Imagine you are in a small metal airtight compartment in a submarine stuck on the bottom of the ocean. All around you, you can hear the metal groaning, rushing water, and knocks in the hull from the rescue crew trying to free you. At the same time, you and the men around you are perfectly silent, forbidden from talking so that you don't run out of air before the rescuers get to you.
This is exactly what happened to the crew of a military sub in 1953. And this is their horrifying story. [intro music] Maritime history, recorded over centuries and even millennia of sailing, has produced some of the most compelling tales of victory and equally horrible moments of tragedy on the seas.
Throughout that history, fishermen, explorers, traders, and naval personnel have either conquered the seas, or met their end in the world's unforgiving oceans. And regardless of what walk of life they come from, sailors of all eras around the planet seem to share one common trait, and that's a belief in luck. Sailors are historically known to be a superstitious bunch.
In fact, you're not likely to find too many groups of people with as many superstitious beliefs as those who have spent significant time at sea. These beliefs range from the outlandish to the downright ridiculous, but no matter how irrational a superstition may seem to those on the outside, a ritualistic adherence to them meant the difference between life and death in the minds of many sailors. Something as simple as stepping aboard a ship with your left foot, or using the words "drown" or "pig" while at sea, can supposedly bring bad luck to a vessel.
Meanwhile, good luck supposedly comes to the sailors who have tattoos, own a black cat, or who throw an old pair of shoes overboard. Whatever the case, no matter the habit, routine, or practice, the goal is to ward off bad luck at sea. But unfortunately, for those who find themselves on a ship doomed from the start, there just isn't enough good luck in the world to keep it from eventually running out.
As the late night of April 3rd, 1953 became the early morning of April 4th, a submarine named Dumlupinar entered the Dardanelles Strait. This is the narrow strait that separates Turkish territory in Asia from the rest of the country on the European side. The sub was considered state-of-the-art at the time and had already lived a previous life as the USS Blower, which was a Balao-class submarine built and commissioned by the United States Navy.
Balao-class subs offered a better overall design than previous generations without changing so much internally that sub operators needed to be retrained. And the biggest point of pride for the sub class was that the ships were built using thicker, higher-strength steel in the pressure hull and frames. As a result, this class of subs could descend close to 400 feet, or 120 meters regularly and were some of the most advanced of the time period.
Prior to its renaming, the USS Blower completed three World War II patrols before it was decommissioned in 1950 and given to the Turkish Navy, which gave it the name the "TCG Dumlupinar". That night, the sub had just completed a training exercise in the Mediterranean Sea with another Turkish submarine, and both were heading for the Turkish Navy headquarters on the coast of the Marmara Sea. As they made their way traveling along the surface, the weather that night was giving crews of both subs anxiety, as heavy mist and a moonless night made for extremely low visibility.
At around 2:10 am on the morning of April 4th, the subs were approaching a portion of the strait near the city of Çanakkale. This particular area required both caution and focus for any ship navigating. And this is because it's much more narrow than other portions of the strait and only a kilometer wide, which makes for much stronger current and far less room to maneuver.
This is also in addition to the fact that it's a busy shipping lane, often with heavy traffic. Through the early part of 1953, the sub had performed admirably for the Turkish Navy, but in a split second during the early hours of April 4th, everything changed. Also entering that section of the strait from the opposite direction was a Swedish civilian cargo ship called the Naboland which was travelling faster than was safe from both the weather conditions and that treacherous part of water.
So as the sub made its way closer to a blind corner, which was the outcropping of shore it was travelling toward, the much larger Naboland suddenly appeared into view. And immediately, it was clear from their heading that they were on a direct collision course with the right side of their hull. From the point that this was even realized, the sub had little time to move, so one of its lead officers ordered it to turn to the right side, believing they could travel between the Naboland and the eastern shores of the strait.
However, this had to be done extremely carefully because there was a very real threat of also running the sub aground in the shallows of the channel. As this was happening, when the commander of the sub awoke during the announcement to turn, he rushed out of his quarters to find out what was going on. When he reached the control room and was briefed on the situation, he then overruled his officer's command and ordered that the sub be turned wide left to avoid the shore and the Naboland.
