for submarine activities are communicated directly from CINCPACFLEET (Admiral Nimitz). However, in the heat of any moment, without express orders to the contrary the boat’s captain has the discretion to take action on the basis of the general orders to the submarine force which were, “Inflict maximum damage to the enemy. Priority of targets-carriers, battleships, transports, cruisers, auxiliaries.” We will soon learn that Captain Brockman was not one to run from potential harm.

At 0542 hours leading Japanese ships Kirishima and Nagara spotted searching American PBYs. The Kidō Butai had been discovered. Those same ships began “laying smoke” to alert the balance of the strike force that the enemy was near. Very shortly thereafter at 0545 hours one of the Japanese float plane radios: “Sight two surfaced enemy submarines in position bearing 120 degrees.” Neither the USS Grouper nor the USS Nautilus had any awareness they had been detected and both continued along their patrol routes.

On Midway Island, in addition to the 22 PBYs already aloft and approaching the Kidō Butai, all 14 B-17 bombers were ordered into the air to begin their attack on the Japanese fleet. It was also a strategic move to get them off the ground in anticipation of the imminent attack. All other aircraft were fueled and awaiting take off orders as well. The time was 0600 hours. By 0636 hours the commander of the Japanese fleet, Admiral Nagumo had received the word, “We have completed our attack and are homeward bound.” The Admiral’s intention was then to follow on the first attack as soon as possible with a second wave.

What Admiral Nagumo did not know at that point was precisely how poorly the attack on Midway had gone. The approaching bombers were met by American fighters who were able to take out several before their escort of fighting Zeros were able to join the attack. As nimble as the Japanese Zeros were, they were able to shoot down at least 15 American planes allowing the remaining bombers to complete their effort in the face of ferocious ground fire resistance.

At 0658 hours, the Nautilus spotted at least six of the American Flying Fortresses now just 20 miles from the Japanese ships. Just a few minutes later Nautilus officially joined the battle and Ensign DeFrees dutifully reported to his navigation plotting battle station in the conning tower.

USS Nautilus Log Entry: “Thursday, June 4, 1942. 0710 YST-Sighted smoke and bombing beyond horizon

bearing 331°T. Came to course 340° to close action . . . and went to battle stations submerged.”

Lt. Cmdr Pat Rooney remained officer of the deck while Captain Brockman concentrated on the tactical circumstances. Brockman calmly called for an intercept course. Lt. Lynch, torpedo and gunnery officer replied, "Sir, recommend course three-four-zero.” Brockman responded, “Very well, Officer of the deck, steer three-four-zero.” And with that, Nautilus turned toward inevitable confrontation and directly into the path of the oncoming Japanese.

Back on the surface, the three American carriers, Hornet, Enterprise and Yorktown, launched more than 100 scout bombers, torpedo bombers and escort fighters to begin their attack on the Japanese fleet.

At 0755 hours Nautilus was searching the horizon using its slim attack periscope when the sonar operator exclaimed, “Captain, JK. Echo ranging, bearing three-four-zero true! Faint but getting louder. It’s the first I’ve heard this, Captain!” Brockman continued his sweep, spotting masts on the horizon and suddenly orders “Down scope. Diving officer, make your depth one hundred feet.” This was followed soon by “He’s seen us, I think.” In moments Brockman’s concern was confirmed when machine gun fire struck near the outer shell of the conning tower. Brockman stayed at 100 ft for a full five minutes before feeling confident enough to order a return to 70 ft for another look around. The scope was raised for an intended length of no more than eight seconds or it could easily be spotted by the enemy.

A total of 11 men were crammed into the small conning tower space along with two periscopes a plotting table and all of the lines, piping and equipment surrounding the perimeter of the space. Such difficult working conditions under extreme stress could wear thin and men could begin to grow more concerned unconsciously making quiet statements or murmuring in anxiousness. Brockman ordered the scope down and firmly stated, “Quiet in the conn. Listen up. We have four ships in sight. One battleship and one cruiser on the starboard bow, two other cruisers toward the port bow. We will attack the battleship. Ready tubes one and two, set depth twenty feet. Set one-degree offset, tube two. Ensign DeFrees, show me the recognition key.” They had just brought up their scope and found themselves to be entirely surrounded and in close quarters of at least four ships. One thing was certain, even if unseen, cruisers were always tended to by rapid attack destroyers. DeFrees handed the Captain the booklet with ship silhouettes for enemy target recognition. From that Brockman made the assumption their target was the Kirishima, a Kongō-class battle cruiser.

Taking just one more chance to determine final bearings on their target they raised the periscope again. They quickly obtained the needed coordinates, but before they had an opportunity to lower the scope, they were shaken by two massive explosions. Brockman ordered the scope down and said, “The sound you heard was another attacking aircraft. A Jintsū-class cruiser is approaching from our starboard bow. We will stay at periscope depth. My intention is to turn to the east after the cruiser passes and attack the battleship with torpedoes.” The crew could hear the churning sound of props from an approaching destroyer as Brockman passed the word to rig for depth charging. They continued their approach in hopes the destroyer did not have an accurate fix on their position before they could make their attack. It was now 0810 hours, only 15 minutes had passed since their strafing and yet it seemed like an eternity.

The Nautilus was now utterly alone and surrounded, with the USS Grouper a full 35 miles away traveling at a depth of 140 ft at 8 knots. Earlier it had spotted a number of aircraft on the horizon and thought to change their course to the northeast as a means of avoidance, which only moved them further away from the fighting.

On the surface, bombs were falling all around the Japanese fleet, effectively breaking them up due to their defensive attack measures. Unfortunately, because of those very maneuvers, more than 150 bombs from the B-17s dove harmlessly into the sea. But as the Nautilus valiantly approached from the southwest, at least 16 Dauntless dive bombers from Midway descended also from the southwest. There was a problem though. Many of the Dauntless pilots were young marines with little real dive-bombing training. Because of this it was expected they would attack at a shallower angle which made them considerably more vulnerable to not only antiaircraft fire, but relentless attacks from the surrounding Zeros on the unescorted dive bombers.

The results were as might be expected with fully half of the dive bombers being immediately destroyed. The remainder of the planes, after ineffectively releasing their payloads at the swiftly evading ships, sadly began their return to Midway Island. That gave the Japanese Zeros an opportunity concentrate fire on the remaining B-17s still attempting to complete their bombing runs. Unfortunately, all of it was futile and the last of their bombs fell without a single hit by 0812 hours as the Japanese flight group which had attacked Midway began to return to land on their carriers still under attack.

A total of 21 of the 50 American planes had been lost in the completely ineffective battle. However, although not destructive, the battle did indeed have a powerful impact on the Japanese fleet after spending more than an hour and a half in wild and erratic maneuvers essentially causing sea battle mayhem. Admiral Nagumo was strategically impacted and was now entirely off balance. With no carriers found at Midway some unanticipated and fateful strategic planning had to begin.

USS Nautilus Log Entry: “Thursday, June 4, 1942. 0810 YST-Enemy depth charge attack began. Eleven

charges dropped at distances varying from 1000 to 3000 yards. Jintsū-class cruiser dropped pattern of

five depth charges followed seven minutes later by a pattern of six depth charges.”

It would eventually be discovered that Captain Brockman’s assumption of being attacked by a Jintsū-class cruiser was actually in error. The Nautilus was being relentlessly stalked by the Arashi, a formidable Kagerō-class destroyer capable of 35 knots top speed and carrying a complement of 36 depth charges. The charges dropped in this event “were not close enough to cause more than pounding hearts and cold sweats among the men in the tower.”

Submarines of the day could easily avoid damage from depth charges if they had the opportunity to dive to their test depth of at least 300 ft. Captain Brockman however was concerned they would miss their opportunity for torpedo attack if they dove any further than a reasonable periscope depth of 70 ft. His hope was they would be able to effectively continue to evade the pursuit of the Arashi and be able to seize the opportunity to strike. The Arashi was equipped with the latest in submarine detection sonar as well, which the JK sonarman onboard the Nautilus could detect and from which he could infer direction and approximate speed.

At 0819 hours the sonarman called out, “Captain, JK. Enemy ship reversing course. Coming back for another try, sir!” They could hear the destroyer’s screws approaching quickly as well as a faster rate of sonar pings. Six more depth charges were launched, this time a bit closer to the Nautilus, but still with no apparent damage. Brockman ordered a course change to zero-seven-zero and away from the destroyer, continuing to move at periscope depth but with no scope on the surface. Brockman ordered the scope up to make one more observation and then intended to attack. The scope was instantly discovered by the Arashi and nine more depth charges were launched at the Nautilus’ expected position. This time the charges were very much closer and rocked the Nautilus and her crew’s nerves to their limit.

The sonarman screamed, “Captain, JK—TORPEDO IN THE WATER! Very close!! Bearing . . . I can’t tell . . .it’s all around us!” Then continuing, “I don’t know who fired it, sir!” What they soon realized they heard was one of their own deck torpedoes, apparently damaged in the last attack, with its motor screws running. The crew had no choice but to allow it to run until it had no more fuel. Unfortunately, the noise was clearly like putting out a sign posting of their exact position for the Arashi. Regardless, Captain Brockman intended to make his move.

“Observation. Up scope.” As Graham raised the periscope, the level of activity grew considerably. Sonar bearings were being passed to the plotter and TDC (torpedo data computer); Joe DeFrees was constructing his plot solution and comparing his results with the TDC.”

Brockman’s own war report of the current circumstances however, is well stated and worth duplicating here.

“0824 YST—The picture presented on raising the periscope was one never experienced in peacetime practices.

