DOB/DOD: October 14, 1900 (Putnam, CT) – December 5, 1941 (Newport, RI); 41 years old
MARITAL STATUS: Unmarried
ENLISTMENT: Enlisted on July 14, 1920, after serving in the British Navy.
SERVICE NUMBER: 2108003.
SHIP ASSIGNED TO: Assigned to the Submarine O-5, the U.S.S. Henley (DD-391) on February 23, 1937, and the U.S.S. Truxtun (DD-229) on September 15, 1939.
FAMILY: Born to Joseph J. (1874-1947) and Flora M. Alvina Breault (1877-1913). Two sisters, Diana Breault Drennan (1903-1941), Beatrice C. Breault Mylonas (1909-1999). One half-sister, Estelle R. Breault Bickford (1916-1970). Henry was 12 or 13 years old when his mother passed in 1913.
OTHER: Henry Breault has the distinction of being the only enlisted Navy submariner to receive the Medal of Honor. The submarine fleet would see seven more awarded during the Second World War, all submarine captains.
The Naval Submarine League Torpedoman Second Class Henry Breault Award for Submarine Professional Excellence recognizes E6 and below personnel for achievement, contribution, specific action, or consistent performance that best exemplifies the traditional spirit embodied in the Submarine Force.
MEDAL OF HONOR CITATION
AWARDED FOR ACTIONS DURING: Peace Time Awards
BRANCH OF SERVICE: Navy
ASSIGNED TO: U.S. Submarine O-5
GENERAL ORDERS: War Department, General Orders No. 125, February 20, 1924
AGE ON THE DAY OF THE EVENT: 23
CITATION:
The President of the United States of America, in the name of Congress, takes pleasure in presenting the Medal of Honor to Torpedoman Second Class Henry Breault, United States Navy, for heroism and devotion to duty while serving on board the U.S. Submarine O-5 at the time of the sinking of that vessel at Limon Bay, Panama Canal Zone. On the morning of 28 October 1923, the 0-5 collided with the steamship Abangarez and sank in less than a minute. When the collision occurred, Torpedoman Second Class Breault was in the torpedo room. Upon reaching the hatch, he saw that the boat was rapidly sinking. Instead of jumping overboard to save his own life, he returned to the torpedo room to the rescue of a shipmate whom he knew was trapped in the boat, closing the torpedo room hatch on himself. Breault and Brown remained trapped in this compartment until rescued by the salvage party 31 hours later.
Presentation Date and Details: March 8, 1924, at the White House. Presented by President Calvin Coolidge.
NH 52788 Torpedoman Second Class Henry Breault, USN
Motor Machinist’s Mate First Class Clyde E. Hughes, 22, of Easton, Illinois; Mess Attendant First Class Fred C. Smith, 37, of Barbados, West Indies; and Fireman First Class Thomas T. Metzler, 23, of Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, were the other missing sailors. Petty Officer Clyde E. Hughes’ body was never found.
From The Idaho Statesman, November 1, 1923
TWO LOCKED IN WRECKED SUB
Survivors Tell of Experiences of Thirty Hours at Bottom of Sea
NEW YORK (AP) – Graphic stories of the experiences of two men locked for 30 hours in the wrecked American submarine O-5 on the bottom of the ocean are told in a dispatch from Balboa to the Evening World Wednesday.
The story was related by Lawrence T. Brown of Lowell, Massachusetts, Chief Electrician’s Mate, one of the men rescued from the submarine, which was sunk in a collision with the steamship Abangarez off Panama Sunday.
“The first hour was the hardest,” he said. “We didn’t know just what had happened or what might pop next. After three hours, we knew they were working on the boat, and we quit worrying. But it wasn’t very pleasant at that.”
Henry Breault, 23, of White Plains, New York, a torpedo dispatcher, was the hero. Brown was warm in praise of the boy, and his sentiments were echoed by officers and others of the crew of the O-5. Breault was on the submarine deck and saw the looming bow of the Abangarez. Instead of jumping to safety in the sea, he hurled himself into a hatchway loading to the torpedo room because he thought “there might be others down there.”
He awakened Brown, and they closed the door, but not until a foot of water had rushed in as the submarine started to sink.
“We went down in about 30 seconds,” Brown said. “We settled in about 40 feet of water. Forty-five minutes after going down, the batteries in the after compartment exploded, and we spent five hot minutes in the hold.