Unfortunately, this correction proved to be the wrong decision, and there was nothing anyone could do to avoid what happened next. In complete darkness, the Naboland slammed into the right side of the sub so hard that the sound was heard by ships anchored in a harbor, almost four miles away. As it did, eight crewmen who were on the deck at the time were thrown off the sub, and horrifyingly, two of them were tossed directly into the of the Naboland and killed instantly.
Inside the sub, complete chaos broke out. The collision had torn a hole in the bow torpedo room, and the water started flooding in so fast that almost immediately, it began a rapid descent to the bottom of the channel. Everything happened so fast that only 22 of 81 sailors inside the submarine managed to seal themselves in the watertight stern torpedo room.
The rest either died in the collision or by drowning as the sub plummeted and filled with water from the channel. As it sank to the bottom, the men inside the torpedo room heard an explosion coming from the central compartment as they were thrust into complete darkness. The sub then lost all electricity and communication systems in an instant, and moments later, it came to a hard stop on the bottom, and everything went eerily quiet.
Nearby in the strait, a small boat in the area didn't see the collision because of the poor visibility that night, but the sound was unmistakable. Whatever happened, the few crewmen aboard knew it had to be bad. The boat then rushed to a nearby harbor where a Turkish customs ship was among the vessels anchored there.
The men on the small boat then managed to get the attention of the crew still awake on the customs ship to inform them of what they heard. It would take a bit for a ship of its size to get moving toward the sound of the crash, especially with its anchor down, but preparations began immediately. While that was happening, the Naboland crew was frantically lowering its rescue boats into the water with crewmen in each.
Thankfully, although the collision with the sub damaged the Naboland, it wasn't nearly enough to order that it be abandoned. Instead, the boats were lowered in an effort to rescue any of those aboard the sub who might have made it out. However, tragically, only a single crewman who was inside the sub at the time of the crash, was able to swim out of it and try to make it to the surface.
And even for him, it was just too far to go on a single panicked breathold, and he drowned before making it to the surface. Elsewhere, another five of the eight men who were on deck at the time of the crash, were rescued by the boats in the water, but beyond that, there was no one else to rescue. As the sun rose that morning, the Turkish customs ship was finally reaching the site of the accident to find a frantic scene.
Flares were flying and men were shouting, Naboland lifeboats where everywhere, and life jackets have been tossed in the water in case anyone made it to the surface. At the same time, the heavy mist that combine with the darkness for poor visibility hours before, had now let up to see more than a few feet ahead of the ship. So in the first morning light, one of the crewmen on the customs ship spotted an emergency buoy near where the sound was heard.
Sometime earlier, once the sub touched the bottom, a petty officer aboard named Selami Özben released what's called an emergency communication buoy. Between the sub and the buoy was a line that could be used to communicate between back and forth between the sub and anyone on the surface. The buoy also had a hatch on it that could be opened to access a phone.
Before releasing it, Selami had scrawled a note on the outside of the buoy identifying the sub, and informing whoever came across it that they could communicate through the phone. On the surface, Selim Yoludüz was the custom ship's second engineer, but the first to reach the buoy. He then opened his hatch and picked up the phone, immediately connecting him with Selami who briefed him on their situation.
He then went on to explain that the sub was in the bottom of the channel, leading 15 degrees to its right side, with 22 men alive and trapped in the stern torpedo room. Selami then told Selim that their estimated depth was almost 300 feet, or 90 meters, and the gravity of the situation was immediately apparent. As you might expect, submarine rescue is complicated, particularly that the depth the Dumlupinar was sitting.
But, while a difficult prospect, it wasn't acctually unprecedented. Less than 15 years earlier, as we've already covered on the channel, the USS Squalus was stuck 250 feet under the ocean after some of its vents didn't close properly on a dive. Using a vehicle called the Submarine Rescue Chamber, or SRC, 33 crewmen returned to the surface just in time before the oxygen in the sub ran out.