Ships were on all sides moving across the field at high speed and circling away to avoid the submarine’s

position. Ranges were above 3,000 yards. The Jintsū class cruiser had passed over and was now astern. The

battleship was on our port bow and firing her whole starboard broadside battery at the periscope. Flag hoists

were being made; searchlights were trained at the periscope. The exact position of the Nautilus may have been

known by the enemy at this time because #9 deck torpedo was running hot in the tube as a result of the shearing

of the torpedo retaining pin during the depth charging. Periscope estimate was made on the battleship and put

on the Torpedo Data Computer. Range estimated at 4,500 yards, angle on the bow 80 degrees starboard, speed

twenty-five knots.”

Brockman ordered, “final bearing and shoot! Up scope!” Brockman took the raised scope, “Standby forward.” “Bearing . . . mark!” “Two-eight-six relative,” said Graham. The TDC was ready with the bearing information. Brockman: “Shoot!” he called as the firing key was triggered. “Fire one!” He waited for a report from the torpedo room. Hearing nothing, he triggered the firing key again. “Fire two!” Two fired electrically!” came Porterfield’s report from the torpedo room. “Tube one did not fire and could not be fired manually!” “Very well,” acknowledged Brockman, “Sonar?” “Torpedo running true and normal!” came the response. “Very well. Shut the outer doors. Diving officer, make your depth one-five-zero feet.”

Brockman called for the reloading of tube two, assuming that tube one was in need of some repair at this point. He would move along at 150 ft and then once again bring the boat back up to 18 ft for firing, but this time his target would be the cruiser, or as we later discovered, the Arashi destroyer constantly pinpointing their position. Now nearing their intended depth, they continued listening to their torpedo “running true” toward the battleship. The expected explosion however, was not heard. Their first attempt at attack had failed as their torpedo missed its target.

By now the battleship and escorts had begun to move out of range, but the destroyer Arashi was still doggedly intent on crippling the submarine. Brockman’s attention turned to their pursuer. He brought the boat to periscope depth once again and made observations. He noted the aircraft carrier Kaga at a distance of 16,000 yards, but they knew their persistent hunter had seen them and was closing fast. “In two minutes the fast-approaching Arashi had closed another mile. Lee was calling sonar bearings to the plotter. Lynch was busily working the TDC with help from chief Lange. DeFrees was trying to follow the destroyer on his plot as it maneuvered toward them, while also keeping track of the receding Japanese fleet.” The Arashi was on an intercept course at top speed.

Entirely within the time frame of the next two minutes, Brockman had raised the scope, taken bearings, set the torpedo and fired from tube two at the destroyer. It was confirmed the torpedo was running true and Brockman ordered the outer doors shut and a reload of tube two once again. Brockman took one more look and then, “Down scope. Diving officer, make your depth two hundred feet.” He had seen that the destroyer had nimbly avoided the torpedo, and was almost on top of them. Minutes later six more depth charges were launched at the Nautilus. The sea around them erupted in massive explosions and then, “Captain, JK, target maneuvering. He’s coming back!”

Again, within minutes, “six more depth charges filled the ship with enormous noise as the shock and blast waves rocked Nautilus. The crewman hung on, studied gauges without seeing them, or just looked at their shoes. With clenched jaws and white knuckles, they waited for it to end. “It was so frightening,” said Lee, “that you prayed.”

At 0930 hours, the Arashi had sent a radio message back to the fleet stating, “Received an enemy submarine’s torpedo attack . . . at 0910. Countered immediately with depth charges, but results unknown.” Following that message the Arashi was called to return to her escort duties with the rest of the Kidō Butai. Nautilus had received the last of the depth charge blasts from the Arashi according to the log at approximately 0933. Prayers may well have made the difference in this instance with a destroyer called to return to the fleet when it could have continued the pursuit of the Nautilus until it had the opportunity to strike a fatal blow. As it was instead perceived, one submarine was no longer considered a threat to the rapidly moving fleet.

Here we will end part 1 of this story. By 9:30 am on that fateful day, it clearly appears that in spite of all the preparation and planning, the American fleet had suffered a nearly complete failure to inflict any damage on the attacking forces of the fierce Kidō Butai. The Japanese are a bit off balance, knowing their original intent to destroy all American aircraft carriers has ended in utter failure. They now know they must find the carriers which clearly launched a massive air war on their ships, and continue the attack. Admiral Nagumo decided that he must entirely refit his aircraft for a sea war now rather than hoping for his next wave to destroy what remains of Midway. That extreme readiness delaying decision will prove to be critical to the battle’s outcome.

Thus far, the USS Nautilus and her crew have endured an onslaught of no less than 34 depth charges in just over two hours. Yet Captain Brockman once again brings the heading of Nautilus back to follow the Japanese fleet now rapidly moving out of range. In the absence of all other orders, “Inflict maximum damage to the enemy. Priority of targets-carriers, battleships, transports, cruisers, auxiliaries.”

Part II will follow as soon as possible…

Ensign Joe DeFrees jr. onboard the USS Nautilus along with several crew members, August 1942

USS Nautilus CO LCdr William Brockman.jp

Lt. Cdr. Brockman, Commanding Officer of USS Nautilus during the battle of Midway

USS Nautilus Conning Tower Assignments.j

USS Nautilus Conning tower position assignments during the battle of Midway

USS Nautilus Compartment Arrangement

USS Nautilus watch patrol assignment as the Kido Butai approached during the battle of Midway

The tiny scrap of land in the middle of the Pacific that this battle was all about, Midway Island Atoll

27. Ensign Joe DeFrees jr. - USS Nautilus (SS-168) - The Battle of Midway - Part II

October 27, 2020

The time is now 1000 hours on June 4, 1942. The USS Nutilus, the only American submarine to attack the Japanese fleet, has just spent the last two hours being relentlessly pummeled with depth charges launched from the Japanese Destroyer Arashi. The Arashi has been ordered back to the main body of the Kidō Butai invasion fleet. Distracted by their chase to find and cripple the Nautilus, they have left themselves 15 miles from their primary purpose to screen and protect the four Japanese aircraft carriers ever vulnerable to attack.

USS Nautilus style submarine firing forward torpedo

The Japanese carriers have moved to the east in an attempt to recover the planes still in the air. Admiral Nagumo continues to believe the attack on Midway must continue at all costs. Many planes, now severely short on fuel are circling the carriers in hopes of landing. Nagumo’s intent is to bring them below deck as quickly as possible to refuel and rearm them with more bombs to initiate the second wave strike on Midway Island. This effort was in defiance of direct orders to the contrary from Admiral Yamamoto to keep an adequate number of planes armed with torpedoes and armor-piercing bombs, prepared for a sea battle. It would soon become painfully apparent to Nagumo that he was inflexibly pursuing the wrong strategy, a decision that historians suggest created the turning point in the battle. By 1002 hours a strike force of Devastator torpedo bombers from the American carrier Yorktown would begin to convince Nagumo that all planes had to swiftly be reconverted to torpedoes, a decision that would require precious time the Japanese fleet did not have.

The Yorktown has launched 12 Douglas TBD Devastator bombers led by Lt. Cdr. Lance Massey. They are accompanied by six Grumman F4F Wildcat fighters for protection from the Japanese Zeros, commanded by Lt. Cdr Jimmy Thatch. By 1015 hours, Massey and Thatch arrive and are met by a swarm of Zeros. This time however, the Zeros themselves are startled by the unexpected Wildcat opposition. One of the Wildcats is quickly shot down while two others become occupied in separate fights. The remaining three find themselves up against more than 20 Zeros coming at them like hornets. Severely outnumbered, the remaining Wildcats attempt an untested maneuver now known as the “Thatch Weave” and for more than 20 minutes they are able to not only avoid getting shot down but are able to take out several Zeros. The two Wildcats separated earlier have received damage enough to initiate their retreat after scoring one Zero kill.

By this time, it is apparent the Wildcats have done their job as 11 of the Devastators continue to their intended target. But the Zeros realize their arrogant error of so many of them pursuing such a small number of American fighters and turn their attention to the bombers. This change is almost immediately successful leaving only five of the Devastators to make drops on the carrier Hiryū. Unfortunately, the carrier takes a massive circular turn and is able to avoid all of the slow falling bombs. Eventually all 12 of the Devastators are lost with only three survivors. Surprisingly, their attack had not been in vain since it provided the time and distraction necessary for the arrival of 17 Dauntless dive bombers also from the Yorktown, led by Lt. Cdr. Max Leslie. They immediately split themselves into three attack groups and begin their nearly vertical dives on the carrier Sōryū. “After only moments of antiaircraft firing, to no avail, the first thousand-pound bomb fell in a lazy arc and landed just forward of the bridge island on the starboard side of the flight deck. Penetrating the lightly armored deck, it exploded in the forward hangar bay, blasting the bridge, killing the starboard gun crews, and setting the hangar ablaze.” Although that was followed by many bombing misses, eventually a second bomb found its mark at midship, piercing through the flight deck and exploding on the lower level hangar deck among the refueled and rearmed planes prepared for launch. Finally, a third bomb successfully hit the aft section and also exploded near armed torpedo planes awaiting their turn to rejoin the battle.

At that same time, a large dive bomber group from the USS Enterprise under the leadership of Lt. Cdr. Wade McClusky, has apparently missed its intercept point and lost its way, completely missing the area of engagement with the Kidō Butai. As luck would have it the Enterprise Dauntlesses manage to spot none other than the wayward Destroyer Arashi still working its way back to the main body of the Japanese attack force. They immediately pivot and, thanks to the persistent attacks of the Nautilus, 33 more Douglas Dauntless dive bombers are once again back on mission and hoping to join the illusive fray at any moment. As might be guessed, they will be moving into the battle scene from a completely unexpected direction.

