ESCAPING FROM A SUBMARINE
A SHIP OF ILL OMEN--ATTACKED--HELL LET LOOSE--PANIC--FIGHT FOR THE
BOATS--COWARDLY CONDUCT--POWERLESS TO ACT--SHRAPNEL AT
SEA--SURRENDER--TAKING CHARGE OF SHIP AND CARRYING ON--VALUE OF
SMOKE-BOXES--TERRIBLE ANTICIPATIONS--LAND AT LAST--REMINISCENCES
UNTOLD.
On one occasion, after I had left the British Foreign Secret Service, I
had to undertake a voyage to the outer islands of the Hebrides, situated
about one hundred miles into the Atlantic, due west of Scotland, and
well away to the north-west of Ireland.
It was known at the time to be a place which was infested with German
submarines, which had perpetrated many atrocities whilst operating in
that region: senseless, coldblooded murder of innocent fishermen, by
blowing up their frail craft to atoms at close range with deck-guns; and
the sinking of innumerable ships irrespective of the chances of their
crew to make land in the small boats that might be left undamaged by
their shell-fire.
It was summer time and no suggestion of a submarine attack troubled
anyone concerned on contemplating the voyage.
"I don't like that boat. She looks like a bird of ill-omen," I remarked
to my companion as we stood on the high quay at Oban looking downwards
at a very small and very dirty steamer which was moored thereto.
She was about one hundred and sixty feet long, with as much available
space as possible devoted to cargo and cattle transit. Her decks
seemingly had never been scrubbed since the day she was launched. Paint
had been relegated to the background if superior tar was available. The
saloon cabin, so-called, reeked with a conglomeration of ancient and
nauseous smells, whilst the two private berths matchboarded off from it
were altogether impossible to anyone holding the smallest ideas on
sanitary principles.
"Well, my son, she's the only ship available. She is designated a
mail-boat and she carries a thirteen-pounder aft, which is some
consolation at least in these days of stress and submarines," replied my
friend.
"Maybe, maybe; but for all that I don't like her. My prejudice is
instinctive. She's about the most repulsive, uninviting boat I ever
boarded, excepting an old coasting tub in Alaska and a pirate junk on
the Yellow Sea; but in Europe one does expect a little more in return
for even wartime passage money."
"All the grumbling in the world, my son, won't alter or improve the
accommodation of this hulk, so come along and make the best of it."
I was silent. I selected one of the largest of my blackest cigars and
lighting it with deliberation, proceeded aboard, and turning my back
upon the private cabin which had been retained for my special
occupation, I proceeded to make myself as comfortable as circumstances
admitted in a space which was reserved for luggage at the far end of the
saloon above the settee.
It had the advantage of being situate immediately below the only
skylight, which, as soon as the ship had started, I prised open and
thereby obtained some few whiffs of fresh air during the long night.
The following day brought about an improvement to the comfort of the
travellers. The sun shone brilliantly, the sea was as smooth as a lake,
and one could bask on the poop with some degree of comfort, although
such things as deck-chairs or cushions were conspicuous by their
absence.
I, however, had a thick ulster, which, spread over part of the tarpaulin
covering the mails, made an efficient couch, and after a coarse yet
satisfactory meal I sunned myself to my heart's content and whiled away
the time smoking and reading a book, which I was compelled from time to
time to characterise as rotten reading, much to the amusement of my
companion de voyage.
According to regulations, a notice was hung over the main companion that
the ship carried two lifeboats with capacity for thirty-three persons,
eleven floating apparatus capable of sustaining one hundred and
seventy-six persons, and her passenger allowance was stated to be one
hundred and ninety-nine in all. How or where they could have slept did
not seem to have occurred to the authorities.
A merciful Providence ordained that on this eventful voyage not more
than one hundred people all told happened to come aboard at any one
time.
A few calls were made along the rock-bound coast. Cargo was unshipped
and more cargo taken in. Travellers disembarked, others took their
places.
About midday all vestiges of land disappeared below the horizon and a
course was steered for the open sea.
Although during the earlier part of the voyage many wrecks were passed
and many a gallant ship of noble proportions could be seen piled upon
the rocks, the result of German outrages, and the zone was known to be a
particularly dangerous one, no one anticipated or thought of danger;
least of all from the much-dreaded submarine.
