Attack on Orleans
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THE PARTICIPANTS

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Ensign Eric Lingard, pilot of HS-1L 1695. Middlesex School.

Despite his thirst for bravado overseas, Eric Adrian Alfred Lingard had been assigned stateside. The twenty-six year old ensign assumed he would never see any enemy action on this side of the Atlantic. As a Bay Stater, having grown up in Gloucester, Lingard was familiar with the Massachusetts coast, and, as a pilot, he was obsessed with hitting his marks during target practice. 

Needless to say, Ensign Lingard was undoubtedly the right man to lead the counter attack against the raider from the deep.


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Ensign Edward Shields, co-pilot of HS-1L 1695. United States Navy.

Ensign Shields sat alongside Lingard just forward of the plane’s overhead power plant. Despite their proximity to one another, the roar of the Liberty engine made communication difficult and they were forced to shout and gesture as they bee-lined their way to Nauset Beach in Orleans. Privately, Shields doubted whether the crew would, in fact, come face to face with an enemy U-boat, "we had so many false reports.”


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Chief Special Mechanic Edward H. Howard, observer in HS-1L 1695. United States Navy.

Howard, the third crewmember of the HS-1L flying boat, manned the bomber’s seat at the bow of the plane, his eyes scanning the horizon in search of the German U-boat below. Howard was an everyman – part observer, part bomber and, in the early days of aviation, part troubleshooter.

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Captain Phillip B. Eaton, the commander of the Chatham Naval Air Station. United States Coast Guard.

Captain Eaton knew his station was short on planes so he decided to take matters into his own hands.  Forty-five minutes after the U-156’s attack began, Captain Eaton took off in an R-9 seaplane in an effort to personally sink the German raider. 

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Captain Robert Pierce, the keeper of Station Number 40. Cheryl Pierce Clarkin .

Tall, gangly and balding, fifty-two year old “Bert” Pierce might not look the part of seasoned seaman, but the keeper had been around boats his entire life. The son of a Wampanoag Indian, Pierce grew up working on boats and it was clear that someday he would make a living off the sea. When he was in his mid-twenties, Pierce pondered which career path to take in life. Working on ships might offer adventure and a good wages, but there was something intriguing to Pierce about the lifesaving service.


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Reuben Hopkins, the lookout at Station Number 40.  Stephen Hopkins.

Hopkins had a hunch that a submarine attack might be imminent during the summer of 1918. He had heard reports that several ships had been torpedoed along the coast and he noticed something peculiar in the way they traveled past the surfstation; most were in convoys of four or five in an effort to protect themselves from enemy submarines.


 

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John Bogovich, helmsman manning the wheel when the Perth Amboy was bombarded by the U-156. New England Journal of Medicine.

Stunned and shaken, Bogovich noticed that his right arm was nearly severed, with two deep, jagged wounds above his elbow. His left shoulder was also bleeding. It was not known whether his injuries were the result of the shell’s shrapnel, the pilothouse that collapsed on top of him, or a combination of the two. 

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Jack Ainsleigh, passenger aboard the barge Lansford. William P. Quinn.

Ten-year-old Jack raced back to the cabin and grabbed a. 22-caliber rifle, a birthday gift his father had given his older brother, a box of cartridges and an American flag. “I’m going to shoot some of those Germans if they do kill us all,” Jack screamed to no one in particular.  En route to shore, young Jack tied his American flag to the end of a boathook and proudly waved it from the bow of the skiff for all to see. Those watching the spectacle from shore just about lost it.


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Dr. J. Danforth Taylor, witness who called the local paper.

Dr. Joshua Danforth Taylor, a well-do-to physician vacationing from East Boston, observed something offshore that did not fit the seascape: “I saw the boat and almost at the same time heard the first crash of its guns.”

Taylor, sensing the historical magnitude of the event, grabbed his telephone and called the Boston Globe.

“Hello!” Is this the Globe?” Taylor inquired. “This is Dr. Taylor of East Boston. I am at Nauset on Cape Cod. There is a submarine battle going on offshore.” 

The newsman on the other end of the line either rolled his eyes in disbelief or scrambled to find a typewriter.  Perhaps, he did both.


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Kapitänleutnant Richard Feldt, commanderof the German submarine U-156. www.Uboat.net  

Captain Feldt, who had handsome blue eyes and a healthy face, did not resemble the mustachioed, spike-helmeted caricature many Americans had come to familiarize the German military with. But, looks can be deceiving; Feldt seemed more concerned with sinking ships than saving the lives of sailors and his string of successful victories, prior to the Attack on Orleans, including the destruction of the U.S.S. San Diego, had put the U.S. Navy on edge. 


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