At 1022 hours, McClusky’s bombers join the fight 25 miles from where Leslie had successfully inflicted devastating damage to the Sōryū. They have come across two carriers and several other ships and immediately begin their bombing run on the carrier Kaga. In spite of intensive antiaircraft fire from the carrier, several bombs are dropped from the squadron as the Kaga attempts to avoid their efforts by managing a slow turn to starboard. This move was indeed timely and proved to be successful as all of the initial bombs fell exploding harmlessly into the sea on either side of the vessel. However, the next run of bombers was rewarded with no less than four direct hits. The first explodes in the upper hangar deck aft, the second “landed on the forward elevator, falling into the shaft and detonating deep within the ship.” The third hit just forward of the bridge island, “killing the captain, executive officer, navigator, gunnery officer, and communications officer.” Lastly, the fourth bomb struck amidships also causing considerable damage. “A few minutes after the last American bomb fell, an enormous explosion rocked the ship as fuel vapor detonated, sending a ball of flame and a mushroom cloud high into the sky, visible throughout the Kidō Butai.”

McClusky’s group had also been successful in hitting the carrier Akagi in the midship area with a devastating blow, while also disabling the ships maneuvering capability. The last of the American bombs were done falling by 1030 hours, just eight minutes after the attack began. The only carrier left unscathed thus far was the Hiryū.

Ensign Joe DeFrees and the Nautilus remained submerged and are steadfastly chasing after the Japanese fleet. At 1029 hours Captain Brockman orders “Look around. Up Scope.” He moves slowly in rotation intently scanning the sky as well as the horizon for any sign of activity.

Brockman pauses and orders, “Bearing…mark!” “Two-nine-five,” called out Graham.

“Range…mark!”

“Twenty thousand yards.”

“Officer of the deck, take the scope.” Brockman stepped back and let Rooney man the scope while he consulted the plot and addressed the men in the conning tower. “I saw three masts on the horizon. True bearing?” he queried DeFrees.

“Zero-zero-five, true, Captain,” replied the plotter. Kidō Butai was almost due north, off the port bow of Nautilus as she cruised to the northeast.”

Brockman also ordered the vertical antenna raised to see if they could pick up any voice traffic.

“Very well. Distance about ten miles—hard to tell without seeing hulls. I see large clouds of gray smoke at four places over the horizon. Radio, any word?”

“Yes, sir,” called the radioman excitedly. I just heard a report of a damaged carrier!”

“Very well. Lower the vertical antenna.” “We will continue to close the nearest cloud of smoke.”

Submerged submarines of course cannot use their diesel engines which require air to run, and therefore must rely completely on batteries charged when on the surface. After being submerged for six hours, it still appeared they had enough battery charge to keep up their current speed and continue in their pursuit. Remaining at periscope depth they turned north with a top acceptable speed of just five knots (5.7 mph) and headed in the direction of the closest plume of smoke. Clearly at this rate of speed it would take Nautilus nearly two hours to reach their target, if it is not moving.

By 1215 hours, Brockman is becoming impatient with their slow progress. He orders, “Maneuvering, all ahead two-thirds.” This change will bring the Nautilus speed close to eight knots (9.2 mph) but will also increase the drain on the batteries. This could actually put their lives at risk if they are forced to surface near the enemy. No doubt everyone in the conning tower was grievously aware of this fact.

At 1253 hours, Brockman’s periscope observation revealed one stationary and burning carrier being tended by two destroyers. The carrier was the heavily damaged Kaga while the two destroyers were the Hagikaze and the Maikaze. Brockman had a brief discussion with his navigation plotter, Ensign DeFrees and his navigator, Lt. Cdr. Roy Benson as he tried to work out their order of attack. One condition was noted for certain, “They didn’t have enough battery charge left to indulge in multiple attacks.” The conning tower became still as the captain sat pensively in his own thoughts assessing the probable outcomes of various choices, then announced, “Listen up in the conn. The carrier which by our plot was making two or three knots when the approach began, is now stopped. I can see that efforts are being made by boats under her bow to pass a towing hawser and many men are working on the fo’c’sle.” He paused for a moment then continued, “We will complete the destruction of the carrier before she can be repaired or taken in tow. Approach will continue at periscope depth.”

The torpedo room confirmed that tube one was loaded and ready to fire. Brockman responded, “Very well. Prepare tubes one through four. Set depth one-six feet.” Brockman wanted all four torpedoes running nearly simultaneously, but remembered the earlier problem with tube one, and ordered firing begin with tubes three and four, followed by one and two. “No misses this time!” To DeFrees he said, “Plot, show me the recognition key again I want to be sure of our target. DeFrees produced the booklet, and over the next half hour Brockman took several glimpses at the stricken carrier, updating the torpedo firing solution and examining details on the vessel to compare with his key.”

At 1355 hours Brockman ordered the tubes flooded and the opening of the outer doors. Final sightings, measurements and the angle of approach were quickly completed. Torpedo three was ordered fired. “Three fired electrically” came the report from the torpedo room.” The periscope was quickly raised and the torpedo was seen making its way directly to the target. The captain called out to “Fire four!” “Four fired electrically!” came the report. Torpedo running true and normal!” The scope was again raised to verify the torpedo course. Once confirmed it was lowered and tube one was ordered fired. “Tube one did not fire!” reported the torpedo room.” Exasperated, Brockman cursed under his breath and ordered the firing of the last torpedo. The periscope was raised for the final time to observe all three torpedoes were on target and heading true. Brockman confirmed and had all five officers in the conning tower also view the torpedoes running. They too did confirm, but also noted the “Hagikaze and Maikaze abandoned all salvage efforts, reversed course, and headed toward Nautilus at high speed.”

In spite of the rapid approach of the deadly destroyers, Brockman continued observing the torpedoes intent on positive observation of a strike. Finally, “We have a hit! I think all three fish hit the carrier! I see red flames appearing along the length of the ship from the bow to amidships. Boats are drawing away from the bow and I see many men going over the side.” Navigator Benson, more than a little concerned with their tardiness expressed, “Captain?” Brockman replied, “Right. Handles up, he said, Down scope. Diving officer, make your depth three hundred feet. Helm, ahead full! Left full rudder. Steady on one-nine-zero!” To the momentary relief of the conning tower members, Nautilus plummeted downward.

They had barely passed through two hundred feet when they suddenly heard a strange “metallic scraping noise as though chains were being dragged across the deck.” It was not yet common knowledge that the Japanese sometimes employed the use of drag wires to locate a submarine in the absence of workable or accurate sonar soundings. Within moments depth charges began their descent from the destroyers directly above Nautilus. The concussion from each explosion directly over Nautilus had the impact of actually pushing the submarine deeper than intended in its dive. “Conn, dive. We are at three-four-zero feet, coming back up to three-zero-zero.” No fewer than 11 explosions were counted in just a few minutes, some of which were disconcertingly close. “Just then two loud clangs were heard, as though some heavy objects had been dropped on the deck.” It was speculated that two depth charges came in hard contact with Nautilus itself but somehow failed to detonate.

The crew awaited the next volley of depth charges, but all suddenly became quiet. Brockman called for a damage report from all compartments. “A hydraulic supply line was ruptured, spewing oil into the engine room. An electric breaker supplying battery ventilation tripped. A few drips of water were noted here and there.” Members of the conning tower expressed relief that by some miracle Nautilus had held together during the onslaught. It is no small wonder ships and submarines come to take on a personality by members of the crew, each thinking about the vessel in their own way. In this case, it may be that several crew members were falling in love with their sturdy boat.

However, just moments later at 1431 hours two more explosions rocked Nautilus. The destroyers had returned and tensions immediately began to rise. But very quickly, all again went quiet as crew members peered upward or furtively around them at nothing, in agonizing anticipation of the next detonation. They waited in silence for what may have seemed like an eternity, but in reality, only nine minutes had passed when Brockton called out, “Diving officer, make your depth two-five-zero feet.” After ten more minutes at 250 ft, only one more explosion was heard, but at some distance from Nautilus. “We congratulated each other that we were still alive,” Radioman Harold Buzz Lee later remembered.

“Nautilus continued to open the range from the Japanese. Her battery was nearly dead.” It was anticipated that within a very short period of time there would no longer be a question that they would have to surface and possibly expose themselves to grave peril from both the hunting destroyers as well as any aircraft which may have launched to join in the search for the only American vessel still doing battle with them. They plotted their course due south and rose to 125 ft. where they hoped to move steadily away from the Japanese fleet but at no more than 2 knots (2.3 mph). Imagine yourself driving through town at that speed. It was an agonizing crawl which had to be weighing on every member of the crew.

All had been quiet now for about two more hours. At 1610 hours, Brockman ordered the Nautilus to periscope depth and hazarded a look around. He reported, “Saw carrier, but the escorting cruisers were no longer in sight. They had abandoned the carrier and she was afire along the entire length.“ The scope was lowered and Nautilus remained submerged quietly continuing to move along and hopefully away from danger.

Only after two more hours had passed, Brockman once again raised the periscope, made observations and then perhaps out of compassion, offered the scope to every member of the conning tower crew, giving each an extended look around. What better way to at least begin to ease the tensions of a horrific day seeing nothing but a burning carrier in the distance with no destroyers in sight clearly bent on their destruction.

Nautilus Log Entry:

“1800 YST—Heavy black smoke enveloped the carrier and formed a cloud over the ship to a height of a thousand feet. The officer making this observation compared the cloud to the oil smoke which rose from USS Arizona when that ship burned at Pearl Harbor, T.H. [Territory of Hawaii], December 7-9. Nothing could be seen of the carrier’s hull.”

Some years later after analysis of all ships logs and crew debriefings, it was determined that at 1715 hours “the captain of the destroyer Hagikaze radioed to his commander, “The emperor’s portrait has been safely brought aboard. Since all hands were ordered to abandon ship, we have taken all personnel aboard.” It is customary in the Japanese Navy that when all hope is lost for a ship, the portrait of Emperor Hirohito is properly if not ceremoniously removed from the ship. At that point, the Hagikaze took position and fired four torpedoes into the floundering hulk of the carrier Kaga and within five minutes that ship passed into history below the waves.