“After we had been there about three hours, a diver came alongside. Breault and I separated, pounding on the boat’s sides so that the rescuers would know there were two of us. Breault played a kind of tune with his hammer, indicating to them that we were in good shape and cheerful. We had no food, no water, and only the light of a flashlight, but we were confident we could hold out for 48 hours.
“The air pressure gave violent headaches after 20 hours. We did very little talking or moving about; it excited our heart action too much.”
The first hoist failed, he explained, after 12 hours.
“A long time afterward,” Brown went on, “when we had forgotten time and didn’t want to think about it, a second hoist started. We went up slowly. It seemed like an eternity. The last 20 minutes were terrible. Then, we heard our comrades walking on deck. We knew we were at the surface. Breault opened the hatch – and we were saved.”
Charles R. Butler, Chief Machinist’s Mate from New Haven, Connecticut, went down with the boat but fought his way to the surface through an open hatch.
From the New York Post March 15, 1924
HERO IN SEA CRASH TO “STICK WITH SHIP”
Congressional Medal of Honor Man Was In No Hurry For Decoration
LIKES LIFE ON SUBMARINE
Henry Breault, whose heroic conduct in the submarine O-5 disaster won him the Congressional Medal of Honor, sails this afternoon from New York on the General W.C. Gorgas after spending two days leave at the home of his parents, Mr. and Mrs. Joseph H. Breault of 15 Harrison Boulevard, Silver Lake Park, Harrison. He is bound for Panama, where the damaged submarine is undergoing repairs.
Breault, in an interview today, made it plain that he plans to spend the remainder of his life on the job, which made him one of the most famous young men in the country. He is twenty-three. His reply to the question as to whether he would stay in the service was, “I hope to tell you.”
Breault was supposed to be in Washington a week ago Wednesday to receive the medal from President Coolidge, but he stayed in White Plains. He said he could see no reason to hurry.
Breault is modest. He was not wearing the blue button, which shows him to be one of the twenty-four men who have received the Congressional medal. He had both the medal and the button in his pocket. The medal is inscribed on the back:
“Henry Breault, Torpedoman Second Class, USN, U.S. Submarine O-5, for unusual heroism and devotion to duty in saving a life and government property. When in collision with the S.S. Abangarez, the U.S. submarine was sunk in forty feet of water on 28 October 1923.”
This article was originally published in the U.S. Naval Institute’s Proceedings magazine in the February 1972 edition. Copyright U.S. Naval Institute. Used with permission.
THE O-5 IS DOWN!
By Captain Julius Grigore, Jr., U.S. Naval Reserve
At 6:00 a.m. on Sunday, 28 October 1923, the U.S.S. O-5 (SS-66) had passed the luxurious Washington Hotel on Manzanillo Point, Colon, Panama, and was proceeding on a southerly course across Limon Bay en route to Gatun Locks. The 173-foot, 520-ton O-5, commanded by Lieutenant Harrison Avery, U. S. Navy, and attached to Commander, Submarine Force, Coco Solo, Canal Zone, was leading the O-3, O-6, and O-8 in a routine transit of the Panama Canal to the Pacific.
Earlier, the United Fruit Company’s 380-foot, 5,000-ton SS Abangarez, Captain W. A. Card, Master, had arrived from Havana and anchored in Limon Bay.
At 6:14 a.m., the Abangarez weighed anchor to proceed to Dock No. 6, Cristobal; at the same time, the O-5 received Panama Canal Pilot G. O. Kolle and was again underway at about 12 knots. The Abangarez was about 1,000 yards forward of the
O-5’s starboard beam, swinging eastward to dock.
About two minutes after going ahead, the O-5 stopped to shift from direct diesel to electric motor drive to enable her to maneuver and use her propellers astern. The approximate speed, movements, and position of the two ships were as follows:
- The O-5’s engines were stopped. She was unable to turn her propellers, drifting in a southerly direction and approaching the port bow of the Abangarez.
- The Abangarez, broad on the starboard bow of the O-5, was heading easterly with engines stopped, moving at about four knots across the main channel and across the course of the O-5.
One minute after the O-5’s engines were stopped, the Abangarez and the O-5 converged, and obviously, the collision was unavoidable. Up to this time, no whistle or other signals were exchanged between either vessel.