Had not this obsolete and wretched apology for a mail-boat ploughed a
weary course along this familiar route for many, many months during the
war, whilst her engines wheezed and coughed and leaked in every pore,
and her rusty plates collected weed and barnacles week by week, without
molestation? Was she worth a torpedo? She was hardly worth a shell! Why
should she be noticed now, even by the most amateur belligerent, or by
the freshest novice at the game? Yet to the Hun who dreams of the
glories of an Iron Cross, or other coveted decoration, a ship sunk is a
ship to his credit, however insignificant that craft may be.
Suddenly and all-unexpectedly a low, resounding boom echoed across the
waters, followed almost immediately by a whizz and a bang which made
the ship's company jump and quake in their shoes.
What was it?
Where did it come from?
Eyes were strained and the horizon searched in vain, whilst some of the
women-folk sent up a premature wail of fear of the unknown.
Doubts were soon dispelled. From the sea about fifty yards away from the
starboard quarter of the ship a column of water rose into the air,
towering far higher than her masts. It was followed within a few seconds
by a second boom, whizz, bang, and another column of similar dimensions
rose equi-distant from her port quarter.
"My God! It's a submarine," exclaimed my friend.
"Well, let her sub," I lazily replied, and I continued to read my
much-abused book. I should explain to the reader that I had for quite a
long time previously experienced attacks from bombs and shells, and I
was not unduly disturbed by what I believed to be a mere casual
temporary attention.
"You can't lie there, man. Get up!" And suiting his action to his words,
he kicked me into activity, although according to him I was very slow to
rise.
"The book cannot be as bad as you say it is, if you can continue reading
it like this," he added.
"I know all about that," I replied, "but one must finish a paragraph."
As I rose from my recumbent position the ship's gunner rushed up on to
the poop, and climbing on the mails, searched the sea for the
whereabouts of the enemy.
"There she is!" he excitedly exclaimed, as he pointed to the horizon on
the port quarter. "She's about two miles away. Look out!" and he ducked
as another whizz-bang sounded all too close overhead.
We followed the direction he had indicated and observed, well below the
horizon, a long, low-lying craft, upon the deck of which men were
distinctly visible working the gun.
Shot followed shot in rapid succession and all around us great columns
of water sprang into the air, the descending spray from which in some
instances splashed our decks.
Our own gun, however, was soon in action and it plugged away merrily,
seemingly giving as good as we received.
The fourth or fifth shell from the submarine landed just short of our
vessel's stern. The explosion jerked it upwards and knocked both our
gunners off their feet. This was followed by a shrapnel shell which
exploded a little higher than our masts in the air above and hissed into
the sea all around. The glass in the saloon skylight was splintered to
atoms, the din of the constant explosions seemed like hell let loose and
the fear of God was located in almost everyone aboard.
It was too much for the rough element--about sixty or more Hebrideans,
some of whom spoke little English. They made an ugly rush for the boats,
shouting that the ship was doomed and every man must save himself.
Fortunately there happened to be three military officers aboard who had
recently returned from the trenches in France. They tried to control the
crowd, and acted with a quiet heroism worthy of much praise.
All their efforts, however, were in vain. Men pushed women aside or
knocked them over, and fought like beasts of prey for places in the
boats.
By the efforts of the mate, who threatened the maddest of the crowd and
fought strenuously for some discipline, an extra small boat was launched
first, but about half a dozen frantic passengers jumped into her and
without waiting for her complement pushed off from the ship. The two
other boats left in the davits were filled with a fighting, snarling,
swearing mass of individuals, some of whom hacked away with knives and a
hatchet at the falls, whilst the great strain in weight put upon the
davits bent them down like twisted wire. As the strands of the falls
parted, the boats fell into the sea, shipping much water, whilst some of
those left aboard jumped into them. Some fell out of the boats, whilst
others jumped into the sea and were pulled into them as they left the
vessel's side all too dangerously crowded.
It was a revolting sight; a memory that, however hard one may try to
forget, must yet forever live; an act unworthy of all form of manliness,
which can only remain a lasting shame to those whose selfish cowardice
impelled their madness.
With my friend, I stood near the funnel looking on. What could we do?
Had we, or had the officers had a revolver, the rush might have been
checked, or possibly a life or so might have been sacrificed to try to
save others.
The man handling the axe probably might have suffered first. I did
attempt one small effort. I approached the fighting mass and tapped a
man, who was struggling ineffectually to get through, on the shoulder.
When he turned round I asked him why he was forgetting the women and
children. The man swore at me, adding, "Women be damned! the boats are
the only thing for us." Then I asked him if he had a match. "What for?"
he demanded.
"To light a cigarette with, of course."