Nautilus Log Entry:

“1919 YST—Went to depth charge stations as a result of concussion noises heard outside the hull.”

What the Nautilus heard at that point was the final destruction and scuttling of the carrier Kaga. The battle of Midway was now over for the USS Nautilus and its heroic crew. Finally, at 1941 hours the Nautilus battery was completely exhausted and Captain Brockman ordered the boat to the surface. The hour of 7:41 pm in early June most likely was still filled with a great deal of daylight, but Brockman had no choice at this point but to surface.

“Nautilus rose from the sea. The bridge hatch was open, all four diesels roared to life, and fresh air filled the ship. Brockman, Rooney and lookouts scrambled up the ladder. In the growing twilight, Brockman scanned the horizon in the direction of Kaga. Nothing. No smoke or flame of any sort was seen. The ship was gone.”

“Moments later Ensign DeFrees appeared at the ladder. “Permission to come up and relieve the watch?” fresh off a twelve-and-a-half-hour stint at battle stations, Joe DeFrees had a twenty-minute break, then was up to the bridge to stand his 2000 to 0000 watch.” “Come on up, Joe,” said Rooney. Enjoy the fresh air!” Young Ensign Joe DeFrees had only left the Naval Academy in December and now, a mere six months later he has seen enough frenzied and dangerous military action to defy imagination, and at the tender age of just 22 years old. Yet his stellar naval career continues.

Ensign Joe remained onboard Nautilus until late 1942. During that time following Midway Island action, he demonstrated his courage time and time again in a number of instances that could be recounted here. Not the least of these occurred in August of 1942 when Nautilus delivered a black ops Seal-like team of marines in the Raid on Makin Island. But perhaps those stories will be for another time.

In September of 1942 there is documentation of Joe attending torpedo school stateside where he has an opportunity to make a few comments to newspapers regarding the Midway battle. Soon he is promoted to Lieutenant and reports in January, 1943 onboard the USS Sculpin (SS-191) a Sargo class submarine as armory officer. Amazingly enough, it was Joe’s own mother, Bernice Fairbanks DeFrees who christened and launched the Sculpin from the Portsmouth Navy Yard on July 27, 1938.

Our final chapter for our cousin Joe DeFrees will be of his time on the USS Sculpin still doing battle deep in the South Pacific.

USS Nautilus Sinking Carrier Soryu at Mi

USS Nautilus Sinks Destroyer Yamakaze.jp

Artist's depiction of USS Nautilus torpedo strike on Japanese aircraft carrier.

Periscope photo taken of the sinking of the Japanese destroyer Yamakaze by USS Nautilus June 25, 1942.

Newspaper Navy enlistment ad created from the USS Nautilus photo above.

USS Sculpin & Nautilus Same Painting 194

1941 artist's painting of the two submarines Joe DeFrees served on, USS Nautilus (foreground) and USS Sculpin (above).

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28. A Word on World War II Submarine Life
December 12, 2020

Although I am nearly finished with the research and outline for the final posting on Lt. Joe DeFrees, I thought it would be completely appropriate to pause for just a moment to give you all some insights into life aboard a submarine. Especially the type being used during World War II. If nothing else, it will hopefully give you a little bit of perspective regarding the circumstances and will perhaps also allow you to picture yourself in such surroundings and under such conditions.

Our cousin Joe has already experienced some wartime extremes in just the telling of his time onboard the USS Nautilus during the Battle of Midway. I had also hinted at the fact that following Midway he continued with great distinction in a number of other war patrols aboard that

same submarine which were every bit as nerve wracking and harrowing. Suffice it to say there is no question it takes a very extraordinary individual to be able to serve effectively and endure life in the conditions to be described. Although the WWII submarines were the most sophisticated and scientifically advanced crafts of any in the fleet, the conditions of living in a confined space submerged for extended periods created very unique problems.

I’ll begin with the boat’s size. A submarine like Nautilus was just a little over 300 ft long from stem to stern, and only about 25 ft wide. That yields a total space available of around 8,000 sq ft. Of course, a great deal of that was taken up by ballast and fuel tanks, equipment, engines, batteries, torpedoes, piping, and everything brought onboard to sustain the men for extended war patrols of 60 to 70 days or more. The amount of space left over for human activity was little more than the size of a large home, except that it was filled with a crew complement of approximately 60 young men. Each and every member of the crew depended completely on the good judgement and experience level of their skipper, usually a Lt. Cmdr in rank.

All WWII submarines operated with two means of propulsion. Generally, they had two large diesel engines as well as electric propulsion which ran off batteries that were charged each day by running the diesel engines. Obviously, diesel engines cannot be run without air and a method to exhaust burned gases from inside of the vessel. During war patrols the submarines were only allowed to surface and run their diesel engines in darkness to avoid detection. The diesels would loudly run all night to recharge the batteries for use during the day while submerged. As soon as they were turned off to begin their dive, all exhaust ports were also closed and the latent temperature of the engines would almost instantly heat up the interior of the vessel sometimes to 100°F or more. A heat that would not dissipate for hours if at all. Because of this, little clothing was worn during active hours and what was worn was saturated with sweat most of the time.

Since living space was at a premium, small crew bunking areas were located around the boat, including in the forward and aft torpedo rooms. There were not enough bunks to accommodate the entire crew so the sailors were required to do “hot bunking,” which meant each man would share a sweaty bunk most often with two other boat mates. Since there were three working shifts onboard, each bunk would be used continuously throughout a 24-hour period. As each bunk mate reported for duty, another would hit the sack.

Early in the war, most submarines were not equipped with desalinators to renew available fresh water from the surrounding sea. As a result, the fresh water that was available was primarily for consumption, with little left for hygienic needs while clothes washing was nearly out of the question. There was clearly a reason that such vessels were frequently referred to as “pigboats.” If you entered a crew filled boat in mid cruise you would instantly be accosted by a very unpleasant yet predictable blend odors made up of a mix of diesel fuel, sweat, cigarettes, hydraulic fluid, cooking and sewage.

After understanding all of that, we will now visit the further potentially psychologically debilitating conditions created by being at war in such a maritime vessel.

We hear quite a bit these days about what are being referred to as “essential jobs.” Every single individual onboard a submarine was not only considered to be essential, but their ability to be able to perform their daily tasks with absolute perfection was imperative to the safety of every other boatmate onboard. In no uncertain terms, every crank of a valve or toggle of a switch could literally end the lives of the entire crew if not carried out perfectly as the conditions dictated. Submarine crews were always especially selected and extremely highly trained in their particular responsibilities so they could be carried out correctly and effectively under every stressful condition imaginable.

The express purpose of a submarine on war patrol in the absence of all other orders was alluded to in a previous story as “Inflict maximum damage to the enemy. Priority of targets-carriers, battleships, transports, cruisers, auxiliaries.” The primary way of inflicting the damage was through the use of torpedoes. The torpedo of choice on all WWII submarines was the Mark-14, a 3,200 lb, 20 ft long cylinder with a 643 lb warhead of Torpex. Torpex was a blend of explosives consisting in part of traditional TNT, but 50% more powerful. Under normal circumstances this would be an excitingly formidable addition to any warship capable of doing damage. Unfortunately, there was no such thing as normal in the development of these underwater missiles. Since they cost $10,000 each ($168,000 today) to manufacture, they were never really tested in fear of wasting time and money. Each submarine was equipped with 16 to 24 of these, equally split between the forward and aft torpedo compartments.

Much to the dismay of every fighting submarine the world over at this time was the fact that the Mark-14 torpedoes had anywhere from a 50% to 80% failure rate. Each torpedo was equipped with two detonator systems. The magnetic detonator was intended to arm the torpedo upon detection of a magnetic field from the intended target. Since so many of the torpedoes failed it was assumed the magnetic detonators were defective and in many cases the skippers of the boats ordered them disabled in preference to the contact detonators. Just as unfortunately, the contact device was equipped with a glide for impact on a firing pin that could easily become damaged if a torpedo hit at an angle of anything other than 90° to the target and the bomb would fail.

The most infuriating aspect about this was that whenever a submarine fired a torpedo, its steam driven propellers would leave an easily seen wake trail which quite frequently allowed a targeted ship to maneuver out of the line of the explosive even though moving at 46 knots (53 mph). By the same token, the magnetic detonators had a horrible habit of prematurely exploding literally within yards of being launched. Either way, the position of the offending submarine was given away and the inevitable chase to destroy it was nearly always begun by a Japanese escort destroyer.

Such confrontations with destroyers always involved the ship’s launch of depth charges into an area and depth where the submarine was expected to be after their failed attack. More often than not, the submarine could avoid destruction because of maneuvering strategies or by how quickly they could dive to a depth where the charges would no longer detonate. Early on in the war Japanese depth charges were most all set to explode at a chosen depth, all the way down to 200 ft, which was the limit of their design. Diving quickly to 250 ft or lower would nearly always protect the boat from damage.

As luck or rather politics would have it, a Kentucky Democrat Congressman by the name of Andrew May, most likely a member of the Armed Services Committee or the forerunner of the day, was returning from a war zone visit and briefing in June of 1943 where he had learned of this advantage of the American submarine fleet. Disregarding the sensitivity of the information, he revealed it in a press conference and within months the entire Japanese fleet had made the necessary modifications to their depth charges. This error in judgement specifically resulted in the loss of 10 submarines and the lives of over 800 sailors thereafter until the war ended. This quite succinctly gives personification to the adage "Loose Lips Sink Ships."

Regardless, suffering under the onslaught of a seemingly endless barrage of depth charges over time could drive any otherwise stable mind completely mad with fear and anguish. Being onboard a submarine at great depth in the ocean was the next thing in a submariner’s mind to being buried alive. With every explosion near or far, the heart would beat faster, filling each man with the dread of horrors at any moment with no way to return fire and no means of escape. For very good reason, submarines were also referred to as Iron Coffins or Death Traps.