At 6:22, Captain Card, seeing that the headings and speeds of the O-5 and Abangarez made collision imminent, sounded a danger signal of four short blasts. This was the first signal by either vessel. The Abangarez then backed emergency full speed and let go of her starboard anchor. Without acknowledgment of the Abangarez’s danger signal, the O-5 held rudder amidships and continued on a southerly heading. Although unable to operate her propellers, the O-5 made no effort to check her headway by releasing anchors.
At 6:24, by the clocks of the Abangarez and Panama Canal Tug U.S. Porto Bello, the Abangarez hit the starboard side of the O-5 and stove in a hole about 10 feet long and 3 feet wide in the control room and No. 1 main ballast tank. The O-5, with 21 officers and men on board, rolled about 15 degrees to port and then righted. She then sank by the bow in seven fathoms of water within a minute. The Abangarez was undamaged.
Captain Card later reported to the Board of Inquiry investigating the collision that his ship was always dodging submarines in Limon Bay, and he went on to say: “Before we struck, I heard a call from the submarine’s conning tower for everyone to come from below. When we struck, someone ordered the O-5 crew to jump overboard. We threw life rings and preservers overboard and dropped ends of mooring lines over the side. We picked up eight survivors, including Lieutenant Avery.”
Eight minutes after the sinking, Chief Machinist’s Mate C. R. Butler, U.S. Navy, was shot to the surface in an air pocket. He was rescued by the Panama Canal launch, U. S. Rodman. He did not know who was left in the submarine.
George W. Cadell, Master of the towboat Porto Bello, stated that his crew took six O-5 survivors on board and that the tug, U. S. Tavernilla, saved one man.
Captain Cadell witnessed the collision and reported to the Board:
“I received orders to tug the Abangarez to Dock No. 6. We were about to let lines go when I saw a line of submarines proceeding into the Canal channel and toward the port bow of the Abangarez. It looked as though there would be a collision. It is not customary, and against the Rules of the Road, to cross a ship’s bow when you have her on your starboard side. I started for the scene at full speed. At first, it looked like the submarine might cross the bow of the Abangarez. When we were about halfway, the Abangarez rammed the O-5. The time was 6:24.”
Lieutenant Avery and the O-5 survivors were brought to Dock No. 6. Visibly shaken, Avery mustered his rescued officers and men. Sixteen were present. Five men were missing. They were Henry Breault, Torpedoman, Second Class; Lawrence T. Brown, Chief Electrician’s Mate; C. E. Hughes, Motor Machinist’s Mate, First Class; Thomas T. Metzler, Fireman, First Class; and Fred C. Smith, Mess Attendant, First Class.
Rescue efforts began immediately. Navy divers on a salvage tug stationed at Coco Solo arrived to inspect the O-5 on the bottom. Raps on her hull brought a response from within. Two men of the missing five, Breault and Brown, it would later be ascertained, were alive in the forward torpedo room. Hughes, Metzler, and Smith were not in the O-5. Metzler and Smith were found shortly after the collision and were buried with military honors at Mt. Hope Cemetery [sic], Canal Zone. The body of Hughes was never recovered.
Aside from reporting the extent and location of the damage and discovering that survivors were on board the O-5, Navy divers were helpless to rescue the trapped men. Therefore, a means to lift the submarine off the bottom had to be found if Breault and Brown were to be saved from suffocation.
Artificial lungs and rescue chambers had not been invented, and there were no salvage pontoons within 2,000 miles of the Canal Zone. By a stroke of luck, however, there were in the Canal Zone two 250-ton capacity crane barges, the U.S. Ajax and the U.S. Hercules. These leviathans had the mightiest lift in the world for floating equipment. They had been built in Germany, especially for handling the enormous lock gates of the Panama Canal. Captain Amos Bronson, Jr., U.S. Navy, Commander, Submarine Base, Coco Solo, and in charge of the O-5 salvage operation, requested the Panama Canal to furnish one of the floating cranes for service over the O-5.
To add to the rescuers’ frustration, a slide had occurred in Gaillard Cut, the narrowest part of the Canal. Both cranes were opposite the slide, 50 miles from the O-5. Ironically, this was the first slide to block the Cut since 1916.
Working to remove the slide were two behemoth dipper dredges, the U.S.S. Cascades and S.S. Paraiso. Each of their bites could scoop 15 cubic yards of earth. They were the biggest in the world, built especially for enlarging and maintaining the Canal. Relentlessly, they cleared a narrow passage for the Ajax, and by 2:00 p.m. of the 28th, the Ajax squeezed through and was rushed by tow to the O-5. She appeared off Dock No. 6 at about 10:30 that night.
