By an act which must stand among the most heroic in the records of
the war, Commander Francis H. H. Goodhart sacrificed his life to save
the crew of a British submarine, fast in the mud in thirty-eight feet
of water. It was in the first week of May, 1918, that the commander's
vessel found itself in this perilous plight. When the air supply of
the imprisoned men was about exhausted, Goodhart entered the conning
tower, giving instructions that he was to be blown upward in the hope
of reaching the surface and bringing aid to the imperiled crew. As
he entered the tower with the senior officer a small tin cylinder
containing instructions for rescuers was fastened to his belt, and the
commander's last words were: "If I don't get up, the cylinder will."
Air at high pressure had been forced into the conning tower, and the
lid was opened. Taking a deep breath, Commander Goodhart was shot
upward, but he struck a portion of the superstructure and was killed.
The senior officer, who had intended to remain in the submarine, was
forced from the tower by the air pressure and reached the surface
safely. The remainder of the crew was rescued soon afterward. A
posthumous reward of the Albert Medal for gallantry in saving life at
sea was conferred on Commander Goodhart.
The sufferings of the crew were thus described by one of the rescued
sailors in a letter to The London Telegraph:
When the first night of imprisonment passed, and it appeared from
our watches--we had artificial light enough to see the time--that
the dawn of a new day had come with no sign of release, some of
the company threatened to chuck hope. But others of us put as
bright a face on a black outlook as we could, and gave them such
cheer as a waterless and breadless situation would allow. Of
course, too, we had to remember that our air supply was running
out.
Speak of dropping sovereigns down a well! Every tick of my watch
I knew was as a lost sovereign, so far as air was concerned. But
those of us who were blessed with big batteries of optimism did
our best to distribute the current, and so the time dragged on.
Then a great thing happened. Two heroes came forward and offered
to risk all in an attempt to win to the surface. All honor to
them! How they did it and at what a cost may be told later on,
but the thing was done, and the outer world was thus made aware
of our terrible plight. That much we realized when we knew of the
presence of divers about our craft. What a relief! We had been
located, practical measures were being taken for our salvage, and
that splendid prospect made us take in a draught of new life.
Artificial light was fast failing, but hope was burning brightly,
so what did it matter?
Our ordeal, as it turned out, was but a young thing as yet,
however. We had still a long way to go. The day dragged through,
and when we entered on the silence and uncertainty of the night
we were a forlorn enough lot, I can assure you. The nerve of
the toughest of us was wearing thin. My fear that it might snap
suddenly all round was not realized, however, for we were given
further indications, which our practical ears were not slow
to catch, that the great work of rescue was well in hand. The
constant tapping of the divers outside was a cheering sound, and
brought hope to those of us who, in the steadily increasing stifle
of the atmosphere, were now breathing hard to live.
But rescue was long delayed, and in the early hours of the
following day most of us wrote our last farewell to our loved
ones--short, tender messages scrawled in pencil--and some of us
made our wills. Then, as if by a miracle, three strong strands
in the ladder of escape came to us from above. Exactly in what
manner this was made possible I cannot tell you. We got air,
water, and food, in only the smallest quantities, but just enough
to stir us into new life. That was a godsend as welcome as it was
unexpected. And we had not to wait long for the opening of our
prison door. When the details of that liberation are given it
will cause surprise and congratulation everywhere. It verges on
the miraculous. When we scrambled into freedom we were a dazed
and shaken lot of men, but I warrant you our hearts were full of
gratitude to God for saving mercies.
It was left to others to give fuller details of the impression caused
by the unexpected arrival of the three "strands" in the life ladder.
The first was air--life-giving air--which was forced into the stifling
compartment from above. The boon came just in time; the prisoners had
had about fifty hours of captivity, their last light was burning dimly,
and the atmosphere of their prison house was vile. More than one of the
company had lost consciousness, but the effect of the tiny air current
was instantaneous. The senseless men stirred as if in troubled sleep,
and opened their eyes, breathing hard, while those of the company
who had stood up to the ordeal with all their senses about them felt
instantly the glorious effect of the air draught.
The second strand was water--fresh, cold water--also forced down by
the splendid salvage party. The quantity was very small--only a sip
to each--but, oh! the refreshment of it! "We were parched in lip and
mouth and throat," said one of the prisoners, "and never was a drop of
water more welcome." The third strand was food, pellets of compressed
food. The salvage party had accomplished almost the impossible. And
this was not their greatest achievement. It was the forcing of a way
of escape for the entombed men that was the marvel. Ingenuity backed
up by tireless tenacity, resourcefulness that absolutely refused to
own either defeat or despair, triumphed over difficulties that seemed
insuperable.
What a picture for brush or pen is offered in the scene of rescue in
the dead of night, when these dazed prisoners won once again their
liberty. They came forth in single file from the prison house. Near the
head of the procession was a bronzed sailor, one whose coolness in the
dragging hours of extremity had done much to maintain the flickering
life of his comrades. He thrust out at arm's length his oilskin, and
followed with a wonderfully nimble step, thus providing the only touch
of lightness in the grim tragedy.
Shelter was awaiting them, and from there they dispatched hurried
messages to loved ones at home, to relieve hearts nearly broken by
suspense. And a while later a grateful little company heard read to
them by one of the survivors the metrical version of the 124th Psalm.
They needed no preacher to interpret to them its beauty and its
significance--for they had been there, and they knew:
And as fierce floods
Before them all things drown,
So had they brought
Our soul to death quite down.
* * * * * * *
Even as a bird
Out of the fowler's snare
Escapes away,
So is our soul set free.
Broke are their nets,
And thus escaped we.