Now under such circumstances, think in terms of going about your duties and performing admirably without inflicting your boatmates with a potentially catastrophic error in valve adjustment while fears of inexorable death are coursing through your fevered brain.

Once again, suffice it to say there is no question it takes a very extraordinary individual to be able to serve effectively and endure life in these conditions.

Our next story coming soon will be Lieutenant Joe DeFrees and the Fate of the USS Sculpin (SS-191).

1931 Diagram of a Nautilus Style WW II Submarine

29. Fate of the USS Sculpin (SS-191) - Preface
December 17, 2020

Before launching into our last story on young Joe DeFrees, I felt it important to set the stage.

By mid-June, 1942, Ensign Joe and the USS Nautilus returned to port at Pearl Harbor following their noteworthy action in the Battle of Midway. Joe remained on Nautilus for two more war patrols in the coming months which once again could be stories in and of themselves. Their part in the Raid on Makin Island is especially interesting since each of two submarines, the USS Nautilus and the USS Argonaut, were packed with over 100 marines each, in addition to the standard crew of 60 or so men. If you care to read more on that patrol, here is a very good link: Makin Island However, there is far more ahead that we must turn our attention to without getting caught up in the heroism documented in every patrol.

Joe DeFrees left the USS Nautilus upon their return from the Raid on Makin Island in late August of 1942. He traveled back to the United States to visit with his family and friends, and was then off to Navy Torpedo School in New London, CT. There he would study for several months until once again reporting for duty after being advanced to the rank of lieutenant. This time however, his duty station would be aboard the USS Sculpin (SS-191) currently undergoing a four month refit at Mare Island near San Francisco. He happily boarded the updated submarine in the early months of 1943 as its new torpedo and gunnery officer. It is at least likely that he had requested this assignment since it was his own mother Bernice Fairbanks DeFrees who was the sponsor and launched the USS Sculpin on July 27, 1938 from the Portsmouth Navy Yard in Kittery, Maine.

USS Sculpin Conning tower and deck gun - San Francisco 1943

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The USS Sculpin is a Sargo-class submarine, not quite as hefty a boat as the Nautilus, but every bit as sophisticated and capable with the latest in technological advancements and war marine science the engineers of the day had to offer. It was equipped with four General Motors diesel engines for surface running at speeds of 21 knots (24 mph). It was also silently driven submerged by four high speed electric motors capable of 8.75 knots (10 mph), and had a range of 11,000 nautical miles and an endurance of 48 hours submerged. This impressive boat was armed with 8-21 in. torpedo tubes split fore and aft and carried 24 torpedoes. It had a single 3 in. deck gun and four machine guns. It carried a complement of 5 officers and 54 enlisted men.

A special note of later interest is that the Sculpin was built literally right alongside of its sister submarine, the USS Squalus (SS-192) which was in a sense its mechanical twin. All launched submarines must first undergo rigorous qualification exercises prior to becoming commissioned in the fleet. The Sculpin completed her qualification trials and was duly commissioned on January 16, 1939. On May 23, 1939 the USS Sculpin on one of its follow up shakedown cruises was notified that its sister submarine the USS Squalus, under the command of Capt. Oliver Naquin, had not reported in while still on qualification exercises and was feared lost. The Sculpin was immediately placed on a search and rescue assignment off the coast of New Hampshire.

The captain of the Squalus and her men had still been working hard to gain induction into the fleet and were anxious to complete their qualification trials. On the morning of May 23, 1939 in a fateful attempt to shave fractions of seconds off of their “crash dive” time trials, Capt. Naquin ordered all ahead full to create the highest level of momentum prior to a test crash dive. All green lights on the board indicated the trial was a go and the crash dive was ordered. However, when passing through 50 feet of depth the boat was wracked with an unforgiving shudder and a compressed air wave pounded the men from the engine room forward as thousands of gallons of water almost immediately flooded both the engine and maneuvering rooms. Acting quickly, the water tight door to the engine compartment was closed and sealed with a number of men still inside. However, the effort was too late as the batteries were compromised and all lights had gone out while men had to scramble forward to hopeful safety in the boat which was now tipping at a steepening angle bow up. Efforts to blow the ballast and bow buoyancy tanks were fruitless and the Squalus eventually hit the sea floor at a hazardous angle and came to rest at approximately 240 ft of depth. As soon as they could make an accounting of their situation and become organized, an emergency telephone marker buoy was released and distress rockets were fired, hoping against hope they would be seen.

Miraculously enough, their sister submarine the Sculpin was able to discover, and confirm the location of the crippled Squalus. The command structure was immediately notified and Sculpin dutifully remained at station keeping directly over the sunken hulk of her sister sub until help could arrive. The Navy immediately mobilized its rescue fleet from the New London, CT station. Over the next several days, one of the most daring and death defying deep sea rescue efforts in all of American history was successfully executed and a total of 32 men were brought back to the surface alive.

The less fortunate remainder of the crew would later be brought up as well when the Squalus was raised from the bottom and taken back to the Navy yard for a complete refit. The salvage operation was documented on film, and it was President Roosevelt who commented upon seeing the nose of the Squalus break the surface that it looked like a sailfish breaching the waves. After the Squalus was repaired and overhauled and once again qualified for sea and fit for battle, it was eventually commissioned as USS Sailfish (SS-192), retaining its original numerical designation. For good or ill, this submarine will be figuring prominently into our last story about our cousin Joe DeFrees. For those of you with further interest in this story, a full and comprehensive accounting can be found at the following link: Saving Squalus

Fast forward now to wartime in the Pacific fleet. Ever since the attack on Pearl Harbor, the Navy department in charge of decryption known as OP-20-G, had set to work to attempt to break the code associated with Japanese fleet communications. The coded language used by the Japanese came to be known as JN-25 to the boys in code breaking. JN-25 was referred to at the time as a “superenciphered” code using over 33,000 “words, concepts, letters, numbers, names, and place-names” all of which were in turn associated with five-digit numbers. All of the numbers were divisible by three which would allow the receiver to verify immediately that the message was legitimate and not garbled in the transmission.

Freeing you all of the boring details of the Japanese code, suffice it to say, as stated so succinctly by Jonathan J. McCullough, author of A Tale of Two Subs, “Making any sense of JN-25 required a breathtaking amount of work, a persevering spirit, and traces of genius. Beyond the thicket of additives and their underlying codes, however, was yet another barrier to understanding JN-25: the subtle intricacies of the Japanese language, and the refined nuances of the culture.”

Be that as it may, the stalwart decryption experts managed to break the code in its entirety. As a result, the Navy went straight to work to test the value of the information they were now able to understand. This discovery would become truly pivotal to the war effort for the American Pacific fleet. Over the early months of 1943 the Navy was able to confirm they were indeed receiving very specific and detailed information on Japanese ship movements. They soon discovered deciphered information allowed them to send out submarines to simply lie in wait at very specific coordinates for the passing of transport and cargo vessels carrying vital supplies between locations. With this information they could begin to develop a masterful plan to deal a critical blow to the Japanese Fleet.

Lt. Joe DeFrees has now become a valuable asset and battle seasoned addition to the USS Sculpin. The thoroughly refit submarine left Mare Island on May 9, 1943, running shakedown exercises on its way back to port in Pearl Harbor. The Sculpin had been heavily and successfully involved in war action through a series of no less than six war patrols prior to the arrival of Lt. Joe. There have been a number of references to the fact that Joe had gained somewhat of a reputation as an enthusiastic and energetic presence in any crew. Although he is once again the “George” (most junior) officer aboard the Sculpin, Joe is raring and ready to prove himself once again with the new crew and begins doing everything he can to have impact in making a difference aboard his mother’s christened vessel.

Next up, the final chapter: Lieutenant Joe DeFrees jr. and The Fate of the USS Sculpin (SS-191).

USS Sculpin station patch worn by crew members

USS Sculpin Over Sunken Squalus 1939.jpg

USS Sculpin dutifully station keeping directly over where the USS Squalus lay crippled on the bottom at 240 ft awaiting rescue in 1939

Artist's depiction of the rescue efforts carried out for the USS Squalus

Diving bells reach the surface containing surviving crewmembers from the sunken USS Squalus

Photo which caused President Roosevelt to exclaim how the Squalus looked like a Sailfish, which it was later renamed after its overhaul.

Some crewmembers of the Sculpin just prior to Joe DeFrees coming onboard

The USS Sculpin shown sailing out of San Francisco bay under the Golden Gate bridge as it begins its cruise to Pearl Harbor with Lt. Joe DeFrees onboard.

Another view of the deck gun and conning tower of the Sculpin during refit in 1943.

USS Sculpin Lt Cmdr Lucius Chappell 4_41 to 10_43 3.jpg

Lt. Cdr. Lucius Chappell, Joe DeFrees' first commanding officer onboard Sculpin

USS Sculpin & Nautilus Same Painting 1941.jpg

Completely unique painting of USS Sculpin along with USS Nautilus, both submarines Lt. Joe DeFrees served upon prior to his death

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30. Lieutenant Joe DeFrees jr. - The Preliminary Fate of the USS Sculpin (SS-191)
January 9, 2021

USS Sculpin 6_22_1939 at Squalus Anchor 2.jpg

USS Sculpin awaiting the rescue of USS Squalus - 1939

Following her sixth war patrol, the USS Sculpin under the command of Lt. Cdr. Lucius Chappell, left Pearl Harbor on January 8, 1943. She made way to the San Francisco Bay area for an overhaul with the Bethlehem Steel Company shipyard at Mare Island. There it remained until released for refit exercises on May 9, 1943. Sometime during that four month period Joe DeFrees jr., now advanced to the rank of Lieutenant, reported aboard as the new gunnery and torpedo officer. At that same time, the engineering and diving officer,

Lt. Jack Turner, was replaced by Lt. George Brown who would become fast friends with Joe in the coming months.