In advance of the arrival of the Ajax, Panama Canal salvage forces assembled over the luckless O-5. Among them was a 38-year-old Virginian, Sheppard J. Shreaves, who was dockmaster and foreman shipwright for the Panama Canal Mechanical Division. Barrel-chested, tough, soft-spoken, and unassuming, Shep Shreaves was a qualified diver and supervisor of the Canal’s highly proficient salvage and diving crew. Rather than risk the lives of his men on this treacherous underwater assignment, Shep himself went down. (Since Panama Canal forces and heavy equipment were being used to lift the bow of the O-5, it became the responsibility of the Canal organization to tunnel under the O-5, pass through the lifting cables, secure the cable to the hook of the Ajax, and otherwise prepare the O-5 for raising.) Shep Shreaves later recalled:
“We spotted the O-5 on the bottom by the air bubbles exhausted from the compartment holding Breault and Brown. To survive, they were bleeding air from 3,000 lb. compressed air reserves in the forward torpedo room.
“Since the Navy divers gave me a good briefing on the position of the O-5 and the location of the two trapped men, I went right in through the hole in her side. The light of my lamp was feeble against the black pitch. Inside, it was an awful mess. It was tight and slippery. I was constantly pushing away floating debris.
“When I reached the forward bulkhead of the engine room, I rapped with my diving hammer. Faint taps were returned. Someone was still alive. I acknowledged with a feeling of hopelessness, as I could do no more at the time.
“I emerged from O-5. By prearrangement, I signaled to lower the fire hose. The O-5lay upright in several feet of soft mud. I began jetting a trench under her bow. Sluicing through the muck was easy—too easy, for it could cave in upon me. Swirling black engulfed me, and I worked by feel and instinct. I had to be careful not to dredge too much from under the bow, for the O-5could crush down on me. Occasionally, I’d hit the hull to let the boys inside know someone was working to save them. Weak taps were returned each time.”
Shep continued his desperate efforts to dredge out the mud, aware as he worked that he might well be digging his own grave.
Finally, the tunnel was through, and Shep passed a guideline under the O-5. It was attached to a 4-inch diameter steel cable. The cable was snaked under her bow, and both ends shackled to the lifting hook of the Ajax.
Three times, the cable broke from the weight of the O-5. Each time, a new cable was wrestled under the bow. Aside from the submarine’s flooded weight, there was the problem of the powerful mud suction, which somehow had to be broken.
By the early morning of the 29th, round-the-clock efforts to raise the O-5 had failed miserably, and fears for Breault and Brown mounted.
Shep surfaced occasionally to report to Captain Bronson and to permit Navy doctors to examine him. They were concerned that his extreme exertion while working under pressure would put too great a strain on his heart. But, by now, Shep Shreaves had no thought of his own safety—paramount in his thoughts were those two entrapped men in the blackness below.
After being underwater and in his diving suit for almost 24 hours, Shep surfaced and seemed to be functioning on willpower alone. His job below was done, and the O-5 was ready for a fourth attempt to lift her. At 12:30 p.m. on the 29th, from topside, Shep released compressed air into the engine room of the O-5 to unflood that compartment and lighten the boat. Water and mud bubbled to the surface as from a boiling cauldron. The Ajax took a strain on the cable. When Shep sensed that the moment was right, he signaled the Ajax to commence lifting. The silence that followed was almost unbearable. The bay was as calm as glass, for which all were grateful. Usually, there was a two to four-foot chop, which was disruptive to diving operations. The Ajax continued to haul, and the bow of the O-5 inched upward. After what seemed an eternity, the bow broke the surface, and a roaring cheer was heard even in Cristobal. When the hatch leading to the men became accessible, a score of rescuers tried to jump onto the O-5 to open it.
The two imprisoned men crawled from the O-5. Topside, Brown fainted from prostration. The moment was charged with emotion, and many wept unashamedly in relief and thanksgiving.
Breault and Brown, while on the deck of the Rodman, hugged each other with joy at being alive and among their fellow men again. Rushed into a decompression chamber at Coco Solo Hospital, they were later taken to Colon Hospital to determine what ill effects they might have suffered from 31 hours of torturous confinement.
“I was a big hero for a while,” Shreaves later recalled. “The boys carried me around on their shoulders. Everybody rushed down to the Stranger’s Club in Colon for a big celebration and to relieve their tension. But me, I went to sleep at the party.”