At the same time, it was hardly a sure bet that everyone was going to escape with their lives though. The process, while fairly straightforward, isn't an easy task by any means. The SRC looks like an upside down wine glass without a stem, and at the bottom of it is a watertight hatch.
Divers descended to the Squalus and attached a line to the hatch on the sub. The other end of that line connected to the SRC and was instrumental in guiding it to the proper place. Then, once the SRC's bottom hatch was aligned with the sub's hatch, the doors could be opened, and the men could climb from the sub into the SRC.
Only a handful of them could occupy it at any one time, so it took several trips and many hours to get all the surviving men to safety, and these trips were not without complications. Even still, it was the hope of rescuers that the men trapped aboard Dumlupinar would have a similar outcome. After Selim learned as much information as he could, he handed the phone to the top navy officer in the nearby city, who had just arrived on the Turkish customs ship.
His conversation with Selami was brief, but he promised that he'd do anything they could to bring the 22 men at the bottom of the strait, home safe and sound. As the rescue effort was getting underway, the men inside the sub were given strict instructions that included refraining from speaking, singing, and smoking. The goal of this was to save as much air as possible to buy rescuers as much time as possible.
Because inside submarines, breathable air can be limited depending on a few factors. Some subs have pressurized oxygen tanks, while others are fitted with oxygen generators, which essentially create air with water through a process called electrolysis. The Balao submarine class, however, was only built for short trips underwater.
Subs in the class would only submerge if they needed to escape enemy ships or planes. The rest of the time, they would remain topside. Through their vents, or through their snorkels, the subs would take in outside air, and then once they were sealed for the dive, whatever air was inside at the time was all they'd have.
With this in mind, the calculations done by experts involved in the rescue suggested that the trapped crew would have at most three days' worth of air before they'd run out. So next, a submarine rescue ship was dispatched to the scene, but unfortunately, it wouldn't arrive until 10 hours after the collision and subsequent sinking. That was only half the problem though.
Because of where the sub went down and how narrow the channel was at that point, the current was always strong in the best of weather conditions. And while things had cleared slightly above the water in the hours after dawn, the weather was still less than optimal for a submarine rescue. Then, once the rescue ship arrived, it would take another 12 whole hours before it was able to position itself correctly in the channel to battle the current.
Once the ship was finally where it needed to be, the process of connecting the SRC got underway. Divers suited up and entered the water, but this would be anything but a routine dive for them. Because of the effects of pressure on the body at extreme depths like the one the sub was stuck at, divers would need to work fast to hook up the SRC cable.
Otherwise, spending even an additional couple minutes at 300 feet translated to hours of decompression time on the way back up. Then, as if things couldn't get any worse, as things got underway, when the first divers made it to the sub, they were surprised to find a hatch door on the sub that was different from the others the SRC has been used with in the past. Just connecting the cable between the sub and the chamber was proven to be extremely difficult because the different door design and the strength of the current, prevented divers from completing this crucial first step.
In fact, at 300 feet, even just fighting the current was a serious problem. The divers had to use much more energy to fight it which caused them to breathe harder and use up more gas. So much effort was required, in fact, that one of the divers suffered a stroke at depth and lost consciousness.
Even still, they made attempt after attempt until close to a dozen different attempts were made to connect the chamber to the sub door. Eventually though, it was clear that the lives of the rescuers were being put at risk, and some serious and difficult decisions would have to be made. After more than two days of trying unsuccessfully to get the SRC to the sub, a long discussion was held on the surface before Selim was sent to the buoy phone to deliver a message to the men trapped below.
After he picked up the phone and heard Selami's voice, he first received a status update on the conditions below the water. Selami then went on to detail how the men were feeling, and it was clear the men were feeling the effects of the confined space they were in. As we breathe in oxygen-saturated air, we exhale carbon dioxide as a waste product.
Over a long enough time in a confined space like a submarine torpedo room, carbon dioxide levels inside will rise while oxygen levels fall. Once enough carbon dioxide has filled the room, the crewmen started to experience the effects of carbon dioxide poisoning. This can manifest as headaches, shortness of breath, fatigue, and disorientation in its early stages.