Lucius Chappell, a native of Columbus, Georgia, had been the skipper of the Sculpin throughout all six of its war patrols. He had been awarded the Navy Cross for “extraordinary heroism” for actions taken in the sinking of a Japanese destroyer during their second patrol. He proved himself to be a capable and highly effective submarine commander over and over again, thereby earning the admiration, respect and loyalty of the boat’s crew. There is little doubt that Lt. Joe was eager to serve alongside of Chappell and contribute to the Sculpin’s continued success as it sailed back to action in the Pacific fleet. This had to be especially meaningful to him as the junior officer onboard a submarine launched by his own mother, Bernice Fairbanks DeFrees just five years earlier.

After conducting successful refit exercises the USS Sculpin returned to port at Pearl Harbor prepared for whatever might be next. By May 24th, as an integral part of what was being referred to as the ULTRA project, they were ordered to proceed to an area off the northwest coast of Honshū, the largest of the Japanese island chain. During this their 7th war patrol they were able to inflict moderate damage to the Japanese light carrier the Hiyō in a torpedo attack. They also caused more extensive damage to a cargo ship and succeeded in destroying two sampans. Sampans were notorious as picket and communication boats, frequently signaling back to the military their detection of any enemy ships or submarines. Most of their targets during this patrol however were wary of the presence of American submarines and hugged the coastline in water too shallow for an effective attack. The patrol ended on July 4, 1943 upon the Sculpin’s arrival at Midway Island.

By July 25, 1943 they were ordered onto their 8th war patrol in the Strait of Formosa, between the island of Taiwan and the China coast. There they were able to successfully torpedo and sink the cargo transport Sekko Maru. Unfortunately, the remainder of their patrol was fraught with the frustrating unpredictability of the arming and detonator systems of the Mark-14 torpedoes. On August 21, they intercepted and fired a spread of three torpedoes at an armed cargo ship but none of the them exploded upon reaching their target. As a result, the Sculpin had to dive and run from the ship’s escort destroyers and withstand another one of many depth charge attacks. By the same token, there was yet another torpedo failure on September 1, when it could be observed impacting the hull of an enemy vessel without exploding. Of course, that led to another necessary dive and run from a chasing destroyer. We can only imagine the irritation and disappointment of the young torpedo officer trying to make a difference in the success of these missions. Eventually the Sculpin returned to Midway Island where some unanticipated and fateful changes were about to begin taking place.

Over the months that Lt. Joe had been onboard the Sculpin the commanders of the Pacific fleet had been concentrating on determining the effectiveness of their understanding of the Japanese encrypted communications system known as JN-25. Following on the successful breaking of the Japanese code, further refinements to the encryptions were made as they witnessed and documented the accuracy of Japanese fleet movements over time. This confidence testing became known as the ULTRA Project. The Japanese fleet had absolutely no awareness what they believed to be an unbreakable code was so entirely compromised. Because of this the American Pacific fleet command began to formulate a plan for an Allied invasion of the Island of Betio in the Tawara Atoll, a Japanese stronghold in the Gilbert Island chain. This plan was called Operation Galvanic. With their growing confidence and awareness of Japanese war ship movements a project was being hatched to form what would become known as a “wolfpack” of American submarines. The wolfpack would be sent out to work together in preventing any potential reinforcement enemy ships from being redirected to Tawara impacting the pending invasion. Theoretically, this would assure a rapid battle to secure the island of Betio thereby hopefully averting the unnecessary loss of American lives.

In order to build around the invasion plans, the Pacific fleet command needed to put together a team that could command the yet largely unproven wolfpack concept. To date, the USS Sculpin had surpassed any wartime expectations over a course of eight Pacific patrols. This crew had managed to sink nine Japanese ships and severely damage ten more. In her last two war patrols the Sculpin team had the final interpretive ULTRA decryption equipment onboard and used it to great advantage. It was truly beyond debate that a more seasoned group of submariners could be found anywhere in the world.

In final preparation for Operation Galvanic, onboard the Sculpin the decorated boat’s captain Lt. Cdr. Lucius Chappell was replaced by 32 year old Lt. Cdr. Fred Connaway. He had previously commanded submarine S-48 (SS-159) for approximately six months, and had served admirably onboard the USS Sunfish (SS-281) as executive officer. The Sculpin executive officer Al Bontier was also replaced by Lt. John Allen, rounding out the command chairs. At that same time, Cmdr. John Cromwell also reported aboard to take command of the submarine wolfpack which would be made up of the Sculpin, the USS Searaven (SS-196) and the USS Apogon (SS-308). The entire remainder of the crew, including Lt. Joe DeFrees, had all served on Sculpin through anywhere from two to all eight previous war patrols.

On November 5, 1943 the wolfpack was ordered to sea as a part of the anticipated Allied invasion. They were to patrol the waters northeast of Truk Atoll, a strategic Japanese warship staging area. Once there they would watch for and ambush any enemy ships heading east in the direction of the Gilbert Island chain and the island of Betio where the invasion was to take place. All attacks were to be coordinated by Cmdr. Cromwell onboard the Sculpin who was in possession of the ULTRA decryption equipment. After refueling at Johnston Island on November 7, they continued the last 3500 miles to their ordered patrolling area.

It was on November 29, 1943 when Pacific fleet command initiated contact with the USS Sculpin in order to activate the wolfpack in advance of the planned invasion. There was no response to the message. The activation order was again communicated 48 hours later to which there was also no response. In order to cover for the possible loss of the Sculpin, the Commander Submarine Forces overtly ordered the Sculpin to proceed to Eniwetok for observation duties and to report any enemy shipping. The USS Spearfish (SS-190) was ordered into the wolfpack to maintain the boat count at three. Communication efforts to the Sculpin continued for several more days but to no avail. On December 30, 1943 the USS Sculpin was officially reported as lost.

That, for all intents and purposes could well have been the last any of us would have ever heard regarding the fate of our cousin Joe DeFrees and his fellow crew members. Be that as it may, it was nearly two full years later following V-J Day, August 15, 1945 when it was discovered that 21 crewmembers of the USS Sculpin were alive. They were liberated in September from hard labor at a copper mine in Ashio, Japan after many aggravating months of torture and torment. All of the men were found to be only shells of their former selves exhibiting body weight losses of from 35 to 45 lbs. They were transported by train to Yokohama and hospitalized until they could be safely transported to Guam for further recovery and debriefing.

The final posting will be the crew’s story of the final hours of the USS Sculpin, for the most part in their own words. All italicized script segments are the words of the surviving crew members taken directly from the debriefing documents obtained in October of 1945. The rest of the story has been pieced together from remnants spanning more than a dozen Navy heritage websites, excerpts from They Fought Under the Sea, authored by editors of the Navy Times, Monarch Books, Inc. ©1962, and from the efforts of Jonathan J. McCullough author of A Tale of Two Subs, Grand Central Publishing ©2008.

USS Sculpin Capt Cromwell, John P 1_edited.jpg

Extremely problematic Mark-14 torpedo. Some experts claim they had a 70% failure rate.

Lt. Cdr. Fred Connaway, commanding officer of the USS Sculpin replacing Lt. Cdr. Chappell

Cmdr. John P. Cromwell, commanding officer of the submarine wolfpack mission

Ashio, Japan, location of the infamous copper mines

Two MIA notices published in Los Angeles papers in February of 1944 two years prior to survivors being found

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31. Lieutenant Joe DeFrees jr. - The Final Hours of the USS Sculpin (SS-191)
January 9, 2021

Artist's sketch of Cmdr. Cromwell intentionally scuttling and sending the USS Sculpin to her fate at the bottom of the South Pacific

The date was November 16, 1943. The USS Sculpin had arrived on its intended station, beginning its ninth war patrol. The crew was located approximately 250 miles northeast of Truk Island, an Atoll in the Caroline island chain and a primary Japanese naval base in the south Pacific. Their orders were to provide support for an imminent Allied invasion of Tawara, a Japanese stronghold in the Gilbert Island chain east of their current position. Sculpin was the flag submarine for a three boat wolfpack including the USS Searaven (SS-196) and the USS Apogon (SS-308). The wolfpack was commanded by Capt. John Cromwell stationed onboard the Sculpin. The wolfpack combined objective was to intercept and attack any enemy ships moving from Truk Atoll to assist in countering the American ground forces soon to be deployed in the Tawara invasion.

Such enemy ship movements would become known from Japanese coded communications intercepted in advance by Capt. Cromwell. His use of ULTRA decryption equipment onboard Sculpin would reveal probable points to confront enemy ships and they were to be communicated to the wolfpack to coordinate all attacks as ordered. All remained quiet for the first two days of patrol.

At 0030 hours on November 19, 1943 Radarman Edgar Biedleman called out “Radar contact, sir.” Both skipper Connaway and Capt. Cromwell were in the conning tower to hear the report. Torpedo and Gunnery officer, Lt. Joe DeFrees had just arrived to relieve Cromwell as battle stations OOD (officer of the day). Biedleman and Radioman John Parr, both manning the SJ surface-search radar, reported they had discovered a large convoy of vessels tracking westward in the direction of Truk Atoll. At that time, it was believed the convoy included a large freighter, a light cruiser and five destroyers. However, it was later historically confirmed the convoy included the submarine tender Chogei, the light cruiser Kashima and two destroyers, the Wakatsuki and Yamagumo.

Although wolfpack operations had not yet begun, the size of the convoy was of great interest to both Connaway and Cromwell and they together decided it would be necessary to gain a positioning advantage to launch an effective attack. Because of this the Sculpin remained surfaced and pushed full speed ahead in an end around maneuver to the west to get ahead of the slowly moving convoy. By 0600 hours Connaway, feeling confident they had reached their attack point, ordered a dive and called for battle stations. They held at periscope depth scanning the horizon until the convoy was finally spotted, bearing, angle and range were all marked and the periscope was ordered down. All through the night Lt. Joe DeFrees had been busy at the TDC (torpedo data computer) plotting the zig zag movements of the convoy, ascertaining speed and direction in preparation for the anticipated attack. With this sighting just appearing over the horizon, DeFrees did one more TDC calculation to determine bearing, speed and range from their target.