The O-5 incident established a world record for Shep. His [dives] were the longest duration dives up to that time.
There was now time to obtain the answers to the important question. How did Breault and Brown become confined in the O-5?
When the collision occurred, the 23-year-old Breault had been in the forward torpedo room. Upon hearing the order to abandon the O-5, he escaped to the main deck, but he quickly realized that his friend, Chief Lawrence T. Brown, was asleep in the forward battery room. Breault, with more concern for warning Brown than for saving his own life, dropped into the O-5 as she was sinking, securing the hatch cover. Brown was awake but had not heard the order to abandon the O-5. Until Breault appeared, he remained unaware of what had happened. With water engulfing them, they attempted an escape through the conning tower, but the deluge blocked that route. They struggled back into the forward torpedo room and forced shut its watertight door.
Immediately thereafter, the forward battery room, where Brown had been sleeping, filled with seawater. The batteries shorted, an incandescent arc ignited the chlorine gas, and a violent explosion erupted. Miraculously, the door to their steel tomb held. (This was the second battery explosion during the O-5’s short life. On 5 October 1918, someone had accidentally left the ventilator to the battery room closed, causing gas to accumulate and explode. Two lives were lost, and two men were injured.)
About three hours after Breault and Brown became trapped, a Navy diver hammered the hull. Brown recalled:
“Breault and I separated to pound on each of the boat’s sides. In this way, the rescuers would know there were two of us. Breault played a kind of tune with his hammer, indicating to the diver that we were in good shape and cheerful. Neither of us knew Morse code. We had no food or water and only a flashlight. We were confident we could stay alive for forty-eight hours.
“The high pressure and foul air gave us severe headaches. We did very little moving or talking; it excited our hearts too much.
“We heard scraping on the hull for hours. A couple of times, we felt the
O-5 being lifted, and then we got tossed roughly when the slings broke. We knew they were hard after us. This buoyed our hopes for rescue tremendously.
“Finally, the sub began to be tilted upward slowly. We felt we would escape this time, but it seemed like forever. The last 20 minutes were unbearable. We heard our comrades walking on deck. Breault opened the hatch, and we could see daylight. We were saved!!!”
It was for Breault’s act of selflessness and valor, by going to the assistance of his shipmate in the face of almost certain death, that he was awarded the Congressional Medal of Honor by President Calvin A. Coolidge on 4 April 1924.
Shep also was honored for his heroic O-5 exploit. The Acting Governor of the Canal Zone, H. Burgess, recommended Shep for a Congressional Life Saving Medal. He also received a 14-karat gold watch from 800 grateful members of the Coco Solo Submarine Base. The presentation was made at a Navy night banquet to inaugurate the opening of the Y.M.C.A. Army-Navy Club, Cristobal. The watch was inscribed, “To S. J. Shreaves, from Submarine Force, Coco Solo, C.Z., for his heroism in raising the O-5.” Breault and Brown presented it to Shep.
Shep’s performance on the O-5 was not the end of his heroic deeds. On 16 July 1924, four laborers were trapped in the hold of the SS Columbia. Shep went down after them, but he was too late. The laborers were dead from poisonous fumes, and Shep was hauled up unconscious.
For this rescue attempt, he received recognition from John Barton Payne, Chairman of the American Red Cross. Payne’s commendation, which applied equally to his O-5 exploits, read:
“Your extraordinary heroism has aroused my admiration. It is one thing to calmly perform a heroic act under the stimulation of a great wave of excitement, without having time to think much of danger, and quite another to calmly face death without excitement and inspiration of dramatic circumstances.”
With more than 1,000 dives behind him, Shep retired to St. Petersburg, Florida, on December 31, 1945, after 32 years of Panama Canal service. He died in January 1968.
Other lives were touched by the O-5 sinking. R. G. Lewis, a photographer for Fox Movietone News, who now resides in retirement in the Republic of Panama, was awarded a five-dollar bonus by his company for the best subject of the current week. His extraordinary film documented the full pictorial sequence of the O-5 rescue and salvage operation.
W. H. Stone received a commendation for efficient and valuable services rendered in connection with the final raising of the O-5. It was Stone who suggested a plan for fitting a wooden cofferdam around the gash in the O-5. It permitted the O-5 to be pumped out sufficiently to raise and tow her to the U.S. Submarine Base, Coco Solo.