"To hell with you and your cigarettes!" he yelled, and springing on the
backs of those in front of him he crawled over their heads and jumped
for the boat below as it was falling from the davits. I was gratified to
see him miss the boat and plunge headlong into the sea.
When all three boats were well away from the ship, those left behind,
who could think at all, expressed their thankfulness that the rough
element had departed. It gave the much-needed opportunity to talk
quietly to many who were demented with fear, and to attempt to soothe
others whose quiet weeping and wailing was heartbreaking to listen to.
Meanwhile the small thirteen-pounder aft and the submarine exchanged
shots with ceaseless regularity. But the attacking craft appeared to
have two guns in action. Her shells came faster and the high explosive
was from time to time varied with shrapnel.
Shrapnel is much more unpleasant at sea than on land. One sees it hiss
down on the surface of the water like spray from a water-cart. Whilst I
was forward taking stock of the hatchway battens for possible floating
purposes, I had two fragments pass all too close to either cheek--so
close that I actually felt them. I put my hand up to my left cheek
expecting to find it laid open, but the skin had not even been broken. A
fortunate and most lucky escape. It was the nearest approach to an
individual casualty throughout the scrap. When the panic crews in the
boats appeared to be about a mile away a high explosive shell from the
submarine actually scraped along the whole of the port side of our ship,
bursting just in front of her fore-foot. I was forward again at the time
getting some lifebelts from the fore-hatch. The explosion knocked me off
my feet.
Everyone aboard felt the shock. The side of the ship seemed to be stove
in, and the captain commanded a member of his crew to see what water the
vessel was making.
"You damn well go yourself, mister," was the reply he got; which showed
the state of nerves aboard. Being almost next to the man in question I
volunteered to go, which seemed to somewhat shame the mutinous seaman,
as he went below at once. Then the captain did an extraordinary thing.
He stopped his ship, hoisted a flag (the W) half-mast high, blew three
long blasts on the siren, and came down from the bridge on deck.
I met him as he descended the companion and asked him what he was
playing at?
"I mean to save what lives I can," he said. "The ship is holed and it is
useless to carry on."
"That's the way to sacrifice the lot," I told him. "You don't suppose
those pirates will spare either ship or us."
Whilst we were slanging each other, a wild-eyed woman whose hair was all
down her back clutched the captain and demanded him to surrender at
once. "Save us, save us!" she wailed. Her embrace had to be forcibly
removed.
None of us aboard who took interest in life were agreeable to a stoppage
of the ship or to a surrender in any form. We bluntly said so. But the
captain claimed he was master aboard his own ship and should do as he
thought fit. Having thus delivered himself he proceeded aft and cut away
the lashing of three small rafts, each about ten feet by four, which
appeared to be the only hope of safety left for the forty or more people
aboard.
The engineers had stuck to their posts--all credit to their
bravery!--but the ship, having lost way, was drifting broadside on to
the submarine, which would soon have made her an easier mark to hit.
Whereupon one of the three military officers, a second lieutenant of
infantry, as arranged quickly between ourselves, mounted the bridge and
rang up the engine-room for full speed ahead.
He managed to heave her round and got her going again; and very, very
slowly she was made to steal further and further away. As soon as the
captain realised his vessel was moving he went back to the bridge,
reassumed command, and remained there.
For emergencies there is no school of learning to equal that of
wide-world travel. In a search for more floating accommodation my friend
and myself went forward and released the heavy coverings of the
fore-hold, which provided ten or a dozen good planks quite equal to surf
boards, such as we had seen used by Kanakas of the Sandwich Islands, and
where we had participated with them in the joys of surf-riding on the
Pacific breakers rolling in over the coral reefs. It was undoubtedly a
wise forethought.
Although the fighting lasted, from first shot to last, forty-two
minutes, it but seemed a few seconds to those whose minds were occupied
with the safety of the ship and the lives of all aboard her. We had
quite a lot to do and we were kept busy. Lifebelts had to be handed out
and correctly put on, cigarettes obtained from below and supplied to all
who cared for that form of nerve tonic, a great proportion of the
terrified women pacified, and the rafts arranged on deck with a captain
to each and fresh-water supplies provided.
As soon as necessary matters had been completed I got hold of my friend,
who was taking matters quite philosophically, and we ascended the poop
together to help take observation of our shell fire. Then we noticed
that our gun-layer was serving the gun alone, so I slipped down to him
to help get out more shells and to hand them up to his platform.
After a few rounds someone shouted, "Smoke boxes." At the moment I was
struggling to the gun with a live shell, but I received a push from the
all-too-energetic originator of the idea which sent me sprawling over a
coil of rope and a pile of empty shell-cases.