Connaway ordered the periscope up for a final sighting to begin their attack and ordered all torpedo tubes readied. Within moments however Connaway ordered the periscope down and hollered “Take her down!” Connaway had unexpectedly observed the convoy shifting direction at 2500 yds, and whether they were detected or not, the convoy was moving directly at the Sculpin. The boat dove to 200 ft and held position as the convoy moved directly overhead. The dive though was not without noise, especially with the enemy in such close proximity. Lt. George Brown the engineering and diving officer later reflected, “I believe this outfit heard the Sculpin or were alerted, for the whole convoy speeded up.” However, no depth charges were dropped giving the men hope they still remained undiscovered.

By 0730 hours in discussions between the skipper Connaway and Capt. Cromwell, it was decided that based on the size of the convoy this must certainly be a very important freighter and would need to be dealt with in any way they could. Although there was a slight disagreement between the two as to the course of action, they decided it may well be worth a daylight end around maneuver giving them their best possible speed if it could be accomplished. Besides, after running on all four diesel engines all night the interior of the Sculpin was unbearably hot and could use some air. Connaway ordered periscope depth and up periscope. Upon seeing nothing, Connaway ordered the Sculpin to surface to begin their next attempt on the convoy. Upon surfacing the order had been given to start up two diesels, the hatch was opened and Quartermaster Bill Cooper and the XO (executive officer) Lt. John Allen emerged out onto the bridge and began scanning the horizon. There was a light fog on the surface and at first they didn’t see anything of note. Then suddenly Allen spotted the crow’s nest of the destroyer now some 8700 yards ahead of them. They initiated an emergency dive. Lt. Brown recalled, “Therefore, he ordered us to surface, which we did. However, we evidently did not take a good enough look for the Japs had left a “sleeper” (a large flotilla leader destroyer) which was about 6,000 yards from us when we surfaced. We got the submarine down again by the time he came over to drop his first string.”

The destroyer now in hot pursuit of the Sculpin was the Yamagumo commanded by Lt. Cmdr. Ono Shiro, a battle seasoned veteran and tactician in submarine tracking and warfare. Over the course of the next several minutes the Yamagumo launched 18-600 lb depth charges near where the Sculpin had disappeared, which rapidly descended on their target.

Lt. George Brown took the Sculpin to a depth of 300 ft as quickly as possible as the Yamagumo made its approach. Shipfitter Edwin Keller remembered, “The screws sounded like a freight train coming through a tunnel.” Very quickly the Sculpin was rocked by exploding depth charge concussions in groupings of six. As a result, an exhaust valve was ruptured and several sea valves were “jarred off their seats and could not be made watertight.” Lt. Brown thought, “The damage received by the first depth charges was not unusual but disconcerting.” After their first pounding the crew waited in silence still at 300 ft of depth.

Regardless of how quiet the submarine remained, conditions of the sea were extremely favorable for surface listening device efficiency and it was only a matter of time before the Yamagumo would begin another attack. As George Brown remembered, “Our evasion tactics were next to useless on that day.” Then at 0830 hours the crew’s fears were realized as the second round of 18 more depth charges were launched, again in strategic strings of six, spreading out their range for best hopes of direct contact. As luck would have it, the Sculpin again suffered relatively minimal damage, and at this point the crew were all hoping against hope their luck would not run out.

Lt. Brown left his diving station just for a few moments to go into the galley. There he ran into Ed Keller who asked, “When do we lose these bastards?” But George Brown agitatedly responded, “We’re not going to lose them. They have us.” Then, almost like clockwork at 0930 hours the destroyer launched another 18 depth charges.

This time the damage was more moderate although they still were able to maintain control of the submarine overall. However, they were now taking on a significant amount of water aft in the engine room which caused the Sculpin to lose trim tilting bow up at approximately 13 degrees. Fireman Joe Baker recalled the force of the explosions “jarred the holy hell out of us.” Lt. Brown witnessed, “The hands on the depth gauge fell off in front of my face. The pressure gauges near the diving station commenced flooding.” Connaway ordered George Brown to leave the diving station and make a damage inspection tour and report back. George left his station replacement, Ens. Max Fiedler, on his first submarine mission, to man the controls if necessary, before his return.

During George’s inspection tour, Connaway realized that it was taking 100 to 110 turns of the screws just to maintain their depth. They couldn’t take another attack. Fortunately, their sound man could hear a rain squall in the distance and they made for it as quickly as possible in hopes that it would mask their noise long enough to get the sub back in trim and more under control. As George made his rounds he noted, “Upon inspection I found the after engine room flooded to such an extent that I believed it unwise to attempt to place a bubble in #4 M.B.T. (main ballast tank) (which would have aided the trim considerably) because the flow of water forward might short main motor leads. We decided to bail the water forward to another compartment until we could trim the ship without endangering main motors.”

In spite of an oppressive temperature throughout the submarine of 115°F, a bucket brigade was formed with several crew members all suffering from exhaustion and in some cases, a paralyzing dread of what would come next. While the bailing effort was in progress, the Sculpin had made it to the rain squall and managed to evade the destroyer for more than a half hour. At that point Connaway for some reason decided he would chance a view of the surface to see if they were free of their relentless pursuer. He ordered the boat to periscope depth prior to George Brown’s return to his station. Young Ensign Fiedler at the diving station responded by blowing the ballast tanks to bring the Sculpin up to take a look around. What he did not realize was that the depth gauge was stuck at 170 ft and he kept blowing ballast right past periscope depth until the bow broached the surface in a magnificent whale breaching like burst of water and spray. Ed Keller heard one of the men forward scream, “The bow is out of the water!” The Sculpin was immediately spotted by the Yamagumo some 5000 yards away and it made a beeline for the submarine at top speed.

Ens. Fiedler, upon realizing his error, without the need for orders, instantly flooded the negative tanks and took the boat back down. Unfortunately, the effort was too little and far too late. With the Yamagumo less than three miles away, they were over their target in almost no time and fired off a condemning fourth round of depth charges. The combination of not being able to reach sufficient depth and the speed with which the destroyer had responded together made this attack more devastating than all of the others.

Lt. George Brown related in his debriefing, “When we stuck our nose out the destroyer saw us and came over again, dropping another string which tore our radio transmitter from the bulkhead and smashed the receiver, smashed light bulbs and severely damaged outboard vents in both torpedo rooms. We momentarily lost depth control and were down over 500 feet before regaining control. The steering mechanism had been damaged to such an extent that it was next to impossible for exhausted men to operate the wheel in hand power. At this time our evasion tactics were about at a standstill.”

By some accounts, George Brown managed to force air into the bow buoyancy tank which stopped their free fall to crush depth. The boat began to rise and to avoid breaking the surface yet again, Connaway ordered bow buoyancy vented. That stopped their ascent at approximately 100 ft but in order to maintain that depth it was necessary to run the motors at 170 turns, a noisy endeavor with the damage suffered at this point. Nevertheless, they decided to take their chances and hold at that depth in hopes the attacks would stop. At 1230 hours however their hopes were shattered as the Yamaguamo dropped at least 10 more punishing depth charges over Sculpin.

The damage from this string of charges was becoming even more devastating and frightening to all onboard. Both torpedo rooms were reporting cracks around the launch tubes, the periscope shears had been bent and the bulkhead around the conning tower was buckling. It was clear they could not take much more and their options were now extremely limited. The men were at their wits end working feverishly to hold the boat together as best they could before the next and most likely last assault would come.

At this point, a heated argument had broken out between Capt. Cromwell and the skipper Fred Connaway. Connaway knew their batteries were nearly exhausted leaving only one option, and that was to surface. His opinion was that he should order a “battle surface” and take their chances in a gun battle with the destroyer. This would possibly allow time for the crew to abandon ship before the submarine should necessarily be scuttled. Cromwell however argued they had been pummeled by all counts with more than 50 depth charges and strongly felt with the current quiet that the destroyer may well have had no more depth charges left. The crew heard him scream “Keep her down! Keep her down!” But Connaway argued that it was he who commanded the Sculpin and it was he who had sole responsibility for the lives onboard and that he would call for battle surface.

Battle surface was indeed ordered. Lt. Brown remembered, “It required 170 turns to maintain depth, the battery was about shot and it was six hours till sundown, so Commander Connaway decided to surface and fight it out with the destroyer, and while the gun crew was engaging the destroyer the rest of the crew who wished could abandon ship.” This was a horrible and heartbreaking decision for skipper Connaway to have to make, knowing with very real certainty that he had no choice but to condemn many if not all of his crew to their deaths by either staying down or surfacing. The latter would at least give a fighting chance at life to the fortunate for a crew who had fought so well over the last several hours. Quartermaster Bill Cooper overheard a conversation between Chief Moore and skipper Connaway, “Don’t you want to make ready the tubes?” “No.” came the reply, “Just battle surface.” Bill Cooper later recounted his feelings stating, “If we’d have had those tubes ready for that Japanese ship, all we would have had to do was aim the boat at him and fire our torpedoes with about a one-degree spread. We were just sitting there dead in the water.”

In preparation for battle surface, as everyone was getting to their stations, Lt. George Brown remembered as he and the skipper made their way to the conning tower, “He ordered me to make sure the Sculpin was scuttled, in case we lost the one-sided engagement with the destroyer.”