On 26 November 1923, Lieutenant Avery was found to be responsible for the collision, but a Court of Naval Inquiry later cleared the O-5 of blame for the collision. At the time of his death, in October 1934, Lieutenant Commander Avery commanded the U.S.S. Isabel (PY-10) of the Asiatic Fleet.
The ordeal suffered by them made her valueless for future naval service. She was stripped of valuable fittings and equipment and sold to a private individual for $3,125 on 12 December 1924. Her original cost had been $638,000.
This did not end the O-5 incident. On 14 August 1927, the SS Abangarez was seized by U.S. marshals on her arrival in New Orleans from Havana. Libels exceeding $336,000 were brought against the vessel. The government charged negligence among the reasons for the seizure. United States vs. United Fruit Company (Submarine O-5 — SS Abangarez) continued in the courts until 20 August 1932, when Federal Judge Wayne G. Borah, New Orleans, ruled the O-5 was at fault in the collision.
At a time when modern rescue and safety devices did not exist, and while submarines were still in their infancy, it remains a remarkable feat that the two men trapped in the O-5 were not only rescued but that their submarine was raised quickly thereafter. Rescue of personnel from within a disabled submarine was not duplicated until 16 years later, in 1939, when 33 men were saved from the U.S.S. Squalus (SS-192) through the use of a submarine rescue chamber.
Had the Abangarez and the O-5 collision occurred elsewhere, Breault and Brown would have perished for want of the rare combination of humanity and technology that was required to affect their rescue and which made the O-5 incident unique in the annals of submarine rescues.
From the Worcester Observer November 19, 1988
LOCAL HERO RECEIVES BELATED TRIBUTE
There are few people alive in Putnam today who knew Henry Breault, but a few do know of the heroic action that earned him the Congressional Medal of Honor, and they are determined that it not be forgotten.
Last week, members of the Putnam Veterans of Foreign Wars post unveiled a plaque at Breault’s grave in St. Mary’s Cemetery. The inscription commemorates how Breault saved the lives of two shipmates on a submarine after it had collided with a steamship off the coast of Panama on the morning of October 28, 1924. Breault was an experienced Navy man, having served aboard 2 British ships homeported in Halifax, Canada, during World War I. One living person who did know Breault well is 82-year-old Fred St. Onge of Providence Street, his first cousin.
St. Onge said Breault was born near Grand Isle, Vermont, on October 14, 1900. Breault moved as a child to Canada and joined the British Navy in 1916 at age 16, two years after the war broke out in Europe.
St. Onge said the sinking of the submarine wasn’t the first rescue operation Breault was involved in. He explained that when his cousin was stationed in Halifax on the cruiser H.M.S. Niobe, the harbor was devastated by an explosion, and Breault was involved in searching for survivors.
After the war, Breault moved to Putnam to live with St. Onge’s family. St. Onge said Breault found a job with the New Departure company in Bristol, making coaster brakes for bicycles.
But Breault only stayed with the job for a year. “He said he never felt well unless he was on the water,” St Onge recalled. He always had a yen for salt water. It was in his blood because his father was a sailor in the Spanish-American War.
“Henry said the ocean air was fresh and always made him feel good,” St. Onge explained.
After he left New Departure, Breault joined the U.S. Navy’s submarine service and worked on board the O-5 in the torpedo room. It was just outside the Panama Canal that the Abangarez, a United States Fruit Company ship, collided with the submarine.
St. Onge said several men died in the collision, but many escaped. Breault was just emerging from the hatch of the submarine as it was sinking, but he turned back because he knew two of his friends wouldn’t make it out in time.
The O-5 sank to the bottom of the bay with the three men aboard. Because it went down in fairly shallow water, Breault was able to communicate with rescue personnel by tapping out Morse Code on the hull of the submarine.
The men remained submerged for 31 hours before being rescued.
On March 8, 1924, Breault received the Congressional Medal of Honor, the nation’s highest military honor, at the White House from President Calvin Coolidge.
St. Onge said the submarine O-5 was raised from the bay and recommissioned. Breault went back to the boat and served on it until he died in the Newport Naval Hospital on December 5, 1941, just two days before the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor.
St. Onge said Breault died from lung problems contracted as a result of being trapped in the sunk submarine.
Breault’s body was taken from Newport to the Gilman Funeral Home in Putnam and buried in St. Mary’s Cemetery.
Without the efforts of one man, only St. Onge and perhaps a few others would be aware that a Medal of Honor winner is buried in Putnam.