But eventually, after long enough, individuals will hyperventilate and have seizures before a loss of consciousness and eventually, death. When it was Selim's turn to provide an update on the developments at the surface, he told Selami that the crewmen stuck below the waters of the Dardanelles were now free to speak, sing, and smoke as much as they wished. It didn't take much to translate what Selim was really saying.
There would be no rescue, and the 22 men aboard the sub were going to die in the cold dark torpedo room when they ran out of oxygen. The other end of the phone went silent for a few moments as Selami processed what he was hearing. When he finally spoke, he simply said, "Long live the homeland.
" This would be the last anyone would hear from the men of the Dumlupinar, as a few hours later, a rope attached to the rescue ship wrapped around the communications cable and snapped it. Later that same day, it was announced to the Turkish public that the survivors of the crash weren't able to be rescued. And because communications were severed, it's unclear exactly when the survivors succumbed to hypercapnia, but it's believed all were dead by the end of April 7th.
In total, 81 Turkish sailors died during those three days, and the tragedy of the Dumlupinar is still considered one of the darkest moments in the country's long history. The history of the sub itself, however, suggested that the awful events of April 1953 were a long time coming, at least according to maritime superstition. The submarine, it seems, was one of those ships that was marked as unlucky not long after it came off the production line.
When it was finished and then commissioned by the US military in 1944, it sailed for just two months before it was in a bad accident. For sailors, this was an ominous sign that the sub was cursed, as it's believed an accident that early into the ship's life, is bad luck. After leaving Key West on October 10th, 1944, the USS Blower, as it was called at the time, collided with a subchaser ship.
This crash tore open the sub's buoyancy tank, stripped one of the blades in the propeller, and damaged the ship's conning tower. And it wouldn't be the sub's last accident either. When the Turkish Navy renamed the sub upon receipt from the United States in 1950, it unwittingly sealed its fate in the eyes of maritime superstition.
Names are of particular importance to sailors, and it's considered extremely bad luck to reuse them. Dumlupinar is actually a place in Turkey where the Turkish army defeated the invading Greeks during the Independence War of 1922. And while the Turkish Navy's heart was in the right place by honoring the defense of the town from the Greeks, it committed a maritime sin not once but twice.
Previous to the Dumlupinar that sank in 1953, there was actually another Turkish sub with the same name. It was a ship imported from Italy, and almost immediately upon receiving it, the sub was in an accident and decommissioned in 1949. Then, surprisingly, despite the tragedy of the second Dumlupinar, another sub was commissioned by the Turkish Navy and given the same name in 1973.
Three years after it went to service, it was involved in a crash in the Dardanelles Strait almost exactly where 81 men lost their lives in 1953. This third sub was repaired and reentered service, but a fire on board in 1978 led to it being decommissioned entirely. It was only then that the Turkish Navy vowed to stop naming ships the "Dumlupinar".
Now, obviously, for those who aren't superstitious, these can all be explained by unlucky coincidences. But you have to admit, they were, at the very least, extremely unlucky. Whatever the case, in the end, the 1953 Dumlupinar and the men who went down with the doomed sub were never recovered, and remain on the bottom of the Dardanelles Strait today.
Before we end off today's video, there is a haunting song that was written in response to this incident, or is at least associated with this incident, that I highly recommend you listen to. The subscriber who sent this in, thanks again, for the suggestion by the way, also included in his suggestion a link to the song which I've included in the top of the description if you want to check it out. The only thing is that it's in Turkish, so I'll tell you the lyrics now before you listen to it.
But anyway, the lyrics go, "Ah, give me a light, so I can light my cigarette. You sway and come over, and I'll watch your figure. The masts of ships are tall, the hearts of heroes are divided.
Ah, let the fire burn, let my chest blaze. Let my friends wake from their slumber. " So, that's it for today's video.
Thanks so much for watching. If you have a story suggestion, I'd love to hear it. So many of the incredible stories that we have on the channel have been submitted by all of you, and you can submit them to the link in the description, and hopefully, I will see you in the next one.