The Sculpin surfaced at approximately 1330 hours and Lt. Joe DeFrees immediately opened the battered hatch and led his gun crew out onto the deck to man their 3” gun. Connaway emerged onto the bridge and began attempting to control the boat to gain a better vantage direction for the gunnery crew. The XO John Allen was in the conning tower communicating the skipper’s demands to steering while Lt. George Embury worked the radar in the conning tower and was relaying firing data to the gun crew. Lt. George Brown was back down in the control room and later remembered, “There were at this time some men in the Control Room who asked what they might do. I ordered them to the torpedo rooms to make ready the tubes. I intended to fire a spread from the Control Room.” He clearly mirrored the same exasperating feelings as those of Bill Cooper. Fire the damn torpedoes! But he could not have known for certain with all of the most recent damage if the torpedoes could even be fired at all.

The Yamagumo was no more than 3000 yards off and began making its way toward the heavily damaged Sculpin. Knowing the submarine could barely move, pilots of the destroyer began an attempt to maneuver to where their ship would gain an advantageous position with the sub’s conning tower between them and the 3” deck gun. Chief Moore took his seat on the deck gun, while torpedoman’s mate Herb Thomas worked the site settings. Fireman Joe Baker became the first loader and assisted with getting the heavy shells into the gun. Baker remembered, “We got the first shot in, which went over him.” “The second fell short.”

Meanwhile, the Yamagumo had opened fire with both of their 5” deck guns. Their first attempts were misses on either side of the sub, exploding powerful blasts of water onto the fighting crewmen on deck. Within just a few moments, two of next rounds found the Sculpin’s conning tower which violently exploded sending shrapnel in all directions but most alarmingly, into the gun crew on deck. Lt. Cmdr. Connaway was killed, as were the XO Lt. John Allen and Lt. George Embury. Shrapnel from the explosion tragically also found and tore through Lt. Joe DeFrees and he fell to the deck mortally wounded. There, on November 19, 1943 at approximately 1345 hours, 23 year old Lieutenant Joseph Rollie DeFrees reluctantly became forever enlisted in the Eternal Patrol.

Several crew members were scrambling out of the hatch and jumping into the ocean for whatever safety it might provide while crewman on the destroyer relentlessly attacked them with machine gun fire. Within just the last few minutes, the Sculpin had lost four of its officers, and enlisted men were being lost with every passing minute. Lt. George Brown realized that command of the USS Sculpin had fallen to him. He knew there was now no way to even hope of firing torpedoes and he feared that another direct hit to the sub may disable hydraulics to the point where scuttling vents would not be able to be opened. He ordered abandon ship over the P.A. system and sent Chief Hemphill forward and Chief Haverland aft to pass the word. He then approached Capt. Cromwell sitting still and sullen with his thoughts. “I informed Capt. Cromwell, who was in the Control room, of my intentions. He told me to go ahead, that he could not come with us for he was afraid the information he possessed might be injurious to his shipmates at sea if the Japanese made him reveal it by torture.”

Upon the return of Chiefs Hemphill and Haverland, George Brown remembered, “I ordered “Emergency Speed” and when answered, ordered “Abandon Ship.” “I waited one minute by the clock before ordering (Chief) Philip Joseph Gabrunas (who had gallantly elected to remain with me and man a station not normally his) to open the vents.” The Sculpin immediately began its last dive while Brown and Chief Gabrunas made for the hatch and whatever their fate might eventually be. Brown later reflected, “As I left the Conning Tower door, water was coming waist deep over the sill, and I am certain no one left the ship after me. I last saw Gabrunas going up the conning tower hatch. He either became fouled in wreckage or was killed by machine gun fire.” Without hesitation, Lt. Brown dove into the water now coming over the top of the submarine and swam with all his might to avoid being pulled down with the suction from the dive.

The USS Sculpin had seen its last battle as it disappeared unceremoniously beneath the waves. It was later recounted that “the survivors felt a heavy concussion as her 252 storage batteries short-circuited and exploded. A half mile from the struggling survivors, they saw a giant waterspout announce the end of their proud boat.”

Beyond Capt. Cromwell, a few other crew members onboard did choose to remain and go down with the submarine. One in particular was young Ens. Max Fiedler, the unfortunate diving officer who unwittingly allowed the Sculpin to rise to the surface rather than stop at periscope depth. He and others were remembered as stating, “We do not choose to go with you, we prefer death to capture by the Japanese.” Although foreboding, in view of what the survivors would have to endure over the next several months, their choice was for them perhaps fulfilling.

After being further harassed and fired upon by the crew of the destroyer, the survivors remained afloat and together as best they could, wounded and exhausted. The Yamagumo moved off for a time in search of any further sign of the possible survival of the Sculpin. They later returned to the floundering survivors and began pulling them onboard at around 1500 hours. A total of 42 submarine crewmen were recovered, but one was quickly thrown back into the sea because he was apparently not capable of survival in the eyes of their captors.

The weary Sculpin crewmen consisted of three officers and 38 enlisted. Joe Baker remembered, “That night we were all left on the deck, with our hands and feet tied, with only a piece of tarpaulin stretched over all 41 of us for protection against a hard rainstorm, against a raging sea … many of the men were in terrible agony, because of their wounds, and were losing blood.”

The destroyer carried their prisoners to the island of Truk where they were removed and put into three small cells. For the next three days they were tortured and severely beaten and were not allowed water, food or medical attention. Finally, a Japanese officer approached and after witnessing the carnage ordered that the men receive what they needed to sustain their lives.

Unfortunately, the beatings and interrogations continued for seven more days with a focus on the officers and the radarmen in particular. Following that, the survivors were separated into two groups and were boarded onto separate aircraft carriers and sent to the Japan mainland. The Japanese carrier Chuyo carried 21 Sculpin crewmembers in a single cell below decks, while the carrier Unyo held 20 of the prisoners under only slightly better conditions. One of the captives onboard the Unyo later recalled, “Finally, on the night before we reached Tokyo, we heard three loud explosions which scared the hell out of all of us. At first we thought we had been hit up forward, but then we decided that there would have been more of a jar if it had been us. One thing we did know was that something had been hit.”

The carrier Chuyo had indeed been hit by three torpedoes fired at them from none other than the USS Sailfish (SS-192), Sculpin’s sister submarine formerly known as the Squalus. Ironically, just a few short years earlier their crew had been found on the ocean bottom and saved by the crew of the Sculpin. The Chuyo began sinking almost immediately, and all but one of the Sculpin’s crewmembers onboard were lost as a result. The only survivor managing to save himself was machinist mate George Rocek, a veteran of all nine of Sculpin’s war patrols. Floating in the sea without any life vest, he was miraculously able to grapple a trailing rope from a passing destroyer and hauled himself onboard where he was quickly caught and confined.

Once in Japan, the now 21 remaining survivors were marched through the streets to a compound near the village of Ofuna where they all underwent further questioning, intimidation and beatings. The Ofuna facility had become known as “the torture farm” to prisoners fortunate enough to have survived a stay. The only remaining officer from Sculpin, Lt. George Brown was kept away from the other men in solitary confinement and questioned and beaten separately. After a few months of coordinatingly lying to their captors the Japanese realized there was no more to gain from these prisoners. As a result, all except for George Brown, were sent in early 1944 to the copper mines of Ashio for forced hard labor and unforgivably appalling living conditions. There they remained until September, 1945 when they were found and liberated.

Sometime following his debriefing on Guam, Lt. George Brown did finally have the opportunity to pen a note to his good friend Joe DeFrees’ father, Rear Admiral Joseph DeFrees. In part it read, “while it is heartbreaking to know that ‘Little Joe’ died at the gun, I am sure that you will get some consolation from the fact that the Sculpin went down fighting. She was a grand ship, second only to the men who manned her of whom ‘Little Joe’ was the finest.”

Postscript:

· Lieutenant Joe DeFrees was posthumously awarded the Silver Star and the Purple Heart

· Captain John Cromwell was posthumously awarded the Medal of Honor, Legion of Merit and the Purple Heart

· Lieutenant Commander Fred Connaway was posthumously awarded the Silver Star and the Purple Heart

· USS Sculpin was awarded eight Battle Stars as well as the Philippine Presidential Unit Citation

· Lieutenant George Brown was awarded the Silver Star. He later went to work for Procter & Gamble after the war and retired in 1976.

· Motor Machinist Mate First Class George Rocek returned to the Navy and continued onboard submarines as a diesel machinist even into the nuclear submarine era. He was highly decorated and died in 2007 as one of the longest surviving members of the Sculpin crew.

Japanese destroyer Yamagumo, responsible for relentlessly attacking the USS Sculpin until it had to be destroyed by its own crew

Pin location shows the approximate coordinates of the sinking of the Sculpin, and the point at which it continues to rest today

USS Sculpin Rocek, George Circa 1993.jpg

Lt. Cmdr. Fred Connaway, commanding officer of the USS Sculping for a single fafeful mission.

Lt. Joseph R. DeFrees jr, gunnery and torpedo officer onboard the Sculpin. Killed in action on deck while firing upon the Japanese destroyer Yamagumo.

Cmdr. John P. Cromwell, commanding officer of the submarine wolfpack mission and last in command of the Sculpin, ordering the scuttling of the Sculpin and going down with it along with a few other members of the crew.

Machinist Mate George Rocek, sole Sculpin crew survivor of the sinking of the Japanese carrier Chuyo and one of the 21 survivors of the USS Sculpin.

George Rocek in his later years proudly displaying his Navy wartime medals.

DeFrees, Joseph R jr USS Sculpin SS 191 Memorial 1.jpg

DeFrees, Joseph R jr USS Sculpin SS 191 Memorial 2.jpg

Enlarged version of the memorial at left telling the story and the fate of Lt. Joe DeFrees. (Use mouse to enlarge further over areas to be read)

Memorial to the USS Sculpin that we took at Pearl Harbor during our visit in 2019.

The Ashio copper mines and slave labor prisoner camp in Japan

Prisoners of the Ashio copper mines.

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Benham

Midway 1

Midway 2

Sub Life

Sculpin Preface

Preliminary Fate

Final Hours