Earlier this year, Thomas F. Duming Jr., the secretary, and treasurer for a group called the Connecticut Department Sons of Union Veterans of the Civil War, notified members of the Putnam Veterans of Foreign Wars that a Congressional Medal of Honor recipient was buried in town. Ironically, the Putnam VFW post is named in memory of Breault’s uncle, Albert J. Breault.
Finding the graves of Medal of Honor winners is not normally a function of his job with the organization, Durning explained. However, a group called the Medal of Honor Historical Society had asked him to locate and obtain government grave markers specifically designed for Medal of Honor winners.
I took on this task and found that not only Civil War recipient’s graves were not marked, but almost none were, up to and including Vietnam veterans’ graves,” he said.
To date, Durning has located and ordered 33 Medal of Honor grave markers in several cemeteries around the country. The markers are provided free of charge by the Veterans Administration, and in Connecticut, they are placed by the Veterans Home and Hospital for a small fee.
Durning explained that the Department of the Navy stopped issuing Medals of Honor during peacetime in 1963. Medals of Honor were first issued to Union troops during the Civil War. Legislation adopted in 1861 stipulated that the medals would be awarded in the Navy for “gallantry in action and other seaman-like qualities.” Later, the wording was added stating the Congressional Medal of Honor would be awarded to seamen for “deeds of gallantry and heroism during times of war and of peace.”
Durning said a photo of Breault will be displayed on the hangar deck of the U.S.S. Intrepid, which is permanently anchored in New York Harbor. The vessel is the headquarters for the Medal of Honor Historical Society.
Breault will be among other heroes represented there, including aviator Charles A. Lindbergh, Arctic explorer Adolphus Washington Greely, and U.S. Admiral and polar explorer Richard E. Byrd.
From 1865 to 1940, the Navy awarded 189 peacetime Medals of Honor, including 184 to sailors (five posthumously) and five to U.S. Marines.
St. Onge described his cousin Henry as “an average fellow, good-natured, very sociable, and a person with an open mind.”
“I can still see him when he used to live with us. I remember clearly he used to smoke English Ovals and Turkish Trophies,” St. Onge said.
From the Congressional Medal of Honor Society archives, an obituary in a Putnam, Connecticut newspaper dated December 10, 1941.
LOCAL MAN DIES AT NAVAL HOSPITAL
Seaman Henry Breault has Distinguished Record During 20 Years in the U.S. Navy
Was Decorated For Heroism When Submarine Sank in Panama Canal
Henry Breault, the nephew of Albert J. Breault, in whose honor the local VFW post was named, died last Thursday in the United States Naval Hospital in Newport at the age of 41. Breault had served for 20 years with the United States Navy and four years with the British Navy and distinguished himself as a hero at the time of the sinking of the Submarine O-S in the Panama Canal in 1923.
Breault had been suffering from a heart ailment for over a year. Although the Naval Department planned to retire him because of his health, at the Putnam man’s request, he was allowed to continue on active service until he became seriously ill and was admitted to the Newport Hospital.
Born in Putnam on October 14th, 1900, he was the son of Joseph and Flora Breault. When he was 16 years old, he joined the British Navy, served a term of four years, and later enlisted in the US. Navy and served for 20 years.
When the Submarine O-5 was rammed in the Panama Canal and sank, quick action on the part of Breault in clamping shut the hatch as the boat began to submerge saved the lives of all but three of the members of the crew.
The vessel was brought to the surface 36 hours after the accident. Breault was decorated for his valor by President Coolidge.
Besides his father, Joseph Breault of White Plains, NY, he is survived by two sisters, Mrs. Estelle Bickford of Riverhead, Long Island, and Beatrice Breault of Yonkers, New York.
Funeral services were held Tuesday morning at 9:00 o’clock at St. Mary’s Church, with Reverend Charles H. Parquette officiating. As the body was lowered into the grave, Taps was sounded by Armand Lebeau, one of the members of the VFW post. The bearers were Frank X. Vadnais, Antonio Forcier, and Fred St. Onge. Reverend John P. Wodardski officiated at the committal service.
Honored on The United States Submarine Service Memorial in Indian River Veterans Memorial Park, 2100 SE Veterans Memorial Parkway, Fort Pierce, Florida. Photo courtesy of HMdb.org and Brandon D. Cross.
Buried in Saint Mary Cemetery, 355 Providence Street, Putnam, Connecticut; Old Section B, Plot 691. Photos by Jeff DeWitt.
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