Picking myself up as quickly as I could, I returned to the main deck in
time to see the first of these useful and ingenious devices brought into
practical utility. It was an oblong box, about three feet long and one
foot deep, which was lighted at the end by a fuse, then thrown overboard
to windward. Others followed in quick succession.
The smoke formed a light brown haze which with the help of a
broadside-on breeze drifted across our wake and in a very short time
obliterated our hull from the view of the deserting boats as well as
those on board the submarine; which latter did not seem too desirous of
following on, nor of decreasing the distance separating us.
From statements made by those in the boats (one of which was not
recovered until some five days afterwards), the flag hoisted to
half-mast, the three blasts on the whistle, and the obliterated hull
gave every appearance of the foundering of the ship. If they formed this
impression, _a fortiori_, the Germans, who were more than a mile behind
them, must have been still more convinced that their shell-fire had done
its dastardly work. This would also be strengthened by the sight of the
three boats crowded with refugees rowing frantically away in the
foreground; they must have appeared like rats (as they indeed were),
deserting what they believed to be a doomed vessel.
Be it as it may be, after this the submarine ceased fire and submerged.
Our gun-layer also ceased fire because he could see nothing further to
shoot at.
Those on board, although relieved of the horrible din of bursting shells
and continuous gun-fire, were not happy. They were haunted by a
deeply-rooted idea that the submarine had only submerged with the
intention of concealing her course so that she could head off the ship
and attack her again from another quarter. Some were quite unable to
conceal their anxieties. However, after the cessation of active
hostilities a more hopeful and cheerful tone prevailed throughout. Some
of the engineers came on deck for a breath of fresh air, whilst those
below redoubled their efforts to pack on every ounce of steam the
overstrained boilers would stand. With much wheezing and groaning, jerks
and spasms, the machinery ground away and the battered old tub really
did appear to make an effort to get along. What her speed actually was
is not likely to be known, but if the log had been used and had recorded
anything over eight knots an hour her passengers would have doubted its
accuracy.
After sunset the elements favoured those of us on board who had
certainly endeavoured to help ourselves. A rain-squall dropped from
above, mists rolled up from the surface of the ocean which had hitherto
been so calm and tranquil, and soon it became rough and unpleasant.
Womenfolk who had been sick beyond belief through fear and shell-shock
now became genuinely sea-sick. Perhaps it was a counter-irritant
ordained for the best.
As soon as firing ceased and the enemy had disappeared from view, I
sneaked away alone to a coal-bunker, where I carefully buried deep under
the black nuggets a small packet of precious documents which would
undoubtedly have proved of absorbing interest to the Hun. I thought this
would probably be the last place anyone would be likely to look for
anything of the kind, even if a boarding had become actual.
On returning to my friend, I much amused that gentleman by reason of a
rather argumentative dispute I was drawn into with a Reverend raft
captain regarding the salvage of certain fishing gear which I suggested
would be the best help to kill the monotony whilst drifting and waiting
to be picked up; assuming naturally that we were shortly to be sunk by
the submarine.
But by degrees twilight gave place to gloaming. Sturdily the engines
throbbed and the vessel pushed steadily ahead; whilst every eye that
could, searched the sea around for any sign of periscopes.
What a relief it was to all when the faint outline of land gradually
showed up far ahead! Greater still some hours afterwards when a bay was
entered and the vessel reached safe anchorage. This, however, was far
from the destination we had had in view, and however beautiful the
scenery might be said to be, my companion and myself had no desire to
linger there for an indefinite period.
How we fared eventually; how the soul of one of our small coterie
collected on a rock-bound island, a General recently returned from
Gallipoli, passed over the Great Beyond in a storm; how ships that
passed and repassed were attacked by submarines and sunk or escaped; how
wreckage, empty lifeboats galore and dead bodies daily piled up in the
alcoves and on the rare sand-patches of the shore; how a wireless, with
plant and adjacent buildings, was blown sky-high; how we were all burnt
out of house and home, and other passing episodes of that short but
adventurous trip, do not concern the subject-heading of this narrative.
They remain another story.
Suffice it, therefore, to say that after a meal of sorts ashore a
bargain was struck with some rough but honest island fisherfolk, whose
knowledge of English was limited, although they knew well the value of a
"John Bradbury;" and an hour after entering that peaceful haven of
refuge a small fishing-craft stealthily crept out to sea, steering
northwards over the scene of our recent fight, where she was soon lost
in the silences and the shadows of the night.